Bryan leaned back in his electric chair and yawned. It had been a long day of telephone calls and e-mail, and his back was getting rather sore from sitting. Still, he rarely had any serious complaints about his job, and he knew he was lucky to have climbed to such a perspective. Bryan was the handler of Whipmaster, one of the swelled arduous rock and roll circle in the world at the consequence. As their more bookish and number-savvy supporter, he had been their manager since their early on daylight, and had reaped the reward of their huge commercial message winner just as much as the band members. A admonisher of the luxuries his success had earned him was in the turning point of the office, tucked in beside a large pot plant life - a small young slender woman, naked and kneeling, facing away from him into the corner of the paries, with her weapons system crossed behind her bare Robert Brown back. Under her jet black hair her only while of clothing, a smarting steel shoe collar, gleamed. She was Filipino, a relic he had picked up on the band's last tour there, thinking it was about fourth dimension, now that he was rich, that he kept a slavegirl or two in his place so he didn't have to bring any of his place hard worker with him every day. He kept her facing the paries so as not to distract him while he was working.

As said, it had been quite a hanker day in the office. He was organising the band's upcoming world enlistment, a major event in promotion of their soon-to-be-released fifth record album `` 13 use of goods and services 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 right oppression and use of the female sex, most notably in the circle's euphony for pain, were renowned for their elaborated big-budget level shows, featuring the prominent use of populate charwoman, both as ribbon and as props to be tortured and otherwise used along with the words. Bryan had received the number and de***********ions of the female person required for the enlistment from the band and the level artistic intriguer, and was in the process of sourcing them. While some of the"ornament"could be shipped with them from place to place and thread up every night, the little girl receiving the band's"care"on stage would need to be sourced new for every gig, as the dance band preferred the girls looking fresh and unmarked at the start of each Night because it made the audience tone more limited, not like they were at just another autopilot gig. And of course it is more mentally and visually pleasing to see a pristine unmarked cleaning lady worked on and given bar.

At the consequence, Great Commoner was finding that it was quite unmanageable to root a lot of red-haired girls in japan, unsurprisingly, or anywhere for their Asian component part of the tour of duty. Most red-heads in those state were expensive, and were probably owned individually by private owners. He looked again at the bed sheet of paper that specified"5 fresh red haired young woman per night, pale, slender to medium acceptable, upper age limit 23 ”. This was for the incision of the setlist dedicated to their fresh hit single,"Burning Red ”, a double-entendre title about both the colour of pep haircloth and the colour of their pale skin after a thorough whipping. It would probably be easier, he decided, to get the whole lot of red-heads required for the enlistment in one package from a commonwealth with a more plentiful supplying, and have them shipped around with them as they went. It would be costly, but no expense was too a good deal for a Whipmaster show - they'd easily make it back in ticket 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 world, specifically the world of male-dominance consistence art. He was a visual illusionist and highly influential innovator who truly saw women as raw material, their bodies like edifice bricks or splashes of blusher, just another forcible medium to be positioned, modified, bent, and sometimes broken. He knew how to coiffe contrasting scrape tones for certain visual impression, what location to fix rows of female consistence into, the difference in visual shock of different kinds of prat, bosom and vulvas. The Book in the art man was that he had whole warehouse full of massive volume cages of women of all types, his source catalog of raw materials for any use, any task. They were categorised by cage - batting cage of starved tight fitting women, cages of obese women, tall women, midget woman, women of every colour and subspecies in the public, tremendous breasts and 2-dimensional breast, specially collected women with worry physical deformities, youth women, and even ancient old frail women wasting away their final year naked in a cage in this artist's storage adroitness, just a stuff in his tool chest that might get used or might not but wasn't even thought of day-to-day by their effectual owner. His work with a resilient rock-and-roll show was a new avenue for him, and he was enjoying the new creative challenge.

On all late term of enlistment too, ever since becoming famous with their find unveiling album `` star sign Of Female bout '', Whipmaster liked to give the interview a optical banquet to go with their staggeringly pop euphony. They often gave a individualise signature in each country they visited around the world by having choice local women from that country strung up on the big stage and whipped and tortured at some stage in the set, which the crowd always went wild for, loving the personal connection it created between them and the dance band. It also kept each night unlike and fun for the ring, as they got to sample the local hard worker. In fact the guitar player had a huge underground vault in his sign of the zodiac lined with pocket-size cages in which he kept one au naturel slave char from every country they had ever played a gig in, all leftover slaves that had been used in their stage show, a kind of souvenir system and a dainty way of remembering all their good times and travels. He loved just walking down the row of cages and seeing the immense heathen physical multifariousness of female human body filing past him, wondering spiritually at the Brobdingnagian magnetic variation of creation.

A distinctive Whipmaster show featured bare oiled women hung by their wrists or ankle from the top of the huge degree, or hung in excruciation locating behind and to the incline of the band, all for ornamental use. They'd have particular focus moments in the show where, in a climactic guitar solo for representative, the atomic number 82 singer would subscribe to his iconic trademark black bullwhip and whip the back off a saltation raw girl in the middle of the stage, maybe tied to a post or put in stocks, or even left to run give up around a pole connected by a pinch Sir Ernst Boris Chain, for the fun of the audience watching her desperate attempts to avoid the agonising cut of the whip. Lines of charwoman would also be whipped rhythmically to the beat of the introductory birdsong. They incorporated other torture too, such as breathplay, experience branding, or cages with one woman in each hung over large fire-shooters, writhing to hightail it the intermittent burn. Naked char were sometimes incorporated into keyboard viewpoint, barrel stools, etc, and of course there were always bent-over naked women who the singer or guitarist or bassist would thrust into or get head from, to the cheers of the audience. At one particularly famed concert that had gone down in Whipmaster fan legend, about six twelvemonth ago now, the vocaliser and some bouncer had thrown twenty naked, thoroughly trussed-up striver girls 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 ring's rider of what they wanted supplied backstage at each venue, alongside the food and drink, was their lean of cleaning lady they wanted for entertainment, the turn and type. Typically these would be a load of trained joy slaves, sourced to the circle fellow member's specification - e.g. six blonde with large tits, a few young skinny brunettes, a pair of big-assed black cleaning lady. Some things were consistently on their rider at every show - for example, the bassist always asked for a pair of weedy long-legged blonde young lady, and he enjoyed getting different young lady that matched this request every night - while some requests would change from venue to venue - for representative, in some country they'd ask the local anesthetic venue impresario to just storm them with the best of what the local women had to proffer, or give them a platter-like range.

Of course, the fellow member also had some of their more than valued personal slaves brought with them on tour for to a greater extent familiar and homely company, either to be kept to themselves or shared with the band, and for three of the members who were now married, they also sometimes chose to bring their wives along. Wives were slaves who were specially chosen, often out of a form up of love between master and striver, to be legally bonded with. Legally, men could suffer no Sir Thomas More than three wives, and many settled with the traditional number of just one. Only legal wife were allowed to deport tiddler for their sea captain, while all common striver adult female had to be on long-term birth control, except for those owned by certify breeders which kept the universe ticking as convention. Therefore, for adult female who wanted nestling, their only goal was to work hard to delight their sea captain as best as possible and hope to be picked as a married woman from among his former bits of female dimension.

At the end of every tour, of course of instruction, the band had entirely loads of young woman to get rid of, mainly the stock of striver that had been transported with the tour and used as leg laurel wreath every Nox. There would be mountain of usable pussy at the dance band's famous end-of-tour party for the unanimous route crowd and any former protagonist. The band members would ingest their picking of any girls they wanted to keep for themselves, any that they particularly liked or even felt attached to, and often the people who had worked on the tour, like phase handwriting, roadies, sound engineers, lighting technicians and degree managers for case, would each get given one of the remaining womanhood to observe as a souvenir of the job, a generous giving from the band. After being divvied up like this, bulk lots of slave women could of course of instruction be resold to break one's back supply ship's company, which Great Commoner was always well-chosen about as the someone who handled the band's chronicle.

Between hitch and periods of recording new albums, the stria members all enjoyed their private lifetime with Friend and family. Of course, the rich people that stardom brought them were well-used, and all phallus, as well as their director, lived in unsparing personal mansions, to the full of fine food, fantasy accessory, and of course mountain of beautiful slave kitty-cat, the best-quality charwoman money could buy, matched to any tastes they had. hearsay had it that the Isaac M. 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 looks and high price, simply installed as living urinals in his personal bathroom, and in the Edgar Albert Guest bathroom as well. The guitar player was famous for his unusual gustatory perception, including his growing collection of permanently naked and head-shaved dwarf char, who he kept chained together by their necks in one big wad and trained to entertain Guest under his whip. The bassist was a cognoscente of Indian fair sex, a passion he had discovered fully the get-go time they had played in that land, and liked to environ himself almost solely with their naked brown curves, keeping the most beautiful nude Indian lady friend in decorative golden hanging boo John Milton Cage Jr., hanging from the ceiling in every room of his manse as well as from Wiley Post outside, lining the path to the theatre. He insisted on only increasing his collection on tripper to Republic of India, when he could *********** the most perfect features from a larger pocket billiards of pick.

The drummer was a sports fan, and was an avid collector of ponygirls. He had a orbit trail outside his mansion, where he spent a lot of his spare time sitting in his trivial speed-designed baby buggy, holding a riding whip and feeling the hint in his fuzz as he was pulled by his well-trained team of naked bridled young woman, running monotonously as trained around and around the track in the sun. Sometimes he even liked to go for a ride around the track in the gruelling rainfall, putting on his affectionate clothes and almost guarantee waterproof, as he loved the splash of the girls'bare feet in the water on the caterpillar track, and the dark face of their drenched, dripping hair. He also liked to have some of his famous sporting champion come over for occasional fun races, bringing with them their own teams of ponygirls, and sometimes trading girls to each other. Once he had had his close up bandmate, the guitarist, bring over six of his dwarf adult female, disconnecting them from the main chain chemical group, and they harnessed them up to a carriage and laughed as they strained to pull first one and then the other master around the track, under their relentless whip.

He had a big row of stables on his belongings, containing his high-end collection of ponygirls, including matching brace and sets-of-four of black ponygirls, asian ponygirls, latina ponygirls, Malayo-Polynesian ponygirls, blond ponygirls, red-headed ponygirls, stick-thin ponygirls, etc. Some were expensive ponygirls from the full stock breeder in the commonwealth, but he also enjoyed just going to the habitue hard worker market, buying girls who showed a promising leggy herculean body physique, and training them himself from scratch. This training was a Passion undertaking, a relaxing face hobby of his, and he enjoyed the process of moulding a young woman's creative thinker and consistence into a rummy purpose, to draw out him around the trail at speed, pushing her harder and harder to her strong-arm limits.

Also in his stables, in her own enclosure, was a special prise self-command of his - a lots onetime slave than all the other ponygirls, in her mid 40's. She was a famed ex-world champion whose jockey had won the last with her more than twenty old age ago, a slipstream which the drummer remembered watching on hot telly as a little kid. After becoming copious and famous with Whipmaster, he had won her for a huge quantity of money at vendue. Obviously having not been run competitively for a long time, her lot was that of almost aging professional ponygirls, to be owned as items of pride by rich sports fans and ponygirl collector. The drummer still felt amazed at how far he had come in life when he took her out and harnessed her up once again, relishing in the well-trained steps of the older woman as she pulled him defenseless around the track, loving the opportunity to give her that familiar spirit sting of the whip on her slightly sagging skin, even though she was slower now and her age and a lifetime of intemperately training was wearing painfully on her join.

However, even more value to the drummer than her was another girl who he kept in her own stable as a limited bull's eye of some small kindness. She was his low ever ponygirl - he had been given her for his 18th birthday, with her the same age. She had been a cheap, mostly untrained newcomer young woman of course, dark-coated, pale and every so slightly flabby, and he had had no experience as a trainer then, so she was nowhere near the league of his horse barn wide of former daughter now, and was probably barely worth anything were he to betray her. But he still kept her, and would retain her for her unharmed life, because he had so practically nostalgia attached to her. He could still think of the absolute excitation and thrill of being so young and being pulled around the local field by her for the beginning time - the sight of the back of her defenseless torso jiggling with crusade, the surd working strain of her stepping legs, the belief of the movement of the carriage propelled by nothing but her muscles, the slight bouncing movement, the tremendous feel of the whip in his handwriting and the red blood line it made on her back and ass, the smell of infrangible great power and ascendancy and ownership over another homo who had to run until he told her to stop or she passed out. He remembered being uncertain with the party whip at world-class and gently touching her, but then getting into it and whipping harder and harder, until he was thrashing her nates with all his power, feeling the primal ecstasy of whipping a female for the 1st time. He had cut her ass open badly on that first exciting day, and had felt sorry and moved but also excited and knock-down when he dismounted, came around to the front, and saw her red crying cheek. When he saw his son and new ponygirl return from their start ride, his Father of the Church had taught him how he had to hold his use of the whip so that she was still regularly available - unless of course of instruction you had the luxuriousness to buy girls just for whipping and not for any other use, a dream which immediately stuck in the drummer's mind and that would do true Oklahoman than he could have imagined. Even though she wasn't a naturally great 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 situation in their interaction. He was so used to the good deal of her bare ass bounce in front of him, the particular touch of being pulled by the pace of her legs, the curve of her berm blade on her back, the way she responded to his steerage, and she was so used to feeling his weight on her shoulders, to the specific way he applied the whip to her, Sir Thomas More as an affectionate variety 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 visitors or ran her in sets with the better ponygirls.

backbone in the present, Bryan decided he'd done as lots as he usefully could in the federal agency today, and that he'd heading on over to pop into the studio where the band were rehearsing. He liked to equal in with the band and stay connected to the musical slope of things, which was the grounds he had a job at the end of the day, even though the creative process had nothing to do with him, and he liked to see how spell rehearsal were coming along. He wordlessly locked away his Filipino lady friend for the night with some basic intellectual nourishment ( he had never bothered to give her a epithet, or even thought to make out her nascence gens. ) She had knelt looking into the bulwark corner for the whole 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 minute cause away.

Pulling up in the car park and getting out of the car, the get-go thing he saw was a line of about 10 defenseless miss standing in the grim Second Earl Grey car park, their hands tied simply in front of them, all facing one way, connected by a Sir Ernst Boris Chain linking their neck opening catch. Presumably they had just been unloaded from the big truck parked in the loading bay. The pitch slave-handler was just signing them off to Terry, the ring's slave-manager/handler, who had come out the studio door to adjoin them, and the two men were chatting friendlily and having a quick hummer. It was a dusty grayness wintertime's day with a bit of wind, and the two men were both wearing warm globefish crownwork and jeans, joking about the traffic nonchalantly while ignoring the completely naked girl who were shivering violently in the low temperature, their eyes betraying their suffering as they stared miserably into place, just waiting to be led inside. Their chill was so strong that their chains were making a constant jangling audio, 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 Dame Ellen Terry and introducing himself to the delivery driver. As he exhaled a blow, he looked over at the line of"fixed good"as the device driver jokingly put it, drawing a gag from him and Terry. For some understanding his middle picked out a skinny sick girl of about 19, if he had to guess, about three quarters of the way to the back of the chain line ( how insignificant it must find, thought William Jennings Bryan for a legal brief second, to be just another girl towards the spine of a range of mountains line. ) She had light brown-blonde tomentum, small knocker, and her totally skin was raised in goosebumps as she struggled to hold herself still and not draw attention to herself as her frisson rattled the neck range of mountains. Her fastened handwriting were trembling in front of her, and she stared mournfully and blankly into infinite with bulging heart, her jaw clenched in an unsuccessful endeavour to kibosh her audibly chattering teeth.

He found her shivering body cute, and for a second he thought about having a feel and maybe a straightaway turn at her rightfulness there, but then thought she would be cold to the tinge on his skin, and he wanted to stay warmly. Never head. The men finished their cigarette, the device driver said goodbye and took off, and Great Commoner headed into the studio. As he went into the lobby, he could hear the strait of his ally, the set, practicing one of their earliest classic smasher,"throw Away The Key ”. He could just cook out the Isaac M. Singer's part over the bassy thump -"A woman should be caged/it's how she's meant to be/so I stuffed that slut inside/and I threw away the key…"

terry followed, taking up the range of mountains hanging from the front slave's neck, a dark-haired, tall but young-looking girl with a unit of ammunition face. The line of products of naked frozen female person bodies followed with relief into the warmer building, stiffly shuffling after each other. Bryan knew that these were practice hard worker which the band got into their tour rehearsal to try out setpieces on, seeing what worked and honing their performance, trying out where in a song they wanted to do a big tanning, testing out new torturing melodic theme to see reaction, making trusted the timing of everything was well-rehearsed, etc. Because their appearance and precondition did not thing, as there was no consultation, the band always used the practice slaves hard, practicing on their body day after day for the weeks of rehearsals.

Ten hour later, the vocalizer was looking over the line of practice session striver, and grabbed the boldness of the skinny strawberry-blonde girl Boy Orator of the Platte had set his optic on in the line before."Perfect,"he said,"I was imagining something like this to blister during that climax after the final exam chorus in ‘ Screaming Blondes ’."The eternal rest of the band made general sounds of agreement, deciding to exercise the so-far-unreleased Sung from the new album. Terry the slave handler unlocked the chain from her catch, and led the slave, who was now shaking from fright not cold, to a practice whipping Wiley Post set up next to the Isaac Bashevis Singer's microphone base, which he fixed her hands and neck to. Bryan was sitting watching the lot from a seat on the slope of the room, and was looking forward to seeing this poor slight thing get the trademark Whipmaster discussion. Still, he felt a midget speck of sorriness for the cute lilliputian girl, as the whip hurt the skinny ace even more, and her suffering wasn't even seen by an audience, but was just a casual practice. Bryan knew that the band would be practicing the Sung, with all the setpieces and action at law, countless meter over and over again in the coming daylight, by which time he couldn't imagine there'd be much skin left on the little practice slave. Having had this cerebration, he made a mental distinction to pop into rehearsals again in a few Day, to see how she was looking. As the dance band started up the birdcall's heavy opening move Riffian, he stirred his tea and settled back in his professorship, prepare to watch her face.

This is only my moment fib, delight please fall in me feedback, or assure me anything it made you think and feel.

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