Michael Bertram had good reasons to be self-satisfied. All of his carefully laid plans of the last nine months were coming to fruition.

The most recent success story was standing in front of him. Nine lovely, young, Asian women were lined up, elbow to elbow, in the reception area of his new slave-training center. Uniformly adorned with long, jet-black hair and pleasant of face, they were dressed in a variety of short miniskirts, high heeled shoes and elegant, silk or cotton blouses. They shifted nervously from foot to foot, hands placed behind their backs, as they eyed their environs with growing apprehension.

About a half hour ago, they had pulled up in a black minivan. It was not the way incipient slave girls usually arrived. Normally, they were drugged and shipped in airtight containers from around the globe or stuffed into small cages and flown in on cargo planes from secret, temporary airfields. Uncrated by one of the dealers down in Dlitski, the capital of this Eurasian country that Bertram now called his home, they would spend several days being acclimated to their status as property and then sold off, individually or in lots, to the various slave dealers around the country. None, up until now, had arrived by bus.

Minivan, actually: a rental from the international airport down in the capital. They had made the three-hour journey over the hard scrapple roads of the interior directly from there. There were no superhighways in Kalikastan and, if the powers that be had their way, there never would be. The country was a backwater from the word go, a breakaway republic from the old Soviet empire. Its nascent democracy had been crushed by a coterie of Russian gangsters who now ran the country like a Disneyland for neer-do-wells. They quickly established a national commission to regulate the criminal elements that flocked there, and divided themselves into clans, mixing with the already quite extensive native criminal groups.

Bertram had come to Kalikastan in search of his niece, Maddy, who had been kidnapped from her Tennessee home some ten months ago. Tall, big boned and pretty, the young girl had been 'recruited' to serve as a ponygirl, something that Bertram had never heard of until then. Bertram had hired Jake Barnes, a can do fixer, to track her down. When Jake reported that she had been shipped off to this remote, insular country, he had to go look for it on a map.

Rescuing Maddy was problematic. First of all, they didn't know who had her. There were over two dozen major estates in Kalikastan that ran and trained ponygirls and a number of minor ones. Just getting in to the country, for regular guys that is, was a near impossibility. Jake, however, came up with a plan. They would take over the US end of the slaving operation that had kidnapped Maddy and deal their way in. Posing as Amerikanski gangsters, they made contact with the slavers and, after assuring them that business would continue as usual, dropped a big juicy carrot in front of them in exchange for access to the country. A consortium of Western governments was funding a huge pipeline to deliver Russian and Ukrainian natural gas and oil to the developed west. Bertram, through his contacts, had won the contract to build it. It was going right through Kalikastan. When he promised to spread around the hundreds of millions in graft to be made, the Commission had invited him in.

The reality of female slavery had been quite a shock to the American billionaire. The institution was long a mainstay of Kalikastani life, that is before the fucking communists screwed everything up, and the takeover of the small nation by criminal elements created a renaissance. The sport of ponygirl racing followed suit. His first blowjob from a naked, indentured, attractive, young female had been an eye opener, and shortly afterwards he decided to move his worldwide headquarters here. He had since grown quite enamored of owning desirable female flesh. The Commission had awarded him his own estate about 75 miles from the capital. Now he had his own racing stable and had recently opened his own slave-training center. In the spring, a huge resort he was planning was scheduled to open. He had arranged for the establishment of a syndicate so that underworld contacts from around the globe could do their banking here and trade freely in goods: heroin, pirated technology, slave girls, etc., without interference from international authorities. The Administration in Washington had agreed to turn a blind eye to the goings on in exchange for the right to maintain secret prisons and so that major US corporations, whose ability to spread around the kind of juice that often made international markets flow was stymied by naïve, idealistic Acts of Congress, could do business as it needed to be done. No Congressional Committee would ever set eyes on Kalikastani banking records and the FBI was barred from the country.

Right before him were some of the first fruits of his international endeavors. The nine nervous, trembling young women, diminutive and petit, their firm breasts apple like, their bare legs trim and shapely, would very shortly be introduced into their new status in life. Standing next to Bertram was Peter Wong, a lean, elegant Eurasian who represented a Malaysian syndicate. On the floor at his feet was a valise containing two pounds of uncut Thai heroin. He would take back with him, when he left, a valise full of cash and three young, recently trained, European women. The heroin and two of the pretty, slight, Malaysian girls would be dealt, after their training, to the Italian Americans for distribution to their friends. Two more of the new girls would be gifted to members of the ruling Commission and the other five would remain, for the time being, as Bertram's stock in trade.

The well-built, American billionaire had rushed over to the training center as soon as he had heard that the new girls had arrived. The center was about a mile from his mansion and he had made the distance in a little over seven minutes driving hard the two, tall, broad shouldered, blond tailed, work ponies, Dora and Flora, that he kept around for his amusement. Too old for the racing circuit, having spent seven years at the bit, the pale skinned, big-breasted pair was used by Bertram on his sojourns around his estate. One of Jake's men had developed an affection for the black hooded, ever silent creatures and took good care of them. Bertram loved to watch the rippling muscles of their powerful haunches as they trotted along in perfect unison. He gave no more thought for their long past, former human status than he would have for a dray horse, although he did fuck them every once in a while when the mood struck him.

Most of the other ponies were with their drivers returning, one by one, from the last race of the fall season to the ponygirl encampment adjacent to the stylish racing track and clubhouse he had had renovated at great expense. He would go there later to look them over. Chocolate, his 1500 sulky, had qualified for the Fall Tournament, as had his four-pony cabriolet team. The rest of his teams were nonstarters as far as the tournament was concerned. He was disappointed in their showing but he was determined, Steinbrenner-like, to pick up some new talent over the winter so as to make a better showing in the spring. He had been told by Irkut, his head trainer, that he had actually done better than expected for a new ponygirl estate, but that was scant comfort to a man who was used to winning every time he rolled the dice.

All that was far from his mind right now. Right now he was anxiously waiting the denuding of his new property so that he could make a full assessment of their charms. The girls were obviously still oblivious to their ultimate fate although they were showing signs that they were aware that something was amiss.

Standing directly in front of the line of apprehensive, pretty, young girls was an Asian man; about 5'8" tall, broad shouldered and well muscled. He had short, grizzly hair and a square jaw. To Bertram he looked Korean, but he couldn't be sure. While Wong had come nattily attired in a sharply tailored, expensive suit, shiny black shoes and a paisley silk tie, the Korean was dressed in a tight fitting black t-shirt, blue jeans and heavy work boots. He had produced a three-foot long quirt from somewhere and was tapping it on the side of his leg as he glared at his charges. The presence of the whip had not gone unnoticed by the frightened women.

"So, how do you like them?" Wong said to Bertram in slightly accented, smooth English.

"They look fine, Peter," Bertram replied. "I was just curious, how did you get them here on a bus?"

"They were all recruited for overseas jobs as secretaries," Wong replied. "You can't appreciate how many pretty young, Asian women would jump at the chance to get jobs in Europe or America. All of these girls have gone to secretarial school in Kuala Lumpur and paid the equivalent of $10,000 for the chance at an overseas job. They all speak English and are very bright. So they should train well."

Bertram laughed. "So they paid the costs of their own transportation. That's funny. It'll give them something to think about while they're sucking cocks and spreading their legs. But what about their trail? Won't someone realize that they've been brought here? Won't they be missed?"

It was Wong's turn to chuckle. "No, there's nothing to worry about. Everything about their departure was totally above board. I have their passports and exit visas in my suitcase. It's just that the destination that they anticipated was slightly altered. Friends of mine in Hamburg will provide, if it ever becomes necessary, evidence that they arrived there on an international flight, were picked up by a van and then disappeared. But I doubt very much that that will be necessary. These girls' families just don't have the kind of clout or resources to do more than make a complaint at their local police station. All they will know is that the girls are gone and haven't been heard from since. The investigations will go nowhere."

"They all look delicious," Bertram observed. "Let's get a good look at them."

"As you desire, Mr. Bertram," Wong replied. He issued a curt command to the Korean, who looked back at Wong and smiled. He then returned his attention to the quailing young women all lined up obediently in front of him.

Some of the girls had apparently overheard Bertram and Wong's conversation and tears had started to flow down their pretty cheeks. Their skin was uniformly tawny and their eyes dark, almost black. They had cute, pert little noses and rounded chins. Their lips were mostly succulent and a few of the girls had wetted them nervously while awaiting the next act in the drama. None of the girls looked much older than nineteen or were taller than 5'4".

Several of Bertram's men, Barouf, the manager of the slave training center and his male, Kalikastani trainers, had joined the crowd. They were eyeing the girls with salacious intent. Bertram had begun to work a small revolution in the local female slave industry by importing non-European women in bulk. The chance to fuck the delightful, brown, yellow and black skinned girls was a novelty to the men and would be for the masters who eventually coughed up the substantial fees they would pay for them after they had been trained.

The Korean let out a loud, harsh, one word command to the girls in what Bertram assumed was Malaysian. The young women all jumped as one at the sound of the cruel, raspy voice. He followed his ejaculation with a few declarative sentences. The meaning of the foreign words were clear, even to Bertram, as a result of the girls' reactions. A few started to sob and tears filled all of their eyes. There was a look of fearful astonishment on their faces. They had just been told of the ultimate purpose of their journey to this strange place.

The Korean let his words sink in for a few moments. He then swished the whip he was holding in his strong right hand several times viciously through the air. The girls gave out moans of fear. All their eyes were pinned to the instrument as it made its violent journey back and forth. A couple of the girls looked like they were about to faint.

Seeing that his meaning had been fully understood by the pretty, trembling, young women, the Korean issued a command. The girls all looked astounded at his words. Their hands were still being dutifully held behind their backs as per an earlier order and several of the girls made slight, hesitant movements of them as if they were having trouble getting their hands to obey their instructions. The Korean man angrily repeated his command and swiped the whip three more times through the air while walking rapidly up and down the long line of pleasant, female flesh. This propelled the girls into frantic action.

Sniffling and crying, some of them sobbing, the women began to disrobe. Nervous, trembling hands pulled at the buttons of blouses or took hold of the hems of their brightly colored tops and began to pull them up over their bellies and breasts. As garments fell to the floor in front of the line of women, a wide array of dainty, lacy bras began to be revealed, firm, young breasts pushing out of them. The skirts were next and they were frantically, or here and there hesitatingly, unzipped or unhooked, as the case may be, and drawn down long, thin, tan thighs, over their graceful knees and then stepped out of. One of the girls, in her excitement, a short, slender delight, caught one of her fashionable high heels in the waist of her skirt as she was pulling it over her feet and fell to the floor. She gave out a loud, mournful wail. The Korean slapped at her bare back with the whip leaving a long, red trace behind it. The girl cried out in tearful pain and scrambled back to her feet. The girls who had been hesitating, prolonging as long as they could the humiliation of showing their desirable bodies to these strange, fearsome men, increased the pace of their disrobement as the threat of physical violence had become a reality right before their eyes.

All except one. Third down in the row of young women from Bertram's right, she had managed to loosen the two top buttons of her peach colored, silky blouse and stopped. Her face, round and smooth, was a mask of agony. He jet black hair was cut short and stylish. She wore ruby red lipstick and had a slender gold chain around her neck. Her tight, short skirt was black and she wore matching pumps. Her small, delicate hands, topped with red painted, shiny fingernails, were joined together in front of her and were writhing like Lady Macbeth trying to wash off the evidence of her guilt.

The Korean took note of the girl's inaction and approached with a few inches of her face. She looked at him, misery in her eyes, tears flowing down her cheeks. She tried to murmur some imprecation to the powerful, angry man, but he cut her off with a harsh repetition of his earlier instructions.

The line of frightened women had come to a halt in their denudement. Some of the girls had already removed their delicate bras and tossed them on the floor in front of them to join their other discarded raiment. They covered their apple-sized breasts with their slender arms, waiting to see what happened to the rebellious girl before going any further. The others either held their already loosened bras to their chests or stood there, arms wrapped around their slender bodies, dressed only in their intimacies.

"Excuse me," Wong said to Bertram. He stepped over to where the Korean man was confronting the reticent stripper. He gently nudged the Korean aside and took a position in front of the girl. She looked up at him forlornly. Apparently, her need for modesty was immobilizing her. It was doubtful that she had ever thought that she would have to bare herself before a crowd of unknown men. The idea that her transformation into a sexual slave would soon follow was paralyzing.

Wong uttered some words in a low, gentle voice. The girl's misery seemed to increase as she took in his message. The Korean was hovering next to Wong and the girl glanced at the whip in his hand. She gave out a great moan of unhappiness and returned her supplicative gaze to Wong. She began to utter a plea for remission of her fate when Wong's right hand swiftly moved from his side and flashed across her face. A loud crack! resounded through the room. The girl emitted a shout of distress and her head jerked to the side as she absorbed the cruel blow. Her crying became louder and she looked back at Wong, terror in her eyes. But she did not move to obey.

Crack! Wong's left hand repeated the exercise of his right. The blow made the girl sway and her knees weaken as her face jerked to her left. Just as she was about to collapse to the floor, Wang reached out, lightning like, and took hold of a fistful of her shiny, black hair, keeping her on her feet. Her cries of pain echoed through the room as her hands rose to try and assuage the pressure on her scalp. The other girls were sobbing and moaning as they took in the treatment of their mate. The girls to either side of her had moved away, as if fearful of catching the disease of disobedience from her.

While the rebellious girl flailed her soft, small hands at the powerful fist that held her head a prisoner, Wong said something to the Korean. Hooking the whip in his belt, he stepped behind the girl and reached around to her front. His large, strong hands took hold of the girl's silken, peach colored blouse and ripped it open. Buttons flew off, as it was rent apart. The Korean grabbed the back collar of the garment and began to draw it down over the girl's flailing arms. She was crying and protesting in her native tongue and she tried to turn and twist her torso to resist the removal of her garment. With a brutal efficiency, the man soon had it down first one arm, and then the other.

Bertram was watching the display of brute force against the girl with untrammeled excitement. Watching the girl's futile struggles, appreciating her shame and humiliation at her abuse, had made him rock hard. He had had a blowjob about forty five minutes ago while sitting at his vast desk in his office on the second floor of his mansion, but his lusts were enflamed anew by the tableau of the girl's suffering. He surreptitiously slid his right hand across his hip and gave his stiffened Johnson a little squeeze.

The girl's firm, pleasant breasts swayed in the confinements of her lacy, white bra as she struggled to avoid the removal of her blouse. The tall, Eurasian man, Wong, just held her hair tightly in his fist, keeping the girl raised onto her tippy toes as the covering was pulled free of first one wrist than the other. As each hand was liberated from her elegant blouse, it flew back to her head in a desperate attempt to free her locks from her tormentor's grip while her body danced and she wailed plaintively.

Having removed the girl's blouse, the Korean used both of his powerful hands to tear apart her flimsy, lacy bra. He ripped each shoulder strap and then pulled the bra from the girl's body. Her breasts were handful sized, a little large for her slender, diminutive frame. Her areolas were wide and dark, darker than her tawny skin, and her nipples, fat and squat, had hardened from fear. She gave a desperate shriek as she felt her twin mounds bared. While her right hand maintained her effort to assuage the fierce grip on her hair, the other slid across her swaying mammaries in a vain attempt at covering them up.

The girl started to kick her feet at Wong, striking him solidly in the shin. Wong merely smiled and lifted the girl even higher by her hair. The Korean man proceeded to rip apart the waistband of her sleek, black miniskirt and then pulled it, together with the thin, white thong panties underneath, down over the girl's hips, along her thighs and down to her feet. He quickly flipped off one bright red high-heeled pump after the other and drew the skirt and panties free of her feet.

She was now totally nude but for a pair of self supporting, sheer, beige stockings on her legs. The Korean had them off in an instant. The men all took a moment to appreciate her charms. Her torso narrowed enticingly to a pair of rounded hips and her belly was flat and tight. She pressed her legs together in an attempt to hide her sex, but the delicate entrance, two lines of soft flesh covered sparsely by finely trimmed black hair was revealed to all.

Bertram assumed that the parade of disrobing femininity would resume, but Wong had other ideas. He said something to the Korean who stooped down to the floor and scooped up the girl's delicate, white panties. He tore the waistband in two and then grabbed the girl's right arm and brought it behind her back. Her left arm still covered her breasts while he tied an end of the panties to her right wrist. Then, holding the right arm in place, he seized her left arm and pulled it behind her. When he had it in place, he used the panties to join her wrists together.

The girl's breasts were now free for closer examination. Realizing that her resistance had come to naught, the girl ceased her writhing and struggling. Tears were flowing down her face. Traces of mascara had flowed down from her pretty, brown eyes. Her face had a pitiful, mournful look. All male eyes were on her exquisite flesh.

Wong said something else to the Korean who moved from behind the now listless girl and retrieved a small gym bag that he had brought in with him. He carried it over to where Wong held the girl in place and opened it. He dug around inside and pulled out a thick leather belt that had in its middle a ring of soft, rubberized plastic. He turned back to the girl, an evil smile on his face.

The girl's eyes went wide with fright as she took in the instrument in the man's hands. When the Korean tried to introduce it to her mouth, she clamped her full, soft lips together and tried to twist her head away. The Korean looked at Wong and they both nodded. They were obviously men who had confronted this dilemma before, how to install a gag in a recalcitrant female. Wong took his free hand and pinched the girl's nostrils tightly together between a finger and his thumb. The Korean, seeing that the girl's access to air was limited to her mouth, gave the girl a sharp jab in her solar plexus.

Her eyes spread even wider and she gave out a deep moan of pain. Her lips spread apart as she gasped for air. While Wong held the girl's head steady, taking hold of her lower jaw, the Korean deftly placed the top of the ring behind her top teeth and then, bending the ring slightly, jammed it past the bottom ones. When the device was in place, spreading the girl's jaws widely as she continued to fight for oxygen, he buckled the belt behind her head.

"Would you like to make use of your new whore, Mr. Bertram?" Wong asked as he turned back to the American.

Bertram needed no encouragement. He stepped up to the unhappy, still recovering, young woman. She was panting heavily, desperately trying to recover her breath. Her eyes, tearful and plaintive, looked at the large Occidental demon in front of her. Being made use of was clearly not on the top of her list of priorities. She tried to form a word or words, but the sound emerged as, "Ahhhhhhhhho-oooooooooo!"

Wong had stepped aside and the Korean now had hold of her hair. Bertram took her firm, round breasts in his meaty hands and gave them a squeeze, gentle at first, as if weighing their mass and testing their softness, and then hard and harder still until the girl moaned in pain.

Satisfied at her response, Bertram move his hands down over her hips and belly. The flesh above her barely shrouded loins was clear and soft. Here's where my mark will go, he thought to himself as he allowed the tactile sensations of caressing the young girl's tender skin to excite him further. All the slave girls wore tattoos of their training houses on their bellies. It was the mark of pride of the slave houses. Bertram's was the snarling head of a black mastiff, its teeth and eyes bright red, its fangs exposed. Other houses used wolves, venomous snakes, lions, bears, any kind of beast that might strike terror in a helpless, young girl and be evidential of the house's brutal inclinations. It served as an ever present advertisement for the slave house's wares and an indication of where to return a slave girl for complementary, vicious retraining should she ever falter in her duties.

Bertram delighted at the thought that later, within the hour perhaps, the girl would be fixed to a specialized chair down in the lower level of the training center and her now, clean, smooth, bare flesh would be forever marred with the emblem of his ownership. When the mastiff was tattooed on her belly, her new slave name, whatever was chosen for her, would be emblazoned across her upper chest in two inch high, bright blue, scriptive letters. Finally, two disks would be affixed to her lower labial lips. They would be left blank for now. When she was purchased or converted to his staff after training, they would have etched on them the emblem of her current ownership. While the tattoos would stay, the disks could be removed and replaced as she was passed from hand to hand, from owner to owner. And if she managed to escape, a slim eventuality, when she was recaptured, a virtual certainty, her owner could readily be identified and she be returned for appropriately cruel punishments.

The girl's thighs were tightly clamped together as she suffered the hands of her new owner on her body. Her torso was twisting and turning and she struggled to free her cruelly bound hands behind her. Her mangled cries of distress and protest echoed throughout the room. Seeing that the girl was barring Bertram's desire to sample her black bearded slit, the Korean kicked her feet apart and then circled them with his own. Bertram, giving the Korean a little nod of appreciation, ran his hand between the girl's now outspread thighs and took possession of her delicate mound. He rubbed his fingers along her fleshy labia and the divide between them. He took his time in sampling the girl's sex, insinuating his fingers slowly along the gradually spreading gap. He teased the nub of pleasure at the crevasse's upper tip until the girl gave an involuntary moan. Her slit had moistened and Bertram felt a shiver of pleasure as his fingers slipped between her puffy love lips and inside.

"Auuuuuurh!" the girl moaned plaintively as she felt the intruders scour the interior walls of her cleft. "Ooooo-ooooo! Oooouuuu!" She struggled to bring her thighs together and tried to draw her hips back to take her pussy out of the man's reach. The Korean man held her firmly from behind and pressed against her hips with his, forcing her to remain in place. Some of the men behind Bertram laughed.

Having satisfied himself with his exploration of her flesh, Bertram was ready to sample the soft, warm, wet interior of her mouth with his cock. "Put her on her knees," he told the Korean as he lowered his zipper and freed his instrument from its dark environs. The Korean man pressed his knees into the back of the girl's, forcing her legs to bend and then pushed her down. Understanding what was about to happen, staring unbelievingly at the thick, long, stiff phallus that jutted out at her face, the girl tried to twist away. The Korean's grip on her hair held her still and she gave out a long, piteous moan.

Bertram waved his prick at the girl's face, enjoying her dismay. He rubbed it over her tear stained cheeks above the leather straps that crossed them. The girl's lips were distended into a wide circle. He caressed them with the tip of his cock's meaty head, circling his ultimate target, prolonging the girl's anticipation of her violation. Having so many well trained slave girls, it wasn't often that he could draw this kind of reaction from a pretty young woman and Bertram was reveling in the girl's distress. Then, having had enough, he slowly pressed his cock forwards. The girl became frantic with dismay. She strained to move the wide-open target encircled by her distended lips by shaking her head violently, but her efforts at turning her head were fruitless. She pulled helplessly at her bound hands behind her. Her wails became louder and more desperate. When his cock breached her rounded lips, her body shuddered. Anxious to get his dick moist and hot, Bertram plunged himself in.

The callous American began his motions slowly and deliberately. He felt the girl's frantic tongue attempt to reject the intruder only, instead, serving to send a thrill of delight up his steel hard wand as it brushed over and along it. When Bertram pushed against the back of her mouth, at the edge of her narrow throat, the girl uttered a muffled, panicked, "Gaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Holding the girl's head by the sides, Bertram matched the rocking of his hips with a back and forth movement of the girl's mouth. He could feel the glans of his cock glide across the girl's tongue and the roof of her mouth as he went. His neck bent back and his eyes closed to slits as he enjoyed the use of his new slave girl. He jutted himself further and further within her, pressing deeper and deeper into her throat. Each time the bulbous head of his prick crossed the threshold of her esophagus, the girl coughed and sputtered as she struggled for air.

The room was silent except for the sound of the girl's sufferings, muffled by the huge male member in her mouth, and the soft sobbing of the female witnesses to their colleague's torment. Each one knew that her turn would come. They trembled and cowered, trying not to look at the display of male cruelty before them. Tears were being shed all around. What had started as a hopeful journey into a prosperous and secure future had turned into a nightmare.

Bertram felt his juices beginning to build. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhh," he moaned as his testes tightened and his cock began to vibrate with anticipation of his climax. I could never give this up, he thought as his pleasure washed over him. And if everything works out, I will never have to.

While his cock began its dance within the girl's mouth, Bertram issued loud grunts of satisfaction. His pace had quickened as his need had built. The girl's voice, now muted, continued a soft, "Gaaaaaa!" every time his cock jammed home. His hands clamped down hard on the sides of the girl's helpless head and he buried his cock deep into her throat. She wailed and struggled, her face pressed against his belly, as he let the product of his passions jet directly into the narrow passageway en route to her stomach.

When his cock's convulsions ebbed, Bertram let it sit encapsulated by the girl's throat while he reveled in post-orgasmic bliss. He was dragged from his reverie by the girl's frantic squeaking and desperate movements to free her head. He didn't want to suffocate her on her first day, that would be a foolish business loss, and so he reluctantly drew his softening piece from her mouth.

Bertram stepped back and zipped up his fly. The Korean released his hold on the girl's hair and let her body sag towards the floor. She was sobbing forlornly and she bent over, her breasts touching her slender thighs, her face turned downward. Her shoulder length, black hair made a curtain around her face. Her prettily decorated hands lay limp amidst the sparkling white remnants of her panties fastened around them. Her graceful back was arched; revealing the little bumps of her slender spine and the soft, round, enticing orbs of her rear. Her body shuddered as it recorded each heartfelt sob.

Suddenly the Korean sprang back to life. He shouted out a command to the other half naked women. He took the whip from his belt and lashed out at two of the girls, making them scream with pain. It was if a spell had been broken. The shapely, brown skinned girls moved frantically to obey the harsh Korean. Bras, panties and brightly colored high-heeled shoes quickly joined the piles of clothes in front of them. One or two of the girls were wearing pantyhose and they struggled to draw them down over their hips as quickly as they could. No one wanted to experience the travail of the now defeated rebel girl.

When the eight other slender, diminutive, young beauties were fully naked, the Korean ordered them to put their hands on their heads. The girls all complied with alacrity and the raising of their arms caused their enticing breasts to lift up in presentation position. Wong guided the sated Bertram down the line of beauteous female flesh. The American measured the girls' breasts, squeezing them and pinching at their fear stiffened nipples. He paused here and there to wander his hand across a taut, brown belly or to delve between a pair of graceful, thighs. The girls shifted their legs readily to give him access to their loins, afraid of the rebel girl's fate. Their lips were all trembling with fear and their eyes, if not tearful, were watery and sorrowful. Although at first glance they had all looked alike to the American tycoon turned slavemaster, at closer look, he took note of their differences. Each girl had a distinct personality revealed by the evidence of their fear: the biting of their lips, the nervous flicking of the eyes. One had a longer face than the others; another's lips were more puffy and pronounced. One had high cheekbones and another, thick, dark eyebrows. The breasts, although on the small size by European standards, were plump and firm, some larger than the others. Almost all of the girls had trimmed their pussy hair and a few had denuded it completely. Their dainty, hairless mons accentuated their little girlish aspect.

One girl, who had long, black, thin hair that reached behind her to her waist, had breasts no bigger than inverted teacups. They were so cute that Bertram could not resist, much to the girl's dismay, placing his lips upon them and suckling at her sharp, fear stiffened nipples.

When he was finished with his inspection, he turned to the Eurasian gangster who had dutifully followed down the line behind him. "So how many can we expect a month?"

"We'll be sending nine a week at first. They won't all be Malaysian. We have operations in Indonesia, Thailand and Burma. We're working on a Cambodian and a Vietnamese connection as well."

"That's fine," Bertram responded. "The market for them is huge. And as we discussed, we'll be able to match one for three in Caucasian whores. The ratio reflects the relative market supply and difficulty in transport you understand, not a comment of relative value."

Wong laughed. "You don't have to be politically correct with me. Mr. Bertram. I understand supply and demand."

In the meantime, Barouf's men had gone to work in preparing the sniffling, frightened young women for their journey down into the bowels of the slave training center. They would all start out on level three and work their way up as their training progressed. If they had any true conception of how harsh and painful their training would be they probably would have all made a mad dash for the door regardless of the chance of escape. Little in their life would have prepared them for the experience of being reduced to chattel and converted into exquisite creatures of subservient sexual service.

Four of Barouf's men were going down the line of women. The first one held a black velveteen bag and the girls were ordered to throw all of their jewelry into it. He was followed by the other three. Each held a box of implements that they would put down next to a girl, retrieve the implements of servitude contained within and attach them to the girl's body. One went behind the girls and, taking their hands from their heads one by one, attached thick leather cuffs and then joined them behind the girls' backs. Another was in charge of the ankle bracelets and, when they were affixed, he bound their ankles together with an 18" long chain. The third was responsible for slave collars and gags. After encircling each trembling girl's neck with a three inch wide leather band with gleaming, brass rings embedded in front and behind, he took out a leather belt with a long, fat, leather prong attached and inserted the business end into the frowning, but obediently opened, mouth. Once the alluring, bound and gagged young women were all suitably prepared for their journey into hell, even the still quietly sobbing rebel of a little while ago, they were ordered to turn to their right. A chain was fastened between each one's neck. Barouf clapped his hands and uttered a command and the line of nine sobbing, naked, former aspiring secretaries meekly and despondently shuffled off to the elevator and to their unknown, dismal fates.