Chasing Paradise Ch. 03

Chapter 3 - Preparations

The Hotel Yorotani - Runner Section (Two Days to the Hunt)

Amelia paced in her room. The two hours before they had to prepare for the showcase was almost up. She'd gotten a good look at the competition. They were timid, scared, but like her they all wanted a chance at freedom that might otherwise be denied to them. She knew she could do this, she'd trained for it. Her family wasn't rich, she wasn't smart enough to get a decent job, and she didn't fancy the usual shop assistant job that had you taking it in the ass with a smile both literally and figuratively.

Ever since she'd heard about the Yorotani, and its regular hunts she'd trained every single day. Speed, agility, everything she could think of. Anything that might be useful to evade captors for long periods of time. A few weeks ago that had landed her in a Bureau of Female Affairs cell briefly as her reading list had triggered some kind alert they had for potential Female Liberation Front recruits. She'd just got home and was preparing dinner with her mother when a small troupe of slavecops had turned up. She'd been placed in an armbinder alongside her mother, and was left on her knees in the kitchen, a huge ballgag nearly breaking her jaw under the watchful eye of a Master-Agent while the rest of the men and all the Slave-Agents searched their home. It had taken them only a few minutes to find the books she'd been reading, the notes she'd written, and take them both into custody.

24 hours she'd been in the local BFA building. At first it was just questions. What did she know about the FLF, did she know about the local cell, had she ever met a woman going by the name Lidia Gulfer, or Emma Seymour? She didn't know how long it had lasted. At first it was a friendly conversation, the agent on the other side of the table corrected her a lot, though, interrupted her, made her doubt herself. Clearly her answers hadn't been what they wanted, though, so next came a mandatory Primary Inspection re-evaluation and cavity search. Her initial PI had been humiliating enough but this was worse...she'd had her hole depth and capacity measured before but what those bastards had used worked at higher pressures with harder rubber, and they'd gone from measuring her ass right to her mouth. She'd foolishly tried to fight that one off and had taken some boots to the ribs by way of persuasion to submit.

Then came the beatings. She was already naked, and in an armbinder when they started but the female slavecop who'd been brought in to cause her pain had seen that was the least of her worries. By the time the woman had left Amelia had been sobbing on the floor, repeatedly having the breath kicked, punched and beaten out of her had given her a hoarse voice too. Then the shifts changed and she got the night crew. They hadn't even asked questions, but two at a time, rhythmic as machines they began to bang her. She'd begged, pleaded, nearly drowned in cum. Her pussy had been fucked so many times overnight that she was reduced to limp acceptance for the last five or six fuckings.

They'd made her count how many times her ass had been fucked, how many times they'd slapped her so hard she'd fallen over, how many loads she'd been forced to swallow. Tears of impotent rage came to her eyes unbidden as she remembered being handcuffed face up to a table, her head hanging over the edge and being little more than an observer as a parade of cock rammed its way down her throat, ballsacks slapping against her nose. When they'd decided her legs were flailing too much those were restrained too and they'd gone to town on her ass instead. Eventually she'd exhausted them and lay there cum-soaked, crying, restrained. That was when they'd set agent-slaves on her again. Arguably they'd been worse. They knew how to fuck her and make it hurt like hell, and almost impossibly the strap on/strap in combo the cunts had used were even bigger dicks than the ones she'd taken all that evening. The worst thing for her, though, the absolute worst was her betrayal by her own body. She'd hated every second but that hadn't stopped a steady stream of orgasms that in the moment robbed her of the ability to hate her abusers as much as she wished she could.

Morning had broken, the shifts had changed again, and knowing then that no reasonable woman could have taken what she had and kept any form of secret she was released with a warning about wasting BFA time, and told triggering any further alerts would result in community service. She knew what that meant. Community service was the ever so charming euphemism for "temporary" slavery in one of the public brothels. It was only ever sentenced for 30-90 days, but she'd never seen anyone return from Community Service...though she had seen plenty paraded around on leashes later by new owners like prize pets.

All this did every step of the way was reaffirm she could never live as a slave. She'd go through that and worse every single day, and that weighed heavy on her mind. Ever since that day as a "courtesy" she'd logged her physical training, plus what she was reading and why with an agent at the local BFA at their request. They knew she was training to evade hunters but if ever she had planned on joining the Female Liberation Front then her rape at the hands of the local office would have been more than enough to push her towards it.

None of that was about today, though. She needed to think about today. A knock at the door broke her concentration. The room she was in was pleasant. A comfortable bed, a shower, basin, toilet, a small dressing table with a chair, and built into the wall a small interactive display that showed the locations of amenities, local time, and other important things. There was access to a small balcony. Nowhere was provided to store clothes as they hadn't been allowed to bring anything except what they were wearing.

She crossed the patterned but smoothly polished wooden floor and opened the door to find a diminutive slave outside, she carried what looked like a small toolbox, and a glossy booklet, her head was bowed to avoid potential eye contact. Amelia couldn't tell how old she was at a glance but a weariness that seemed to pour out of her said she was a few years older than herself.

There was an awkward silence before Amelia remembered most slaves could only speak when spoken to, "Well?" she asked, her question coming out a little more sharp than intended.

"This cunt begs your forgiveness but it has been sent to help you prepare for the upcoming showcase."

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry, I...didn't mean that. Please, come in."

She stood aside, and the girl made her way in. It was hard not to stare at her, Amelia found, she'd certainly been chosen at least in part for her pleasing figure despite her short height, she must have only just have made it into the higher grades. Her light brown hair was braided and shaped into a pair of buns Amelia realised would fit comfortably into any rapist's palm while she was facefucked, with decorative braiding between the buns being both beautiful and ideal for control or restraint.

"This cunt has brought a catalogue of the items runners are required to wear for the showcase. Once you have selected an outfit this cunt has been instructed to aid you with hair and makeup."

Amelia took the catalogue she was offered and made it only a few pages before throwing it on the bed in despair. It was less fashion, and more a handbook for rapists. Everything she saw was designed to show off the female form but the models were all bound, chained, restrained, some even showed the telltale redness and tear tracks of intense beating.

"Fuck, I'm just meat to them. Why do I even have to go through this charade? Why can't we just get this fucking over with?"

"Mistress, this cunt has observed many runners in the last few years. Many have doubts. This cunt may help you relax if you wish?"

"Relax...how the fuck can you help me....oh..." her angry retort stopped halfway as she realised what the slave was asking. "...I...please just....help me?"

The slave took a second and then nodded. She picked up the catalogue and thumbed through. "This cunt suggests this basque in peach would suit the Mistress along wi--"

"Please just...stop calling me that. Mistress. My name is Amelia. Do you....do you have a name?"

"This cunt is honoured to have been given the servonym Thirstycunt...Amelia."

"No, I mean, a normal name, a proper name."

"This cunt is no longer allowed to use its birth name, if it does it is required to report to the whipmaster for 40 lashes."

"Then can you at least stop referring to yourself in the third person, and as a cunt?"

"This cunt apologises, there is also strict enforcement of its use of de-humanising language."

Amelia tried to stave off the fear that was slowly creeping over her, like ice slowly encasing a growing, living vine. Was this her future? To be forbidden from using her own name? To not have a self? To simply be a toy for others?

"Shall this cunt continue Amelia?"

"Yes, yes." she said, only a fraction of her mind committed to the current moment.

"This basque in peach should suit you well along with the matching panties, and patterned stockings. This cunt believes we have matching cuffs for your wrists and ankles, as well as appropriate heels in your size. Do you have any preference for a collar, Amelia?"

"Gods, do they expect me to wear a collar?"

"Even if you were to appear naked Mi--, Amelia, a collar and cuffs would be required for the sake of decency."

Amelia half snorted a derisive laugh. "Decency! Fuck. I'm going to be dressed up like some sort of prize lingerie model to be gawked at by rich bastards who want their annual thrill of getting off their arse to chase women through the jungle so they can rape them against a tree to claim them as their own and you're talking about fucking decency."

"Apologies, Amelia, but in higher society it is not appropriate for a woman who might potentially be enslaved to be seen without garments she can be restrained by. Many of the paying guests of the hotel would be mortally offended if they saw you looking rape ready, but without appropriate possibility of restraint before the hunt."

"Just....fine...." she said, defeatedly, knowing this was all part of the process, and not something she was going to argue her way out of or around. "What would you suggest?"

"This cunt would say something low that has a hanging ring if you wish the males to keep their eyes on your tits, but a posture collar if you wished to look fearless and elegant. There are also pet collars, and chain collars but this cunt believes they would not go well with the rest of the outfit."

"Fine, a posture collar. If they're short enough they might even have to look up to meet me in the eye."

The slave took the catalogue to the display on the wall and began typing in codes on an order screen. Pictures of the items appeared as she did so. Amelia had to admit they did at least look pretty.

"Your outfit will be with us in around half an hour, Amelia. It is recommended that you shower before it arrives."

Amelia realised this wasn't a terrible idea, she'd far too long on a slight today, and wandering around in slightly too warm weather. She kicked off her sneakers and was about to take off the shirt that was almost plastered to her when she noticed Thirstycunt watching her, her hands behind her back.

"Do you mind?" she said, hoping for a last modicum of privacy.

"Oh, not at all, Mistress"

Amelia turned away and began to remove the T-shirt, it was mostly over her head when she almost shrieked as hands reached gently around her waist to undo her jeans. Before she could protest further the jeans were not only off but folded and gentle fingers reached inside her panties. Her brain wanted to her to scream, protest, push the slave away but the gentle pressure as Thirstycunt's fingertips brushed her labia almost took her breath away.

"Please, no...you don't....ahhhh have.....ohh.....I don't..."

With a fluidity and grace that was almost liquid Thirstycunt had Amelia's panties around her ankles and flowed around the front onto her knees. Amelia may have protested but the agile tongue now gently teasing her thighs and crotch forced her to support herself with one hand on the wall, eyes closed, biting her lip as intense sexual energy began to flow through her.

The insistent tongue that now parted her labia drew a sharp intake of breath from Amelia. Part of her brain begged her, pleaded, screamed at her to stop, but another part realised this was so very much different from that bad night in the BFA, the night that was seared in her mind. She tried to concentrate on it so that she could be conscious enough to refuse further tonguing from the kneeling slavegirl in front of her but the more she grabbed at those awful memories the more the hot breath and moist tongue between her legs seemed to make them vanish.

She opened her eyes and had difficulty focusing, her mind clearly on other things, but when she finally managed to uncross them she was distrubed to find that involuntarily her free hand had curled around the back of the slavegirl's head and pulled her in closer. Amelia abandoned the last of her resistance, her knees buckled, and she slowly sank to her knees, hoping this would prompt the girl to move away, instead Thirstycunt stayed with her, bending, contorting but never grabbing so that as Amelia's knees finally hit the floor she was perfectly positioned on her back with her head between Amelia's thighs, her licking and slurping only growing in intensity.

Amelia attempted to talk, but all that she could manage was a tiny squeal of pleasure as the slave girl's tongue peeled back her clitoral hood and took aim at the juicy prize within. She saw stars, explosions, bursts of colour and light so vivid and impossible it felt like every thread of her mind was falling apart. She didn't even realise she'd closed her eyes again and screwed them up tight until later.

With a thigh shaking tremble, a pitched squeal, and an arching of her back so hard it felt like she was going to burst the final few flicks of Thirstycunt's tongue pushed her over the edge. Amelia collapsed to the floor, speechless, aching, breathless. Her pussy felt empty and full at the same time. Supremely satisfied yet yearning for more. Was this how men felt after taking a slave? Was this how being a slave could feel? She pondered these things, lying there on the floor, sweat beading her forehead as she felt the searing heat of the body next to her move, and through her post-orgasmic haze she saw Thistycunt kneel next to her, presumably ready for the next lot of abuse.

"Is it...is it always like that?" asked Amelia from her supine position on the floor, knees apart, ankles still tangled in her panties.

"Most females react similarly to a cunny, Amelia. This cunt has been privileged to give many of them to runners to help them relax."

"Do you ever get to cum?"

"This cunt may cum if allowed."

"And how often is that?"

"Today this cunt has been raped eight times. Six anally, once orally, once vaginally. It was required to hold back from cumming five times, allowed to cum twice, and beaten for not holding back its orgasm once."

"Eight...eight times?"

"Yes, this cunt has not been utilised for much of the day."

Suddenly Amelia felt sad. This girl had been traumatised into thinking being raped only eight times was a good day. "Do you ever wish you could...do something else?"

"This cunt has no wishes of its own except to please those to whom it is assigned."

"You don't want to...I don't know...cut off that slaveband from around your neck, fly away and live free?" Amelia noted that at a mention of the black band around her neck that Thirstycunt involuntarily ran a finger across the tiny metal plate on it that contained the tracking chip, tamper detection, and chemical immobilisation injector that ensured good slave behaviour.

"This cunt...finds pleasure in pleasure. It is happy that others find its use to be engaging. This cunt hopes to spend the rest of its useful life providing hotel guests, runners, and staff alike with all that they might desire that it can give."

It was like talking to a robot, she decided. Thirstycunt's mind had been almost completely reprogrammed. Her sense of self vanished into dust in the wind with only tiny flecks remaining. The vision of what she might become swelled something deep and unpleasant within her. "So if I said it would please me to have you join me in the shower, and clean every inch of me then that would make you happy?"

"Oh yes, mist--Amelia. As a freewoman and one of the runners you are entitled to use this cunt for whatever task you wish, it would make this cunt very happy to fulfil your desires."

"Then remove your cuffs, and start up the shower."

There was almost a moment of protest before Thirstycunt thought better of it, and unbuckled the leather cuffs at her wrists and ankles. Amelia managed to pick herself up off the floor, walk over to the bed and finally remove her bra, leaving it lank and sweat filled on the bed.

The shower was in a large glass box that somewhat separated the "bathroom" elements from the rest of the room, featuring a slate surround for the large metal grilles occupying floor and ceiling. A small metal shelf inside featured an array of toiletries suitable for any bodily or hair washing needs. Thirstycunt reached in and turned on the shower, using her arm to test the temperature as she adjusted the pressure to something more gentle and pleasant.

She looked at Thirstycunt now, and she offended her. Blank unfeeling submission that hadn't even thought a second time about abusing her. Yes, it had felt amazing...but had she asked for it? Had she even for a second wanted to relive flashes of the worst night of her life? More disgust, more anger, a sudden searing need to lash out in revenge consumed Amelia as she watched the placid slavegirl.

All of an instant Thirstycunt was slammed into the thick back glass wall of the shower, a firm grip on her neck pushing her into its cold hard surface.

"You want to please me, how about you don't rape me without my asking next time you little cunt." hissed Amelia, her face twisted with ugly rage.

"Apologies Mistress, this cunt-"

"No, no apologies. I didn't come here to be some fucking plaything." She turned Thirstycunt around, hands pressed flat against the glass either side of the girl's head. She loomed over the slave now, standing almost a foot taller when both were barefoot.

"This cunt responded to your request for pleasure, Mistress, when you said 'Do you mind?'. If this cunt was in error then it will report to the whipmaster for correction immediately." said Thirstycunt. Amelia could see genuine fear in her eyes now. It made her glad.

Amelia laughed. There was something unpleasant in it that made every fibre of Thirstycunt want to back away. A sick pleasure from somewhere deep in Amelia's soul. She leaned down, close to Thirstycunt's face, parted her lips and moved forward for a deep, and passionate kiss. Thirstycunt melted into the kiss with surprise. She was preparing herself for a beating but now felt lips lock hungrily with hers. Out of instinct more than anything she shackled herself, her hands clasped behind her back as if in invisible handcuffs. If nothing else for a slavegirl it provided a measure of reassurance as it showed their master their total willingness to submit, as well as removing their limbs from the path of whips, crops, and slaps.

Thirstycunt was surprised to feel a hand behind her right leg, and more surprised with the strength she felt as that leg was lifted up and over Amelia's shoulder. Next came the fingers, questing, searching. Her thighs were stretched wide and she breathed out a moan between Amelia's parted lips as three of Amelia's fingers delved inside her, and her thumb began to apply steady pressure to her exposed clitoris.