After Troussy-en-Cuisse, Saint-Michon is now the place where the nights are the hotest for Hamid Bouzid, but it may not be forever...

Pdf document

218 Pages (110 double pages)

41 000 Words

39 Drawings (1 in color)

ISBN: 978-2-491740-18-4

 

For the past few months, Patricia had been working within reach of passers-by. Only a long chain separated her workshop from the sidewalk since the demolition of the surrounding wall. Naturally, this had been designed to make the serves reach a higher state of humiliation, with more and more passers-by staying to watch her twisted dance at work for hours. Patricia’s buttocks could even be groped at people’s leisure since Hamid Bouzid had been kind enough to place her right at the edge of the pavement, within reach of all those foreign hands that a simple chain couldn’t stop. She had found a trick to scare away the annoying people, a kind of grimace without seeming to make one, but which made her look considerably ugly. Thanks to this technique, she had only been unexpectedly mounted anally five times in a year, which, if she was to believe her colleagues, was an abnormally low number.

It was, of course, an excellent thing, as being taken anally while having to twist her body to fetch rings and tools was quite a challenge, the mounting passer-by having the possibility of complaining to an overseer if she had offered a weak muscular performance around his divine organ.

When the end of the day arrived, at last, Patricia sensed some unusual agitation around the exit gate. The serves had now to wait in line to have their ID card checked before getting out of the factory. They had been deprived of their changing room four months ago; it had become useless, because they were now expected to go home in their work clothes with the name of the factory on it, a great thing for promoting their company.

They called this new period when all white women had to walk around town with all their orifices exposed, Phase V, and it was supposed to be the next-to-last one before their complete victory.

Patricia’s hands and legs were free, and it seemed outrageously simple to cross the chain and disappear into the night, but she could see that a dozen demonesses were fiercely guarding the pavement… and even if she managed to escape, to go where? The whole city was now patrolled by cruel cathophoenic policewomen and Hamid Bouzid had at his disposal experienced sleuths in charge of tracking white serves on the run, like that Chantal Cochonnet, a police officer who was getting outstanding results in flushing out fugitives.

Patricia suddenly came out of the trance induced by hours of repetitive work—something was happening! A queue had formed in front of her, all the way to the entrance to the factory premises.

“What’s going on?” she asked a devout demoness, recognizable by her completely shaved head topped with a small conical hat similar to that of a white clown. “Why are they lining us up like that against the wall of the gate?”

“Are you from section 217?’ 

“Uh, yes, why?”

“Then go and line up with the others! Everyone is waiting for you to be checked up, so they can go home!”

Patricia cut the line and approached the row of serves aligned against the wall of the exit with their buttocks spread wide apart. 

“Ah! Here comes the last one!” said the head of security, a tall North African with prominent teeth, who was looking at her with an even more predatory smile than usual as he adjusted his surgical gloves. “Hurry up and get in line, I don’t have all day!”

“But why?” asked Patricia anxiously.

“Rings have been stolen in section 217, so hurry up and spread your buttocks so I can search your vagina and anus!”

“But I don’t want to be searched!” retorted Patricia; “how do you know there’s been a theft?”

She had read all the laws and collective agreements and knew that the right to search employees could be granted to the overseers, but only if one or more thefts were proven.

“Do you have proof that there was a theft?” she asked timidly. 

“Hey, moron!” exclaimed one of the serves; ” Will you put yourself quickly against the wall and spread your buttocks, or what? We’re not going to wait for hours in this position because of an ungainly tart!”

“Right!” another serve interjected. “What an idiot that one is! Spread your dirty ass wide, like everyone else, and let His Divinity search us! What are you afraid of if you haven’t stolen anything?”

Patricia found a place in the line of waitresses, leant against the wall and spread her thighs wide in turn.

“We’re afraid of being searched by a god, aren’t we?” said the security overseer with a laugh. “You’ll see, it feels good wherever it goes!”

He suddenly stuck a gloved and lubricated hand into her anus and spent long minutes pushing it in very slowly, almost up to his elbow, to the point that she felt a pain in her stomach and almost fainted.

“I have to check it out, right? You look like a clever girl who hides her loot deep down!” 

“I haven’t stolen anything, Divinity!”

The overseer then penetrated her vagina. He fumbled around inside for what seemed like an interminable moment; then he took his hand out and removed his glove. 

“I feel something!” he said; “I’m taking off my glove to feel better.”

Patricia let him do it. There was no point in protesting at this stage. He would get his relish even more with this dirty job if she were offering him the added pleasure of seeing her mope.

He inserted his bare hand into her vagina, even deeper than the first time. Patricia soon felt his fingers pressing against her cervix. He was deliberately exaggerating!

“Ah! I understand why you didn’t want to go there, you little thief!” he exclaimed, victoriously pulling a gold ring out of her vagina. “It’s a great way to make ends meet!”