From Cucked Husband to Sub Wife Ch. 29 – Fetish

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Chapter 29 The Great Escape

“Hey, nasty bitch! Guess what? I’ve decided to sell to you to an Arab.” My new Master said after ravaging my throat and choking me out with a dog chain. A terror went through me as he opened the padlock and finally released the chain from my neck. He pulled me by an arm away from the post in center of the room toward a utility sink in the corner. He flushed the grime off me with a garden hose. The water was cold and harsh against my sensitive and brutalized skin.

He had a bag, when he came, which he left by the door. He brought it over to me now. In a Bloomindales tote bag, he had a towel, a new summer dress, a nice bra and panty set, and pair of high heels, I recognized as mine. He must have gone back to our apartment to pick them up. He also brought my makeup case and hairbrush.

“Make yourself presentable bitch, ‘I am taking you to the Arab, for inspection before selling you, whore!” I was in full distress mode. What exactly did he mean? where would I wind up?

“Oh, Master Roger, please, please don’t sell me! Have I not pleased you, Sir?”

“On the contrary, bitch! You’ve pleased me very much, which is why you will fetch a fine price. You have no idea how they will treat a ‘girl’ like in you in the Arab world. They won’t think of you as a real woman, which means they’ll be free to do anything to you.”

I burst into tears, but stopped pleading, my mind racing for some way out of the situation. I could barely dress myself, my fingers were all trembly and my concentration elsewhere. He hurried me on. I tried to get my hair into some sort of shape after it had been matted and covered in cum, piss, and spit.

Looking into the half-broken shard of a mirror hanging over the sink, I saw my eyes were red and puffy from stress and crying, and I had to cover a few bruises here and there. Luckily, the dress had a high neckline and didn’t reveal new my bruises there. I used the old Preparation-H trick to de-puff my eyes and rouge on the bruises to hid the worst black and blues.

Finally, I was dressed in the cute little summer dress, I bought to wear on my honeymoon in Paris. I put on the fuck-me pumps (that didn’t really go with it) and was ready. He put blacked out glasses on me as a blindfold and led me by the hand out the door, around the back and into a waiting car. I could see nothing in front of me, but I caught glimpses in my peripheral vision, shapes and sensations; a brick building, a wrought iron gate, lots of noise.

As he jostled me getting into the car, I made out a green store awning with torn up signage. After about twenty minutes of driving, he removed the glasses; we were going south on the FDR drive around 96th Street, making me think we had been north, maybe the Bronx, or east, in Queens?

It was some time in the afternoon, maybe three o’clock; the sun was on its down, but still high in the sky. We pulled up at the Plaza Hotel and walked into a restaurant; the maître d’ led us to a table where a Middle-Eastern man sat with a glass of wine in his hand. He was a rather thin wiry man. He stood up politely and shook hands with my companion.

“Aaah, Mr. Chamberlain, you understated the lady’s beauty,” and turning to me, “you are simply ravishing, my dear. Farhad Shirazi, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He claimed and reached out and took my hand kissed it intimately. Well… this was an improvement. I did my best to hide the puffy eyes and haggard look, but I doubt anyone could’ve seen me a ravishing… more like ravished.

“Michelle Cochran, charmed, Sir.” I said tersely, but trying to sound pleasant. It seemed outer worldly to engaged in such high cultured discourse, when I was about to be sold to this guy.

We all sat down, I tried to decline the wine, trying to stay sober, but Master Roger insisted; Mr. Shirazi poured me some. I was hoping there would be food at this inspection; I was starving. I took the measure of Mr. Shirazi, he was very handsome, though somewhat smaller than my usual type; but unlike my current Master, did not have the hard edge of cruelty—though Master Roger was very careful to keep that well-hidden at our first meeting.

Thankfully, there was food, we spent the meal politely speaking, but nothing at all was actually said. This was yet another area, where I was much better as woman than a man. As a man, I used to be tongue-tied and nervous in social situations like this (dining with strangers, not being sold to a Middle-Eastern flesh-monger). As a woman, it was much easier for me to contribute, and I noticed that with men anyway, the conversation would come to me. I would put in the odd word and smile sexily and that would enough.

I finally ate, but was careful to eat like a lady and not fill up too much, though I could have gone back for more. I was fairly sure this meeting happening in a hotel implied there would be some sexual activity. I was determined not to be bloated for it. A plan began to form in mind, as I heard to the men talk.

“Shall we go up to my room to conduct our… erm… business.” Mr. Shirazi suggested, as nonchalantly as feasible.

“That sounds like a brilliant idea, my friend.”

We walked into a very nicely appointed living room and bedroom suite, on the 12th floor. The living room had a comfortable couch, two chairs and a sturdy glass table. The bedroom had a big king size bed with two chairs on either side, and view of lush Central Park out the windows. On one end of the couch stood a champagne stand with a magnum of Dom Perignon on ice and two flutes.

Farhad directed Master Roger to the other side of the couch, and I was left standing by the glass coffee table.

“Well, my friend, as you can see, she’s in reasonably good shape, has few marks on her, but I suspect that won’t be an issue for you.”

“She looks splendid, Mr. Chamberlain, but let’s get a closer look.”

“Bitch!” Master Roger said, as he gestured for me to take off my dress. I pulled my dress off by pulling the hem up over my head, while Farhad poured champagne for himself and Master Roger. I was glad not to be offered any; I had to keep my wits about me and had wine downstairs.

I was standing there in bra and panties, while the two of them looked me over. They twirled their fingers to indicate I should turn. After several turns, Master Roger had me remove the bra and panties, leaving me naked but for the pumps. All pretense of modesty was gone, and I’m sure that Mr. Shirazi could see all the bruises and marks all over my body. Master Roger got up… and, in used car salesman fashion, demonstrated my features to Mr. Shirazi.

He had me kneel by the glass table, facing away from them, then bent me over, so my chest was pressed onto it, and had me pull my ass cheeks open. The prospective buyer traced the message around my hole and chuckled, giddily. Then Roger pointed out his recent addition to the signage back there.

“Ye can be assured, Mr. Shirazi, that is an accurate statement.” He pushed an index finger into my asshole smoothly to demonstrate. I moaned huskily and loudly. It would have been my usual response, but I exaggerated as part of a developing plan. My best chance was to be sold to Farhad Shirazi, so I was trying to help Master Roger to make the deal.

“Ummmm! Thank you, Sir. Mr. Shirazi, do you want a try?” I clucked, laying it on thick, but the finger in my ass got me excited, so it did not require too much acting.

“May I?” He asked my current Master.

“Please, be my guest.” I pushed out with my sphincter and, when Mr. Shirazi got his finger half way in, used my ass muscles to pull him in further. I was massaging his finger with my asshole. He giggled like a boy again. I moaned exuberantly.

“Do you want to put more in there, Sir?” I suggested in a deep throaty voice. He pulled his long slim finger out and added another. I repeated the effect and his giggle dropped a couple of octaves.

The demonstration over, Master Roger pulled me by the hair off the table and onto my feet. He turned me around presenting the other side to my potential buyer. He demonstrated my nipples by pulling sharply on the rings.

“You can hang weights from these or tie them down, while beating her; they are permanently attached. There is no pain or humiliation she will not accept readily, without question.”

Farhad excitedly moved in closer, and Master Roger waved his hand, as if to say give it a try. They each plucked a nipple ring, and twisted while pulling on it. It sent a sudden pulse of pain through my breasts, which made my asshole pucker. Master Roger moved behind me, on the other side of the coffee table and cupped my breasts from behind.

“Her tits are natural, as you can see, nice… but small for a whore. You can have them augmented… have it done in Turkey, for less than €3000.” As he said this, he roughly fondled them and pushed them together. He held them out to Mr. Shirazi, and he leaned in, nodded at me then took each of my nipples in his mouth and sucked them, and pulled at the rings with his teeth.

I moaned softly and intimately in response, doing my best to show him appreciation for his attention. I was trying to make him feel like we were in private, just between the two us.

“Pretty, sweet, no? Mr. Shirazi?” Master Roger intruded on our moment, which could help my plan.

Master Roger pulled me back down onto the table until I was sitting on the cold glass. Then, he had me pull my legs up and back until he could reach them, from behind me. Then he took over my legs and pulled them wide and down so that I was spread open to my potential buyer’s scrutiny, whose eyes were immediately drawn to my neo-vagina.

“But, Mr. Chamberlain, you said she was a tranny?”

“Yes, Mr. Shirazi, she is, but she is post-op. It’s been removed and turned into a lovely cunt. Show the man, bitch whore!”

I reached down and poked a finger from each hand into my new pussy, as alluringly as I could. It was hot and wet down there. I teased the opening, but eventually pulled the lips aside and showed Mr. Shirazi, the gorgeous job Dr. Harris had done. I wiggled a finger inviting him closer to feel it for himself. His face was inches away.

“But… she looks like a regular girl, Mr. Chamberlain. I can’t tell the difference.” That was gratifying to hear, but also mortifying. If I couldn’t get him to buy me, my plan would fall aside. His face so close I could feel his breath, I raised my hand out and held it to his nose for a sniff, then very slowly drew it to my lips and made the “shhh” sign, before I put the finger in my mouth sucked on it gently. Once I had drawn his attention, I mouthed the words “get me alone” over and over again, until he understood.

“Well… Mr. Chamberlain, that is a bit of an issue. She’s a lovely girl, but if she looks like an ordinary girl…”

“Oh, no!” I wondered, again pleased, but petrified at the same time.

“Well, perhaps a discount might make you a buyer. How about ten thousand less than we discussed?”

“That would indeed be a bargain, Sir, and she does seem very compliant, but can I be sure that isn’t because you threaten her. Tell you what, MR. Chamberlain, I’ll pay your full price… but I’d have to try her alone, and if I don’t buy her, you can keep the ten thousand.” Ooh, great! I wondered that worked beautifully for my plan.

“I think we have an understanding, but I get the ten thousand up front.”

“By all means, Mr. Chamberlain.” Mr. Shirazi got up and walked over to the room safe, and came back with a neat stack of bank counted $100 bills. “You can come back for her, or the rest of the cash, in two hours, Mr. Chamberlain.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Shirazi! Here are some toys you might enjoy using on her. Be advised put a gag on her if you intend to strike her. Do what wish with her, but remember the American motto: you break ‘er, you bought ‘er. Hahaha!” He put the gag on me, then put the bag of “goodies” on the floor, by the coffee table where I still sat.

“Enjoy!” Master Roger said, as he pocketed the ten thousand dollars and walked out.

“Well… well… Ms. Cochran. I’m sure you are worth every penny I just paid to be alone with you for two hours… but do you want to tell me why it’s worth it to you?” He said, taking off the gag.

“Oooph! Thank you so much Mr. Shirazi, Sir. That man has no power to sell me to you. He has stolen me from his brother, who is my true Master, and whom I am about to marry. I have plenty of money. Please buy me from this monster, and I’ll pay you double what he’s asking. And, I you can still use me tonight however you’d like. We can even go to my penthouse apartment, where we have a soundproof playroom with every imaginable sex tool.”

“How is it that you have such wealth, and you find yourself in this situation, Ms. Cochran?”

“Sir, I had never seen this man in my life until a day or so ago. Wait… what day is it?”

“It’s Tuesday, 23rd of June. How don’t you know that?”

“Last Friday, my fiancé and Master invited me to lunch. When I got there, I met the man you call Mr. Chamberlain. My Master introduced him as his brother, and told me he was “lending” me out to him for the week before our wedding, three days from now. It may seem strange to you, and it did to me too, but somewhat plausible in our world. He proceeded to do many cruel things to me and basically kidnapped me and kept me in some basement for apparently four nights and now is trying to sell me to you.”

“What do you mean ‘the man I know as Mr. Chamberlain?’ Is that not his name?”

“I can’t be entirely sure, but that is not the name I met him as.”

“My dear, Ms. Cochran… in my line of work, I have to be careful with whom I do business; this man came very highly recommended from a broker I deal with regularly. If he is not Mr. Chamberlain, I need to know who he is!”

“I will tell who he is and what he is, but, do we have a deal?”

“Oh, please! You had me at penthouse with soundproof room. Now tell me, who is this man?”

“What will you do with this information?”

“It depends on who he is and, as you say, ‘what he is.'”

“Google Roger Oyango.”

“I don’t need to, my dear, Ms. Cochran. Mr. Roger Oyango is a deputy director at the IMF. Get dressed and let’s get to that penthouse, Ms. Cochran. You won’t have to pay me a thing.”

“Oh my God! Thank you, Mr. Shirazi! But, may I borrow your phone; I need to call my fiancé.”

“Sure, here.”

I called Daddy, overcome with tears of joy, but when he answered, he was furious. I was shocked. I was expecting relief and compassion.

“Where the fuck have you been, sissy?”

“He kidnapped me, Daddy. He had me in some hole, I don’t know where, and now tried to sell to this man, who I had to make a deal with to get back home. I’m headed there with him now. Daddy, if you speak to your brother, please, please don’t say anything, until I get there… please!”

“What the fuck! You just get back here, pronto, missy, and it’d best be convincing.”

“Please, Daddy…” He had hung up. I wondered he would be happy to finally hear from me.

Mr. Shirazi called for a car downtown. In the car, he pulled out his phone and texted. A few minutes later, his phone dinged; he clicked it open and turned the screen toward me. On the screen, there were pictures of our earlier meeting in the restaurant, and then clips of us in the hotel suite. His “security guy” had taken the pics at the restaurant and there was a hidden video camera on the champagne stand that had recorded the entire exchange.

As Mr. Shirazi had said: in his line of work, he needed to be careful who he did company. Roger had beaten us to our apartment by just minutes and was feeding Daddy a cock and bull story about how I had escaped Friday night, and he hadn’t seen me since. When I came in, he looked worried. But when he saw Mr. Shirazi, he was like a trapped rat seeing a ghost.

“Well, hello again, Mr. Chamberlain. I am here to personally deliver the other ninety grand, for this enchanting creature you sold me less than an hour ago at the Plaza Hotel.” Mr. Shirazi declared in a friendly gregarious way.

“Why you charlatan! What is it you think you’re accusing me of? This is some devious plot devised by that harlot. I told you she’s no good.” He snarled pointing to me.

“Oh, is it, Mr. Chamberlain?” Farhad emphasized the name each time.

“Why I’ve never seen this man in my life; he doesn’t even know my name.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sir. Mister… uhm…” he began addressing Daddy.

“Jenkins,” Daddy put in.

“Mr. Jenkins? Would you be so kind as to allow me to connect my cell to that monitor there?”

Master Roger took a halting step backward and began to sweat nervously, as the monitor came on and Mr. Shirazi connected to it. The pictures came first, and Roger protested that they must have been doctored; he had often dined there, and we may have Photoshopped the image as part of an elaborate plot. But, when the video started, and we could see him and hear him trying to sell me, he finally gave up.

“But, why, Roger? Why would you do something like this to us?”

“Because she cannot be worthy of you, Brother! She’s a tranny and a common whore! you can fuck and abuse a common whore, but you cannot marry with them.”

“Roger, please leave my home immediately and never darken our doorstep again.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Jenkins, but this is more than a mere family disagreement. If you would indulge me, for just a moment, Sir.”

“Well!?”

“Yes, yes, Sir. See! You were quite wrong earlier, when you said I didn’t know your name.” He said turning to Roger, still in an overpolite and friendly tone. “I know exactly who, and more importantly, what you are, Mr. Deputy Director Roger Oyango. How about we meet for lunch at the Plaza tomorrow to discuss how you keep your bit of flesh-peddling from going viral?” and he hit play as Roger described the utility of my nipple rings, then paused it. “I believe you know the place; I’ll see you there at noon tomorrow for lunch?”

“Yeh.” He sneered.

“But, in case you don’t show, I’ll take that ten grand now.” Roger reached into his pockets and withdrew the ten packets of cash, handed them to Farhad and stormed angrily out of the apartment.

“Well, Mr. Shirazi, it seems we owe you a debt of gratitude, Sir.”

“Sir, you are more than welcome, but uhm… the young lady and I had come to an arrangement, provided you are disposed to allow it.”

“Yes, Daddy. Please, I promised. If it weren’t for Mr. Shirazi, I might be halfway to Turkey for a boobjob, by now.”

“I’m so sorry, my Sissygirl! I had no idea Roger felt that way, or would do such a thing. It was stupid sibling rivalry; he claimed he could seduce you away from me and change your mind. I should have seen through it.”

“You couldn’t have known, Daddy. I’m just glad to be home… but… uhm, Daddy?” I said nodding my head toward my Persian savior.

“Oh, yes yes, of course. Mr. Shirazi, please enjoy her with my compliments; here, I’ll show you in.”

We walked down the hall to the playroom. Once there, Daddy conducted a quick tour of the room ending at the small bar.

“May I offer you a drink, Mr. Shirazi?”

“Only if you join me, Mr. Jenkins.” Daddy made us all gin and tonics, and we sat at the bar conversing for some time. I was so relieved at the happy resolution of my unpleasant encounter that I became a chatterbox.

“It’s funny,” I said to Mr. Shirazi, “he said he was selling me to an Arab, but I’m sure you are Persian, no?”

“Yes, I am, many people, especially Americans, don’t know the difference, but you’d expect an executive at the IMF to know.”

“I had an Iranian roommate in college; his name was also Farhad. I learned the difference from him and few words in Farsi.”

We talked on a number of topics, until Daddy getting impatient, made an excuse on his way out of the room.

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