TXR-92U-2280 – Call Name: Sara Pt. 07

Sara deliberately met his gaze with her eyes.

"Does William want to see the other parts of a girl?" she asked. "The parts he hasn't seen before?"

The only answer he could manage was a groan. He was actually trembling.

Sara pulled her dress and her bra aside, pushing her tits out into the warm, humid air.

"No..." he gasped, waving her way. "Please, no..."

She frowned, confused. She expected that he would bubble over with gratitude and maybe even beg her to touch or suckle her exposed female glands. Instead, he was rocking back and forth -- almost like he was being tortured.

Suddenly, he jumped to his feet. In the dim light, Sara could see his enraged cock pushing out hard against the fabric of his trousers. Stunned, it took her a moment to understand the obvious fact that he was not secured in chastity. By the time she recognized the danger facing both of them, he was already moving in on her.

"Wait, William!" she shouted, holding her hands out in a desperate attempt to keep him away.

They would both be punished for having sex. For Sara, it would mean a severe electrical correction and the other sluts making humiliating jokes about her for a couple of weeks. For William, it would be much worse: he could be flogged with a heavy leather whip, or branded. She knew that whatever the house did to him, it would be permanent.

"Don't! These slaves will be punished!"

He swept her flailing arms aside and grabbed her around the waist, kneeling down behind her and pulling her bucking hips back into his crotch.

"Stop, William! Please!" she begged. "Sara will get William off with her mouth -- just like a high roller! She will swallow his cum and no one will know it happened. Please, stop!"

He lifted up her skirt then clawed at her thong, tearing it away. Hearing the fabric rip, Sara stopped struggling. The damage was done -- there was now evidence of his assault that she could not explain away.

Behind her, she felt him opening the front of his pants.

"William, listen to Sara," she said, suddenly calm. "Be gentle with this slave. The punishment will be worse if she is damaged..."

She screamed as he jammed the entire length of his organ into her.

"Gentle!" Sara cried. "Be gentle!"

He reached down, took a handful of her hair and swung her head around forcefully towards the wall. In the instant before it struck, Sara found herself outside her own body, watching herself being raped in exquisite slow motion.

Taking advantage of this strange new level of awareness, she turned her head, so that the scar which would result from her skin splitting open when her skull struck the wall would be hidden in her hairline. She did not envy the tasking of the sluts with facial scars.

Shifting her perception back towards William, she could see that he was humping her vigorously, driving relentlessly towards orgasm -- which would come very soon.

Returning to herself, she could see that the wall was getting close. She imagined it was going to hurt very badly when she hit, but there was no pain at all. Instead, it felt like she was resting her head on a plush down pillow in a luxury suite. Suddenly feeling tired, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

After another few seconds, William screamed, emptying himself into the slut's unconscious body.

***

Sara woke up on a narrow bed in the infirmary. She first became aware of a vague pain behind her eyes. Then, she realized that she could not recall anything that had happened. It was a familiar pattern: a medical technician would arrive after a few minutes and tell her that she had a "bad night" and it was best that she couldn't remember.

As her other memories began to reassemble themselves, she thought it was strange that she had a bad night while tasked with performing for "The Real Sluts of Las Vegas." She felt sure it was the first time that it had happened, because she had been deliberately given safe assignments while performing for the show.

While continuing to ponder what had happened, she took an inventory of her own body. She flexed the muscles in her legs, arms, hands, and feet -- no pain. Reaching down, she touched her vulva. It was tender and sore. No doubt she had been aggressively fucked, maybe with a large dildo, but that alone would not warrant a night in the infirmary.

Rolling onto her side, she gently probed her own anus and was relieved to find that it had not been violated. Next, she slid her hands up over her firm, flat tummy and along her ribs, then cupped and squeezed her breasts -- nothing.

Only when her fingertips reached her forehead did she discover the reason that she had been brought to the infirmary: her head was bandaged. The discomfort that she had been aware of since waking suddenly blossomed into a searing headache.

Sara screwed her eyes shut, hoping that the throbbing pain might subside. She felt frustrated to be suffering without even understanding the reason why. Then, all at once, she realized that there were much worse things than pain.

Panic took hold of her and she began tearing at the bandages, desperate to know if she had been cut on her face. She did not envy the tasking of sluts with facial scars.

A medical technician standing over another slut looked up, her eyes drawn by the sudden flurry of motion in Sara's bed.

"Stop!" she shouted.

The slave continued, frantic.

Rushing over to her, the technician grabbed a prod from a hook on the opposite wall and triggered it. Hearing the crackle of electricity, Sara's hands flew reflexively down to her sides, leaving the disheveled bandages hanging down across her face. Her lips trembled.

"It's okay, sweetie," the technician said. "You got lucky -- you came in with a nasty cut and we had to stitch it, but it's up in your hair. No one is ever going to see it. You're okay. Everything is okay."

The slave's whole body started shaking, tears overflowing her eyes.

***

After she was released from the infirmary, Sara's life returned to its new routine: days of safe display assignments, punctuated by filming scenes for 'The Real Sluts of Las Vegas.' On one occasion, she and Miranda were taken to a secluded gaming parlor and bound naked, facing each other across a roulette table.

A buck was led in, dressed like a high roller. Each girl was given a stack of chips and the buck watched as they played. A pair of stick men pushed their bets into place after they called out their numbers, and a woman set the ball spinning around the wheel to determine their fates. Sara's stack of chips grew after nearly every spin, while Miranda's dwindled to nothing. As her last few were swept away, the buck turned to Sara with a sly smile.

He released her from her restraints and fucked her hard on top of the roulette table, scattering her chips like confetti. Sara lost count of how many orgasms she had as he serviced her with his cock, his mouth and his nimble fingers, before finally injecting a heavy load of jizz up into her womb.

Inches from where Sara lay writhing in ecstasy, her ample wetness saturating the green felt tabletop, Miranda sat watching the entire spectacle, still bound -- envy and lust pouring out of her like sweat. She swayed back and forth as far as her restraints would allow, madly clenching her thighs in a useless effort to deliver some stimulation to her engorged clit.

***

Fear cut through Sara's middle like a frozen razor blade. House Master Gabriel had led her into the part of the infirmary where slaves were taken to be "modified." After a display assignment that lasted late into the evening, she had anticipated being escorted back to her cell. Instead, she found herself staring at a sign that read "Non-Anesthetic Modification."

Gabriel opened the door and gestured her inside. The slave did not move.

"Let's go," he chided her.

"Please, master, what will be done with Sara?" she asked.

He shrugged.

Reflexively, Sara began to seduce him.

"Master, please... Sara would be very grateful if you assign her to some other tasking," she moved closer to him, lowering her voice to a breathy whisper. "She would do anything to please you, master -- anything."

She let her jaw hang open, dropping her eyes to his crotch.

Gabriel glanced back over his shoulder, finding that they were alone in the hallway. He looked past her and noticed a supply closet just a few feet away. Sara reached down and started massaging his cock through the front of his pants.

"Thank you, master -- Sara will be very good for you," she said, turning to lead him into the closet.

He grabbed her hand.

"Damn it, Sara!" he scowled. "Not now! This isn't up to me! Now let's go!"

Gabriel pulled her through the door by the wrist.

"Please, master... Is Sara going to be inked? Or pierced? Or...?" she begged, frantic, pure instinct driving her in a futile attempt to pull away from him. "Please! Sara will be a better slut! Please, master! Please don't modify her... Please!"

The overseer's shoulders slumped. He let go of the slave. She shrank back towards the door, trembling.

"Sara -- you're going to be okay," he said. "This has got something to do with the show -- it's not a big deal. Here, I can show you."

He lifted up his tablet.

"See, that's my schedule for tonight... I'm supposed to get you situated down here, then come back in an hour and take you up to the stable: makeup, lingerie, house dress -- ready to go," he explained. "If they were going to do something really bad, I guarantee you they wouldn't have me coming back to get you in an hour."

Sara stared at the tablet, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths.

"Are we good?" he asked. "I don't want to collar you, 'cause then I'll have to put you down for a correction. Let's just get this over with so I can take you back up to the stable, okay?"

***

The slave obediently followed House Master Gabriel into a room labeled "Female Genital Modification." He led her past six plain-looking, naked female slaves, restrained in lariats. The steel cords looped around their necks lifted them onto their toes, giving them three options: strain the muscles of their calves and feet to keep the cords off their throats, use their hands to accomplish the same purpose -- or strangle.

They alternated between the first two options as their cramped legs and sore fingers demanded in a constant, squirming display of pure misery. Their desperate eyes fixed on House Master Gabriel the instant he entered the room, hoping he might give them some relief. He ignored them, ordering Sara to strip and lie back on one of three heavily reinforced gynecological examination tables inside the sterile white room.

Sara closed her eyes, her breath coming shallow and quick as he applied heavy leather straps to her ankles, knees, thighs, waist, chest, elbows and wrists. Her mind raced as she tried to imagine the purpose for the restraints -- if not to make her utterly vulnerable to some agonizing procedure that would leave her permanently changed.

Gabriel's promise that she would be okay and a glimpse at his tablet suddenly seemed like a very thin thread to support the full weight of her hopes that she would not be mutilated -- and constant sound of the six girls struggling to breathe was already causing it to fray. Fear held her in its icy grip, and she knew that panic was close at hand.

Her eyes snapped open and she jerked against her restraints as Gabriel gently touched her shoulder.

"Easy, Sara. Easy," he said. "Everything is going to be okay. I'll see you in an hour."

To Be Continued