Special Visitor

“And she does whatever you tell her to?” The man asked as he took his drink from the tray. Amanda saw his eye linger on her body, watched as they moved from her barely contained breasts down her taught stomach to the sheer fabric held against her mound. The glasses on the tray she was holding were sweating already, a symptom of the island's heat.

“Of course she does, she’s a ****!” Her master replied with a laugh. “Wouldn’t be much point in having one if she could say no, would there?” Amanda backed away and returned the tray to its position on the counter as the men drank. The sleek, modern apartment cut such a odd contrast to the wood and thatch buildings found in other parts of the island. Her footsteps echoed slightly against the marble floor as she returned to her master's side, kneeling next to him obediently.

“I suppose not.” The other man replied, running a finger around the rim of his glass before taking a drink. “And you’re not worried about her, well, escaping? Or trying to get away?”

“Where would she go? A collared woman anywhere on this island is going to be picked up in and instant…”

Amanda half listened as the master explained all the reasons why she’d be stupid for trying to run away from him. The list of reasons why she'd be stupid for trying to escape her captivity was already familiar to her. She'd heard it repeated many times since she'd been captured, and more than few since she'd agreed to be her master's personal ****. Chose, she chided herself. She chose to be her master's personal breeding ****. To bear his child in exchange for her freedom. As a result she was kept apart from his other slaves, the breeding stock. Her sister, her friend, and another half dozen other slaves whose sole purpose in life was to be ejaculated into.

She came back to in the middle of the men's conversation when her master tugged on her leash. “...well luckily this one responds well to being talked down to. Doesn’t always work that way but I lucked out with this one, turns into a fountain if you call her dirty names and slap her around a little. Isn’t that right you dirty whore?” Amanda felt her master’s fingers under her chin as he lifted her head to look at them.

“Yes master.” She replied meekly, the way a **** should.

"Tell Mr. Vanderbook how you wound up kneeling next to me with a collar 'round your neck will you sweetie?" He asked with a false sweetness in his voice.

Amanda looked at the man in front of her as he awkwardly tried to hide the fact that he'd been staring at her tits through her gossamer top. He absentmindedly wiped sweat from his broad forehead with a cocktail napkin.

"Master generously gave me the option of what kind of **** I wanted to be," she started. "And I asked him to let me be his personal ****." She had been coached by him on what to tell people about their relationship. She was free to tell anyone the truth, that he'd manipulated her into becoming a whore for him before tricking her into selling her body to him. But she didn't like to recount the awful truth, that she was here, kneeling on this cool floor in a sheer bikini with a collar around her neck because of her own hubris.

“Why don't you show Mr. Vanderbook why I choose to keep you around here instead of chaining you on your back and letting any frat boy with a dollar fill your holes?”

"Yes master," Amanda replied. She crawled between them on her hands and knees before pushing her head and chest to the ground with her head pointed towards her master. A different girl would have been embarrassed, ashamed even, and the display of her lips as they pushed against the sheer fabric of her bottoms in full view of a complete stranger. Now in the appropriate position she reached back, pulled the fabric of her bottom aside, and spread herself in front of this stranger. The cold tile of the floor against her nipples caused them to become erect. The man stared greedily at her, drinking in every curve of her submissive form as she bared herself to him. "Once they're good and broken in they'll do anything you want, but if you get them fresh that can take time. This one took three months before her spirit broke. Three months as the village bicycle in my whore house. She took ten, twelve different men a day."

"And you still want her?" The other man looked incredulous.

"Of course!" Her master nearly yelled. "It's not like they get worn out. No. Unless you want a fight it's best to give the fresh girls from off the island a few weeks of general use before you want them. By then they've usually accepted their role in life." Amanda felt her master caress her ass cheek, gently grabbing a chunk before giving her a small spank.

"You want to take her for a spin? I see you eyeing up that cunt of hers but I tell you what that tongue can do wonders. She could suck a golf ball through a garden hose with those lips."

"Oh I don't know....I shouldn't...." he demurred.