Parisian Dreams Pt. 01

This first installment of a two part story finds Sharon Adams a beautiful auburn haired young woman, living in New York City, trying to work her way to Paris. Your comments, pro or con are not only welcomed, but desired.

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After her parents funeral Sharon Adams wasted no time in packing her bags and cleaning up her parents' affairs. They had both died in a tragic and fiery auto accident coming home from Albany where they had been consulting with their attorneys. After a long holdout against a gigantic real estate development firm which had been buying up a great number of local properties and had resorted to legal pressure, her parents had finally decided to contest the matter in court. Sharon had accompanied her mother and father to a number of town meetings in which the real estate people had made their case to all the abutters and the town fathers. Several families had taken them up on their buyout offer, but her parents had refused all of them.

The issue had become moot. There was no longer any need for lawyers. The only thing her parents' holdout had accomplished was to reduce the final selling price to below market value. The seller was, as the real estate agent said, "motivated" to sell.

Three months later Sharon found herself sitting across from a well-dressed, attractive young man who was busy looking at what she assumed was a print-out of her completed job application. She had filled it out online a little less than a week ago and had been contacted for a face-to-face interview a few days after she had pushed the send button. Now here she was ready to interview in-person for the secretarial position she had seen on the website.

Sharon was a little antsy but didn't want to show it. She wanted to appear professional in every way to her potential employer. Over an hour had been devoted to doing her hair and makeup that morning and a similar amount of time had been spent the night before choosing her outfit, not that she'd had that many choices. She was new in the city, having left her hometown upstate in order to make her fortune. Sharon had wanted to travel and see the world ever since she'd been a young girl, figuring that a move to the city would make a reasonable and logical first step. For now she maintained modest digs, a small apartment in the Bronx, a ways out from the city center. It had taken a fair percentage of her stake to put up first and last month's rent; she was getting a first-hand lesson in the cost of city living.

She was feeling fairly confident that she had chosen the right outfit. She wore a plain white linen blouse; form fitting but not too tight with a black skirt worn slightly above the knee, and a matching black vest. Sharon had always had a bit of a problem finding good-fitting professional clothing. Most of the quality work suits were tightly cut and her ample bosom demanded room. Close cuts made her look too much like Dolly Parton in "9 to 5". The vest had been added at the last minute to downplay her obvious gifts. Her deep red-auburn hair was up on her head and secured at a number of strategic places with hair pins. Left to hang it would have cascaded half way down her back. She was considering getting a shorter, more practical cut and made a mental note to find a good hairdresser after the interview but for now her tresses were up and out of the way.

The young man looked up from his clipboard and spoke in a thick French accent. "My name is Jean LeIouche and I just want to make sure, Miss Adams, that I have all of your information correct. It says here that you are a graduate of the Troy School of Business and that you hold an associate's degree in secretarial science. Is that correct?"

"It is," she replied.

"And you are familiar with Microsoft Word?"

"Actually, I am familiar with the entire Microsoft Office suite, she said, her eyes and face revealing some pride. I am proficient in PowerPoint and Excel as well. I'm used to Windows 10 now even though it's fairly new."

"Excellent," the interviewer replied. "Do you mind terribly if I ask you why you've applied for this particular position? Why do you want to work for our company?

Sharon sat up and looked the interviewer directly in the eye. "Not at all," she replied. After my parents died last year I decided to sell our family's home. When I had cleared up their debts I found that I did not have enough money to finance my dream, which is to travel the world. I knew that I would have to use my skills to help me achieve it. I was attracted to your company specifically because, according to your website, you have offices in several cities around the world. London, Paris, Singapore, Cape Town, and even Wellington, New Zealand- I have wanted to see New Zealand since "The Lord of the Rings" came out. It was filmed in New Zealand and the scenery is so stunning, so beautiful, that it's near the top of my list of places I'd like to visit. I was hoping if I did well here in New York that after a while there might be an opportunity to work for the company overseas. Is that possible do you think? If hired, might I be able to work my way to a Paris appointment?"

"Oddly enough," Miss Adams, "I am from Paris myself and I've come to New York for highly similar reasons. I can assure you that our company understands the desire to travel the world that some of its employees feel. We support both lateral and vertical movement for quality personnel so it would seem that we share something in common, although we may just be passing as 'ships in the night.' I certainly hope not." As he looked into her eyes directly he added, "C'est dommage."

"I'm sorry," Sharon said. "I don't speak French."

"It means 'What a pity,'" Jean replied matter-of-factly. After he gazed down at the clipboard for a moment he looked up and spoke. "I have noticed that in the 'Emergency Contact' portion of the application blank you wrote 'none.' I'm afraid that we'll need someone's name there."

Sharon's face sank a bit as she said "My parents were the last of their generation and I was a 'late in life' baby. All my aunts and uncles are dead. I have no brothers and sisters and I haven't seen any of my cousins in years. I don't even know where they live. I'm new in town and have nobody close."

Jean looked across at the twenty-four year old girl and said "Don't worry about that for now." He smiled and she was reassured. "May I offer you something to drink before I describe the position to you in more detail? We have soft drinks and bottled water."

Happy to have the subject changed, Sharon said, "Thank you. I'd like some bottled water, please." Jean rose from the table and went over to a small beverage cart and chose a glass and a bottle of water. He opened the bottle and poured some into the glass. Walking back to the young woman, he extended the glass of water and she took it, taking a long draught and then a second. She held the glass for a minute or two while Jean described her position as a clerk typist. Suddenly she felt lightheaded. Sharon set the empty glass down on the table. In twenty more seconds she lowered her head to the table and was out cold. Jean rose from the table, took out his cell phone and called his employer.

"I have one for pick-up. Send the team."

"Does she meet all the necessary requirements?" said the voice at the other end of the line.

"Oh yes," said Jean. "She couldn't be more perfect. Early twenties, long reddish auburn hair, thin, very pretty, absolutely stacked, and a kind of, how do you say, 'corn-fed' innocence. She is completely without local ties and will not be missed."

"Excellent," was the reply.

Sharon came around slowly, groggily. The room was pitch-black. Her first sensation was a pain in her head but as she went to lift her arm to rub her aching head she discovered that her wrists were secured tightly at the waist with a heavy pair of manacles. She tried to speak but her mouth was gagged tightly with a spider gag which prevented speech but held her mouth wide open at the same time. All she knew was that she couldn't close her mouth and it hurt too. Around her neck was a metal collar attached by a short chain to a rock wall.

After a while she heard footsteps on stone and then a key turning inside a lock. A rapidly widening sliver of light lit the room. Suddenly a bright bulb hanging overhead bathed the space in bright light forcing the captive woman to close her eyes reflexively. When she opened them again she saw two men she had never seen before. They were dressed in business suits, in their early to mid-thirties, and standing about six feet in front of her. Her eyes quickly scanned the rest of the space. She saw that there was a table and chairs and what looked like a set of pilgrim-style stocks attached to a kind of jungle gym. Jerking her head to the other side she saw a bed, well, a mattress, in the far corner. She began to shake uncontrollably and could not prevent her tears which flowed from both eyes. She was terrified, and rightfully so.

One of the men stepped forward and spoke. "Well," he said calmly, you've awakened." Sharon looked directly at the man, her eyes wide with fright. "I'm sure that you have many questions, but the gag we have inserted into your mouth has made asking them problematic. That's because, Sharon, for now we want you to listen carefully. A great deal depends on your hearing and accepting what I have to say to you. You are no longer in New York City. You are at a processing facility which our organization maintains to train young women like you for your new duties, which will not, I'm afraid to say, be secretarial in nature."

He paused for effect and then spoke dryly, evenly and very convincing. "There is no hope whatsoever of escape. Remove the thought from your mind."

"There is a very lucrative international market," he continued, "for attractive young women like you. Certain buyers are willing to spend enormous sums of money to organizations like ours to provide them with female slaves to use for whatever purposes they wish." Upon hearing the word "slave," the chained young woman's eyes went wide and she began to shake her head from side to side, signaling her strong objections to their plan for her. "Go ahead," he said, "get it out of your system. I'll give you a minute to let your situation sink in," he said.

After a few seconds, during which the manacled woman's headache reasserted itself, Sharon stopped protesting and concentrated on breathing, the shaking having left her short of breath. The man spoke again. "For the next few weeks you will be trained to serve in advance of your eventual placement, which will occur via auction, and which will take place somewhere other than here. Now listen carefully; not all slaves approach their new life with the same attitude. Some come to quietly accept their circumstances and accept their training with little or no resistance. This is a course I highly encourage you to take from the start."

Others choose not to accept training and must be disciplined before we can deliver them to market. Discipline is severe for those who choose to resist our training, and universally painful. Take a look around this room; we have many ways to induce you to cooperate, but we will only work with you for so long and accept only so much disobedience. Those who persist in fighting us eventually are delivered to a special clientele, kind of a niche market if you will, of customers who prefer to finish the training of their purchases themselves. Slaves who enter this market sell for considerably less money and those who prefer to buy these unfinished commodities are almost invariably sadists. They enjoy causing pain and use their slave's lack of discipline and unsuppressed resistance as a way to justify their propensity to cause it. I strongly urge you not to take this route. It's in both our interests."

"In a few minutes I intend to remove your gag. When I do we will begin your training. You must understand that you are no longer Sharon Adams. That phase of your life is over and unalterably so. You will be called 'Slave' only and when you speak to anyone here at this facility you will refer to him as 'Master' or 'Sir." Remove the word 'No' from your vocabulary completely. Its use will result in immediate discipline, which, I will remind you, is decidedly unpleasant. Do you understand me slave?"

On one level Sharon could not believe what she was hearing but she knew deep inside that his words were true. At any rate she was in no position to argue and having decided that she needed to cooperate, nodded her head in the affirmative. "That's a good start, slave," the man said. Now when I release the gag you are not to speak unless it is to answer a direct question or to acknowledge a command. He stepped forward and released the metal gag. Sharon wriggled her aching jaw back and forth but did not utter a word.

"Very good, slave" the man said. Now I will release your hands. You will need their use very soon. He withdrew a single key from his pocket and released the apparatus at her waist. Sharon rubbed her wrists briskly and raised them to her neck to adjust her neck ring.

"Now we wish to examine our investment in more detail. Remove your top, slave." The terrified captive hesitated for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders to remove her open vest before reluctantly raising her hands to begin the process of removing the buttons of her blouse. First she undid the buttons on each arm and then one by one, methodically- almost as if she were in a trance- she unfastened the remaining tiny white buttons. With each undone button more and more of her substantial cleavage was revealed until the final button let loose. After only a moment's pause the young redhead hunched her shoulders back and then slipped the linen blouse off her shoulders, letting it slip to the floor.

Her bra was standard Victoria's Secret fare, practical, comfortable, flattering, and fully occupied by Sharon's prominent breasts. The two men looked at each other and smiled; they knew that in a few moments those hidden beauties would be fully exposed. Wordlessly the men indicated that her skirt was next.

The young woman hesitated and then scanned the room to convince herself that she had no other reasonable choices. She didn't. Her hands reached around to slide the zipper down so that she could step out of her skirt. The zipper made its characteristic sound and the simple black work skirt dropped to the floor. She carefully stepped to the side and her heels clicked against the stone floor as she did. The next item to go would expose the most secret parts of her body to these men. She started to shake again.

One of the men said "Slave, remove your bra." Sharon froze. "Do it!" he shouted. Sharon remained unable to move, frozen with fear. The second man walked over to the table and lifted a leather flogger from a table filled with various punishment options. As he strode over towards the hapless girl she lifted one leg, turned to present a smaller target and lifted her arms to cover both her breasts and her face. Thwack! The leather strips landed on her exposed thigh. "Aieee!" the shacked woman screeched. Her hands came down immediately as did her leg. The second man, paying no attention to her capitulation picked a simple set of quality metal handcuffs and stepped in, roughly grabbing her left arm and quickly snapping the cuff in place. "Wait!" she cried. "I'll take it off!"

Silently he snapped the second cuff on her right wrist. Reaching overhead the dispassionate captor grabbed a chain and clasp, dragged it down and attaching it to the short chain linking the cuffs, stepped back and picked up a small box whose wire extended to the ceiling overhead. Sharon pleaded through tears for them to stop. She would remove her bra as they wanted. Instead all she heard was the whir of an electric motor and the sound of chain wrapping itself around a spool. In a few moments her arms were fully extended. The first man spoke. "Slave, you were instructed to remove your bra. When we have to repeat commands punishment must and will follow."

"We know that you are thinking that you don't want to show your tits to us. What you must understand it that they are no longer your tits. They're our tits to see, to touch, or to punish as we see fit." Reaching into his pocket he removed a small pocket knife, opened it, and walked over to the terrified redhead. He raised it to her bra and slit the center between the two cups. Sharon's breasts exploded from confinement. Immediately they dropped and then re-formed naturally in front of her naked upper body. Sharon's breasts were full but sagged only slightly under their substantial weight. Before the jiggling had dampened fully, the full force of the leather straps of the flogger struck her bare midriff.

"Stop, Master, please!" Thwack! A second blow struck. Sharon screamed in pain and then somehow found the courage to look up at her tormenter. As he raised his whip for another strike, his victim lowered her head wordlessly in submission.

The blow never arrived. Instead, the man put down the whip and said, "It seems that you no longer need to be convinced to cooperate." Is that true, slave?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," was her reply.

Again he withdrew the pocket knife and this time it took two quick slices and her cotton panties were gone, leaving only her heels, stockings, and a black lace garter belt. Since coming to the city, Sharon had splurged only once by treating herself to two garter belts, one black and one white. Since watching her mother dress for special occasions by wearing garter belts, Sharon had decided that there was something special about garter belts and even though they were a bit old-fashioned, she had decided to wear them to her interview. It was a special occasion.

The men could see that this new slave was going to bring a top price. With the exception of tear-stained makeup streaks and some fair to middling welts which were just now standing up across her midriff, the girl silently hanging, head bowed in front of them was absolutely flawless. They continued to examine their dangling captive for a few additional moments and then one of them walked over and removed the pins from her hair. Her dark red-auburn hair hung down, half behind her back and half down her front. With a sweep of his hand the man drew all of the hair to the front. It was long and thick enough to cover both breasts Lady Godiva style.

Sharon's pubic hair had been neatly trimmed into a smallish, bikini-style vertical rectangle, a so-called "landing strip." Without moving from his current position the same man reached down and ran his fingers through Sharon's most private area. She neither moved nor protested. "Slave," he asked, "whose pussy is this?"

"Yours, Master" was her reply.

Deftly moving his fingers along her crotch, the man spread her labia and felt for moisture. It was there, but Sharon was not soaking wet. It was as if her body understood that she would need lubrication before too long, but her mind was trying to deny the likelihood. As her captor continued to massage her pussy, Sharon began to feel herself moving, though involuntarily. He extended his middle finger and pushed it slowly, but steadily into her vaginal cavity. Sharon stiffened in reaction. The quiet man withdrew his finger and smoothly sucked on it as if it were the last tasty lick of a Creamsicle.

He spun the hanging redhead one hundred eighty degrees and quickly found her anus with the same finger which was now coated with his own saliva. Instead of penetrating her immediately he slowly wiggled his finger around her tight pucker. A quick motion back and forth between her anus and his mouth, and then another coated her sphincter with lubrication. After one final circuit the man penetrated her asshole with the same finger. He entered her slowly, pausing to redistribute his lubrication. After he was about an inch inside her, he withdrew his finger and used it to drag more lubrication from her pussy to her anus. This time he penetrated her fully. Once he had pushed his finger as far as he could he reversed direction and removed it. He made a quick detour for more of her natural lubrication and then repeated the anal penetration over and over again.