Slave to the Grind Collection
By Ergo
Copyright Ergo Perve 2011
Published by The Perve
Smashwords Edition
The nasty folk at Hunt Enterprises, an organisation specializing in the production and sale of willing sex slaves, use and abuse Slave Cynthia for pleasure and profit. Included in this collection are: Slave Cynthia: Corporate Slave, Slave Cynthia: The Appraisal, Slave Cynthia: Corporate Bootlicker, Slave Cynthia: Slave Market Blues, and Slave Cynthia: Prize Slave.
Cover Image: Elbow638 by Master Robin65 sourced at Wikimedia Commons http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Elbow638.jpg
Corporate Slave
Two days passed at the cafe with no word from Mistress Ebony. Maree had assured me that Ebony would summon me when needed, but I was beginning to despair and had resolved to contact my mistress that afternoon regardless, once my shift was over.
My cunt got wet at the thought of the punishment I would receive for such impertinence, and I counted the crawling hours and minutes impatiently as the end of my shift approached. Much to my annoyance, an older man came in just before we closed the kitchen for breakfast and settled down in a corner of the cafe.
Determined to make his stay as brief as possible, I approached and spoke curtly.
'The kitchen is closing. Would you like to order?' I asked, with my pen poised over my order pad. He looked me up and down with cold, grey eyes.
'Are you Cynthia?'
'Why do you ask?'
'I have a receipt here from Ebony,' he said, and withdrew a piece of paper from his jacket pocket.
'You do?' I said, my voice cracking as I spoke. Had my mistress sold me to a man?
'Yes,' he said, and pointed to the floor at his feet. I quickly got on all fours and started licking at his boots.
'You will pay for your rudeness,' he said. 'Stand up so that I can inspect you.'
I stood, my heart pounding in my chest and my knees weak. It had been many years since a man had made use of me.
He stood up and looked me up and down. Taking my chin in his hand, he turned my head this way and that. Then he forced my mouth open with his thick fingers and pushed them deep inside. With his other hand, he pulled down the top of my uniform to expose my breasts, which he groped and pinched. Removing his hand from my mouth, he slapped me twice on each cheek, and then ran his hands over my breasts, pinching and rubbing at the nipples before reaching down and lifting my skirt above my waist. He pushed my panties down so that they sat mid thigh and inspected my shaved and dripping cunt, then he turned me by the shoulders and inspecting my ass, parting my cheeks and fondling my anus.
'When I was a young man,' he said, taking a collar and leash from the depths of his jacket, 'I would have carried you out of here on my shoulder like the piece of meat that you are.'
With my clothes askew, he led me from the cafe. It was late morning and the street outside was full of people. Passers-by stopped and looked as he loaded me into the back of his SUV, where he set me on my hands and knees and then secured me with shackles set in the floor. Beside me was a briefcase that had Carmine Hunt engraved on a small metal plate, which I assumed was his name.
From the front seat of the car, he pulled a butt plug from the glove compartment and fucked my cunt with it a few times, before pushing it into my asshole.
The drive felt longer than it was. At every light or stop sign, people would point at me, and laugh. Some made rude gestures, and a group of young men in a gaudily decorated sports car followed us for five or six miles, gesturing with fingers and tongues. Carmine did not seem to notice. I, on the other hand, was conscious of my state of undress; of how my tits bounced with every bump, and the way the plug in my ass stood out so obviously. My face was red with humiliation and shame for the entire journey, and I breathed a sigh of relief when we turned off the main highway and onto a private road that wound through the manicured gardens of an extensive estate.
Carmine parked the car before a small building beside the main house and dragged me out, balancing me easily in one hand in a remarkable display of strength and balance as he retrieved the briefcase. I could feel the knotted muscles of his arms and chest beneath the expensive fabric of his suit, and realized that this was not a man to be taken lightly.
The building into which he carried me was painted white inside and out, and had a sterile feel. In the center was a desk on which sat a computer and a telephone. On the wall to the right was a bookshelf stuffed with books and folios. There were shackles mounted all across the back wall, and a wall cabinet full of whips, clamps, and paddles that made my cunt water. A white leather spanking table was tucked into the far left corner. The wall to the left had a floor to ceiling window with a glass door in its centre that was marked 'living quarters'. It looked into another white room that contained a Spartan bed with shackles at each end, a toilet, and a shower, all in plain view.