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Books by authors on this site are exclusively published by Fiction4All in its various adult imprints.

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Legacy Of Slaves by Nick Downes

Legacy Of Slaves 
(Nick Downes)

Legacy of Slaves

Her bottom was growing gradually redder.  The tight video shot showed the hand of a man repeatedly descending on her juddering rear and each slap elicited a squeal from the unseen head of the woman stretched over his knee.  It was almost funny; the camera had been zoomed in until it was so close only the man’s hand and his victim’s bare bottom could be seen.

The screen split and next to the first picture a second, very similar film rolled.  It was an equally tight shot but this time the man was using the back of a hairbrush to assault the wriggling flesh of her bottom.  It was a different bottom that much was evident.  It was larger than the first, but still attractively formed and youthfully resilient to the smacking of the hairbrush.

Both camera shots widened, the films showed the length of the women’s bodies.  The two females shared a quirk, each time they were slapped they both raised one foot off the ground, bending their leg until their heel touched their bottom.  They soon, voluntarily, put the wayward foot back down and awaited the next slap.

It was not in any way a vicious scene, the ladies were not restrained, nor did they scream loudly, it could almost have been an act.

The view widened again and their surroundings were very similar.  The two rooms were not identical but they looked like any hotel room owned by one of the national chains.  On the cabinet next to one of the beds rested a Gideon Bible, more incongruous even than usual under the circumstances.

Terry’s heart beat faster, not with excitement at the dual scenes of erotica he was watching but at a slowly dawning realisation.

He was sitting in the modestly furnished office of a solicitor.  It was in the Holland Park area of London, but the Solicitor was obviously of foreign extraction, probably Spanish or Argentinean he guessed, accurately as he would later discover.

Alejhandro was tanned and looked fit for a man of his years, about sixty, Terry thought; his immaculately pressed, pin stripe suit would have looked at home in any major board room in the country.  His English was excellent, very public school, if just a little accented.

The third person in the office was a very attractive, even striking lady in her mid-thirties.  She too was well tanned.  Her jet-black hair, tied in a simple ponytail, was long; it reached all the way down her back ending at the swell of her well-rounded bottom.

Her outfit was European rather than British.  She was wearing a lightweight pale cream cotton suit.  Her skirt hung loosely from her hips to below her knees.  The jacket was cut to fit snugly at her narrow waist and buttoned to a point above her breasts. It was obvious, not only to Terry but to anyone who cared to look, she was wearing very little underneath it.  It was conservative while being undeniably sexy.  She had been introduced to him as Madame Imogene, no surname he noted. He wondered where she had acquired her title, probably married it, he supposed.

Terry’s concentration was focused on the screen. The lady whose bottom had just received a more spirited smack with the hairbrush than she had been anticipating, had screeched loudly and as if that was a signal for the cameraman, he had zoomed out.

Terry swallowed hard and feared the worst.  Just three days ago he had answered his front door to a man he had never seen before or since.  The man had handed him an envelope, asked for his signature and departed without additional conversation.

The letter inside was from Alejandro.  The paper bore the company crest of his legal business, with a Buenos Aries address.

Mystified, Terry read his invitation to visit the solicitor at his London office where, it said; he may hear something to his advantage.

He had mulled over the invitation for a full twenty-four hours before telephoning and arranging the meeting.  He was unaware of any relatives, distant or otherwise, especially any wealthy ones, so he couldn’t see where he may gain advantage but, ‘What have I got to lose,’ was his final analysis.

So here he was, squirming uncomfortably in his seat, watching the inevitable zooming out of the cameras.  It was impossible to deny, it was he who had been caught on film enjoying the ladies on screen.  As his features were revealed he blushed, looked at the floor, then at Alejandro.  He flushed deeper red when he made eye contact with Madame Imogene; she looked at him with a polite smile that bemused him.  He expected a look of deep-seated scorn but saw in her face a smile of understanding.  He was becoming more confused by the minute and decided attack was the best form of defence.

“They were both over twenty-one, you know, and they were both willing!”  He burst out in a tone that he hoped would suggest he was more confident than he really was. 

He could see the blackmail coming and he was wriggling. He was not particularly well known but, even so, this was not the sort of thing he would like the whole world to know about.

Alejandro spoke, his voice not loud enough to drown Madame Imogene’s quiet laughter that she covered with the back of her hand.

“My dear Master Terry,” he said.

Terry balked at the form of address, true he was many years younger than Alejandro, but he was far from being a boy. Surely, Mister would have been correct, but then, if he was about to be blackmailed, what the old man chose to call him paled into insignificance.

Unaware of Terry’s chagrin, Alejandro continued, “Please understand, yes we are here to judge you but not as you would think.  We needed to confirm that you are the man in the video and we have.  We also had to ascertain if you are the type of man we hoped you would be and I think we have.”

Terry opened his mouth to ask the first of many questions, but the solicitor begged him to wait.

“Please, be patient for just a little while.  From the films we have seen it would appear that you enjoy this sort of relationship with women, is this true?”

Imogene recognised how difficult it was for Terry to admit to his likes or dislikes and tried to help him. “I do, Master Terry, I live for it, to have a naked young female, or male for that matter, grovelling at my feet is my reason for living, don’t worry, you may be honest, you are among friends.”

He thought for a moment then replied, “So what if I do? They are grown up and nobody forced them to be spanked.”

“It is as we thought,” Alejandro said. “Please turn to the screen again while I play you another film.”

“There is no need; I have seen myself spanking a woman, so what? I don’t need to see it again,” Terry challenged.

“Please, indulge me for just a few moments,” Alejandro said as he pressed the play button.

Terry’s mind was racing in turmoil as he turned to watch the screen, hoping to play for time.  He was frantically wondering how Alejandro had captured the compromising video evidence of his performance in those hotel rooms.  He was beginning to think he must have been set up in some way, but he couldn't understand how.  He had used a specialist Escort agency, and everything had appeared quite normal.

His attention was drawn to the new video and his first thought was that the cameraman must be short of imagination.  The opening shot was again very close up and showed only a single face.  It was an old face, a man probably in his late seventies or early eighties.  He was almost bald with just a few strands of wispy grey hair.  His dark, heavy framed glasses only partially hid his excessively bushy, grey eyebrows.  His skin was light brown, tanned, not coloured, and his heavy jowls seem to join up with his several chins.  Even with just this head-shot it was clear he was a very old and probably very overweight man.

The face on the screen began to speak, the voice was gravelly, and the speech was quite slow, the man’s rheumy eyes suggested he could be unwell.

‘Good day to you,’ he said in a voice accented not by the Latin races but more from the ex colonial British Raj.

The man continued, ‘my name is Master George.  I am given to understand your name is Terry, soon to be Master Terry.  At the moment none of this will make any sense to you but if you would forestall your questions for a little while, all will be revealed.

‘I am, or rather was, your great uncle on the distaff side of the family.  I say was, because the fact you are watching this means that I am deceased.  I will make this as brief as possible and I know I can rely on both Alejandro and Madam Imogene to flesh out the details.

‘You are my only surviving relative and you are about to become very wealthy or quite disgustingly rich.  When you have finished watching this film you will be asked to make a decision but for now, just sit back and enjoy.’

Terry had perked up, the mention of wealth had unsurprisingly interested him, the phrase, 'disgustingly rich,' had raised his attention level to a new high and he was now staring avidly at the screen.

The films briefly faded to black before opening with a very wide, high view, which Terry assumed had been taken from the air.  This was confirmed when he saw the shadow of the helicopter some way beneath them.  It was travelling at speed and showed a wide area of what could have been ranch-land.  It was dry and the sun was very bright.

The old man's voice began to talk over the film.

‘All you can see is part of the second option you will be given.  Its location, for the moment, need not concern you but as you can see, there will be no need for any winter kit.  The land beneath you could soon all be yours.  It is, to all intents and purposes, a working and profitable ranch.  I have not interested myself in either its arable or animal activities for many years but I understand it is financially very successful.’

Terry was beginning to smile, the prospect of being a wealthy landowner had never entered his mind, yet it appeared to be happening to him.  He idly wondered what the big choice was he was going to have to make while he continued to watch the helicopter circle over what was obviously a huge area of land.

The scene once more faded to black and suddenly the old man's face filled the screen, he was smiling as he began to speak.

‘So far so good, eh my boy?  But it gets better. 

The camera pulled back to show the old man was naked to the waist.  Below the neck his skin was much paler, he was very flabby and as you would expect for a man of his age, he was heavily wrinkled.

Terry had already surmised the man was old and fat, this was now proved to be true, however, that was where the predictable ended and the outrageous began.

The old man's smile was entirely understandable; he had his left arm draped around the shoulders of a beautiful young woman.  She could be no more than 19 years of age.  Terry stared wide-eyed as the image unfolded before him.  The girl’s light, honey blonde hair was cut short, it fell just below her ears and her fringe covered her forehead.  He was entranced at the sight, but it was not her pale skinned beauty alone that absorbed him. Her red painted lips were stretched around an even brighter red ball gag.  Her big blue eyes were moist as she stared helplessly back at him.  She was obviously uncomfortable and Terry could see why.  She too was naked, at least to her waist, the camera was still too close to her to see further down, her arms were behind her back and, judging from her strained pose, they were tied there.  In fact, she was tied at her wrists and further up her arms where her elbows were cruelly cinched together.  Her firm breasts were thrust forward and her shoulders were pulled back.  Her left breast was being casually fondled by the aged gentleman and, from the look on her face, she hated every skin crawling squeeze of his veined hand.

Terry was fascinated with her, he could not tear his eye from the screen and he started when the old man’s voice cut in again.

‘Lovely, isn’t she?  I would tell you her name, but she doesn’t have one.’  He paused, and then added, ‘No, you see there are so many of them it is simpler to number them.’

The old man’s craggy index finger pointed down towards the girl’s lap and the camera pulled farther back.  She was naked, her ankles were tied and her legs immobilised with coils of rope above and just below her knees.  Master George continued to point at her lap and now tapped his finger lower down.  Terry gasped, the first thing he noticed was the absence of pubic hair, she was bald down there and just above where the curly pad of hair should have been was written a number.  It was, in large black numerals, 54. 

There was more. Terry could now see a second female, or rather part of another.  The cameraman’s technique was beginning to annoy him, only a naked thigh and her knee was in shot.

A few seconds later she was revealed, and she was indeed also nude.  She too, was devoid of pubic hair and he saw her number boldly displayed on her mound, 112.  She was also bound; her ankles were crossed and firmly roped together.  Her knees were forced wide by a spreader bar while her arms were tied identically to those of number 54.  The same style red ball gag filled her mouth, but this girl had an added torment.  Terry could not yet tell exactly what it was but, she had something projecting from her vagina and, above that, attached to her clitoral hood, was a wicked looking alligator jawed clamp.  Terry rightly assumed it was an electrical lead as was proved by the two plastic coated wires leading from it, to somewhere out of shot.

What proved to be the widest angle filled in the missing pieces, added a twist to the picture and left Terry with a rigid tent pole in his trousers.

Standing to Master George’s right and a little behind him was a man.  He was also naked, and his function was simply to waft cool air over the old man.  This he did with the aid of a very large hand-held fan on the end of a six feet long silver pole.

He was a young man, perhaps mid-twenties, olive skinned and, Terry supposed, quite attractive.  He was certainly well muscled and his physique told of many hours in the gym.

It took Terry a little while to notice, after all he was totally heterosexual and it was not his first thought to examine the young man’s body in detail but the boy was also numbered.  In similar fashion to the two women he had been shaved and his number was 16.  At the same time as he saw the number, Terry also noticed number 16 was not completely naked.  The view was not close enough to be certain, but it looked as though the man’s penis was enclosed in some sort of leather tube. It was a very short sheath and mistakenly, Terry assumed number 16 must have a very small penis.  In reality, his manhood was quite large but it was folded in half and squeezed tightly by the constricting leather.

What was causing Terry to tent his trousers was the third young lady who had now been revealed.  Like her colleagues she was naked. He could not see much of her because she had her back to the camera.  It was her bottom he saw juddering as she bobbed her head up and down with the old man’s penis sliding in and out of her mouth.  He could hear the quiet slurping and sucking noises the girl was making and, when the camera moved a few feet to one side, he could plainly see she was giving Master George a very effective blow-job.

The girl on the floor, with her legs spread, groaned loudly and Terry saw her body quiver. It happened again, then again and each time her moan grew louder.  He slowly recognised she was reacting to the switch the old man held in his right hand.  As The Master grew more excited he depressed the switch and this obviously sent some sort of signal to the device between Number 112’s legs.  It was impossible to tell if it was causing her pain or pleasure, but it was certainly keeping her attention.

The old man began to pant, pressing repeatedly at his little switch as his passion increased. He heaved his hips upwards and, with a loud grunt, emptied himself into the sucking mouth.  The girl swallowed quickly and there was not a sign of spillage.  She had taken his ejaculation with well-practised ease.

The silence on the screen was matched by the silence in Alejandro’s office.  The scene had captivated all three viewers and, after a short recovery period, the old man’s voice panted his final message. It was simple.

‘My good friends will explain your choices, my boy, choose wisely and enjoy … enjoy.’

Blackness covered the screen and the tape ended.