Home      Jason
Jason’s job is to capture and train slaves. He must take five in a year, and prepare them for sale at auction to some of the world’s wealthiest men. After being told by his employer that he should take a personal slave of his own, Jason knows the woman he wants: the first girl he ever abducted, in the days long ago when he did it only for his personal satisfaction and when he always released them after he had taken his pleasure. Now, it is very different, although Jason’s sadistic desires were no less than they had ever been, but there is something very special about Nicki…

Cruising an alley he had not used in a year, a blonde was sashaying her wares in a manner that suggested she had had a few drinks. Jason slowed his van and she walked up to the passenger door. She leaned slightly in the passenger window, inhaled deeply through her nose, and smiled. Jason’s face paled slightly when she turned to the shadows, and called out, “It’s him.”


Jason recognized the former redhead, and he realized she was wearing a wig. He had no idea what her name was, or even how long ago he had abducted her. He did, however, have a pretty good idea that the oriental man holding the gun on him was serious. In sudden panic, he hoped he had enough cash on him to buy his way out of her pimp’s interest.


“Get your ass back on the street,” the man scolded the girl. He reached for the door handle and climbed into the van. “Drive.”


Jason pulled forward out of the alley and onto a main road. He wondered why he had not been shot in the seclusion of the off-street. The next time he glanced at the man, he had laid the pistol on his lap. “Turn right here.”


Jason followed his directions, and asked, “You’re not going to shoot me?”


“Over that whore? Hardly.”


“Then what…?”


“You’ll find out when we get there. Take the second left and pull into the third driveway on the right.”


Jason was led into a large home with an expensively furnished living room, reeking of the delicate, beautiful flavor of the orient. While sipping brandy, he waited with his escort. Another oriental man walked in, wearing a kimono style robe. He was closely followed by a young woman in a form-fitting embroidered silk dress, being led by a leash attached to an ornamental collar. “I apologize for keeping you waiting.”


The girl knelt silently by his side when he sat down. A few seconds later, Jason’s eyes widened when the man lashed a cane across her lower back. The girl’s eyes watered, but she never made a sound. “Arch,” the man demanded. Her brown bob wavered while she thrust her chest out, straining her breasts against the shiny material.


“I am Makoto. I trust your ride with Takeshi was not too unpleasant.”


“I’m Jason… and it would have been a hell of a lot more unpleasant if he’d shot me,” Jason suggested. “I take it that’s not what you have in mind.”


Makoto chuckled. “Though she claims she never saw you, Helen remembered you as a big man, Jason. She has a crazy talent for recognizing smells, and she said there was an overpowering scent of different perfumes when she was held captive in your van. Tell me about yourself. I am especially interested in your reasons for borrowing my whore for a few days.” Makoto noticed Jason’s interest in the slave kneeling beside him. “She is relatively new and still learning proper presentation,” he dismissed.


Jason remained silent, trying to get his bearings and gain a better understanding of what was going on. The thought that the whore had recognized the overabundant scents of different women in his van intrigued him. He detailed and cleaned it thoroughly after the captures, and had never noticed it. Jason was deciding how much he should reveal. “I have interests that tend to be more extreme than street prostitutes are willing to accept payment for.”


Makoto stared into the man’s unusual purple tinged eyes. There was a definite heat building when he looked at the pathetic girl kneeling beside him. She was weak… too weak for the street or a brothel. Certainly too weak for his clubs or to auction to a client, but he sensed something special about her. Makoto had been deciding whether to cut his losses and throw her in with the domestic servants, so for the time being he kept her. “I don’t think you intend to pay for these services, anyway. How many girls have you extended your unwelcome invitation to, for these ‘extreme’ interests? With Helen’s description of her time with you, I am certain she was not your first guest. How many women have you abducted?”


The realization of his discovery hit Jason, but the steady gaze of the man made him feel like an amateur. It became apparent that the girl by his host’s side was not a willing submissive partner to the man. She was his slave, and not like the partners he had witnessed in the clubs. “I lost count,” Jason admitted. “I don’t keep them very long. At first, I kept them in vans for a few hours. The past couple of years I’ve brought them to my home and kept them two or three days.”


Makoto stroked the girl’s short brown hair and Jason read the panic in her eyes. It gave Jason a heightened sense of arousal, and he realized how much he had been missing by keeping his captives’ faces covered. The man’s hand threaded through the girl’s locks and he lifted her. “Refresh our brandy.”


“Yes, Master,” the girl murmured, and she scurried across the room to the liquor cabinet.


Makoto watched his guest’s eyes follow the girl, and in a steady voice, he said, “I keep them for more than a few days, Jason.” Makoto let his remark sink in while the girl delivered their drinks. She resumed kneeling by his side and remembered to arch appropriately into position. “Helen says you kept a blindfold on her.”


Jason nodded, and added, “I use to cover their heads with a cloth bag. It was quicker, but I couldn’t read their faces or get an idea of what they were experiencing… except through their gagged protests or thrashing.”


Makoto studied the man. “Why do you release them?”




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