The dirty red of brick walls, broken by ugly concrete-grey, thronged all around the road. Bedraggled shanties leaned against factories overgrown by dead ivy. The oldest buildings had to be from the age of industrialisation, and above all of them a unknown number of chimneys, funnels and water towers rose into the dusk. It took the Inferior Mistress another ten minutes and some looks at Her map to find the way. Under an archway, more like a tunnel, another checkpoint have been set up. This time the van was controlled by armed guards in black, then was allowed to move into a large storehouse. She had had enough time to get rid of Her business dress, and now the Grand Mistress welcomed Her exquisite load in the clothing that was due to Her.
In the storehouse Inferior Mistress Zo?ad parked the van at its designated place and opened the tailgate and the grille. The pains in her muscles and scalp were cruel, but after the incident with the police Vanessa had been in some kind of paralysis. She hardly noticed Grand Mistress Gillian freeing her from her bondage. Like a lightning pure agony raced through her body, ripping her out of her trance, as fresh blood shot into her stiff limbs. The awful pepper plug and the oral dildo, the catheter, the spreader bar and all leather ties were removed, but the arse hook stayed in place. The blonde was pulled out of the van and took some wobbly steps, feeling the cold floor under her bare feet.
The hook turned itself repulsively in her rectum so the eyed end was now dangling between her quivering legs. The Grand Mistress collared the Italian again: “Don’t let the hook come out, slut!” “Yes, Grand Mistress,” Vanessa managed to croak. Meanwhile the Inferior Mistress brought Kate, who was freed from all but her collar, the nipple clamps and the horrible gag. The two slave’s collars were chained together while Grand Mistress Gillian disappeared to get Michelle. Vanessa looked around, searching for any sight of hope. The storehouse was huge, maybe 30 by 100 metres.
Along this wall the slave transporters seemed to be parked, side by side. Most of them were rather inconspicuously; normal delivery vans or discrete estate cars, all in muted colours. But some dozen metres ahead someone hadn’t been so reserved: two women in martial black latex uniforms were unloading a dark Porsche Cayenne turbo. Like most seventeen-year-old girls Vanessa didn’t know much about cars nor was she interested in, but she was sure that none of these vehicles had left factory with two by two boxes similar to those body freezers in a morgue instead of rear passenger seats and luggage space. Through the tailgate, each box was opened like a drawer, and on each bier lay a slavegirl in foetal position. The one who had incarcerated them hadn’t been so imaginative as the Grand Mistress. All four girls wore handcuffs and ankle irons with hobble chains.
Another longer chain ran between the hand and foot bondage. Chastity belts and red ball gags completed the outfits. They were led under unnecessary whip lashes through a door in the near wall and out of the hall. Vanessa swallowed hard, her swollen throat ached. This scene had driven her deeper into desperation. But as she looked up to the storehouse’s other side, powerless rage flared up in her for some moments. There stood, again side by side, the cars of the slave-owners: everything German, British, Italian and French motorcar nobility had to offer, reinforced by cool accents of Scandinavian design, American power and Japanese technology.
Dead objects, paid by the pain, the blood and the grief of innocent girls. Vanessa turned away with an embittered look in her eyes. To run organisations for sexual slavery seemed to be a lucrative activity! Standing in a pool of sweet-smelling cunt juice, Beauty awaited her owner. She was continuously wiggling her tail; the suppository had molten away some time ago, but her tender rectum still housed the deep-burning sensation. Grand Mistress Gillian caressed the girl’s buttocks for a moment, then slid Her hand between Michelle’s legs. “Having fun, Little One?
” She rubbed Her slave’s slippery vulva, sensing the high-frequency vibrations of the vaginal egg. “Out it goes.” With a long, lustful moan Michelle let the vibrator easily glide out of her hot body into the Grand Mistress’ hand. The redheaded woman put it away, then loosen the straps of the tight opera gloves, just to refasten them on Her pony’s back again. She unhooked the collar chain and removed Michelle’s blinders/blindfold, but let everything else of the girl’s fetish outfit in place. The brunette was led out of the van and took some faltered steps to the two other slaves. Soon all three were chained together again.
Grand Mistress Gillian gave Her Beauty a tug. “Let’s go.” The slaves started to move, followed by the Inferior Mistress. Again Michelle made hoof sounds, still with wobbling steps, her legs tired. The nipple bells rang rhythmically. Kate behind her had far worse problems to walk. More than the strict suspension she had been in, the severe burns in her rectum made every movement agonising.
Vanessa had a hard time holding the paining hook up her arse. With every step it screwed and bobbed and worked in her rectum, then slid out to the point where only the metal ball was inside her orifice. Now her poor, sore rosette had to carry the whole weight. Instead of using the door through which the four ball-gagged slaves had been disappeared, the Grand Mistress led Her property to the far front side of the storehouse. There stood, rear to the brick wall and separated from the others, three more cars, obviously vehicles of high-ranking persons. All were black, but one seemed to have ghostly graphics in its paintwork, gleaming in the building’s weak lighting. Vanessa recognised in passing the Jaguar emblem on the still hot bonnet, but didn’t care.
Near the VIP car park was an exit and cool, fresh air poured inside as the heavy doorwings opened automatically. Vanessa was surprised that the night had already started to fall. First stars had become visible in the darkened sky, but the whole horizon behind the main building glowed in cruel orange. Violet shreds of torn clouds seemed to melt in the dying sun’s fire while a column of black smoke was promulgating the work of a nearby crematory. They crossed a huge, wall-surrounded yard, following a street or drive that led them towards a colossal turbine house. Being built in the industrial design of the early 20th century, it rose frightening against the western sky. In this area were no guards, just some fair visitors here and there which got some fresh air, not caring about the weak, but clearly noticeable smell.
A light wind came from the east and took most of the crematory’s smoke with it. Grand Mistress Gillian was greeted by every single guest with highest respect. “With you I would normally use one of the side entrances, but they are all crowd, mostly with replacement meat. So you are receiving the undeserved honour to enter through the main gate. Of course, you will pay with pain for that later.” “These unworthy slaves thank their Grand Mistress,” Vanessa uttered, acting for all three. The closer they came to the main entrance area, the better Vanessa could make out the scenery.