Emmys Adventures Pt 04

Part 1: Wednesday June 1, 1978

1-Chester Bradley

When Chester Bradley had enslaved Emmy, one of the conditions the young woman's mother, Grace, made was that Emmy was to get her degree. He knew of only one option. Grace was a slave and had gone to the same all-slave girl college where her daughter would attend: Warm Springs Canyon College in the western Sierra Nevada Mountains. Chester Bradley had agreed, it seemed the decent thing to do.

The problem was that WSCC was on the California-Nevada Stateline, and they were in New York City. This would not be too much of a hassle, except the college's summer session for first-year students started in four days. He had to get her there fast and make it memorable for his pet, too. To that end, he contracted courier driver Tiny Tony to deliver Emmy to the college in time for registration.

Chester Bradley left his slave girl alone in a Holiday Inn parking in Pennsylvania. He knew that Tiny Tony was always punctual and would be there within ten minutes of his departure. There was a flight to catch, and he could not afford to miss it.

Chester Bradley was a worried man. He was rich, but much of his wealth was tied up in business in and with Iran. Things were not looking good there right now. There was rioting and talk of revolution. The Shah was barely holding on and seemed to be trying his hardest to lose his throne. He alternated between brief periods of violent crackdown followed by caving into one demand after another. Chester Bradley feared the Shah would be deposed by the end of the year.

Chester Bradley's other source of income was with the CIA to middleman some of their dirty work. He dealt in arms as well as rugs, pistachios, and Persian antiquities. He had connections and knew how to get things and people to where they needed to be without being noticed. This worked great with rugs and antiquities and functioned better the other way with people, drugs, and arms.

The legitimate business was more profitable than the CIA. Pop culture made it look like the spy business paid much better than it actually did. Besides the patriotic duty of helping his country, he benefited from the contacts and access to muscle when he needed it. He was confident that his business would survive any change of government, as long as they did not go Communist. A military junta or "democracy" would still preserve enough of the economic system that he would be fine; nothing would substantially change. If the Reds took over, though, that was the end of the legitimate front enabling his businesses to exist.

He was short on liquidity. More and more of his cash had been invested in acquiring inventory he was storing in Iran until he could arrange for shipment. High fuel prices equaled inflated shipping costs which meant lower profit margin. He had to do some short-term borrowing to cover the storage and transport costs and the double-digit interest rates were taking another chunk. If he could get it all to the U.S. and sold, he would be rolling in money. He figured he needed to get half sold by the end of the year to stay solvent. If Iran went over to the Soviet Bloc, he would be at risk of losing it all.

Emmy offered a delightful distraction, but there was a harsh real world. His new slave was wonderful, but if needed, he would sell her in a heartbeat. He knew that she would be safe in the Association system. He had no pity or softness for the girls who signed the papers, they were slaves and being bought and sold was what came with being a slave. Until he sold her, and he was sure he would at some point, there were other ways for him to benefit from her beautiful young body. He owed Tiny Tony a favor and Tiny Tony owed other people favors. Chester Bradley satisfied his obligations by letting Tiny Tony use Emmy to pay his. He would need to go through his Rolodex to see who else would enjoy time with his new slave, maybe with an eye to future ownership.

Eddie Maher had become attached to his slave, Grace Marie. fell in love and married her. Chester Bradley had stayed clear of that entanglement. He had enjoyed fucking Grace before Eddie got soft and married her. He thoroughly enjoyed fucking Emmy and deflowering that exquisite piece of ass, so Chester Bradley did get something out of their love and marriage.

The older man believed that the purpose of owning slaves was to enjoy all the sex and companionship without the baggage or commitment. He had enslaved and sold dozens of slaves, and enjoyed hundreds more. It was a relationship system that worked for him. He did not have to deal with their wants and needs or a relationship of equals. He did what he wanted to the girls then sold them when he was done, just like what he was would do to Emmy.

Going back into slaving again was an option. Chester Bradley was one of a small group of people, called "Ropers" who could sense submissives. The Association was most interested in locating and employing people with this ability to harvest submissives more efficiently from the population. Most Ropers described the sensation as seeing an aura around the woman. Everyone had an aura, but there was a certain pattern to submissives that was especially beautiful. When the submissives were aroused, particularly in a dominated way, their auras throbbed and radiated colors that only Ropers could see. Most were able to use this ability to exert mental pressure and influence the submissive, it was easier if the target was aroused. A small subset of group, and Chester Bradley was one, could program a small portion of submissives. They would imprint commands and behaviors that the subject would automatically follow. As computer science advanced, many of the same techniques for writing computer programs could be used on slaves.

Chester Bradley's abilities were very lucrative. He had never bought a slave; every one he had owned, he had enslaved. Each one netted a nice profit which he poured back into his legitimate business. Much of his investment capital came from selling slaves. He thought those days were behind him. In the past few years, he had only acquired a slave when he wanted one, not because he needed to keep the business afloat. It was nice to have that as a backup plan, but he hoped it did not come to that.

In the meantime, he knew he had awoken Emmy's inner slut. What he saw in her aura now was an insatiable girl, and he was not capable of giving his new slave all the rough sex she needed. He did not know what Tiny Tony had in mind for her, but suspected it would involve a lot of cock. As for Warm Springs, Chester Bradley had placed no restrictions on his slave. That meant anyone with the Dean's permission could fuck her, which should keep the little slut satisfied. He had seen few subs who responded so intensely to anal sex the way she did; it was the key to controlling her and keeping her content.

"To the airport," Chester Bradley told his driver. "I need to get to Tehran."

2-Emmy

"I trust my Master," Emmy kept repeating to herself as she stood behind the Wayneston, Pennsylvania Holiday Inn (with a Holidome!).

Her owner had decided to abandon her here until the courier, named Tiny Tony, picked her up. He assured her she would not have to wait long, then sped off into the pre-dawn gloaming. She was not dressed for travel. Chester Bradley had sent her off to college with only the clothes on her back. No ID, no money, not even a toothbrush. The clothes she wore were minimal, too. A pair of cutoff jean shorts and a tank top over a bikini. It was the same swimsuit she had paraded around in front of him (and Shane Redden) at the pool party. He said she should let other people leer at her in it and see if they showed the restraint he did.

She was a scantily clad teenager with no cash or ID hanging out behind a Holiday Inn in the middle of nowhere (at least to her). If someone were to kidnap and rape her, no one would be the wiser. It wasn't the idea of being raped that she objected to, many of her fantasies involved being forced. It was who was going to do the raping that concerned her. Emmy wanted to be raped by someone who was not going to kill her when he was finished. Not being murdered was definitely at the top of the curvy young blonde's list of things to accomplish today.

A garbage truck pulled in. Would the garbage men gang bang her? No, they weren't even getting out, the truck was handling the dumpster automatically. It blocked her view of the rest of the parking lot. Emmy had a quick fantasy of a bunch of men jumping out of the truck and carrying her away for their lustful needs. Why did it have to be so loud? Couldn't they make a quiet diesel? Or make the dumpsters out of plastic so they don't bang?

The truck backed out, and when it passed, Emmy saw a huge man standing behind a blue Pontiac GTO. Emmy knew the model because her bad-boy crush in high school had owned the same car, but in much worse shape. The young blonde was not very large herself, a little over 5'5" in her shoes, and he was at least a foot taller than her. He was more than tall, he was big. Wide from side to side with a pot belly than hung over his belt. He was too massive to take in with one glance, so she started at his feet and worked her way up.

He had black, perfectly polished shoeboots with the raised heel and zippers on the sides. Moving up, she saw tight black pants. There was a distinct possibility, and future fashion trends would prove this, that a man of his stature should not be wearing pants that tight, but Tiny Tony was not one to let mass interfere with fashion. Her eyes lingered on his crotch, knowing that was where her future was. There was a bulge, but not too big. Was that good or bad for her?

He wore a wide black leather belt with a gold buckle that was barely visible beneath his belly. Given the tightness of his pants, the belt was probably totally unnecessary. He had a red satin shirt with wide collars, she was sure John Travolta had worn the same outfit in Saturday Night Fever last year. What set Tiny Tony apart from John Travolta was the open shirt. Tiny Tony had the buttons undone down to where his belly started to curve under. He was massively hairy. Emmy thought maybe he was wearing a fur shirt under there, but it was him. A collection of gold chains finished this part of his outfit.

Emmy needed a moment before she moved on from the hair and the chains. The way the gold wove its way through the black mass on his chest was hypnotic. She tried to follow one individual chain all the way down, but lost it in the dense dark curls before she got very far. Tiny Tony was very obviously of Italian descent. His features and complexion were Mediterranean swarthy.

Oversized, wide rimmed polarized sunglasses covered his eyes and rested on a nose that had been broken before. Did they have to use a stepladder to hit him? Bushy black eyebrows peeked above the top of the shades, but he was clean shaven below. Emmy, with a good view, even noted that his nose hair was impeccably trimmed. A round face sat beneath a full head of perfectly coiffed pompadour. He smelled fresh, Emmy noted, and paid a lot of attention to his hygiene. She would be grateful for that.

Tiny Tony was obviously an ironic moniker. The large man approached her with a friendly grin on his face. "You must be Emmy," he said and extended a huge hand for her to shake.

Emmy stared at the massive meathook. She was starting to think that she had a thing for hands. She liked how they would guide her, please her and punish her. Those big hands would eventually be all over her young, fit body.

"Tiny Tony," the human mountain introduced himself.

"Hello, Master," she quickly said, "I'm Emmy." She took Tiny Tony's huge paw. Her eyes were locked on how his mitt swallowed up hers, how petite hers looked in comparison. Her hand felt totally engulfed, so small and weak. She felt that flush again.

"They call me Tiny Tony," he continued. His voice was low and rumbling, with a distinct New York Italian accent. "To distinguish myself from all the other Tony's around. Fat Tony, Tall Tony, Tony the Knife, Terrible Tony, Bald Tony, Tony the Beard, Three-Finger Tony, Tony Bad Breath, Tony Two Times. There is a bunch more that I am no doubt omitting, but you get the idea. My real name is Antony Darvo, in case you want to know the full name of the man who will be responsible for you, and I run a courier service. If you need something moved across the country without anyone knowing about it, Tiny Tony is your man. I work closely with the Association, and am a member, so I am well versed in handling slaves, such as yourself."

Emmy was reassured by his well-rehearsed opening, he seemed very professional.

The garbage truck pulled onto the main road, and they were alone again.

"Strip, slut," Tony ordered her. "Now."

Emmy was not expecting this. She did not know what to expect, but instant nudity was not one of them. His meaty hand smacked her pert little bottom hard. Emmy grew wet before she even had a chance to cry out. She was completely at this man's mercy.

"You're new to this, so I won't hurt you too badly, but I want to see you wearing only a collar," he commanded. "Lose the clothes."

Emmy was not sure she had ever been as turned on as she was undressing in front of this man she had just met. She knew that if she did not comply immediately, he would hurt her in ways she might not enjoy.

The curvy blonde quickly shed her tank top and shorts. She stood for a second in her bikini, hoping that would placate him. He cocked his hand back in threat, so she quickly took off that, too. He gave her one last ominous look and she removed her shoes and handed him her clothes.

Emmy noticed the art on the car. On the driver's side front quarter panel was a cartoon drawing of Big Foot with a tied up naked girl over his shoulder with her bare bottom showing. He looked happy, she looked startled. Beneath it was written "Running a Little Behind".

Emmy kept thinking about the picture. Tiny Tony did resemble a Big Foot in a way. He was huge and hairy, just like the cryptoid.

Tony left her standing naked in the parking lot and put her clothes in a bag into the trunk. He came back with two pairs of leather lined cuffs. Emmy did not resist when he locked her ankles together and then her wrists behind her back.

"Almost ready," he said. He went back to the trunk.

Emmy looked around; the lot was still empty. Maybe someone was looking down from their rooms or somewhere nearby, but it seemed they were alone. There was a definite thrill to being naked in public. Was it public if there were no people, she wondered.

Everything went black. Emmy realized that he had placed a bag of soft cloth over her head and secured it around her neck. She heard the trunk opening, then Tony picked her up.

His powerful hands on her naked flesh, lifting her like she was nothing, almost made her climax. He could do anything to her, make her do anything, and she was powerless to stop him. But, instead of rape in the Holiday Inn parking lot, he gently placed her in the trunk. It was surprisingly comfortable with a lot of blankets and pillows. He covered her with another blanket and then shut her in.

A few seconds later, she felt the massive weight of Tiny Tony climb into the car. The V-8 rumbled to life, and they were moving. Emmy lived in America in 1978, therefore she was aware of the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever. When she heard music coming from the speakers above her it was, given the times, entirely possible that "Stayin' Alive" could have been the radio. But, the sound was too clear for AM radio, it would have to be FM. When the next song was "How Deep is Your Love," she knew he was playing the entire album.

Thinking of the art on the car, the naked girl put a few things together. "Tiny Tony, the Disco Sasquatch," Emmy said to herself and immediately chuckled at her wit. That would be how she forever saw the second man to ever have sex with her.

Naked, branded, cuffed hand and foot, with a bag over her head, and in the trunk of a 1969 Pontiac GTO was not how she expected to arrive at college. This was not the way she had envisioned her birthday celebration going. She fantasized about going to the City with Chester Bradley, where he would fuck her senseless, then she would go back to life in suburbia. Doing what, she was not sure, but probably living the "American Dream". This was so much more satisfying to her; this was an adventure.

Emmy trusted Tiny Tony. More than that, she trusted Chester Bradley and knew he would not send her off to her doom. She felt that should something go wrong; he would swoop in and rescue her. He was her owner after all, and that came with certain responsibilities, too. She was pretty sure that he would fall in love with her and marry her like her parents did, so he would take extra special care of her.

She was one of the girls in her books now: the branded and collared slave girl carried off bound and blindfolded. Except her captor drove a Pontiac. Beats the hell out of senior prom.

The naked slave was able to roll around and get decently comfortable. She had no idea where they were, except they were not on an Interstate highway: there were too many changes in speed, and frequent turns. Sometimes she would feel the GTO quickly accelerate quickly as they were passing a car. She knew her basic non-New York metro area geography and recalled that they had to go through mountains. It would have been neat to see them, but this was sexier.

For the first time since she had left her house on Long Island, Emmy had a chance to think and focus on the past few days. Things had changed dramatically. She was no longer a virgin; her body was available for pleasure. She was so happy that it had turned out the way it had, surpassing her fantasies. She never knew her body could create so much pleasure for herself and her lover. She squirmed a little, enjoying the feel of the soft blankets on her bare skin. Emmy loved sex; she loved getting penetrated, loved the orgasms, and the way it made her body feel alive. Many of her classmates had lost their virginity before, some years before, Emmy. She had waited, was glad she did, but was now eager to make up for lost time.

Her mind briefly turned to practical matters. Emmy no longer had her parents as the central figures in her life and had no idea when she would see them again. Thanksgiving break? Christmas? Or would the slave spend those days with her owner? Owner. The word gave her a thrill. Her childhood crush owned her, he could do anything he wanted to her and had spent the last few days doing so. When would she see him again? As the miles rolled by, Emmy remembered the past few days and imagined what college would be like. The more immediate question of when her driver would fuck her remained unanswered, too.

3-Bent Over and Fucked

After a time, she had no idea how long, the Pontiac slowed, and turned onto what felt like gravel. The car rolled slowly for a few more minutes, the rocks crunching under the tires. They stopped, and the engine was turned off. The sudden silence, and stillness, caught Emmy off guard.

Tiny Tony got out, and the car rose several inches as its springs resumed their natural size. The giant man did something for another minute or two, then opened the trunk. Emmy wriggled in anticipation of what she hoped would be a delicious rape at the hands of this man. He removed the blanket and Emmy could tell it was daylight.

The naked teen squealed as his he effortlessly lifted her helpless body out of the trunk and tossed her over his broad shoulder. This checked off another fantasy or two. She felt the carpet of hair beneath her smooth skin which meant his shirt was off. She could still feel the gold chains, though. His giant hand played with her firm bottom as he carried her to the front of the car.