Our Only Hope Ch. 02

"No, no," she moaned, almost crying. "Don't do this to me, please. I beg you."

The leather-clad figure laughed as he pushed forward, impaling the helpless Mistress on his prick. "Masters don't beg," he said derisively, "slaves do."

With that he began thrusting in and out of Mistress Diago's cunt. Despite his size, he slid easily in and out. Perhaps the lubricant from the dildo was still working, or more likely, the Mistress' multiple orgasms had flooded her canal with more than enough natural lubrication.

"No, no, no," she was moaning. "Please don't make me cum! Please don't do this to me! Please don't make me a slave."

The Portugese word for slave must be "submissa" because that is the word that Mistress Diago screamed out as she thrashed in her fifth orgasm. The 'i' is pronounced as 'ee' and the helpless woman held that 'eeee' sound for what seemed like several minutes.

Master Rodriguez didn't stop. If anything, he began thrusting harder and harder. It was obvious he was asking a question, but Natasha wasn't translating for me. I looked over at her. Her face was set firmly. I've seen that look before. She was a tiger about to pounce.

"Not here. Not now. Not yet," I said firmly. "He has soldiers and protection all around the club. You would never get to him, and it won't find slave ines... or your poopsie."

I watched her body tremble slightly as she brought herself under control. Her face lost its tenseness, but it also lost all hint of emotion. She was once again well beyond anger. I would hate to see that face at the other end of a weapon. It would probably be the last thing I ever saw.

"He's asking her if she is a slave." she said flatly. "He's asking her if she will submit to him forever."

I looked back at the stage. Master Rodriguez was now moving slowly in his outbound stroke and very fast and hard for the inbound thrust. Mistress Diago- now slave diago- screamed out a single word over and over again, finally holding on to the 'eee' sound with a long, wailing, "seeeeeeem" as she once again was forced into orgasm.

Master Rodrigeuz grunted softly as he spurted inside her. Then he laughed and said, "I always knew you were a slave at heart," as he pulled out from her still quivering cunt. One of the club's naked slaves ran up and handed him a large cloth napkin with which he wiped himself before tucking his prick back into the leather pants.

Slave diago was still whimpering and almost crying, "No, no, this can't be happening to me. It was the drug in the cream that forced me."

She started to say something else, but Master Rodriguez pushed the slimy napkin into her open mouth and then forced more in until she became quiet and looked around wildly. The emcee now stepped back into the spotlight and stood right at her head. Leaning down close to her ear he said in a loud whisper that his microphone carried throughout the room, "I'll let you in on a little secret." His annoying smirky smile was nearly splitting his face. "There is no drug in the lube. I just say that so slaves will have an excuse to show how slutty they truly are."

He then walked out of the spotlight laughing and pointing around the room and gesturing, indicating that everyone should join his laughter. Soon the entire room was laughing, almost loudly enough to drown out the anguished cries and sobs from the former Mistress as she was wheeled out of the club.

The emcee's path led him past our table and Natasha clapped her hands together smartly and shouted out something in Portugese. She was smiling and her voice sounded friendly, so evidently whatever she said was an invitation for the emcee to come over to our table. No matter how friendly-sounding, an invitation by such an imposing woman comes very close to being a command.

The emcee acquiesced, or at least treated her as an equal and came over to the table. After what was apparently an exchange of pleasantries, Natasha quickly asked, "¿Se habla español?"

I knew that meant "Do you speak Spanish?" I also knew that any native Portugese-speaking Brazilian would rather stare blankly at you for an hour than speak in the language used in the rest of South America. He glared at her in silence for a brief moment and then said, "Inglés?"

She laughed and said to the emcee, "Oh, wonderful. You speak English. My husband is Espanole and I am Portugee. Everyone thinks we can talk to each other, but he murders the language so badly the only way I can understand him is for both of us to speak English."

The emcee laughed and said, "So many ignorant Americanos with a little bit of Spanish think everyone here should understand them. So..." He made a waving motion with one of his hands. "... I have learned American." He suddenly straightened up fully and said, in an overdone aristocratic British English, "Unless, that is, Madam, you would prefer to speak the purer form of the Queen's English as I spoke it when I was at Oxford."

"We will speak American," she replied, her voice now heavily accented with a mixture of her mother Russian and Portugese. I hoped I didn't look quite so transparently relieved as Boris did sitting to my left.

"This has been an excellent show," she continued slowly, "but we were led to expect something more... dramatic... something worth traveling all this distance to experience."

"Ahh," replied the emcee, "you are seeking one of Master Rodriguez's private shows." He paused and looked individually at each of us, sizing us up. "Those can be a little... expensive."

I reached into the inside pocket of my coat and pulled out six Brazilian 100 reais notes and fanned them out on the table in front of me. At the current exchange rate that was about $150, which was more than enough to get the emcee's attention. "This," I said, holding the notes out to him, "should more than cover your expenses in arranging for us to see one of Master Rod's private shows." I gave him a slight smile and a nod of my head before adding "... one of his best."

He leaned down over the table and spoke softly. "The next show is at midnight tonight, but you want the two o'clock show. All of the legal clubs will be closed then. Master Rod's private club is in an old mansion that was the Danish Embassy before the capital was moved to Brasilia. You will need special tokens to gain entry. The tokens are 500 reais... each."

He paused and stared directly at me. I could see the surprise in his eyes as I calmly pulled a thick stack of 100 R$ notes out of my jacket and counted fifteen of them onto the table. His eyes narrowed slightly as I put the rest of the stack back into my jacket. I had accidentally opened it far enough for him to see the Glock in my shoulder holster.

"I have the proper permits for it," I said firmly. "... as do my companions," I added, nodding toward the bodyguards Natasha's father had supplied.

He reached into an inside pocket on his jacket and pulled out three large black poker chips that had the same devil face design as Master Rodriguez's Lucha Libra mask. As I scooped them up, he stood back up to his full height and said, "The address is on the back of the chip. Do you need a car to pick you up at your hotel or will you be arranging your own transportation?"

"I will arrange the transportation," Natasha said as she got up out of her chair. She pulled five 100 R$ notes out of her cleavage and dropped them on the table saying, "That should cover the drinks." She then signaled the bodyguards that it was time to leave. Two led the way out of the club with her following right behind them. I let Boris get in front of me and we followed her. The other bodyguard walked behind us, his head swiveling rapidly from side to side to scan for any danger in the crowd. By the time we reached the front door, the car was waiting.

"The Danish Embassy," Boris said excitedly as we got into the car. "Those images were taken there."

"Perhaps," I said flatly as I settled back into the seat.

"We will know tonight," Natasha added. Then she said something in Russian to the driver, evidently telling him to leave. We had a little less than four hours to come up with a foolproof plan to get into Master Rodriguez's special show, find any captives, and get back out, hopefully with everyone alive.

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END OF CHAPTER

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