Sculpture of a New Slave

Writer's note: This is a commissioned story written by myself for someone who really wanted to see our subject have a bad day... the otherwise very pleasant Shaz Rael! Uploaded to Literotica with his permission.

Prologue

"How the fuck am I supposed to fit on that!" Angela screamed, furiously approaching the crowded elevator. She was besides herself with anger, nothing but blinding rage filling every word she spoke. "Get off! Get off now!"

The underlings had no right to use her office equipment. Not while she was making so much money - enough money to keep all of them in a job! No, if they inconvenienced her by even a moment they cost her and her company profit. Her needed outweighed theirs, so every time some idiot got in her way she made sure to force them to get out of it. She knew they hated her and she didn't care - she was top dog as far as it mattered. Her 'boss', a slimy little man she could easily get fired, had complained to her about her attitude and the way she spoke to colleagues but it didn't matter - she was far too secure in her position to care.

Glaring at the small crowd who were begrudgingly departing, she scanned them for disgruntled looks. Even a slight hint of resistance? She'd have them kicked out. She was the top earner, they were there to accommodate her. With a satisfied glance she pressed the button to ground floor and stood in a rare moment of peace, admiring her reflection in the mirror.

Reaching the bottom floor, she walked past her plaque on the office wall. She'd commissioned a life size bust of her head to put on display in the building and it stood proudly in the foyer, reminding all of her so called 'colleagues' she was the boss. Vain? Maybe. But she knew she was a big deal, the first person at 18 to make over a million dollars in sales for her employers. Not that it was strictly legal trading or by the books, she didn't even do most of the deals herself and used her powerful family name to generate income... but who cares? By now she had a rep as a shark and was making sure it stayed that way. Nobody in her world could fuck with her and besides - she'd be able to manipulate her legacy to show her as a great woman if she ever wanted to impress the future generation.She could buy her way to a positive image if it became necessary.

Climbing in to her massive SUV she took the scenic route home to her extremely costly house. Her mother and father - both wealthy public figures - had been trying to buy her love since their divorce and she'd leveraged that in to a beautiful place in the country as well as 3 holiday homes, all legally owned by her. It was almost enough to satisfy her... but not enough to stop her lust for status and money. No, she was still emotionally blackmailing her mother in to getting her another home in Spain to even out her fathers latest purchase - 40% shares in the company she worked at.

Opening her door, she stepped in to her home and with a contemptable sigh, threw the letters left on the counter in the bin. She knew what they said, her workplace would be making another 'formal complaint' - not that it mattered since she practically owned the place now and that her drama queen of a boyfriend had left. The idiot. She kept him as a pet more or less, he was just about good looking enough to be able to show off on instagram but she barely even liked him. He called her a cold, distant person but she knew his real problem - the poor mechanic couldn't deal with her success. He said it was only her family wealth that gave her anything, cried when she threw a lamp at his head and drew blood. He was weak, she was strong, that's why she didn't care he left. They didn't have a sexual relationship anyway, truth be told she was repulsed by the idea of being touched by most anybody. No, the absolute reality of the situation was she was happy to be alone and absolutely satisfied in her own company. At this rate? She'd retire by 21 and live a life of bliss, never having to deal with another soul ever again. Her life in her own company was perfect.

Chapter 1

Damn it. 0300 and I'm still awake. I've been up all night, I feel like I'm fucking wired. I've just turned on my light and I'm briefly allowing myself a moment to adjust to the bright room before looking for my dressing gown.

My name is Angela Stafford-Quinn and I am having a very bad night. I took a food delivery earlier that seems to have really upset my stomach and the caffeine free coke I asked for must have been the normal kind. Tomorrow I will be making a complaint and sending the health inspectors round, if the place isn't shut down I'll leverage a harassment campaign against the cunts - I have enough connections to do so.

Sitting on the end of my bed, I admire my body - a regular hobby of mine. I am always the first to admit that I am completely in love with myself. I'm 5' 2 and very slim, a testament to my genetics more than a training routine. A princess like me doesn't exercise I remember telling my ex.

I only have B cup boobs and wear size 2 clothing so am considered by most people to be very skinny. I've seen fat bitches and men far below my league admiring my general physique. I do have one specific stand out feature as well - I have very wide hips for my size. Girls I used to call friends would tell me they're my best asset, while men habitually stared at my butt - it was an easy way to get free drinks on the rare occasion I tried to socialise with the parasites I used to hang out with. I never used it for anything else, usually going out of my way to cover it up at work or in public. I take advantage of it all the time, but I also hated that people wanted me so badly - I've accused annoying men of rape just to get them away from me.

I was disgusted by the thought of penetration by anyone really, especially those beneath my status. That's why my boyfriend and I never fucked, he never got to really experience my body beyond some light petting for photo opportunities... no matter how hard he tried. Goodness, the wimp begged me for attention all the time! He never figured it out. He was just an accessory to me, a prop I could use to make those poor slags I knew even more jealous of me and my well deserved life. That's all I ever really wanted really, to be on top and for the people in my life to know it. I didn't care about him, I was more interested in keeping myself happy and anyway, he was getting a free ride.

In my more reflective moments though, I guess you could say my figure embarrassed me a little bit. A thinner hip and less beautiful face would have made it easier to blend in, to get on top without people first thinking I was a simple airhead like the other women I knew, my so called peers and friends. I'm far more inclined by material wealth than sex so I often cursed my sensual body, pouty lips and general good looks - although I'm not usually so deep or wistful. Being a beauty queen does suit me and I've often thought of myself as something of a goddess compared to those around me.

Walking down stairs I notice my letters in the bin again. I sneered at the thought of the pathetic begging that was in them before checking the cupboard for something to help me sleep. Tomorrow was a day off so it didn't really matter. In actuality I was considering turning on a film and lounging on my sofa for a while when I noticed a third letter had fallen on the floor. Strange. I hadn't seen it when I got home and it didn't have my company stamp or boyfriends scrawl on the envelope. Curiosity getting the better of me, I squatted down and picked it up, my short dressing gown rising over my butt as I did so.

The envelope was a laminated, grey, A4 sized solid object with an uncomfortable circular bulge next to the opening slip that looked like it had been unnaturally shoved in there. It was both professional looking and slightly tacky - it looked like a high production value but there was no effort put in to styling whatsoever. My curiosity piqued, I opened the envelope. I couldn't tear it open so I peeled back the seal. In doing so I pulled a tab out of the solid object, that looked like a small electronic device. It... didn't do anything. A light blinked every few seconds, but that was it.

"Broken...!" I muttered, disappointed and unsurprised. I blew it off as a broken speaker, probably there to play an advertising jingle of some sort. I had a look at the document inside.

In large, bold letters an alarming note lined the top of the letter. 'WARNING. BY OPENING AND NOT OPTING OUT OF THIS COMMUNICATION YOU ARE CONSENTING TO THE PROGRAM'. It reminded me of consensus letters and I rolled my eyes at the idea of being even slightly intrigued by this flyer. What followed before I dumped the paper in the bin was an address I supposedly had to visit that stated 'If I missed the deadline they would come for me ' to take me to a supposed secret location. After that a paragraph or so of disclaimers that I didn't even read - it was an advert, I had everything I wanted already. I tossed it out with the rest of the trash and moved on, drifting off to a restless sleep about 45 minutes later on my leather recliner.

--

The next morning I woke up at about noon. I dressed in a vest and short, comfortable skirt and was looking forward to a day of sloth, of nothing to do save for have some quality me time. I was still feeling rather Ill, so I did my nails and pampered myself all day ignoring any and all calls. "This is the life..." I sighed, while brushing my long brunette hair in the bath. It wasn't until late that evening I noticed my front door was unlocked.

"That's strange".

I'm a rich girl and very security conscious. I do not leave my doors open for the world to flood in. My ex didn't have keys and stayed in the small guest house while I was out. Call me paranoid but I was already a little panicked so I walked in to my living room and grabbed a fire poker and a can of pepper spray I bought to protect myself from strangers.

"I knew I should have bought a gun..." I muttered to myself, swinging the poker to see just how hard it would strike and noticing my face going flush with... anger? Fear? hard to tell what, but my adrenaline was kicking in.

My phone and keys were upstairs. Naturally my first instinct was to leave but the rational part of my brain was telling me I was overreacting. This had happened before, I lived in a gated community and had a secure driveway so didn't always lock doors but I was conscious of the fact I hadn't been out that day. Did I lock it last night? I thought so, but my dislike or more accurately my utter distaste of people always lead me to think the worst. Besides, a woman like me rarely makes mistakes. I'd been warned on three previous occasions not to call the cops without good reason but fuck them. Creeping upstairs, I grabbed my phone and dialled 911.

After a long and boring conversation with a disinterested officer who I was certain I'd spoken to before I was told not to call again without proof 'or good indication' of a crime being committed or I'd be charged with wasting police time. They claimed my 'repeated nuisance calls' and 'belittling behaviour towards officers' put me at risk of being cut off and a hefty fine. Someone would come to visit within 72 hours and in future I should file on online report or call the non-emergency number.

"Idiots!" I hissed down the phone before hanging up "My daddy will be having words with the chief!".

Fuming, I threw my phone down and stormed round the house, the call giving me another blast of adrenaline and rage... as well as doubt anyone was in my home. Still, just in case I marched round my large mansion and swung my poker around corners in to rooms, leaving some nasty dents in my drywall. I told myself I was swinging in case of intruders but really I was having a hissy fit, eventually smashing some flower pots in my conservatory. After several minutes I was out of breath and stumbled to my sofa, sweating and panting for air - what do they call it skinny/fat? To say I looked so good I was very much out of shape. My skimpy vest was stuck to my skin due to the moisture and I was far too hot. In a huff, I finally locked my front door and made myself a peppermint tea, calming down enough to put on a soothing relaxation CD and light a cinnamon candle.

Before long - in a notably short amount of time, actually - I begun to feel very sleepy. Excessively so, I was literally feeling myself lose control of my body and nodded myself awake more than once. The rage induced tantrum had exhausted me, I rationalised, and just before dropping off I had the wherewithal to grab my night mask and stretch out on the sofa again. In the back of my mind I was aware of how quickly I'd lost interest in the potential home invader but I was so so sleepy. The only problem was the candle, It smelled funny. Within 15 minutes of the call ending, I was sound asleep.

--

--

Chapter 2 - Kidnap!

--

--

When I awoke I instantly recognised I wasn't in my home anymore. In fact it was painfully obvious I wasn't...

By my cramped posture, the revving noises and the feel of the vibration I concluded I was in a car boot, bound by the wrists, gagged and with my legs tied together. My blindfold was still on, but felt tighter on my face. Why can I tell you this so calmly? Because I estimate its been 6 hours since I woke up... and we're still driving.

When I first regained consciousness I completely freaked out. I tried to scream but realised it was completely muffled by the humungous rag-gag I'd had shoved in my mouth. I desperately tried to kick and push at the metallic boundaries around me but to no avail. Before long I was booting the roof above me but slowly realised I couldn't get the momentum to do any damage. No, it was clear I was trapped and the lack of oxygen getting to my lungs meant I couldn't keep lashing out.

I needed to pee and my body was suffering from cramps due to my position, every time the car went over rough or bumpy road caused me so much more issues than just pain - my body was completely strained by the confinement. I dedicated my time to desperately trying to escape my cuffs and bondage, chew through my gag, anything to alleviate my discomfort but there was absolutely no chance of success - this was a professional kidnapping, my wired and stressed brain concluded. My mind was racing. Why me? I don't deserve this. I cried to the extent I could feel my tears making the blindfold damp. I eventually came to the idea that someone was planning on blackmailing my parents, it was the only thing that made sense.

eventually, I wet myself. A flash of anger and humiliating realisation ran through me as I lay there, on my side, blind and gagged and feeling my clothes absorb my own piss. I swore I'd make the bastards doing this pay. I hadn't yet accepted I was powerless and I never would. It wasn't until the next several hours had passed that I begun to feel pure panic. Where the hell were they taking me and more importantly... why was it taking so long?

More time passed, enough that I notice the car come to a complete standstill several times. Nightcaps? Hard to tell. Enough time passed that I felt hungry though and worse still, thirst was becoming a massive problem. Had I been here.. more than a day!?

Eventually we stop and I hear the drivers get out of the car, so I ready myself to kick, bite, scratch, whatever I could as soon as they open this boot lid. More accurately, I suppose, I could only really flail like a fish due to my tight ties. It was all academic anyway, my chance never came! All that happened when the boot lid opened is I flopped out and landed on the gravelly ground. I was too exhausted to do anything I'd planned in my head, even without the binds.

nobody bothered touching me for a good long while and I realised, blind and bound, I wouldn't be able to escape. They weren't even worried of the possibility.

more panic flew through my body, making me shiver. I couldn't yell, the gag in my mouth was soaking up all my drool and completely prevented me from making any real noise at all. Instead I lay there until I was picked up roughly by some strong arms under my armpits and dragged unceremoniously and without my planned resistance to my destination. Complete silence. It was eerie but I eventually rationalised the extra pressure over my eyes must have been a mask or helmet that covered my ears too.

Whatever bought me here didn't want me to know - in any possible way - where I now was.

--

--

Chapter 3 - Prep

--

--

After the dragging was over I was basically hung by the rough and clumsy thugs that were in control of me. I was stood up straight with a rope around my neck supporting my body. My arms remained tied and were pulled tightly upwards, so I had to stand at a 45 degree angle - then both ropes were pulled tight, so much so that I was almost lifted off the floor. My legs were strapped to the cold concrete ground and roughly spread. To keep them apart something was chained to my ankles and between them a strong rod, 2 or so foot long, was secured holding my feet uncomfortably far away from one another. I learnt quickly that I wouldn't be able to kick out - instead when I tried it I awkwardly pulled against the binding, falling forward and wrenching my bound arms harshly, choking myself unconscious while I desperately tried to re-balance.

Simply put I never had a chance to resist and was forced to stand there for what felt like an eternity but in reality, it may have only been a few minutes. The rope only strangled me if I tried to move or take the weight off my legs but with the arm support I was unsure if I could get in to a position where this would be lethal, even unconscious.

Then, I had a harsh realisation when I felt metal running up my thigh. Suddenly it dawned on me. yes, it was an abstract plan. Yes, it was unlikely someone would go to this effort with all the security I had. But what if...

My shorts were cut down the legs and torn off roughly, pulling my body in the direction they were being ripped and choking me further while the only action I could do was shake my hips and mumble scream through the mass of cloth still buried and secured in my mouth.

...What if these people wanted to rape me!? The thought finally flashed in to my mind. Me? I could see why people would lust after me but this was extreme! Suddenly I felt like my world was shattering and I tried to thrash about, to dissuade whoever this was from doing anything to me. Funnily enough, I didn't feel a person make contact with me at all, in fact all my body managed to do was tire itself out before I stopped moving. I was a panting mess again, close to feinting since I could only breath through my nose. Attempting not to gag on my my own drool that had collected in the rag and was slowly seeping back in to my throat, I became very still. I listened, helplessly... and nothing. I hung there, waiting and nothing more happened. The silence was so harsh that it started to play tricks on my mind and I could feel a rush run through my entire being.

Then -

I felt my body braced by a large bulky object on each of my sides and without warning something begun to rub my bottom, aggressively working its way down to my nether area. I couldn't do anything! By the time I'd even managed to contemplate what it might be doing it was too late - Within 10 seconds I could physically feel a metallic probe inside my anus!

"BGGGGGUUUUUHHHHHHH"

I tried to scream but it was almost completely pointless. I also tried moving again, semi consciously aware of the predicament I was in - with my reduced ability to put any weight in to my body whoever was behind me found it easy to adapt and negate my shallow attempts of resistance. The object wasn't too big but it was very rough while exploring the inside of my passage. It flexed and contorted like a finger, but was cold, smooth and hard like steel. I felt my head relieve itself of pressure and suddenly, I could hear voices again.