Heather-Willow Book II
Chapter 4

Copyright© 2015 by gorp

BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 4 - This is the continuation of Willow. Slavery is practiced by the rich and encouraged by the government. Heather is just beginning her journey in bondage while Willow continues her adventures. Both are guided by Page who experiences challenges all her own. Will Lord Blackmon return? Will the evil Master Lobo find Page? Who is Madame Carronade? How will Carl be changed by his experiences? Read and find out!

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Consensual   NonConsensual   Slavery   Fiction   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Sex Toys   Caution  

Author's Note

The next two chapters feature violence and torture. If this is not your cup of tea, skip them. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Carl took Randy, Page, Willow and Heather to the Nimitz Hotel. Security was very tight and the guard insisted on speaking to Matt Yamada himself before he would let them through. The hotel and casino were deserted. Structural engineers had declared the building safe, it was not going to fall down on them, but it was not fit for guests or gamblers. Whole sections were without power. The blast had dislodged a sewer line on the fourth floor which made floors two and three disgusting. The southeast elevators, the section closest to the blast, were ruined.

But Carl had no plans to go onto the guest floors. After parking in the VIP underground lot they walked down one more flight of stairs to access the clinic area. The security team there said that Matt was on his way and they could wait in a small lobby area just outside the patient rooms. Page settled Heather in one corner while Willow and Page moved just a little further away and began to softly talk. Both were badly shaken by what Carl was planning. Carl gave them space to talk and moved to the opposite side of the room with Randy.

"Randy, you have an accent that is not Californian. Where are you from?"

Randy was looking at his hands and did not look up when he answered, "South Carolina, Charleston actually."

"I once worked in the Charleston area. It was maybe fifteen years ago ... great city for seafood."

"Yes it is."

Strike one. Ok, so Randy is not very forthcoming. Carl had a personal, informal rule that said if you tried to get someone to talk three times and failed, walk away. If you continue you will just piss them off. Carl changed tactics, "How did you end up here?"

"This was the last place I got off of the plane."

Strike two. He changed direction one more time. "When I first met you, I got the impression you were ex-military. But what you can do with a whip ... now that does not come from the army..."

"Marines."

"What?"

"The Marines ... I was in the Marines."

"You were in the Middle East?"

"Yea, two tours."

Carl smiled. He just needed to keep him talking. "Yea, I can see that. So what led you..."

Randy looked up at Carl for the first time, "Cop. I smelled cop on you the first time we met, am I right?"

Carl was taken aback. He had not been made for a cop in all of his years working undercover. The bad guys had thought he might be a con-man, a drone or a lazy bum but never a cop. He needed this man to trust him, and the surest way to shatter trust is to lie. He was caught. "Yea, I was a cop in a past life."

"Well, that is one difference between us." Randy said.

"What's that?"

"'Once a Marine, always a Marine.' is how the saying goes." For the first time, Randy gave Carl a small smile.

Carl had heard people say that. But there was more to his tale than just combat deployments and being an operator in one of the true hellholes in the world. Carl could see that Randy was not someone to play games with. He was sharp and perceptive. Carl decided to push the frontal assault. "But the whip; where did you pick that up?"

Randy stared a Carl for a good two minutes before answering in a low measured voice, "You want to know if I am a psychopath? You want to know if I will lose control and maim or kill your girl? Ok, your ten grand can buy you some piece of mind as well as some sweat. My family, specifically my mother, owned slaves. So did all of her wealthy friends. My mother and her friends had ... expansive tastes in entertainment. The very best of Charleston high society explored every corner of the erotic and exotic with her. I was given my first whip to practice with when I was twelve. While some kids get piano lessons, I was given lessons that included learning the difference between a tawes and a single tail and what they would do when used on someone's back. I was given many opportunities to practice too. But one day she and her five closest friends wanted to know what the difference was between whipping a man and whipping a woman. It was the final frontier of their perversions. To make this story manageable, let's just say that at sixteen I became the very secret pet and target for their appetites. I have been on the other end of the whip, strap, flogger, tawes, and cane many, many times. At eighteen I escaped by joining the Marines."

Carl was stunned by Randy's revelation. "But that would have been a crime..."

"Not in South Carolina. The age of consent is sixteen."

There was a long silence while Carl took it all in.

Without warning Randy continued, "I was bribed into silence. I was given my own slave the day after they whipped me for the first time. It was clear that if I upset the order of things she would be taken away. What sixteen-year-old would reject a full time willing sex partner? But she was also my practice subject. She would tell me it was ok and that I needed to strike or swing harder, or to aim better, or I would displease my instructor. I have never seen as brave or a more solid slave than her ... until I striped your slave Page."

"I hope Willow will be as strong as Page," Carl said.

"No you don't. You will want Willow to scream."


"It won't work."

Carl had been reviewing his plan to interview Steve with Matt Yamada and Randy. Matt's assessment caught Carl off guard.

"I am working under some very clear restraints." Carl explained. "We cannot torture or kill or even threaten to kill Steve. That would put Madame Carronade at great risk of prosecution. I have to find some leverage, some sense of responsibility or guilt, something that will cause him to give up the members of Boudicca's Children. We have got one shot at this."

Matt held up his hand, "Master Carl, you misunderstood. I am not saying you should not try. What I am saying is that you are not bringing enough to the table."

"Matt, I have seen Randy work. He..."

"I am not questioning Randy's skill either. It's just you do not have enough raw materials to build your case."

"Ok, how do we up the ante? " Carl asked.

"We need another slave ... or two," Randy interjected.

Matt jumped in, "The last of our inventory is being trucked out of the Nimitz now. Give me a minute to make a call."

While Matt was on the phone, Carl revised in his head the approach and the words he would use with Steve. The concept of most interviews, the police do not use the word interrogation, is for the subject to perceive a threat to themselves or someone else. They could not threaten Steve, but they were going to put someone else at risk.

Matt came back, "I managed to intercept the last of the slave transports. There is only one that is available, and to use her I need to check with Madame Carronade, this one is a special case."

Carl was getting antsy to begin, "Ok, let's get the pieces moving. Check with Madame Carronade regarding the other slave, and get the clinic people ready to move Steve to the theater. Randy come with me for a minute."

The two men moved to the side, "Randy, Page once told me there is a difference between pain and hurt. Pain fades, hurt lasts. Do not hurt Willow. I say this on her behalf, I say this on Page's behalf, I say this on my behalf, but most of all I say this on Lord Blackmon's behalf. When you begin to approach that line between pain and hurt, stop. Also, I want to say this in front of them all..."

Randy stopped Carl and said, "No! Don't say that in front of them."

"Why not? They are the ones in the hot seat here."

Randy looked at Carl, "Here is the thing. Somebody else does not know how much pain you feel. It is hard to tell how much someone else feels. But fear? Terror? Those we communicate very clearly to one another. So I am going to inflict some real pain on Heather. But more than that, I need to frighten her, terrify her and the others. I need to terrify you too. It will come out in the interview."

Carl led Randy over to where Page and Willow were kneeling. He also waved over Heather to hear this final conversation. "So there is a small change of plans. We are bringing in another slave for added effect. We could have used Page but she will be needed for Willow's aftercare. Heather is too new to process this so I will not put her at risk. But most of all I do not know for sure Steve knows anything worthwhile. I do not know if there will be any motivation we can give him to help us. But if we succeed, we will be saving lives, so this is important.

"Willow, you saw Page get the tiger stripes a few days ago? You saw how brave she was? Do not be that brave. I need you to panic. I need you to scream, beg, plead for mercy. Make our hearts break."

Before he could question or second guess himself or the plan Carl walked away.

Randy then pointed to Page and Heather, "You two, move back into the corner, I need a word with Willow." They complied and Randy squatted down in front of Willow so that he could speak to her without being overheard.

"Yes ... sir..." came her trembling voice.

"Why are we doing this?"

Willow looked to the side, "There are people out there..."

"No, that is not the answer," Randy corrected. "Try again; why are we doing this?"

Willow began again, "We need to catch..."

"No. That is the method, not the why. Let me ask another question, what is courage?"

Willow thought she knew this, "When someone is not afraid!"

"Willow, let me tell you a secret. Every hero is scared, and I mean piss their pants scared. They are all afraid, but what sets them apart is that the fear does not stop them from doing, or enduring, what needs to be done or seeing through what needs to happen. Why do they do that if they are so scared? Willow, they do it for each other, for their fellow soldiers, Marines, policemen, or firemen. They do what seems impossible because they know that the friends next to them, the ones that they love, will be hurt or killed if they do not act. So ask yourself ... who do you love?"

Willow had no response for that. Randy just let her think for a minute before adding, "That is the answer to the question of why we are doing this. These thoughts will not make it less painful, but they will help you see it through."


Steve had not sure where he was, maybe some clinic somewhere, until the whole building shook the day before and everyone had been running around in a panic. He knew what that meant. He was on Treasure Island. Then he saw someone run by with the Nimitz logo on their shirt. If he was actually in the Nimitz, he really was not sure how he was alive; the bomb they had made was big enough to bring the whole place down! But something had happened. There had been many people through the clinic as the hotel treated dozens that were wounded. The staff had kept his glass doors shut, but he could see and some sound leaked through.

He had gotten good care. They had taken the last of his IVs out the day before. His jaw was broken but stable. He could eat and talk if he was careful. His chest and stomach hurt but they had been giving him meds to control that, at least they had been. He had asked for more pain pills or something for the pain for the last eight hours but had gotten no response.

"Hello Steve." A well-dressed man had come through the sliding glass door. He had noticed him before but they had not talked. "We, you and I, do not have time for chitchat. I do not have time for the normal kinds of interview games that, since I know you have been to prison, you would see right through anyway. So, blah ... blah ... blah, we are done with that. I am going to treat you like an adult. Ok?"

Steve had been wondering when they would start asking him questions. He had been trying to come up with a plausible story of how he was in the company of the two runaway slaves. The men that had taken him before had simply said they were not killing him because they were saving him for someone else. They said that just before they beat him almost to death. What could this guy do worse than that? He would stick to his story and maybe try to get away and get out of town.

The big man went on, "So, we saved your life. You would have died at the hands of the men that took you and your two friends. They were going to kill you. Nancy is alive, next door, because we rescued her and gave her medical help. You would have died if we had not rescued you and given you medical help. Nancy's sister Pat is in fact dead. We tried to help but the damage was too extensive. That would have been you." There was a long pause while the man looked at Steve. Finally he said, "Say 'thank you.'"

 
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