Slave Ranch: The Ultimate Solution to a Sexless Marriage

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Two months later…in a Texas airport

Janet Dawkins finished her business in San Antonio and hopped a quick flight to Houston, arriving at the busy terminal at three in the afternoon. Jostled through the throng of arriving passengers, the pretty brunette in the smart navy business suit headed toward the concourse with her high heels clicking authoritatively on the tile floor. With any luck, she could catch a taxi and be in her hotel room by four, enough time to relax before her business dinner with Jerry Painter at six thirty.

She stopped for a moment to consider her plan, glanced at the airport sign overhead and started off. But before she’d gone a step, two uniformed men approached her, moving so quickly into her personal space that she backed off, alarmed by their abrupt and menacing presence.

“Janet Dawkins?”

“Yes, I’m Janet Dawkins.”

“If you’ll come with us, ma’am.”

“What? Go with you where?” She stared at them dumbfounded. She wasn’t a small woman at five-feet seven in her stocking feet, but these men were like behemoths and seemed to grow in size as they made their shocking demand. The larger of the two, a white man with a pasty face, seemed to be in charge. The other, a handsome black man with defined features and shiny dark skin, grabbed her upper arm. Despite being flustered, she wasn’t about to submit to them. She tried to shake him off. “Get your hands off me!”

Filled with plenty of bravado and official swagger, the larger man rattled off a bunch of gibberish that Janet did not understand. Before he even finished, the black man had wrestled both hands behind her back, snapping handcuffs on her wrists.

She jerked from the shock, only too aware of those who stopped to watch the fracas. “You can’t do this! I demand to know what this is about!” She struggled uselessly to wrench from the large man’s grasp, only to be hauled back between the pair and forcefully escorted through the concourse and down to the baggage claim in the lower level. Along the way, dozens of travelers stopped to watch the amazing sight of the pretty brunette jerking and fighting against the powerful strength of her determined escorts.

A hard kick landed against the big man’s shin, her stiletto heel jamming into his flesh.

He came back angrily, “You made a mistake there, lady,” and he dragged Janet Dawkins into an empty room in the baggage area, and shoved the frantic woman to her knees. The black man popped a ballgag into her mouth and locked its leather straps behind her neck, while the surly brute loomed above her with a small leather slapper in his fist. The odd items seemed to have materialized by magic. Janet stared up, her eyes wide and frightened, tears of panic running down her cheeks leaving a trail of smeared mascara as they went. It finally dawned on her that she was in real trouble – and she still had no idea why.

“These are yer rules, Miz Dawkins,” the white man spoke in a Southern drawl. “We ain’t gonna hurt you, les you don’t behave. You don’t, well… ” he leveled her with an ominous stare, “I’ll upend that pretty ass and give you a licking you’ll never forget. Right on your bare behind. You got that clear?”

Janet nodded.

“You got two choices, Miz Dawkins, you either come along with us all meek and mild, like a good girl and I’ll remove the gag, or you fight me, even the least little bit once we’re outside this door, and I’ll drag you back in here and give you that thrashing I promised. Next time you gonna walk outta this room with the gag in your mouth. Everyone will see it plain as day. That clear?”

Janet nodded again.

The man nodded to his partner, who loosened the gag strap and released the thick rubber ball from her mouth.

“Please, sir,” she immediately blurted out. “I haven’t done anything. There’s no reason for you to take me!”

“Hush!” the big man raised the slapper as if to strike and Janet turned her face away cringing.

“You want that thrashing now?”

“No, no, no!”

“Then don’t say another f*****g word…not another f*****g word. You hear?”

His snarling face brought more tears to Janet’s eyes. She straightened up and nodded.

“Now, we gonna leave here real nice, you’re gonna be Mz. Cooperation. Ain’t that so?”

Once again she nodded and the black man pulled her to her feet.

Just as they had started out, the trio of Janet and the two uniformed men marched back into the airport’s general baggage claim, parting a sea of curious people they passed until they moved out through the double doors onto the street to an unmarked van.

Like something straight out of a TV cop show – or a bad dream – the rough manhandling didn’t stop until the bewildered executive had been pushed into the back of the vehicle. The inside of the van was empty but for two bench seats on either side, and a few odd items scattered on the floor. The black man climbed in after Janet and shoved her onto one of the seats, then attached her wrist cuffs to a bolt behind her back. After being belted at the waist with a hefty four inch canvas belt, a pair of hefty manacles were locked around her ankles and a thick chain fixed between the two.

“Smile real pretty,” the black man suddenly aimed a camera at her face and began snapping pictures like a regular photo shoot, going for every angle he could manage in the small confines of the limited space.

The bewildered woman looked back in dazed wonder.

As a result of the scuffle in the airport her suit coat had been torn open and the top two buttons on her blouse were ripped apart so that her ‘D’ sized chest, encased in a pretty white lace brassiere, was open for view. Janet looked down at her torso to see her chest luridly thrust forward. Due to the way she’d been fixed to the metal seat and the side wall of the van, there was no way that she could hide herself from the busy cameraman and his camera.

She didn’t speak, though she could barely contain the cry of protest on her lips.

When the black man squatted down, he very gently opened her knees with his hand.

She shivered and began to cry again.

“Now, you be a good girl and let me take a few more pictures,” he said kindly.

Janet knew exactly what he had in mind and her belly instantly seized up in anguish. Her straight skirt had risen high enough on her legs to show the top of her stockings, the satin garters, even the bottom of the sexy garter belt.

Damn! she thought silently. Why today! Today, of all days, had she worn a garter belt and stockings, not her usual pantyhose? There was a simple explanation for her risqué choice of clothes. Some clients needed a little softening up. Nothing lurid, nothing disloyal to Jeff, just a little ‘accidental exhibition’, the flirtatious teasing of a sensuous female to keep them right where she needed them. This was a private weapon sometimes demanded by her job when things got viscous during testy business deals. In the last ten years, she’d been successfully using her s****l prowess in this way, which only compounded feelings of triumph and command when she scored big in a man’s world.

But her suggestive attire only added to her humiliation now. Even worse, as she occasionally did when she wanted to feel her feminine power to the utmost, she’d daringly tucked her panties in her purse before she went out, intending to put them on only after her meeting. Today, she’d neglected to put them back on once the meeting was over, again no big deal; she’d done it before with no adverse consequences. Except that she was now bound in a panel van, with a digital camera trained on her crotch.

‘Now, you be a good girl and let me take a few more pictures.’ The man’s words played like a haunting refrain.

Janet sensed dire consequences if she snapped shut her wide open knees, as they naturally threatened to do. By force of will and another wave of humiliation sending her into a fit of tears, she managed to live through the next few minutes as the black man aimed his camera at her open crotch and zoomed in with a dozen p***y shots. The shaved lips of her labia were undoubtedly glistening with s****l juices – she could even smell the scent of her own pheromones rising up from between her legs. The awful truth was, she could feel an animal throbbing in her belly, a burning sensation in her lower body that had a distinctly s****l quality, all this as loathsome as it was undeniable. How could this be happening!

It was during this last sleazy scene with the black man in the intimidating uniform that Janet realized that this was no ordinary arrest. It wasn’t an arrest at all. Inspecting the uniform more closely, she knew these men weren’t the police or federal marshals or any sort of official law enforcement personnel. But exactly who they were wasn’t clear. All the more reason to panic, all the more reason to feel her gut wrench and her entire body seize up.

Good god, this can’t be happening! she silently cried. Remembering the big man’s threat to thrash her ass…not another f*****g word, he’d said…she didn’t dare speak. She almost wished she still were gagged. Her weary mind was pestered with questions that begged to be asked.

The black man finally backed off, put the camera into a canvas bag and banged on the panel between the back of the van and driver’s seat. Sitting on the bench seat opposite Janet, he casually leaned back and closed his eyes as the van pulled away from the curb and picked up velocity as it entered the stream of traffic speeding away from the airport.

In Tennessee…

Roxanna Joyce filed through her massive closet for something to wear, then suddenly smiled big as she pulled a tight-fitting teal green dress from the rack. One of her favorites.

Thirty minutes later, the saucy green-eyed redhead was heading out the door on her way to Mario’s, her favorite bar, wearing her favorite dress. Her heavy mascara and shadow made her eyes stand out from her round sweet face, which was sexily framed by a wild mop of red curls. She’d painted her thick lips a dark rosy shade of pink and heavily glossed them to perfect the image of sensuous sexuality she exhibited so well. A little ‘out there’ perhaps for a married woman, but she was damned if she’d stay home alone every night, while her husband was working at the dealership, or trolling for chicks in bars on the ‘other’ side of town.

They had an arrangement. She stayed out of his territory, he stayed out of hers – an anything goes kind of marriage, as long as neither one rubbed their infidelity in the other one’s face. Sure they’d had their moments, a pair as volatile as Roxanna and Tony, everyone expected as much. And they’d pretty much played by unspoken rules; nothing was written in stone, certainly not their flimsy marriage vows.

Once Tony had slipped up and caught her in a clinch with a suave young hoodlum she picked up at Mario’s and brought home. They were in the foyer of their Southern Plantation style house, kissing like old lovers when a haggard looking Tony walked in the front door. Good god, it was only 9:00 in the evening, Tony was rarely home before eleven, and the boy would have been long gone by then.

Her husband had glared at her and made a sign as if to say the ‘goddam boy better buzz off’. The kid didn’t need anymore incentive than that to skedaddle out the door with his painful hard-on shoved back inside his leather pants.

Soon as the door closed, Roxanna sashayed away as if nothing at all was wrong with the scene.

“What in the goddam hell is going on around here?” Tony blared.

Roxanna turned around, unfazed.

“Sorry, Tony, you got home too soon,” she’d said with honey dripping from every word. “He woulda been gone, darling.”

She was such a sweet-faced tramp, so pretty, so sexy. He would have f****d her on the spot but Tony was sweating like a hog, a fever maybe, and he just shook his head, waved her off and stumbled up to bed.