The Seller, The Buyer, The Girl & Her Master

The Seller-2

The headmaster, snickering grimly, withdraws the cane from between her legs and moves around to the girl’s side, opposite the drooling matron whose hand has for some time been entangled in Evie’s curls. Reaching in from underneath, cane still in hand, he strikes upwards, batting at her t**s. She dances again, howling as she gets her first stab at real pain. “Oo, ow, ouch, yeeeauch!” she repeats in a continuous battle.

The headmaster rattles off something in his strange dialect and the girl tries to settle herself, but man won’t let her rest.

Another command and she pulls out of her bent over posture, standing with her back to the wall, grabbing for the bar above her. Evie’s beauty is no more apparent to me that at this moment. Though her deep blue eyes have been stung with tears, they have noticeably darkened, lighting with a s****l aspect that leaves me quaking. She seems in the midst of an ongoing orgasm. But how could that be so? The headmaster, having changed to a smaller cane, is beating the perky breasts from side to side, leaving a second set of welts from which it will take days to recover. The girl shrieks not freely, but she remains steadfastly against the wall, holding on. The baton dances off her t**s until they are a satisfactory red, then it makes devilish marks along her thighs and belly, cutting into the crevice of where her legs meet her hips. He head bangs back and forth as she cries, her curls splashing against the wall then dropping to her side when the blows subside and her body calms.

It is the end of her beating—at last. But the rapture contained in every tiny movement of her body remains unabated. She’s awash with s****l heat oozing from every pore. With eyes closed, as if she’s in a dream, she licks her lips unconsciously—in preparation, I think. I can see her thick mouth opening, widening, ready to take c**k, to let it be thrust down her throat. I can see her lifted in the air with a pair of burly hands, and a muscled body holding her against the wall as she’s f****d with hard invasive strokes. Her small adolescent body is like a toy, fresh, nubile, and though it bears the marks of a ruthless beating, it remains unflawed in substance. The welts will heal quickly. She’s young and will be ready for more on a moment’s notice.

The matron leads the naked girl from the room and the video turns to white.

“I’m sure we can use the girl, Evie,” I told the headmaster.

“I’m glad,” the austere fellow replied. He’s too thin, balding, his face permanently flushed red. He wears a pair of round frameless spectacles over his eyes. “I only hope that you can rehabilitate her. God knows we’ve tried, and sadly failed.” He spoke in cultured English. I imagine he studied in England at one time.

“The society she enters with me is a private one,” I reminded him. “We have our own expectations of the girls we accept.”

“And you can discipline her in ways we cannot, I hear.”

The man was new to me. Though we’ve taken at least a dozen girls like Evie from the detention center, I’ve rarely done business with the same headmaster twice. The job garners little respect, and despite the side benefits of the job, no man seems to want to remain within the squalid conditions. The state has few funds to put into the institution. Sometimes, I believe our contributions to the facility are what keep it running—or maybe these monies are squandered, too. Obviously, I don’t stay around to see them administered. If they go into the pockets of the headmasters, then so be it. Maybe it’s enough to send them to a better position.

After I made my decision on Evie, I had little time to contemplate any of these matters further. The detention center was ready to be done with her. In fact, they were so ready, I wondered what might have happened after Evie’s punishment—after the scene in the videotape was over. I’ve always been told that no real s****l intercourse takes place while the girls are incarcerated, but I’m not sure I can believe the source of this information. Of course, the girls themselves tell me, quite sincerely, and I have to believe them, that they aren’t touched—overtly. They swear to the fact so strongly that I’ve decided these headmasters—imagining themselves to be upstanding fellows—can’t bear what they really feel inside the walls of the detention center. Their own perverted fantasies chase them out.

I was told that the videotape I saw was taken just three days before my appearance, and that Evie had been locked in a solitary confinement since, left naked the entire time. This was her further penance. Peeking through the tiny observation portal, I saw her naked again, and then finally when they had her dressed and she was playing with the kitten in the holding cell—as if none of the last few days had even happened. Her spirit was bright and fresh and full of life, despite what was surely a brutal experience. This was as good a sign as any that Evie would fit into the future I had planned for her. Being adaptable makes the sudden shift much easier to manage. Some girls never do adjust to their place in the underworld. That is too bad, since they are destined to remain there, regardless of their personal feelings. Feelings can’t matter in my business. My heart can’t bleed for nubile innocents. I can’t call them ‘poor, sad souls,’ because they become the captive property of my clients—thrust into a world they didn’t ask for. They make their bed and lie in it. They run afoul of decency early on and refuse to reform. I’m just another rung in the ladder of justice served. I suspect if I didn’t take them off the hands of the detention center administrators, that they’d end up prostituting themselves on the streets, eventually stripped of their self worth, old and haggard before their time. I can assure anyone who questions my methods, that the dear and lovely Evie will be as fresh-faced and delightful ten years from now as she was the day I saw her innocently waving her fanny at my face.

I was given the other videotapes taken of Evie during her punishment and interrogation sessions. Though I don’t need to see them to make my determination, I find these useful in promoting her assets to the clientele I serve, although this one’s assets spoke loudly without graphic illustration. I did opt out of the complete inspection of her they offered me. Though they tried to hide it, I detected a bit of disappointment on the faces of the matron and headmaster when I declined. I’m sure they hoped to have one last session with the young tart. I would leave them longing for her, just as she’d had left me longing and would continue to leave a trail of men and women who would never get enough of her. I count myself as one of the many.

Especially when it came to the inspection, I didn’t want a crowd ogling the moment. I wanted my first real face-to-face moments with Evie to be in private—a matter between us. If for only a few hours, I wanted this delicious being completely to myself, following my agenda to the finish. It would be all I’d have of her as she passed through the system on her way to the sure captivity that would, over the years, mold her into a phenomenal being of s****l prowess, physical endurance and gracious charm.

As I clamped her hands behind her in steel cuffs, the little nymph screamed at me, “You fuckin’ bastard!” her accent thick as the heavy late summer air. She kicked me, too, to which I gruffly laughed, the brusquely upended her with a rude thud to the floor, adroitly cuffing her ankles as well. Plucking the stunned creature from the floor, I threw her over my shoulder and strode from the building. A small crowd of onlookers, the headmaster and the matron among them, stood eyes wide in disbelief as I deposited her in the back of my van, padlocked the vehicle’s back door and then took my seat behind the wheel. Exhilaration flowed through me like a wild river crashing over its banks. My heart thumped madly, my c**k was nearly fully erect. I rubbed my hands against the bulge in my pants, took a deep breath, and then gathering myself for the task, drove away.

Not since my first abduction had I been as thrilled with any capture as I was with Evie’s. My energy renewed, my spirit was refreshed, I swelled with wanton desire, reveling in the despicable thought my rampaging lust immediately brought to mind. Not since my first abduction… Oh, but nothing can quite compare to that first time…

I reflected back to that time, as the van worked its way through the twisting mountain roads, so deeply rutted and narrow, they were nearly impassable—one of the major drawbacks of my chosen profession. My first capture was more risky in some respects, but I had none of the problems that plagued me now. Even more of a problem than the roads was being detained along the way. Getting stopped by any of the authorities was a hassle I had to handle—they, too, seemed to change month to month. I’d get a cooperative official in my back pocket only to discover that they left the employ of the state weeks before my current trip. Getting stopped just delayed things. Of course, my papers were in order, but the guards and magistrates were always a little too interested in what I had in the back of the van. “Yes, she was mine to take, all this was legal”… on and on, I’d be arguing in a tongue I didn’t speak well. If I were luckier, I’d try communicating in English, listening to officials who had only a beginner’s grasp at the language. Getting my point across always took more time than I had to spare.

My first abduction was nothing like this legal one… I’d been schooled by my advisers in how to choose appropriate young women. “You want them pretty, always pretty, sexy, and with few strings to tie them to the legal world—orphans are better, girls who’ve already shown their stripes as lusty, vivacious and risk-taking. Beware of the ones who moon and brood, even if they are breathlessly beautiful. They need some spunk to make it through the system.”

I did my research on Ingrid… left home at sixteen, had educated herself while working as a waitress in a beer hall. She was Eastern European, too, but was at the time in Germany living with a distant cousin. It’s amazing what one can glean about a stranger by simply paying attention to casual conversation. It helped that she had a sound grasp of English—most of my customers expect that, I was told. Like Evie, her hair was dyed blonde and her dark roots showed purposely. But she kept it short, bobbed straight at the sides like a flapper. I knew by the shape of her body that she was exactly what I was looking for, and my resulting research only pointed to a perfect catch.

I made the abduction early in the morning—rather than late at night. The streets were empty, and at that hour, she was on her way to the beer hall, where she scrubbed the floors and kitchen for extra cash every day at dawn before the crowds gathered. She walked swiftly, but I was faster in pursuit, ducking my head down inside my overcoat on a chill autumn day. My ears should have been freezing, but my heart was pounding hotly enough to warm me to the tips of my extended body parts. I came up beside her, Ingrid’s head tucked as deep into her coat as mine was—we didn’t have to see each other. Our warm breaths made clouds around us and for a short time, we walked stride for stride. Then at an opening between buildings, I pushed her heavily with my shoulder and into an alley, stuffing her mouth with a wad of rags before she could squeal. I quickly dragged her into a vacant building I’d scouted earlier. Everything went according to my plans. It was useless at that point to tell her anything, but naïve and green around the ears, I announced to her with a hefty dose of self-importance, “Don’t worry, you’ll be taken care of—in my way.” I pushed her to the ground and held her there with my boot to her chest, scowling haughtily. Triumph was within my grasp. She didn’t fight back. “Sometimes they don’t, but watch out,” I was warned. “They’ll fight back on their terms. Watch out for clawing fingernails.”