Vignettes from the slave pits

[theseus]

The last load.





That was the last load. The last load of cargo the slavers had received in exchange for their bodies. The girls had almost enjoyed the loading of the cargo, relishing the freedom to move and the brief release from the chains that had bound them in the days since the pirates had captured them. Soon, very soon, they would once again be chained, this time to the posts in the slave market, where they would be sold.

For Abida, Fatima and Miriam, this was not a new experience, they had been slaves before, slaves of the two aristocratic white girls who were now their equals. Abida knew that her full breasts and strong thighs would fetch a good price, and perhaps a kind master. She knew what awaited them, the groping hands of the prospective buyers, the fiery sting of the whip, the humiliation of the auctioneer pointing out her assets and the uses of those assets.

For the four Europeans, this was a continuation of the nightmare. Sophie strode on ahead. As a maid in a noble household she had suffered her share of abuse. Her virginity had been taken by her master, Lord Roberts, the father of the two young ladies who now waded behind her, naked slaves as she was. Many a time her duties had included sharing the bed of a guest, often she had been whipped for some minor infraction, or been sent to bed without supper. Perhaps slavery would be no worse than that. It had given her a grim pleasure to see the noble lord, and his arrogant bugger of a son, stripped naked, their pale bodies, already bearing the mark of the lash, chained to the oars of the pirate galley where they would spend the rest of their miserable lives.

Behind her, Maria was uncertain of her future. Hired as a ‘companion’ to the two young aristocrats when the ship stopped in Valencia, she fully expected that her duties, when they finally arrived in India, would include providing ‘companionship’ to Lord Roberts. She accepted that such was the fate of poor, pretty, well-educated girls.

Lady Brenda and Lady Susan brought up the rear. Their lives had been torn apart by the pirates. Spoilt, arrogant and privileged, they had never imagined that such things still happened in 1870! Everybody bowed and scraped to them, their every wish granted at the snap of a finger. Their father, the noble lord and the surviving crew of the ship were now sweating at the oars of the pirate galley, their naked bodies mercilessly scored by the overseer’s whip. For the two young ladies to be stripped of their fine clothing and chained, naked, to their servants and, even worse, to their erstwhile slaves, was a humiliation beyond bearing.

Just beyond the beach they could see the slave market, lines of iron posts, each with four slaves, male and female, young and old, chained to them. All naked, all horribly exposed to the eyes and hands of the buyers. Arabs, half naked black men, even, Lady Susan, bringing up the rear, saw, two white men. She watched, then looked away as one of them parted the thighs of a buxom black girl and inserted his fingers into her. Surely this would not happen to them? They were English! Aristocrats! Not naked savages!

Yet, she was naked! Her body exposed in a way she had never dreamed possible. Only her nurse had ever seen her naked, and that not for many years. Abida had told her, with some glee, the fate of a pretty girl slave. Spent many of the hours as they lay on the deck of the dhow telling the two young ladies of the indignities she and the other two slaves had suffered at the hands of the noble Lord, their father. Sophie added her experiences. Lady Susan found it hard to believe that her father could do such things.

As they emerged from the water the dealer awaited them, a pile of ugly iron collars and chains at his feet. There was no escape! Where would a naked girl escape to, in this crowd of black faces? Lady Susan shuddered as the collar closed around her neck, as the slaver’s calloused hands explored her body. No longer her body, but his, his property!

Blinded by tears, she was led to her pillar of shame.


Thanks to Melissa and Julie for creating the pic for me.

 

[montycrusto]

The First Day

View attachment 852113

It seemed such a minor offence.

“Possession of one gram of marijuana!” The judge had thundered. “You young people think the law is a joke! Ten years at hard labour! No appeal! No Parole!”

She had begged for leniency as the bailiffs seized her. Minutes later she was naked, shuddering as the cold steel of her shackles closed around neck, wrists and ankles. Shackles she would wear for the next ten years.

She had wept with shame and humiliation as she and a dozen other convicts had been marched through the streets to the town square, their chains jangling and threatening to trip her up.

She almost fainted as she saw the brazier with the branding irons protruding from the white-hot coals. She had screamed hysterically as the white-hot iron burned its mark deep into her buttock, the searing pain as bad as the shame of being branded. She had sobbed through the night as she lay, miserable and in pain, on the cold stone floor of her cell. She had choked and retched as the guard used her mouth in the dim light of dawn before she was taken to start her first day of hard labour.

She had never touched a shovel in her life. Now she dug frantically, the blood from the burst blisters on her hands as red as the nail varnish that still decorated her fingers. Her bare feet were bruised and cut by sharp stones. The taste of the guard’s cum still filled her mouth. She worked without pause, terrified of the guard and his heavy braided whip. She had seen the effect of that whip on some of the others. She had no desire to experience it.

She looked up at the blazing sun, feeling its heat burn her tender skin. It was along way before noon. She would work like this until it set. This was her first day! Ten years! Three thousand, six hundred and fifty-two days!

Behind her the guard smiled. He shook out his whip, measured the distance to her smooth, unmarked back. “Time she felt the lash.” His arm went back, the thin leather lash flicked out!

Her first day! Her first taste of the lash!

There would be many, many more!

This is SO damn good!!

 

[Barbaria1]

The last load.



View attachment 857533

That was the last load. The last load of cargo the slavers had received in exchange for their bodies. The girls had almost enjoyed the loading of the cargo, relishing the freedom to move and the brief release from the chains that had bound them in the days since the pirates had captured them. Soon, very soon, they would once again be chained, this time to the posts in the slave market, where they would be sold.

For Abida, Fatima and Miriam, this was not a new experience, they had been slaves before, slaves of the two aristocratic white girls who were now their equals. Abida knew that her full breasts and strong thighs would fetch a good price, and perhaps a kind master. She knew what awaited them, the groping hands of the prospective buyers, the fiery sting of the whip, the humiliation of the auctioneer pointing out her assets and the uses of those assets.

For the four Europeans, this was a continuation of the nightmare. Sophie strode on ahead. As a maid in a noble household she had suffered her share of abuse. Her virginity had been taken by her master, Lord Roberts, the father of the two young ladies who now waded behind her, naked slaves as she was. Many a time her duties had included sharing the bed of a guest, often she had been whipped for some minor infraction, or been sent to bed without supper. Perhaps slavery would be no worse than that. It had given her a grim pleasure to see the noble lord, and his arrogant bugger of a son, stripped naked, their pale bodies, already bearing the mark of the lash, chained to the oars of the pirate galley where they would spend the rest of their miserable lives.

Behind her, Maria was uncertain of her future. Hired as a ‘companion’ to the two young aristocrats when the ship stopped in Valencia, she fully expected that her duties, when they finally arrived in India, would include providing ‘companionship’ to Lord Roberts. She accepted that such was the fate of poor, pretty, well-educated girls.

Lady Brenda and Lady Susan brought up the rear. Their lives had been torn apart by the pirates. Spoilt, arrogant and privileged, they had never imagined that such things still happened in 1870! Everybody bowed and scraped to them, their every wish granted at the snap of a finger. Their father, the noble lord and the surviving crew of the ship were now sweating at the oars of the pirate galley, their naked bodies mercilessly scored by the overseer’s whip. For the two young ladies to be stripped of their fine clothing and chained, naked, to their servants and, even worse, to their erstwhile slaves, was a humiliation beyond bearing.

Just beyond the beach they could see the slave market, lines of iron posts, each with four slaves, male and female, young and old, chained to them. All naked, all horribly exposed to the eyes and hands of the buyers. Arabs, half naked black men, even, Lady Susan, bringing up the rear, saw, two white men. She watched, then looked away as one of them parted the thighs of a buxom black girl and inserted his fingers into her. Surely this would not happen to them? They were English! Aristocrats! Not naked savages!

Yet, she was naked! Her body exposed in a way she had never dreamed possible. Only her nurse had ever seen her naked, and that not for many years. Abida had told her, with some glee, the fate of a pretty girl slave. Spent many of the hours as they lay on the deck of the dhow telling the two young ladies of the indignities she and the other two slaves had suffered at the hands of the noble Lord, their father. Sophie added her experiences. Lady Susan found it hard to believe that her father could do such things.

As they emerged from the water the dealer awaited them, a pile of ugly iron collars and chains at his feet. There was no escape! Where would a naked girl escape to, in this crowd of black faces? Lady Susan shuddered as the collar closed around her neck, as the slaver’s calloused hands explored her body. No longer her body, but his, his property!

Blinded by tears, she was led to her pillar of shame.


Thanks to Melissa and Julie for creating the pic for me.

This is SO damn good!!

This one is really good too!

 

[theseus]

The Ramp



Like many other young girls, Lucy had often dreamed about being a model. Dreamed of being one of those incredibly beautiful women who stalked down the ramps at the fashion shows showing off beautiful, expensive and often daring fashions.

Part of that dream had come true! She was walking on the ramp, showing herself to the watching buyers. What was missing were the clothes.

Unlike most of the other women on show, Lucy had not made the conscious decision to sell herself into slavery. They had contracts that outlined the conditions of their voluntary slavery. The limits to their use and the way that their share of the purchase price of their bodies would be invested to await the freedom that awaited them at the end of their periods of servitude. They wanted to be here!

Lucy was different! Her shaven head, the handcuffs that bound her hands behind her back and the brand burned deep into her buttock identified her as a convict! A criminal sentenced to what was termed “Penal Servitude”. The words of the judge echoed in her mind as she walked along the ramp, her body on view to all. “Drug smuggling is a very serious offence. I accept that you did not at first know what was in the package, but it must have occurred to you that the amount you were offered had to indicate that it was illegal. I have taken this into consideration in deciding on your sentence. You will serve twenty five years of penal servitude! There will be no limits to your use. The only limit will be that your owner, or owners, must not do anything that will end your life. At the end of twenty five years you may be paroled, to work for the rest of your natural life at prescribed employment.”

She had been taken away, her head shaved and the brand burned into her buttock. Now she was on show, soon to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. What would become of her? What would her life be?

She paced the length of the ramp. Like the beautiful woman of her dreams. Naked, exposed! There was no beautiful gown. Just her beautiful body.

Twenty five years, as a slave!

 

[theseus]

The Reality of the Collar



Until now it had been a bit like a dream come true. Her fantasy of slavery was finally being realised.

As the cold steel closed around her wrists and around her throat, as the locks clicked shut, everything changed! This was real!

She was no longer Sharon! She was no longer the bright young university graduate! She was no longer a person!

She was an object, a slave known as Hungry Cunt. She was a thing to be used in any way her Owner wished. She had no will, no rights, no dignity. She was merely an object.

She touched her breast, so firm and shapely. It was no longer hers, it belonged to her Owner. Her mouth, her vagina, her anus. All belonged to her Owner. She was nothing but an object, a collection of orifices to be used at will.

The unyielding steel warmed to her body, but inside she was cold. This had been her dream. This was her reality! Slavery. Submission. This was her new life.

This was the reality of the collar!

 

[theseus]

Dream come true



This was the reality of life on The Farm. This is what she had signed up for, what she had paid for.

Laura needed a break from her career. A three month sabbatical seemed to be the answer. A complete change from a high profile career. She had signed up for The Farm, walked naked along the path of pain, been stripped, barcoded, micro-chipped. She had endured the showing room, stood on the podium as people bid to own her body.

Now she was the property of this man. His to do with as he pleased. Her sole purpose in life was now to please him.

This was what she needed!

 

[theseus]

Namib night



They tried to escape, but where can three naked girls go in the wastes of the Namib desert? The dusk is full of strange noises. Grunts, clicks, strange moans. The rocks crack as they cool.

Slavery is terrible! Frightening! But perhaps slavery is preferable to being eaten alive by some predator, or dying slowly of thirst and hunger.

If they could, they would return to the slavers' camp. They would be punished, but they would be alive. If only they weren't totally lost!

Surrounded by the waning desert light, the sinister sounds, they clutch each other in despair.

 

[theseus]

Preparation.



Selling yourself as a slave is a momentous decision.

Heidi had wanted to be a slave ever since she was a little girl, but it had taken many years before she found the courage to make it happen.

During her first year at university she had met a man who seemed to know a lot about slavery and the modern slave trade. She was soon sharing his bed, and was slowly sucked into an alternate world.

She had signed the documents a few weeks before. She would be a slave until such time as her owner at the time, perhaps twenty or thirty years down the line, decided that she was no longer worth keeping, and freed her.

Until that happened, she would be a chattel. Her owner could use her in whatever way he or she wished. Nothing was excluded, other than acts that caused death or serious maiming. She could be leased, rented, or sold at the whim of her owner. 70% of her initial sale price would be invested in a trust fund, intended to support her when she was eventually freed. In addition, 5% of the proceeds of each subsequent sale would be added to the trust fund.

Her training was exhaustive. Her body was trained and toned to near perfection. She was trained in every sexual act possible, and many more she had not thought possible! She was taught to serve at meals, to mix drinks. She would be the perfect companion, elegant, decorative, intelligent. She would be an excellent maid. An attentive waitress. Above all she would be an accomplished sexual toy!

She sat in the window of the garret room that had been her home during her training. As always, she was naked. Slaves were only allowed the garments their owners allowed. She looked out over the rooftops, able to see the tops of the trees in the park. The park where she had walked for an hour a day, a beautiful woman, barefoot, dressed in a drab grey shift, accompanied by her minder.

Her first showing was tomorrow! She would be exhibited as she was now. Naked. There were four prospective buyers scheduled for the day. Each would have an hour with her, time to examine her, and to sample her skills. There would be three more the day after. One of those seven people would buy her. One of those seven people would own her, body and soul.

This was what she had been prepared for. This was what she had dreamed of since she was a girl. This was it!

She looked out over the rooftops. Her mind was in a whirl! She was excited! She was nervous! She was frightened! She was elated!

She was about to be sold!

She would, finally, be a slave!

 

[theseus]

The Straggler.



She was exhausted, thirsty beyond anything she thought possible. Her feet were on fire, cut and bruised by the gravel of the desert. She kept on falling.

The slavers cut her loose from the coffle. She could get to the next waterhole on her own, or die! Already the crows were circling over her. With her hands tied to the yoke she could do nothing to help herself.

With the sun slowly sinking to the horizon she stumbled in the tracks of the caravan. On the previous nights, huddled together for warmth in the chill of the desert nights, the slaves had listed to the howling of the jackals, prowling for food. If she was still out there as night fell, they would soon start eating her, alive!

Part of her wanted to simply lie down and die. Then she visualised the jackals, their snarling mouths, sharp teeth, ripping the flesh from her living body. The crows tearing at her, picking out her eyes as she screamed in agony. Slavery was appalling, a woman, once honoured and cherished, reduced to a status lower than an animal. Perhaps death would be preferable to that.

And yet. Life was even more important, even life as a slave. She forced her exhausted body forward. One step, another step, yet another. She must reach the camp! She must live!

Even if it was as a slave!

 

[theseus]

Friday.



Friday afternoon.

All week she anticipated this time. She looked forward to it, and she feared it.

Lynne walked through the ruined corridors of the supposedly abandoned building, on her way to the sale room. She had done this every Friday afternoon for the past two years. This was the time when she metamorphosed from a respectable, loving grandmother to a wanton slut.

At first her husband had forced her. She had been handcuffed and gagged to silence her protests at the indignity and humiliation of being sold for the week end. The shame of being, essentially, a part time whore. What made it worse was that many members of the Society were friends of theirs, business associates of her husband’s. The only consolation was that some of their wives and daughters shared her fate, destined to stand alone and exposed as buyers bid for the use of their bodies.

In a way it was a matter of pride that at her age she could still attract premium prices. Although her body was no longer as ripe and firm as it had been, her experience, skills and, to be frank, her willingness to commit any act, raised her value as a sex slave.

It was almost time for the Showing to start. Her sphincter contracted at the thought of the two hours she would spend impaled on the steel dildo, her body freely available to the eyes and hands of buyers and voyeurs alike. Her nipples hardened at the prospect. This was the part that most excited her, the exposure, the handling, the crude remarks directed, not at her, but about her. The discussions around the tightness of her cunt, the elasticity of her arse, the strength of her thighs, all as if she was not there, or was and inanimate, insensate object.

She took a deep breath as she entered the showroom. Her face lit up! This was the highlight of her week! The highlight of her life. To be sold, probably to a stranger, as an object to be used for forty-eight hours.

This was the real Lynne! Lynne, the fuckslave.

 

[theseus]

Please!



“Mom! Dad! You can’t leave me here! Not like this! Please! Don’t leave me here!”

Diane’s parents were close to tears. It hurt them to have to leave them in this place, but there was really no alternative. They had tried to help her fight her addiction, all to no avail. Now she had been convicted of dealing in dangerous drugs.

The sentence: 25 years at hard labour without hope of parole.

The social worker had come to them after the trial. “The Judge has an alternative to offer. There is an establishment that we have used very successfully to cure addicts. It is called The Farm. The judge has suggested that if she spends 3 years at The Farm, he might be able to amend her sentence. Remember that she faces 25 years in a chain gang.”

The Farm sounded like a drastic alternative, but it would be for three years, not twenty-five. She would be free at the age of twenty-one. If she went to prison, she would be forty-three before she was released. If she lived that long. Most people were of the opinion that more than ten years on a chain gang was a death sentence. “She will be a slave for those three years. She will be permanently naked, be compelled to do hard physical labour, and will be used sexually. Discipline is harsh and unforgiving. Even the smallest transgression results in a whipping. These are always carried out in public.”

“That is inhuman,” her mother sobbed.

The social worker nodded. “It is very hard. However, The Farm has a 100% record in curing addicts. Recidivism is zero, I repeat, zero, both in terms of drug use and criminal offences. She will be a changed person.”

A week later they went to The Farm with the social worker. They were welcomed and given a tour while waiting for Diane to arrive. They watched, aghast, as a girl was whipped for some minor offence. Could they really expose their daughter to this?

Diane emerged from the prison truck, together with two other convicts. The three women were shackled to each other. They were checked in, fingerprinted and led to the receiving area. Here they were freed of their shackles and their orange prison overalls stripped off them. Each was chained to rings in the wall.

“I am afraid you will have to leave now,” the overseer said. “They will now be branded and shackled. Those shackles will remain for the full three years. The brand will be a permanent reminder of their stay here.”

They hugged their daughter. “Good bye,” her mother sobbed.

Two guards entered, carrying a brazier with three red hot branding irons.

Her parents turned to leave.

“Mom! Dad! Please! You can’t leave me here! Please!”

As they walked to their car, they heard an unearthly scream. It echoed in their ears, but was followed by a second, and a third.

Their daughter, their beloved, wanton, wayward daughter had taken the first, painful step to rehabilitation.

 

[theseus]

The slave pit of Tippoo Tib.



Tippoo Tib’s slaving gangs ranged far and wide in East and Central Africa. He took thousands of slaves every year. Most of them were labourers, strong bodies to do the physical labour required in the 1800’s. Some were destined for harems and brothels, in Zanzibar and for export to the Ottoman Empire.

Sometimes the slavers struck it lucky, very lucky! One of his slaving gangs were returning form a raid in the headwaters of the Rufiji river. They had made a good haul of strong men and women for the spice farms and mines of the Sultan’s realm. Profitable, but not exactly a bonanza.

Coming across the shipwreck was a bonus. Not only was the cargo, that which had not been spoiled by the sea, valuable, but there were many survivors. Many tried to flee into the forest, but were soon rounded up. The men were immediately castrated, to pacify them. They wouldn’t need their balls in the quarries where they would spend the rest of their lives. The three older women were given to his men, and would end their lives picking cloves on the Sultan’s farms. The bonanza was the group of young girls. Robyn, the rebellious daughter of the Earl of Calverley, and the five maids who had served her mother. Lady Calverley would have no further use for maids. She was picking cloves, her once creamy back seamed with the marks of the overseers’ whips.

The six prime slaves were held in one of the pits below the house of Tippoo Tib. At high tide the sea flooded in, to a level just below the platform on which they sat. At least this meant that their wastes were flushed away twice a day. The girls were frightened, uncertain about their future as slaves.

Maeve, the little Irish redhead, had been a ‘tweenstairs maid. She was hungry, but then she was always hungry, and could never remember a time when she had not been hungry. She was not too frightened of being a slave. It could hardly be worse than being the most junior maid at Claverley House. It would be difficult for an owner to be more perverted than Lord Claverley.

The other four were resigned to their fate. Perhaps being a houri in a harem would be better than a maid working for a family who considered them little better than property anyway. Laura, sitting on her own at the back was happy that she had seen the noble lord stripped of his clothes, his manhood and his dignity, as he had stripped her of her virginity and her dignity.

The only one who was happy was Lady Arabella. When the slavers stripped her sodden gown and other garments from her, they freed her. They freed her from the cloying, sanctimonious morality of the Victorian upper class. Freed her from her mother’s constant carping about the lot of a woman, her constant moral lectures. At last she could be what she was expected to suppress. She could be a hotblooded, sexual woman! She had even enjoyed her unceremonious deflowering at the hand, or rather cock, of one of the slavers. She was looking forward to being a good slave, a good harem girl, a good sex toy.

She smiled at the man who came into the pit, spread her thighs just a bit wider. This was their new owner, the infamous slaver, Tippoo Tib. She hoped he would want to try out at least one of his new possessions. She hoped it would be her.


Many thanks to Julie & Melissa for the manip.

 

[theseus]

The Moment of Truth!



It was what she had dreamed of. It was what she wanted. But…Now it was reality!

She had done it because she wanted it. She was a volunteer. She had sold herself into slavery, for life!

She had actually enjoyed being in the showroom, being treated as an object, being spoken about as if she was unable to hear or feel. She had enjoyed being touched…everywhere!

Yet…now…she was apprehensive. This man had bought her. A man old enough to be her father. He owned her! Body and soul! For the rest of her life she would belong to someone. She was a chattel.

She watched him as he came out of the shower. Suddenly she was shy. Her eyes were drawn to his manhood. Soon, very soon now, it would be inside her. Deep, filling, all conquering.

Which part would he use first? Which portion of his possession?

She quivered in anticipation. She had realised her dream. She was a slave. His slave!

For life!

 

[theseus]

Everything!


“I said everything!”

The police officer tapped his nightstick against his leg.

“And when I say everything, I mean just that! Now!”

Elsa struggled to hold back the tears. “But why? It was a parking offence! Why do I have to…?”

“An offence is an offence! And to that charge I am adding resisting arrest and perjury. The judge does not take kindly to rich bitches who break the law. My guess is you’ll get five years, in a chain gang!

Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled down her panties, the last vestige of modesty and pride gone.

Surely, he couldn’t be serious? Sure, she had parked illegally, and she had argued with him, and then told him that her car had broken down, but perjury? How did one get five years for a parking offence?

An hour later she was in court. Naked, her hands cuffed behind her, in leg irons. Fifteen minutes after that she was a convicted criminal!

The judge was a woman. She took no more than five minutes to hear the evidence. Elsa was not allowed to say anything in her defence.

“Five years at hard labour in a chain gang!” She spoke the words with relish. “Take her away!”

“You can’t do this!” Elsa shouted! “I was parked for five minutes! Are you crazy?”

“And fifty lashes with the bullwhip, in the square outside the courthouse. To be administered immediately!”

Four hours after parking in a bus stop, Elsa, her naked body striped with bloody wheals, sobbing with pain and humiliation, was shackled to a heavily tattooed, naked man, sentenced to life for rape. On the other side of her was an equally naked middle-aged woman, sentenced to ten years for petty theft. These would be her close companions for the duration of her sentence, or until one of them died.

The New Order ruled supreme!

 

[theseus]

It doesn’t get any easier!



Every sale is stressful! There is always the uncertainty about the purchaser. Male, or female, or even a couple? Kind? Or cruel? Gentle? Or unbearably perverted?

As the slave gets older the stress increases. With each sale the price drops, the bidding is slower. “Who will buy me? Where will I go?”

Mary had been in this situation many, many times. On the viewing block, her body open for inspection. This time she was truly frightened. She knew she was well past the first bloom of youth. Knew that her skin was no longer as elastic as it had been, her breasts no longer as firm, her thighs just a little bit flabby. Would she still attract an individual buyer?

She was experienced, and very skilled, but this sale could be the one that launched her down the slippery slope! This sale could be the one where the auctioneer announced, “Sold to XYZ brothel!” After that it would all be downhill. Ten tricks a day, then fifteen, then twenty. Then back on the block, this time bought by a cheap dockside brothel. Eventually, worn out, she would be giving fucks and blowjobs in an alleyway at the back of a sleazy bar. Please, let her buyer be an individual!

The auctioneer started his patter. As she struggled to get to her feet, she heard the ominous introduction.

“Lot number fifty-four, ladies and gentlemen. Here we have a well used, thirty-nine year old slave. Very skilled in her trade, and still in excellent shape for her age. Now what am I bid? Shall we say one hundred?

Please, please, not the brothel, not this time, please.

 

[theseus]

Sold to pay for her school fees!




The school has a very strict policy concerning the non-payment of fees. Parents are warned of severe consequences if they fall behind on their payments.

Gail’s parents, it would appear, did not take the warning seriously. The had fallen behind on their payments. They had ignored the first, friendly letter sent to them by the headmistress. The next letter was from the board of governors, and was very clear that there would be severe consequences if they did not pay!

A month later an attorney acting for the school called at their house and presented them with a final demand. “So, what are you going to do?” her father blustered, “Sell her into slavery?”

“That may well be an option, sir,” the attorney said politely, “as you know, the rulers of the Ottoman Empire pay very well for white concubines for their harems.”

Seven days later the dealer arrived at the school. Her classmates watched, aghast, as Gail was stripped naked in front of them. The headmistress spoke briefly. “Let this be a lesson to all of you. This girl will be delivered to the slave market in Constantinople. There she will be displayed, naked, to the godless heathens who rule there, before being sold at auction. I cannot imagine the humiliation she will suffer at the hands of those depraved heathens!”

Gail sobbed quietly as the cold steel of her shackles closed around her wrists.

She really was going to be sold to defray her unpaid school fees.

 

[theseus]

Summer Job



“This is the best summer job I have ever had,” thought Susie as she came out of the water.

She had signed on as a ‘Domestic Utility’ at the Paradise Resort. The pay was better than waitressing or being a cashier in a supermarket, and she was told that the tips were often very generous. Just getting there was exciting, the flying boat circling over the jewel-like islands of the tropical atoll before landing in the crystal clear lagoon.

This was her fourth day here. For the first three days the guests in the villa where she was a utility were a middle-aged couple. It had been fun. She and her fellow utility, Jack, had worked hard, seeing to the couple’s every need. The tips had been good, too.

The new guests were two young men. They were both obviously athletes, beautifully built and fit. It was also clear that they were very interested in each other, as well as in Jack and Susie. Ten minutes previously she had been the filling in a jock sandwich, now, the cum washed from her body, she was ready for more.

“We’ll do a foursome this time,” the one guest said, “Jack can join us.”

She couldn’t wait! This certainly beat the hell out of waitressing!

 

[theseus]

Caned! Again!



It was so hard being a slave! There were so many rules! It was impossible to remember all of them, and it was so easy to do something wrong! And each time she did, no matter how small the offence, it was her poor body that paid the price.

This time she had spilt a few grains of sugar while serving her master his tea. The punishment? Six strokes of the thin cane on her poor bottom.

She hated the cane! It hurt so much, and the pain lasted for so long!

It was always the same. She would be bent over, her hands gripping her ankles. If she let go the punishment would start from scratch, and would be doubled. Her fingers gripped her ankles like vice grips! She had to count, and ask for the next one, and thank him for each painful, searing stroke! If she forgot, he started from scratch!

Six times! “Please, Sir, punish me. Give me the first stroke.” The little tap to mark the spot. The whistle of the cane. The searing pain! All she wanted to do was straighten up and cup her hands over her poor, abused bottom. “One, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” A deep, sobbing breath. It hurt so much! “Please, Sir, punish me. Please give me the second stroke.” Six times!

She collapsed, sobbing, on the bed. The worst was still to come. She sobbed quietly as she heard him undo his belt, slide down the zipper of his trousers. Her bottom was so sore. He straddled her. “Relax! It will hurt less! Relax!” Her mind screamed silently. She screamed as his hands gripped the abused globes, pulling them apart. Felt the blunt pressure against her rosebud, the pain as he forced himself into her.

It was hard, being a slave!

 

[theseus]

Wife for Sale.



Saturday morning.

The Kensington street market is buzzing. There is such a variety of objects for sale and so many buyers keen to find a bargain.

At the Used Wives Stall Veronica is about to go on the block. She has been on show for three hours, the sigh at her feet advertising her sale.


Wife for sale or lease. (Minimum one week)
Used by only one careful husband. Well trained. No limits. Excellent cocksucker.

She had watched the four women previous to her being sold. All wives, all from the neighbourhood. She had winced in embarrassment as old Maggie was offered up. She was over fifty, and decidedly wrinkly. The auctioneer had worked hard until eventually she went for $200, for a four week lease. Young Liz, married for just a year, blushed furiously as the auctioneer described her body and her skills. She looked so cute, with her creamy skin and tumble of fiery red hair. The bulge of her pregnancy was just beginning to show. She went for $3000 for a one month lease. No limits.

Veronica hoped she would sell for a decent price. So many of the buyers were friends, neighbours, people she knew. No limits! That was the scary part. No limits! Whoever bought her could use her for anything, anything at all.

Listening to the bidding, she felt the excitement mount. The competition for her body was brisk! She was a desirable object!

“Sold! Sold to Ted Flanagan for $5500! On a two month lease!

Flanagan strode up, smiling broadly, wallet in hand. His big mastiff, his constant companion, strained at its leash. He paid over the money and took her leash, leading her off down the street.

He patted the dog on the head, lovingly. “A fine bitch, boy. We’re going to have ourselves a lot of fun with this one!”

 

[theseus]

Irish slaves in Algiers.



The last place in the world that sisters Sinead and Bridget thought they would be in the summer of 1631 was the slave market in Algiers. In fact, until June of that year neither of them had even known of the existence of Algiers. Their peaceful Irish village knew little of what happened in villages ten miles away, let alone of Africa.

That all ended when the Barbary slavers under Murad Reis attacked the sleepy village! The men had tried to fight, but pitchforks and spades were of little use against bloodthirsty pirates. The fortunate ones died defending their homes; for the rest, there was the horror of life as slaves.

The men soon found themselves chained to the oars of the galleys, labouring naked, their backs seared by the whips of the overseers. The horror was exacerbated by the fact that the leader of the pirates was a white man! A Dutchman, converted to Islam.

For the women there was a worse fate. After watching their menfolk, husbands, fathers, brothers, children, even the priest being stripped naked, they were herded into the holds of the pirate vessels. Ahead of them was a life of slavery in the harems of Africa. Sinead and Bridget were appalled by what was done to them. A wrinkled woman, her skin like leather, examined each of the younger women, fingers probing deeply into their most private parts. Those found to be virgins were kept separate from the others. Surprisingly, the woman spoke stilted English, with the accent of the Cornish coast. For the other women, the nightmare began immediately, as the crew took their pleasure, repeatedly, on their bodies.

Weeks later, they arrived in Algiers. Everything was strange and new. By now most of the women were naked or dressed in rags, their clothes having suffered on the voyage, and the slavers deeming clothing superfluous for slaves. The virgins were once more separated from the rest. They were all connected together by chains attached to iron collars around their throats. The last vestiges of clothing were stripped from them before they were marched to a large building near the town square. Here they would be prepared for sale.

They were greeted by several women, all of middle age, all wearing the collars of slavery. There were also two young men, if men they could still be called. For the first time the sisters saw the mutilation of the eunuch. The smooth scar tissues where their manhood had once been. They were washed, their bodies were cleaned of all hair, something no Christian woman would dream of. They were perfumed, their hair combed until it glowed. Naked, they were taken to the slave market to be displayed, like livestock.

Their flaming hair drew attention. Many came to see them, to touch them, to weigh their breasts in dark hands, to feel the firmness of breast and buttock, to penetrate and defile their bodies. It seemed they were to be sold as a pair, placed in the same enclosure. They could see and hear as one slave after another was sold. Despairingly, they clung to each other, steeling themselves for the ultimate shame of being sold as objects.

The green fields of Ireland were a very, very long way away.