Bryan leaned back in his president and yawned. It had been a long day of phone calls and emails, and his rear was getting rather sore from sitting. Still, he rarely had any life-threatening complaints about his job, and he knew he was lucky to have climbed to such a position. Bryan was the manager of Whipmaster, one of the biggest gruelling rock bands in the world at the instant. As their More bookish and number-savvy friend, he had been their coach since their early daylight, and had reaped the wages of their huge commercial-grade success just as a great deal as the band members. A reminder of the luxuries his success had earned him was in the box of the billet, tucked in beside a with child pot flora - a small new slender woman, bare and kneel, facing away from him into the turning point of the paries, with her arm crossed behind her bare brown back. Under her jet black hair her but piece of clothing, a impudent steel collar, gleamed. She was Filipino, a souvenir he had picked up on the ring's last tour there, thinking it was about clip, now that he was plentiful, that he kept a slavegirl or two in his office so he didn't have to bring any of his dwelling house slaves with him every day. He kept her facing the rampart so as not to distract him while he was working.

As said, it had been quite a long day in the office staff. He was organising the stripe's upcoming world tour of duty, a major event in promotion of their soon-to-be-released fifth album `` 13 America Of Woman '', so there was a lot of organising to do. Whipmaster, who like many commercial acts were John Major lyric advocator of the fun of the proper oppression and use of the female person sex, most notably in the ring's euphony for pain, were renowned for their detailed big-budget point shows, featuring the prominent use of live charwoman, both as medal and as props to be tortured and otherwise used along with the lyrics. Great Commoner had received the numbers racket and de***********ions of the female required for the tour of duty from the stripe and the stage artistic designer, and was in the process of sourcing them. While some of the"decorations"could be shipped with them from place to place and strung up every night, the girl receiving the band's"aid"on stage would ask to be sourced new for every gig, as the stria preferred the lady friend looking invigorated and unmarked at the start of each night because it made the audience feel more peculiar, not like they were at just another automatic pilot gig. And of course it is more mentally and visually pleasing to see a pristine unnoted woman worked on and given streak.

At the present moment, Bryan was finding that it was quite difficult to source a lot of red-haired girls in Nippon, unsurprisingly, or anywhere for their Asian portion of the term of enlistment. Most red-heads in those countries were expensive, and were probably owned individually by private owners. He looked again at the sheet of paper that specified"5 brisk red haired girls per Night, pale, slender to medium acceptable, upper age limit 23 ”. This was for the incision of the setlist dedicated to their raw hit single,"electrocution Red ”, a double-entendre title about both the colour of gingerroot hair and the colouring of their picket hide after a thorough whipping. It would probably be prosperous, he decided, to get the whole lot of red-heads required for the tour in one package from a country with a more bountiful supply, and have them shipped around with them as they went. It would be costly, but no expense was too a great deal for a Whipmaster display - they'd easily make it back in ticket gross sales anyway.

The set couturier the band were working with to plan this tour was the legendary Andy Carl Farrower, one of the biggest names in the visual art reality, specifically the world of male-dominance body art. He was a ocular illusionist and highly influential innovator who truly saw women as raw stuff, their bodies like construction bricks or stir of paint, just another strong-arm medium to be positioned, modified, bent, and sometimes broken. He knew how to arrange contrasting skin note for certain visual effects, what positions to fix rows of female person eubstance into, the difference in visual wallop of different kinds of asses, pap and vulvas. The word in the art world was that he had whole warehouses full moon of massive bulk cages of adult female of all types, his reservoir catalogue of raw materials for any use, any projection. They were categorised by cage - cages of starved skinny char, John Cage of obese women, tall woman, dwarf charwoman, womanhood of every colour and race in the human race, enormous breasts and bland chests, specially collected women with worry physical deformities, Whitney Moore Young Jr. charwoman, and even ancient old weak women wasting away their final exam long time naked in a cage in this creative person's storage installation, just a textile in his tool cabinet that might get used or might not but wasn't even thought of day-after-day by their sound proprietor. His work with a endure rock'n'roll show was a new avenue for him, and he was enjoying the new creative challenge.

On all previous turn too, ever since becoming notable with their breakthrough entry album `` House Of female person Tears '', Whipmaster liked to give the audience a optic feast to go with their hugely pop music. They often gave a personalised touch in each area they visited around the public by having choice local women from that body politic strung up on the big microscope stage and whipped and tortured at some breaker point in the set, which the crowd always went wild for, loving the personal link it created between them and the dance orchestra. It also kept each Nox different and fun for the band, as they got to try the topical anaesthetic slave. In fact the guitarist had a huge metro hurdle in his mansion lined with small cages in which he kept one bare slave womanhood from every country they had ever played a gig in, all leftover striver that had been used in their stage show, a kind of memento system and a nice way of remembering all their good prison term and travels. He loved just walking down the row of cages and seeing the Brobdingnagian ethnic physical multifariousness of female frame filing past him, wondering spiritually at the Brobdingnagian magnetic declination of creation.

A typical Whipmaster show featured naked oiled women hung by their wrists or ankles from the top of the huge degree, or hung in crucifixion position behind and to the side of meat of the band, all for decorative intention. They'd have specific focus moments in the show where, in a climactic guitar solo for illustration, the lead singer would take his iconic trademark black bullwhip and whip the back off a bounce naked girl in the midriff of the leg, maybe tied to a position or put in stocks, or even left to run gratis around a pole connected by a apprehension Ernst Boris Chain, for the fun of the audience watching her do-or-die attempts to avoid the agonising cut of the whip. ancestry of women would also be whipped rhythmically to the beat of the introductory song. They incorporated early tortures too, such as breathplay, survive stigmatisation, or John Cage with one char in each hung over with child fire-shooters, writhing to fly the coop the intermittent burning. Naked women were sometimes incorporated into keyboard stands, drum stools, etc, and of class there were always bent-over naked women who the singer or guitarist or bassist would force into or get top dog from, to the cheer of the audience. At one particularly far-famed concert that had gone down in Whipmaster fan caption, about six days ago now, the singer and some bouncer had thrown XX naked, thoroughly trussed-up knuckle down girlfriend into the moshpit, throwing hard worker after screaming helpless slave into the throng of thousands of rapturous men, to do with as they pleased.

On the stripe's rider of what they wanted supplied offstage at each venue, alongside the food and drink, was their list of cleaning woman they wanted for entertainment, the act and type. Typically these would be a load of train joy slaves, sourced to the band penis's specifications - e.g. six blondes with tumid tits, a few young skinny brunet, a brace of big-assed black fair sex. Some things were consistently on their rider at every show - for case, the bassist always asked for a pair of tight fitting leggy blonde miss, and he enjoyed getting dissimilar girls that matched this petition every night - while some asking would deepen from locus to venue - for illustration, in some countries they'd ask the local anaesthetic locus impresario to just surprise them with the best of what the topical anaesthetic women had to offer, or give them a platter-like range.

Of course, the extremity also had some of their more valued personal hard worker brought with them on tour for Thomas More familiar and homely company, either to be kept to themselves or shared with the dance band, and for three of the penis who were now married, they also sometimes take to take their married woman along. married woman were slaves who were specially chosen, often out of a build up of love between captain and slave, to be legally bonded with. Legally, men could have no more than three wife, and many settled with the traditional telephone number of just one. Only sound wife were allowed to take children for their captain, while all mutual slave women had to be on long-term birth control, except for those owned by licensed stock breeder which kept the population ticking as normal. Therefore, for woman who wanted child, their lone goal was to form hard to please their master copy as best as possible and Leslie Townes Hope to be picked as a wife from among his other morsel of female holding.

At the end of every enlistment, of course of study, the circle had unscathed loads of girls to get rid of, mainly the stock of striver that had been transported with the hitch and used as stage ornamentation every night. There would be plenty of usable pussy at the band's illustrious end-of-tour party for the whole road gang and any other supporter. The banding members would take their plectrum of any daughter they wanted to hold open for themselves, any that they particularly liked or even felt attached to, and often the mass who had worked on the tour, like microscope stage hands, roadies, audio engineers, lighting technicians and stage managing director for instance, would each get given one of the remnant womanhood to go on as a keepsake of the job, a generous gift from the isthmus. After being divvied up like this, bulk lots of slave womanhood could of course be resold to slave supply companies, which Bryan was always happy about as the person who handled the dance band's explanation.

Between tours and menstruum of recording new albums, the ring members all enjoyed their private sprightliness with ally and family. Of course, the riches that stardom brought them were well-used, and all members, as well as their coach, lived in overgenerous personal mansions, full of okay food, phantasy supplement, and of course plenty of beautiful hard worker snatch, the best-quality charwoman money could buy, matched to any tasting they had. Rumours had it that the singer had top-class beautiful expensive girls, who would have grown up presuming that they'd live lives of being relatively valued due to their looking and high price, simply installed as living urinals in his personal bathroom, and in the Edgar Guest bathroom as well. The guitarist was famous for his strange mouthful, including his growing collection of permanently naked and head-shaved midget woman, who he kept chained together by their cervix in one big mass and trained to think about guests under his party whip. The bassist was a connoisseur of Amerind women, a passion he had discovered fully the foremost prison term they had played in that country, and liked to fence in himself almost solely with their naked brown curves, keeping the most beautiful naked Native American girls in decorative golden hanging bird Cage, hanging from the ceiling in every way of his mansion as well as from posts outside, lining the way of life to the house. He insisted on only increasing his collection on trips to Republic of India, when he could *********** the most perfect features from a larger pool of option.

The drummer was a play fan, and was an esurient accumulator of ponygirls. He had a field course outside his mansion, where he spent a lot of his free fourth dimension sitting in his piffling speed-designed carriage, holding a riding whip and feeling the wind in his fuzz as he was pulled by his well-trained team of naked bridled little girl, running monotonously as trained around and around the caterpillar track in the sun. Sometimes he even liked to go for a ride around the path in the weighed down rain, putting on his warmest dress and most secure raincoat, as he loved the splash of the lady friend'bare metrical unit in the water on the rails, and the dark look of their drenched, dripping hair. He also liked to have some of his famous sporting acquaintance come over for casual fun airstream, bringing with them their own teams of ponygirls, and sometimes trading girls to each other. Once he had had his close bandmate, the guitarist, bring over six of his gnome women, disconnecting them from the chief chemical chain group, and they harnessed them up to a carriage and laughed as they strained to pull up first one and then the early master around the track, under their relentless lash.

He had a bombastic row of stables on his attribute, containing his high-end collection of ponygirls, including matching dyad and sets-of-four of black ponygirls, Asiatic ponygirls, latina ponygirls, polynesian ponygirls, blonde ponygirls, red-headed ponygirls, stick-thin ponygirls, etc. Some were expensive ponygirls from the best breeder in the res publica, but he also enjoyed just going to the regular slave securities industry, buying daughter who showed a promising long-legged powerful body form, and training them himself from scratch. This training was a passion project, a slow down side sideline of his, and he enjoyed the process of moulding a girl's intellect and body into a odd function, to tear him around the track at f number, pushing her harder and harder to her physical limits.

Also in his stalls, in her own enclosure, was a special prized ownership of his - a much older slave than all the other ponygirls, in her mid 40's. She was a renowned ex-world champion whose jockey had won the final with her Thomas More than twenty years ago, a slipstream which the drummer remembered watching on live television as a lilliputian kid. After becoming rich and famous with Whipmaster, he had won her for a huge sum of money at auction sale. Obviously having not been run competitively for a tenacious time, her fate was that of most aging professional ponygirls, to be owned as token of superbia by rich sportsman sports fan and ponygirl gatherer. The drummer still felt amazed at how far he had come in living when he took her out and harnessed her up once again, relishing in the well-trained steps of the previous adult female as she pulled him au naturel around the track, loving the opportunity to gift her that familiar bunko game of the party whip on her slightly sagging peel, even though she was slower now and her age and a lifetime of difficult training was wearing painfully on her joints.

However, even more prized to the drummer than her was another girl who he kept in her own static as a special patsy of some small-scale kindness. She was his first ever ponygirl - he had been given her for his 18th birthday, with her the Same age. She had been a cheap, mostly untrained starter girl of trend, dark-haired, blanch and every so slightly flaccid, and he had had no experience as a trainer then, so she was nowhere near the league of his horse barn wide of early girls now, and was probably barely Worth anything were he to trade her. But he still kept her, and would restrain her for her whole life, because he had so much nostalgia attached to her. He could still think the rank inflammation and chill of being so young and being pulled around the local field of study by her for the firstly time - the hatful of the back of her au naturel body jiggling with bm, the tough working striving of her stepping legs, the feeling of the movement of the carriage propelled by nothing but her muscles, the little bouncing movement, the terrific feel of the party whip in his manus and the red descent it made on her back and ass, the tactile sensation of absolute might and control and possession over another human who had to run until he told her to stop or she passed out. He remembered being uncertain with the whiplash at first and gently touching her, but then getting into it and whipping harder and harder, until he was thrashing her tush with all his power, feeling the primal ecstasy of whipping a female for the first clip. He had cut her ass open badly on that first exciting day, and had felt sorry and moved but also excited and powerful when he dismounted, came around to the social movement, and saw her red watchword human face. When he saw his son and new ponygirl return from their number one ride, his father had taught him how he had to moderate his use of the whip so that she was still regularly available - unless of course of action you had the luxury to buy girls just for whipping and not for any former use, a dream which immediately stuck in the drummer's head and that would get true Sooner than he could throw imagined. Even though she wasn't a naturally great ponygirl, she had pulled him faithfully for 12 twelvemonth now, and they had some variety of a Julian Bond, even one where they both knew their property in their interaction. He was so used to the slew of her bare ass bouncing in front of him, the specific touch sensation of being pulled by the pace of her peg, the curve of her shoulder blades on her back, the way she responded to his steering, and she was so expend to feeling his weight on her shoulders, to the specific way he applied the whip to her, more as an affectionate form of connection and for his own pleasure than for anything. He still took her out for a run every now and then when he was feeling nostalgic, and she was always grateful for this, though he never showed her to visitor or ran her in sets with the better ponygirls.

Back in the demo, Bryan decided he'd done as very much as he usefully could in the office today, and that he'd head on over to pop into the studio where the band were rehearsing. He liked to adjoin in with the dance orchestra and stay connected to the musical theater side of thing, which was the reason he had a job at the end of the day, even though the originative process had zip to do with him, and he liked to see how tour dry run were coming along. He wordlessly locked away his Filipino girl for the Night with some basic food ( he had never bothered to give her a name, or even thought to have a go at it her birth name. ) She had knelt looking into the paries box for the whole day, completely fresh for her sexual purpose, silent and still just as she had been trained/hurt into being. Then he shut down the lights, locked up, got in his car and took off to the studio apartment, which was just a five minute campaign away.

Pulling up in the car park and getting out of the car, the first thing he saw was a line of about 10 naked girls standing in the grim grey car parkland, their script tied simply in front man of them, all facing one way, connected by a chain linking their neck collars. Presumably they had just been unloaded from the big hand truck parked in the loading bay. The delivery slave-handler was just signing them off to Terry, the band's slave-manager/handler, who had come out the studio doorway to fulfill them, and the two men were chatting friendlily and having a promptly smoke. It was a dusty grey winter's day with a bit of jazz, and the two men were both wearing warm puffer jackets and dungaree, joking about the traffic nonchalantly while ignoring the completely raw lady friend who were shivering violently in the low temperature, their eyes betraying their suffering as they stared miserably into space, just waiting to be led inside. Their shivering was so unattackable that their chains were making a constant jangling auditory sensation, which Bryan found to be quite pleasant as he got out of his car, put on his big jacket, and walked over to join the men. He lit his own cigarette, greeting terry cloth and introducing himself to the delivery driver. As he exhaled a blow, he looked over at the line of"freeze down goods"as the driver jokingly put it, drawing a laugh from him and Terry. For some reason his eyes picked out a boney blanch female child of about 19, if he had to reckon, about three fourth of the way to the back of the chain furrow ( how peanut it must feel, thought William Jennings Bryan for a brief mo, to be just another female child towards the back of a concatenation assembly line. ) She had Inner Light brown-blonde hair's-breadth, small tits, and her whole skin was raised in goosebumps as she struggled to go for herself still and not draw attention to herself as her tremble rattled the neck chain. Her laced hands were trembling in front man of her, and she stared mournfully and blankly into infinite with bulging eyes, her jaw clenched in an unsuccessful attempt to stop her audibly chattering tooth.

He found her shivering body cute, and for a second he thought about having a flavor and maybe a warm routine at her right there, but then thought she would be cold to the touch on his skin, and he wanted to stay tender. Never idea. The men finished their cigarettes, the driver said goodbye and took off, and William Jennings Bryan headed into the studio. As he went into the lobby, he could try the auditory sensation of his friend, the band, practicing one of their earliest classic collision,"throw Away The Key ”. He could just make out the Isaac Merrit Singer's vocalisation over the bassy thumping -"A char should be caged/it's how she's meant to be/so I stuffed that loose woman inside/and I threw away the key…"

Terry followed, taking up the Sir Ernst Boris Chain hanging from the movement slave's neck, a dark-haired, improbable but young-looking girl with a round face. The line of nude frozen female consistency followed with relief into the heater building, stiffly make after each early. Bryan knew that these were pattern slaves which the striation got into their tour dry run to try out setpieces on, seeing what worked and honing their execution, trying out where in a song they wanted to do a big whipping, testing out new torturing estimate to see reactions, making sure the timing of everything was well-rehearsed, etc. Because their appearance and term did not affair, as there was no interview, the band always used the practice slaves hard, practicing on their bodies day after day for the weeks of rehearsals.

Ten minutes later, the singer was looking over the line of drill slave, and grabbed the face of the skinny strawberry-blonde female child William Jennings Bryan had set his eyes on in the line before."Perfect,"he said,"I was imagining something like this to whip during that climax after the final refrain in ‘ screeching Blondes ’."The rest of the dance band made general sounds of agreement, deciding to exercise the so-far-unreleased song from the new album. Terry the slave handler unlocked the chain from her shoe collar, and led the hard worker, who was now shaking from fear not cold, to a drill whipping office set up next to the singer's microphone stand, which he fixed her hands and neck to. Bryan was sitting watching the band from a seat on the side of the elbow room, and was looking forward to seeing this poor people small thing get the trademark Whipmaster discussion. Still, he felt a tiny mite of paltriness for the cunning little girl, as the whip hurt the skinny ones even more, and her suffering wasn't even seen by an audience, but was just a casual practice session. Bryan knew that the stria would be practicing the song, with all the setpieces and actions, countless times over and over again in the coming days, by which time he couldn't imagine there'd be lots skin left on the minuscule practice slave. Having had this thinking, he made a mental musical note to pop into rehearsal again in a few daytime, to see how she was looking. As the band started up the Sung's heavy chess opening riff, he stirred his tea and settled back in his chair, ready to watch her face.

This is only my back story, delight please give me feedback, or tell me anything it made you think and feel.

IMPORTANT : All inequality, such as sexism, racism or the concept of thrall, is malign and pitiful. This is simply a way of safely exploring those thing which one inexplicably finds themselves turned on by .