fallenmystic
Tribune
(This is my first ever attempt at writing a BDSM story. And I don't really speak English, so it's also the first time that I write any piece of literature in that language. As such, you may find my sentences to be quite dull or awkward. So, I'd like to ask your indulgence for my limited writing skills.
And I know, that the title is rather crappy as it is
. So, if anyone could suggest me a better one, I'd appreciate much. Oh, and please let me know if there's any typos/grammar mistakes/or overly awkward sentences too.)
Clang, clang, clang, a shrill sound of a bell rings through dark mining shafts, awakening a series of heavy sighs and painful groans in its wake. Finally, it's feeding time! I immediately threw my pickaxe upon a heap of coal that I've dug through the morning shift, raising a cloud of dust into already stifling air - a potent mixture of sweat from unbathed slave girls, urine, and feces. Coughing lightly, the overseer gave me a daggered look, but fortunately, his hand did not move to a glistening coiled leather hanging from his belt.
I put my hands upon my waist and arched my body as far back as I can, protruding my bare breasts almost defiantly into his gaze. "Urrgghh," an involuntary groan escaped my mouth, as my spine protested with a popping noise. It's been a long time since I stopped caring about being naked in front of those men, and they probably don't care either.
To them, we are just filthy animals and livestock in their charge. Although the fact hasn't prevented them from 'using' or abusing any slave girl whom they whimsically choose in whatever manner they please. But it's probably more because of boredom than of any sexual lust they sometimes do that, for I cannot imagine how anyone can feel anything but disgust upon the sight of these smelly, and ugly creatures which I became after toiling in this cave for the past five years.
Soon the cacophony of metal chains dragged over the hard stone floor reverberates through the corridor, as the girls were already rushing towards the hall as fast as their exhausted body and heavy iron allow them.
After watching that ugly bald head of slave 1835 disappearing into the corridor, I finally started to drag my feet to follow suit. That sneaky bitch always steals from my heap whenever I don't watch, so I better be vigilant about it. The overseers don't care about petty quarrels between the girls as long as they can meet their quota. The best they would do is to let them cat-fight each other once in a while. It usually involves a lot of beer and cheering and betting, and they even invite their colleagues who usually work outside the mine to participate in the event.
I put my hands behind my head as it was required whenever we are free to walk with empty hands (which means not carrying any load, or crawling on all-fours) and began rattling my chains as I quickened my pace to catch up other girls. Then I heard a terrible sound of loud cracking immediately followed by a piercing shriek. I was frozen instinctively and turned my head back. Oh, it was the new one which they dragged in this morning, what were its numbers?
"What are you waiting for, you worthless cunt. Move!"
As if to emphasize his last word, he kicked the fallen girl's butts with his rubber boots, drawing another high pitched squeal from her who was bracing her breasts protectively with her arms, apparently where the first blow landed on her still mostly unscathed skin.
"You there, what... 27... 6... 3?", he switched on his flashlight and directed it on my chest, squinting his eyes as he tries to read my numbers which were barely legible under thinkcly covered grime and dust.
"Cunt two-seven-six-three, Master!"
As soon as I heard my numbers uttered by the overseer, I immediately dropped to my knees and yelled my numbers then I threw my legs wide open and put my hands behind my head, as I've done it countless times before. Ignoring the pain from hitting the jagged floor with my knees, I pushed my breasts forward and dropped my eyes on the floor. Under the flashlight, the branded numbers glistened with sweat as they rose and fell nervously, revealing my apprehension of what may come next.
"Collar," he barked a command as he grabbed the loose end of chains which was lying nearby. I quickly raised my chin to allow him access to my rusty steel collar and cast my eyes sideways. It's one of the very first things you learn after you renounce every human right you had, that meeting a free person's eyes without being commanded so constitutes a grave offense.
After short dexterous movements of his fingers, he secured the chains to the ring on my collar with a padlock, and he walked towards the still prostrating girl and repeated the process. I strained to keep my head up, feeling the weight of the heavy chains, which was about 5 feet long.
"From now on, that worthless bitch is your responsibility. If it misbehaves or fails to be productive, both of you will get punished. Is it clear?"
My jaw dropped at his words, and I began to stutter, "Sir, but... but that thing is sti... AHHH!" My protest was cut short by a vicious smack, which he delivered with a full swing with his hand on my left breast. I managed not to break my posture; my thighs still kept wide apart, hands firmly lodged behind my head. The only moving part of my body was my breasts, which were still bobbling from the impact.
I noticed the shocked face of the girl, now embracing her chest even more tightly as if it was her who received the blow. Her terrified eyes rested a moment on my breasts before they moved down between my legs, trembling with disbelief, shock, and maybe pity. I bit down my lips and turned my eyes from her. I suddenly felt a surge of unfamiliar emotion. It was something that I thought to have long forgotten. Is it... shame?
"Is it clear?" an icy cold voice drew my attention back to reality immediately.
"Yes, Master," I answered obediently.
"Good. I'll give you a month to make it useful. And you are allowed to use your voice for that purpose, if necessary."
"Thank you, thank you, Master!"
I immediately fell on the ground and pressed my lips on his boot. Like everything else we perform in this place, it was something expected of a slave girl according to the training protocol. Whenever the Master grants something good to a slave girl, she is expected to show her gratitude by prostrating herself and kissing his boot - hands on either side of her face, palms up, and her butts high up while her legs spread wide. But my gratitude was genuine this time because I don't even remember when was the last time I had a normal conversation with anyone.
When you are a slave girl, you are only allowed to say "Yes, Master," or answer his questions as concisely as possible. Any other conversation is prohibited unless explicitly permitted for a specific task you were given. We are just animals, and speech is for human beings. It's as simple as that.
I felt the rough surface sliding under my lips, leaving a bitter taste of rubber and dirt. I pressed my forehead against the grimy floor and waited for his footsteps to disappear into the distance without breaking my posture. Hiding under my face, I twitched my lips into a faint smile, as my mind exploring all the things that I want to talk with her - someone not superior to myself, or who would steal from me to make my life even more miserable than it already is.
I even felt like the chain which connected me to that poor, innocent girl was a work of some providence or fate.
(To be continued.)
And I know, that the title is rather crappy as it is
. So, if anyone could suggest me a better one, I'd appreciate much. Oh, and please let me know if there's any typos/grammar mistakes/or overly awkward sentences too.)Clang, clang, clang, a shrill sound of a bell rings through dark mining shafts, awakening a series of heavy sighs and painful groans in its wake. Finally, it's feeding time! I immediately threw my pickaxe upon a heap of coal that I've dug through the morning shift, raising a cloud of dust into already stifling air - a potent mixture of sweat from unbathed slave girls, urine, and feces. Coughing lightly, the overseer gave me a daggered look, but fortunately, his hand did not move to a glistening coiled leather hanging from his belt.
I put my hands upon my waist and arched my body as far back as I can, protruding my bare breasts almost defiantly into his gaze. "Urrgghh," an involuntary groan escaped my mouth, as my spine protested with a popping noise. It's been a long time since I stopped caring about being naked in front of those men, and they probably don't care either.
To them, we are just filthy animals and livestock in their charge. Although the fact hasn't prevented them from 'using' or abusing any slave girl whom they whimsically choose in whatever manner they please. But it's probably more because of boredom than of any sexual lust they sometimes do that, for I cannot imagine how anyone can feel anything but disgust upon the sight of these smelly, and ugly creatures which I became after toiling in this cave for the past five years.
Soon the cacophony of metal chains dragged over the hard stone floor reverberates through the corridor, as the girls were already rushing towards the hall as fast as their exhausted body and heavy iron allow them.
After watching that ugly bald head of slave 1835 disappearing into the corridor, I finally started to drag my feet to follow suit. That sneaky bitch always steals from my heap whenever I don't watch, so I better be vigilant about it. The overseers don't care about petty quarrels between the girls as long as they can meet their quota. The best they would do is to let them cat-fight each other once in a while. It usually involves a lot of beer and cheering and betting, and they even invite their colleagues who usually work outside the mine to participate in the event.
I put my hands behind my head as it was required whenever we are free to walk with empty hands (which means not carrying any load, or crawling on all-fours) and began rattling my chains as I quickened my pace to catch up other girls. Then I heard a terrible sound of loud cracking immediately followed by a piercing shriek. I was frozen instinctively and turned my head back. Oh, it was the new one which they dragged in this morning, what were its numbers?
"What are you waiting for, you worthless cunt. Move!"
As if to emphasize his last word, he kicked the fallen girl's butts with his rubber boots, drawing another high pitched squeal from her who was bracing her breasts protectively with her arms, apparently where the first blow landed on her still mostly unscathed skin.
"You there, what... 27... 6... 3?", he switched on his flashlight and directed it on my chest, squinting his eyes as he tries to read my numbers which were barely legible under thinkcly covered grime and dust.
"Cunt two-seven-six-three, Master!"
As soon as I heard my numbers uttered by the overseer, I immediately dropped to my knees and yelled my numbers then I threw my legs wide open and put my hands behind my head, as I've done it countless times before. Ignoring the pain from hitting the jagged floor with my knees, I pushed my breasts forward and dropped my eyes on the floor. Under the flashlight, the branded numbers glistened with sweat as they rose and fell nervously, revealing my apprehension of what may come next.
"Collar," he barked a command as he grabbed the loose end of chains which was lying nearby. I quickly raised my chin to allow him access to my rusty steel collar and cast my eyes sideways. It's one of the very first things you learn after you renounce every human right you had, that meeting a free person's eyes without being commanded so constitutes a grave offense.
After short dexterous movements of his fingers, he secured the chains to the ring on my collar with a padlock, and he walked towards the still prostrating girl and repeated the process. I strained to keep my head up, feeling the weight of the heavy chains, which was about 5 feet long.
"From now on, that worthless bitch is your responsibility. If it misbehaves or fails to be productive, both of you will get punished. Is it clear?"
My jaw dropped at his words, and I began to stutter, "Sir, but... but that thing is sti... AHHH!" My protest was cut short by a vicious smack, which he delivered with a full swing with his hand on my left breast. I managed not to break my posture; my thighs still kept wide apart, hands firmly lodged behind my head. The only moving part of my body was my breasts, which were still bobbling from the impact.
I noticed the shocked face of the girl, now embracing her chest even more tightly as if it was her who received the blow. Her terrified eyes rested a moment on my breasts before they moved down between my legs, trembling with disbelief, shock, and maybe pity. I bit down my lips and turned my eyes from her. I suddenly felt a surge of unfamiliar emotion. It was something that I thought to have long forgotten. Is it... shame?
"Is it clear?" an icy cold voice drew my attention back to reality immediately.
"Yes, Master," I answered obediently.
"Good. I'll give you a month to make it useful. And you are allowed to use your voice for that purpose, if necessary."
"Thank you, thank you, Master!"
I immediately fell on the ground and pressed my lips on his boot. Like everything else we perform in this place, it was something expected of a slave girl according to the training protocol. Whenever the Master grants something good to a slave girl, she is expected to show her gratitude by prostrating herself and kissing his boot - hands on either side of her face, palms up, and her butts high up while her legs spread wide. But my gratitude was genuine this time because I don't even remember when was the last time I had a normal conversation with anyone.
When you are a slave girl, you are only allowed to say "Yes, Master," or answer his questions as concisely as possible. Any other conversation is prohibited unless explicitly permitted for a specific task you were given. We are just animals, and speech is for human beings. It's as simple as that.
I felt the rough surface sliding under my lips, leaving a bitter taste of rubber and dirt. I pressed my forehead against the grimy floor and waited for his footsteps to disappear into the distance without breaking my posture. Hiding under my face, I twitched my lips into a faint smile, as my mind exploring all the things that I want to talk with her - someone not superior to myself, or who would steal from me to make my life even more miserable than it already is.
I even felt like the chain which connected me to that poor, innocent girl was a work of some providence or fate.
(To be continued.)
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and I am looking forward to future updates in your story
