Heather Willow Book IIChapter 6
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Heather-Willow Book IIChapter 2 free porn video
"How is my sister?"
Carl sat beside the hospital style bed. He had been sitting there for ten minutes. He had not said a word, but until now, neither had the woman in the bed. Half of her face was covered in bandages, mostly protecting her damaged eye. She had watched him with her one good eye as he sat down.
Carl sighed, "She is badly hurt, but you know that. We are giving her the same level of care as you are getting."
"Can I see her?"
"Let me see if you can see her." Carl got up and went to the sliding glass door and opened it slightly. He whispered to someone wearing scrubs, listened for a reply, then came back and sat down. "They are concerned about you and how dangerous it might be to let you get up. They said we can move the bed outside the room so you can see her, but there is not room for two beds in there."
There was a delay of a few minutes before two attendants were able to push Nancy's bed into the hall. The curtain in the other treatment room was pulled back from the glass door and Nancy could turn her head to see in. A figure was lying on the bed covered in bandages. IV tubes ran under the blankets and the heart monitor was beeping loudly. Nancy turned away and sobbed and her bed was returned to its own room.
"Will she ... will she live?" She asked Carl.
"I am not a doctor, but her injuries are severe, especially her internal injuries. Can you tell me what happened?"
"Pat, Steve and I had been staying in Chico. Pat wanted to try and go home to Reno and get some help from friends. They were watching our uncle's house. They followed us when we left. They ran us off the road." Nancy's voice faded.
"Nancy, do you know who they were?"
"Slave hunters. They had funny accents, English or something."
"What did they do?"
"They chained Steve to a tree, beat him with a pipe. They kept calling him a thief and killer. They made us watch, said we were next. But they did not kill him. They wanted to keep him alive. They left him hanging there while they asked me questions. They staked Pat to the ground in front of me, close enough ... close enough I could hear her bones break when they hit her. I could smell it when they burned her."
"What did they ask you?"
"They wanted to know where the other slaves were, the ones that escaped." Nancy turned her head to look at Carl, "Is that what you want to know?"
"No."
"It doesn't matter, I told them. I just wanted them to quit burning Pat. Pat was stronger than me. Once our master strung us up together and caned us. Pat kept whispering to me to be strong. We hung there for hours and she kept telling me to be strong. I was not strong when they burned her. I begged them to stop, told them everything they asked. I was not strong like her."
"What else did you tell them?"
"They wanted to know who had helped us escape and who had killed our owner."
"Did you tell them Steve helped you?"
"No, he is a good guy. He got upset when he learned what they were planning. He decided to leave. Pat and I wanted to go with him. No, Steve did not want to hurt people."
"So, Steve is a good guy and did not kill your owner. Who did?"
Nancy was fading back to unconsciousness, her voice growing weaker. " ... picked up that big fucking wrench and beat his skull in. He had hurt us so many times, but he had grown tired of us. He was at that show, the Expo, to sell us to someone, to separate us. Pat was so afraid of being separated. We heard the screams and saw everyone running. He turned his back and Pat hit him over and over again. Like I said, she was strong."
"Was Steve upset that Pat had killed your owner?"
Nancy's head lolled to the side, "No, he never knew. He was upset because of the bomb."
"The bomb in Fresno?"
"No, the one for the hotel."
"What hotel? What hotel Nancy?" Carl pleaded, but she was unconscious.
Carl walked out of the room and went next door. The easiest way to fake Nancy's sister being alive was to put someone else in the bed, hook them up to the heart monitor and bandage up their face. Carl had Matt locate an employee that was about the same size as the dead sister. Carl touched the arm of the girl on the bed, a waitress from the hotel's buffet, and told her she could go. He reminded her not to say anything. The one hundred dollar bill Carl gave her for her silence was secreted in her bra as she hustled out of the room.
Heather had learned that being rude or disrespectful would not end well for her. So when she heard the lock on the door open she fell to her knees, hands on her thighs palms up and bowed her head. Because her head was bowed and her eyes were down she did not realize it was not Willow that had entered the room.
"Hello slave," came a different voice. Heather did not know how to respond. The rules said absolutely no talking and she had learned that the rules were ruthlessly enforced. She did not speak, however she did look up. Willow was by the door, not far from the controls for Heather's restraint/punishment system. Willow was also wearing red high heels, her collar, but nothing else. This was different than the other times Willow had come in.
But the voice belonged to the beautiful tall blonde, Page. Heather had not seen Page for more than four days. She was everything that Heather had wanted to be physically. Her blonde hair cascaded off of her shoulders. Her large breasts were spilling out of the black bra she wore. Page's waist was narrow and her stomach contoured with writhing muscles. She wore black leather pants that were widely laced up the sides allowing three inches of skin to show through. Black ankle high spike heeled boots completed the tour de force of her sensual display.
From the very first time she had seen Page, Heather compared herself to the striking blonde. Heather's pale skin was marked by freckles especially between her breasts. Her breasts were small B cups and her nipples were a light shade of pink. Her body, sculpted by years of gymnastics, seemed boyish in her eyes. She was well muscled, especially in her legs, and carried no extra weight. Yet she hated her short stature and thought everyone looked at her like a freak.
Page walked into the room and stood in front of Heather. "We have a few things to discuss. Before I make some ... choices regarding you and your training, I need to know more about you. Stand up." Heather came to her feet. She was now eye level with Page's beautiful breasts.
"Let me tell you what I know. You are young, fit, and pretty. You are also untrained and unknown to us. I have no attachment to you, Willow has no attachment to you, and I have nothing of my time invested in you. Most importantly, Master Carl does not have any attachment to you yet. It would be very easy to send you back to Madame Carronade with a note saying we do not have time to train a new slave. By doing that, all of our headaches are solved." Heather began to tremble and tear up.
Page noted the trembling lip. "You are afraid of that possibility. I, on the other hand, am about to willing get into a car and put myself in Madame Carronade's hands. So I want you to think of what makes us, you and I, different. Your answer to that question will largely determine if you stay or if you go."
Page turned and walked back towards the door. "You are granted one hour each day to speak and ask Willow questions. Willow will further your basic training. You are on probation. Willow will report your progress and attitude to me and Master Carl when we return. This is your only chance to stay out of the hands of Cliff House or some hellish suck bar. Convince us that it would be a mistake to send you away."
As Page walked through the door, Willow stepped forward to unlock the cuffs and cable that had kept Heather confined. Moments later, Willow locked a stiff metal and leather collar on Heather's neck. It was secured with a padlock and turned so the lock was in the back. Willow then indicated that Heather was to follow her out of her room.
Heather had not been outside her room for four days. Unlike the utilitarian furnishing of her room, the rest of the condo was opulent, with a stunning view of the city. It was getting on towards evening and the sun lit up the eastern shore of the Bay. In the distance Oakland and Berkeley glowed orange in the light of the setting sun. Heather had spent little time in San Francisco, only coming to the City for special occasions. She had never seen it from so high up. She gaped at how tiny the people looked as they walked along the Embarcadero. Lights were beginning to come on and the buildings and cars were beginning to glow.
Heather's revelry at the view was interrupted by a hard slap to her face. A hand grabbed her jaw and forced her head to tilt up. Page was looking into her eyes from just a few inches away.
"This was not a good start for you," Page hissed. "I was talking and you were not listening and clearly not obeying. I will end this farce now if this is the best you can do." Page had Heather's full attention.
"Your collar has an RFID tag, a system installed here to keep valuables from walking off with the workmen or cleaning staff. But we are applying to you. If you step out of the front door, we will know it. For the record, Willow will not try to stop you. Instead she will report you as a runaway slave and offer a five thousand dollar cash reward for you. If someone does recover you, we will gladly pay them the money but we will not take you back. They will be given ownership of you and we will never see you again. By the way, there is quite a market for runaway slaves. They are publicly and painfully tortured to death. Best primetime ratings on TV. So you are welcome to leave any time."
Page walked over to Willow who was standing as straight as an arrow, "Let me be clear about something. If you at any time endanger Willow, myself, or Master Carl, you will die. We are not playing games here. Your best chance to avoid a suck bar, a short life in an Oakland brothel, or a televised execution is to listen to Willow. She will not be your friend. She is going to cause you pain. She will make demands of you. You will hate her and be afraid of her, but if she wants you to stay, you will most likely stay."
Page turned and looked into Willow's face, "I will see you soon. If I get information on Lord Blackmon or Master Carl I will try to let you know. Please be safe." Page then gave Willow a passionate kiss that was prolonged and reciprocated. Heather saw Willow mouth the words 'be safe' back to Page. Both Page and Willow had tears streaking each cheek when Page quietly opened the front door and was gone.
Willow fell to her knees and sobbed.
Madame Carronade stepped into the parlor. She was a beautiful woman, tall with wide shoulders and long legs. Her platinum hair was up in a bun highlighting her long elegant neck. Her skin seemed to glow with health. Her breasts were covered by a black leather vest held closed by a single straining button. A short, tight black leather skirt covered her from hipbone to mid-thigh. The tops of her high heeled boots almost met the bottom of the skirt. Finishing the look was full length leather gloves.
Simon sat near the window. "Madame, I need to catch you up on house business. We need your approval for the ten ready to move out of stage four training and into stage five. There is a shipment of thirty raw slaves coming in tomorrow. They are from the auction in Stockton and initial reports are good. Seven have college degrees, five others are eighteen or nineteen, so that works out to about ten to twelve that will make it through."
Madame Carronade looked at the folder Simon held out for her, "So our conversion rate is still about 30 percent? I thought you were trying for closer to 40 or even 50 percent?"
Simon looked out the window and paused before answering. "The issue is not the quality of material but your standards for the final product. Only a percentage of slaves can achieve your level of submission and service."
"But our process consumes twenty percent and another fifty percent yield sub-par results. Granted our sub-pars make us money, but it is also expensive to move them far enough away to not dilute the market here. I want you to think if there is a way to develop the sub-par group further into top product."
"How?" Simon asked.
"I have an idea, or at least the beginnings of one. Lord Blackmon's slave Page is coming to see me. You are familiar with the story of Carol? Well, just before Lord Blackmon headed across the world, he acquired an untrained slave and left her in the care of Page. Do you know who that slave is?"
"No."
"That supposedly untrained slave is Willow, the very one that was here the other night with Page. Willow is the product of months of training, not years, yet she would be a standout among our products. How is that possible?"
Four days of almost no interaction had allowed Heather to absorb the fact that she now was a slave and belonged to a man she had only met briefly. She had somewhat adjusted to the nudity and the silence. However the appearance of Page and being released from her room and her bonds set Heather adrift again. She wanted to run. She wanted to cover up. She wanted to cry.
"Slave, come here." Willow called to her.
She went into the main room of the giant condo. Willow was standing in the middle of the room pointing at a spot on the floor. Heather moved quickly to kneel as she had been taught.
"Slave, we need to begin your training. This is for my protection, for the protection of Page and Carl and for yourself. I am not a cruel person, but we live in a cruel corner of a cruel world. You need to learn how to navigate in that world and you need to find your place in it. So from this point on forget your past. Forget everything you saw at the casino and hotel. You must set aside dignity, hesitation, pride, remorse and even identity. You are Slave."
Heather felt like she was standing over an abyss. It was as if Willow had told her she had to fly. She felt like she needed to run, but did not know which way.
"So, where should we begin?" Willow to a step towards her and held out her hand palm up. "Slave, lick my hand."
Heather looked at the hand in front of her but did not move. She was familiar with the word 'hand' and the word 'lick' but had never heard or considered them together.
Willow looked down on the kneeling slave and said, "That is why you need training. You do not know what to do. But that is not the most important issue. You do not know why you must do it and you do not know how to do it. Well, we will just have to make due." Willow muttered under her breath.
Heather's hands and elbows were secured behind her back with rope. Willow secured her feet to the legs of the sofa so that her knees were a foot apart and against the cushion of the sofa. Willow then passed another rope through the front D-ring of Heather's new collar and secured the other end to the structural column ten feet behind the sofa. She pulled Heather forward until her feet barely touched the floor, her knees were straight, her hips pressed against the upper part of the sofa and her head and chest hung past the back of the sofa. Heather could twist a little but could not move forward or back. Willow took a small ball and placed it in Heather's mouth. She secured it by pulling a rubber face gag over her head. The gag covered Heather from her chin to over her nose, but had two small holes for air. She could not make a sound.
"Slave, let me tell you the goal for your first formal day of training. I am going to make you think about running away. I do not want to hear you cry or beg for mercy. It would not matter anyway because I will not stop. Everything about today is going to be bad. But, as bad as it will be, I promise it will not be the worst day of your slavery. That is true if you stay or if you go. The question for today is whether or not you will choose here or out there. I will try my best to give you knowledge so you can make an informed choice."
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