Chloe's Story Ch. 03

It was well past 9:00 p.m. when the phone rang about a week later. I was surprised to hear Mr. Damon on the other end of the line.

"Chloe," he said, "Chuck and I have been discussing you here over drinks this evening and have decided we'd like a little more of your tight little cunt. Well, I've decided that. Actually, Chuck wants your mouth again."

I was stunned, he was obviously a little inebriated, and not knowing exactly how to respond to such overt and startlingly coarse language, I could do little more than tremble, "Yes, okay."

"Anyway, here's what we want," obviously not attuned to the trepidation in my voice. "Tell Joey that there's an emergency at work and we need you here right away. We want you dressed in a coat and that's all. Nothing underneath. What? Hold on, Chloe.... Chuck wants you in a garter belt and black stockings, nothing else."

"I don't have a garter belt," I whispered shielding the phone, fearing Joey would hear.

"She doesn't have a garter belt....Okay, I'll ask her. You got black thigh highs?"

"Yes," I stammered.

"Thigh highs and heels then. Nothing else. No panties. Nothing. You got that?"

"Yes, sir," I answered nervously.

"When you get to the parking lot, call us. We'll tell you what we want next."

I could hear Chuck laughing in the background. I had a feeling that I would be used again by both Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton, but I hoped not so abruptly and so crudely. I was frankly reluctant to go, but having been unable to indicate that, I felt I had no choice now but to obey.

I went into the living room where Joey and I had been watching a movie and told him what Mr. Damon had told me. He looked puzzled, but told me to be careful and call him when I got there. He'd wait up for me.

I told him that wasn't necessary, that I'd likely be late, slipped back into the bedroom, and nervously stripped. I think it was only then, while I was actually undressing as I was told to, that I realized I was in fact going to do this. When I stopped anxiously to check my naked body in the mirror to ensure that it would be pleasing to the men, I knew I was truly lost. I slipped my coat over my nakedness and left the bedroom.

I kissed Joey goodbye, scared to death that he would sense my bareness beneath the coat. My heart was racing as I walked to the car, both in fear and excitement.

I called Mr. Damon from the parking lot, and he told me the night watchman would let me in the back door and escort me to the elevator. He told me to leave the jacket on but unbutton it completely. The night watchman, a guy about my age that I had innocently flirted with many times, gave me such a strange look. It almost made me blush. With my coat unbuttoned, my nakedness was dramatically evident. I couldn't imagine what he must be thinking.

At Mr. Damon's office, I knocked nervously on the door. Mr. Compton answered and let me in to a rather dimly lit office and the distinct aroma of cigars. I saw Mr. Damon sitting on the sofa near his desk and standing just to his right a tall, distinguished looking older gentleman smoking a cigar and holding a glass of something in his hand.

"This is the girl we were talking about, Giles," Mr. Compton said, ushering me into the room. "Chloe, this is Giles Stanford."

I was a bit taken aback. First, I hadn't expected anyone other than Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton, and second I certainly wasn't expecting to see Giles Stanford, the man whose father founded the company.

"Beautiful young woman," Mr. Stanford said, looking at me intently. He had a deep and intimidating voice, a voice that just seemed innately to command respect and one that literally put chills down my back. He was handsome in the way that older, powerful men who are confident in their place in the social order seem to exhibit naturally, and he was impeccably dressed. Even Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton were in obvious awe of the man. And I most certainly was.

"Take your coat off, Chloe," Mr. Damon ordered abruptly. "I think you'll be impressed with this, Giles," he said, turning to Mr. Stanford. "Not only with her beautify but with her obedience."

I was not ready for this. Both Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton had made it clear to me after they first took me that I was in fact their property now, but I don't think I completely understood until just this minute. I knew that I had not actually given myself as property to Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton, as I had to Derrick. This was far different. No, I hadn't "given" myself to them; they had simply taken me.

It's very hard for me to explain, even to myself, but when Mr. Damon raped me, I understood that he did so because he knew he could. He wanted me, and the fact that I was married meant nothing to him. He took what he wanted, and he wanted me. My husband sadly was unable to protect me. Simply put, a more powerful man had taken what he had and now owned it in ways Joey could never emulate. And in truth, I was more naturally bound now to Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton than to Derrick. What I gave I to Derrick I could take back. But what was taken was forever theirs.

Understand I did and do love Joey. I have always done my best to please him and to build his confidence around other men. It really did please me to be his "arm candy," but at the same time he put our relationship at risk by displaying me that way. My beauty, my sex were his badge of manhood, but when a stronger man simply took what he saw displayed, took ownership of it as his natural right, as Mr. Damon had done that afternoon in his office, I had no choice but to surrender. It just seems a natural law that that's the way it must be. Like Darwin proved, these men were superior and had an innate right to strew their genes where they choose. This was much bigger than Joey. Much bigger than Derrick.

This wasn't at all like my submission to Derrick. As I said, that was totally willing on my part. But the funny thing was, the distressing thing, actually, was that standing there in front of these powerful men it came to me in a dazzling image, that their taking me simply because they could had bound me to them in ways that my easy submission to Derrick could never. I truly was their property. Their captured property. Their booty.

"The coat, Chloe," Mr. Damon said again, snapping me out of my reverie. I knew my next decision would unalterably mark me as "property," but I also knew that decision had already been made last weekend when they simply took their property from Joey and enjoyed it. I slowly pulled the coat from my shoulders and let it fall to my feet.

"Well," Mr. Stanford exclaimed. "Where did you find this? I see a ring on her finger. She married?" he said, walking over to me, his eyes fixed firmly on my body.

"Some auto parts clerk or something. Nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about, Honey?" Mr. Stanford asked, extending his hand and cupping my left breast, never once glancing at my face.

"No," I murmured.

"I've never seen tits this large and so perfectly formed," he said, addressing Mr. Damon. "In size and shape they almost look like implants, but they're very obviously not," he added, now kneading my breast and squeezing my nipples. "Tiny waist. This is a rare find. And she's a good fuck, you say?"

"Not bad," Mr. Damn answered. "A little inexperienced, but also tight and underused. Turn around and let Mr. Stanford see more of you, Chloe."

I turned obediently, watching as Mr. Stanford put his drink and cigar on the table and came near to examine me more carefully.

"What did you say her name was," Mr. Stanford asked.

"Chloe."

"Bend over for me, Chloe, and spread you legs open a bit."

I did as I was told. Putting his hand between my thighs, he nudged my legs open a bit more and began to expertly caress my vagina.

"Very smooth, nicely kept. Your idea?"

"No, she came that way," Mr. Damon laughed.

"She has slightly puffed cunt lips, which I like a lot," Mr. Stanford said, turning me now to face him.

"Has she ever been whipped?"

"I doubt it," Mr. Compton said. Certainly not by us. We haven't had her long enough, and I'd bet anything not by her husband. Ever been whipped, Chloe?"

I shook my head no, lying but worried about the question.

"You will be whipped," Mr. Stanford said assertively, "but not tonight."

"Would you like us to leave while you fuck her, Giles?" Mr. Damon asked.

"No, let's all enjoy her, though I think I'll invoke executive privilege and take her first," Mr. Stanford laughed. "Take her over to that conference table and push her tits down on it," he said to Mr. Damon. "I'll take her from the rear.

"Cunt or ass?" Mr. Damon asked.

"Perhaps both," Mr. Stanford replied.

"Well, just as a heads up, the latter is virgin, something we saved for you."

"Interesting. Nice gift. I think I will give that a try. Your ass is virgin, Chloe?" he asked, running his hand across my butt.

"Yes," I lied again, hoping he wouldn't know.

As Mr. Damon was leading me to the table and pushing my tits down hard on it cold surface, I just seemed to intuit that once Mr. Stanford took me, I would be his property, not anyone else's. In truth, I hoped that would be the case.

The second he touched my bare ass and began rubbing it and examining it, I knew without any doubt that this was going to be an intense experience.

"You haven't branded her or marked her, I see," Mr. Stanford said. "Maybe I'll put my own mark on her," he added. "If she earns it."

I was determined to earn it. I wanted his mark, his brand, his whatever it was that he needed to deem me his property. I knew for the first time in my life that I was in the presence of pure power, and that whether anyone else knew it, he already owned me. I was just waiting for him to take possession. I would beg him if necessary.

His hand slid from my butt to my pussy and his fingers began to probe my clit as I writhed in anticipation. I heard him laugh and exclaim to Mr. Damon that I seemed eager to get "my cunt filled." And I was! At least by him. I didn't have long to wait.

I held my breath as I felt his cock begin to breech my labia because I knew Mr. Stanford would not be gentle. But I was mistaken. At first.

His first stroke seemed exploratory, as if probing to find the best position to impale me. His next stroke was not so gentle. He plunged his cock fully in me in one tremendous stabbing thrust, literally lifting me off of my feet. Each subsequent stroke found the very bottom of my cunt and threatened to rupture my cervix. I knew I would offer no resistance if that's what he wanted. And then he stopped and withdrew!

I ws desperate for him to continue, but afraid to say anything that might offend him. I simply lay there, poised for his next assault.

"Chloe," he said gently. "I'm going to fuck you in your ass now and I will probably rend you in the process. Do you understand?"

I nodded that I did.

"Your cunt is quite tight and I imagine your ass will be even tighter," he went on. "I expect some tearing and some bleeding, as I'm not inclined to be gentle in these situations. I'd like you now to invite me to rend you ass."

I hesitated, naturally. What he was offering was frightening and he wanted me to not only give my permission but to ask him to take me.

"Chloe?" he said sternly.

"Yes," I stammered. "Yes, sir, go ahead," and closed my eyes against what I knew was coming.

"I said ask me to rend your ass, Chloe. I expect your answer to reflect that."

My voice was weak and wavering as I stumbling said, "Yes, please fuck me in the ass."

"Rend, not fuck, Chloe," he said sternly to me. Looking at Mr. Compton and Mr. Damon, he added, "Do you always have such problems getting through to your whores?"

I could see that neither Mr. Compton or Mr. Damon were happy with me at the moment, but I managed to blurt out, "Please rend my ass, Mr. Stanford."

I heard him chuckle as he placed the head of his cock against my rectum. And then with a grunt he drove his engorged cock deep into my ass. I screamed in horrifying pain as his thick fat cock tore its way deep inside my ass.

His plundering of my rectum was relentless. The pain was incredible and seemingly endless, and only at last, when his heavy cock unloaded its burden inside my belled anus did I feel any relief. It's odd how welcome his cum was, providing not only soothing balm to my ruined ass but also the promise of an end to this brutality. And odder yet, I had fallen desperately in love with this strong, domineering man who simply took what he wanted. In some way, I felt proud to have given him some satisfaction, even though the cost to me was extreme.

When he grabbed my hair and yanked me to my knees to clean his soiled cock, I took it humbly and gratefully. I ws his if he wanted me. And even if he didn't!

"I think she needs a little training, Chuck," I heard Mr. Stanford subtly complain. Her cunt is tight right now and that makes up for a lot of lapses in technique, but she needs work. Right now, she takes a cock. She doesn't work with it. I'm surprised a beautiful young woman with a body like this hasn't had considerably more experience, but she apparently hasn't, so it's up to you two to provide that knowledge. Also, her ass is frankly a little uncomfortably tight. I've opened her pretty well, I think,: he added, sticking four fingers into my ass and then again into my mouth, "but I expect you to keep her opened. Use a large dildo or have her ass fucked a least once a week by somebody with some size, perhaps by one of the blacks who clean up here."

"No problem, Giles" Mr. Compton answered. "Maybe we can get a little better janitorial service with Chloe here as a bonus for especially good work," he laughed.

Brianna

It was a week later when, being summoned to the office, I walked into the middle of a conversation about Mr. Stanford's new girl, Brianna. Neither Mr. Damon nor Mr. Compton had met her yet, but they had heard that she was arrestingly attractive and quite young, apparently barely eighteen. Both were eager to see (and, I assumed, to fuck) her.

Mr. Stanford brought her to the office later that morning, and everything said about her was true. She was simply stunning. She was tall, at least three inches taller than my 5'6", with beautiful long legs and supple hips and slender waist. Her skin was the palest ivory, and the contrast of her hair falling in luxurious waves of black curls down her back, framing the flawless features of her perfect face, only enhanced the stunning contrast. Her deep green eyes seemed to express knowledge far beyond her scant years.

Dressed in a chic teal skirt and matching sweater that very obviously didn't come off the rack at a department store, she had an air of unassuming confidence. The body incased in that elegant ensemble would befit a goddess. Standing there in her natural hauteur, she displayed the aura of one accustomed to power and privilege, thought I learned later that was not the case at all. The daughter of one of Mr. Stanford's clients at the time, Brianna first caught his attention at fourteen, he told us, and he resolved immediately to possess her and her younger sister. Mr. Stanford had first taken the mother as collateral on a loan made to her husband, a gambling addict deeply in debt to some very dangerous men, though his addiction to the crap tables was likely far more dangerous. The mother, Katherine, submitted early on, and within a month proudly wore Mr. Stanford's mark above her vagina, a mark proclaiming her to be his exclusive property.

As the husband's debts accumulated, Mr. Stanford's hold on the family grew as did his interest in the two daughters. When he mentioned his intention to possess the two daughters when they reached the age of eighteen, Katherine objected. A week later, at lunch with an Asian businessman, he sold her for a bowl of wan ton soup to the same businessman, who that very evening drugged her and shipped her off to Hong Cong.

Having now to deal only with the husband, Mike, Mr. Stanford made arrangements to cover all of his gambling debts, with the provision that the girls become his property at eighteen and that they both be virgin. When that provision was satisfied and Mr. Stanford took possession, he would give Mike a cash settlement of twenty thousand dollars for each. Mike agreed. Mr. Stanford began the girl's preparation immediately.

By the time Mr. Stanford took possession of Brianna four years later, he had transformed her into an elegant young woman, poised and accomplished in her manners and dress, but more important a young woman trained to perfect obedience. Her body, nearly faultless already, had been sculpted by an array of fitness trainers; had been prepared further by a yoga instructor who enhanced her natural sinuous suppleness; and finished by laser treatments that left her body silkily smooth and unblemished. She was now eighteen, a virgin, and Mr. Stanford's property.

When Mr. Stanford walked into the office that morning and introduced us to Brianna, I knew immediately that, though this girl was younger than I, she was much older in ways I would have yet to learn.

He told us the basic story that I have related above, and then asked Brianna to remove her clothes, which she immediately did. As her skirt and sweater fell to the floor, all of us involuntarily gasped in amazement. Brianna was simply awe inspiring. Her skin was milky white and flawless, her hips full, her waist stylishly tapered, and her breasts perfectly shaped and alluring.

I am not unaware that I have a nice body. Many guys have told me so. But I also know my boobs are too big for my frame, and while a guy might think my tits fit me impeccably, every girl would know otherwise. But Brianna was faultless. Her boobs were a large B cup or more likely a C, and stood prominent and enticing. Her nipples, slightly erect, were light pink and ideally proportioned. I felt humbled at the sight of this gorgeous apparition of classical beauty.

It was a moment before my eyes fell to what Mr. Damon and Mr. Compton had been talking about: a tattoo in subtle shades of reds and greens arching over her vagina and proclaiming in elegant script that she was the "Exclusive Property of Global Enterprises, Inc." It was appropriate in every degree to her body and her demeanor. Once seeing it, I could never imagine her without it. It was perfection.

Turning her around by her graceful shoulders, Mr. Stanford drew our attention to her derriere and the small brand, about the size of a silver dollar, burned deeply into her bottom. It too was perfect. A thin circle enclosed Mr. Stanford's initials, all of which protruded ever so slightly above her skin. I couldn't help but touch it.

The skin surrounding the brand was as smooth as glossy velvet and the brand itself had no roughness to it at all. Rather than the irregular branding so common, this was a beautiful piece of art work that Brianna could be rightfully proud of.

"How did you get that brand to come out that way?" Mr. Damon inquired. "I've never seen that kind of result. How did you manage to brand her and not make a mess of it?" he added, expressing the sentiment of us all.

"The right equipment and a steady hand," he replied. "I like to use a stainless steel brand that allows me a very thin outline that I can heat to extremely high temperatures. It's important that your bitch not move at all when you apply the brand, so I had one of my dog breeding stocks modified enough so that I can secure her tightly enough to keep her immobile all through the process."

"You're a fucking genius, Giles. I mean it," Mr. Compton said. "The mark is perfect."

Mr. Stockton laughed and said it was one of his better inventions and that maybe he'd patent it. Everybody chuckled.

Mr. Compton again turned Brianna and while inspecting her vagina turned to Mr. Stanford to comment that her labia were not pierced.