Lawyer Ravished and Enslaved Ch. 03

Of course, Wissen could not stop herself from giving another speech. "Stacy, if it were up to me we'd just breed you using artificial insemination and let you pleasure yourself with toys, movies and literature as you produced child after child. But we have to conceal your enslavement and the Pleasure Palace wants to make money. It has broadly advertised your availability for guys who want to get their seminal fluids and their hatred for female divorce attorneys out of their system. I, and the people I represent, have to put up with the Kroeseks, Dickersons and Murphys of the world at least for now. Also, the public humiliations you've suffered have been part of a broader campaign that we believe will move women back to their proper role and restore our society to greatness."

I was then led back to the basement to meet an unhappy ex-husband. He whipped me with a flogger that hurt like hell but left no marks, pushed me to my hands and knees, put on the lubricated condom that Tucker had handed him to use, and drove his cock up my anus. As I will discuss more later, this was pretty much the normal treatment I received from the angry men who bought use of my body from the Pleasure Palace for an hour.

At the end of that week, Sturmer was the evening's customer. "This is a sort of sentimental moment for me, Stacy," he said, "This will be the last time I fuck you for a long time." He proceeded to screw me without the least hesitation or doubt that I would expend the last breath of energy to meet all his physical and emotional demands. This meant me working like a 20-year-old nymphomaniac in a porn movie made by a man who did not know the difference between a brute physical response to stimulus and pleasure.

Maybe I had forgotten the difference myself. I felt like I'd become some sort of orgasm machine both for myself and the men who used me as a sex object.

As we rested, I asked Sturmer why I would not see him again for a while. I feared his leaving as he seemed to enjoy exploiting me less than others and apparently did not want me to be more miserable than was necessary for him to achieve exactly what he wanted.

Sturmer explained he was leaving the Pleasure Palace and the rest of the Kroesek organization and that Bert "the Thinker" Sturmer never existed. I asked him what he could possibly mean and whether he expected me to be quiet about him after what he did to me. He said he did not care what I said about the non-existent person Sturmer and that no one would believe anything I said about a Sturmer who supposedly organized my gang rape and kidnapping. He said something like, "Stacy, there are now about 200,000 people who have seen you acting like a nymphomaniac slut on cable television and shortly there will be hundreds who will have enjoyed you being the perfect whore in person. No one will believe you were kidnapped. Also, soon no one believable will be around who will say there ever was a Bert Sturmer or a Thinker. The Thinker was just a stupid rumor created by elements of the press hostile to Mayor Murphy and Mr. Kroesek and other businessmen who should be honored as job-creators.

He had sex with me one more time doggy style with him pounding into me, pulling my hair and crushing my breasts before leaving Room 215 for years. He sang our college song while he did this, perhaps just to be obnoxious. My body reacted as it always does to the rough breast and genital stimulation despite the bad musical performance.

On the way out, Sturmer said that he'd almost forgotten something important. He handed me a bunch of papers to sign. I assumed he was going to ask me to sign all my assets over to the Pleasure Palace or some other criminal organization or criminal. But, no, my assets were being put into a trust to be managed by a bank that I knew to be as legitimate as anything in the City of Orange. In addition, there was a W-9 form to sign and other forms to set up a bank account and allow the Pleasure Palace to pay directly into the bank account after withholding for all taxes. Quickly reading the contract, I saw that they were going to pay me as an "independent contractor," $ 60,000 per year, inflation adjusted, plus full room, board and healthcare.

After I asked, "what in the world," Sturmer said, "You'd did not think we were going to steal all your money and expect you to work for free did you? No, that would be asking for trouble. Who would believe that even a total slut would become a sex worker if it would leave her destitute?"

Chapter 12 - A month of atonement, pain and sex

What followed was a month of the most intense sex, humiliation, many kinds of pain, and physical pleasure. I was penetrated by something like ninety men, many of them three or four times. I refer to this as my "month of atonement," because most of the men who had me that month wanted some sort of revenge on me because of things I had done as a lawyer.

I was largely cut off from news. I had very little under my control. When I was not being fucked, I was going to my regular exercise classes, taking showers between bondage pain and sex sessions to wash off some man's sweat and semen, eating the tasteless, carefully controlled calories, fiber, vitamins and protein I was issued, and sleeping as much as I was allowed. There was little time to think. This was good as thinking about what was happening to me and what would be happening did not help at all. Better to be a fit mindless sex machine.

The routine was that I got out bed about 11 AM, the sex of the night before having ended usually around 4 in the morning. I showered, ate and reported to the gym where I received an energy bar and then exercised with the other women in my "class," all women who had been kidnapped, raped and enslaved around the time that I was. I and the other women had literally worked our butts off the night before, but the Pleasure Palace, whoever was now running the place, did not want us to get out of shape anywhere.

No one stopped us from talking but there was not much to say as we were ordered through various exercises and yoga practices for over an hour. Background music was loud stripper music. All we had to talk about was how much we had been worked over the night before and where we hurt. Of course, with supervisors all around us, we could not have conspired about anything even if our minds had not been turned into mush from days and weeks of helplessly reacting to the almost non-stop physical stimulus.

If I was sore from the night before, that was just too bad. The exercises had to happen. After another shower, I was generally given a brief snack and allowed to take a nap. In the late afternoon, someone would come in and tell me the man or men I would be seeing. After the first week, it was Alice Wissen, Niki or Tucker. Mrs. Stein had disappeared from my life.

Niki, Tucker or sometimes Alice, would brief me on how I was to dress and anything special the customer had said he wanted. About half of the men were mad at me about the work I'd done for their ex-spouses and about half of the rest were mad at me over what some other lawyer had done in representing their ex-spouses. Frequently they wanted me to meet them in the lobby wearing a suit suitable for court. Some wanted me to meet them in the lobby nude. Others wanted me already restrained in the basement ready for physical abuse and rough sex.

All customers were carefully checked for STDs well before their appointments and checked again the day of the appointment. Customers were informed that they could not do any permanent damage to my body and would be charged for any clothing they damaged.

I think the customers were charged by the hour but nobody talked to me about money.

About a third of the guys mad at me over their divorce vented their wrath by whipping or spanking me until their arms got tired and then cramming their cocks, covered with lubricated condoms, up my ass. These were the easy ones. The beatings were painful, of course, but I got somewhat used to them and most of the guys did not have a lot of experience taking a woman to the limits of what could be done without causing damage.

The cliché that anal rape is the most horrible thing that can happen to a woman is not true for a lot of women; I always would have preferred being raped in a way that did not risk pregnancy. At this period of my life, with my training at Fuck U. and all the traffic up my ass, I had become very skillful at enjoying anal sex. I always had an orgasm after being whipped and screwed up the butt if the guy lasted even a few minutes. Having my pelvis forced down against a table or desk generally enabled me to have a big O. I tried to maneuver the scene so my pussy was against something I could use to assure my satisfaction, or as much satisfaction one can have as a sex slave.

In short, I was beyond most of the pain and humiliation I was supposed to suffer with these "whip-and-butt-fuck" customers. The hardest point was the acting. I had to act like the whipping was awful and that the anal sex was the greatest horror imaginable. Generally, I just moaned and wept a lot during the whipping and screamed in fake terror as the guy's prick entered my ass. I sometimes had to hide my orgasm to avoid pissing a guy off who wanted me to suffer, but most guys were content going away with the feeling that their supreme skills as an ass fucker had forced me to humiliate myself by having an orgasm. Was that humiliating?

On the other hand, many men did not touch me at all. These were some of the hardest for me. About ten men left my clothing on and told me their side of the divorce and how devastated they were. There were another ten men maybe who mainly wanted to talk, but did partake of my body as long as they were paying by the hour anyway. As to all of these 20 men, listening to their stories was depressing even though I was already depressed about my own story. Many of them were pathetic whiners and my memory was refreshed as to why their ex-wives wanted out of their marriages. Most painful, though, were a couple men who made a very good case as to why they were the wronged party but that they would have taken their wives back in a minute if I had not convinced their wives to get a divorce.

But I did not convince anyone to get a divorce. The women came to me because they wanted a divorce. As to two guys, I did feel that maybe I should have recommended to my client that they try counseling before I filed papers. So, I had to add guilt feelings to my other torments

Some of the men, including some of the ones whose wives I'd represented, just wanted to fuck. A few of them said that they spent much of the time during the divorce fantasizing about me having sex with them. So, they got their wish with me acting the perfect slut because I had been turned into the perfect slut. I gave the men just what they wanted but also rubbed all of my hotspots the very best I could and used the strength developed with all the kegel exercises to squeeze cocks until I had sucked them dry. Some of the younger guys even had two or even three orgasms before I would let their cocks go. No one complained.

Of course, my enjoying the sex fed the story that I had seen the error of my ways as a feminist divorce lawyer and volunteered to become a sex-crazed whore in the Pleasure Palace. But I had to please the customers to avoid being sold overseas didn't I? And how could I not seek to enjoy sex when pretty much all I had in life to enjoy was sex. So, enjoy it I did the best I could.

I still do enjoy sex, Monsieur, as you have noticed.

Maybe, in fact, Monsieur we should do more of that before I tell you more of my story.