Chained by Fate

[KageKamen]

Minor opinions are just as (or more, sometimes) interesting to me as popular ones. And if only popular opnions counted, I probably shouldn't have posted my story here in the first place

I would love it if my readers shudder and feel appalled at the extent of cruelty the girls in my story suffer by their owners or by the system itself, provided they still find it intriguing enough to continue reading (for which I'm not very confident though). And for now, my main choice of the tools to achieve that effect is objectification of women. If I focus on the theme too much, it's probably just because I failed to imagine more variety. So I'd welcome any suggestion of themes that could spice it up without being incompatible with the atmosphere and settings of the story.

Well, you say D-grade are supposed to be desexualised, reduced to animals or tools - so whi are their holes relevant for more than producing waste, or their breasts at all? What matters is their legs to move and their arms to do work. At least, to the overseers - perhaps to each other, there can still be something more.

 

[fallenmystic]

Well, you say D-grade are supposed to be desexualised, reduced to animals or tools - so whi are their holes relevant for more than producing waste, or their breasts at all? What matters is their legs to move and their arms to do work. At least, to the overseers - perhaps to each other, there can still be something more.

You are right, but I think there's some difference between using a girl for sexual gratification and abusing her for being a female sex. You may have noticed that my story is noticeably devoid of the former kind of contents already, for the reason you mention above.

There was just a single sex scene so far and it was with Barbara, who was supposed to be at least as attractive as most B-grade girls. Aside from her, no other girl has involved in any sexual activity, not even a fondling or blowjob, although there's a few mention of the fact that they still occasionally serve such a purpose for desperately horney, or bored overseers.

On the other hand, every girl in the facility is constantly subjected to the latter kind of sexual degradation, and I suppose this could be what you meant when you said treating them as 'sexual objects'. I think a man with sadistic tendency doesn't need to feel his victim be sexually attractive to enjoy kicking her cunt or burn it with a cigarette. And even the most unpleasantly looking girls would feel deep humiliation if she was forced to spread her legs in front of men who have only contempt and malice towards her.

And as for the overseers, of course they don't regard those despicable animals good enough to be raped, and they can easily punish them with non-sexual means, like whipping their backs, for example. But what is the fun with that when they can just as easily make those creatures waddling like a duck with a pickaxe handle inside their cunt?

Even though they are regarded as animals by their owners, they are still girls, at least biologically. And a girl reacts in a much more interesting way if she is kicked between her legs than, say, on her thighs. And to a bored overseer, watching a girl whimpering with both pain and humiliation could be a great source of entertainment even when he doesn't have any intention of putting his dick inside such a despicable creature (for that he may well have a dedicated B-grade girl at home).

 

[fallenmystic]

I've mostly done with the next chapter but couldn't finish it due to work schedule. In the meanwhile, I made a small progress to my "making a home for Barbara and Siss" project though:

 

[KageKamen]

You are right, but I think there's some difference between using a girl for sexual gratification and abusing her for being a female sex. You may have noticed that my story is noticeably devoid of the former kind of contents already, for the reason you mention above.

I suppose there is a point there. Overseers might prefer to focus their attentions on parts the slaves don't need to work, after all. Still, i think most would consider putting their dicks in ani part of them disgusting and perverted, no matter how bored. Especially if those parts have been targeted for damage many times.

And it's not just practical matters - a slave's sex is explicitly called out as her most important feature, rather then a mere vestigial remnant of their humanity. It's that that feels rather off, especially as this setting isn't universally misoginstic.

 

[fallenmystic]

(Finally, I finished writing the next part. It took me so long because it was the first time that I tried to write a filler episode between major events. Originally it was wholly composed of flashbacks from Siss but I couldn't make it interesting enough to read so I had to rewrite it with some dialogues at the end. Thankfully, there will be some major events in the next few chapters which will introduce Barbara and Siss to the next phase of their lives, so I expect it to become easier for me to continue with the story again.)

Chained by Fate - Part 14

From the next morning, Barbara quickly became the centre of attention among everyone in the facility. When the overseers came to perform the morning ritual, they got shocked at the ghastly sight of Barbara, with blood smeared all over her bared crotch and spread thighs. They gathered around her and wondered how a D-grade chink can still bleed like that.

Senior overseers exchanged concerned looks with each other and started a serious discussion of the matter. Impregnating a chink is considered grave misbehaviour, if not a criminal offence. There were A-grade slaves kept fertile to be used as breeders, for sure. Even then, however, their wombs were exclusively reserved to bear the seeds of there own kinds. They performed various experiments with breeders and studs of different traits to produce the most desirable next-generation slaves. Still, they never used proper human semen for the purpose, however superior the genes it contains. As such, a D-grader with functional ovaries was something none of the overseers has even heard of before.

Cross-breeding between men and chinks may become a grave threat to the racial superiority of the country - which they believed to be the main reason for their successful resistance against the UAN's vastly superior numbers - and also to the comfort of its citizens if left unchecked. Even now, it is not uncommon to see those who reveal almost the flawless Caucasian grace in their appearance turn out to have an ape among their grandparents or great grandparents. They were not enslaved like those born from an Asian parent, but they still had to take a forced sterilization operation and barred from holding any privileged position at work. As it is so unreliable to detect the rogue genes from appearance alone, they may spread like vermins to degrade the quality of the citizens without being noticed, if they don't take pains to regulate the sources.

Furthermore, as much they despise and hate us, they don't want our species to go extinct, at least for the better-graded ones than me. They got too much accustomed to the comfort of having those docile and submissive species around, who can clean the floors, make all your food, and can spread their legs at any time, anywhere with a single command. So, if they try to improve our genes by careful selection of breeders and studs, their goal is just producing better-looking slave beasts, not making them humans like themselves by allowing them to procreate with human seeds.

And there was also a moral problem regarding the act of impregnating an Asian sow. It came to be considered a more reprehensible misdeed than bestiality, especially after the execution of Barbara's father. At least humping a dog doesn't produce a half-human beast which could potentially undermine the integrity of even such an upright citizen like the general Moore to betray the country for his monkey blooded 'family'.

The senior overseers feared the potential impact it may have upon their career if such an unprecedented event of impregnating a D-grade slave happens under their charge. Various contraceptive and abortive measures were suggested, including sewing off the vagina or kicking the abdomen.

Barbara showed a remarkable reservation in enduring the ordeal, however. She only flinched once when one of them put his foot upon her flat belly, demonstrating where he thinks a kick should be administered to terminate the parasite without diminishing the usefulness of its host.

While the seniors were thus engaged in a more serious discussion, the younger overseers, however, welcomed anything that could distract them from their dreadful work inside this pigsty. They moved their thumbs enthusiastically on their phones, to report such a rare event to their friends or to share photos on social networks.

One particularly brave junior overseer even sat down besides Barbara to record a video. He pushed his fingers deep into Barbara and stretched her to take a close up shot of her bleeding inner walls. Barbara twitched and moaned, for her sense of dignity or tightness of the skin hadn't wholly abandoned her yet.

Nevertheless, she braved through the humiliation again, and I think she even tried to smile at me as she struggled to keep her hip in position while her most secret abodes being explored under a camera flash to be exposed to the internet. Barbara managed to clean his fingers and thanked him without making any fuss when he finally withdrew. I could see that she was slowly becoming one of us, which somehow made me both glad and sad at the same time.

Thankfully, the bell announcing the start of the work hours saved Barbara from further humiliation. Still covered with blood and dried male juice from the last night, she was allowed to start her daily routine. They gave Barbara a strict order though, not to "flaunt her dirty hole to flirt", as if it was something she could choose to avoid. It was one of the very first things they teach a slave that she should always keep her sex fully exposed to show her readiness to serve, for her owner's sexual or sadistic pleasures.

However, they didn't have to put up with this inconvenient restriction for long, since Runov, the veterinarian for the facility, visited the shaft the next morning. He produced a small package from his pocket and ordered Barbara to prepare herself on all fours. Inside, there was a transparent ring which he crushed with his fingers and unceremoniously shoved it to her deepest recess. Then he proudly announced that the chink was safe for use again with a resounding slap upon her raised buttock. Barbara was made to demonstrate his words right at the spot, but it was hardly the last time she had to open her cavity to be filled up with male seeds that day.

By that time, the story of a fertile D-grade beauty - an oxymoron, undoubtedly - has spread throughout the entire facility. Before long, everyone could boast for having at least a few photos of Barbara's yet to shrink breasts or still tight lips on his smartphone, while those who didn't have any came to see and feel them in person. I do not doubt that Ted's enthusiastic recount of her "amazing grip" or the way she can "chew" had contributed to her growing fame. He visited Barbara almost every day, always exclaiming such things to friends - not including Oleg, thankfully - he brought along. He often had to wait in line, however since she became the most popular sex toy for everyone in the facility by now.

Every feeding time, they splayed Barbara on the table and had me clean their boots while they waited their turn to take her. At nights, now we were always placed near the entrance to allow easier access to the visitors. They even put a water bucket with a scrubbing brush nearby, as you would see in a public toilet. No one likes to put his member into a hole which was already filled with another man's jizz to the brim. Some even started calling Barbara the 'toilet girl,' and it wasn't as derogatory a term as it may sound. At least they acknowledged her as a 'girl,' when all D-grade slaves are both legally and conventionally considered as animals. Even when my cunt was still deemed good enough for sexual purposes, I was always just another 'chink monkey' or 'ugly chimp' to them, by comparison.

Since that day, Barbara always had to serve at least four or five overseers before she could sleep. Even those high ranking overseers who could call Raisin or Flabby to their private quarters at any time came to visit her. I also did my part to help Barbara by becoming useful for them. It was my job to harden and lubricate them sufficiently before they could enter Barbara so that they won't waste precious time for their waiting colleagues.

Once Alex revisited us and had me warm him up as he waited for his turn. But Alex couldn't hold it when I lapped his tip, probably with a bit too much enthusiasm. He exploded inside my mouth and got furious for losing his opportunity to redeem himself with Barbara. I almost fainted when he kept slapping me so hard as to make the whole shaft trembling with horrible the sound.

It was such a taxing task for both of us, having to lose sleep every day to serve our owners like that. But we almost anticipated the night because we knew that, when everything is over, it'll be just Barbara and me again. As soon as the last flashlight disappears into the darkness, we squirmed and wiggled on the rough ground to reach one another as fast as we could. And once we joined our lips, we didn't have to say anything to share out innermost feelings with each other.

And the feelings! I didn't know I still owned some part of my body and soul which I could offer to someone else on my own accord. And I certainly didn't realize that sometimes a kiss can be much more fulfilling than any sex before.

A slave is never engaged in any reciprocal kind of kiss, at least if its breast is marked with the cursed letter 'D'. Being an animal and a property, we don't brush our teeth, and they don't need to perform any rituals like loving whispers or foreplays to use any of the holes we have for whatever purpose. As such, no overseer ever required or allowed us to kiss their lips.

Of course, we had to press our lips on our owner's feet, lick their dick or even wipe their asshole. But it is just an acknowledgement of total submission to our owners, not of love. To truly love someone, a girl needs to be able to offer something she owns and values to someone she cares, expect the same in return. But if the girl is a slave, her vagina and breasts already belong to her owner, so she no longer has any control of those body parts. Only her rightful owner can decide when or how he will use them, and he doesn't have to thank anyone for that.

But as they thought it to be repulsive to kiss a D-grader on its lips, we could still reserve ours for such a purpose. And in that matter, we still have a choice - something a slave can hardly expect to have. I wouldn't have to offer my lips to Barbara if I didn't love her, nor she would have to reciprocate it if she didn't care for me. That is the true meaning of love or at least the best possible form of love that we could imagine.

And it turned out we still owned enough parts of ourselves to make such a choice. Even if our breasts or vagina belonged to us, we wouldn't be able to do anything with them, having our hands and legs chained so securely at nights. But our lips, we still own them and use them to show our love for each other. We only had to crawl to each other and stretch our necks like turtles, and it made us forget everything we suffered during the day.

When we realized this little privilege we have, it made us more passionate in our secret love affairs we had every night. I was genuinely happy. And I felt so for the first time since they locked this iron collar around my neck and burned my breast with the numbers.

However, good things don't last long, especially when you are a slave. And even such a humble happiness we shared couldn't be an exception. There was something that had been gnawing my heart, and I knew something was bound to happen sooner or later. I tried to ignore the apprehension as best as I could, but it became worse day by day until I couldn't think about anything else.

(It hit the 20,000 characters limit, so I'll post the rest below.)

 

[fallenmystic]

(chapter 14 continued from the previous post)

I've long stopped counting the days after I arrived in this facility. I don't even know if it is still Spring or Summer outside, and it certainly doesn't matter if it is Tuesday or Sunday when you expect to get whipped every day without exception.

As far as the outside world is concerned, I'm already dead and so is Barbara. When you brand a letter 'D' on a chink's breast, it's pretty much the same thing as ordering it to hide its ugly face in some hole and die there. I only saw the sun twice since I became a mining slave or a 'mole' as they say. And I've never been allowed to go outside the main gate since, and probably I never will. It was the purpose of this facility, after all, to hide such mistakes of nature like us from the public eyes and wait for us to go extinct while extracting from us what little usefulness we have for the humanity.

Although I had no idea how many days had passed since Barbara came to the facility, but I felt the promised one month was now drawing to its end. Barbara now almost looked like one of us. She wasn't the 'hairless one' any more, as her mound and armpits were covered with dense forests of dark hairs now. Barbara turned out to be quite a hairy girl, in fact, possibly because of the Caucasian elements in her blood.

And it wasn't the only change that happened to Barbara's body since she first came to the mine. Even though her breasts haven't shrunken or sagged yet, they were now completely covered with thick layers of dirt and overlayed with many angry stripes and welts. Only her crotch still gave a hint of her former milky white skin due to repeated scrubbings she got every night. Yet, even her popularity had waned somewhat since she began to emanate the distinctive smell of a D-grade slave, the revolting odour of dried urine and excrement mixed with that of fermented sweat and female pheromone.

It wasn't just her appearances that had changed to make her resemble her peers, but her behaviours as well. I was supposed to teach her how to behave appropriately as an obedient D-grade slave, but now she knew enough to avoid earning too many whip marks on her breasts a day. After all, there was not much that a girl has to learn to become a D-grade beast. That was the reason why the training course for them is the shortest of all the slave classes. They don't have to learn any sex technics, nor any social etiquettes to perform their functions. All they expected of an expendable D-grade slave was absolute obedience and endurance for toil and degradation.

Even for that, Barbara proved her ability to adapt. She no longer hesitated to empty her bowels or drink with us in the morning. She learned to become a toilet or an ashtray without a complaint, and now she knew how to clean boots properly like other girls. However, I don't think Barbara was naturally well disposed to degradation and abuse. Maybe it's just my wishful thinking, but I believe she just wanted to be treated the same way as I did, so she could learn how I felt of my miserable life and suffer the humiliation together.

Whatever the reason, Barbara now seemed to have learned everything I could teach her, and it could only mean one thing.

One day, Master Smith summoned us before we were about to start our work. We knelt before his feet and assumed the proper pose with our heads hung low with trepidation.

"I didn't believe you would even last a week, but look at you." Master Smith spoke as he raised Barbara's chin with his coiled whip.
"You certainly look like one of those chimps now. Let's see if you also behave like one." With his words, Master Smith coughed up his phlegm and spat it on the ground. He was one of the smokers among the overseers.
"Lap it up." The overseer ordered Barbara as he smeared the mess with his foot.
"Yes, Master," Barbara fell upon the spot immediately with an answer. Without hesitation, she pressed her face on the grimy ground and began to lick its surface.
"You know how pathetic you look, huh?" He jeered as he rested his foot upon Barbara's head. It made her nose crushing over the liquid, but she kept lapping. "But that's just what you are, a grovelling half-monkey that does whatever to please its owner. Am I right?"
"Yes, Master," Barbara replied demurely.
"What is your name?" Master Smith asked while casually squashing Barbara's shaven head as if to stub it out like a cigarette.
"A cunt... doesn't deserve... a name, Master," she struggled to answer as her face smudged over the sandy grime.
"Then what is that cunt called?" He let his whip uncoil over Barbara's raised hip, its tail flicking her exposed sex, as he asked.
"Cunt four-nine-three-one, Master." Barbara flinched slightly, feeling the malicious leather brushing over her dark coloured fur. But she didn't need to looking down at her breast to answer the question.
"Do you still think you are a human?" He slapped Barbara across her buttocks with his whip as he asked, as a trainer would do to a circus animal.
"No, Master," Barbara replied firmly, withstanding the blow without whimpering. She was now wearing many angry stripes and welts on her backside. And she already learned how to work under a whip without making a fuss, like a mute beast.
"Tell me, chink," he suddenly changed his tone and asked, "Which side of your parents was human?"
"It was its father, Master," Barbara replied with calm reserve.

I was impressed by Barbara's unimpeachable answer. In the training camp, they used to lure us with such a trick. It's so easy to forget the proper manner of speech when you get emotional by such a question. Had Barbara uttered such words like "my father", or "her father," Master Smith's whip would have exploded between her legs, I had no doubt.

"So your chimpanzee mother must have flaunted its ugly cunt to lure this monkey fucker?" Master Smith resumed his interrogation with renewed cruelty.
"...Yes, Master" Barbara gave him the expected answer after an anguished pause.
"Is that why you are raising your cunt so high now, to lure a white man just like your mother?" Master Smith moved his leg to trace her curves with his foot until it reached the peak of her spread buttocks.
"No, Master!" Barbara raised her voice in protest.
"But I heard that you had lured enough of our men already; quite a remarkable achievement for a D-grader, I gotta say," he remarked as his boot climbed down on the valley of Barbara to enter into her thick forest. Barbara tensed her buttocks and swallowed a moan.
"So, you love to fuck white men, like that whoring monkey of your mother?" Master Smith drove pointed words to Barbara's heart to test its hardness for one last time.
"...This slave loves it... when it can be useful to its owners, Master," Barbara managed to give him a tolerable answer after an uneasy silence. She articulated each word like a politician answering an unfriendly journalist.
"And you also love to lick my spit?" Master Smith asked, withdrawing his rubber boot from her. I could see a small patch of darker shade glistening on its surface.
"Yes, Master," Barbara replied and relaxed her muscles.
"Why do you love it?" Master Smith pressed her further.
"Because it pleases you, Master," Barbara answered his question without delay.
"You love to please white men, monkey?" The overseer asked with a satisfactory grin.
"Yes, Master," she replied.
"That is why you live, right?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good. Never forget that your kind only lives to serve us," Master Smith gave Barbara a solemn reminder as he coiled his whip and fasten it back on his belt.
"This cunt will never forget, Master," Barbara pressed her forehead on the ground and replied obediently.

There is no doubt about it. Barbara has fully become a lowly D-grade slave like us. She is still incomparably prettier than any of us, but it doesn't matter. Before long, her ample round breasts will shrink like mine, and she will be walking with a stoop as if she was a real ape. I remember Barbara said that she would gladly be a monkey if it could make her stay with me. And I feel the same way about her. I don't care how she looks or walks, as long as I can stay with her. If only I could.

"Maybe it was a good idea to choose you to teach that chink its manners," I startled as Master Smith suddenly addressed me while reaching for my shaven head to pat it.
"Thank you, Master!" I immediately fell upon the ground and pressed my forehead on the ground.
I heard footsteps approaching, and soon his shadow loomed over my prostrated frame. He stooped over, and rattling noise followed. Suddenly, I felt my neck became lighter, and my heavy heart sank with fear. He just unchained my collar from Barbara's chains!
"Now, your work is done, chink. Go somewhere else and start digging already!" Master Smith kicked my butt to shoo me away.

Just like that, my connection to Barbara was severed for good.

(To be continued...)

 

[fallenmystic]

I didn't realize the chapter has grown to such a length, so I had to split it in half to avoid the restriction.

By the way, I started another thread for sharing my 3D works related to the forced labour theme, so such contents will be posted there instead from now on:

My 3D works regarding forced labour in mine

Some of you may have already noticed, but I have an obsession for a particular kind of BDSM fantasy. It is the image of filthy and naked slave girls forced to work inside a mine, like in the famous collection from Tibool. My current story deals with such a theme too, and I've been trying to...

www.cruxforums.com

 

[fallenmystic]

Chained by Fate - Part 15

The next few weeks had been a never-ending torment for me, and I have no doubt it was the same for Barbara. I tried to keep close to her as best as I could, but it was not always possible when such an act could easily make us both dancing under a whip.

As a tool and a property, a slave is supposed to show undivided attention to her owner at all times and should regard serving him as her sole reason for existence. As such, socializing with other slaves was strictly forbidden, which includes such simple actions like holding hands or smiling at each other.

As such, having an idle chat was considered an almost unthinkable offence among the slave girls. If slaves are allowed to bond with and encourage each other behind their owner's back, it will only make them bolder in insubordination and neglection of their duties. A slave should be kept under constant fear of her owner's whip and should only think about ways she could make herself useful to him. They often say that it was the only reason why the chinks still have a brain, so they certainly don't want us to use what little intelligence we have for any other purpose.

During the days, the best we could do was locking our eyes or whispering things like "I love you" to each other when no overseer was watching us. However, the worst came at nights when I had to hear Barbara moaning and whimpering as she served the overseers. She managed to keep a few regulars even after her appearance became less distinguishable from other girls, so they still kept her near the entrance with the toilet scrubber.

After they have severed our connection, now I couldn't see her face but only could hear her from a distance in the darkness, but I wish I couldn't. When I could no longer move to her side and console her when the ordeal is over, hearing her cries of degradation was as much torment for me as not hearing her. And Barbara sometimes broke into a bitter sobbing when they were gone, something which she had ceased to do for a long time. It utterly broke my heart, but I didn't know the worst was yet to come until that fateful day.

I realized something was different as soon as I woke up that morning. When I regained my consciousness with a sharp sting on my cheek, Master Zinovieff was already moving to another girl to slap her senses back. Abandoning his usual sadistic trick with a cigarette, he just seemed to be concerned with waking us as fast as he could. The overseers looked anxious, and they seemed to be distracted with something far more important than us.

The senior overseers were ordering the juniors around to clean up the clutters and we were given a shovel instead of a pickaxe to break the dried faeces from the ground and push them aside. They even lined us on all fours and hosed us with water from behind. It didn't clean up the thick layers of grime which have been accumulated over several years. Still, it was sufficient to remove dangling bits of excrements between our cheeks and wash away some of the dried urine and female juice from our thighs. At least, it must have made our stench a bit less repulsive to those who are not accustomed to having D-graders near them.

As soon as they brought the grand crimson flag of Translavia from the mess hall to hung over the wooden beams, they lined us up in front of the wall at the far side of the shaft. Then they quickly moved along the tunnel to stand in line themselves. It surprised me much as I had never seen anything like that before. It felt almost surreal to see all the overseers, including the most senior ones, all lined up with their shoulders pushed back and standing immobile like mannequins. They were always the ones who lined us up, not the other way around. Even a junior overseer is a god-like figure to us, who owns our body and entitled to use or abuse it for whatever purpose he sees fits. As such, someone who can make even the senior overseers act like that was something entirely unimaginable to us.

But I couldn't keep observing the extraordinary sight for long. Promptly, we were ordered to prostrate and kiss the ground to show our gratitude for the mysterious guest who they said would arrive soon. A junior overseer quickly shuffled between the raised bottoms of the girls to pull their leashes in front of their head to align us neatly in lines.

Then all fell silent. I could hear nothing but anxious breathings from both the slaves and their owners for a while. Suppressed coughings broke the silence occasionally, as we all suffered from a lung disease, having to work in a coal mine without any protection for a long time. I was sure they would drag those coughing girls from the line and whip their breasts until they burst. But to my surprise, they just ignored it, apparently too afraid to make further noise by making them wail and screech.

Soon, I noticed the faint sound of a conversation and approaching footsteps. They grew louder until I could discern the voice of Mr Sokolov, the chief executive officer of this facility. We did not even call him as 'Master' because he rarely set his foot in the mining shaft or interact with the filthy beasts who infest the place. I only recognized his voice because he loved to make speeches from time to time, which they broadcasted through the loudspeakers inside the mine. It was the most reliable way to know how much time has passed in this mine since he did it on every Mondays.

He usually talked about such things as how it was according to the natural order that we were born to serve the superior Slavic race. And whenever we failed to meet the monthly quota, he always reminded us of our duty to repay the generosity of the government for sparing our lives. It usually ended with a threat to reduce our ration still further.

"...so, we are keeping our slaves in a perfect condition, and they are all grateful to have a chance to serve the country, sir." Soon Sokolov's voice became clear enough for me to understand what he was saying.
"Oh, please, cut the crap, Mr Sokolov. I know how things are in these containment facilities. It was I who designed them, after all," a baritone voice replied with mild reproach.
"Of course, general. It was a brilliant idea to keep those defective species underground, sir," Sokolov quickly changed his tone. He sounded like a different person from the one who used to speak through the loudspeakers with a theatrical flair.

Soon their footsteps emerged from the tunnel and proceeded to the centre of the shaft we were prostrating in rows. Now I could see a reflection of the tall man from the puddle upon which I was pressing my lips. A tall man was standing beside whom I believe to be Sokolov, trailing several entourages behind them.

"Tell your men to be at ease, Mr Sokolov. I'm just here for a personal business today," the man spoke in a relaxed manner as if it was he who owned the facility.
"May I ask you about the nature of your visit, general? I will personally see to it that you would be provided with every convenience in conducting your business, sir," Sokolov spoke with natural servility. He would have made an excellent slave if he was born an Asian girl, I imagined.
"No need to be all formal, Mr Sokolov," the general checked Sokolov's enthusiasm with a firm voice, "I'm just here to buy one of your slaves. I believe it's within your authority to do that?"
"Of course, general. But I'm afraid you won't find any slave worthy of your consideration here. These are the most deformed and repulsive specimens among the entire simian race, sir," Sokolov spoke apologetically.
"Do you think I don't know that?" the general rebuked him with a hint of irritation, "It was I who made the grading system, remember?"
"My apologies. Many of these D-graders are just skeletons waiting to collapse, so I'll let the men pick those still have some juice left for you, sir." After contradicting what he said earlier, Sokolov ordered something to someone, in a voice too low for me to decipher.

Soon I heard footsteps, followed by a brief pause. "Present!" A resounding order suddenly came from above, and I felt my body automatically responding like Pavlov's Dog. A dust cloud rose among the cacophony of rattling chains, as the girls quickly rose to assume the expected pose.

It is very similar to how we sit when they order us to relieve. But instead of squatting, we sit on our heels and straighten our back, so that our breasts and vagina could be better observed from someone standing in front of us. Also, we are required to fully open our mouth while lifting the lips to bare the teeth. It's not just violence that makes a slave to lose its teeth, but extreme malnutrition can make them fall out of the sockets with even the slightest force.

Several overseers began to move between the rows to pick suitable candidates for the general's purchase. Soon the flashlight fell upon my stretched lips and proceeded up to another set of lips on my face, pausing only briefly upon my chest on its way. After quickly examining my teeth, the overseer moved to the next girl on my left.

I have no idea why such a prestigious man as the general would want to purchase such ignoble creatures like us in person. He surely would be able to order us by dozens and dispose of us as freely, without having to visit such a pigsty in person. Whatever his purpose, the chosen girls would likely see some improvement in their status, for it's difficult to imagine a worse condition they can still fall into.

But I wasn't too disappointed when I was so summarily dismissed. Honestly, I couldn't imagine myself to be picked along with new girls like Barbara. I only have two missing teeth, but unlike them, I'm just a skeleton with a dried slit between its stick-like legs. And I don't have any breasts any more, but only nipples. It was a common feature among those who managed to survive for more than a few years feeding exclusively on food wastes. Besides Barbara, we had a few new purchases whose breasts can still bounce, so I expected they would be chosen before the worn-out ones like myself.

Indeed, I could see they already picked Barbara, as I noticed her crawling behind an overseer who was pulling her leash toward the general. Even though only the swaying buttocks of those girls were visible from my position, it was easy to identify the one I'm in love with among the crawling girls. Barbara was a bit hairier than other girls, and her still tight slit glistened in bright pink unlike those dust-coated holes of other girls which haven't seen much use as hers.

As five girls finally were chosen for the general's consideration, they lined them in the same pose again, but with their mouth closed this time. They already know those girls are fresher than others, so they no longer needed them to make a funny face like that. Generally, D-grade slaves are only sold as a group, because of the same reason why you don't purchase a single paper clip from a store. But in such a rare occasion when they are sold individually, their appearance contributes much to the price, however cheap it may be.

When all five girls spread their arms and thighs to properly present more valuable parts for appraisal, several overseers directed their flashlights upon the first girl in the line. But to my surprise, the general walked straight towards Barbara and stopped in front of her displayed body. Hastily the lights danced to fly towards Barbara to illuminate her features in a spotlight.

"Oh my, look at you! I almost didn't recognize you, Barbara." The general jovially exclaimed as he took a step closer. He pulled out his handkerchief to wrap around his hand and grabbed Barbara's chin. As he was about to pull her closer, he stopped. The general frowned and wrinkled his nose before he turned his face to Sokolov again.

"Put these stinking chimpanzees away, now!" he sharply ordered to Sokolov with palpable aversion.
"Yes, sir!" Before Sokolov could say anything, the overseers replied in unison, and they quickly ran towards the girls to drag them back towards the rest of the herd.

Now Barbara was alone in the spotlight, spreading her body before the mysterious general.

(To be continued...)

 

[fallenmystic]

On a side note, I'm considering changing the title to "Of apes and women". I'll begin to use that title from the next chapter unless someone could suggest me a better one. When I'm done with the story, I'll rewrite (especially the first few chapters) and publish it under the new titile.

 

[fallenmystic]

(It took me quite a while to finish this chapter, as I've had too much fun with my 3d renderings lately. By the way, I wrote how the general wrapped his hand with a handkerchief before touching Barbara in the previous chapter, but I decided it was a mistake. So, please imagine it never happened, and I'll correct that part when I rewrite the story.
Also, I'll follow a conventional dialogue punctuation practice to group dialogues by the same speaker in a group from now on.)

Of Apes and Women - Part 16

"Aren't you glad to see me again, Barbara?" The general greeted almost cordially as he stooped his tall frame to bring his face close to hers.

"This... cunt is glad to see you again, general Shevaldin... sir," Barbara avoided his gaze and replied demurely. I sensed her dismay when her voice faltered as she called herself a 'cunt' which I thought her to have become accustomed to already.

"Don't be so nervous, Barbara. I know you can spread your legs at any moment to these men without even thinking nowadays," Shevaldin squeezed Barbara's jaws with his large hand and scoffed, "What's so different if you do the same thing to me, an old friend of your family?"

At that moment, I realized who this general was. I know quite a lot about Barbara already, as we didn't spend every night just kissing each other before they parted us. We talked about many different things, including her childhood memories. And now I remembered the "snake of a man" Barbara mentioned once, who used to visit her family often, being her father's second in command.

"I could just tell them to bring you to me," Shevaldin pulled Barbara's chin in different directions to inspect her face as he said, "but I wanted to see if your father's blood would still make you stand out among those chinks." Lifting his hand to brush Barbara's cheek, he asked her in a soft voice, "You are not really one of those chimpanzees, are you?"

"No, sir," Barbara replied curtly.

I know she had to say whatever Shevaldin expected to hear from her, but her answer cut deep inside me, nonetheless. It's been weeks since the last time Barbara and I had been together, and I was feeling we were drifting apart.

Satisfied with her answer, the general took a step back to admire her exposed body as one would do in a museum. Barbara turned her face to the side as soon as her chin was released from his grip. But she did not dare to close her thighs or stop pushing her breasts forward for Shevaldin's eyes to feast upon.

With a satisfying grin on his lips, the general scanned every inch of Barbara's body from top to bottom and chuckled, "Oh my, I never thought you would be so hairy down there."

I saw Barbara's hip tensing at his words as if she was fighting an urge to close her thighs.

"But you don't have to worry, sweetheart. I'll have one of my slaves to wash and shave you clean once I take you home. I promise," he spoke softly while stroking Barbara's cropped head.

I remembered she once said how Shevaldin always gave her creeps since he kept calling her 'sweetheart' long after she ceased to be a child. And Barbara even told me how she caught him staring at her bosom several times when he thought she wouldn’t notice it. Barbara said she didn't tell her father, however, because she was afraid it might affect his job.

According to Barbara, her father also suspected Shevaldin of pulling strings behind his back. But as he feigned to be a friend of her family, they couldn't find a plausible excuse to turn him away without tainting her father's reputation who became a national hero.

But wait, didn't he just talk about taking Barbara home? I felt my blood suddenly freezing inside my veins at the realization.

"But let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?" Shevaldin's voice brought me back from my reverie. He suddenly grabbed Barbara's head with his large hand like a basketball and jerked it back sharply, "You've always hated me, haven't you?" he turned Barbara's head to lock his eyes with hers and asked.

"No! No, sir! This cunt was never..." Barbara startled and tried to protest.

"I don't want to see your lovely breasts get damaged any more, dear. So, don’t even think about lying to me,” the general coldly interrupted Barbara and said, “And unlike your father, I don’t have any patience for lying monkeys.” Shevaldin roughly pushed Barbara's head to the side and asked again, "So, tell me again, Barbara. Do you like me?"

Barbara didn't answer immediately. I saw an overseer standing near unbuttoning the whip holder from his belt.

"...Yes, I like you, sir," Barbara answered in a weak voice, at last.

"Then prove it," the general ordered as he extended his right foot towards her. "I suppose you would be glad to make yourself useful to someone you like then," he folded his arms and asked, "They must have taught you how to clean the shoes, haven't they?"

"Yes, this cunt knows how to do that, sir," Barbara replied meekly and fell upon the ground to kiss Shevaldin's leather shoes, as was expected of a slave girl before offering such a service.

Barbara already saw a girl cleaning the boots when she visited the feeding hall on her first day in this mine. But it was I who had taught her all the details. Like most of the things that she had to learn from me, Barbara had much difficulty to perform such a degrading task at first. But there is no such a task that a whip can't teach a slave girl, however humiliating it may be.

As soon as Barbara raised her face from the ground, she crawled closer to Shevaldin's feet on her knees. After taking a deep breath, she lowered her hand between her legs. Spreading her lips with her fingers, she mounted the general's foot and pressed her sensitive skin upon the hard leather surface.

The general's patent leather shoes look to be well-polished already, so it shouldn't be as painful to clean it as typical overseer's mud-covered rubber boots. Still, a girl's inner skin isn't made to glide over any surface when it's dry. As such, Barbara hung her head low in shame and began to massage her clit with her fingers. We are expected to do that before performing such a task, and they would slap our face or breasts if we fail to wet ourselves fast enough.

At least, Barbara has an advantage over other D-grade girls like me whose internal well has long been dried up after having our ovaries fried with radiation. Despite her reluctance and shame, Barbara soon began to twitch her muscles upon his foot as she quickens her hand. After a short while, Barbara tentatively pushed her hip further along its axis, leaving a dark coloured path in its wake. With an involuntary moan, she started to wipe Shevaldin's patent shoes with her wet feminine mop.

Shevaldin looked down on Barbara's furry mound shuttling over his shoe with satisfaction. "So quickly? I didn't know you were so eager to use that pretty cunt of yours for me," the general gingerly stroked her head and asked, "So tell me, do you want to do that every day for me? If you beg me, I may grant your wish, Barbara."

"Please... allow t...this cunt..." Barbara stopped to swallow a sob and could continue her plead but in a trembling voice, "...to clean your shoes... every day, sir."

"Maybe it was a good idea to send you here to teach some humility, after all," the general put a big grin on his face and said. "You were always such a proud brat, Barbara. And you acted like it's not just your father, but you were also somehow superior to me." Shevaldin shook his head as if to remember something unpleasant and exclaimed with vehemence, "What an insolence! Of all things, a half breed monkey fancies it was superior to a respected military general!"

Barbara kept working on his shoe in silence, only snipping occasionally to suppress her sobbing. It wasn't easy to clean the boots without a footstall, like the ones found in the feeding hall. And unlike a B-grade girl who could embrace her owner's leg for support while cleaning his shoes, we were strictly forbidden to touch any of our owner's clothes or even any furniture with our filthy hands. As such, Barbara struggled much to lower her mop almost to the ground level and grind it with enough pressure. She often lost her balance and had to reposition herself, having to touch her folds again to spread them over a new position before resuming her task.

Shevaldin looked down at the grovelling body of Barbara with much satisfaction for a while without a word. The overseers stood silently without movements, not daring to disturb the general's enjoyment. Only Barbara's intermittent sobbing and rough breathing were heard as she produced her washing liquid and spread it over the patent leather.

"Do you still feel superior to a white man, Barbara? Or have you learned what an absurd idea you had in your little head finally?" the general broke the silence with a question.

"This cunt has learned that it only exists to make itself useful to white men, sir," Barbara replied submissively while gyrating her hip in a circular motion.

I couldn't tell if she genuinely believed it now from her voice alone. But I wish she did. A D-grade girl can't survive in such a condition for long if she thinks she doesn't deserve everything she gets from her owner. It will gnaw her heart relentlessly and eventually make her mind collapse long before her body does. At least a whip wouldn't torment her day and night like that, even when no overseer is around her. I've seen many girls go mad or given a noose after she exhausted herself with meaningless fits of hysteria and merciless beatings that followed. I certainly don't want to see Barbara suffer the same fate as theirs.

I accepted the fact a long time ago that there is something sacred in the blood of our owners which make them masters of all inferior creatures, including myself. If God wanted to make me as their equal, he would have given me a fair skin and beautiful blond hairs instead of such dirty dark leather and thick black furs. And if God wanted to make me serve my owners using my resemblance to a human female, he would have equipped me with a better-looking face than this ugly flat one with a protruding snout.

It is clear that I was intended to serve my superior owners, and in a way cows and pigs do, unlike the girls like Barbara. So, it's only natural that they own me as livestock and I'm treated as such, and I even feel grateful that I'm not butchered for meat like other animals. I only feel bad for Barbara because she deserves better for having born from a human father. I can't doubt the truth that my owners have much superior blood than mine when I see what miracle it has wrought for Barbara, even when mixed with inferior genes she received from her mother.

Granted, my belief has been shaken since I met her, as it made me crave for a different kind of happiness than occasional pats upon my head or an additional spoon of gruel when my owners or Raisin felt particularly merciful. It even made me angry sometimes, for not being able to embrace Barbara or being degraded in front of her.

But I know it was a miracle in the first place that a girl like Barbara fell in love with such an inferior creature like myself. I always knew things like that cannot last long. I knew there must be some better fate awaiting for a girl like Barbara. But oh God, please don't take her away from me. I know I don't deserve her, but I can't live without her now. I will do anything if I could stay with her, please!

"I knew you always hated me, but I liked you enough to put up your insolence, so far," Shevaldin said to Barbara as he shook his foot to signal her to move on to the next stage.

"Thank you, sir," Barbara replied as she dismounted from the glistening leather. Promptly, she lowered her head and began to lap up the mixture of dust and her own juice. As she raised her hip, her inviting lips glistened in bright pink between her wet hairs and dirt coated buttocks.

"You know how close I was to your father, Barbara," the Shevaldin spoke in a softened voice, "And I'm a man who values friendship more than anything else. So I couldn't see you end up in a public execution like your father when I knew you have returned," he twisted his foot as he said so that Barbara could access the other side.

So it was him who sent Barbara to this place! I couldn't decide if I should thank him for saving her life or hate him for making her suffer such a degrading fate which she doesn't deserve.

(To be continued...)

 

[minyoo]

On a side note, I'm considering changing the title to "Of apes and women". I'll begin to use that title from the next chapter unless someone could suggest me a better one. When I'm done with the story, I'll rewrite (especially the first few chapters) and publish it under the new titile.

That is such a clever idea! I love it!

 

[fallenmystic]

That is such a clever idea! I love it!

I'm really glad to hear that you like it I'm having a bit too much fun with my 3d project so that I haven't written much lately.

But I still love this story very much - however cringy or lame it may be - because it's my very first story and it has encouraged me to become an active member of this wonderful community. So, I'll never abandon this story and if it's not a readable one as it is, I'm determined to make it better as my writing and language skills improve in future.

 

[fallenmystic]

Of Apes and Women - Part 17

(The last chapter ended rather abruptly because it wasn't meant to be a separate one. So, this chapter has to start as awkwardly as the previous one ended. Sorry about that!)

"But I'm sworn to protect the state, and I wouldn't be doing my job if I'm to break the law for my personal interests," Shevaldin spoke solemnly in his low baritone voice, "Even if you are just half a chink, you still cannot walk around without a collar in this country. You know the law, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Barbara replied briefly without raising her face from the general's foot. She stretched her neck to trace the leather surface with her tongue while carefully avoiding to taste the mud-coated rubber below the line.

"And I'm sorry that you had to endure this pigsty, my dear," he said in a softer voice as if he was still talking to a daughter of his friend rather than to a naked slave grovelling at his feet.

"I like your kind, Barbara. I keep a few in my house, and I don't even whip them that much. They are all very docile and naturally obedient... unlike how you were before I sent you here." Shevaldin sighed and watched Barbara toiling at her work with regret.

"I was determined to save you, Barbara. But I couldn't let you become a bad influence on my good house slaves," Shevaldin spoke almost apologetically. He paused to lift his shoe to present its sole to Barbara's face and asked, "You needed a lesson first, to lean your proper place. You are not mad at me for that, I hope?"

The ground was all wet as they hosed down the whole shaft in preparation for the general's visit. It cleared the dust cloud and made the stench somewhat more bearable. But without a proper drain, it only made the floor messy swamp of mud, coal dust, and our excretions.

Prostrating on the wet ground, Barbara just stared at the dripping rubber until Shevaldin impatiently shook his shoe in front of her nose.

"...No, sir," Answering the loaded question in a shaken voice, Barbara finally mustered enough courage to swallow her aversion - both psychological and physical - and began to lick the slime off the general's sole.

"Good girl," Shevaldin relaxed his expression and complimented, "they have taught you well, Barbara. It looks like sending you here was a good idea, after all."

"Thank you, general," Sokolov's voice suddenly interluded from behind, "We keep our slaves obedient and diligent at all times, sir." The grovelling manager took a step closer to the general with a grovelling smile, half expecting a compliment.

Shevaldin raised his eyebrows but didn't reprimand Sokolov's untimely interruption. "Forgive my manners," the general spoke in a calm voice, ". You are right, Sokolov, she's still your slave."

Barbara quickly crawled to chased the shoe as he turned, only to see it plunged again into the mud, invalidating her efforts so far. Shevaldin raised his other foot to tap Barbara's cheek, signalling her to move on to the other side.

"Maybe we better deal with that problem now," Shevaldin said to the manager, as he watched Barbara mounting his shoe again. She didn't have to touch herself this time, however, to start covering the leather with glistening trails.

"But sir," Sokolov held his hands uncomfortably together and protested meekly, "it's against the law to privately own a D-grader." After surveying the general's countenance, he quickly added, "Of course, I know that you can make an exception to the rules when it's deemed necessary, sir."

"You are truly hopeless, Sokolov," Shevaldin shook his head in irritation as he spoke, "Who said that I'm above the law?"

But I know that Sokolov was right in assuming that Shevaldin has enough power to ignore a few minor laws if he truly wanted. Translavia has never been a democratic state, but since the war broke out, the military took control of everything, including political power. Sokolov is not a military man, but as the head of a government-owned facility, his position could become a precarious one, in case he falls out of favour of the military. The three shining stars on the general's black beret reveal that he wields such power that can make Sokolov's life miserable if he wanted to use it that way.

"But you don't have to worry. I assure you that I do not intend to violate any law today," Shevaldin put his hand upon the manager's shoulder and asked, "Tell me, Sokolov. How much do you pay to procure a D-grader these days?"

"It's 350 rinars for twenty, sir." After an awkward silence, a voice finally rescued Sokolov from humiliation when it became clear that he doesn't know the answer. I recognized it to be Alex's and assumed the office workers also came down to greet the general.

It's no wonder why they can be so ruthless when they punish us sometimes, considering how expendable we are. I didn't know that I'm only slightly more expensive than a car tyre before. Still, it's understandable how we can be so cheap since it's only the government that can purchase us, and we usually don't live that long anyway.

"Then I will pay 400 rinars for just this one slave. And I don't care how you'll record that in your account book. Would that make you happy, Sokolov?" The general asked the manager as he pulled four 100 rinar bills out of the wallet and shook them in front of his face. It was an offer that he can hardly refuse. For who wouldn't exchange a single tyre with a used car, even if it's the cheapest one?

"Of course, general," Sokolov immediately lightened his countenance as he took the bills and shove them inside his pocket, "I would be happy to help you conduct your business, sir," he replied with a sheepish smile.

"So you are not concerned about how I'm going to take a D-grader out of here anymore?" Shevaldin let out a wry smile as he scoffed at the manager, "But you don't have to worry about that anyway, Sokolov, because that's why I asked my good old friend to come along." With his words, the general turned back and gestured towards the entrance as he called, "Vadim! Come here, friend. Now she's all yours."

(Sorry, I have to end a chapter in an arbitrary place again for it became too long to post. But the rest was already written, and it only needs a spell check. So, expect to see it posted in a few hours - I suppose I need to drink some coffee before that as I found that my grasp of the English grammar is in a direct proportion to the caffeine concentration level in my blood.)

 

[fallenmystic]

Of Apes and Women - Part 18

There was a commotion down the corridor as a man wearing a doctor's gown pushed himself out of the rows of overseers blocking the entrance to the shaft. The man whom the Shevaldin called "Vadim" was a bald little man who gave almost comical contrast to the general. Even though they acted like friends, Vadim looked much older than Shevaldin, who was also a head taller and in much better shape than him.

As he approached the general carrying an oversized leather bag, I recognized a big patch on its chest that depicts a branding iron and a collar, which instantly sent a chill down my spine.

It was the same logo I saw from the man who determined my fate by ordering me to stand in line with other rejects to be branded with the letter 'D'. I remember it so well because it was the last day of my life when I still wore clothes as a girl and the first time that I had to bare my still shy womanhood before a man, as a slave animal under inspection.

"I still don't understand why you insisted on bringing me here," Vadim grumbled as he put down his bag near Barbara, "I don't know why you are suddenly so hell-bent on decorating your house with one of those chimpanzees. But I've already told you, Dmitry, I won't risk my career and reputation to indulge your whims."

Shevaldin reassured the man with a cordial smile, "Of course, I wouldn't ask any such thing from my friend, Vadim." He raised his hand to pat Barbara's head as he said, "Just do your work as you would with any other chinks, that's all I ask."

"Is that the one you want me to examine?" Vadim asked as he watched Barbara with disgust, who was still humping Shevaldin's shoe since nobody told her to stop.

"Yes, it's my Barbara, and I already own it!" The general proudly declared to Vadim, and gave an order to his newly bought slave, "That is enough, chink. Go present yourself to the gentleman over there."

"Yes, sir," Barbara answered demurely and began to crawl to Vadim as she was ordered.

"No, no. It's not that, Barbara!" Shevaldin raised his voice and suddenly grabbed her collar from behind. "It's no longer 'sir' as you've become my property, remember?" he reprimanded Barbara as yanked her up violently with a strong hand.

"Please... forgive this cunt... Master," Barbara barely made a reply as she was choked by her own collar. As soon as the general released his grip, she threw herself prostrated on the ground and bowed deeply to her new owner.

"Come here, chink. Quick!" Vadim called for Barbara as he impatiently tapped a spot on the ground with his foot. Watching her crawling towards him, he took a pair of surgical gloves from the bag and put them on as he asked Shevaldin, "Fine, I'm going to indulge your whims this time, Dmitry. But this one is already branded, isn't it?"

"Isn't it possible to change the grade of a slave by having it examined by a certified professional? And I know that you are almost the best chink physiologist in this country," the general pulled out a smartphone and swiped the screen for a while as he talked. "And you don't have to start from the beginning at least, because the basics are covered already," Shevaldin said as he handed it to his friend.

I assumed it was Barbara's entry on the slave registry that he showed to Vadim. Aside from the photo archive of each slave, the page also includes her DNA test result: a crucial aspect to consider, when it comes to determining a slave's grade.

"You owe me big time, Dmitry, not just for dragging me down to this pigsty on Sunday, but also for saying 'almost' when you know who I am," Vadim complained as he took the smartphone from the general's hand.

Scrolling through the entry, Vadim turned to Barbara and commanded her to stand. "No, no, stupid cunt, not like that!" he barked at Barbara as she moved her hands behind her head, "Just stretch your arms to the side, like the letter 'Dà(大)'. You chinks must all know Chinese, right?"

I don't know any Chinese letters, but Barbara's family happened to be from that region indeed. I'm not sure if she understood what he meant because few still speak that language here, but Vadim didn't complain when he saw Barbara spread her legs widely apart and stretched her arms parallel to the ground.

"40% Chinese, 28% Eastern European, 5% Scandinavian? Not bad for a chink, at least there's no Polynesian or Sub-Saharan trash in the blood," Vadim nodded in approval as he returned the phone and grabbed Barbara's chin to inspect her face in detail.

"Right, this chink isn't a D-grade material," he knitted his brows and murmured while tracing the contour of her face with his other hand, "it's got no collapsed nose bridge, enlarged nostrils, or receding chin like some of those monkey breeds have." Vadim released Barbara and took a step back. After inspecting her body for a while, he exclaimed with excitement, "I would even say that this one has some ideal features of an upper-end chink. No, this must be at least a B-grade one, who was the moron that gave it a 'D'?"

"Let's talk about that later, but will you just finish your job, Vadim?" Shevaldin interjected impatiently, probably not feeling comfortable at his remark, being the one who ordered to put that letter on Barbara's breast. I noticed Sokolov fidgetting his hands with as much uncomfortable face as Shevaldin's. I don't know how much a B-grade girl cost in the slave market, but I bet it must be way more expensive than 400 rinars.

"Don't press me, Dmitry. You don't want me to make a hasty decision on your shiny new toy, do you?" With his words, Vadim opened his bag and took out various tools to lay them on the ground. I recognized callipers and thick tapered cylinders of different sizes, similar to the ones they used to measure my sex at the training camp.

"Look at those legs.. they are not so stunted as typical of those chinks," he admired Barbara's long slender legs as he extended his tape measure from the sole of her feet until it touched her bushes. After he measured Barbara's arms from the tip of her fingers to her armpit in a similar manner, Vadim recorded typed in the numbers to his phone.

Barbara stood immobile like a mannequin, as Vadim wrapped the measure around her waist, hips, and even thighs and neck, before proceeding to her chest area. We don't wear any clothes, but we have many more crucial body measures than human females that can even determine how much our lives are worth.

"You should feel lucky Dmitry, as it looks like this one's udders are still adequate in size," Vadim said as he wrapped the measure around Barbara's chest. "See how pathetically tiny those lumps of flesh that the other chinks have here?" he continued while measuring the distance between Barbara's nipples, "Of course, most purebred monkeys have small udders, to begin with. But it doesn't take long before they shrink even further until they disappear when you throw them in a place like this."

Vadim was not wrong in saying that. Now I have just enough flesh in my breasts to make them sound a bit differently from my back when they get whipped. Even though Vadim doesn't visit a place like this often (which was evident by how he frowned and wrinkled his nose every time he came close to Barbara), he is an expert on chinks, so he must know what feeding only food wastes to a chink can do to its body over time.

After recording how far are Barbara's nipples positioned from her shoulders, Vadim put down the tape measure on the ground and picked up a mid-sized calliper from the floor instead.

"This chink looks to have quite large discs there," Vadim said as he adjusted the tips to match the diameter of Barbara's areola. "But I wouldn't call it a defect, considering it's pretty tall and has larger udders than a typical chink."

Vadim adjusted his calliper again to fit Barbara's nipple. But he only measured its diameter after making sure that it is sufficiently erect by kneading it with his fingers for a while. I could feel the efforts Barbara was putting to avoid making any sound from the twitching of muscles on her buttocks.

The inspector nodded approvingly as he read the ticks and remarked, "I'll have to request you to let me ride this cunt sometimes. Will you do that for a good bottle of wine, Dmitry?"

"Only if it's a vintage one," Shevaldin replied complacently, apparently satisfied at how the examination is going.

Giving his friend an appreciative nod, Vadim suddenly slapped Barbara's breast hard from the side. It wasn't like such a vicious full swing as the overseers usually gave us when we failed to please them. But the unexpectedness of the blow was enough to make her jolt with a shrill cry. And like most of us, Barbara's breasts were as much covered with welts and bruises as with mud and dust, which must have made it more intolerable to her.

But it wasn't with any sexual purpose that Vadim hit her like that. After alternatingly slapping both of Barbara's breasts for a while, ignoring her whimpering and moans, he grabbed her nipples to lift them and let them fall again. Vadim carefully repeated the process to see their elasticity.

"Hop!" the inspector ordered bluntly, but Barbara stood bewildered at the sudden command.

"ARRGH!" she collapsed on the ground with a cry, as soon as a reverberating slap shook the cave. The intention was unmistakable this time. It meant to hurt its recipient, and it fulfilled the purpose perfectly well.

"Get up, you stupid chink!" Vadim kicked Barbara's butt as she was writhing in the mud while clutching her breast. Shevaldin raised his eyebrows but didn't stop his friend.

"Quick! Hop and jiggle your udders until I tell you to stop!" Vadim ordered again after pulling Barbara to her feet by her leash. She managed to comply, just before he was about to give her another slap. Many overseers stole a glimpse at Barbara to admire her full breasts bouncing and jiggling with each hop. Barbara doesn't have huge breasts like some of the white girls, but it was enough to amaze them who are accustomed to seeing withered chinks like us.

Vadim only ordered her to stop when Barbara had been shaking her breasts well over a minute. Flushing her face with exhaustion and shame, she breathed roughly as the inspector took a laminated sheet of paper from his bag. Her breasts rose and fell in a short interval until Vadim grab the left one to hold it near the chart. Upon the page, rows of circles were printed in different colours, sorted from bright pink at the top to nearly black shade at the bottom.

"Have you heard that they are cross-breeding Indian chinks with lighter-skinned ones?" Vadim mused to his friend as he moved the chart that Barbara's nipples were close to its centre. "Those monkeys from India are such an odd breed. Many of them have all the right features of a decent looking human female, except for that disgusting skin colour," he chuckled, "you have to see how some of those chinks have almost black nipples, like some raisins."

Several heads turned towards Raisin who was obediently kneeling besides Flabby at the corner. She hung her head low at his words but didn't dare to cover her prominent dark areolas.

Not noticing the effect of his unintentionally cutting remark, Vadim kept moving the paper up as he searched for the tint that matches Barbara's skin perfectly.

"Hmm, this one has pretty dark nipples," Vadim remarked, as he squinted his eyes to read the number written beneath a circle near the bottom. "I would normally give a low score for that, but I assume it's just because cunts don't bathe here, and it's a coal mine after all."

With his words, Vadim suddenly lowered his hand to reach between Barbara's legs. I saw the muscles upon her buttocks tensing, as she jolted her hip upward.

"Normally, a chink's nipples have similar tint as its labia. It's the same with human females," Vadim said as he stretched Barbara's lips with his fingers. "I'll just give it the same score as its labia colour," he turned to Shevaldin and added, "I think I can do that much favour for you, without risking my reputation." The general nodded with an approving smile, as his friend twisted Barbara's wrinkled folds to reveal the spot where the dust layer is thin.

After finding a proper shade from the middle of the chart, Vadim gave an order to prepare Barbara for the final tests. As soon as Barbara heard the word 'inspect', she threw herself on the muddy ground and raised her legs high. She parted her thighs widely apart and turned her face to the side, as we were trained by many repetitions and as many whippings. It was the pose that can be used for inspection and punishment, both of which constitute a daily routine for a D-grade slave.

"I would normally begin with the responsiveness test," he applied lubricant to his fingers as he spoke to the general, "but I suppose it'd be meaningless when it was humping your feet just minutes ago." With his words, he pushed his fingers deep into Barbara's fully exposed vagina. I could see her toes curl as she desperately tried to suppress a moan.

I recalled how I received the test and shuddered. It was the first time that I had to strip naked in public, not to mention having a stranger's fingers inside my vagina. I assume it was the same for most of the girls who had to crouch on a long table in line beside me, our heads hung low with shame and shock. We had to wait with our girlhood so vulgarly exposed for the first time, shuddering and sobbing as we heard humiliating moans from the girl receiving the test.

When the man wearing the same patch as Vadim's finally walked in front of me, I couldn't think of anything else but burning shame and fear. My parents had a very conservative view of sex, and they never even allowed me to wear a short skirt. As such, displaying my most shameful body part to a complete stranger was such an utter degradation that I hadn't even imagine that could happen to a girl before.

I was too shocked to understand what was happening when the man curled his hand like a claw and suddenly pushed two of his fingers deep into my tunnel, holding me tightly from inside. I screamed and cried with pain that I hardly felt his thumb lifting my hood and started to rub my feminine core in a circular motion.

Everything was fuzzy after that. I think I heard the inspector commenting how tight I was, and I vaguely remember how he had to slap my face and breasts repeatedly during the test because I kept wailing and pleading him to stop. He ordered me to "bite" several times between the slappings, but I didn't even understand what he meant by that.

Later I learned that it was to see how responsive our sex organ is. With his fingers inside us, the inspector can check how fast we can wet ourselves, and how vigorously our internal muscles would contract upon stimulation. I knew I performed very poorly, as he wrote "1/5" above my mound before he moved to the girl next to me.

As our rights as a citizen had long been revoked, but as we were not yet registered slaves at that time, we didn't have any paper or identification numbers. As such, they just scribbled our test scores all over our body until they added up those numbers after the final test to calculate our grades, and branded us accordingly.

I sometimes wonder I would have gotten a better grade if I had performed better during the test. I don't know why I had to make such a big deal out of having my cunt examined like that. It's not long after that I learned fingers are not the worst things that I should expect to receive in my cunt, after all.

But maybe it didn't really matter since I got quite poor scores for my facial features as well. And I heard that they are much more important than what our cunts can do when it comes to becoming a C-grader, which is rarely used for a sexual purpose anyway.

"What is that?" Vadim's voice brought me back to reality. I saw him pulling his fingers from Barbara and spread her wide to let the light inside the cavity.

"Cigarette marks?" Vadim exclaims as he shook his head, "What moron does such a thing to an expensive slave?" The inspector grumbled as he picked up a small calliper to measure Barbara's intricate womanhood.

Nobody spoke except Vadim, as the general was too busy admiring Barbara's naked body while the others didn't dare to, but I felt the air stirring at his words. Of course, a B-grade slave is much more expensive than several of us combined. But it's more like we are dirt cheap than their price was unreasonably high. They are affordable enough, after all, so most of them are owned by ordinary people as sex toys.

But Vadim is far from being an ordinary inspector. Would he call a common B-grader as "expensive"? I don't understand why, but I felt my heart racing at the thought.

Despite my growing impatience, Vadim still had a few tests remaining before he could give me an answer to my unspoken question. After measuring the diameter of her opening, and the thickness of different parts of her labia, he put down the calliper and picked up a different instrument from the ground.

It was the larger of the two conical cylinders he took out from his bag earlier. At the one end, its tip is just as large as the size of a 10 rumens coin. But if you move your eyes towards the other end, it becomes increasingly thicker until it's slightly larger than an ordinary man's fist. Despite its thickness, it's no more than 10 centimetres in length. And like a ruler, its surface was covered with many small parallel lines, accompanied by numbers at regular intervals.

Barbara has shown remarkable resolve in enduring the public examination so far. Still, she couldn't help squealing like a wild animal and pleading Vadim to stop, when he pushed the cylinder deep inside her using both of his hands. He even leaned over to add the weight of his chest, ignoring Barbara's frantic wailing and flaying of her legs.

As the female body can be quite flexible in that particular area, they are supposed to push the cylinder until they can do it no more without tearing the skin, when they measure the diameter of the opening. When Vadim finally stopped, about two-thirds of the cylinder had disappeared into Barbara's tightly stretched sex.

It's one of the very few tests that I got a high score from. I remember how the inspector wrote "5/5" upon my gaping lips when he decided it was not possible to push it more than half of its length without tearing my sex.

Of course, it was mostly because I have a petite frame that I got such a tight vagina. However, I'm not sure that I would get any better mark than Barbara if I was to be tested again now, even though she is much taller than me and also has a broader hip than mine.

Barbara's ordeal only ended after Vadim repeated the process by sticking the smaller cylinder into her rear entry, which was pretty well used by now. Barbara no longer has any qualms about serving with both of her holes, but she still couldn't hold retching when she was given both of the cylinders to lick clean before Vadim returned them to his bag.

Leaving whimpering Barbara on the ground, Vadim stood up and began to move his fingers busily over his phone.

"Can you believe I had to do it by hand when they first made this scorecard?" Vadim spoke without lifting his eyes from the screen, raising his eyebrows a few times.

After a while, Vadim finally put his phone back into his pocket without a word. Picking up the bag from the ground, he walked up to Shevaldin, who was impatiently waiting for his final verdict.

"Congratulation, Dmitry. Now you're an owner of an A-grade slave," Vadim spoke as he patted the general on the back.

(To be continued...)

 

[TortureECT]

Of Apes and Women - Part 18

There was a commotion down the corridor as a man wearing a doctor's gown pushed himself out of the rows of overseers blocking the entrance to the shaft. The man whom the Shevaldin called "Vadim" was a bald little man who gave almost comical contrast to the general. Even though they acted like friends, Vadim looked much older than Shevaldin, who was also a head taller and in much better shape than him.

As he approached the general carrying an oversized leather bag, I recognized a big patch on its chest that depicts a branding iron and a collar, which instantly sent a chill down my spine.

It was the same logo I saw from the man who determined my fate by ordering me to stand in line with other rejects to be branded with the letter 'D'. I remember it so well because it was the last day of my life when I still wore clothes as a girl and the first time that I had to bare my still shy womanhood before a man, as a slave animal under inspection.

"I still don't understand why you insisted on bringing me here," Vadim grumbled as he put down his bag near Barbara, "I don't know why you are suddenly so hell-bent on decorating your house with one of those chimpanzees. But I've already told you, Dmitry, I won't risk my career and reputation to indulge your whims."

Shevaldin reassured the man with a cordial smile, "Of course, I wouldn't ask any such thing from my friend, Vadim." He raised his hand to pat Barbara's head as he said, "Just do your work as you would with any other chinks, that's all I ask."

"Is that the one you want me to examine?" Vadim asked as he watched Barbara with disgust, who was still humping Shevaldin's shoe since nobody told her to stop.

"Yes, it's my Barbara, and I already own it!" The general proudly declared to Vadim, and gave an order to his newly bought slave, "That is enough, chink. Go present yourself to the gentleman over there."

"Yes, sir," Barbara answered demurely and began to crawl to Vadim as she was ordered.

"No, no. It's not that, Barbara!" Shevaldin raised his voice and suddenly grabbed her collar from behind. "It's no longer 'sir' as you've become my property, remember?" he reprimanded Barbara as yanked her up violently with a strong hand.

"Please... forgive this cunt... Master," Barbara barely made a reply as she was choked by her own collar. As soon as the general released his grip, she threw herself prostrated on the ground and bowed deeply to her new owner.

"Come here, chink. Quick!" Vadim called for Barbara as he impatiently tapped a spot on the ground with his foot. Watching her crawling towards him, he took a pair of surgical gloves from the bag and put them on as he asked Shevaldin, "Fine, I'm going to indulge your whims this time, Dmitry. But this one is already branded, isn't it?"

"Isn't it possible to change the grade of a slave by having it examined by a certified professional? And I know that you are almost the best chink physiologist in this country," the general pulled out a smartphone and swiped the screen for a while as he talked. "And you don't have to start from the beginning at least, because the basics are covered already," Shevaldin said as he handed it to his friend.

I assumed it was Barbara's entry on the slave registry that he showed to Vadim. Aside from the photo archive of each slave, the page also includes her DNA test result: a crucial aspect to consider, when it comes to determining a slave's grade.

"You owe me big time, Dmitry, not just for dragging me down to this pigsty on Sunday, but also for saying 'almost' when you know who I am," Vadim complained as he took the smartphone from the general's hand.

Scrolling through the entry, Vadim turned to Barbara and commanded her to stand. "No, no, stupid cunt, not like that!" he barked at Barbara as she moved her hands behind her head, "Just stretch your arms to the side, like the letter 'Dà(大)'. You chinks must all know Chinese, right?"

I don't know any Chinese letters, but Barbara's family happened to be from that region indeed. I'm not sure if she understood what he meant because few still speak that language here, but Vadim didn't complain when he saw Barbara spread her legs widely apart and stretched her arms parallel to the ground.

"40% Chinese, 28% Eastern European, 5% Scandinavian? Not bad for a chink, at least there's no Polynesian or Sub-Saharan trash in the blood," Vadim nodded in approval as he returned the phone and grabbed Barbara's chin to inspect her face in detail.

"Right, this chink isn't a D-grade material," he knitted his brows and murmured while tracing the contour of her face with his other hand, "it's got no collapsed nose bridge, enlarged nostrils, or receding chin like some of those monkey breeds have." Vadim released Barbara and took a step back. After inspecting her body for a while, he exclaimed with excitement, "I would even say that this one has some ideal features of an upper-end chink. No, this must be at least a B-grade one, who was the moron that gave it a 'D'?"

"Let's talk about that later, but will you just finish your job, Vadim?" Shevaldin interjected impatiently, probably not feeling comfortable at his remark, being the one who ordered to put that letter on Barbara's breast. I noticed Sokolov fidgetting his hands with as much uncomfortable face as Shevaldin's. I don't know how much a B-grade girl cost in the slave market, but I bet it must be way more expensive than 400 rinars.

"Don't press me, Dmitry. You don't want me to make a hasty decision on your shiny new toy, do you?" With his words, Vadim opened his bag and took out various tools to lay them on the ground. I recognized callipers and thick tapered cylinders of different sizes, similar to the ones they used to measure my sex at the training camp.

"Look at those legs.. they are not so stunted as typical of those chinks," he admired Barbara's long slender legs as he extended his tape measure from the sole of her feet until it touched her bushes. After he measured Barbara's arms from the tip of her fingers to her armpit in a similar manner, Vadim recorded typed in the numbers to his phone.

Barbara stood immobile like a mannequin, as Vadim wrapped the measure around her waist, hips, and even thighs and neck, before proceeding to her chest area. We don't wear any clothes, but we have many more crucial body measures than human females that can even determine how much our lives are worth.

"You should feel lucky Dmitry, as it looks like this one's udders are still adequate in size," Vadim said as he wrapped the measure around Barbara's chest. "See how pathetically tiny those lumps of flesh that the other chinks have here?" he continued while measuring the distance between Barbara's nipples, "Of course, most purebred monkeys have small udders, to begin with. But it doesn't take long before they shrink even further until they disappear when you throw them in a place like this."

Vadim was not wrong in saying that. Now I have just enough flesh in my breasts to make them sound a bit differently from my back when they get whipped. Even though Vadim doesn't visit a place like this often (which was evident by how he frowned and wrinkled his nose every time he came close to Barbara), he is an expert on chinks, so he must know what feeding only food wastes to a chink can do to its body over time.

After recording how far are Barbara's nipples positioned from her shoulders, Vadim put down the tape measure on the ground and picked up a mid-sized calliper from the floor instead.

"This chink looks to have quite large discs there," Vadim said as he adjusted the tips to match the diameter of Barbara's areola. "But I wouldn't call it a defect, considering it's pretty tall and has larger udders than a typical chink."

Vadim adjusted his calliper again to fit Barbara's nipple. But he only measured its diameter after making sure that it is sufficiently erect by kneading it with his fingers for a while. I could feel the efforts Barbara was putting to avoid making any sound from the twitching of muscles on her buttocks.

The inspector nodded approvingly as he read the ticks and remarked, "I'll have to request you to let me ride this cunt sometimes. Will you do that for a good bottle of wine, Dmitry?"

"Only if it's a vintage one," Shevaldin replied complacently, apparently satisfied at how the examination is going.

Giving his friend an appreciative nod, Vadim suddenly slapped Barbara's breast hard from the side. It wasn't like such a vicious full swing as the overseers usually gave us when we failed to please them. But the unexpectedness of the blow was enough to make her jolt with a shrill cry. And like most of us, Barbara's breasts were as much covered with welts and bruises as with mud and dust, which must have made it more intolerable to her.

But it wasn't with any sexual purpose that Vadim hit her like that. After alternatingly slapping both of Barbara's breasts for a while, ignoring her whimpering and moans, he grabbed her nipples to lift them and let them fall again. Vadim carefully repeated the process to see their elasticity.

"Hop!" the inspector ordered bluntly, but Barbara stood bewildered at the sudden command.

"ARRGH!" she collapsed on the ground with a cry, as soon as a reverberating slap shook the cave. The intention was unmistakable this time. It meant to hurt its recipient, and it fulfilled the purpose perfectly well.

"Get up, you stupid chink!" Vadim kicked Barbara's butt as she was writhing in the mud while clutching her breast. Shevaldin raised his eyebrows but didn't stop his friend.

"Quick! Hop and jiggle your udders until I tell you to stop!" Vadim ordered again after pulling Barbara to her feet by her leash. She managed to comply, just before he was about to give her another slap. Many overseers stole a glimpse at Barbara to admire her full breasts bouncing and jiggling with each hop. Barbara doesn't have huge breasts like some of the white girls, but it was enough to amaze them who are accustomed to seeing withered chinks like us.

Vadim only ordered her to stop when Barbara had been shaking her breasts well over a minute. Flushing her face with exhaustion and shame, she breathed roughly as the inspector took a laminated sheet of paper from his bag. Her breasts rose and fell in a short interval until Vadim grab the left one to hold it near the chart. Upon the page, rows of circles were printed in different colours, sorted from bright pink at the top to nearly black shade at the bottom.

"Have you heard that they are cross-breeding Indian chinks with lighter-skinned ones?" Vadim mused to his friend as he moved the chart that Barbara's nipples were close to its centre. "Those monkeys from India are such an odd breed. Many of them have all the right features of a decent looking human female, except for that disgusting skin colour," he chuckled, "you have to see how some of those chinks have almost black nipples, like some raisins."

Several heads turned towards Raisin who was obediently kneeling besides Flabby at the corner. She hung her head low at his words but didn't dare to cover her prominent dark areolas.

Not noticing the effect of his unintentionally cutting remark, Vadim kept moving the paper up as he searched for the tint that matches Barbara's skin perfectly.

"Hmm, this one has pretty dark nipples," Vadim remarked, as he squinted his eyes to read the number written beneath a circle near the bottom. "I would normally give a low score for that, but I assume it's just because cunts don't bathe here, and it's a coal mine after all."

With his words, Vadim suddenly lowered his hand to reach between Barbara's legs. I saw the muscles upon her buttocks tensing, as she jolted her hip upward.

"Normally, a chink's nipples have similar tint as its labia. It's the same with human females," Vadim said as he stretched Barbara's lips with his fingers. "I'll just give it the same score as its labia colour," he turned to Shevaldin and added, "I think I can do that much favour for you, without risking my reputation." The general nodded with an approving smile, as his friend twisted Barbara's wrinkled folds to reveal the spot where the dust layer is thin.

After finding a proper shade from the middle of the chart, Vadim gave an order to prepare Barbara for the final tests. As soon as Barbara heard the word 'inspect', she threw herself on the muddy ground and raised her legs high. She parted her thighs widely apart and turned her face to the side, as we were trained by many repetitions and as many whippings. It was the pose that can be used for inspection and punishment, both of which constitute a daily routine for a D-grade slave.

"I would normally begin with the responsiveness test," he applied lubricant to his fingers as he spoke to the general, "but I suppose it'd be meaningless when it was humping your feet just minutes ago." With his words, he pushed his fingers deep into Barbara's fully exposed vagina. I could see her toes curl as she desperately tried to suppress a moan.

I recalled how I received the test and shuddered. It was the first time that I had to strip naked in public, not to mention having a stranger's fingers inside my vagina. I assume it was the same for most of the girls who had to crouch on a long table in line beside me, our heads hung low with shame and shock. We had to wait with our girlhood so vulgarly exposed for the first time, shuddering and sobbing as we heard humiliating moans from the girl receiving the test.

When the man wearing the same patch as Vadim's finally walked in front of me, I couldn't think of anything else but burning shame and fear. My parents had a very conservative view of sex, and they never even allowed me to wear a short skirt. As such, displaying my most shameful body part to a complete stranger was such an utter degradation that I hadn't even imagine that could happen to a girl before.

I was too shocked to understand what was happening when the man curled his hand like a claw and suddenly pushed two of his fingers deep into my tunnel, holding me tightly from inside. I screamed and cried with pain that I hardly felt his thumb lifting my hood and started to rub my feminine core in a circular motion.

Everything was fuzzy after that. I think I heard the inspector commenting how tight I was, and I vaguely remember how he had to slap my face and breasts repeatedly during the test because I kept wailing and pleading him to stop. He ordered me to "bite" several times between the slappings, but I didn't even understand what he meant by that.

Later I learned that it was to see how responsive our sex organ is. With his fingers inside us, the inspector can check how fast we can wet ourselves, and how vigorously our internal muscles would contract upon stimulation. I knew I performed very poorly, as he wrote "1/5" above my mound before he moved to the girl next to me.

As our rights as a citizen had long been revoked, but as we were not yet registered slaves at that time, we didn't have any paper or identification numbers. As such, they just scribbled our test scores all over our body until they added up those numbers after the final test to calculate our grades, and branded us accordingly.

I sometimes wonder I would have gotten a better grade if I had performed better during the test. I don't know why I had to make such a big deal out of having my cunt examined like that. It's not long after that I learned fingers are not the worst things that I should expect to receive in my cunt, after all.

But maybe it didn't really matter since I got quite poor scores for my facial features as well. And I heard that they are much more important than what our cunts can do when it comes to becoming a C-grader, which is rarely used for a sexual purpose anyway.

"What is that?" Vadim's voice brought me back to reality. I saw him pulling his fingers from Barbara and spread her wide to let the light inside the cavity.

"Cigarette marks?" Vadim exclaims as he shook his head, "What moron does such a thing to an expensive slave?" The inspector grumbled as he picked up a small calliper to measure Barbara's intricate womanhood.

Nobody spoke except Vadim, as the general was too busy admiring Barbara's naked body while the others didn't dare to, but I felt the air stirring at his words. Of course, a B-grade slave is much more expensive than several of us combined. But it's more like we are dirt cheap than their price was unreasonably high. They are affordable enough, after all, so most of them are owned by ordinary people as sex toys.

But Vadim is far from being an ordinary inspector. Would he call a common B-grader as "expensive"? I don't understand why, but I felt my heart racing at the thought.

Despite my growing impatience, Vadim still had a few tests remaining before he could give me an answer to my unspoken question. After measuring the diameter of her opening, and the thickness of different parts of her labia, he put down the calliper and picked up a different instrument from the ground.

It was the larger of the two conical cylinders he took out from his bag earlier. At the one end, its tip is just as large as the size of a 10 rumens coin. But if you move your eyes towards the other end, it becomes increasingly thicker until it's slightly larger than an ordinary man's fist. Despite its thickness, it's no more than 10 centimetres in length. And like a ruler, its surface was covered with many small parallel lines, accompanied by numbers at regular intervals.

Barbara has shown remarkable resolve in enduring the public examination so far. Still, she couldn't help squealing like a wild animal and pleading Vadim to stop, when he pushed the cylinder deep inside her using both of his hands. He even leaned over to add the weight of his chest, ignoring Barbara's frantic wailing and flaying of her legs.

As the female body can be quite flexible in that particular area, they are supposed to push the cylinder until they can do it no more without tearing the skin, when they measure the diameter of the opening. When Vadim finally stopped, about two-thirds of the cylinder had disappeared into Barbara's tightly stretched sex.

It's one of the very few tests that I got a high score from. I remember how the inspector wrote "5/5" upon my gaping lips when he decided it was not possible to push it more than half of its length without tearing my sex.

Of course, it was mostly because I have a petite frame that I got such a tight vagina. However, I'm not sure that I would get any better mark than Barbara if I was to be tested again now, even though she is much taller than me and also has a broader hip than mine.

Barbara's ordeal only ended after Vadim repeated the process by sticking the smaller cylinder into her rear entry, which was pretty well used by now. Barbara no longer has any qualms about serving with both of her holes, but she still couldn't hold retching when she was given both of the cylinders to lick clean before Vadim returned them to his bag.

Leaving whimpering Barbara on the ground, Vadim stood up and began to move his fingers busily over his phone.

"Can you believe I had to do it by hand when they first made this scorecard?" Vadim spoke without lifting his eyes from the screen, raising his eyebrows a few times.

After a while, Vadim finally put his phone back into his pocket without a word. Picking up the bag from the ground, he walked up to Shevaldin, who was impatiently waiting for his final verdict.

"Congratulation, Dmitry. Now you're an owner of an A-grade slave," Vadim spoke as he patted the general on the back.

(To be continued...)

thanks

 

[jamiesonwk]

It looks like my story won't get much attraction outside the few you've been so kindly following and liking it so far.

It's fine with me really, although I'd be lying if I say I wouldn't have loved it if my story was more popular. Still, I'm already enjoying much - probably too much - writing this story. I tried to write a few short stories in my native language before but it was mostly a painful process to me. So I was quite surprised when I found myself almost obsessively keep writing more episodes as soon as I started writing a BDSM story in English.

Of course, it doesn't mean the story is very good but I'm enjoying it greatly which has been helping me to go on.

Anyway, I'd still like to ask a question here. If my story is not that popular among people, is it more because of my writing skills or of its themes (i.e. racism, urination/defacation, etc)?

I can't help with the theme because these elements are probably what have contributed to the appeal that I'm feeling from my own story. But as to my writing skills, I can try to improve if there are specific problems you could point out. For example, I think that my story doesn't read as fluidly as those from more accomplished writers here for some reason. And I feel that my story feels a bit cringe at times but I can't put my finger on the cause exactly.

As such, I'd like to hear more criticism in both of the aspects. Even if I can't do much about the theme, it'd still give me a valuable insight on what elements the readers in CF like and what they don't. It's difficult to see such things when you have peculiar quirks in your own preferences in such stories.

Fallen Mystic,
I only discovered your story 4 years later - after your AI images caught my attention. I love it, and hope very much you have written more. Really don't understand your worries about your English. As to the number of followers, you have to know that pictures are immensely more attractive for a lot, but written words have enduring charm and can be slow to gather fans. But words have enduring power, and are not affected by the newest technologies such as AI picture composition making older versions of pictures out of date!
Write on!

 

[fallenmystic]

Fallen Mystic,
I only discovered your story 4 years later - after your AI images caught my attention. I love it, and hope very much you have written more. Really don't understand your worries about your English. As to the number of followers, you have to know that pictures are immensely more attractive for a lot, but written words have enduring charm and can be slow to gather fans. But words have enduring power, and are not affected by the newest technologies such as AI picture composition making older versions of pictures out of date!
Write on!

In our world, there are things deeply buried under the blissful oblivion of time that better be left untouched, like mummies in a forgotten pyramid, vampires in their coffins, or that mosquito those scientists dug up in Jurassic Park, and also, something like this thread.

I like reading good stories and hope to write one someday. And the image of squalid naked female slaves toiling like an animal in a Tiboolian mine remains my favourite theme still.

But I can't help revisiting what I created in my first-ever attempt to write a fiction in English without feeling immense embarrasement and cringe. And my personal life has been in turmoil for the past half a year, so I'm afraid I won't be able to find enough time to try my hands in writing a story in a forseeable future.

That being said, I've been working on and off on a hobby project not entirely unrelated to this story, though. I've been learning and experimenting with bits that would help me build a BDSM sandbox someday, which will allow me to experience something like Tibool's mine in a virtual world.

And for now, I'm working on a proof-of-concept AI-based text adventure game sharing the same lore as this story. I'm already getting fantastic RP sessions from my SillyTavern setup. So, I'm currently trying to make it a bit more interactive, so it becomes basically a choose-your-own-adventure game in the same universe as this story was based on.

I'm not saying that I abandoned the idea of writing a fiction someday, or AI equivalent is any better that that. But as my leisure is extremely limited nowadays, I can only choose one or two side projects at best to work on in my spare time, which are AI-related stuff for now.

Although I'm not proud of it, I'm still glad that you liked this story. It certainly encourages me to keep working on the theme, even if it may take a different form than this story.

Thanks!

 

[jamiesonwk]

In our world, there are things deeply buried under the blissful oblivion of time that better be left untouched, like mummies in a forgotten pyramid, vampires in their coffins, or that mosquito those scientists dug up in Jurassic Park, and also, something like this thread.

I like reading good stories and hope to write one someday. And the image of squalid naked female slaves toiling like an animal in a Tiboolian mine remains my favourite theme still.

But I can't help revisiting what I created in my first-ever attempt to write a fiction in English without feeling immense embarrasement and cringe. And my personal life has been in turmoil for the past half a year, so I'm afraid I won't be able to find enough time to try my hands in writing a story in a forseeable future.

That being said, I've been working on and off on a hobby project not entirely unrelated to this story, though. I've been learning and experimenting with bits that would help me build a BDSM sandbox someday, which will allow me to experience something like Tibool's mine in a virtual world.

And for now, I'm working on a proof-of-concept AI-based text adventure game sharing the same lore as this story. I'm already getting fantastic RP sessions from my SillyTavern setup. So, I'm currently trying to make it a bit more interactive, so it becomes basically a choose-your-own-adventure game in the same universe as this story was based on.

I'm not saying that I abandoned the idea of writing a fiction someday, or AI equivalent is any better that that. But as my leisure is extremely limited nowadays, I can only choose one or two side projects at best to work on in my spare time, which are AI-related stuff for now.

Although I'm not proud of it, I'm still glad that you liked this story. It certainly encourages me to keep working on the theme, even if it may take a different form than this story.

Thanks!

Finally finished all the posted installments. Still thoroughly enjoyed your world - well laid out, and with very good English. I almost wondered if the writing has an AI component in it given your modest attitudes towards your own writing skills. Perhaps I enjoyed it much because I shared your fantasy settings .
It is a pity it is 4 years now since the last installment but I will sure be an eager consumer if you write again. And I would look forward to the RP adventure game too!