STACI DAVIS: INVESTIGATIVE SLAVE
by Zebulon
This is a work of fiction. No reference to real persons is
intended. It contains strong, non-traditional sexual imagery
and language. If you don't like this kind of thing, don't read it.
This may be reposted anywhere as long as (1) proper
credit is given, (2) I am informed of where it is being posted,
and (3) I am allowed free access to the web site where it is
being posted.
Feedback is welcome. Zebulon@fastmail.ca
(MF, FF, Bond)
* * * * * Start of Part 2 * * * * *
Deborah Tanner had been fucking her way up the
broadcasting hierarchy for years. She was a senior writer
for a top news show. She had high hopes of moving in
front of the as a reporter and eventually as anchor.
She had the right look and she had the talent. She just
hadn't had the opportunity. To that end she had been
spending her free evenings screwing a number of well
placed executives at both her own station and at the
competition.
On this particular night she was screwing one of each. It
seemed like a good career move. She had arranged a
clandestine meeting with both for the same time at her
apartment. The lights were low, there was a fire going, the
smell of scented candles hung in the air, the background
music was soft and romantic. There was an awkward
moment for the two big wigs when the second showed up,
just as the first was settling down with his drink. Deborah
was delighted. She handed a drink to the newcomer and
excused herself for a few minutes. She said she had
something very important to tell them and promised to be
right back. They knew each other professionally, so it
wasn't long before they were talking shop.
Then Deborah made her grand entrance. She came in
wearing heels, a white necklace, black panties, and little
else. The little else was an almost transparent veil-like
sleeping jacket which hung to her knees and wasn't
buttoned down the front. Both jumped up as she
approached them. One of them spilled his drink.
Deborah eyed them with a certain malicious pleasure and
said, "Gentleman, I think it's time we clarify something
which neither of you seems to understand or believe." And
noting their hesitancy and embarrassment, she added,
"Look, I've slept with each of you more than once, so calm
down and pay attention."
The glanced briefly at each other and then looked
back at her. She had them fixated like birds under the
watchful gaze of a snake.
Deborah had moved to the middle of the room. The two
men were standing a few steps away. "Come here," she said
holding out one hand to each. They didn't move. "Aw,
you're not afraid of me are you? Two big strong like
you. Come on over here I have something soft and quiet
which I want to tell you. And I promise I wont bite."
They came. First one and then the other. Slowly and
uncertainly, but they came. They were standing side-by-side
in front of her. She took one hand from each. "Now,
gentlemen. We've had a lot of fun together haven't we?
Neither said anything. She lifted one hand and kissed it,
"Haven't we Fred?"
"Well, yes. I guess so."
She lifted and kissed the other hand. "Haven't we
Richard?"
"What is all this getting to?"
"Aw, come on. Humor me. Haven't we had fun,
Richard."
"All right, yes, we have."
"But you both think that I'm just a nice piece of ass.
You know I'm a good writer, but neither of you takes my
broadcasting ambitions seriously." She was right and both
men looked a little guilty. "You've discussed it with me in
bed. You've hinted at possibilities. But neither of you was
very serious." She didn't ask them to confirm it. She didn't
have to.
"Now Fred," she said looking at him. "You don't think
I'd leave for another station, even if they offered me a spot
in front of the camera, do you?" Fred didn't say anything.
She took his hand and moved it under the invisible veil. She
pressed it, palm down against her breast. He felt the
warmth of her skin, the tightness of her nipple against his
palm. "If you thought I were serious, you might really look
for a way to find me a newscasting position, wouldn't you?"
Fred was looking down at his hand. "Wouldn't you?" she
repeated.
"Yeah, I might . . . think about it."
"And you, Richard," she said, turning to the other man.
"You don't like to look foolish, do you?"
"No, I don't."
"And you're afraid that I'm only trying to use an offer
from your station as leverage for a front line job at my
own." She pressed his hand to her other breast. "Aren't
you?"
Richard took a breath and swallowed, "The thought has
crossed my mind."
She released their hands and moved her own down to
rest on their hips. Neither removed his hand from the
breast he was holding. "And now that we are sure that we
understand each other, and what the two of you are really
thinking . . . Fred," she reached down as she said his name
and grasped his erect prick through his pants. "Richard,"
she grasped the other prick with her other hand. "Now that
we really understand each other, . . ." she was gently
squeezing and kneading each prick as she spoke. The hands
on her seemed frozen.
"Richard," she looked into his eyes, unzipped his fly, and
reached in. He was wearing boxer shorts. "If you can find
me a newscasting spot," she reached through the slit in the
cloth and grasped his dick, "I can assure you, that I'll accept
it in a hot minute." She wrapped her hand around his
shaft and used her fingers to rub his balls. "I will not leave
you hanging. Do you understand that?"
His voice was husky, "Yes, I do."
"And do you believe me?" She could feel his heat
through her hand. His hand had started gently massaging
her tit.
"Yes. You've got me convinced."
Deborah smiled at him and turned to the other man,
whose mouth had dropped open at the performance he had
just seen. "Fred," she started on his zipper, "you heard what
I just told Richard, didn't you?"
He nodded his head and said, "Uh-huh."
She smiled into his face as she reached into this pants
and found jockey shorts. "And you believe me, don't you?"
She pulled her hand back out and started undoing his
belt.
"uh-huh."
"And you know, the only way you're going to keep me is
if you find your own spot for me as a newscaster, don't
you?" Fred's pants fell open. Deborah reached in past the
waistband of his jockey shorts and grabbed his Johnson.
He in his breath and said, "Uh-huh."
"Now I'm not trying to fool either of you. Whoever
comes . . ." she squeezed their dicks " . . . through first.
That's the offer I'm going to take." By now, both hands
were working at her and bumping into each other.
"And if they come through at the same time . . ." She
reached up and took their hands again. Holding them up in
front of her face, side-by-side, palms toward her, she licked
her tongue across both. "If they come through at the same
time, well then I'll just have to see who's bigger."
She dropped down to her knees. The two stood
there dumbly. She pulled Fred's underwear and pants
completely down around his ankles. Taking his erect penis
in both hands, she fondled it as she talked, "And when I say
bigger, I'm not talking about money, necessarily. In fact,"
she leaned forward, took his dick in her mouth, licked and
sucked on it for a few moments. Then, leaning back, she
finished, "I'm not even talking about penis size." She turned
to Richard and starting undoing his pants. "When I say
bigger, what I am talking about is the size of the news spot
you're willing to offer." She dropped his pants and
underwear down the his ankles and then repeated the oral
performance on him. Then grasping one prick with each
hand and pointing them both at her face she said, "If you can
get to me first Fred," she gave his shaft one long luxurious
suck, "then you can have me. And if you can get to me
first Richard," she his shaft, "then I'm yours. And if
you both get to me at the same time, . . ." she pulled the two
men closer and stuck both pricks into her mouth at once.
After a long while of licking and and fondling both
sets of testicles with her hands, she backed up and said, "If
you both get to me at the same time," she started slowly
pumping both dicks with her hands, then we'll see who
really wants me more."
She looked up at Fred. His face was flushed, he was
breathing heavily. "Is that clear, Fred?"
"uh-huh"
She looked over at Richard. He too was breathing
heavily, and looked to be in only slightly more control. "Is
that clear to you too, Richard."
"Oh yes."
Deborah released their peckers. "Now I know it takes
time to arrange a thing like this, so I don't expect an
immediate answer." She lay back down on the floor. "But
in the mean time, why don't you two, big strong executives come show me how much you want me."
They did.
Two hours later, all three were still going at it.
Deborah was face down on the bed. Fred was lying on
his back and she was between his legs, him off for
the second time that evening. Her feet were on the floor
and Richard was standing behind her with his prick buried in
her ass. He had already come once in her mouth and once
in her pussy. He was working hard to try for three.
The phone rang.
"Fuck it," they all thought at the same time.
* * * * *
Two hours later Deborah Tanner was washing down
aspirin with a glass of wine. She was in her kitchen wearing
a Japanese Kimono. She had a slight headache and her jaw
was a little sore, otherwise, the evening had been quite
successful. Fred had long since departed for his and
children in the suburbs. He had slunk out with a troubled
smile and a lame excuse. Richard had called his own with an even lamer excuse about having to stay in the city
overnight. Deborah glanced into her bedroom and saw his
hairy form curled up in a pile of bedding on the floor. She
started to smile and the stiffness in her jaw made her wince.
She popped another pill and remembered the phone
message.
Making her way into the second bedroom which she had
converted to an office, she quietly closed the door and
checked her answering machine. It was from a distant
cousin, Derrick. She hadn't heard from him in years and
years. And the last she'd heard about him was that he was
somehow involved with the mob. If true, it didn't surprise
her. He had been called 'Derrick the Dung' by other
children as they were growing up. He was large, and
strong, and crude, and brutal. And he seemed to take an
absolute delight in hurting people.
So why was he calling? The message said something
about having a super hot for her. There was a
heartfelt request for secrecy. And a phone number where
she could reach him, but only if she called at exactly
midnight. Otherwise he would try her again some other
time. He obviously knew all about her career. A little
surprising perhaps. She was hardly a well known public
figure--Yet! So how had he tracked her down. And why
was he interested in giving her a story? Did he expect to
get paid? Probably.
Her first instinct was to ignore him. The last thing she
wanted was to get involved with Derrick the Dung. But
then again, what if he really did have a big story. If he was
involved with the mob it just might be the big career boost
she was looking for. It would be nice to have a hot
exclusive to toss into the pot if she had to negotiate with
one or the other station. The clock on her desk said 11:37.
She gently tapped her teeth with the rim of the wine glass
and thought about it. She thought about it for quite a while.
When the clock said 11:59 she drained the last of the wine,
put down the glass, picked up the phone.
* * * * *
They met two days later at an obscure hour in an even
more obscure restaurant. They had the place
almost entirely to themselves. They sat in a corner booth
and Derrick quietly told Debbie about the South American
slave auction. He described what he had seen. He said he'd
recognized one of the on the auction block as a who had vanished almost half a year before. He
remembered her from a newspaper story. He
finished and there was a long silence while Deborah
considered his words.
She looked over at him, "OK, assuming what you've told
me is true . . ."
"It is."
"Assuming it's true, what do you expect me to do about
it?"
He grinned at her. He knew she was hooked. "I can
find out where and when the next auction is going to be. I
know how you can sneak in."
"And what do you want in return?
"Money, of course. Lots and lots of money." He was
studying her eyes. "But you don't have to pay until after
you've got your story." She was nodding slightly. "And
when it's time to pay, you'll do it my way. I don't want to
get my head blown off." He waited for her to ask some
more questions, but she said nothing for a long while.
Finally he broke the silence by asking, "Is it a deal?"
"How much money?" she asked.
"Just a good sized chunk of the pile you're going to
make."
She nodded again. "OK, tell me more."
Derrick leaned forward and started giving her the details
of his plan.
* * * * *
A week later Deborah was still thinking about her
meeting with Derrick. The more she thought about his
story, the more it fell together. It explained a number of
troubling disappearances. And his plan seemed sound
enough as well. Assuming his was straight and he
knew what he was talking about. There was always that
element of uncertainty. And the risks were high. But the
rewards were even higher. She could certainly use this
story to demand a spot in front of the camera. And if she
couldn't get it from either Fred or Richard. . . .
But the first thing she needed was a partner. She needed
a smart, young, tough, sexy partner. The plan called for her
to show up at a slave auction masquerading as an owner
with a slave to sell. According to Derrick, she didn't have
to actually sell unless she got the price she was after. And
owners were always turning down offers, waiting for the
next auction where they thought they could do better.
There had been a dozen slaves who didn't sell at the auction
he had seen. She could show up with her 'slave,' watch the
whole thing from ring-side, and then leave with her partner
as the corroborating witness.
Deborah spent the next afternoon considering every
likely contact she knew and rejecting them all. 'Too old.
Too weak. Too ugly. Too fat. Too old, ugly, weak, and
fat!' She regretfully concluded that she didn't know a single
individual who would fit the bill. She briefly considered
recruiting someone to pose as the seller and she, herself,
would play the part of the slave. She slipped out of her
clothes and examined herself in front of the mirror. Pretty
face. Nice breasts. Hips a bit wide. Hardly fat, but not in
top physical shape either. All-n-all, not bad for a woman
pushing 36. But she concluded, based on the information
Derrick had provided, that she was just a little too and
out of shape to pull it off. She grinned at her reflection and
thought, 'but I'll make one hell of an owner!'
She got an invitation to lecture on news writing at one of
the big media schools. She was about to politely turn it
down. Then she thought about young, eager, and hopefully
sexy, graduate students. She changed her mind, called back
and accepted.
* * * * * End of Part 2 * * * * *
STACI DAVIS: INVESTIGATIVE SLAVE
by Zebulon
This may be reposted anywhere as long as (1) proper
credit is given, (2) I am informed of where it is being posted,
and (3) I am allowed free access to the web site where it is
being posted.
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