Seeking for Pleasure Ch. 01

(Thanks, again, to my editor, snooper, and my test readers, Nibbles_n_Tits and slippedhalo. This story stands alone but is based upon one of my earlier stories, The Visit.)

Charlotte closed the door to her room and then navigated to a directory on her computer. It was encrypted, so she had to type in her password. She ran the short program she had written and a small window popped up in the corner of her screen and began to display a sequence of images. She began preparing to work on a program for her Computer Science class and only paid attention to the progression of images with her peripheral vision. The images came from a web-cam she had discretely positioned on one of her shelves. It pointed out the nearby window and took a picture every ten seconds.

An image caught her attention and she stopped the program, clicking back until she found the image she wanted. It showed a limousine in a pool of light on the road that ran by the house.

"Bingo," she whispered. Her heart pounded in her chest as all of the things she needed to do flashed through her mind in a confused tangle. But Charlotte was a very organized young woman and had made a list of those things. It was another file in the encrypted directory and she opened it. Pretty much everything was done, had been accomplished ahead of time, and it wasn't as if she hadn't done this several times before. She went to her closet and pulled out a light tan jumpsuit and a pair of brown work-boots. There was a camel-back the same color lying on the floor. She tossed the clothing into a corner of the room and went down the hallway to fill the camel-back in the upstairs bathroom.

The camel-back went into the corner with the clothing and she dug under the bed to find her video camera. She'd bought that with her own money, second-hand, after a long search and kept it wrapped in fabric like the valuable item that it was. She knew it was empty, but she checked anyway, and then loaded a blank disc into it. She checked the battery and then, satisfied that it was fine, dug out a second device. It was a spotter's telescope that had been modified, using directions from the internet, to hold the camera. Between the two devices she had a considerable optical zoom capability and she was very proud of her work. It had been a real challenge not to brag to anyone about it.

Both of those went into the backpack she had sewn padding into and joined the clothing in the corner. She set her alarm for 4am and stuffed it under her pillow before going back to the computer and closing the encrypted directory. Then she did her homework.

The alarm went off at 4am and Charlotte shut it off. She climbed out of bed and pulled on her underwear and a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Her cell-phone went into the backpack and then she bundled everything up and slipped down the stairs and out of the house. When she was hidden behind one of the sheds she pulled down her shorts and underwear and leaned back against the wooden shed to pee. When she was done, she pulled out a length of plastic tube and a bag. The bag attached to her thigh with Velcro straps and the catheter she simply taped to the bag for the time being. Then she finished getting dressed, pulling the brown jump-suit and boots on and tying her long, brown hair into a braid that she stuffed down the back of the jump-suit. She put the backpack on backwards, so that it was in front of her, and then put the camel-back on. Checking to see if anyone was watching she loped off into the cornfield.

She slowed to a walk when she was well away. It took her an hour to cover the meandering three mile course between her house and her destination. Walking while wearing the bag was uncomfortable, but there wasn't much space to put it on at her destination. When she arrived she carefully crawled the last two hundred yards to her hidey-hole. The hidey-hole had taken her a month of work to dig. She'd found the instructions on the internet and had worked an hour or so per week, only at night. It was a shallow trench with a wooden roof covered by plastic and sod. It was nearly invisible unless you were right up on it, and it was a rattlesnake magnet. She carefully popped the cover off and found a big one curled up inside. She killed it with the axe she kept by the doorway and then used the second-hand salad tongs to pull out the head and the body. A little scuffing with the axe confirmed that no more snakes were inside and covered the snake blood with a layer of dust.

She crawled inside and pulled the cover shut behind her. There was just enough room for her to roll over onto her side and pull the video camera and spotter scope out of the backpack. She set them up with practiced ease and trained them on one of the trees on the prairie below her rise. The catheter went in with practiced ease and she adjusted her clothing as best she could in the tiny space. When she was satisfied that she had done everything she could she rolled onto her back and grabbed a book from the sealed zip lock stash she kept in the hole.

"'Taken for Pleasure'," she muttered. "Whatever will the slavers do to Misty this time, I wonder?"

Checking her watch every few minutes she immersed herself in the misadventures of Misty True, kidnapped into a life of exotic sexual slavery by men who seemed an awful lot like the real jerks she remembered from high school and was discovering in college. Misty didn't seem to mind, though. She'd protest a little and then she'd leap, or crawl, into each new indignity with enthusiastic abandon. The slut. Charlotte envied her.

After two hours the sun was well up and Charlotte sealed Misty back into her plastic environment and rolled over and looked down at the vista before her. She'd looked up instructions on this as well. She was methodical and competitive; if she was going to be a stalker, then she'd be a damn good stalker. She let her eyes unfocus slightly and gazed in the general direction of the orchard. Eventually, she spotted movement. Gradually she let her eyes move to the specific area and start to focus. She made out the familiar form of two human figures and licked her lips as she turned the video camera on and adjusted the zoom. It was hard with two zooms, one automatic and the other manual, to get a good picture, but she'd had a lot of practice.

She studied the figures in the camera display. The male was familiar to her. He owned the old Tanner property or, at least, that portion of the Tanner property that everyone figured wasn't worth owning. He wasn't particularly tall or physically imposing, but he carried himself with a dignity that she found very appealing. He was wearing cotton work pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and work boots. The floppy hat hid the upper portion of his face from view, but she had the details committed to memory and saw the grey eyes when she masturbated in her room.

The woman... "Well hello, Miss Big Tits. Are you back already?" she murmured. The woman was taller than Charlotte and heavier by twenty pounds. Mister Benson didn't seem to mind that. She had seen him with women of all types, though she'd never seen him with someone obviously obese. He didn't seem to be particularly concerned with physical details. Miss Big Tits was a brunette, almost blonde really, and wasn't in the best physical condition. "You've lost weight, though, haven't you?" Charlotte whispered. "Did he tell you to do it?" she pondered out loud. "No. He wouldn't do that, I don't think. You did it because you wanted to look good for him, didn't you?"

She *did* look better than the last time, Charlotte thought. Since she was wearing sandals, a collar, and a leash it wasn't like she could hide anything. Charlotte's eyes darted down to her crotch; Miss Big Tits was clean-shaven and a little puffy. Charlotte envied her that. She had wanted to shave herself the first time she saw Mister Benson's hand gliding over a shorn mons. Gym class had put paid to that idea; while several of the girls trimmed, no one shaved, and she didn't want to have to explain why she did. Since she wasn't doing any sports at the community college she might be able to get away with it, but she wanted to be certain before she tried it.

A second time visit was a good thing, a jackpot really. It meant a better chance of sex. He usually just had the first timers follow him around. Sometimes he played with them a little. But second timers... she watched avidly, chewing softly on her lower lip. Big Tits was being a help, displaying herself brazenly. When she knelt, her legs were spread and she lowered her eyes a little, but not too much. Mister Benson didn't like that for some reason; he wasn't like the guys in the books. When she stood she stood close to him, almost rubbing her breasts against him.

Mister Benson smiled beneath his hat and Big Tits knelt down in front of him. "Bingo," Charlotte whispered as he unzipped his pants. She knew what that cock looked like and she groaned in jealousy as Big Tits took it into her mouth. She slipped a pair of fingers into her own mouth and pretended, imagining that she was sucking Mister Benson, that she could smell the sweat of him and taste the salt of it and his pre-cum. Big Tits was using her hands too, something Charlotte couldn't do lying by herself in her little hole. "Spray her," Charlotte prayed. "Give her a facial, Mister Benson. She's just a slave. Oh, fuck."

He'd pulled out of her and walked around to kneel behind her. His hand disappeared between her legs, hidden by the angle, as she put her forehead to the ground. He toyed with her for a while before snugging up to her. He moved slowly, hands on her hips, as he took his pleasure with her body. Charlotte wondered what that felt like and resolved, again, to find out.

He shouted when he came. He always did. And it was obvious that Big Tits hadn't finished, that she wanted more. "I'm right there with you, sister," Charlotte empathized. Mister Benson was standing and Big Tits was licking him clean. That was another thing Charlotte wanted to know more about. She'd tasted herself, of course, but she'd never tasted the commingled fluids. She could imagine herself licking Mister Benson clean, his gentle smile encouraging her. But right now the closest she could get to an actual sexual release was to relax her bladder and let it fill the bag strapped to her leg.

They were walking back towards the house now, laughing at something one of them had said. He was holding the leash and she was following him closely. Charlotte couldn't decide if she was more jealous or envious. When they reached the house she turned off the camera. The windows of the house reflected too much light and she'd never found a way to get a look inside during the day. Unfortunately, the people inside could see out perfectly well. So she rolled onto her back and pulled out Misty, reasoning that reading the book would be less frustrating than watching the tape.

It was dark when she got home and she changed behind the shed, emptying the catheter bag at the same time, before going inside. Her mother was busy with dinner and her father and younger brother were out in the new barn. She went upstairs and carefully put everything away before heading to the shower. The water was warm and ran down her body in rivulets that she pretended were fingers. She peeked out at the door, confirming that it was locked, and then got down on her knees and placed her forehead against the porcelain floor of the tub. Her hands reached back between her legs and softly traced the well-known pathways of her sex. Behind closed eyes she pictured Mister Benson and his soft smile examining her and whispering sweetnesses.

'Such a messy little slut.'

"Yes, Master," she whispered. "Please may I be your slut?"

'My slut would know how to spread herself.'

Charlotte's fingers tugged at her labia, pinning them like the wings of a butterfly to her flesh and exposing her core. She slipped two fingers into herself, pushing until she felt her cervix and twisting, tracing the tip of her finger around the fleshy cap.

'So warm, are you always this hot, little slut?'

"Yes, Master. My body burns with desire, please quench me, Master."

Her fingers worked slowly in and out, a surrogate cock that she clutched and pushed back against. Her free hand toyed with her clitoris, expertly tweaking and rubbing. She imagined Mister Benson's hands firm against her hips, moving her as he pleased. She came with a muffled hiss as pleasure washed through her body like the warm water that dropped from the shower head.

'Not bad, little slut. Lick me clean.'

"Yes, Master. Thank you."

She brought her fingers to her mouth and inserted them as deeply as they would go, breathlessly licking and sucking at them. Eventually, she groaned in frustration and put her face in her hands as she knelt in the tub. It just wasn't satisfying any more. If she was being honest, it had never been satisfying, but it had been enough to tide her over. Now... it wasn't. She wanted more, her dreams.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," she cursed softly. To get her dreams she was going to have to put her fears aside.

With trembling hands she reached for the aloe-vera gel and began massaging it into the mat of pubic hair between her thighs. Then, slowly, carefully and inexpertly, she shaved herself. The razor scraped slowly across her flesh and had to be rinsed out irritatingly frequently. But bit by bit the hair disappeared until, at last, she could find no more. She ran her fingertips across the smooth flesh and her body shivered. Hopping out of the shower she regarded herself in the mirror, smiling nervously at the sight before her. "One step," she murmured.

***

She parked the old jeep on the gravel driveway in front of the house and got out. She scanned the horizon, wondering if there was someone like her watching from a hole in the ground on one of the rises. The idea that someone might be excited by watching her, as she had been excited by watching others, was very, well, exciting. She was pretty sure Mister Benson was the only person home; the limo had picked up Miss Big Tits the night before and she hadn't seen it come back.

Charlotte pulled off her t-shirt and bra, then her shorts and panties, and finally her shoes and socks. Because she was still Charlotte, she folded and stacked everything neatly on the front seat and laid her wallet next to the pile of clothing. She walked gingerly across the gravel to the poured stone porch and rang the bell before kneeling in front of the door. She copied the posture she had seen others adopt, knees spread and hands resting on her thighs. Her heart was pounding and it was difficult to breathe.

"Who the hell are you?" a voice asked.

Charlotte looked around in confusion and barely spotted a camera and speaker hidden in the shadows of the eaves over the doorway.

"I want to be your new slave, Master," she squeaked.

"No. Go away," the voice replied.

"I can't. I won't, I mean. I'll stay here until you accept me," she blurted. This was as far as she had been able to plan, the worst case scenario unfolding.

"This isn't a fucking Chinese monastery," the voice pointed out.

Charlotte kept quiet and focused her eyes on the door.

"Put your clothing on and return to the doorway," the voice said.

Charlotte hesitated.

"Obey me," the voice commanded.

"Yes, Master," Charlotte replied. She hopped painfully across the gravel to the jeep and put her shoes on for the run back to the door. Quickly she pulled on her shorts and shirt and knelt on the ground again.

"Why are you doing this?" the voice asked.

"Because I've watched you for three years, Master..."

"You are not permitted to call me 'master'. Use 'sir'."

"Yes, sir. I've watched you for three years, sir, and all I can dream about is being your slave. I want to be ordered and used and appreciated for being me, not what the world thinks I should be. I'm nineteen, sir. I'm an adult and I can prove it. And I'll learn to do whatever you want me to. Please, sir."

The silence seemed to stretch on for an hour and Charlotte's heart was rocking her body with each powerful beat.

"You're William Lazenby's girl, aren't you?"

Charlotte bit her lip and nodded her head. "Yes, sir."

"Still living at home?"

"Yes, sir."

"Discussed this idea with your parents?"

Charlotte shook her head. "No, sir. I don't have to. I'm an adult and I don't need their permission."

"No, you don't. I'll think about this. Go home and I'll contact you."

Charlotte nodded. This wasn't the fantasy she had hoped for, but it wasn't the disaster she had feared either. "Yes, sir. Sir, I have some recordings I have to give you."

"What kind of recordings?"

The voice sounded cold now, even through the speaker.

"When I watched you, sir, I made recordings. Just for me. I've never shown them to anyone," she rushed to add. "There are no copies. I just felt that I couldn't start out by hiding something from you."

She paused and then lowered her head. "They're no good to me any more anyway. I don't want to watch, I want to do, sir."

"Where are they?"

"In my Jeep, sir. May I bring them to you?"

"You will bring them to the doorway and set them on the step. Now."

Charlotte scrambled to her feet and jogged back to the jeep. She'd kept the disks in a small metal box under her bed, but she wanted to make an impression, so she'd purchased a cedar box just for this purpose. She placed the box right in front of his door and then backed away on her knees.

"You could be prosecuted, you know."

"I don't want to disagree with you, sir, but I believe that's not the case."

It took her a moment to identify the distorted sound as quiet laughter, but that's what it was.

"That's artfully said. Why do you believe you can't be prosecuted?"

"I built my hidey-hole on the little hill that overlooks your property, sir. It doesn't belong to you. And I never recorded any sound, just images, and only when you were outdoors, sir."

"Did you only record outdoors because you couldn't see in?" the voice asked after a pause.

"Yes, sir. And I would have loved to record sound, but I couldn't afford a good microphone."

"You're a very confident young woman."

Charlotte shook her head. "I'm scared to death, sir. I'm shaking so hard it hurts."

"Why me?"

Charlotte paused, considering her words carefully. "Mostly because you're here, sir. I've spent all this time watching you and thinking about my desires and they've become... linked."

"You're not in love with me?"

"I don't know," Charlotte said slowly. "I'm very much in lust with you, and with what you represent in my mind, sir. But I don't think that's love. I mean, I don't really know you sir."

"But you feel safe enough around me to show up naked on my doorstep?"

"Yes, sir," Charlotte replied without hesitation. "Your women come back. They wouldn't do that if they felt you were unsafe, sir. And I've seen some of them leave. They're sad to leave."

"Are you?"

"Sir? I don't understand."

"Are you sad to leave?"

"I think," Charlotte hesitated, "that I'm hopeful, sir. You're going to think about this. That's not the 'crawl into my presence' I wanted, but it's better than the 'never contact me again or I'll call the police' that I was afraid of."

"Go. I'll be in touch."

"Yes, sir."

***

Charlotte looked nervously around the lobby for the tenth time. The message, an e-mail sent almost two weeks after she had last talked to him, had only said to be in the lobby of the Hotel Monaco that evening at seven o'clock. It had also told her to wear a skirt and not to wear underwear. It was a wicked feeling that made her excited and nervous and just a little bit afraid. It was, she considered, a lot like a roller-coaster; she had the feeling that she was riding just on the edge of being out of control and it was exhilarating.