FROM SLUT TO SLAVE

 
FROM SLUT TO SLAVE:
Slaves Stories
2008-03-25
FROM SLUT TO SLAVE by

Brian Khast

Copyright resides with author

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PART ONE

Elizabeth Berisford was impressed. The room into which the pertly
attractive, yet deferential, maid had shown her was large and
luxurious. Its owner rose to greet her with a welcoming smile.

"Mrs Craddock?"

"And you are Elizabeth Berisford. Tamara Joslyn told me to expect
you. Please sit down."

Elizabeth sat in the comfortable chair in front of the great
Chippendale desk. Mrs Craddock was not at all what she had expected.
She was in her late fifties or early sixties, with a comfortably
rounded, motherly figure and a face which had clearly once been
beautiful. Even now it combined attractiveness, tranquillity and
decency in equal measures. Elizabeth had expected a hard faced woman,
brash and demanding but this obviously wealthy and sophisticated lady
was the antithesis of that vision.

Elizabeth Berisford was a beauty - a famous beauty. She was twenty-
six years old, the daughter of a wealthy peer. Red haired, five foot
eight inches in height with a figure, which was a little too full for
a supermodel, but magnificent to the eye of any red blooded male. Her
lovely face, with its high forehead, deliciously straight nose, wide,
sensual mouth and determined but shapely chin, was framed by a thick
mane of red hair. Stunning green eyes, large and almond shaped, could
spit fire or soften with passion, with many variations in between
according to her mood. The daughter of a life peer rates high in
British Society but does not normally reach the apex of that odd and
restricted body. But the particularly striking beauty which Elizabeth
possessed drove her effortlessly into the upper echelons; so much so
that she was able to decline the proposal of a Prince of the Blood,
whom Elizabeth considered a prime wimp and a lousy lay.

For all her perfect beauty, Elizabeth knew she was flawed. It
accounted for the fact that her expressions were often tinged with
sullenness. She loved respect, pomp and luxury and would have adored
the life of a Princess, but she knew that while her Royal husband
would have total freedom, she herself might just as well be a harem
wife. The unwritten laws of the Court said that the wife of the Prince
could not indulge in illicit affairs while her husband could do so as
much as he wished. Given the lifestyle offered, many women - perhaps
even most women - would have accepted the bargain. For Elizabeth it
was impossible.

She had hardly known Tamara when they met in a night-club. Both
were disillusioned with their drunken escorts who were acting
outrageously with the club hostesses, who happily accepted a degree of
public groping which the two Society women were not prepared to
tolerate. Both Tamara and Elizabeth were themselves soaked liberally
with an intake of champagne and, left to themselves, they had
exchanged confidences in a way which Elizabeth now largely - though
not entirely - regretted. Men, Elizabeth had said, went to brothels
for satisfaction. Why should a woman not enjoy the same privilege? Men
could act out their inmost fantasies - for a price. Why could a
wealthy woman like Elizabeth not do the same?

And somewhere in the alcohol induced conversation Tamara had
indicated that was exactly possible. She had herself done it. She knew
a discreet lady who, for a fee - a pretty considerable fee, Tamara had
stressed - could make even the most extreme of female fantasies come
true.

The telephone number had been passed just before the disgraced male
escorts returned to their table with the proposition for a six-some in
an upstairs bed within the confines of the club. Tamara and Elizabeth
had walked out of the club, apparently in high dudgeon, though more
truthfully, anxious to pursue their conversation. They shared a taxi
back to their flats. On the way Elizabeth had probed further. Was
Tamara's contact really discreet as well as reliable? What sort of
money was involved? Could one really discuss ones innermost needs and
fantasies? Elizabeth had only gone so far in describing her needs to
Tamara.

Tamara had given satisfactory responses and a fortnight later,
Elizabeth found herself sitting comfortably, though somewhat tensely,
in this beautiful room. Certainly the woman on the other side of the
splendid desk oozed trust and reliability. Nevertheless this was a
delicate matter and Elizabeth was cautious.

"Did Tamara mentioned my - problem?" she murmured, hoping that the
other would launch into a tariff of possibilities. She was to be
disappointed.

"Indeed she did," Mrs Craddock nodded. "But from experience I know
I must hear direct from the client. The only thing I will say is that
a lot of delightful ladies have sat in that chair and, so far, I have
managed for them to achieve a high degree of - ah - satisfaction." She
smiled encouragingly as she said the last few words, making it clear
that the double entendre was not unintentional. "And please understand
that nothing you say will surprise or shock me. I may be somewhat
advanced in years but I run this as a straightforward consultancy and
my own personal experience was not gained by theory. I practised what
I now preach - which is a woman's right to complete sexual
satisfaction."

"Well," Elizabeth said, squirming slightly on her chair and
flushing. "I'm highly sexed - maybe oversexed, and the blunt truth is
that I can't stop thinking about it and fantasising about it."

Mrs Craddock nodded sagely. "That's not in the least unusual."

"But I seem to take it to extremes," Elizabeth said desperately,
but she began to experience a sense of relief at being able to
communicate her problems to this obviously interested and caring
woman.

"Tell me - tell me exactly what it is like."

"I get - you know - very wet. If a man brushes against me in a
crowd my whole body seems to vibrate. And the fantasies just pile up
and up ..."

"Tell me about the fantasies."

Elizabeth gulped then the words came out in a rush. "Rape -
violence - perversion - always with strangers."

"Does crude language excite you?"

Elizabeth gulped. "Yes. Very much."

"You're excited by the idea of a man telling you what he wants to
do to you?"

"Oh, yes."

"Do you think you could be submissive?"

Elizabeth stared. Her mind grappled with a recent experience but
she decided not to volunteer it for the moment. Her reply was probably
too definite and she saw the flicker of doubt in Mrs Craddock's eyes.
"Submissive - no, certainly not. The men in my life seem to think I'm
something of a bitch."

"In your present life," Mrs Craddock corrected gently. "In summary,
then, you seem to want a lot more sex, rougher sex with more demanding
men who are strangers. And you want everything realistic."

Elizabeth forced a shy smile. "It sounds awful when you put it like
that. Perverted ... "

"Perversions are something that some people approve of and others
don't. It's just a word that fools use. In my view the rule is that if
you like it or it excites you, then do it."

"So can you help me?" Elizabeth gulped.

"Probably. Let me see, I imagine you find sex with men in your own
circle disappointing," Mrs Craddock assumed a benign expression.
"Because that is not the sort of sex you want and the men probably
treat you like a Goddess - which is the last thing you want. Beauty
can be something of a curse, you know. Men - and even women -worship
beauty and think it should be treated like fragile china. It's often
untrue. I think that you need certain coarseness, a certain dominance.
To be fucked by something rampantly male and quite uncaring about your
more delicate feelings. Perhaps whipped?"

Elizabeth was becoming sexually aroused. The familiar wetness in
her crotch was developing and it felt as if a trickle was running down
her inner thigh. There was tightness in her chest and a slight
constriction in her breathing. Moreover there was some truth in what
the other was saying.

"I have fantasised about whips but I don't think I could take a
beating in reality. I hate pain. I'm not even certain that I'd want
all my fantasies turned into reality - it could be just too much. I
just don't know! I can't tell you some things I fantasise about.
Probably I wouldn't like a really brutal man if it really came about
but a bit of roughing up could be appropriate." She put a hand to her
flushed cheek in a gesture of embarrassment. "I suppose I sound mixed
up - not knowing what I really want except that what I'm getting now
is hardly leaving me happy and fulfilled. But I would like more sex -
lots more sex. But I don't want a lot of involvement - just plain, raw
sex."

Again she was not being entirely frank. She had in recent months
experienced crude sex with a man in unusual circumstances. Exactly the
sort of man Mrs Craddock had described. Coarse, brutal and with an
absolutely huge penis that seemed insatiable. That was over and she
hungered for something similar. But she also realised that danger was
present in such episodes. She wanted more of the same but on a
controlled basis.

"What you want is quite clear to me. Nor is it unusual. Please
forget that dreadful word 'perversion'. Tell more about these things
that you say that you can't tell me about." Mrs Craddock smiled as she
said it but there was certain tenseness about her body language that
indicated more than an academic interest.

Elizabeth moaned as she felt the sexual excitement rising within
her. She felt her defences crumbling. "I just can't. Sometimes I want
dreadful things done to me. I try not to think of them but they just
flood into my mind. Sometimes I can't think of anything else. Can you
help me? Is there anything you can do?"

"I can. Now, please take off your clothes."

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. "Is that - is that necessary?"

"It's essential. And you may feel freer without your clothes though
that's not the main reason. The more I know about you the more I can
help you. Clothes are a fine camouflage, particularly the sort of
designer stuff that you are wearing. You want reality and I need to
see your reality." Mrs Craddock smiled. "I am after all an oldish lady
- if you go through with what we shall plan together you will be
stripping in front of a much more intimidating audience."

A shiver ran down her spine then, slowly, Elizabeth rose and began
to remove her expensive clothes, folding each item carefully and
placing it on a nearby table. The pile of clothing rose until she was
left wearing white panties - dampened at the crotch - and bra, self-
suspending stockings and her Gucci shoes. At that point she looked
appealingly at Mrs Craddock who smiled back encouragingly.

"Shoes and stockings as well, dear! I want to see even the shape of
your feet."

It was not her feet that was concerning Elizabeth but her buttocks.
They were splendidly rounded but the cleft was wider spread than usual
and slightly shallow. The inner skin was also darker. It was a feature
which caused teasing at school in the shower rooms. She had tried to
hide it even when having sex. Except with Billy, of course. She had
flaunted it at him at his demand - but Billy had been different. The
flaw - which was the way Elizabeth normally regarded it - meant that
when stooping forward even slightly, both her sex and anus was
flaunted and the dark skin, contrasting with the creamy buttocks, gave
the impression that her bottom was soiled though she was always
scrupulously clean.

She exhaled slightly then reached behind her and unfastened the
bra. It fell away from the splendid breasts, which dipped slightly and
swayed seductively. Mrs Craddock blinked as her eyes took in the
splendid breasts, thick, erect nipples and the broad, pink aureoles.
Elizabeth placed the garment on the table then sat on the chair,
removed her shoes and stripped off the stockings. Clad only in white
panties she turned to face the older woman who was watching, poker
faced.

"Now the rest."

Already embarrassed by the darkened, wet patch of her only garment,
refusal hovered on the girl's lips but suddenly she capitulated. She
slipped off the panties and, only half turning at the waist, flung
them at the pile of discarded clothes. Her full breasts swayed and
bobbed as she moved and her diaphragm dilated and contracted with the
heavier breathing that the situation generated. The nipples were large
and red, sharply erect with wide aureoles contrasting marvellously
with the creamy skin. Redheads often had poor skin but that of
Elizabeth Berisford was flawless - from the front. Mrs Craddock
frowned. The way Elizabeth had stripped and tried not to expose her
back was a clear indication that there was something of which
Elizabeth was ashamed.

Naked, she stood defiantly in front of the older woman, though she
had difficulty in keeping her hands at her side rather than use them
as a final concealment. From the top of her immaculately coiffered
hair to the red nailed toes of her slender feet she could hide nothing
of her frontal charms. Her body curved seductively. The marvellous
diaphragm tapered down to a tiny waist that then curved gently
outwards to the full hips - probably a trifle over full. It was a flaw
which added rather than detracted to the overall impression of unusual
sensuality. The thighs were slender and the legs long and shapely. The
tuft at her mound repeated the in a slightly lighter tone, the thick
red hair of her head. It was neatly trimmed to accommodate a modern
swimsuit but Mrs Craddock saw that if allowed to grow it would be full
and curly. As it was, the tight lips of her sex were revealed through
the growth and between them, protruding slightly, the inner flesh,
which was as red as the taut nipples.

"Good. Now please turn around."

Elizabeth realised that there was no point in holding back at this
point. She turned with a quick, almost defiant, movement and the older
woman stifled a gasp of satisfaction as she saw what Elizabeth
regarded as a flaw. Fantastic!

From the rear, Elizabeth Berisford could hide nothing. She was
naked in the fullest sense of the word. By clenching her buttocks
tightly she might achieve a partial concealment but not for long. She
had the sense not to try. The dark brown skin within the cleft
emphasised the carnal organs, suggested obscenity, stripping this
magnificent woman of all vestiges of her privacy.

Mrs Craddock rose and walked around the desk. She stood in front of
Elizabeth who tried not to meet her eyes.

"You are a very beautiful woman and we shall work hard to help you
achieve what you desire."

Involuntarily she touched Elizabeth's left breast but the girl
shied away slightly, looking worried.

"Stay naked!" Mrs Craddock again sat behind the desk. "Just one or
two other questions; again, I'm afraid, a little intimate. Do you
practise oral sex?"

Elizabeth flushed. She sat, then found herself having to decide
whether to cross her legs or just keep her knees closed. "Sometimes -
with a condom. It helps get a man erect. Some of them can't -"

"Yes, yes. I didn't just mean oral stimulation. I meant to
ejaculation."

Elizabeth reddened again. Mentally she excluded her performances
with Billy. "Well, I usually avoid ejaculation in my mouth, even with
a condom."

She felt further humiliated by the fact that she could smell her
own excitement and knew Mrs Craddock would smell it as well. Given the
fortune she spent on deodorants and perfumes she felt that she should
have been spared that humiliation.

"Anal sex?" Mrs Craddock enquired.

"No." Elizabeth's face assumed an expression of distaste though
inwardly her heartbeat quickened. One could not tell a new
acquaintance everything. "It must be a bit - dirty - unless it's
planned, of course. Unpleasant and unhygienic. Disgusting."

"Quite so. But some like their sexual behaviour dirty and smelly."

Elizabeth's mind flashed back to the episode of a few weeks before,
when she had sensed that she was on the verge of being buggered - and
hoped it would happen. Again she was being less than honest.

Mrs Craddock smiled that motherly, disarming smile. "I don't like
the word 'disgusting' any more than I like 'perversion'. But there is
more to sex than just opening your legs and laying back. I would never
suggest anyone indulging in anything they would not enjoy but I
suspect you are a little more adventurous than you are saying. I
certainly hope so. The best advice I can give is for you to follow
your instincts of the moment. Often, you will find that variety adds
zest. And, of course, you should aim to please an active partner." She
waited with her head cocked as if expecting an answer.

Elizabeth nodded though her face was red. She was still more than a
little reticent to discuss detail but she did understand that there
was no point in acting like a vestal virgin.

"Now." Mrs Craddock folded her arms and rested them on the desk.
"Have you ever considered or fantasised about being a brothel girl?"

Elizabeth gaped and flushed again. "Well, yes, but - "

"You want a succession of sexual encounters with men who you do not
know and who will treat you as a sexually desirable woman rather than
an awe-inspiring beauty. They will certainly sometimes be rough - but
in a well run brothel you will be discretely protected, so real danger
will not exist, Though you might well be stimulated by a sense of
danger. We can adjust the flow of clients to your requirements and you
will certainly get all the casual sex you can handle. Once you have
had experience we can discuss other approaches but a brothel seems to
be a sensible beginning."

Elizabeth gazed at her with wide eyes. "You want me to become a
whore?"

"That's just a label and in fact you'll be paying for the
privilege. You'll be using the clients as much as they'll be using
you. You came here because you wanted a different track to
satisfaction." she went on. "Just imagine, Elizabeth. You lay on a bed
in a nice pink furnished room, surrounded by mirrors and sex aids. The
man comes in and he fucks you - I'm not wrapping this up or using
euphemisms - he fucks you. Maybe he satisfies you and maybe he doesn't
but immediately he has gone another arrives. You're fucked again, any
way he wants but for you it's the second time and it'll be a miracle
if you don't come. After that it's a procession, man after man - just
one common denominator, they all shoot their spunk into your cunt and
if you're as sexed up as you have described then you'll get orgasm
after orgasm."

She sat back in her chair looking at the wide eyed Elizabeth who was
looking distinctly shocked at the torrent of foul language which
seemed utterly out of place in this elegant room or from this motherly
lady.

Mrs Craddock went on after a short pause, which allowed her words
to sink in.

"I am sorry. To paraphrase a common saying, I had to be crude to be
kind. You must understand that there is no 'nice' way to explain this.
Whatever solution we choose for you hangs on getting a lot of male
cocks into your cunt and creating sufficient lubrication and clitoral
massage to bring you to serial orgasms. Of course, you may insist on
the use of condoms - many whores do nowadays and we can refuse use of
your anal passage - though you might rethink that after a while. It
can be very thrilling. I speak from personal experience, my dear."

Elizabeth was still shocked and she found it impossible to imagine
this elegant old lady raising her ample buttocks ...

She stuttered weakly. "But - I thought - maybe you knew some men
who could be hired -"

"Of course I do," Mrs Craddock seemed slightly exasperated. "But
that's artificial. Oh, they'll play their part all right and they'll
do anything you want. But you need that tinge of danger and realism.
You want to be used by real people not by bought puppets. You're a
real woman who wants real men. And real experience."

Elizabeth considered. There was no doubting the fire within
her and wetness between her legs. She could feel the
excitement as she contemplated what the other was saying. She crossed
her legs as if to repress the tell-tale sex odour.

"The brothel." She spoke in an uncertain voice. "Will it be high
class?"

"It certainly won't be too high class, dear and for various
reasons. Firstly you might meet men you know in a top class brothel.
Secondly you're not keen on perversions and that's all high class
brothels cater for. Thirdly you want a flow of men interested in
fucking, not some rich man who wants a beautiful woman for a one night
love affair with perversion and sex as an add on."

"God, it all sounds so sordid!"

"But does it sound like what you want?"

Elizabeth swallowed. Her throat was dry and she felt that her
breathing was laboured. Quite apart from the wetness in her crotch -
which she thought might stain the expensive chair in which she sat -
she could feel perspiration breaking out on her body.

"Yes," she croaked. "I'll do it."

And prayed that she had made the right decision.

*****

When Elizabeth had gone Mrs Craddock poured herself a large, neat
scotch. Once committed, Elizabeth Berisford had been pathetically
anxious to agree the details. Utter confidentiality with only Mrs
Craddock herself to be contacted in the case of problems. Not even
Tamara Joslyn, the original contact was to know about what was
planned. The project was to last for a week. Elizabeth was to tell her
friends that she was going to Paris for that particular period and was
to purchase an air ticket accordingly - which she would hand to Mrs
Craddock together with two thousand pounds in cash plus her passport
the day prior to the appointed day. Mrs Craddock stressed that the
airline ticket would be used and that Elizabeth would be registered as
having taken the flight. Elizabeth would book in to Mrs Craddock's
house at the time at which she would normally book into the airport
and would then be taken to her destination.

Mrs Craddock sipped at her drink. To an observer she would no
longer have appeared the elegant and motherly lady who had greeted
Elizabeth on her arrival. There was now a hardness about her face,
which belied her earlier claim to be a rich woman interested only in
the satisfaction of her female clients.

She picked up the telephone and dialled Tamara Joslyn and spoke
tersely.

"You did well with Elizabeth Berisford. It will be remembered. Dye
your hair or wear a red wig and come and see me on Thursday week.
You're going to Paris. You can work with Madame Melly for a few days.
She can always use another whore at this time of the year. Under no
circumstances are you to speak to Elizabeth so book yourself into a
hotel in Birmingham or somewhere similar until I contact you again. As
soon as you've made your arrangements let me know where you are.
Understand?"

The woman at the other end meekly assented.

"And if you don't do exactly what I have told you, then you will
have a very nasty experience. Don't spoil the good work you've done."
She replaced the telephone without waiting for a reply and dialled
another number.

"Marcus. We have a fresh piece of merchandise. That one I told you
about. The redhead -very lush. When are you making the next shipment?"

The harsh voice at the other end replied, "Ten days. The
documentation is all done but one more won't make much difference."

"That'll just about suit. I want this one away quickly. She's well
known and there might be a fuss about her disappearance. But ten days
is about right."

"How are you getting her here?"

"She'll come with me under her own steam. I've convinced the silly
bitch that she needs your ministrations. You'll thank me for her. I
don't want her harmed badly - she'll bring a fortune, I promise. But
you can play with her and get her used to her future role. She's a
stunner but stupid. When I talked dirty to her she would have crapped
her knickers if she'd been wearing any. You'll enjoy her but treat her
like shit - she'll respond to that. And, frankly, once she's got used
to our ways she'll probably enjoy herself as well. She's three
quarters nympho already. How is our aristo?"

The man laughed. "In a word - constipated. Mary is going to give
her an enema then string her up and thrash her. Literally beat the
shit out of her. Her husband is coming to watch. Dirty bastard."

"Has he been there much?"

"Sir James is a constant visitor and he's full of suggestions. He
really hates the bitch, which is a pity because she is - or was - a
beauty. Frankly it's a shame to see it go to waste."

"But not so much of a beauty now?"

"She hasn't had a shower or even a wash since she came here. She's
beaten and rap-d every day. She's had her arse branded and several of
her former servants have had the run of her. Lady Helena is certainly
learning how the unprivileged live!"

"And her lover?"

"Branded, buggered and beaten. He was smuggled out a month ago. By
now he'll be working naked in the quarries. He'll never return."

"Well, we must keep Sir James happy. Indulge any suggestions he
has. He's the major shareholder, remember."

"I never forget it, Olga. But we could have got a pile of money for
Helena de Barrie."

"If it's any consolation, we'll get more for the redhead that I'm
sending you. Helena is in her thirties while this one is mid twenties.
She's the best I've ever seen. And don't have too much pity on Helena
- she had a good deal and she cheated on her husband. She must have
known the risks. But most of all she was stupid to throw it all up for
such a wimp. In my book she deserves everything she gets."

"Olga, I have to say it, you're the most vicious, depraved, money
mad woman I've ever come across - and in my line of work I mean that
as a huge compliment."

"And you're just a sentimental black bastard!"
They both laughed.

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