Bitgirl Part 1: Deerefield House

Part 1: Deerefield House

"You're wanted at the house. Get your things. Anthony will drive you."

"Yes, ma'am."

Linda fled down the hall, up the stairs. In her room she swapped her work clothes (something resembling a kinky milk maid) for a blue dress and white sandals. Her things were in a small, carry-on suitcase. It had sat, unopened, in the closet for almost a year. A year since William had abandoned her. A year since she'd worn the yellow dress and served at Deerefield House.

Anthony opened the rear door of the black Town Car. She had expected the van, the van they used to carry the girls on rare outings. He touched his cap as she approached, another unexpected courtesy. He took her bag and put it in the trunk.

A brown-dress slave opened the door at the house and took her bag. Linda followed her to the library. Stefan sat behind his desk. Linda didn't recognize the other man.

"Come here. Remove your clothes."

Linda stepped over to the desk, unzipped the dress, let it fall to the floor, and kicked off the sandals.

"Turn around."

Linda made a slow rotation.

The man nodded. "No obvious physical damage. Of course my client will do a more through inspection."

"Of course. Of course."

Stefan handed him a leather pad with a sheet of paper on it. The man took a pen from the holder and handed both to Linda.

Bill Of Sale

Sold to Evans Craig III for the sum of one (1) dollar and other valuable consideration, the property described as follows: Linda Mendosa, house slave, Deerefield House. Age: 22. Height: 5'3". Weight: 124lbs: Hair: brown: Eyes: green. Identifying marks or features: None.

By signing, buyer certifies that the property is as described and in good condition.

Stefan W. Reinhart, Executive Director, Deerefield House

Evans Craig III

 

I, Linda Mendosa, acknowledge my sale to Evans Craig III.

Linda Mendosa

 

Linda signed the paper and handed it back. Envelopes were exchanged, the man signed his initials next to Craig's name, then Stefan signed. They shook hands.

"If your client would be so kind as to sign and fax a copy to me, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course. Are the preparations complete?"

"Yes," Stefan said placing a box on the table.

In it were two pieces of metal. The man held them up. Linda could see the smaller one was the letter 'A', the other a semi-circle. C. C for Craig, she realized. But the A?

He placed one into the other. Nodded. Also inside the box was a bit of wood. Burned into were the letters: A small 'A' within a larger 'C'.

She realized that not only was she going to branded, but branded twice!

There was a disk attached by a couple of links to a ring.

"I know you your client would have preferred a solid metal ring, and we could have accomplished that by welding if it was in a different location. But the purpose of a triangle piercing is to provide added stimulation below the clitoral bundle and the heat would destroy the nerve fibers."

The man nodded.

"This, I believe, is a superior solution. It looks like metal, but it's actually a composite of powdered metal, powdered plastic, and a binding agent. Once cured, removal will be impossible - short of cutting it off, of course."

He handed over a second ring.

"It has the look and feel of metal and, as you can see, it appears seamless. Which it has, in fact, become."

The man held up the disc. Linda could read the engraving. On one side was the name 'Angela'. (Her new name? So she was going to be branded, pierced and renamed!) On the other 'property of Evan Craig III'. The man placed the items in the box and stood. Linda preceded him to the door and held it open. The men walked down the hall. Linda followed.

She had been at Deerefield House for about six months last year wearing, at first, the red dress of an owned slave. She would serve the men, but, sexually, she was off limits. William had brought her to Deerefield House about eighteen months ago. He had told her that he wanted her properly trained to be his slave. Linda was in love, could deny him nothing. She had spent two weeks at the house at first. Training consisted mostly of behaving submissively and obeying. Being attentive to the men's needs and seeing that they were met. She had no sexual contact back then, but she was witness to it on several occasions.

The green-dress girls were owned and available to any man at his whim. The brown-dress girls were house slaves. They shared the same status as the green-dress girls, except they had no owner.

A couple of weeks later she had been given the yellow dress, meaning she was now available, sexually, but only to those approved by William, her owner.

There were two of them, college professors, or at least she assumed they both were. One was, definitely. William was whoring her out for passing grades. The first she recognized from school. She had been given the yellow dress and told which room to serve. Linda knelt by the door. When it opened the man stepped in. Linda stood, closed the door and followed him to the chair.

"Scotch, rocks."

Linda said, "Yes, Sir," fixed the drink, knelt and presented it.

He pulled a stack of papers from a brown leather valise and ignored her while he worked. A while later he handed her the empty glass, she made another drink, knelt, presented it, and, again, was ignored.

When he had finished his work he slid the papers back into the valise and tossed back the last of his drink.

He reached for Linda's hair. "Get your mouth busy."

"Yes, Sir," she said as she shuffled between his legs. It felt odd to have another man's cock in her mouth. She had been with William for two years, and before that she hadn't much sexual experience to speak of.

He came: Linda swallowed. He kept his hand in her hair and she sucked him to hardness again. He pulled her head away, pushed her over to the ottoman, bent her over it, spread her ass and sodomized her. It hurt. Now Linda took cock in her ass as easily as in her pussy, but back then it was a different story. She had never done it. She had experimented with a small vibrator a few times, but she found it distinctly uncomfortable.

The professor stayed in her for an impossibly long time. He didn't caress her, didn't even touch her except to grip her tits, use them as handles while he thrust into her. When he finally came, he pulled out of her, dragged her to her knees and pushed his cock back into her mouth again. After he was satisfied with her cleaning, he used her dress to dry himself. He tucked his cock back into his pants, zipped up, grabbed his valise, and left.

That's the way it went. Every Friday night she would serve him and he never spoke, just those six words that first night.

The other man was totally different. He was gregarious, but verbally abusive and he liked to sample the other girls. Each night she would select a girl and they would wait in the room. He would come in all smiles, like a long lost friend, all chatty. But after a couple of drinks he'd change.

He'd call them bitch or slut or pig or fucking cunt. He'd get on his cell phone, call someone and say, "You'll never guess what I've got. I've got two sluts cunt munching." Or, "I've got two bitches sucking my cock and when I come I'm gonna cover their faces with jizz and then I'm gonna make them do it all over again." And then he would giggle.

And he was into things, objects. It seemed a challenge to him to find as many things as he could to ram into their pussies and asses. Usually they had to do each other while he watched. Sometimess they'd sodomize each other. Sometimes they'd push shafts down their throats until they puked.

That period lasted about two months.

When William abandoned her, Linda had expected to be made brown-dress. But, apparently, there were enough girls on hand. Stefan offered her the opportunity to work at the club. She accepted. Her duties at Deerefield House had eaten in to her class work and she was failing most of her classes. She had nowhere else to go. Had no job. Worse, she had over one hundred thousand dollars in student loans.

Linda followed the men down to the basement. They stopped by a door, Linda stepped forward and opened it, followed them inside. It looked very much like a dungeon, with stone walls, rings embedded in them, a column with more rings. Manacles hung from the ceiling. There was a brazier on a wooden block, a bucket of coals sat next to it. And there was the sawhorse. Stefan gestured toward it.

"Lie down. Straddle it."

Linda draped herself over the horse. Stefan tied her wrists and ankles. He tied her right thigh, tight. He wrapped several turns across her lower back, again uncomfortably tight. She couldn't see behind her, but the noise had to be the brazier being prepared. There was the wooshing sound of a gas flame, the sooty smell of coals igniting. She wished it was already done and over - quickly, so she wouldn't have time to think.

Deerefield Club started life as a way station on the Post Road. It had stables and a main building that served as an inn. Although that would be stretching things. It was, in fact, a brothel. But Deerefield provided a valuable service to the community and the town fathers turned a blind eye - they still did. Horses and whores, that's how it started. In time Deerefield accumulated enough money to engage in some more lucrative, and legal, businesses. He became wealthy and built Deerefield House. He built it well back in the trees so that only the tops of the chimneys showed. It was impossible to pass by without looking at those chimneys, knowing whose they were, which was his intent.

The club was private. An upscale pub downstairs, the girls' rooms upstairs. She had worked there since William left her. Money was credited to an account in her name, though she never saw it. Now, she assumed, it would be turned over to her new owner, Evans Craig.

The Deerefield House was loosely based on the Story of O. Deerefield the fourth or fifth had taken his bride to Paris for their honeymoon. This was back in the fifties. The new Mrs. Deerefield read the book and convinced her husband that they should turn the main house into a kind of chateau. As Madam at the club, she knew a thing or two about the sex business. Deerefield readily agreed. House and club served the same function albeit to a different clientele.

"We're ready."

Linda felt the heat an instant before the metal touched her skin. She screamed.

"One, two, three."

"Next one. One, two, three."

There was a sickening smell and Linda almost threw up when she realized it was her, her burned flesh.

"You'll want to cover that for shipping, but it's best left open to the air. And as it heals you'll want to irritate it to enhance the scar. The instructions are in the envelope."

The man said nothing.

Stefan untied her.

"Turn over."

Linda lay back on the horse. Stefan tied rope around her waist, tied her ankles to her thighs, then tied her knees to the horse's legs.

Again the infernal wait. But finally there was a knock at the door.

"Come."

Linda saw the door open. Another brown-dress girl led a woman into the room. She carried a small black bag.

"Ah, Cynthia."

"Stefan."

She bent to look at the brand.

"Good job. You realize, of course, that it will require aftercare."

"Yes. Shall we proceed?"

If anything, the pain was worse and it went on longer, but Linda managed not to scream. A triangle piercing is a deep one. It doesn't just go through the clit hood, it goes under the bundle of nerves that is the clitoris.

"Done. Now you're going to want to let this air. Wash it twice a day with soap and water. Don't put anything on it, no lotions or creams."

Linda nodded.

The brown-dress girl led the woman out of the room. Stefan untied Linda.

On rubbery legs, she followed the men out of the room. They went through the service area and out to the small loading dock. A wooden crate sat there, its lid propped against it. It was half full of straw.

The man placed a white bandage on Linda's hip, tacked it in place with bits of tape.

"Get in. Sit down"

Linda stepped into the box and sat. The man stuffed more straw around her, wedging her in tightly. He held out a tube. Linda took it into her mouth.

"How long will it take?"

"It's a two-day trip. I'll drive straight through."

"Isn't that dangerous. I mean, you don't want to fall asleep."

"Nah. I hit the wall at about twenty hours, but then I get a second wind and I'm good for another day. She'll be fine."

He finished packing Linda, stuffing in more and more straw until she was completely covered and packed in tight. She couldn't see anything, but she felt the blows as the lid was hammered shut.

Two days. Two days to where. But more importantly, to whom?

 

22.10.11

story continues in Bitgirl Part 2: Bitgirl

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