George and the Debt Pt. 01

This fantasy tale is set in the fictional Northern England town of Damcaster. The characters are not intended to represent any real person, living or dead. The events in this story are not a guide to sex. In real life you should behave, or misbehave, responsibly.

George wriggled in the chair. The ropes chafed and he was a bit chilly. Though not as chilly as the three pairs of eyes that were staring at him.

Anton, the casino owner, looked at him over his desk as he worked his way through a number of slips of paper. George knew that each slip was an IOU and represented a debt he owed Anton. There were a lot of them.

The other unfriendly eyes were those of Anton's heavies. The pair stood to one side, arms crossed over their chests. They were standing next to two sledgehammers, which wasn't good news. The men were big and tall with enormous bodybuilder chests and they were very strong. When they had stripped George he had no option but to accept his clothes were coming off. The sledgehammers? Well, they were typical of their kind, and had been maintained in good condition.

George was tied, naked, by his ankles to the front chair legs, with his wrists tied to the arm rests. His position was such that his legs were spread wide. He shuffled uncomfortably.

George was average height and slim with it. He had straw coloured hair that sat in an untidy mat on his head. Other than his dreadful hairdo he was in good condition for his 38 years and his skin was smooth and well maintained by a personal regimen of long baths and E45 cream. That, and eating and drinking in moderation. His pubes were more ginger than straw coloured and surrounded a slender dick. Currently on display before these intimidating men he was aware that, even fully erect, it was a less than impressive cock.

"This is a lot of money," said Anton, his voice hard and - to George's ear - unforgiving. George was very good at judging the mindset of people he owed money to, he'd had a lot of practice. He could tell if they were prepared to cut him some slack, or even extend his credit. Anton wasn't going to do that today. My gambling, George thought, is going to get me into a whole heap of trouble.

"Tell me why I shouldn't just have my men here," said Anton, pointing at his heavies. "Break your arms and legs and throw you into the canal with a load of chains around your neck."

He nodded at the sledgehammers and George noticed on the floor, next to them, a pile of chains and padlocks. They looked very heavy and George had only managed the Bronze certificate in swimming at school. And he hadn't done any swimming since. A Gold might have helped but a Bronze swimming certificate would probably mean the best he could do would be to struggle sideways slightly as he descended to the bottom of the canal, to join the supermarket trolleys and discarded tires.

"Er... well... Anton... er Mr Fagley," he said, quietly and respectfully. "That won't get you your money back. And I do want to pay you what I owe, honest."

"And how would you do that?"

"I was thinking the roulette table," said George. "I've always been lucky with that. I just need a stake to get me started."

"You want me to give you more money? So you can gamble with it?"

"Yes... er..." George was about to explain that he felt really lucky this evening but the cold expression on Anton's face stopped him dead.

Anton thought for a moment then came round the front of the desk. He reached out and grabbed George's genitals and squeezed, gently. It was the most intimidating thing that had ever happened to George, and he'd been bullied at school by some real experts. Oh God, thought George, he's gonna cut off my dick. But Anton just let his fingers run up and down, gently stroking. Despite the terror of the situation George found himself stiffening under the expert touch of his tormentor. He looked down as his cock started to lift from his lap.

"Okay," said Anton. "Interesting. Let's try something out. It might suggest a solution to your problem."

He signalled to one of his heavies. George winced, convinced that a blow from a sledgehammer was the next thing he would experience. But the heavy just knelt between George's legs and took over holding George's cock. He slid one hand under George's testicles and then dipped his head and George felt warm lips and tongue engulf his cock.

"Oh shit," gasped George.

To George's surpise it turned out that stimulation by lips and tongue from a man was just as nice as lips and tongue from a woman. And expert stimulation by a man was definitely better than inexpert stimulation by a woman. Debs did try, and George was always grateful for the odd occasions when it happened, but this guy blew her away for technique.

"Ah ah ah ah," grunted George. His cock was harder than he'd experienced for a long time. His face felt hot, the blood was pounding in his ears, and he was getting the unmistakable signs that he was going to cum soon. In bed with Debs he usually lasted three, maybe four, minutes. Five on a good day. He was approaching his limit now.

What would happen, he thought, if he ejaculated into this man's mouth? All the options he could think of involved pain. He strained and tried to calm his feelings, think of something, anything, to prevent a disaster. The heavy grunted, he seemed to detect George's attempts to hold back. He sat back on his haunches, for a moment allowing George to recover, and unbuttoned his black silk shirt. Then he shrugged it onto the floor and returned to fellating George.

George found himself looking down at broad shoulders, muscular arms, and a broad chest covered with thick dark hair. The smell of maleness rose from the heavy as he returned to his work, quickly bringing George back to the edge. Not fair, thought George, looking down at the hunky man through a haze of pleasure, but what he said was, "My goodness... you are a handsome fellow. Your time in the gym has certainly paid dividends. That chest is so strong... uh uh uh uh... oh golly gumdrops!"

His words were intended to ingratiate himself with this man that was so intimately connected to him, but it might have been the wrong thing to say. The heavy paused, glanced up, then continued his work with renewed vigour, whilst maintaining eye contact with George. George felt himself blushing as the man stared deep into his eyes, but he could not look away. The rest of the room had receded into the background and every sensation seemed to be centred around George's balls and penis. Then the inevitable happened.

"Oh... oh... sir... you might want to stop now... aaargh... oh god, oh god, oh god... sorry... sorry... sorry," George went from a desperate plea, to a cry of pleasure, and finally to an apology as cum spurted into the heavies mouth.

The ejaculation was hard, long, and mind-blowing. Though the sparks in his mind clouded things somewhat, George thought his climax had been six or seven spasms. More than he'd managed since his twenties. The heavy had gently tugged on George's balls and swallowed every drop of semen during the ejaculation. Then he stood up. As he put his shirt back on he turned to Anton.

"Seven," he said, in a thick East European accent.

"Thank you Aleksandar. Right!" said Anton, who was back behind his desk with a satisfied grin on his face. "This is my offer. It's a one time offer. You'll not get better."

"Er... okay," said George, wondering what sort of offer might follow a forced blow job.

"I agree that killing you won't get me my money back," said Anton. "So, you, and your family, will work for me. For six months. I will arrange to put enough cash into your wife's account each month to feed and clothe you. But the money you three earn will be mine to keep. I'll put it against your debt. You'll each be given a pager, and you'll follow the instructions on the pager, to the letter!"

"What will the pagers ask us to do?" said George tentatively. "What if..."

"No ifs or buts!" shouted Anton, suddenly very angry. He pushed his face close up to George's. "You'll either do what the pagers say, without question, or the deal's off. So it doesn't matter what instructions you're given. Does it?"

"And we'll all have to agree?" asked George, cringing from the violent outburst. He was worrying how he was going to tell his wife and daughter about this change in the family circumstances.

"Yes," replied Anton. "Debbie and Chrissy have to agree as well. I'm employing all of you, after all."

Anton used his thumb to massage George's cock, it was still coated with cum. The action still felt threatening. George decided he needed to know what a refusal might precipitate. It might be a stupid thing to ask, but he had to know.

"Er... well of course I don't want to die... so I'm okay with this... but what if I can't persuade Debs and Chrissy?" he said, leaving the question hanging. And trying to make it clear that he, George, was quite happy with the idea, it was the ladies in the family that might refuse.

Anton looked furious. He let go of George's cock, and snarled, "Then I'd have to get my money back all at once." He picked up the IOU's. Then went through his actions, one by one, throwing the papers down on the desk angrily as he described each thing.

"First you go into the canal," he snarled. "Without your cock which I will keep as a souvenir. And I'll spread the rumour around town that you've run away to Spain to avoid your debts. Then I will send in my Bailiffs, and take everything in your house. Then I will clear out your wife's account, the Bank Manager owes me a favour. Next I'll take the house and sell it by auction, throwing your wife and daughter onto the streets. Oh dear... we seem to have some debt left. Nothing for it but to kidnap and sell your wife and daughter too. Their pale flesh will get me a pretty penny from a friend I have over in the Middle East."

He grabbed a set of photographs from the desk and threw them, one at a time, onto George's lap. Thank goodness, thought George, as the first photograph dropped. He can't see my dick any more. Then he saw the subject of the photographer's art. Two women, one a young girl of maybe twenty years of age, and a more mature woman - who looked like her mother - were laid in packing cases. They were naked and bound hands and feet. In each of the coffin shaped boxes there was a water bottle of the type used to give rabbits a drink.

The next photograph showed their terrified expressions as the lids were being put into place. The following photograph showed a transit van being loaded with the boxes, and the one after that of it travelling down the motorway. Then there was a small boat, it looked charming except for what was implied in its hold. Followed by a photo of a much more disreputable and battered looking van being driven through a Middle Eastern landscape.

A tablet was slapped onto the pile of photos on George's lap. He jumped with the sound. Anton bent over him, his mouth close to George's ear, and poked the screen. A video started to play.

"Watch!" he hissed.

The camera waved about, clearly amateur footage, possibly taken with a phone. Then the view resolved and focussed. There were two grubby and stained, king-sized, mattresses on the floor of a dingy room. And on the mattresses were the mother and daughter from the previous photographs. Each had an ankle manacle with a chain that went to a shackle in the floor. They were covered with men, big men who might be workers from a building site, or perhaps miners. The men had strong arms, broad backs, and powerful thighs. There were several men to each mattress and they were using the two women mercilessly. They certainly knew how to fuck a woman in every hole available, sometimes two to a hole. The tablet didn't have much in the line of built-in speakers but George could hear the screaming quite clearly.

"Oh," said George. "So that's what will happen."

"Not if you all agree," said Anton, taking back the tablet and pile of photos. "We will give you your clothes back now, George. Go home and persuade them, for their sakes."

"Okay," said George. There didn't seem any point in saying anything else. Being alive was preferable to 'sleeping with the fishes', though he was unsure if there were actually any fish in the canal. And he really didn't want to think about what life as a white slave would be like for Debs and Chrissy.

Ropes were unfastened and clothes returned while Anton typed something on a small mobile device. Then he handed over three pagers with their charging units. The pagers had a simple set of buttons that allowed you to reply to whatever was shown on the screen. One button had YES engraved on it, one NO, and the middle button had a question mark. On the screen was already displayed the names of their recipients, George, Debbie and Chrissy.

"When you get home," Anton snarled. "Press the question mark. Then you get the choice of yes or no. Choose wisely."

As George wandered down the street, his pockets stuffed with electronics, and his mind with instructions about how to use them, Anton turned to his heavies and muttered, "Give me six months and they'll all be mine. Willingly. They'll beg for it. I'll make sluts out of them all!"

The heavies nodded their agreement and the sledgehammers and chains were put back in the storeroom for the next time they were needed.

Debs stepped out of the shower and started to dry herself. She'd just got in from an overnight shift at the supermarket, stacking shelves. With a towel wrapped around her, she walked into the bedroom and looked at herself in the mirror.

Debs was a slender woman, mostly, with a willowy body and small, but very firm and rounded breasts. She had pale skin and black hair that was cut in a simple short style. Her pubes were also black and formed a thick triangle. She had always felt she resembled one of those nudist women in the vintage photographs. Their thatch thick enough to hide details from the observer and therefore someone who could be safely put on the cover of the naturist magazines.

Where Debs wasn't slender was the area around her hips. She had broad hips and a very rounded and firm tummy and backside. One cruel boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend as soon as he'd said it, compared her to a cherry, stuck halfway down a cocktail stick.

Thinking of one ex-boyfriend led her to think of another. Matthew was a rugby player for the Damcaster Dominators. Still was as far as she knew. A big man, even back when she knew him nearly twenty years ago, he'd been the love of her life and they were engaged. Right up to the time she came back to the flat and found him cheating with two female fans, at the same time! They'd argued, split up, and she'd married George on the rebound. George was everything Matthew was not. He was quiet, polite, helpful around the flat, not too demanding, and very unlikely to cheat on her.

It was soon after Chrissy was born that Debs discovered that George might be kind, and faithful, but he was also a seriously out-of-control gambler. She had lost track of the number of occasions over the years when their hard earned savings had had to be raided to pay his debts. And life could be dreadfully boring with George, especially with limited funds. But, as time went on Chrissy had grown up, as kids inevitably do. She was now nineteen, about to fly the nest, and Debs was wondering if she should fly too, before her life had slipped away completely and she ended up permanently bored and permanantly broke.

When she got downstairs she found George sitting looking glum. On the kitchen table were three electronic devices. She spotted that there was a name on each one. George lifted his head and she knew that expression. He was in trouble again. Big trouble. Gambling trouble.

"Hello luv," he said. "Can you get Chrissy down from her room?"

Debs called up the stairs and reluctantly, after the third call, her daughter responded.

Chrissy was a few months past nineteen and currently at Damcaster College. She'd not quite got out of the 'decorate your room with black paint and Death Metal posters' stage. Like her mum her hair was very dark and she had no trouble dressing Goth when the mood overtook her. Her favourite band at the moment was called Corrupt Bimbo. She was slender, the vegetarian diet helped with this, with breasts that were little firm cones on her chest. The embarrassing thing was that she already had quite prominent nipples and they tended to show through every t-shirt she wore. And her tits were very pert so they jiggled when she walked. Boys ended up staring at her chest, a lot.

Her hips were wide, like her mother's, and with her slender thighs she had a very nice gap between her legs. She had not yet developed a large bum like her mother but her cunt lips were very generous. Even larger than her mother's. When she wore joggers they showed as a prominent camel toe, which is why she only wore joggers at home. Out of the house it was always jeans. Baggy jeans to disguise her fat pudenda.

What's Dad done now, she thought, as she descended to the kitchen? Her mum and dad were sat there. On the table were three rather old-fashioned pagers. To Chrissy this was very much yesterday's technology. But one of them caught her eye, it had her name on the screen.

"Your dad has something to say," explained her mum.

George explained how much money he owed to Anton, the proposal for paying it off, and the threatened consequences if they refused. By the end he had two women looking at him with angry and resentful glares. The phrase 'if looks could kill' came to his mind.

A debate followed which, dear reader, you do not need to hear, but at the end of it the ladies accepted the inevitable. Debs picked up her pager and stared at it. Then she pressed the question mark key. The screen changed to show several lines of text. It read...

Press YES to accept employment. You will obey all instructions on this device, and any orders given you by people this device puts you in contact with.

Press NO to refuse this offer, with all the consequences.

She pressed the yes button and the device gave out a happy sounding chime. Chrissy picked up hers and did the same. George looked at the pair of them and then picked up his and pressed. The family had all agreed to six months employment with Anton, whatever that involved. Because, of course, he had not mentioned exactly what he wanted them to do.

There was a ping that came from somewhere else in the kitchen and Debs realised it was her phone. She pulled it from her handbag to find that a cash transfer had been made into her personal account. It was for three times what she would have earned from the supermarket. The transfer was labelled Month One. She had got herself a separate bank account after a few years of marriage, and George had never been given access to it. This ensured that they always had enough money to pay the mortgage and feed the family.

"He's sent us a wage," she told the others, without letting George know how much. "At least he's doing what he promised."

It was nearly eleven in the morning now so she made coffee. As she put the mugs down on the kitchen table the pagers all chimed, one after another. Chrissy's went first. She picked it up and read...

Fifth floor, Britannia Mill, 1pm, ask for David.

She showed it to her mother.

George's pager was next...

Red Health Clinic, Main Street, 1pm.

Finally Debs pager chimed...

Stay at home, put on a sexy dress, wait for a visitor this afternoon, impress him.

"I have to stay in for an interview," she told George and Chrissy, omitting to mention the sexy dress.

They sat and had lunch together, everyone quiet with their own thoughts of what the future would bring. It's only six months, thought George, then the debt will be cleared and we can all go back to normal life.

After lunch Debs chivvied her husband and daughter out of the house, urging them not to be late for their appointments. She had no desire to be shipped across Europe in a packing case with only a water bottle for company. She'd briefly considered asking her mother's advice about this new situation but the thought of having to explain, yet again, that George had got them into a pickle was too much. Her mother had a low enough opinion of George as it was.

She ran upstairs and had a second shower and, as the warm water trickled down her body, wondered what she should say at the interview. She had a feeling that she might be offered a job at the Casino. She had an O level in maths, that might help if she was going to be involved with numbers, and her supervisor at the supermarket had always praised her attendance and effort.

Choosing a dress was a little more difficult. The pager had said sexy, so perhaps her green evening gown might be a good idea. On the other hand Brian, at work, kept saying she looked sexy in her uniform. But she didn't want to meet whoever it was that was going to interveiw her while looking like a checkout girl. So green evening gown it was, with matching knickers, pull up stockings, and no bra.

The doorbell rang and Debs went to answer it. Two men stood there. A large black car was parked in front of the house, and a third man was sitting in the driver's seat. These were clearly her visitors, though the pager had only mentioned one.

"Good afternoon," she said, opening the door. "Can I help you?"

"Anton," said one of the men. "Can we come in?"

"Er... yes... of course," replied Debs.

The two men filled the hallway. Anton was tall, strong looking, dark and rather handsome Debs thought. His companion was taller, stronger, and looked like a bodyguard.

"You'll need proof," said Anton and removed a small device from his pocket. He typed something and, a few seconds later, Debs pager chimed. Such was her fear of missing an instruction on the device she turned away from the men and ran to the kitchen. She picked it up.

The man you are talking to is me, Anton. You will obey me in every detail.

Debs looked up from the pager to find Anton at her shoulder. He smiled and put his typing device back into his pocket.

"Would you like a drink?" said Debs.

"Coffee please," replied Anton. "Geoff here will have an Earl Grey tea, if you have some."

Debs looked at the huge man, the last person in the world she would have suspected of drinking the aromatic brew. Luckily there was a pack of specialist tea bags in the cupboard.

Drinks organised they moved to the living room and Debs prepared to be interviewed. But Anton just settled down in the armchair. "Six months Debs," he said. "Then your husband's debts will be cleared. You will come out of this with a healthy bank balance because I will pay your account extra when you, your husband, and your daughter do your jobs particularly well. And it will all go into into your own account because I know George will start to gamble it away if it goes into the joint account."

"Yes," replied Debs. "I get that. But what do you need me to do?"

"Sex," replied Anton. "That's where I make my money. You're going to be my sexy housewife escort. I have a long list of clients who like a willing woman that'll take them to her bed overnight. And you can demonstrate that you are able to perform this role by fucking me, today."

"Oh," said Debs, quietly. The fantasy of being a girl at the Casino that deals the cards, or walks around with a tray of cigarettes, or sits in that little booth converting cash into chips, faded. She felt very nervous.

She'd never rated herself very highly for her talent with sex. Matthew had bedded those fans because she was not very good at it, at least that's what she told herself. George had always been very happy to turn over and go to sleep rather than demand his conjugal rights. And when they did make love it was always a pleasant but rather uninspiring experience. She felt like a Sunday driver that had been told they were going to drive a Formula One car, this afternoon.

"Oh... now?" she said, in almost a whisper.

"Patience... when I've finished my coffee," replied Anton. "In the meantime I want to talk to you about the pager."

Debs sat up and paid attention.

"You must keep them charged. Or the deal's off. You've presumably learned that when it chimes you should press the question mark button to read the message?"

Debs nodded.

"Between tasks your time is your own," Anton continued. "But... if you decide you want more, let's say, 'action' then you should press the question mark and the YES button at the same time. The pager will say wait and a new job will arrive very soon."

Debs sat thinking it was very unlikely she would volunteer to do more than the tasks Anton set her.

Anton sat grinning, he knew that many of his sex workers became addicted very quickly to the adrenaline rush of forbidden pleasure. Particularly bored housewives. If he'd been a gambling man, as opposed to a man that ran the Red Casino, he'd put money on Debs pressing the buttons for more work before a month was out, maybe sooner.

Anton drained his coffee and smiled at Debs, "Bed," he said, in a very matter of fact way.

Debs felt slightly faint and her legs were wobbly. She'd never cheated on George despite feeling frustrated on many occasions. She'd never even cheated on her boyfriends, even when they had let her know the relationship wasn't serious, and she could date other men. Now she was about to have sex with this man that George had brought into her life through his gambling. Then her fear turned to anger. Damn my husband, she thought, George can only blame himself for this. His gambling has taken us to this point. I'll show him, I'll tell him when he gets back exactly what his gambling forced me to do. Every bloody detail. At least this guy is attractive, it won't be too hard to bed him.

"Bed," she said, and took Anton's hand.

Although she was very nervous she led the way up the stairs. Worryingly Anton's bodyguard followed them up, but he stayed outside on the landing closing the bedroom door as they entered. Debs was aware he blocked any escape. Anton sat down in the wicker chair in the corner of the room and waved his hands, saying, "Strip, please."

Debs was suddenly grateful she hadn't worn her supermarket uniform for the interview. Doing a sexy strip in that would have been almost impossible. Her green dress was a better prospect. She reached behind herself and pulled down the zip. Then she shrugged the dress off her shoulders, one side at a time. The dress cooperated wonderfully, slumping slightly, to reveal her small, rounded, breasts. She was proud of them, they were still very firm after all these years.

Debs walked around a little, holding onto the dress, allowing the bundle of cloth over her tummy to slowly slide down. She tried to walk like a catwalk model, swinging her hips and looking at Anton with what she hoped was a sexy smile. Then she performed a shimmy with her chest. Years ago, when bored, she'd done a few belly dancing lessons and had learned some moves. She tried them on Anton now, shaking her breasts from side to side.

Then she dropped her dress and stepped out of the folds of cloth that pooled by her feet. She was now dressed in just her knickers, stockings, and her court shoes. She turned her back on Anton and wriggled her bottom at him, then reached down to take off her stockings. They were the type that had elastic to hold them up instead of suspenders, not quite as sexy as the old-fashioned type but a lot better looking than tights.

Anton waggled a finger at her. A side to side motion. The message was clear, leave the stockings on. Debs abandoned her plan to remove her shoes, thinking perhaps Anton liked it if a woman was wearing some items of clothing. The knickers she was sure had to go though, so they were next. Anton, to her relief, did not object and she stood before him, her hairy cunt on full display. He smiled, then indicated she should get closer.

The wicker chair creaked slightly as Anton shifted his weight and Debs walked forward until she was standing between his legs. He reached out, sliding his hands up the outside of her thighs, then put one hand on her buttock and stroked her bush with the other, his fingers gently entangled in her hairs, and one probing between her thighs. Debs could feel she was already moist.

Debs considered she was probably unusual in being unshaven. She knew that Anton owned the Red Casino but that he also owned the Red Rooms, a brothel. And where there was a brothel there were prostitutes. And prostitutes, she knew, usually shaved their private parts. She'd never done it, even though an article she read in a magazine a year ago suggested that lots of ordinary women were following that trend. George had never demanded she shaved, not even suggested it, so she stayed au naturel.

Anton put his hands on Debs hips and applied gentle downward pressure. She took the hint and knelt between his thighs. Then he took hold of her hand and pressed it against his belt buckle.

"Oh," said Debs. She knew what this meant. Open his trousers and... well, do what Matthew used to want before sex. Every time. In contrast George had never demanded it. He'd been grateful to get it, usually Debs gave him a blow job on his birthday if he hadn't blotted his copybook with another debt, but he'd never demanded it. Come to think of it he'd never demanded anything sexual from Debs, just accepted whatever came. Which, in a way, was nice, but also rather dull.

Debs opened the belt and unzipped Anton's trousers. Then she pulled and Anton obligingly lifted his buttocks so that they slid off easily. Underneath he was wearing a style of underpants that she hadn't seen for years. George always wore boxer shorts. These were minimalist, a bag for the genitals, and thin straps to hold the bag steady. Strings, she remembered, from somewhere, that's what they are called. Underwear for a man who is proud of what he has, and wants to display it.

The underpants bulged with Anton's flaccid cock and Debs gave a sharp intake of breath at the size, and hesitated. But Anton had already lifted his buttocks so she dragged them off him. The cock that was revealed was fat, stubby and dark toned. Debs sat back in alarm and Anton smiled. Then he grabbed hold of his cock and lifted the weight slightly. It gave Debs a way to compare this monster with George's cock. Anton's thumb, lying across his dick, was about the same size as George's flaccid cock.

George had a slender cock. It wouldn't have been out of place on one of those classical statues where the male had a tiny, cute, penis. It was easy for Debs to accommodate and the sensations it created were quite nice. She was quite happy with it but she feared that was all about to change as she contemplated Anton's penis. Would she be able to go back from this monster to enjoy her husband's offering? Anton's, in contrast, was she thought, definitely going to be a challenge. How much bigger would it get when it was erect? Only one way to find out, and she started to fondle it, then dipped her head into Anton's lap and started to kiss it. She was immediately struck by the odour of musk that pervaded his crotch, a deep smell, rich and warm. A shiver ran down her spine and her heart rate jumped up.

Anton's cock was obligingly starting to swell. It lengthened and the head slowly pushed its way from under his foreskin. Like a ripe plum its purple hue invited a taste. George's was more like a large grape and she could suck it with no effort, she knew this was going to take a wider mouth than she'd had to use for eighteen years. She opened her mouth and put her lips on him. Then licked and sucked to get it wet, before taking it into her mouth.

Oh hell, she thought, this is going to be hard, as his hot cock filled her mouth. Saliva flowed and she started to gurgle, then she felt Anton's hand on the back of her head. His fingers ran through her hair then twisted to get a grip. She felt his strength and realised that, if he chose to push her head, she would have no option but to allow it. She'd need all her strength to resist him, and resistance would tell him that she refused to do what he wanted. And refusal would lead to that packing case with a water bottle for company as she headed to some posh Harem, or - more likely - some sort of Middle Eastern underground brothel.

She pulled away and immediately started to lick and kiss his cock, anxious to show she wanted to pleasure him. Then returned to sucking the tip. Gripping his thighs and taking her courage in her hands she pushed her head down and felt his cock slide into her throat. There was a moment when she gagged and she was unable to prevent herself from showing this reaction, then it passed and she was staring down at Anton's six pack with her lips touching his pubic hair. He grunted with appreciation and then pulled her off his cock, which was now fully erect.

It was half as long again as George's and so much thicker. Her eyes watering from the brief fellatio, Debs stared at it, knowing in a very short time she was expected to take that inside her. At least he'd not ejaculated into her throat, she had no idea how she would have responded to that.

Anton stood, his cock stiff and very erect, and started to take his shirt off. Debs retreated to the bed, kicked off her shoes, and slid under the sheets. Lovemaking with George tended to happen on a Saturday night, about half an hour after they had retired to bed, when they were both comfortably warm. And it was an 'under the sheets' affair. Debs waited for Anton to join her.

I am so pathetic, she thought, staring at Anton's fit body. I used to get excited by the idea of sex on a weekday evening, or on Saturday afternoon. This, as she watched as Anton's shoes and socks were removed and cast aside, is really exciting.

Anton, now completely naked, wanked his cock a few times, and then he bent over the bed and, in one action, ripped the duvet off. It was unceremoniously dumped in a corner of the room exposing Debs who had instinctively covered up in alarm. Anton clambered onto the bed, pulled her hands off her thatch, and spread her legs. Then he started to suck Debs' cunt and delight flooded her mind. His technique was excellent and remorseless and soon she was wriggling her hips, trying to moderate the sensations. It didn't work, he wouldn't stop, and then he added two fingers into her cunt. Plunging them in and curling them so they hit her G spot. Debs had her first climax of the afternoon, and the first real one for several years.

"Aaaah... shit Anton... Oh hell!... Yes yes yes!!", she gasped.

He smiled the smile of a man who knew he could make her cum. He had been right in his assessment of her, gathered by a couple of private investigators over the last few months. She wasn't getting enough. And she was very responsive. Perfect for his purposes. But now he had to fuck her, make her his, and so the foreplay stopped.

Debs looked up at this man who had just created fireworks in her mind and watched as he shuffled over her and positioned his cock to penetrate her. She tried to help but there really was no need. Anton had grasped her thighs, pushed them even wider, and expertly placed himself ready to push. He did so in a teasing manner, putting the head of his cock between Debs' labial lips, rubbing a little but not pushing in.

"Oh oh," said Debs. "Yes Anton... please Anton... Oh Anton, yes... do it."

He continued to tease with a wicked grin on his face.

"Anton... please!" begged Debs. "Oh you bastard... you're playing with me... what do you want me to say?"

"I want you to beg me to fuck you," he replied.

Debs had never begged anyone for sex before, it was a new experience, but she gave it her all. "Fuck me Anton," she said in as sexy a voice as she could mange. "Please fuck me. I'm begging you. I want you inside me... ooooh!"

When she got to the word 'inside' he thrust. Slowly but remorselessly he pushed in, inch by inch, as Debs gasped and wriggled her legs with the glorious pressure. He was stretching her wider than George, and then he was plunging deeper than George, and it felt so good.

Debs grabbed at his arms and held on. "Yes... yes... oh yes!!" she said between gritted teeth.

Finally he reached the limit of his thrust. She felt his abdomen push against her labial lips, felt the hairs on his legs against the inside of her thighs and, swinging under him, his testicles tapping against her buttocks.

"Who do you belong to?" he asked.

"You," she replied, knowing exactly what to say to this man who had her impaled on his fat cock. "I'm yours. Fuck me. Give me what I need."

"Sure?" he smiled down at her.

"Oh God yes," she panted, feeling more full than even Matthew had managed. Though that might be unfair, Matthew had been only nineteen when they'd been engaged, he might have... developed... more since then. Debs looked up into Anton's eyes and said, "Make me moan. Make me scream. Fuck me... you cruel bastard."

Anton shifted his weight slightly and then scooped up her thighs and lifted her legs over to bend her double. She took the new position with a grunt, but no complaint, and then Anton started to thrust. He pulled up and powered down until her buttocks bounced on the bed, squashed between the mattress and his hips. His cock drove into her, giving her delightful feelings.

"Uh... Uh... Uh... Uh," she grunted.

With her feet each side of her head, and his hands gripping her calves, Debs felt completely trapped under Anton who continued his steady thrusting. And, when her mind gave her an opportunity to think, she mused that perhaps this initial position was to make sure she could not resist. But she didn't want to resist. This was the most exciting, passionate, raw and unrestrained sex she had ever had. How could she show Anton that she was a willing participant?

"Aaaah... Anton... that's so good... aaah... let me up," she begged. "I... want... to... aaah... fuck you."

Anton paused in his thrusting and looked down at her. She reached up and held his head then tried to reach up and kiss him. He released her legs and, as she lay flat, lowered himself and returned the kiss. Their tongues became passionate explorers and Anton knew she had broken the first barrier on her way to becoming his slave.

Chrissy looked at the pager again, then at the Victorian woollen mill, now converted into a number of units. The ground floor was a bookshop, specialising in arty books and big, coffee-table, tomes. Books to impress visitors. The next floor was art supplies and a cafe. Next floor up was an art gallery. Chrissy had visited all these lower floors on a humanities school field trip. Studying the building, learning the history, and buying a pencil as a souvenir.

She found the lift and pressed the button labelled 5 and the lift door slid shut with a chime. For a moment Chrissy thought the pager had sounded but when the lift announced it was 'going up' she understood. I'm really nervous, she thought, this device is getting to me. As the lift ascended she wondered what her mum and dad were doing then the door opened and, with another chime, announced 'fifth floor'.

In front of her was a reception desk with a mature woman sat next to a complicated looking telephone system, and a computer. She looked up as the lift door opened and watched, with a cynical expression as Chrissy walked over to the desk.

"Er... I'm supposed to ask for David," said Chrissy. The woman looked like one of the college administrators, which made this feel even more weird.

"Chrissy?" asked the woman.

"Er... yes."

"Sit down," replied the receptionist, waving at a chair that was a single piece of clear moulded plastic, and looked very 60's retro. "I'll give David a call."

She lifted the phone and talked briefly to someone at the other end. Chrissy just caught the words 'she's here'. A couple of minutes later a door opened and a man appeared. Chrissy looked up. He was in his forties, she guessed, and he was dressed in bright check trousers and an open front shirt with a mass of lace that only just concealed his hairy chest. He was wearing two cameras slung around his neck and some sort of measuring instrument as well.

"Chrissy, darling," he said, as if he'd known her for years. "On time... that's good. Come on through."

He held the door open for her and Chrissy, glancing back as she entered what was evidently going to be a photography studio. The receptionist gave her a quick smile, there might have been a hint of pity in it, then turned to answer the phone.

On the other side of the door was a short corridor with toilets, kitchen area and lounge, then David led the way into a vast area. It looked like the whole floor of the mill had been used. Down each side were bays set up with lights, backgrounds and props. There were also some, more private looking, rooms.

David pointed at one bay and said, "Have you had any details about today?"

"Um... no," Chrissy replied.

"We're gonna do a series of shoots, each in a different costume. Maybe fifty shots for each costume," explained David. "It'll take most of the day, but you'll get some breaks and we'll have to stop if the video guys want to do something. They hate getting flash in the background."

"Right," said Chrissy.

"Anton wanted me to remind you that refusal to wear a costume, or adopt the poses I suggest, is not allowed."

"Okay," said Chrissy. Now she was worried. What sort of costumes would she be asked to wear? It was clear that some of them were going to be extreme. And what, she thought, sort of poses might she refuse?

"But you look an intelligent girl" said David. "I'm sure we'll get along just fine and your sets will bring in good money."

Oh God, thought Chrissy, they're going to sell the photographs. I'm going to be on the web, or end up in one of those top-shelf magazines, for anyone to leer at.

"Working off your dad's debt?" asked David.

"Er... yes," replied Chrissy, her throat suddenly dry.

"We get all sorts here," said David. He sounded as if he was trying to be reassuring. "Girls working their way through college, mums looking for some extra cash, even grannies wanting to supplement their pensions. You'll be fine, you look very fit, and with your figure you're quite commercial. Your shots will sell quickly."

He started to set up one of his cameras onto a tripod and gestured at a set of lockers.

"Pick a locker, put your clothes in there and put on the dressing gown," he indicated. "It can sometimes get a bit chilly in here."

Chrissy did as she was told, taking a glance to see if David was watching her undress. He was too busy setting up. He checked his camera, swapped the battery and changed the memory card. Chrissy, now completely naked, put on the white fluffy dressing gown and walked back to join him.

"Great," he said. "Now go to the rack and put on the dress."

The dress was a full length number, in electric blue, and exactly the right size. For a moment Chrissy was surprised that it fit perfectly, then she guessed that Anton had sent information to David about her, which included her vital statistics. How had he discovered these very personal bits of information? Then she remembered her social media pages. Oops, she thought, I've probably put it all online.

Feeling very nervous she dropped the dressing gown and slipped on the dress. She twisted around, trying to get at the zip, and then David's strong hands were on her shoulders. He reached down and zipped her into the dress. His hand ran up her spine and she got a little tingle from his touch. She bent down and put on the matching shoes. You will go to the ball, Cinders, she thought, as - like the dress - they fitted perfectly. Does that also mean she gets to marry the Prince?

The bay had been set up to look like a balcony overlooking a city, possibly Paris, in the evening. The first few shots were easy and pretty ordinary, nothing you wouldn't see from a clothes catalogue or online seller. David was very encouraging and soon Chrissy was turning and posing to his commands. He complimented her on her natural look, and praised her figure.

The dress had a split down one side and David now instructed Chrissy to push her leg out of the slit. Slowly more and more of her leg was revealed then a little pubic hair peeped out. Chrissy nudged the dress back into respectability.

"No Chrissy," said David, quietly. "Let it show."

And more and more did show as her poses became more extreme and revealed more of her crotch. The final pose had her poised, one foot on the balcony.

"Hold it," said David, as Chrissy wobbled a bit. "Now put two fingers on your clit, and look straight into the lens."

Chrissy felt very dirty, she'd not done this sort of pose even for the boyfriends she'd really fancied. And here she was, preserved forever, looking straight out of the picture at some person she'd never met, implying she was up for the taking.

"Thanks Chrissy," said David, unzipping her. "Take five and then we'll move on to the next bay."

Chrissy put the dress back on the rack, and the shoes, put on the dressing gown and, after a few minutes, followed David to the next bay. This had been set up to look like sunny countryside, complete with bales of hay, and an artificial tree.

The outfit for this shoot was a peasant top and a mid length light 'summer' skirt. Poses took Chrissy from simply sitting on the bale of hay to leaning back with her legs spread and the skirt pulled up to expose herself. The peasant blouse went off the shoulder fairly quickly, then was pulled down to expose her breasts. David encouraged Chrissy to cup her breasts and push her chest forward. Finally there was a series of stills where she rubbed her breasts against the tree, while lifting the skirt up to expose her buttocks.

Chrissy began to get into the flow of the process, David's commands turning her this way and that. Lift that hand, he would say, turn to the right, yes - now arch your back. Look up, look down, now look straight into the lens. And between each command the click click click of the camera as it recorded each pose.

The next bay was sparsely decorated with a plain beige background, and a wooden topped bar stool. The costume was simply an ankle length fur coat, and nothing else. The poses involved draping the coat to reveal more and more flesh, and then to discard the coat completely and adopt various positions on the bar stool. Chrissy, perched up high, with her legs spread wide and everything on display realised that nothing was being left to the imagination. Then David said, "Frig yourself Chrissy. Look straight into the lens and give yourself a good frigging."

Up until now his instructions to place her fingers or her full hand onto her sex had not involved any actual movement. Cover it, he had said, or put your fingers on your clit, with no instruction to do more. Now he was wanting her to pleasure herself.

Chrissy was, she felt, a typical teen. She'd experimented with self pleasuring, after all didn't everybody? But only when the house was empty. With mum and dad well out of the way, just in case it got noisy. It was very hard for her to do it under the full glare of the lights with a man watching impassively. She tried her best, worried that David would tell Anton that she'd been uncooperative, but she was too nervous. David took a lot of shots but eventually put the camera down and stopped shooting.

"Forget it, Chrissy, darling," he said. "You're too tense. Let's move on to the next shoot then you can have something to drink and a snack."

"I can try a bit more," Chrissy said, very worried now.

David smiled reassuringly, "No need dear, this is all very new to you I would guess. You're fine. We'll take a break in a bit, perhaps things will be easier after a break."

"You're not going to tell Anton, are you?"

"No my darling," he said, as he put his arm around her naked shoulders. "As long as you're trying, we're fine."

The relief flooded through Chrissy and she broke down and sobbed. David held her close until she settled. Then she tensed, she could smell David's masculine scent and feel the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms around her. One hand was very close to her breasts. Any moment now, she thought, he's going to grope me. But he didn't.

"Okay," he said, in a very matter of fact sort of way. "Tidy up, bikini shoot, and then you can stop for a bit of refreshments."

He handed her a little packet of tissues and she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then they moved to the next bay. She did this completely naked, dragging the dressing gown behind her, and wondered at what moment it had become normal to stand in front of this man with no clothes on.

The bay was decorated to look like a bit of beach, and the bikini was yellow polka dot. It was also itsy bitsy teeny weeny, as the 1960 song described! Chrissy posed with bucket and spade, with beach towels, and pretended the lights were warm Mediterranean sun, or perhaps Blackpool in the 1960's. The bra came off, with a few shots as it was discarded. Topless, sometimes concealing and sometimes revealing her breasts with her hands, she pouted at the camera. Finally, fully naked, she rolled around on the towel, pointed her bottom up at the camera and lay on her back with her legs spread wide. David didn't ask her to touch herself, for which she was grateful. He did do some portrait shots, getting very close and occasionally reaching out to adjust the lay of her hair.

Then, suddenly he declared it was break time. Dressed in the fluffy white dressing gown she followed him to a room where an afternoon tea style of buffet meal had been set out. Several men were there already, chatting quietly as they consumed the sandwiches, There were also a couple of older women who, like Chrissy, were wearing white dressing gowns. But, whereas hers was tied tightly, these women allowed theirs to flap open revealing saggy tummies and pendulous breasts. Clearly they didn't care who saw their aging bodies and had probably been doing similar shoots to Chrissy.

Chrissy took a plate of food and sat in the corner near the door. David had warned her that there was going to be some filming happening and she should keep as quiet as possible. Having finished her meal, and drunk her orange juice, Chrissy waited for David to return. Then she heard a voice she thought she recognised. Intrigued she followed the sound until she found herself looking in an open door into a film set. There was a three seater couch against the wall with a desk set in front of it. It looked like an interview room, but where the applicants got to sit on a comfy sofa.

A middle aged man, big and bulky, was sitting at the desk talking. He had a small handheld video camera pointed at the girl on the couch, and a second one on the table which was also pointing in her direction. Around the room were fixed cameras to cover all the angles. Chrissy had heard of this kind of porn movie from friends at college. The girl was doing a casting video.

And she knew the girl. It was Abi.

Abigay, to give her full name, was a Jamaican-born girl a year ahead of Chrissy at Damcaster college. Chrissy had seen her around, had chatted in the cafe on a few occasions, but - of course - had never seen her nude. She knew the girl had a bit of a reputation for being wild, but had never imagined she might do porn.

Abi was sitting looking nervous on the couch with her legs tight together and her hands on her knees. Perhaps, thought Chrissy, she was now regretting her decision. Or maybe it was a clever act for the customers of the film who might enjoy seeing a nervous girl being tricked into sex. Abi's skin was an intensely dark black, almost ebony in colour, and her hair was made up in long dreads with silver charms woven into it. She was a slightly chubby teen, with large breasts that sagged slightly but were probably very attractive to men, Chrissy thought, and she had wide hips and a large bottom. Which guys at the moment also seem to like.

The talking seemed to be coming to an end and the man stood up and walked around to stand in front of the couch.

"Up, lass," he said. "Let's see what you've got."

Abi reluctantly stood up and, at that moment, a voice whispered in Chrissy's ear.

"Dats me dorter," said the voice. "Gonna be famous."

The voice, if it was a dessert, would have been sticky toffee pudding. It was warm, velvety and sweet toned. Chrissy turned to see a Jamaican woman, fat faced and very round, grinning at her. The woman extended a hand and Chrissy took it automatically.

"Gabrielle," said the woman, very quietly. Then she turned back to her daughter who was being encouraged to revolve, stick her bum out, and open her legs so the man could feel her cunt lips. "Go Abi," she whispered. "Gud gurl. You show 'em what yur made of." Then she turned to Chrissy and said, "She gud at fucking, me dorter is, she will tak it like a pro."

Chrissy watched in fascination as Abi, who was obviously more experienced at sex than she appeared, was displayed like a bargain on the shopping channel. Every detail of her body checked, with the inevitable live demonstration of the product still to come. As the man kneaded Abi's fat breasts Chrissy remembered a drawing she'd been shown at school for their semester on the evils of the Slave Trade. It had depicted a plantation owner checking over women for purchase at the market. Then she had an unsettling insight, rather worse than ancient history. It's nothing to do with skin colour, this casting, she thought. It's not racist. If I was in that room he'd do exactly the same with my white body, she thought. He would be making me turn to show every curve, and his fingers would be pushed into my crack, just the way he's doing to Abi right now.

Examination complete the man pressed on Abi's shoulders, encouraging her to kneel before him. Abi swayed a little, looking as if she might faint, as the man signalled she should give him a blow job. It was, Chrissy decided, an impressive bit of acting that made Abi look as if this was her very first time. Then the girl glanced toward the door. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw Chrissy standing there. I suppose, thought Chrissy, she might have expected her mother to be watching, but I'm bloody sure she didn't expect to see anyone from Damcaster College.

Gabrielle gestured at her daughter, a wave of the arms that suggested she get on with it. Abi opened the man's trousers, felt inside, and pulled out a fat semi-erect cock. She paused, looking straight at the camera, her expression one of surprise and fear at the size of the organ. Then shuffled forward and dipped her head towards it.

Pager Update : George, Debs and their daughter Chrissy, have started their work for Casino Owner Anton. Sexual adventures await. : Update Ends