Feminine Imports Ch. 10

Hey everyone, thanks for coming back! This will be the closing of the Feminine Imports story. I'd like to thank everyone not only for sticking around until the end. I don't like to neglect my craft for this long, but sometimes life gets in the way of hobby-writing porn. Who knows, maybe I might even become a pro writer one day! That'd be kinda cool, amirite?

But seriously folks, thank you for all the love and patience you've heaped on me over the past 10ish months (ever since the "Dave" series started). Feel free to leave comments down below, or for those stricken with stage-fright, send me a feedback email. I love hearing what you guys have to say; whether it's alternate story ideas, reader theories, pestering me about other works, recommending other stories to read, or just to say Hii.

Needless to say; consent Is necessary in real-life.

Samantha Miller woke up in a cell, stark naked. After the bailiff removed her from the court, she was sent straight to a special wing of the federal detention center used to house female inmates destined for the auction block. Samantha had been poked and prodded constantly; blood samples needed to be taken for the eventual slave dossier and sedatives needed to be injected to make her less overtly violent with the guards.

Since the Female Slavery Laws had passed, parts of women's prisons had been converted into beauty parlor's. Every female inmate who was to be sold at auction following their sentencing was sent for mandatory beautification; laser hair removal, manicure/pedicure, skin exfoliation, and a cosmetic dental touch-up was the standard issue for most soon-to-be-slaves.

Fiscal watchdog NGO's first tried to make a stink about the cost of installing these beauty parlors inside of women's prisons. After all, women's beauty parlors are more capital-intensive than men's barbershops. At first, there was some political jockeying and posturing necessary by the Congressional supporters of the idea; they posited that the extra income made from beautifying female inmates prior to auction would more than pay for the facility upgrades. After all, the thinking went, citizens would pay extra for women who were more attractive than untreated inmates.

After 9 months of the involuntary beauty parlor's launch, the spike in auction income was undeniable; they became a major revenue generator for the facility. Thus, fiscal watchdog NGO's and well-intended liberals hemmed-and-hawed at the practice but had no operational leg to stand on when opposing the practice. They switched to their moral arguments, which mostly just fell on deaf ears.

Samantha was just another inmate to be processed against her will through the standard battery of beautification standards. She looked at the polished metal plate in her isolated cell, absolutely hating what she had been forced to become, though also too drugged out to feel any rage regarding her situation. What was once a mighty lioness had now become a demure zoo animal.

The day of the auction came as her bloodwork was healthy and STD panel came back negative. Since she was sentenced to a federal prison, her auction would be open to the whole nation. Nationwide inmate auctions typically attracted much more eyeballs than the local auctions, and the fact that the disgraced leader of The Pink Claw was for sale drew significantly more eyeballs than usual. Millions tuned into the livestream, even if their pockets weren't deep enough to seriously compete in a bidding war.

The warden's designee led Samantha, out onto the stage. Samantha, who was cuffed in standard inmate shackles, nude and ball-gagged was ordered to turn and face the cameras. Much like her day in court, her time on the auction block felt more like an out-of-body experience than anything; it was the only way she could cope with her new reality. Ten days ago, she was a free woman-albeit the most wanted woman in America, according to the FBI-and now she was a convicted felon and about to be a slave.

The bidding started, and her price instantly soared into the five figures. Athletes, tech entrepreneurs, Wall Street executives and other oligarchs had all put in bids for the legal right to own Samantha. Soon the price was north of $400,000; it wasn't everyday that one had the chance to enslave a former fem-terrorist leader.

Minutes dragged by and Samantha felt weak at the knees, she started physically trembling as she saw the price tag on her literal life climb higher and higher. The lengthening number, now in the single-digit millions, showed that she was going to become the property of someone with the means of controlling her existence down to the most granular detail.

The bidding slowed at the $3 million mark as the number of bidders thinned. There were two bidders left; a financial services company based in Guam, and a retired professional athlete turned real-estate tycoon. Eventually, the bidding stopped, and the gavel was dropped. Samantha Miller, aka Madam Lioness was sold at federal auction for $3.963 million; quite a wide margin for the prison, indeed.

Fallen Rock, NM: Tuesday

It had been 10 weeks since Steven acquired the abandoned wholesale warehouse for $1 from the town of Fallen Rock, New Mexico. Since then, Steve had been concentrating nearly all of his efforts on getting the new Southwestern hub operational. After all, he had a commitment to keep to Dennis to hire dozens of local residents to aid in the clean-up, turnaround, and operational kickstart of the new company site. Stuck in his old habit, Steven had set-up a makeshift bedroom for himself inside the office where Dennis had violated Crystal mere weeks earlier. Steve had left the operation of the Northeast sit mostly up to Brett and Carlos, and they had both proven to be capable leaders in their newfound roles.

The day after the Samantha's auction, Steve was on his daily operations call with Brett. After they had finished briefly going over discussing the schedule for the next few days and improvement ideas, the conversation shifted.

"Yo Boss, you hear about that psycho bitch, Madam Lioness?"

"Yeah, she got convicted" Steve said nonchalantly. "What about her?"

"She sold for a record at the prison auction."

"Hmm, you don't say" Steve said politely, yet his indifference was readily apparent.

"The crazy chick who tried to burn your house down, and who you helped put away" Brett reminded. "You really don't care?"

"Have we been contracted for her transport?" Steve asked, already knowing the answer.

"Sadly, no."

"Then I don't really care who bought her or where the bitch winds up. Face down in a roadside ditch for all I fucking care."

Steve ended the call shortly thereafter with Brett. After all, he had a new Southwestern business hub to run. The breakneck pace of the new facility start-up was a lot for Steve, even for a founder who was used to sleeping in his desk. As much as he delegated off to Brett, he still felt the need to check up on the site he built from nothing. However, he had to wrestle that with the need to let go and to let Brett handle things.

Suddenly, he got a call from a familiar number. A sinking feeling formed in the pit of his stomach; he knew that he had to answer though was slightly dreading it. The phone seemed to ring forever as Steve motioned for Brian to stop what he was doing and come over. Steve reluctantly answered the phone as Brian stood next to him.

"This is Steve, and you're on speakerphone."

"Ah yes Steve, this is Detective Fraggipone."

"My attorney is present and listening to this call" Steve curtly reminded the trench-coated cop. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

"Well, I'm just here to frankly thank you for your cooperation in bringing Samantha Miller, better known as Madam Lioness to justice. Thanks to the evidence seized on her computer, which we connected to Rae, strike teams have been taking down one Pink Claw cell after another across the nation."

Steve said nothing and let the silence hang in the air for an uncomfortable length of time. "So, given that Rae's computer being used in the conviction is a matter of public record, and the statement you just made, I imagine that the funds will be deposited into my company's account soon... right?"

Steve knew that he had the reward system right where he wanted it. While Fraggipone had little control over the dispersal of the funds, Steve still enjoyed making the big-nosed detective squirm. After all, Fraggipone had been the front-man for much of Steve's headaches lately; every minute not spent expanding the business was a minute wasted; justice be damned.

Fraggipone cleared his throat. "Yes, we'll send an encrypted e-mail over to the address you provided us."

Fraggipone exhaled, his delivery exuded reluctance "After receiving the account information, the funds will be deposited within a business day." Fraggipone used a lengthy pause to his advantage "After-tax, of course."

"Fine by me."

Steve hung up on the Detective as if he were closing the bureaucrat out of existence. Steve wondered if his having Brian around for this call was necessary, though much of the value in having an in-house lawyer is that their mere presence tends to keep others honest.

Thursday in Fallen Rock

Steve had spent much of the day walking the floor of his new distribution center; partly to inspect for himself the progress that was being made relative to what needed to be finished next, and partly to build a rapport with his newly hired employees. Steve's mission wasn't to connect a name to a face right away, but it instead to build goodwill and approachability among the rank-and-file employees of his new site.

He went upstairs to the office that he shared with Brian and flipped open his laptop. He checked the account of his company, and was astonished at what he saw. Three million dollars (minus taxes, of course!) had been deposited by the Feds. Steve was stunned that Uncle Sam had not only kept his word, but paid on the timetable that was originally promised.

Ideas started racing around in Steve's head about all the upgrades to the business that he could buy with the money. Though he decided on one thing first-and-foremost; a celebration for his employees. After all, there was a lot going well; a new Southwestern hub, revenue was steadily growing in the Northeast, no more Fraggipone or Madam Lioness. The calendar was not Steve's friend-in the startup world, it never is- but he opted for something small and casual. He opened a few tabs on his laptop and began exploring venue and catering options near his home.

Given that the snow was beginning to melt in the Northeast, Steve knew that the rising temperatures would also mean rising venue prices-assuming he could score a venue at all. He then decided to internally yell Fuck it and sent out a company-wide email; Saturday afternoon would be the inaugural Feminine Imports company party at Steve's backyard.

One fucking email, and be done with it Steve thought.

Saturday, In The Northeast

Steve scrambled last minute to get everything lined up in his backyard, though he had to actively remind himself that today was supposed to be a fun day; a celebration. Guests would start arriving soon-mostly just his employees, representatives from his clients, and other close associates of Feminine Imports.

He set up a booth right at the edge of his driveway stocked with all of the essentials that his party guests would need. Black sharpies, name tags, condoms, and lubricant were all ready.

Steve wasn't quite done setting up when his first guests arrived albeit about thirty minutes earlier than scheduled. Carlos got out of his Subaru after parking in Steve's driveway, and he got out to help Michelle out of the passenger's side. Her pregnancy was now roughly 4 months along, and while her condition was not overly-restrictive to warrant that level of mobility assistance, the fact that she was leashed, box-tied, ball-gagged and wearing only a red robe and sandals had made navigation significantly harder.

"Ayo Boss, what's happenin'?"

Steve looked up, jubilant to see his new Head of Maintenance, as Steve saw fit to give Carlos a promotion after handing over the ordering responsibilities to him.

"Carlos! Good to see you!" Steve gave Carlos an enthusiastic fist bump.

He turned to the captive Michelle; ever so radiant due to her pregnancy, though her face still maintained the demure cuteness that had captured the attraction of countless men during her time at Cornell. "She looks as great as ever. Hey, the food will be here soon, feel free to take her out to the back so she can say hi to her old terrorist buddies."

"Well, she ain't gonna be saying anything" Carlos replied, and the two men shared a heartfelt laugh. Carlos tugged on Michelle's leash hard enough to signal to move with him, though not too hard to disturb her vulnerable balance.

Carlos rounded the corner, past the window that Michelle had broken into many months ago and what she saw made her face turn pale. Rae, Courtney, Crystal, and Kelly were all hog-tied on a table. Their knees were spread apart to allow unimpeded access to their lasered pussies, their arms tied in the reverse-prayer position in order to remove the possibility of resistance, their mouths were hopelessly ball-gagged.

Carlos shot a look towards Steve, and the founder replied with a single word "Entertainment."

Soon others started to arrive; Roy and George had arrived, as had Brian LeClair and Dennis Green. Shockingly, an older van pulled up with Nevada license plates. Steve peered around the corner to the unrecognized vehicle.

Is this another attack from The Pink Claw? Even as Madam Kitty-Bitch was convicted and auctioned off? His senses were heightened for a moment. No, it can't be. This is too brazen, even for them; broad daylight, too many witnesses. Steve's rationalizing went into hyper-drive.

But then again, the attack on Vegas; that was a brazen as it gets Steve mind raced further.

The sliding door opened and a bunch of young men came spilling out, their enthusiasm for the event met only by their compulsive need to stretch their legs and crack their backs. Steve recognized them immediately; they were Damon, Kyle, Logan, Joe, Corey, and several other new hires from the Fallen Rock site. Steve's blood pressure dropped for the moment.

"Guys! You guys... flew all the way out here from New Mexico?"

Corey spoke up. "Nah, we couldn't afford that, so we all chipped in for this van. My buddy works at the rental yard and he got me a sick deal. But yeah, we wouldn't miss the Feminine Imports party for the world man!" He gave Steve a firm handshake. "Thanks for setting up shop out in our town dude. You're doing big things, man!"

Steve was instantly hit with several emotions at once; flabbergasted that his new employees willingly drove themselves across the country for an optional weekend event, beating himself up forgetting to advertise the team building event in New Mexico, severe guilt that he hadn't done more to include the New Mexico employees, heart-warm that Corey and the gang genuinely meant their gratitude.

"Guys, save all your rental and gas receipts, alright? I'll reimburse you guys." He stared them in the eye. "Going forward, I'll make sure to host events like this in New Mexico; save yourselves the round-the-clock drive, kay?"

Corey and his crew were nearly jumping for joy, in the rambunctious way that men below 25 are oft known to do.

"Head out back guys, you'll see the entertainment. Grab a latex and knock yourselves out."

Steve tried as best as he could to project warmth as a host, which felt a bit foreign to him. As if on cue, folks starting to take name tags and stick them onto their shirts. Dennis Green, ever the experienced politician, was the first to start working the room and began introducing himself.

Corey and the rest of the New Mexico dude-bros could be heard hollering their excitement at the sight of the restrained fuck-slaves available. Their outburst was so sudden and so loud that the women on the table flinched a little, as if they were animals at a petting zoo startled by a loud noise. Crystal's eye's widened as she saw her former rapist Dennis walk by her field of vision.

Steve walked out to his backyard and whistled loudly to get everyone's attention. The idle conversations stopped and everyone turned their attention to Steve.

"Hey everyone, I'd just like to say a few words. First off, thank you guys so much for coming today. This is really a celebration of all of you guys, and for Feminine Imports as a whole. None of this would be possible without you."

Steve motioned towards the table where he had his four captives secured in their vulnerable positions "These four are free-use for anyone here at the party." Steve was met with a roar of hoots "There's condoms upfront for everyone who has not been pre-tested via the SlaveShare program. They're required if you haven't been tested, but for everyone else, they're optional. All three holes are open for use, but please re-gag them after your done using their mouths. Oh, and try not to leave any lasting marks, alright guys?"

"But hey, I don't want to make too many rules. Feel free to grab a marker and write whatever you want on them" Steve offered. "Bonus points for humor and creativity!" he half-joked. "The food will be here soon. That's all!"

With that, there was a mass migration to the folding table at the edge of Steve's driveway, much of it comprising of Steve's new employees from the Southwest who had never participated in the generous perk at Feminine Import before.

Within two minutes, latex-encased cocks were firmly inside of all four exposed pussies. Rae and her fellow domestic terrorists had started to plea unintelligibly through their gags, but their cries fell on seemingly deaf ears. If anything, it only encouraged the new hires from New Mexico to ramp up their rapacious intensity. Dennis Green stood in front of Crystal and unbuckled her ball-gag. He pinched her nose in order to force her mouth open, as Kyle from Fallen Rock was pumping away inside of her. Crystal could not hold her breath. Crystal relented and opened her mouth as she ran low on oxygen, and Dennis promptly shoved his plastic-encased cock inside of her.

At first, Dennis stood there and Crystal bobbed her head up-and-down his shaft, if for no other reason than for self-preservation. However, her current bound circumstances limited her range of motion, thus Dennis took matters into his own hands. He grabbed Crystals head with both hands to keep her still and started to mouth-fuck her. Crystal gargled and could be heard audibly choking and gasping as the middle-aged man's cock violated her throat; the enthusiasm of Dennis' mouthfuck was quite high.

A line had formed behind each gagged slave, though others took Dennis' lead and moved in front of each woman, unbuckled their gags, and shoved their cocks inside of the women's mouths.

A silver Rolls Royce slowly crept up to Steven Sharper's home. Greydon Michael's parked his expensive car on the street in front of Steve's home and cut the engine. He got out of the expensive car and assisted his passenger, a blindfolded woman in a red satin cloak, out of his car. Her hands were tied behind her back and upon her exit, he tugged on the Italian leather leash hard enough to let her know that it was time to start walking.

Steve saw Greydon approaching the party and decided to proactively greet his investor.

"Greydon, good to see you!" Steve shook Greydon's hand. "Fashionably late I see" he chuckled.

"Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way" Greydon chuckled back. Greydon's mildly larger-than-life personality was a bit grating to Steve, though Steve could not deny that Greydon's network helped facilitate a lot of Feminine Imports' recent expansion.

Steve looked toward the cloaked captive concubine "I see you brought a plus-one."

"Yes, I figured you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all" Steve insisted. "Please come on back, the party's underway."

Greydon obliged and soon the trio had joined the rest of the shindig. Greydon was greeted by the sight of the four hogtied slaves being double penetrated as a line formed behind each of them. A cacophony of clapping cheeks and muffled moans filled the air. They all had lewd messages written in blank marker ink on their supple bodies.

Well... that didn't take long Steve said as he glanced at the first few instances of flesh-graffiti.

Brian, who was firmly thrusting his cock into Courtney's mouth, looked up and caught a glimpse of Greydon and his involuntary guest.

"Greydon!, Glad you could make it. I see you brought your personal assistant from the firm? You don't need to always be on, you know" the portly lawyer joked as he was orally raping Courtney; Corey was currently occupying her pussy.

"Well, not quite" Greydon corrected. "You see, this is a new one."

"Oh please, nobody likes a show-off" Brian retorted as he mouth-fucked Courtney with a consistent pace.

"Trust me, you, Steve, and most of the company will want to see this" Greydon teased.

He then pulled at the fabric belt that held up the cloak and pulled back the woman's hood. He removed her blindfold, revealing a blue-eyed woman with a fair complexion and shoulder-length blonde hair.

"My God" Brian gasped. He pulled his cock out of Courtney's mouth and ejaculated in her hair, only half-intending to "That's..."

"Yep. Ms. Smantha Miller herself!" Greydon bragged.

That name immediately caught Steve's attention, as if he were a sentry from a classic Metal Gear Solid game. His mind raced to the high-profile trial and then the details suddenly came back to him.

Madam Lioness! Steve concluded The trial; she was convicted to auction. She was sold to some financial services company in the Pacific.

Steve's curiosity got the better of him as he looked at Greydon. "How'd you.."

"Shell company" Greydon cut off. "Trust me, you'll want to set one up after your exit. I'll walk you through it."

Greydon's offer hit Steve like a ton of bricks; both for its kindness through nonchalance, and its callous assumption. Steve couldn't picture a future where he wasn't involved in running Feminine Imports, even if he didn't necessarily always dream of being a courier of sex slaves. He didn't want to sell his company, though deep down he knew that one day he'd at least consider it.

Greydon slapped her ass and walked her out in front of the table where Steve's slaves were being gang-raped by employees of Feminine Imports. "Hey honey, want to say Hi to your former terrorist cell?"

Samantha looked tearfully as she saw that the rumors were true; Rae and her crew-formerly her top performing cell in the eastern half of the United States, had indeed wound up as mere chattel fuck-slaves. She looked over to Rae; who's face was already covered in partially caked-cum and had the word DOCILE written across her forehead. Samantha began to tear up.

Greydon began fondling Samantha's breasts to a roar of male approval; both for the obscene showing and for the justice that Madam Lioness's enslavement represented. Greydon unsheathes his pork sword and bent Smantha slightly forward. He rammed his cock inside her dry pussy, and started violating the former terrorist mastermind in front of her former subordinate cell.

The hollers from the male-dominated crowd filled the airspace as Greydon pumped away into Madam Lioness. As the enslaved feminists were being violated, the catering company that Steve ordered had finally showed up to his home. Steve silently remarked at their lack of professionalism due to how late they were, though he secretly hoped-against-hope that the food would be good enough to make up for the lack of punctuality. Steve ushered them to the side of his backyard up against his fence. There, he directed them where to unfold their tables; he needed to speak up as the ball-gagged cries or moist mouth-gargling of the women being forcibly penetrated were drowning out normal speech.

The catering crew, who Steve insisted were signed to NDA's by their employer as a term for securing his business for this event, had their food out in short order. While it wasn't quite the hot summer months yet, Steve thought everyone would appreciate some barbecue flair; pulled pork, brisket, potato salad, et cetera. A menu with saltier items would also bode well for electrolyte replacement, given the flesh offerings on display.

Steve took a moment to return to Greydon violating the terrorist leader. While not normally a voyeurist, Steve wanted to observe the counter-cultural cunt be punished in the most visceral way possible. Steve knew that he was supposed to be better than this, though he let his schadenfreude get the better of him. He stood inches from Samantha's face.

"Hey Miss Kitty" he taunted the silenced and restrained blonde "remember what you said? Something about hunting me down and burning down everything I hold dear? How's that working out for you?"

"MmmFummck Youm" Samantha hissed through her gag as she bounced involuntarily off of Greydon's cock.

Steve raised his arms up at a 45 degree angle "Well here's everything I hold dear; my home, my company, my employees, my partners." Steve hesitated the motioned towards the table of her former subordinates all being used as party-favors "Even the gagged fuck-slaves you oh-so-generously donated. Something about burning it down?"

Samantha could do nothing in the literal face of Steve's taunts and Greydon's voracious defiling.

"Something about me being and I quote, ripped a-fucking-sunder" Steve recalled. "Awfully big meow for a de-clawed little kitty." Samantha's glared intensified, even as tears rolled down her bony cheeks.

"Ahh, I could do this all day. But as you can see, I've got things to do right now. See you never, Miss Kitty" Steve walked away, knowing that with the exception of inviting Greydon and a plus-one to future company events, that he was likely never going to see the woman who tried to ruin his life again. He took joy in that fact.

While Rae and the rest of her crew were being double-stuffed like Oreo's, the men who partook in the tied-down terrorists captive bodies started to mosey over to the catering table. Steve then snapped back to reality from his verbal bullying of Samantha. He scrambled to set up folding chairs and temporary tables. At one point, the scurried founder began setting out milkcrates, cursing himself silently as he did so. His gut told him that he was failing his employees by not providing them adequate seating, though his rational mind fought back by telling him that nobody would truly care in the long run. These two competing thoughts pushed against each other like a classic DragonBallZ beam struggle.

Soon enough, Steve got his answer. Several of his New Mexico employees were sitting on milk crates, pulled pork sandwiches in hand, laughing amongst one another. Steve took a moment to take in the sight; his employees were all enjoying themselves, and his slaves were being fully utilized to accomplish that goal. He saw several of his employees dismount the captive women.

All four of the had semen in their hair and smeared all over their faces, backs, butts, thighs, and faces. He turned his attention to Rae. The pale, small-tittied light-brunette was currently being violated by Roy; one of Steve's original hires. Roy always had a strong affinity for Rae as he commonly requested her through the SlaveShare program, and today was no exception. Roy was hard at work pumping away inside of a woman young enough to be his daughter. Rae could do nothing but writhe against her restraints and gag, no matter how fruitless the endeavor was.

Roy could feel that he was about to climax, and no sooner after pulling out did he fire off a protein load all over Rae's back. Then, the unexpected occurred; Roy grabbed Rae's ankle and pulled her hog-tied foot towards him. He then stuck out his tongue and dragged it across the entire length of her sole, savoring every square inch of her narrow, high arch and ending at her toes. This drew a mixed reaction from the fellow party-goers; some met Roy's action with a cheer-a move that showed Rae how powerless she was- while others winced.

Roy dressed himself and picked up a marker from the table. He grabbed Rae's foot once more and wrote Roy's Popsicle across the sole of her foot, the marker ink smudging slightly due to the fresh trail of his saliva. Roy set the marker back down on the table and then realized how light-headed he was; the exertion of raping the helplessly bound and ball-gagged slave had caught up with the aging man. With that as his cue, he wobbly-walked over to the barbecue offerings.

Carlos saw Roy approach the catering table and grab an empty plate. He moved to intercept his colleague.

"Hey man, you havin' fun out there today?"

"You bet I am! Though.. I could use a palette cleanser" Roy jokingly responded.

Carlos chuckled, "Yeah man, I bet you can" as he nudged Roy's shoulder.

Every man within earshot had a mild laugh; Roy included. Steve felt glad that he was able to create a company culture where his employees felt empowered to be themselves. Roy, being the butt of Carlos' joke, even laughed alongside the rest of the Feminine Imports gang. They truly laughed with him, and not at him.

Greydon finished inside of Samantha, making no effort to pull out beforehand. He slowly withdrew himself and wiped off his cock on the small of her back. After taking a moment to get situated, he led her off of the patio where her former Pink Claw members were being violated. Steve caught up with his investor.

"I see you're enjoying the party. But didn't anyone ever tell you that it's poor from to bring your own cake to the restaurant?" Steve teased.

"Wouldn't you do the same if you were in my shoes? Besides, weren't you the one who brought a comfort slave to an abandoned warehouse across the country?"

Steve chuckled. "Well, we still have one last business consideration to discuss."

Greydon's face drops "And that is?"

"Well, I did promise you the opportunity to savor a certain fiery redhead..."

Greydon's face lit up with humor as his memory was sufficiently jogged; Steve shrewdly used the momentary boost in revenue to negotiate better finance terms with Greydon. "Well, you're technically right. However..." Greydon said as he paraded around the nude, gagged, and bound Samantha Miller "I'm choosing to not exercise that option."

"Leaving options un-exercised?" Steve jokingly gasped. "Who are you and where is the real Greydon Michaels?"

"Your employees need to exercise that equity far more than I do." Greydon turned serious for a second "Remember this, Steve; take care of your people, and they're gonna take care of you 10X over, got it?"

"Yeah. It's already starting to pay dividends."

Meanwhile, George was balls-deep inside of Kelly, ravishing the enslaved Latina with a vicious fucking. George, a man easily 25 years older than Kelly and not in the best cardiac health from years of truck driving, wheezed as he climaxed inside of her. George slowly pulled out of her. After wiping off his cock on her left hamstring-the sole remaining crustless spot on her body-he pulled himself together and headed toward the catering table.

George traveled halfway down the catering table, filling his paper plate with savory southern delicacies as he went, before he stopped dead in his tracks. The lightbulb went off inside of his head, and he approached Steve with his half-full plate of food.

"Hey Boss" George said. "Can I ask ya something?"

"Sure George, what's on your mind?"

George held up the plate of pulled pork and potato salad in his hand. "Can I" he hesitated "feed some of the slaves?" George stood there with an endearing look on his face.

"You know what, George? Sure! Just don't go crazy, alright?"

"Thanks man!" George was practically prancing back toward the table with the bound babes. He stood in front of Crystal, and unbuckled her ball gag. After setting it aside on the table, he loaded a small forkful of the pulled pork and slowly lifted it towards her mouth.

Crystal open wide and stuck out her semen-stained tongue; partially because she knew better than to resist the men of Feminine Imports at this point, but also because of her ravenous hunger. Being on the receiving end of numerous rounds of oncoming cock was taxing for the spectacled redhead. She eagerly swallowed the meat that was offered to her.

"Yeahhh" George purred, as if he were feeding a llama at a petting zoo. "You like that, don't you?"

He took a small forkful of potato salad and fed it into her mouth. Crystal eagerly took into the chunky white calorie load as she was hankering for nearly any form of sustenance at this point.

"Yeahhh" George cooed. "That's a gooooood girl".

George made every effort to savor this momentary feeling of power he had over her. Crystal was bound to the point where she could not raise her head any higher, and thus was completely dependent on-or vulnerable to- the man who stood in front of her at that moment. It was a match made in captive heaven.

Steve's guests and employees had enjoyed several more rounds of fucking his bound-and-gagged party favors as the sun had set on the early Spring evening. The natural darkening of the skies had served as a built-in sign that the Inaugural Feminine Imports team outing was drawing to a close. Steve stood at the edge of his driveway by the entrance to his backyard. Damon, Kyle, Corey, and the rest of the New Mexico frat boys lined up to pay their respects.

"Dude" Kyle said as he gripped Steve's hand in a prolonged handshake; his grip weakened by the near-constant electrolyte deficiency and physical exertion. "Best... company party... ever."

"I'm glad you had fun" Steve replied "And I'm serious, next time there's going to be one in Fallen Rock; no more driving 2300 miles on your days off, got it?"

"Roger that, man."

Damon led Kyle and the rest of the Southwest brigade back to rented van. Steve ran up and grabbed Damon by his elbow.

"Before you leave, repeat it back to me; what needs to be in my inbox by Wednesday morning?" Steve demanded: his tone equally accommodating and insistent.

"Receipts."

Steve released Damon's elbow "Fantastic. Have a safe drive home, guys. Alright?"

Steve was met with a chorus of affirmations and head-nods from his SunBelt crew as they all piled into the Chrysler via the sliding door. Steve made it a point to greet each guest as they left his home for the night. Greydon walked Samantha out on her leather leash. The pair had exchanged pleasantries, though Steve couldn't help but notice that Samantha would not make eye contact with him. The streaks of dried mascara that had rolled down her cheeks were readily apparent, even as she tried to hide her face from the man who's home she indirectly ordered to be razed to the ground.

Steve hadn't even noticed that the catering company had left. They had disappeared long ago; seemingly once the food ran out. For all of the fun that his guests and employees had, Steve hadn't even noticed the passage of time. Soon, there was nobody left in his backyard except the four slaves. Steve had positioned himself behind Rae, and began slowly untying the knots holding her in place. His only light to guide his vision being the floodlights from the back entrance behind him.

"Look at the mess here, ladies; condom wrappers, paper plates on the ground, Styrofoam cups" Steve inventoried as his hands worked through the nylon knots. "You cum-receptacles are going to stretch your legs by cleaning up this mess before you four get to take a shower. Keep those gags in while you work, ladies."

Steve worked down the line, untying Rae, Kelly, Crystal and Courtney in that order. Steve then handed each slave a trash bag.

"Alright fucksluts, the yard isn't going to clean itself"

Crystal shot back a look that telepathed Really? Though she got to work when Steve pulled up a folding chair and leaned back; non-verbally signaling that he was indeed serious. The girls sauntered as they scattered around the yard. As much as they wanted to eat and shower off, they were a bit traumatized. Being ordered to clean up the mess that their group rape only hammered that message home.

Steve didn't mind the zombie-pace of his gagged slaves. Hosting a party is more difficult than a lot of people acknowledge, and after a day of worrying about the guest experience and scurrying about, he was open to decompressing. He enjoyed the view of their supple bodies, glistening under the night-time floodlight. Steve also took sometime to appreciate the messages that his guests left on the soft flesh of his four slaves. Kelly had George's lunchbox written on her crotch with an arrow pointing to her vagina. Courtney, who was by far the most tattooed slave going into the party, looked downright tribal as she was covered in so much black ink; most notably a Mmmph=YES written across her collarbone.

After roughly 45 minutes, the women had completed their task. Steven summoned them inside as he folded up his chair and leaned it against the side of his house. Once the five of them had retreated indoors for the night, he turned around to address them.

"Alright ladies, gags out" the shell-shocked women obliged by removing their novelty ball-gags; each one had a different, albeit debasing, phrase printed across the rubber ball. "You four will all shower together, and be thorough." It was not lost on Steve that they wreaked of body odor and dried semen, though he realized that it was a mess of his own creation.

"Then, we'll have dinner. Since I'm a kind and merciful master, I'll give you four the night off from cooking, okay?"

"yes master" Rae replied, in a voice so meek and docile that she was barely audible.

"Lovely. Now go."

The collared females all proceeded to the washroom, still walking on eggshells. Once they were all out of sight, the bathroom light turned on, and the water could be heard flowing out of the showerhead, Steve pulled out a large container of chili from his freezer and put it in the microwave.

Under the auditory cover of the showerhead and the microwave, Steve opened up his medicine cabinet and pushed up a piece of wood against the inner ceiling of the cupboard; it was a secret compartment. He carefully shimmied out a small cartridge of Plan B tablets. After confirming that the pills were still within expiry, he set four of them out on the table.

He made sure to stop the microwave and stir the chili occasionally. He poured out some electrolyte drinks and ripped off a large chunk of dark pumpernickel bread for each of his female slaves.

We can send a manned mission to Mars, but can't innovate fucking microwaves? Steve cursed as he lamented stirring the chili.

A few minutes later, he had removed the bowl of piping hot chili-filled with enough sodium, protein and vegetables to help the girls recover from such a brutal day-and doled out five bowl-fulls. Seemingly on cue, he could hear the showerhead stop and towels being pulled off of the rack.

A minute or two later, all four slaves had sauntered out to the kitchen table. Their still-damp and fragrance-free hair was evidence that they had all washed the semen off of their scalps that his employees had generously donated. He examined their faces, all noticeably paler and all of their eyes were puffy and red; none of them dared to speak a word.

Steve was delighted to see that the marker ink had been mostly removed. He knew that it would come off completely in the next few days, though still wanted to read the messages his guests had left him. Steve sat at the head of the table while two slaves flanked him on each side.

Crystal looked down at the small green tablet that laid on the table next to her serving of dark bread and chili. Steve saw the look of mild curiosity on her face, he opted to head her off before her silent curiosity had the chance to become overt defiance; however scant that chance still was.

"It's a multivitamin" Steve said. "Trust me, after the day you just had, you'll need it."

Crystal said nothing and slowly popped the pill into her mouth, using the creamy off-white liquid to wash it down with. Steve wondered if Crystal was temporarily non-verbal due to shock or if her silence was a conscious choice. The other women had skeptical looks on their faces as they looked at the moss-green pill on the table in front of them. They looked at Steve and upon receiving nonverbal confirmation that swallowing the pill wasn't optional, they all ingested their multivitamin.

As I've mentioned previously, I plan on writing at least one more novel-length story within the fictional universe I've created, though this one will have a deeper theme than "Dave" or "Feminine Imports" (though fear not, it'll have plenty of the tissue-and-lotion non-con you've come to expect).

After that, I'd like to take on a something a bit more adventurous/out of my normal wheelhouse. A fantastical/mythical non-con setting rather than a near-distant dystopia (or utopia, depending entirely on your browser history). Due to reader demand, I'll likely set-up a Discord server (or something similar) so we can engage more often. You guys have been nothing short of awesome to me! Let me know what you guys might want; AMA's, a posting of early concept notes, whatever comes to mind!

*phone rings* Oh hey Lotion Industrial Complex... yeah, I'll take an orange Lambo...

LOL!