Chasing Paradise Ch. 04

Chapter 4 - Showcase I

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

"Where the fuck do they even find these girls?"

"What do you mean?"

The security room was cool and dark, illuminated only by the curved bank of screens both of the handlers were watching. They sat in swivel chairs, each with their feet up on a kneeling slave, both of whom were shivering slightly having been left under a ventfor the air conditioning.

"I mean just look at Twelve, Steve. I genuinely thought for a second I was going to have to march in there and shock the little cunt to stop her damaging....oh god, what's her name. The short one....huge rack..."

"That covers a lot of the pussy here." replied Steve, a tired hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"The one with the hair buns"

"Ohh, that's Thirstycunt. I don't think I've ever seen her be sent away from a guest without those buns needing to be totally redone."

"Right, Thirstycunt. I thought she was just going to bash her brains in but now they're fucking like rabbits."

"Greg, you need to stop thinking too hard about it. Only reason they get these slaves is to keep them calm, otherwise they'd get too wound up. A free bar, food laced with slow release low dose sedatives and girlheaters, slaves directed to make sure the runners are pretty much cum drunk. Look at them, they basically all have some slave girl's head jammed between their thighs." said Steve, gesturing broadly at the bank of TVs in front of them.

The bank contained a pair of TVs for each room, the lobby, the gym, the dining hall with a few larger screens that could be used to punch up individual cameras at will.

"Oh yeah, well how about that one?"

"Are we really drawing the line at scissoring these days?"

"You have to wonder why they don't just submit instead of this. I mean come on, being shipped halfway around the world to end up hunted by rich assholes?"

"Okay, first those rich assholes are cutting me a nice paycheque to live in a tropical paradise, handle a few dumb cunts every year, and fuck slavegirls who aren't in the ready to rape room. Secondly you cannot assign rational thought to the female brain. I've told you before they're just not capable of it. I might look like they're thinking but it's like assigning conscious thought to fish or trees. It's scientifically proven. They even struggle with basic spatial perception tasks."

"They can talk, though."

"...the ability to speak does not make one intelligent. Like I said, it's scientifically proven we only assign intelligence to them because they can mimic male facial expressions."

"I don't know Steve some of them seem pretty intelligent to me...I mean we have had a few make it to the end of the hunt. It takes a lot to outwit all those hunters."

"Please," Steve replied mockingly, "Pure animal cunning. Put them in a trap they'd probably gnaw off their own legs to get out."

The conversation subsided. They spent a while just watching the multitude of bobbing heads, gyrating hips, and flesh on flesh contact. Steve was the first to break the silence.

"Looks like the lingerie deliveries are going out. That should be fun. Reckon we'll have any trouble at the Showcase?" he asked, watching slaves with carts deposit neat boxes outside every one of the room doors.

"Only if they're the ones making it. Gods the last one, what a pain that was. The one girl finding out she'd got the dates mixed, she looked so shocked when we told her her freedom pass had already expired. Whatever happened to her?"

"She's a labour slave in maintenance. Not bad if you like brunettes with a small chest. Just call them up and ask for...Cocklicker I think? Her ass is ruined but her pussy and mouth are definitely in good condition. Best part is she's kind of into it. There's no career for women with those skills back home, and she doesn't get overused too badly by the maintenance guys."

"I might do just that, if nothing else it's a different pair of tits to slap around, you get tired of seeing the same ones so many times, you know?"

The pair sat in silence for a while again, watching the multitude of women and slaves on the screens in front of them. Steve leaned back in his chair to stretch, and his boots dug painfully into the back of the slave they were resting on. She winced but any sound she made was cut off by the bit gag in her mouth.

"How long they got left?"

"About another hour or so yet?"

"How many of them do you reckon make it through this time?"

"Fuck knows. Assholes with more money than sense are going to be tracking them, but judging by past performance there's usually at least one that makes it close."

"You've been here longer than I have...how many have ever made it through?"

"Well let's see...20 girls a hunt, 2 hunts a month for 8 years....we're talking, what, 4,000 unique little bits of pussy passing through here? I reckon the company's paying for a good half dozen girls from the last few years, although one of those has made it through twice."

"Wait, she signed up a second time knowing what she was in for?"

"Well, I say signed up...more a condition on her future husband buying a marriage licence. Don't get me wrong, that guy was leaving with her either way...but he's one of those weirdos that prefers to fuck barenecks."

"Absolutely fucked in the head. You know what, I think it's about time this place had some entertainment...I think we've got the time."

Greg stood, the relief visible on the girl he'd been using as a footstool, her eyes meeting her opposite number below Steve's feet, imploring her to stay strong. Greg walked over to an old style corded phone on the wall and punched in an extension number.

"Hey there Bill, say we've got a flickering bulb in the security room of the runner section. Any chance you can hose down Cocklicker and send her over?"

The Hotel Yorotani - Secure Link Corridor (Two Days to the Hunt)

Saffi stood in the line, subconsciously fiddling with the leather bracelets at her wrists. The slave who had attended to her, Pussyfiend, had helped her pick things that really did end up suiting her. A mixture of purple and teal covered with what could only be described as a see through Sari in the same mix of purple and teal, with delicate gold worked into the material that underlined her breasts, and then directed the viewer's eyes down to between her thighs. Her panties were high-legged but deep-fronted enough that she was sure one half decent stretch would have her clit popping out, it was swollen enough from the tongue lashing Pussyfiend had given it. She was certain too that anyone looking would see how wet she was. Unlike most of the women she had opted to go barefoot rather than the near mandatory heels of modern society, and had instead opted for extra jewellery at the ankle in the form of bangles, and a delicate Matha Patti. Pussyfiend had woven the thing into her hair with almost childish glee, Saffi had caught her smiling in the mirror more than once as the slave had worked on her hair and makeup.

It was almost like there was some sort of competition between the slaves as far as she could see as to who could produce the most beautiful runner. Everyone looked gorgeous, though even she could tell one or two lots of makeup might have gone a little far, but she doubted anyone interested in catching them when the hunt began would mind too much. They were here for the challenge of catching the fastest pussy money could buy, allegedly.

She'd hoped that the knock on the door of one of the handlers coming to collect her would never come. That she could just lie there with Pussyfiend curled up around her for eternity, feeling pampered, safe, and unalone. They'd been marched as a group through into the rear of the hotel, and into a service corridor. From what she could tell from seeing outside this would take them effectively out of the back of the hotel they were in, and underneath the main hotel built on the higher ground above.

The handlers counted them out and checked their clipboards before a thick security door across the corridor opened, and allowed them access to an intermediary corridor bounded at the other end by another security door. She guessed they were really serious about guest security here. As they were being guided into the corridor in single file a side door in the corridor opened, and a woman staggered out.

"Come on cunt, look lively, we've got to get this premium fuckmeat to the main exhibition room"

The woman wore overalls, open at the crotch, and low cut to expose her chest. Her short flame red hair much like her face was plastered with cum, it trickled down her neck, over her slaveband, and down between her breasts in a white and slimy torrent.

"You were right, she is into it. Those tears were definitely pure joy."

"And the screaming?"

"Orgasm"

"Hey cunt?"

The woman turned, her eyes now looking to the floor.

"Weak willed slut that you are you couldn't help yourself but cum, right?"

Unable to answer with the ring gag padlocked to her head the slave nodded slowly. Saffi wondered if this was because it was a bad answer or a good one...

The handler wrote something down on a notepad from a pocket, tore it off and handed it to the woman. She stared at it for a second, and tears began to mix with the cum that even now was beginning to dry on her face.

"There you go cunt. Good for one night off your daily beating, I wouldn't want to ruin the pleasure dripping between your thighs by whipping it out of you. Just remember that the security room is now part of your daily maintenance tasks. Now join the head of the queue and we'll buzz you through ahead of the barenecks...they need to get used to being second class after all."

The woman walked as fast as her tired thighs and shackled ankles would allow, carrying a fairly heavy looking toolbox with her. The new handlers who had emerged from the side room took possession of the clipboard, thanked the previous handlers and watched them leave as the security door behind the line swung back into place.

"Right sluts," said the one with the clipboard, Saffi could see his nametag read Greg Focker which would probably have amused her in other circumstances, "You are about to enter the Guest area of the hotel. At all times you will follow your handlers, attempts to deviate from, stall, or disobey will be deemed breach of contract as previously suggested. If at any point for any reason you become separated you are to kneel down where you are, and wait for hotel staff. You may not touch, approach, or talk to any hotel guest unless requested by them. Should you find yourself being raped by a hotel guest please inform a nearby handler, and accept the deepest apologies of the Hotel Yorotani, and its parent company the TopSlut Corporation; the TopSlut Corporation will attempt to come to a settlement with your Closest Male Relative at the earliest possible juncture."

Internally Saffi knew rape of a bareneck was punished by little more than a slap on the wrist in Pussiana, but being told that the punishment would probably be even less than that here was demoralising. She knew this was a private island, completely outside of the jurisdiction of anyone but TSC, but she half wondered what she'd been expecting. Maybe that a company that arranged paid-for hunts of free women to enslave them might somehow have defended them. In the end she supposed she was little more than merchandise right now, not quite the chattel that slaves were reduced to, but maybe only a few steps away, she thought.

As these thoughts crossed her mind the door in front of them was opened, and the line of women began to move towards the upper section of the hotel.

The Hotel Yorotani - Main Exhibition Room (Two Days Before the Hunt)

"Right sluts, fill up the podiums from where I am to the back of the room, and from your left to your right one at a time." barked the handler as they finally arrived at the main exhibition room of the hotel. Mostly they had been escorted through service areas to keep them a surprise for the patrons, but what Saffi had seen was everything that the runner section was but turned up to 11. High ceilings made almost cathedral-like spaces, and the midst of their grandeur more replica Stivalonian Renaissance sculpture, only this time all the women were replaced by slaves held in place by nearly invisible bands across wrists, ankles, waists, and necks. Similarly where there had been friezes of women held in place, penetrated in every hole by cruel thorned vines now the walls contained deeper recesses where mechanised vines penetrated restrained slaves, all wide-eyed and struggling. Saffi couldn't figure out if this was meant to be some sort of performance art, or if the girls genuinely begged every passer-by for release with just their eyes.

The main exhibition room itself was not what Saffi had expected. It was a room deep within the building, and on entrance it proved to be dark except for 20 squares of light each raised around a foot off the floor with a step up on one side to make it easier to climb for the girls wearing heels and a fairly noticeable keypad or control box at what Saffi could only assume was the front. Girl by girl they filled up their space in the exhibition room. Once each girl was in place two handlers came to their podium, the first attended to the keypad, the other waiting. Saffi watched the girls in the first two rows. She saw something akin to a bicycle saddle but contoured into more of a U shape began to rise from the floor. But before she could see what was happening two handlers turned up at her podium.

"Legs spread, slut." one of them said. In the distance she could hear some mild consternation. "Come on, slut, let's get this over with, legs spread, 8 inches apart."

She stared him in the eyes as she obeyed, she didn't want to show any real weakness. The handler at the keypad pressed one of the keys and the same device as had been present on the other podiums began to rise from hers. Once it was raised high enough the handler who had until now just been waiting adjusted her slightly so the saddle rose up under her Sari, and almost cradled her crotch front and back. Once it was clear she was on the saddle the handler nearest her bent down and padlocked her ankle cuffs to locking points on the pole supporting it.

"Hey..."

"Shut up, slut. You're here to be shown off, not to talk."

It was humiliating. First to be told she'd be shown off, then to be told it would be in lingerie like she was some sort of prize slut up for auction, now to be told she was going to be restrained. She hated it. It burned something deep inside her. Every touch of the handler now felt like an insult. She hated it, she hated him, she hated herself for being weakness.

"Slut. Are you listening? Hands in front, inner wrists facing each other, NOW!"

Clearly her brain had filtered something out. She did as he asked, but slowly, and maintaining the intensity in her eyes. Her show of defiance was met with a slap. "Slut, you are maybe 36 hours from a neckband and a very sore ass, save the defiance for when you're being broken you little whore."

One of the handlers tapped something on the keypad by Saffi's podium and a chain descended from above. Two more padlocks not only locked the cuffs at her wrists but also secured them to the chain before it was retracted into the ceiling. Saffi wasn't dangling but she was uncomfortably positioned, waiting for whatever was due to happen. She tried to take some weight off her feet but found that as she did it became somewhat spring loaded, gently pressing against her underwear but offering no support. It was as if every element of this was designed to be as demeaning and humiliating as possible. Which, she reflected, was likely the exact reasoning behind it.

With a smirk one of the handlers pressed a few keys on the control pad and the saddle began to pulse between her thighs. Saffi gasped in surprise and attempted to pull away, realising quickly that where she went the saddle followed. Her handlers laughed at her vain efforts and furrowed brow as the saddle adapted to her, pressing harder against her crotch.

"Don't worry, slut, I've put it on edge mode. It'll keep you just on the boil for the entire showcase...you'll be ready to do anything to cum by the time we come to get you. Don't worry, we can even leave you chained up to gangbang you...until then you best enjoy yourself you little Veshyan whore."

As Saffi tried not to think about the brutal vibration being imparted on her lips she looked around to distract herself. Once the last of the girls had been moved into position the handlers retreated into the darkness at the edges of the room, the harsh lights focussed on the girls made it so that anyone more than a few feet away in the darkness was almost impossible for them to see.

Slowly Saffi became aware of a distant voice, growing louder, just at the edge of hearing. Multiple footsteps on a hard checkerboard floor she couldn't see but knew was present. The telltale clack of heels, and the dull thuds of male shoes. Suddenly a square of light opened in the darkness and people began to enter the room.

"...and what an exceptional selection of prey we have for you, gentlemen and sluts. These runners will be attempting to keep their freedom by evading you." Said one of the new people. There was gentle laughter at this. Why was there gentle laughter? Saffi supposed it was all just a game to these people. They never had to worry about money, not if they could afford to come here. None of their wives or daughters would ever have to care a day in their lives.

Saffi caught a single tear of rage as it rolled down her cheek. Her mind raced, how dare these people, she thought, what they paid to hunt her would pay for a freedom pass ten or fifteen times over from what she knew. Yet here she was, struggling for her very existence, her right to her name and individuality. The right to not just end up as overused fuckmeat in the bargain bin at Girlmart, begging every man who came in to violate her just to check her holes were still good.

She hated them, hated them all. But at the same time their money was the only route to her freedom.