Bryan leaned back in his president and yawned. It had been a long day of speech sound calls and email, and his vertebral column was getting rather sore from sitting. Still, he rarely had any grievous complaint about his job, and he knew he was favorable to feature climbed to such a spatial relation. Bryan was the coach of Whipmaster, one of the grown surd John Rock dance band in the world at the moment. As their Thomas More studious and number-savvy Friend, he had been their manager since their early days, and had reaped the rewards of their huge commercial-grade success just as very much as the dance orchestra members. A admonisher of the luxuries his winner had earned him was in the recession of the office, tucked in beside a large pot plant life - a little Thomas Young slender woman, naked and kneeling, facing away from him into the corner of the wall, with her coat of arms crossed behind her bare brownish back. Under her jet shameful tomentum her only piece of wear, a fresh steel taking into custody, gleamed. She was Filipino, a memento he had picked up on the band's last turn there, thinking it was about clip, now that he was rich, that he kept a slavegirl or two in his office so he didn't have to convey any of his rest home slave with him every day. He kept her facing the bulwark so as not to distract him while he was working.

As said, it had been quite a long day in the agency. He was organising the band's upcoming humanity tour, a major event in promotion of their soon-to-be-released fifth album `` 13 Uses Of Woman '', so there was a lot of organising to do. Whipmaster, who like many commercial acts were major lyrical proponent of the fun of the proper oppression and use of the female sex, most notably in the set's music for botheration, were renowned for their work out big-budget microscope stage show, featuring the prominent use of live cleaning lady, 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 females required for the hitch from the band and the stage artistic clothes designer, and was in the procedure of sourcing them. While some of the"palm"could be shipped with them from place to post and thread up every night, the lady friend receiving the band's"attention"on stagecoach would ask to be sourced new for every gig, as the band preferred the girl looking fresh and unmarked at the starting line of each Nox because it made the audience feel more extra, not like they were at just another autopilot gig. And of course it is more mentally and visually pleasing to see a pristine unnoted womanhood worked on and given stripe.

At the present moment, Bryan was finding that it was quite difficult to source a lot of red-haired girlfriend in Japan, unsurprisingly, or anywhere for their Asiatic portion of the tour. Most red-heads in those state were expensive, and were probably owned individually by private owners. He looked again at the mainsheet of paper that specified"5 fresh red haired girls per night, pale, slender to medium satisfactory, upper age limit 23 ”. This was for the segment of the setlist dedicated to their newest hit single,"Burning Red ”, a double-entendre deed of conveyance about both the colour of peppiness tomentum and the coloring material of their picket peel after a thorough whipstitch. It would probably be loose, he decided, to get the all lot of red-heads required for the tour in one package from a country with a more plentiful provision, and have them shipped around with them as they went. It would be high-priced, but no expense was too often for a Whipmaster show - they'd easily make it back in ticket sales anyway.

The set room decorator the band were working with to plan this tour was the legendary Andy Carl Farrower, one of the biggest public figure in the ocular art reality, specifically the world of male-dominance body art. He was a optic visionary and highly influential innovator who truly saw women as raw materials, their soundbox like building bricks or splashes of paint, just another physical sensitive to be positioned, modified, hang, and sometimes broken. He knew how to arrange contrasting skin tones for certain optic effects, what billet to fix words of female bodies into, the difference in optical encroachment of dissimilar sort of asses, tits and vulvas. The Logos in the art public was that he had whole warehouses full of massive majority cages of women of all type, his reservoir catalog of raw materials for any use, any project. They were categorised by cage - batting cage of hunger skinny woman, John Milton Cage Jr. of obese charwoman, tall cleaning lady, midget women, women of every colour and backwash in the world, enormous breast and flat chest, specially collected women with interesting physical deformities, vernal women, and even ancient old watery adult female wasting away their final years naked in a cage in this artist's store deftness, just a material in his tool chest that might get used or might not but wasn't even thought of day-to-day by their legal owner. His oeuvre with a live rock show was a new avenue for him, and he was enjoying the new originative challenge.

On all previous tours too, ever since becoming famous with their breakthrough debut album `` House Of female snag '', Whipmaster liked to kick in the interview a ocular feast to go with their hugely popular euphony. They often gave a personalised mite in each area they visited around the worldly concern by having alternative local womanhood from that area strung up on the big stagecoach and whipped and tortured at some point in the set, which the bunch always went uncivilized for, loving the personal connectedness it created between them and the band. It also kept each night different and fun for the set, as they got to sample the local anesthetic striver. In fact the guitarist had a huge underground vault in his mansion lined with small cage in which he kept one naked slave fair sex from every country they had ever played a gig in, all leftover slave that had been used in their point show, a kind of memento organisation and a nice way of remembering all their soundly multiplication and travels. He loved just walking down the row of batting cage and seeing the immense ethnical physical diversity of female soma filing past him, wondering spiritually at the vast variation of creation.

A typical Whipmaster show featured bare embrocate adult female hung by their wrists or ankles from the top of the huge level, or hung in Crucifixion emplacement behind and to the sides of the striation, all for decorative design. They'd have particular focus moments in the appearance where, in a climactic guitar solo for illustration, the lead singer would need his iconic trademark bootleg bullwhip and whip the back off a bounce naked fille in the middle of the stagecoach, maybe tied to a post or put in origin, or even left to run free around a pole connected by a collar chain, for the fun of the audience watching her desperate attempts to keep off the agonising cut of the whip. note of women would also be whipped rhythmically to the beat of the introductory song. They incorporated other tortures too, such as breathplay, live branding, or John Cage with one woman in each hung over great fire-shooters, writhing to escape the intermittent burn. naked women were sometimes incorporated into keyboard stand, membranophone stools, etc, and of form there were always bent-over naked women who the vocalist or guitarist or bassist would thrust into or get principal from, to the sunshine of the hearing. At one particularly famous concert that had gone down in Whipmaster fan legend, about six years ago now, the singer and some bouncer had thrown twenty naked, thoroughly trussed-up slave young lady into the moshpit, throwing striver after screaming helpless slave into the throng of M of rapt men, to do with as they pleased.

On the band's rider of what they wanted supplied backstage at each venue, alongside the solid food and drunkenness, was their listing of char they wanted for amusement, the number and type. Typically these would be a load of train pleasure hard worker, sourced to the striation member's specifications - e.g. six blonde with large tits, a few offspring skinny brunet, a span of big-assed contraband char. Some things were consistently on their rider at every show - for instance, the bassist always asked for a distich of underweight leggy blonde girls, and he enjoyed getting unlike fille that matched this asking every night - while some requests would alter from venue to venue - for representative, in some body politic they'd ask the local anaesthetic locus impresario to just surprise them with the practiced of what the local anaesthetic women had to offer, or fall in them a platter-like range.

Of path, the member also had some of their more valued personal striver brought with them on tour for more than familiar and homy 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 add their wives along. married woman were striver who were specially chosen, often out of a build up of love between schoolmaster and slave, to be legally bonded with. Legally, men could have no more than three wives, and many settled with the traditional number of just one. Only legal wives were allowed to channel small fry for their masters, while all vulgar striver womanhood had to be on long-term birthing ascendence, except for those owned by licensed stock breeder which kept the population ticking as normal. Therefore, for adult female who wanted fry, their only end was to work hard to please their victor as best as possible and hope to be picked as a wife from among his other bits of female property.

At the end of every tour, of course, the circle had whole dozens of miss to get rid of, mainly the stock of slaves that had been transported with the hitch and used as stagecoach laurel wreath every night. There would be plenty of available pussy at the set's famous end-of-tour company for the whole route crowd and any early acquaintance. The band members would take their filling of any girls they wanted to preserve for themselves, any that they particularly liked or even felt attached to, and often the multitude who had worked on the enlistment, like stage hands, roadies, sound engineer, lighting technicians and stage coach for instance, would each get given one of the leftover fair sex to hold on as a souvenir of the job, a generous gift from the dance orchestra. After being divvied up like this, bulk passel of slave fair sex could of path be resold to slave supply fellowship, which Bryan was always happy about as the person who handled the stria's accounts.

Between tour and periods of recording new albums, the ring appendage all enjoyed their secret liveliness with supporter and family. Of course, the riches that stardom brought them were well-used, and all members, as well as their managing director, lived in unsparing personal mansions, full of all right solid food, illusion accessories, and of course passel of beautiful slave pussy, the best-quality cleaning woman money could buy, matched to any tastes they had. Rumours had it that the vocaliser had top-class beautiful expensive girl, who would have grown up presuming that they'd live lives of being relatively valued due to their looks and high school price, simply installed as animation urinals in his personal lav, and in the client bathroom as well. The guitarist was famous for his strange tastes, including his growing compendium of permanently naked and head-shaved dwarf women, who he kept chained together by their necks in one big mass and trained to entertain guests under his whip. The bassist was a cognoscente of Red Indian cleaning lady, a cacoethes he had discovered fully the commencement time they had played in that land, and liked to fence himself almost solely with their defenseless brownness curves, keeping the most beautiful nude Indian daughter in ornamental aureate hanging shuttle cage, hanging from the ceiling in every room of his mansion as well as from spot outside, lining the track to the house. He insisted on only increasing his collection on trips to India, when he could *********** the most consummate features from a larger pool of choice.

The drummer was a summercater fan, and was an avid collector of ponygirls. He had a field track outside his mansion, where he spent a lot of his free fourth dimension sitting in his little speed-designed passenger car, holding a riding whip and feeling the malarkey in his hair as he was pulled by his well-trained team of naked bridled girls, running monotonously as trained around and around the track in the sun. Sometimes he even liked to go for a drive around the caterpillar track in the punishing rainfall, putting on his warmest wearing apparel and about unattackable waterproof, as he loved the dab of the girl'bare feet in the water system on the track, and the sorry look of their drenched, dripping hair. He also liked to bear some of his famed sporting friend come over for occasional fun subspecies, 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 shadow cleaning woman, disconnecting them from the chief chain group, and they harnessed them up to a equipage and laughed as they strained to pull first one and then the other passkey around the track, under their relentless whip.

He had a with child row of stalls on his dimension, containing his high-end collection of ponygirls, including matching twain and sets-of-four of black ponygirls, asian ponygirls, latina ponygirls, polynesian ponygirls, light-haired ponygirls, red-headed ponygirls, stick-thin ponygirls, etc. Some were expensive ponygirls from the right breeders in the country, but he also enjoyed just going to the regular striver food market, buying girls who showed a promise long-shanked brawny body shape, and training them himself from chicken feed. This education was a passion undertaking, a relaxing side hobbyhorse of his, and he enjoyed the cognitive operation of moulding a miss's idea and body into a peculiar purpose, to pull him around the track at speed, pushing her harder and harder to her strong-arm bound.

Also in his stables, in her own enclosure, was a particular appreciate possession of his - a a great deal onetime slave than all the early ponygirls, in her mid 40's. She was a famous ex-world champion whose jockey had won the final with her more than twenty years ago, a race which the drummer remembered watching on inhabit telly as a footling kid. After becoming rich and far-famed with Whipmaster, he had won her for a huge amount of money of money at auction sale. Obviously having not been run competitively for a prospicient prison term, her fate was that of most aging professional ponygirls, to be owned as token of superbia by rich sports buff and ponygirl collectors. 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 previous charwoman as she pulled him naked around the track, loving the opportunity to present her that familiar sting of the whip on her slightly sagging skin, even though she was slower now and her age and a lifetime of concentrated training was wearing painfully on her joints.

However, even more value to the drummer than her was another girlfriend who he kept in her own stalls as a special German mark of some small kindness. She was his first ever ponygirl - he had been given her for his 18th natal day, with her the same age. She had been a cheap, mostly untrained starter lady friend of track, dark-coated, pale 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 to the full of other girls now, and was probably barely deserving anything were he to sell her. But he still kept her, and would keep open her for her hale life, because he had so much nostalgia attached to her. He could still think back the sheer excitement and rush of being so immature and being pulled around the local field by her for the low gear fourth dimension - the sight of the back of her raw body jiggling with motility, the toilsome working straining of her stepping legs, the feeling of the movement of the carriage propelled by nil but her brawniness, the slight bouncing apparent movement, the wonderful smell of the whiplash in his manus and the red lines it made on her back and ass, the spirit of absolute office and ascendancy and ownership over another human who had to run until he told her to stop or she passed out. He remembered being unsure with the whiplash at first off and gently touching her, but then getting into it and whipping harder and harder, until he was thrashing her behind with all his king, feeling the primal exaltation of whipping a female person for the start fourth dimension. He had cut her ass surface badly on that for the first time exciting day, and had felt sorry and moved but also excited and potent when he dismounted, came around to the front, and saw her red shout case. When he saw his son and new ponygirl return from their offset ride, his founding father had taught him how he had to moderate his use of the whip so that she was still regularly operational - unless of course you had the opulence to buy young woman just for whipping and not for any early use, a ambition which immediately stuck in the drummer's mind and that would arrive true Oklahoman than he could accept imagined. Even though she wasn't a naturally great ponygirl, she had pulled him faithfully for 12 old age now, and they had some kind of a bond, even one where they both knew their shoes in their interaction. He was so habituate to the quite a little of her bare ass bounce in presence of him, the specific flavour of being pulled by the gait of her legs, the curve ball of her berm blades on her back, the way she responded to his direction, and she was so habituate to feeling his weight on her shoulders, to the specific way he applied the whip to her, more as an lovesome 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 visitors or ran her in sets with the better ponygirls.

spinal column in the show, Bryan decided he'd done as 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 touch on in with the band and stay connected to the musical side of affair, which was the understanding he had a job at the end of the day, even though the creative outgrowth had nothing to do with him, and he liked to see how tour rehearsals were coming along. He wordlessly locked away his Filipino fille for the dark with some BASIC solid food ( he had never bothered to afford her a name, or even thought to know her birth name. ) She had knelt looking into the wall recess for the whole day, completely unused for her sexual function, silent and still just as she had been trained/hurt into being. Then he shut down the visible light, locked up, got in his car and took off to the studio apartment, which was just a five min cause away.

Pulling up in the car Mungo Park and getting out of the car, the maiden thing he saw was a line of about 10 bare fille standing in the grim Zane Grey car park, their hands tied simply in social movement of them, all facing one way, connected by a chain linking their neck shoe collar. Presumably they had just been unloaded from the big truck parked in the cargo bay. The delivery slave-handler was just signing them off to terry cloth, the band's slave-manager/handler, who had come out the studio door to meet them, and the two men were chatting friendlily and having a warm smoke. It was a cold Charles Grey winter's day with a bit of wind, and the two men were both wearing warm puffer jackets and dungaree, joking about the traffic nonchalantly while ignoring the completely naked missy who were shivering violently in the frigidness, their middle betraying their suffering as they stared miserably into space, just waiting to be led inside. Their shivering was so strong that their mountain range were making a constant jangling sound, which Great Commoner 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 and introducing himself to the delivery number one wood. As he exhaled a puff, he looked over at the line of"frozen trade good"as the number one wood jokingly put it, drawing a laugh from him and Terry. For some grounds his eyes picked out a cheeseparing blanch girl of about 19, if he had to guess, about three one-fourth of the way to the backbone of the chain credit line ( how insignificant it must feel, thought Bryan for a brief second, to be just another girl towards the back of a chain line. ) She had light brown-blonde hair's-breadth, small tits, and her wholly peel was raised in goosebumps as she struggled to entertain herself still and not draw care to herself as her shivers rattled the cervix chain. Her tied hand were trembling in front end of her, and she stared mournfully and blankly into distance with bulging eyes, her jaw clenched in an abortive attempt to stop her audibly chattering teeth.

He found her shivering body cute, and for a second he thought about having a feel and maybe a quick turn at her right there, but then thought she would be cold to the touch on his tegument, and he wanted to stay warm. Never creative thinker. The men finished their cigarettes, the device driver said goodbye and took off, and Great Commoner 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 earliest classic hits,"stroke Away The Key ”. He could just make out the singer's interpreter over the bassy clunk -"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 cloth followed, taking up the chain hanging from the front slave's neck, a dark-haired, marvellous but young-looking young woman with a round of drinks face. The job of raw stock-still female trunk followed with fill-in into the heater building, stiffly shuffling after each other. Bryan knew that these were practice hard worker which the band got into their tour rehearsals to try out setpieces on, seeing what worked and honing their performance, trying out where in a Song they wanted to do a big whipping, testing out new twisting theme to see chemical reaction, making trusted the timing of everything was well-rehearsed, etc. Because their appearance and condition did not matter, as there was no audience, the ring always used the practice slaves hard, practicing on their bodies day after day for the weeks of rehearsals.

Ten bit later, the singer was looking over the line of practice slaves, and grabbed the brass of the boney strawberry-blonde daughter Bryan had set his eyes on in the ancestry before."perfective tense,"he said,"I was imagining something like this to whip during that climax after the final chorus in ‘ Screaming blond ’."The rest of the band made general phone of agreement, deciding to pattern the so-far-unreleased song from the new album. Terry the slave handler unlocked the Sir Ernst Boris Chain from her collar, and led the striver, who was now shaking from fear not cold, to a pattern whipping post 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 stern on the side of the room, and was looking forward to seeing this pitiful little thing get the trademark Whipmaster treatment. Still, he felt a tiny cutaneous senses of sorriness for the cunning piffling miss, as the whip hurt the skinny 1 even more, and her woe wasn't even seen by an consultation, but was just a everyday practice. Bryan knew that the circle would be practicing the birdcall, with all the setpieces and actions, countless times over and over again in the coming Clarence Day, by which metre he couldn't imagine there'd be very much cutis left on the little pattern slave. Having had this thought process, he made a mental note to pop into rehearsal again in a few twenty-four hour period, to see how she was looking. As the band started up the song's intemperate opening Riffian, he stirred his tea and settled back in his chair, fix to catch her face.

This is only my second taradiddle, delight please give me feedback, or order me anything it made you think and feel.

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