Enlightened Descent

This story deals with various aspects of abduction, slavery (actual, not role play), intense humiliation, autoeroticism, exhibitionism, and hair removal or shaving.

IF YOU FIND SITUATIONS DEALING WITH NON-CONSENSUAL SEX AND SLAVERY UNAPPEALING, PLEASE

STOP NOW!

If, however, you can continue with an open mind, and read this as it is meant to be, a work of complete fiction...

Enjoy!

Saphhia

Chapter Eight

Allison prepared herself for the utter humiliation of someone seeing her in her present state. She was filthy, although the darkness of the cell made it impossible for her to tell how ugly she had made herself.

The hasp on the door slid over, and a small sliver of light, erupted into a blinding column of illumination, light that revealed how low she had become in her isolation.

"You are disgusting. One night in a cell and you are lower than a pig." A forceful grip on her arm raised her to her feet, and she was led out into the hallway, where Marga stood with an evil grin on her face.

"My, my, you are just as I pictured you, my slave. Bring her." Marga disappeared along the dungeon like passage, and Allison was dragged behind her. Her eyes better adjusted, Allison was able to see herself as she hung her head, her alabaster skin now a patchwork of gray-black soot and grime. Not only that, but she smelled hideous. Surely, they would take her somewhere and at least hose her down.

Climbing the stairs to the upper levels, Allison was humiliated to learn that Marga had guests, and they would be witness to the spectacle she presented. "I dare say, that you

have

looked better, Allison, but if this is how you want the world to see you, then so be it." Marga took control of her, two fingers now sufficient to move her forward, as that was all Marga allowed to touch her, as if repulsed.

As the sound of laughter and conversation grew louder, Allison cringed, slowing Marga's progress towards the large sitting room. "Now, now, my slave. Let us not be shy now. You have no one but yourself to blame for your appearance, so own it baby." With those words, Allison was thrust into the room, a sudden silence louder than any drum or cymbal. It started with a titter from a woman closest to her, quickly escalating into laughs and guffaws by the entire entourage. There must have thirty or more of London's elite, all dressed to the nines in Chanel and Armani, staring amusedly at her dreadful state.

Allison wanted to crawl into a hole, any hole, even back into her dark, dank cell, rather than be exposed to this ridicule. Marga smirked at her obvious discomfort as Allison seemed ready to implode with shame. Never in her life had she been so shockingly degraded. Even her foray into explicit exposure, when she had been so wantonly displayed in an elevated cage, came close to this debasement.

As she was directed through the crowd, the people shied away from her filth and rank odor, until she was at the head of the room, and placed on the hearth pedestal. Elevated above the room, her degradation was plain to her as every eye latched onto the grimy animal that stood on display before them. Allison had given up on trying to hide her body, her hands hanging limply at her sides. The only disturbance in the filth were two thin tracks where her tears had fallen over her cheeks.

"Please." Allison gasped, her words but a whisper.

"Please, what, slave? Marga mocked.

"Please, Mistress." Begging now, Allison's eyes looked pleadingly down at Marga, who stood only a few feet away.

"Oh, very well." Marga looked over at two men, standing to attention at the doorway, nodding for them to take her away. Under her breath, Marga gave them explicit instructions. "Take her and hose her down on the terrace." As the two men gripped Allison by each arm, Marga followed, whispering further instructions. The men grinned, but Allison had failed to hear Marga's extended directions.

Allison sighed with relief as they left the main room. Away from prying eyes, she could regain her sanity, which she was sure would have escaped her entirely in another few moments.

The air was chilled as she was led outside, and the water the men sued to clean her was equally cold. Goosebumps covered her skin as she was scrubbed, but she would at least be clean. Only then were Marga's instructions revealed to her. As one of the men held her fast, the other wielded a razor, efficiently shaving her head and brows down to nothing once again. After she was dried with coarse cloth, she was then oiled from to top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Although this was far preferable to her previous look, the shave and the oil must surely give her all the allure of a freshly caught eel. Manacles were then locked onto her wrists and ankles, before she was led into a completely empty room. Empty, save for a cross, which graced one end of the room. It was of lacquered ebony and seemed nearly as smooth and shiny as she was. At each end of the X were rings, to which her manacles were attached. This left her spread open, and completely vulnerable to anyone.

Unlike her previous predicament, this ultra slick exposure caused her to become incredibly aroused. The only scent she could discern was the aromatic sting of the oil on her skin, chased by the unmistakable odor of raw ebony. Allison saw the sharp contrast of her creamy skin against the black of the wood, and she thought it must make for a marvelous spectacle.

For the longest time, she hung in the room, alone. She began to wonder if her situation was strictly for her own enjoyment. Her question was soon answered however, as the same group of people came sauntering into the room, obviously satiated with food and light with drink.

"That is such an improvement, wouldn't you say?" Marga remarked, prodding one of the young women that stayed close to her side.

"Delectable." The woman keened, obviously aroused by Allison's display.

Marga walked up to Allison, allowing her hand to run up the inside of Allison's thigh, stopping for a moment as her fingertips caressed the swollen folds of skin at her center. Allison sighed, quite involuntarily, as the shiver of electricity coursed through her. With no control at all, Allison thrust her hairless mound forward, eliciting smiles from those close enough to observe. Her clitoris stood erect and throbbing, protruding proudly from it's sheath, it's glistening pink surface, seemingly ready to burst.

An eastern man, obvious from his attire, stepped forward to look more closely. "Would she be mine, I would be sure to fix this... problem." He reached out and flicked the nub with his finger, causing Allison to gasp.

"Omar, what would be the fun in that? She's far more responsive, and interesting as she is, yes?" Marga covered her, as if protecting Allison from the man's would be intentions. Allison realized to what the man referred, and her eyes grew wide with the thought of it. For a moment, Allison worried over her true Mistress.

"Asha." She whispered. Asha may very well face that horrible fate if her new husband so desired, and it turned Allison's stomach to think of it.

Marga saw the look in Allison's eyes, and reached out to stroke her cheek. "She will be fine, Edim Alshaer." Hearing the name by which she had gone for so many months, gave her some comfort. "Asha is strong. Your loyalty does her credit, slave. Fear not for her." Marga pulled against my nipples, her fingers slipping away readily, and she smiled over my reaction. "Quite a transformation, yes?" She spoke loudly to differentiate her address from her assurances to Allison.

There was a general murmur of agreement, as Allison was groped and fondled by any number of the guests, many finding it hard to believe that this was the same animal that had been led before them a few hours before.

Allison slumped in her bonds as the mingling continued for at least another hour, the crowd slowly thinning, until only a core group of Marga's closer friends remained. "Now we shall play, you and me." The men were summoned once again, appearing from another room entirely. "Bring her."

*

Penelope was jostled out of her troubled sleep, by a hand which reached through the bars of her cell. "Wake up, slut!" The hand was rough and abraded her skin as he gripped her shoulder.

"Oh, god, what a horrible dream." Only Penelope awoke to discover that what she had thought was a dream, was in fact, a horrific reality. Her head indeed had been shaved, and she was a prisoner of the very men she had bargained with over Allison and Samantha. Now it was she who was the slave, and she shuddered with that realization.

"Dreams will be the least of your problems when you arrive at your agreed upon destination,

Pen-elo-PEE

." She pushed back against the bars behind her back, and out of the reach of the man. He was no she recognized.

"Where is Fasil? I need to speak with him." Penelope begged.

"Fasil is finished with you. I think he should be on a plane back to his homeland by now. His reward was great for his contribution to the cause." The man unlocked the cell, and dragged Penelope out by the arm, pulling her unwillingly up the stairs. The house was empty, and any evidence that there had ever been anyone there, was gone.

The only thing besides the tow of them, was a steamer trunk, that lay open in the middle of the room. The man nodded towards the gaping box. "Get in." He sneered.

For a moment, she thought about trying to escape, but noticed the Glock resting on the man's hip and thought better of it. Haltingly, she lifted one leg after the other and knelt down inside the oversized trunk. Again, the man gestured, and she was forced to lie down, curled into a fetal position at the bottom.

The lid was closed firmly, and the latches fastened. Only then did Penelope see the small holes which were drilled into the lid of the case. It would appear that she would be in there for a long time. Why wasn't she struggling, kicking, banging on the sides of her tiny prison? Had all the fight been driven from her, or did she finally accept that this was what she really deserved.

Perhaps her acquiescence was as a result of her acceptance of that fact. Sighing instead, she readied herself for whatever lay in wait. Surely her fate would be far worse than Allison's. She at least was accepted for what she was. Penelope was a means to and end, and now that she had used up her usefulness, she should be grateful she was still alive.

It wasn't very long before the trunk was being moved, and she thought back to Allison, and how she had cried and begged not to be taken. Could it even be the same trunk they had used to transport her. She didn't think herself worthy to be laying in the same space as her misguided friend. Penelope had deceived her, and egregiously abused her trust. Whatever fate befell her, Penelope knew that she probably deserved far worse.

Hours turned to days, and she had given up ever surviving whatever journey they had put her to. Every so often a tube was dropped through one of the holes in the lid, and she drank whatever liquid they gave her. She shuddered to think what it was they were feeding her, but it kept her alive, barely. Fortunately, the lack of food had also resulted in a lack of bodily functions, although she had peed herself several times.

Penelope had lost all track of time, by the time the trunk was moved again. She found that if she shifted her legs and arms she could relieve the cramps that ached within them, but now with the latest movements, she curled back into a ball at the base of the crate, and tried her best not to think of what was surely to come.

The voices she heard outside were muffled, but there was no mistaking the language as Asian. The smells that managed to ease in through the breathing holes were very foreign to her, and the inability to discern anything said, was beginning to wear on her mind.

By the motion of the trunk, and the sound of the motor, it was obvious that she was being transported in a large truck, perhaps even a semi. At one point the squeaking of a rat or some other rodent was loud enough outside her little world to grab her attention. Penelope hated rats. She hated them more than anything else in the world. So, it was with some shock that she began to identify with the creature as it scratched around on the outside of the trunk.

"At least you're free." She grunted, and as if the rat had heard her, it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. The sound of a rolling door erupted into the truck, and she was being carried, manually now. Again, the Asian tongue rattled about outside as she was roughly dropped, hard enough for it to hurt.

Penelope braced herself as the latches on the trunk were opened, and for the first time in perhaps a week, the top swung free, and cold air rushed in. It was such a shock, that she gasped from the sting of it against her naked flesh. Two large men reached into the trunk and lifted her out, each wearing a grimace of disgust. Surely, she must reek.

She was unable to stand, despite their best efforts to encourage her, so she was left lying on the cold cement floor while they decided how best to deal with her. The two argued for a time in the same tongue, which she now knew must be Mandarin.

Just as they seem to have reached a consensus, a tall woman, with long black hair appeared from a doorway. She yelled something at them, looking at Penelope with a devious smile, and then slapped the one with the back of her hand. Without any hesitation, they grabbed Penelope and carried her bodily, following the woman through the metal door.

It was considerably warmer, and for that at least, Penelope was grateful. Men and women moved about around her and appeared to be working. They payed no more attention to her than if she was just some package that had been delivered. The men had placed her on a table, and she had slowly begun to straighten out, until she was finally lying flat on her back.

Only then did three women grab her, and force her to walk between them. The room they ended up in was a shower of some sort, and she was surprised to see the women strip down, until they were just as naked as she was. Water was turned on, hot water, too hot. Penelope shied away from the seemingly scalding streams, only to be thrust back into them. For whatever reason, the water didn't seem to bother the women, who were scrubbing her with brushes to within an inch of her life. She would be lucky if she still had skin when it was all over.

She felt certain that they would shave her at some point during the process, but they never did. Penelope could feel the stubble on her head and pubis, but the women ignored it. Thrust back into the relative cold of the warehouse, which is what the place seemed to be, she shivered visibly as the women led her naked to a walkway that skirted the length of the main floor, only well above. The stairs were made from grated steel, and her feet felt cut from the sharpness of the metal.

The office, or what she assumed was an office, was sparsely furnished, with only a single file cabinet, a very utilitarian desk, and two chairs. Penelope was flopped down into the one facing the desk, and then the women simply disappeared, closing the door behind them as they left.

At least its warmer

, she thought, as she waited for whatever was to come.

Several minutes later, the same tall woman walked in, tossing her butt length hair over her shoulder as she sat across from Penelope, and behind the desk.

"You... are... slave now." The woman stated, as if nothing could be more normal, her English sadly lacking, but far better than Penelope's Chinese. It was no surprise to her that this would be her fate, she had expected it, in fact. "You... no papers... no way out."

Penelope nodded. "I understand." Softly, and nearly inaudible, the first words she had spoken since the basement of the house on City Island.

"No speak." The woman added. "No speak, or... we cut." She made a motion in front of her mouth, scissors meant to sever her tongue, obviously. Penelope nodded, but said nothing.

The woman smiled, as Penelope showed the first signs of being frightened, beginning to understand the gravity of her situation. There would be no escape from this nightmare. Even if she could somehow escape, what would she do then? She had no idea where she was, she was naked, and it was obviously winter where they were in the world.

Having filled out some sort of paperwork, the woman opened the door to the walkway and escorted her briskly down the steel decking and into another room. The door was promptly locked behind her, and Penelope was once again alone. The room was dark, but she could see a bare mattress in the corner, illuminated by whatever light shone through the barred window. It was too cold to sleep, so after she grew tired of pacing, she curled up on the mattress as tightly as her body would allow.

*

Allison was instructed to stand in the corner of the bedroom, her hands behind her back. It was a glorious room, with a canopy bed, and exquisitely carved furniture. The windows overlooked the city, which glowed through the glassine like curtains. In very short order, Marga and a female friend came through the door, laughing and holding onto each other. Allison wondered if they were lovers. They acted like lovers.

For several minutes, Allison was ignored, the two women fawning over one another, removing one piece of clothing the next. Only when they stood naked, did they turn and beckon her to join them.

Still slick with the oil on her skin, Allison was pushed down to kneel between the young woman's legs. Marga pushed against the back of her head until her lips pressed firmly into the hairless folds, spread so lewdly by the woman's fingertips. Marga's hands felt cool against her skin, the sheen over her own slipping slightly against her palm.

"It must be a wonderful sensation to be so completely hairless." Marga sighed. "If it weren't for the outward appearance, I should love to try it."

Allison's tongue worked skillfully between the fragrant labia of the woman, and she could taste her arousal in her mouth as she worshipped. Marga had watched for a beat as her friend was serviced, but then saw to it, that Allison paid her the same homage.

For a while, she was forced back and forth between them, their separate scents mingling into a heady mist of sexual thrall. Allison was completely intoxicated by it, in fact. Moving their play onto the spacious bed, the intertwining limbs and hungry lips, devoured each of them and Allison found herself on equal footing with the two. No longer just eating, but being eaten, no longer simply tasting, but being tasted. The oil on her skin soon coated all of them, but not just the oil, but the very essence of their sex.

This frenzy carried on until each of them was utterly spent, and they laid in a twisted cocktail of shimmering limbs, and torsos, each panting for air as they struggled to recover their wits. Allison's face rested between Marga's breasts, and she laved her nipple lazily, only because it was all that was within reach.

"Oh my. I simply cannot remember anything like that in all my years." Marga drawled sleepily. Her friend simply sighed in agreement, her face buried firmly between Marga's legs, but not partaking for fear of a revival of their lust. None had enough energy for another round of that, as tantalizing as the prospect seemed. As they untangled themselves from one another, an awkwardness seemed to overtake the three, but was felt most keenly by Allison. The pretense that she had felt as an equal began to dissolve, leaving her feeling out of place. Allison quickly separated herself from Marga and her friend.