BS-1-4.TXT -- (m/f, f/f, b&d, white slavery)

>From backstage, Vopat emcee'd and narrated. "Gentlemen -- the nightly Candyland
exclusive show you have been waiting for -- the Newlywed's Surprise!"

The lights went out except for the stage and I was glad for the darkness. At
first, the stage was empty except for a brass four poster bed, made up with white
sheets and trimmed with lace. Then Tam walked out stage-left, decked out in a
tuxedo and her long hair hidden under a tophat, a fake mustache greasepainted on
her hard, cat-like face. Some laughs from the audience as she winked back at
them.

The groom.

Behind her from stage-right, a woman minced out in a flowing white wedding dress,
a cascade of lace and frills. A veil hide her face, but the combed out red hair
told me it was Meganne. Some catcalls now

The bride.

As the last strains of the Wedding March recording faded, Tam met her bride and
lifted the veil. Meganne's face beamed back at her and the audience. The whorish
look of earlier was gone -- her face was made up normally, even demurely. For a
minute she looked like the girl I had met at the airport six months ago, only
with as ecstatic smile as she could ever have. Then I saw the fear behind the
eyes, the plea for mercy behind the tight, unhappy smile.

Tam drew her close and gave her a passionate kiss, which Meganne dutifully
returned with equal, if insincere, lust. Tam's hand fondled the white-laced
backside and gave her bride an urgent slap on the ass.

"Strip for me wifey!" she snapped. The crowd was quiet, focused on the next part.

"Yes, hubby!" Meganne simpered. She faced the audience, slipping her hands behind
her and unhooked the dress, beginning to strip for the real masters seated in the
dark crowd. It was done quickly and the dress floated off down and down those
long, creamy legs. She stood wearing a little g-string of white silk with a red
heart over the center. I could read the script over the heart. It read "Only For
My Hubby". The matching bra was white silk with red cups -- cups which were
filled with more than I knew Meganne actually had. It was the same lingerie she
had worn when I had deposited her on Vopat's office floor six months ago. Her
wedding night frillies.

Tam stepped behind her and began fondling her in front of the audience. She
pressed her fake mustached lips against her pale neck and let her hands wander
all over the white girl's body, snapping her g-string teasingly. Meganne closed
her eyes and played along, bucking her ass against her 'husband's' midsection and
moaning lustily whenever Yam's hands squeezed her pale flesh.

Then Tam's hands toyed with Meganne's bra'd breasts, weighing them appreciatively
in each hand and leering at the audience, as if to show them off. The audience
played along, calling up "Nice tits on your wife" and "Not bad." Tam gripped them
possessively, the proud husband showing off his hot new little wife. Meganne
helped by thrusting out her chest like a slut who is equally proud to belong to
such a stud. But her smile was sick with obvious worry as Tam unsnapped the bra
and the falsies spilled out.

It was Tam's Charlie Chaplin-like reaction that put the crowd in stitches. First
the confused shaking of the head, then the comical prodding and poking of the
small breasts themselves pulling them up by the nipples to see if they had
deflated somehow, then finally the impotent fury as she stomped around and of the
stage shaking her fists, swinging Meganne's little lace bra around like a lasso.
From her pantomime, she wanted us to know she had been tricked. And was furious
about it.

Meganne hid her breasts coquettishly and appealed to the audience for sympathy.
She gave us a pouty smile and licked her lips, spreading her legs and spinning
around, as if to say "tits aren't ALL I have, you know." Someone in the audience
began the chanting which soon filled Candyland.

"TINY TITS! TINY TITS! TINY TITS! TINY TITS!"

Frustration, then shame, both genuine, painted her in a ruby blush as she turned
her back on us and crawled onto the bed, hiding unsuccessfully from her
embarrassment. I had to hand it to Tam -- she was brilliant. She had found the
hot button with her white slavegirl that sent her absolutely hurtling to
Humiliation Central, night after night, performance after performance. It was
Meganne Ryan's worst nightmare come true three times a night, 365 days a year --
a crowd of jeering men making fun of her least sexy attribute. Her entire being
judged only on the basis of her cup size and the verdict always guilty.

Tam stomped back on stage now, in an ugly mood. The scenario of the enraged Thai
husband who had been tricked by a new wife and lost much face logically demanded
a harsh conclusion. Tam was prepared. She held up two new toys to the audience --
a bamboo switch and a pair of police handcuffs. The audience roared its approval.
Meganne looked up and bit her lip sadly in deep despair.

"Bad wifey -- need punishment, yes?" Tam asked the audience.

"YESSSSSS!!!!!" came back the drunken, unanimous clamor.

"Up wifey -- or it be worse!" Tam declared

Meganne rose unsteadily for her Thai 'man' then threw herself at Tam's feet,
begging for mercy. She rubbed her pretty pale cheeks against Tam's shoes in
complete hopelessness and the Thai gripped her red hair and yanked her up
brutally. With efficiency borne of nightly repetition, Tam clipped the shiny
cuffs through the brass foot railing and on the thin white wrists. Meganne stood
bent over the bedframe, her legs spread and ass prepared for her just punishment.
Despite her tiny tits, I doubt there was a man there who wouldn't have wanted a
go at her in that position. My own cock was rockhard.

Tam played with the bamboo switch, considering. "You bad, bad girl to fool your
husband that way! Thirty switchings -- ten for each of your little girl titties
and ten for being a lying little whore!" The audience indicated its agreement
with a collective chuckle and Tam nodded. The first five brought the expected
tears, but after that the singing bamboo propelled Meganne into hellish pain. She
screeched, she begged, she whined, she cursed, her long legs dancing with each
new red addition to her rosy ass -- all of it bringing the audience to new
heights of amused laughter. Bamboo was indecently perfect for the act -- it
didn't leave marks, but was like a hot steel whip the way Tam wielded it. The
Thai heartily called out each lash till she reached thirty, then dropped the
bamboo.

The crowd quieted now and Meganne's raw, tear-stained face looked up in relief.

Tam grinned back. "Now my bride, I have surprise for you!" With that she doffed
her tophat letting all her black hair flow down, revealing her not-too-secret
femininity.

It was Meganne's turn for theatrical shock, as Tam continued to strip down,
yanking off her tuxedo trousers to reveal a huge wooden strap-on dildo...pointed
straight for Meganne's ass. The laughter rose again like a wave as the white girl
struggled against her cuffs to escape the oncoming dildo.

Tam gripped Meganne's slim hips and positioned the cock for penetration of her
tighter, less-used orifice, pulling the g-string off. "You the wifey and me the
husband -- you must make your husband happy on wedding night, yes?" she asked her
supporters in the audience. We murmured our agreement with this then watched as
Tam entered her wife from behind and the redhead's eyes bulge out scarily.
Swallowing deeply, Meganne took the wooden ram within her at last and begin
gasping as Tam started to pump her ass with the evil implement, with steadily
increasing fervor.

After a minute, Tam leaned down and whispered something harshly into Meganne's
ear. The effect was instantaneous. Meganne cringed, concentrated and transformed
herself from scared girl in agony to hot, animated lover. As the thick wooden rod
entered her, she bucked in physical exultation, sighing with building lust. She
began to shake her ass back to better meet Tam's thrusts, like a slut in heat.
"Uh, I love you long time husband! I love you long time!" Meganne cried. Tam
nodded catlike at the prone girl, in pleasure at her newly charged performance,
and continued to pound away at her, taking delight in each and every painful
prodding.

>From backstage, the Wedding March began booming again and the curtain drew over
the scene of demented honeymoon bliss. Amid scattered applause, Vopat announced
the night's second performance of the "Newlywed's Surprise" at eleven p.m.

Now I knew why Meganne felt I was a preferable owner to Vopat. Anything was
better than this three times a night. Even being a sex slave to the man who had
stolen your life away from you on your wedding night at the age of twenty.

In a minute Candyland's owner was puffing on a new cigarillo, sitting beside me
with two Klosters. "So, you like show?" he asked in a self-congratulatory way. He
knew he had a good thing going.

"Very...unique," was as far as I was going to give him.

He nodded, taking this as a yes. "You think about my offer?" he pushed.

I had. "I'll do it. Under two conditions." He waited, puffing.

"First, sisters are hard to do. They rarely travel alone at that age and it is
too dangerous to have parents asking questions."

Vopat nodded, not pleased, but comprehending the difficulties. "So, what you
propose?"

I sipped my Klosters. "Mother and daughter."

Vopat's face brightened. "Almost as good! Same description as before. Mother no
older than," he plucked a reasonable number out of the air, "thirty-six. And,"
his voice screwed down hard, "daughter no old than fifteen. Good age to learn
lezzie stuff."

I started to protest, but he was immovable. I nodded.

"Next as payment -- same money but I want something else too." He waited again,
silently puffing.

"I want Flatsee. In a push-up bra, panties and high heels waiting for me upon
delivery of the goods."

His fingers danced in the air as he figured an invisible equation. "O.k.," he
decided, "Flatsee act get old -- new mother-daughter lezzie act bring fresh
interest. Agreed." He toasted me with his Klosters and stood up. As did I. I had
a lot of work to do.

******

Six months later.

Candyland as crowded as ever at five minutes of eleven. Vopat gave me that fat,
oily grin of his as he raced backstage to prepare for the next act. I reached
beneath the table and patted Meganne on the head. Tam had taught her how to be a
most excellent little cocksucker and she was deepthroating me right now. My cock
stiffened and she mouthed it greedily in eager anticipation. At least she acted
eager -- which was all I cared about. Then the explosion, the cum shooting,
filing her pretty pale cheeks. She gave a muffled squeal, then began swallowing
the thick creamy stuff in noisy gulps.

Even if her mouth hadn't been stuffed with my cock, she couldn't have done more
than squeal. I reached down and fingered the locked dog collar she always wore
now round her neck -- the one I had made for her not long after I had acquired
her. It was an altered version of a product I'd seen advertised on an American
infomercial -- for apartment owners with noisy dogs. The "HushDoggy Collar"
emitted a shock whenever a dog started to bark. Meganne's was a special job done
for me by an electronics warfare specialist with the Thai military. It was
activated whenever she tried to do more than moan, pant, squeal or whine -- the
main ways she communicated with me now.

She hadn't spoken a word in five months now. What a wonderful invention. It
focused her on her only important duty -- being a perfectly pleasing fucktoy. As
she was demonstrating now, she had far more important things to do with that
pretty mouth of her's than bother me with complicated thoughts and feelings. Not
that she had any to bother with. Her ambitions were pretty much limited with
getting me off, obeying me utterly, and getting herself off -- in that order.

I didn't even think it was an act anymore, as it certainly had been when she had
been dancing at Candyland. The small amount of attention I paid her, combined
with the fact that I had allowed her to assume her old name again, was more
kindness than she had ever expected to enjoy again. The love and appreciation she
bore for me her master was touching. She now wettened at my touch and upon
hearing me utter certain commands to her. After a year's worth of the most
humiliatingly thorough sexual training -- lap dancing, cocksucking, taking it up
the ass, and getting her pussy filled on an almost continuous basis -- Meganne
had become the perfect slut.

I almost regretted selling her.

The crowd was boisterous tonight. The show was good, as were all Vopat's shows --
a lezzie dildo and riding crop number performed by two Brits. Vopat had bought
them from me -- the mother-daughter act we had agreed upon. Damn he had seen the
potential there -- the place was packed. He was, after all, the Steven Spielberg
of Bangkok's exotic sex shows -- as good as any of his colleagues back in the
States.

I thought idly of Pussywillows, the famous strip club chain -- 'staffed' with the
hottest talent white slavers could provide. Or the El Maiciea down Mexico way,
known for it's animal acts and the pretty gringo girls who performed in them. It
was amazing how many establishments like them that existed around the world. And
the slavers who kept them stocked with firm young flesh. There was Mistress
Angela for one. She could break the stubbornest feminist college girls into
compliant little bar whores or train the most recalcitrant wifeys into the
sluttiest sextoys. Then there was Smedley, the society slaver who turned boys
into girls for the elite. Or Constantine and his Guardians who provided the same
service for the international petrodollar circuit, filling harems with feminized
faux girls. And all of it happened every day right under the noses of square
johns who couldn't conceive of a world where men and women, girls and boys were
bought and sold, broken and trained to please.

The two women -- mother and her teen daughter -- were climbing onto a table
preparing to 69 for the crowd's amusement. Both were damp with sweat -- the act
was hard work -- and their faces twisted in half-disgust, half-hunger in
anticipation of the next stage of the act. Tam stood by, tapping her palm with
her crop, then patted each female's bar ass, coaxing them roughly. The over-sexed
slave mother and daughter heeded their mistress at once. They plunged their faces
into each other's pink hairless crevices and began to suck.

I sipped my beer, ignoring the tender scene, thinking about my newest deal. I
would go legit again or try to. An opportunity had arisen upcountry and I needed
to get away from slaving for awhile. It was gun-running, one of my old talents,
for a drug lord in the north country. All I needed was a stake and there were
AK-47s waiting for sale in Chang Mai which were mine- - a shipment which upon
delivery would fetch double the original purchase amount. And that stake was
almost mine -- traveling first class.

I smiled. All it had taken was a phone call -- and fifty thousand US was headed
my way. Just a phone call -- because my instincts had been right.

A long distance call. To Revere Massachusetts.

The clerk checked and couldn't find the marriage on record. Never took place.
Could I be mistaken? Yes -- I must have been, I answered.

Then a call to Boston. Collect to Cosmopolitan Fire Surety. >From Meganne Ryan to
Donald Linsky.

First, the blow off. Then, as I supplied details, he cracked. Relief, then anger
as I told him about the revelations from the diary. He didn't believe me about
how well Meganne behaved now though. So I took some snapshots of my pet slut.
Told her to pose real sexy for me -- so I could show off my 'girlfriend' to other
guys in Bangkok. That got her to put her all into it. She couldn't shove that
dildo up her ass fast enough for me when she thought I might have started
thinking about her as my girlfriend -- as opposed to my personal puppy whore. All
the pics and some faxes of the diary convinced him. Would he agree to a price? A
day later the answer. Yes. If I could help him ship her back, he had prepared a
wonderful new home for her in his basement -- complete with lots of training
equipment where he could continue taming the gold- digging little tramp. His
words -- not mine.

And so I sit waiting, sipping on my Kloster's, Meganne fitful under the table
now. But she won't have to wait long -- the 10:35 United from LA was almost
always on time.