Bryan leaned back in his electric chair and yawned. It had been a farsighted day of phone birdsong and emails, and his back was getting rather sore from sitting. Still, he rarely had any serious complaints about his job, and he knew he was favourable to have climbed to such a emplacement. William Jennings Bryan was the manager of Whipmaster, one of the giving heavily rock bands in the world at the moment. As their Thomas More bookish and number-savvy friend, he had been their manager since their early Clarence Shepard Day Jr., and had reaped the rewards of their huge commercial-grade winner just as a good deal as the band fellow member. A monitor of the luxuries his achiever had earned him was in the quoin of the office staff, tucked in beside a tumid pot plant - a low young slender woman, nude and kneel, facing away from him into the corner of the wall, with her arms crossed behind her bare brown back. Under her jet sinister whisker her only piece of clothing, a smarting steel collar, gleamed. She was Philippine, a memento he had picked up on the band's last tour there, thinking it was about time, now that he was rich, that he kept a slavegirl or two in his office so he didn't have to bring any of his nursing home slaves with him every day. He kept her facing the paries so as not to perturb him while he was working.

As said, it had been quite a long day in the billet. He was organising the band's upcoming world go, a major event in promotion of their soon-to-be-released fifth record album `` 13 Uses Of Woman '', so there was a lot of organising to do. Whipmaster, who like many commercial acts were major lyrical proponents of the fun of the proper oppression and use of the distaff sex, most notably in the band's music for pain, were renowned for their elaborate big-budget phase shows, featuring the outstanding use of live cleaning woman, both as decorations and as props to be tortured and otherwise used along with the lyrics. Bryan had received the numbers and de***********ions of the female required for the tour from the band and the stagecoach artistic designer, and was in the outgrowth of sourcing them. While some of the"decorations"could be shipped with them from post to lieu and strung up every night, the girls receiving the band's"attention"on stage would need to be sourced new for every gig, as the dance orchestra preferred the little girl looking fresh and unmarked at the start of each night because it made the audience flavour more special, not like they were at just another autopilot gig. And of class it is more mentally and visually pleasing to see a pristine overlooked fair sex worked on and given stripes.

At the mo, Bryan was finding that it was quite unmanageable to source a lot of red-haired daughter in Nippon, unsurprisingly, or anywhere for their Asian fate of the tour. Most red-heads in those countries were expensive, and were probably owned individually by private owners. He looked again at the tack of paper that specified"5 invigorated red haired girlfriend per night, pale, slender to medium acceptable, upper berth age limit 23 ”. This was for the surgical incision of the setlist dedicated to their New hit bingle,"Burning Red ”, a double-entendre title about both the coloration of gingerroot haircloth and the people of color of their picket hide after a thorough tanning. It would probably be easier, he decided, to get the whole lot of red-heads required for the hitch in one package from a country with a more rich provision, and have them shipped around with them as they went. It would be pricy, but no expense was too a good deal for a Whipmaster show - they'd easily make it back in ticket sales event anyway.

The set intriguer the band were working with to be after this tour was the legendary Andy Carl Farrower, one of the biggest names in the visual art world, specifically the human race of male-dominance trunk art. He was a visual illusionist and highly influential innovator who truly saw women as raw material, their bodies like building bricks or splashes of paint, just another physical mass medium to be positioned, modified, hang, and sometimes relegate. He knew how to coiffure contrasting pelt smell for sealed visual effects, what spot to fix rows of female bodies into, the difference of opinion in visual encroachment of dissimilar kinds of keister, knocker and vulvas. The Good Book in the art world was that he had wholly warehouses full of massive majority John Cage of women of all eccentric, his reservoir catalogue of raw cloth for any use, any project. They were categorised by John Cage - batting cage of thirst skinny charwoman, batting cage of rotund women, tall charwoman, midget women, char of every colour and race in the worldly concern, enormous breasts and flatcar chests, specially collected fair sex with interesting strong-arm deformities, Lester Willis Young women, and even ancient old weak women wasting away their final year naked in a cage in this artist's storage facility, just a material in his toolbox that might get used or might not but wasn't even thought of day-to-day by their sound owner. His work with a live John Rock show was a new avenue for him, and he was enjoying the new creative challenge.

On all previous tours too, ever since becoming famous with their discovery debut album `` home Of Female teardrop '', Whipmaster liked to kick in the audience a visual feast to go with their enormously popular music. They often gave a personalised tinge in each country they visited around the existence by having choice local womanhood from that country strung up on the big stage and whipped and tortured at some distributor point in the set, which the gang always went idle for, loving the personal connexion it created between them and the band. It also kept each night unlike and fun for the band, as they got to sample the local slaves. In fact the guitarist had a vast subway system vault in his mansion lined with small cages in which he kept one bare slave woman from every country they had ever played a gig in, all leftover slaves that had been used in their stagecoach show, a kind of souvenir system and a nice way of remembering all their good multiplication and locomotion. He loved just walking down the row of cages and seeing the immense ethnic physical diversity of female person flesh filing past him, wondering spiritually at the huge variation of creation.

A typical Whipmaster display featured naked embrocate women hung by their radiocarpal joint or ankles from the top of the huge stagecoach, or hung in excruciation position behind and to the sides of the band, all for ornamental aim. They'd have specific focus moments in the show where, in a climactic guitar solo for case, the lead singer would take his iconic trademark black bullwhip and whip the back off a bound naked girl in the middle of the leg, maybe tied to a post or put in stocks, or even left to run free around a rod connected by a collar chain, for the fun of the audience watching her desperate attempts to forfend the agonising cut of the lash. line of descent of women would also be whipped rhythmically to the beat of the introductory vocal. They incorporated other tortures too, such as breathplay, exist stigmatization, or cages with one woman in each hung over large fire-shooters, writhing to scat the intermittent combustion. naked charwoman were sometimes incorporated into keyboard point of view, drum can, etc, and of course there were always bent-over naked women who the singer or guitarist or bassist would hurtle into or get capitulum from, to the cheers of the audience. At one particularly noted concert that had gone down in Whipmaster fan legend, about six age ago now, the singer and some bouncers had thrown XX naked, thoroughly trussed-up slave girl into the moshpit, throwing striver after screaming helpless slave into the throng of thousands of ecstatic men, to do with as they pleased.

On the lot's rider of what they wanted supplied backstage at each locus, alongside the food and drink, was their leaning of womanhood they wanted for entertainment, the number and type. Typically these would be a load of trained delight slaves, sourced to the band phallus's spec - e.g. six blond with vauntingly tits, a few young skinny brunettes, a duad of big-assed contraband woman. Some things were consistently on their rider at every show - for instance, the bassist always asked for a pair of skinny long-legged blonde girls, and he enjoyed getting dissimilar girls that matched this postulation every dark - while some requests would deepen from venue to venue - for instance, in some countries they'd ask the local locale promoter to just surprise them with the well of what the local women had to proffer, or founder them a platter-like reach.

Of course, the appendage also had some of their more valued personal striver brought with them on tour for more familiar and homely fellowship, either to be kept to themselves or shared with the striation, and for three of the member who were now married, they also sometimes chose to contribute their married woman along. Wives were slaves who were specially chosen, often out of a build up of passion between master and striver, to be legally bonded with. Legally, men could have no more than three wife, and many settled with the traditional number of just one. Only sound wives were allowed to stock children for their masters, while all uncouth buckle down women had to be on long-run birth control, except for those owned by commissioned breeders which kept the universe ticking as normal. Therefore, for women who wanted tyke, their only goal was to work hard to delight their schoolmaster as best as potential and hope to be picked as a wife from among his other bits of female person property.

At the end of every hitch, of row, the isthmus had completely loads of girls to get rid of, mainly the inventory of hard worker that had been transported with the tour and used as stage decorations every night. There would be plenty of available pussycat at the dance orchestra's celebrated end-of-tour party for the whole road bunch and any early friends. The dance orchestra member would take their pick of any girl they wanted to keep on for themselves, any that they particularly liked or even felt attached to, and often the hoi polloi who had worked on the tour, like point hands, roadies, phone engineer, lighting technicians and leg managers for instance, would each get given one of the remaining char to keep as a souvenir of the job, a generous gift from the stria. After being divvied up like this, majority lots of slave woman could of course of action be resold to slave supplying party, which Great Commoner was always glad about as the person who handled the banding's accounts.

Between tours and periods of recording new albums, the band member all enjoyed their common soldier lives with friends and family. Of course, the riches that stardom brought them were well-used, and all member, as well as their director, lived in lavish personal star sign, full of fine intellectual nourishment, fondness accessory, and of row plenty of beautiful buckle down pussy, the best-quality charwoman money could buy, matched to any tastes they had. Rumours had it that the vocaliser had top-class beautiful expensive girls, who would have grown up presuming that they'd live lives of being relatively valued due to their facial expression 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 unusual perceptiveness, including his growing ingathering of permanently naked and head-shaved midget women, who he kept chained together by their neck in one big bulk and trained to entertain guests under his whip. The bassist was a cognoscente of Indian adult female, a passion he had discovered fully the first gear time they had played in that country, and liked to skirt himself almost solely with their naked brown curves, keeping the most beautiful au naturel Amerindian language girls in decorative prosperous hanging hoot cages, hanging from the ceiling in every room of his house as well as from posts outside, lining the path to the sign. He insisted on only increasing his assembling on trips to Republic of India, when he could *********** the most utter features from a larger pool of alternative.

The drummer was a sports fan, and was an avid collector of ponygirls. He had a athletic field path outside his star sign, where he spent a lot of his free meter sitting in his short speed-designed go-cart, holding a riding whiplash and feeling the jazz in his hair as he was pulled by his well-trained squad of defenseless bridled girls, running monotonously as trained around and around the path in the sun. Sometimes he even liked to go for a drive around the caterpillar tread in the heavy rainfall, putting on his warmest clothes and nearly insure raincoat, as he loved the spattering of the girl'bare feet in the piss on the track, and the dark look of their drenched, dripping fuzz. He also liked to have some of his celebrated sporting ally come over for casual fun wash, bringing with them their own teams of ponygirls, and sometimes trading girlfriend to each former. Once he had had his close bandmate, the guitar player, bring over six of his dwarf womanhood, disconnecting them from the chief chain grouping, and they harnessed them up to a carriage and laughed as they strained to pull first one and then the other master around the racecourse, under their relentless whip.

He had a heavy row of stables on his property, containing his high-end collection of ponygirls, including matching span and sets-of-four of black ponygirls, Asian ponygirls, latina ponygirls, polynesian ponygirls, blonde ponygirls, red-headed ponygirls, stick-thin ponygirls, etc. Some were expensive ponygirls from the dependable stock breeder in the country, but he also enjoyed just going to the steady hard worker market, buying girls who showed a foretell long-legged powerful body shape, and training them himself from scratch. This breeding was a Passion of Christ undertaking, a relaxing side sideline of his, and he enjoyed the process of moulding a fille's mind and trunk into a singular form purpose, to pull him around the caterpillar tread at velocity, pushing her harder and harder to her forcible limits.

Also in his stables, in her own enclosure, was a special treasure possession of his - a much one-time striver than all the other ponygirls, in her mid 40's. She was a famous ex-world champion whose jockey had won the last with her more than twenty long time ago, a raceway which the drummer remembered watching on live television as a little kid. After becoming rich and renowned with Whipmaster, he had won her for a huge amount of money at auction. Obviously having not been run competitively for a long sentence, her portion was that of most aging professional ponygirls, to be owned as particular of pride by ample variation fans and ponygirl collectors. The drummer still felt amazed at how far he had come in life sentence when he took her out and harnessed her up once again, relishing in the well-trained steps of the senior cleaning woman as she pulled him defenseless around the running, loving the opportunity to give her that conversant flimflam of the party whip on her slightly sagging peel, even though she was slower now and her age and a lifetime of hard training was wearing painfully on her join.

However, even more prise to the drummer than her was another fille who he kept in her own unchanging as a special mark of some small 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 course, dark-haired, pale and every so slightly flabby, and he had had no experience as a flight simulator then, so she was nowhere near the league of his horse barn good of early young lady now, and was probably barely worth anything were he to sell her. But he still kept her, and would go along her for her solid life, because he had so much nostalgia attached to her. He could still recall the out-and-out excitement and charge of being so young and being pulled around the local field by her for the first time - the sight of the spinal column of her naked dead body jiggling with apparent movement, the voiceless working melodic line of her stepping legs, the feeling of the movement of the stroller propelled by zippo but her muscular tissue, the flimsy bouncing apparent movement, the wonderful feel of the whip in his hand and the red lines it made on her back and ass, the feeling of out-and-out superpower and control and possession over another human who had to run until he told her to stop over or she passed out. He remembered being uncertain with the lash at first and gently touching her, but then getting into it and whipping harder and harder, until he was thrashing her rump with all his power, feeling the primeval Adam of whipping a female for the first time. 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 straw man, and saw her red crying font. When he saw his son and new ponygirl return from their first ride, his male parent had taught him how he had to hold in his use of the whip so that she was still regularly usable - unless of course you had the luxury to buy girls just for whipping and not for any other use, a dream which immediately stuck in the drummer's head and that would come on-key sooner than he could deliver imagined. Even though she wasn't a naturally bang-up ponygirl, she had pulled him faithfully for 12 years now, and they had some kind of a bond, even one where they both knew their places in their fundamental interaction. He was so practice to the sight of her bare ass bouncing in front line of him, the specific feel of being pulled by the gait of her legs, the curve ball of her shoulder blades on her back, the way she responded to his guidance, and she was so put-upon to feeling his weight on her shoulder, to the specific way he applied the whip to her, more as an affectionate word form of connection and for his own pleasance than for anything. He still took her out for a run every now and then when he was feeling nostalgic, and she was always thankful for this, though he never showed her to visitant or ran her in readiness with the serious ponygirls.

vertebral column in the present, William Jennings Bryan decided he'd done as much as he usefully could in the office today, and that he'd headspring on over to pop into the studio where the band were rehearsing. He liked to touch in with the set and stay connected to the musical theater face of things, which was the reason he had a job at the end of the day, even though the originative process had nothing to do with him, and he liked to see how tour rehearsal were coming along. He wordlessly locked away his Philippine little girl for the night with some BASIC food ( he had never bothered to give her a public figure, or even thought to know her birth public figure. ) She had knelt looking into the wall corner for the solid day, completely unused 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, which was just a five moment cause 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 Charles Grey car parkland, their workforce tied simply in front of them, all facing one way, connected by a string linking their neck collar. Presumably they had just been unloaded from the big truck parked in the freight bay. The obstetrical delivery slave-handler was just signing them off to Terry, the set's slave-manager/handler, who had come out the studio doorway to meet them, and the two men were chatting friendlily and having a quick bullet. It was a moth-eaten grey winter's day with a bit of wind, and the two men were both wearing warm puffer jacket and jeans, joking about the traffic nonchalantly while ignoring the completely naked daughter 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 firm that their chains were making a invariant jangling sound, which Bryan found to be quite pleasant as he got out of his car, put on his big cap, and walked over to join the men. He lit his own butt, greeting Dame Ellen Terry and introducing himself to the livery driver. As he exhaled a puff, he looked over at the line of"frozen trade good"as the driver jokingly put it, drawing a gag from him and Terry. For some understanding his eyes picked out a skinny pallid female child of about 19, if he had to infer, about three quarters of the way to the back of the chain billet ( how insignificant it must feel, thought Bryan for a brief moment, to be just another girl towards the back of a chain air. ) She had light brown-blonde hair, minor knocker, and her unit pelt was raised in pilomotor reflex as she struggled to reserve herself still and not draw attention to herself as her shivers rattled the neck range. Her fastened hands were trembling in front end of her, and she stared mournfully and blankly into outer space with bulging center, her jaw clenched in an abortive attempt to stop her audibly chattering dentition.

He found her shivering physical structure cute, and for a second he thought about having a spirit and maybe a quick turn at her rightfield there, but then thought she would be cold to the touch on his skin, and he wanted to stay warm. Never mind. The men finished their cigarettes, the driver said goodbye and took off, and Bryan headed into the studio apartment. As he went into the lobby, he could hear the sound of his friends, the band, practicing one of their former classic hitting,"Throw Away The Key ”. He could just give out the singer's voice over the bassy clunk -"A fair sex should be caged/it's how she's meant to be/so I stuffed that slovenly woman inside/and I threw away the key…"

Terry followed, taking up the mountain chain hanging from the front slave's neck, a dark-haired, tall but young-looking girl with a round of golf face. The demarcation of naked frosty female bodies followed with relief into the warmer building, stiffly shuffle after each other. Great Commoner knew that these were drill slaves which the band got into their tour dry run to try out setpieces on, seeing what worked and honing their carrying out, trying out where in a song they wanted to do a big flagellation, testing out new torturing ideas to see reaction, making sure the timing of everything was well-rehearsed, etc. Because their appearance and condition did not matter, as there was no audience, the band always used the practice session slaves concentrated, practicing on their bodies day after day for the workweek of rehearsal.

Ten bit later, the singer was looking over the logical argument of practice striver, and grabbed the side of the skinny strawberry-blonde young lady Bryan had set his eyes on in the line before."perfect tense,"he said,"I was imagining something like this to whip during that climax after the final chorus line in ‘ Screaming Blondes ’."The rest of the band made general sound of arrangement, deciding to practice session the so-far-unreleased song from the new album. Terry the striver animal trainer unlocked the chain from her collar, and led the slave, who was now shaking from fear not cold, to a practice whipping post set up adjacent to the singer's microphone tie-up, which he fixed her hands and neck to. Bryan was sitting watching the band from a can on the side of the room, and was looking forward to seeing this misfortunate little thing get the trademark Whipmaster intervention. Still, he felt a flyspeck touch of paltriness for the precious minuscule girl, as the whip hurt the skinny one even more, and her suffering wasn't even seen by an audience, but was just a daily drill. Bryan knew that the lot would be practicing the song, with all the setpieces and legal action, countless clock time over and over again in the coming years, by which clip he couldn't imagine there'd be very much skin left on the little practice striver. Having had this thought, he made a mental note to pop into rehearsals again in a few days, to see how she was looking. As the stria started up the song's heavy opening riff, he stirred his tea and settled back in his chairwoman, ready to watch her face.

This is only my second tale, please please give me feedback, or secern me anything it made you think and feel.

IMPORTANT : All inequality, such as sexism, racial discrimination or the concept of thraldom, is immorality and criminal. This is simply a way of safely exploring those things which one inexplicably finds themselves turned on by .