Vignettes from the slave pits

[theseus]

Are you going to bugger me again?



Brenda was ready and waiting as her husband came home from work. She had showered, applied a subtle perfume and made sure that she was well lubricated. She was waiting as ordered. Naked, kneeling, ready for use!

A week earlier she had been about to start divorce proceedings. She had found George’s laptop, on and open. What she saw horrified her! Pornography. Pictures and videos of men and women, mostly middle aged, performing the most disgusting acts!

She had called her eldest daughter, the one married to a fundamentalist pastor. “Mother, divorce is a sin! You promised to love, honour and obey father until parted by death. There can be no discussion. His sin is vile and we will all pray for him.” Her son was no help either. “Frankly, mom, this is your problem. I do not want to be involved in any way.”

Carrie was her last resort. Her wayward daughter was, at best, something of a rebel. She was an artist, just twenty years old, living with a much older man, another girl and, well, Brenda wasn’t quite sure what Chrissie was, a transsexual, he/she said, in a ‘poly family’, together with her daughter whom she had conceived when she was fourteen. “Hey, mom, sounds like dad is doing some research for fun times with you. What sort of thing is he looking at?”

Brenda was shocked! “Carrie! This is not a joke! Fun times with me, indeed! We’re grandparents! Six times over, thanks to you and Jill. Five children in five years, they had, before they stopped, and you with Vicky, of course. Grandparents don’t have sex, certainly not the kind of thing your father is looking at!” There was a merry peal of laughter at the other end of the phone. “Bullshit, mom! For fuck’s sake. You are both fit, healthy people. You don’t have kids around to cramp your style. You should be having fun! You’re as bad a Jill and that prick of a husband of hers. You know they haven’t fucked since Johnny was born? Three years! They don’t even share a room any more. ‘Fornication for any purpose other than procreation is a sin. We have enough children and thus will remain chaste.’ Stupid bitch!” They had spent several hours on the phone, with Carrie slowly winning her mother over to her point of view. Finally, she decided, with great reluctance, to accept Carrie’s advice. “Wear something sexy when dad gets home tonight, preferably nothing, then fuck his brains out! Check his computer to see what he likes. Oh, and make sure that you lube well.” Brenda was puzzled. “Lube well? Why” What for? How?” Again, that delightful peal of laughter. “Look at his machine, mom. I bet there are lots of pics of girls being fucked in the ass. Louis says you have a very fuckable ass. Lube well, relax, and enjoy it!”

He hadn’t fucked her at all that night. They had talked for many hours. She had felt a bit ridiculous, sitting in a negligee she hadn’t worn in years, while he was in a business suit. They had made love the next morning, for the first time in many months. Long, slow, very satisfying love. He had been very late for work. That evening she had been naked, lubed and waiting. He had, indeed sodomised her. It hurt, it was degrading and embarrassing, and it was incredibly exciting! It was so disgusting, perverted and depraved! She wanted more.

For the next few days they were like a pair of teenagers. In the breaks between sex, they pored over the computer, finding new and interesting things to do. Carrie had been delighted. “I told you so! He was just horny and frustrated. How was your assfucking?” Brenda nearly dropped her teacup! “Carrie! Vicky will hear! It is not the kind of thing we should be discussing.” The ensuing discussion was detailed and educational.

Brenda knelt on the carpet, waiting eagerly for her husband to get home. He had promised her a surprise, a new treat. She wondered what it was? But first, what she wanted most of all, was the lovely, full feeling of his cock in her ass. She smiled at the wanton, depraved slut in the mirror. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” she told her reflection. “Wow, there are so many new things to try! Why did we waste so much time?”

 

[theseus]

Collared by the Family



“I can’t wear this permanently. Dad. I need the key so that I can take it off when I go to class, and when I go to work.”

Her father shook his head. “That is not how it works, not in this family. The keys have been destroyed. The lock has been filled with molten lead. You will be buried in that collar.”

“Dad!” Katie stamped her foot. “Mom! Grannie, please talk sense to dad. This is impossible!”

Her grandmother shook her head. “It is not impossible. It is the way of our family.” She touched the collar around her own neck, worn by many years of wear. “My father locked this onto me on my eighteenth birthday, just as my husband, your grandfather, locked them onto your mother and your aunt. The women in our family have, for centuries, served their men unquestioningly.”

“It is a good tradition, Katie. Your mother and I have been very happy together, and your grandmother has served me well since your grandfather died. Your husband will assume the same responsibilities I did when I married your mother. He will collar your daughters as I have just collared you, and, of course, he will assume responsibility for the older female members of the family when I die.” Katie shook her head. “How do you know that my future husband, if there is one, will accept this?”

Her mother smiled, lovingly. “Simply because he has already agreed to accept the responsibility for us when your father dies.” Katie’s jaw dropped. “ ‘Simply because he has already accepted responsibility for us when your father dies.’ Mom, I don’t have any idea who I am going to marry, if I marry at all. How could this mythical man have agreed to such a thing?” Her grandmother touched her collar. “Because we know who you are going to marry. His name is Bruce Cameron.”

The vision of the big, husky man flashed through Katie’s mind. He was a dish, but he was so old! “But, he’s old, he must be almost forty!” Her mother nodded. “Your father is twenty-six years older than I am. He was old and wise enough to handle me when I was young! Bruce has the maturity to be your husband and your master. Believe me, he is the best choice.” She, too, touched her collar, reverently. “You will be married next month.”

Katie’s brain was in a whirl! Married! To a man old enough to be her father! A man chosen by her parents! She touched the stiff, new collar at her throat. She smiled at her parents and grandmother. “Well, I guess I knew this would happen. Granny has told me all about our family traditions. Many, many times!” She smiled again. “You certainly chose a man who is handsome and strong, a hunk, in fact, and a gentleman.”

Her grandmother hugged her. “Of course, we chose carefully. After all, your mother and I have a vested interest in choosing a good man; when your father dies, we become part of the inheritance!”

 

[Loinclothslave]

Well done Theseus, I love your treatment of two untraditional topics, written with love. Erotic in a very different way to much material on CF.

Kudos and Thank you!

 

[theseus]

Watching the Sale



Watching your daughter being sold into slavery is a moving, disturbing, yet incredibly erotic experience.

James sat in the auction room, watching as one girl after another was sold off for amounts of money that he could barely conceive. One creamy skinned redhead went for £ 154 000 to an obese black man, the Minister of Finance in some remote, oil rich African country.

Finally, Meghan, his youngest daughter, was led up onto the small stage that was the auction block. She was naked, her body smooth, her skin oiled so that it gleamed in the spotlights. Every detail of her body was revealed. She squatted on the platform, waiting for the auctioneer to begin.

James wanted to cry. She was so young, so beautiful, so innocent, yet, she was so desirable. He moved uncomfortably as his erection swelled unbidden, driven by the sight of his own daughter, so wantonly displayed. Why? Why had she done this? Why had she decided that slavery was the best option for her? That there was no future for her other than servitude?

It had all started when he asked her about her plans for university. She had been about to graduate from high school, in all likelihood with straight A’s and he thought it was time to decide where and what she wanted to study. “I don’t think it’s worth going to university, dad. The world is in a mess. Going to university is going to cost you a lot of money, money you can’t really afford. The way things are going, I will end up with an expensive degree without hope of a suitable job. You will be in debt, and I will probably end up marrying some jerk, have a couple of kids and struggle to make end meet for the rest of my life.” James had nodded. It was sad that a girl of her age, with her life ahead of her, was so cynical. On the other hand, he had to admit that her assessment of the state of the world was pretty accurate and realistic. “If I sell myself as a slave, I will be a valuable, and probably valued, object. I will be housed, fed, given medical attention, and” she smiled broadly at him, “be regularly and thoroughly fucked.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “You really think this is the best future for you? Truly?” Meghan nodded. “In fact, dad, I have already signed a contract. Because I am not yet twenty-one, I need your approval. If I get that, I start my training next week.”

The auctioneer started his introduction. He motioned Meghan to stand, legs apart, hands behind her head. “Lot 37, ladies and gentlemen, is an eighteen-year-old slave, a first sale. As you can see, she is in fine shape, fit, and healthy.” He ran his hands down her body, expertly pinching her nipples so that they stood erect and proud. He ran his hands down her belly, sliding through the folds of her slit, a finger penetrating, emerging wet and shiny. “Eager, ready, and willing! Now, ladies and gentlemen, what am I bid. Reserve is twenty thousand, sterling.” The bids flew! Soon they were in excess of fifty thousand. James was amazed, and rather proud, that his little girl could be so valuable. Bidding slowed. There were now no more than half a dozen bidders. By the time the bids reached seventy thousand only three remained.

“Come on, lady, gentlemen. This is no stock in trade kitchen trull. You are not buying her to polish the silverware, although…look at those lips! Imagine them polishing you! This is not merely property; this is prime flesh! The bids rose, reaching eighty-five. “Bend over, girl, back to the buyers, legs spread,” he ordered her softly. She obeyed instantly. She was open, exposed. His finger reached deep into her sex, a very wet, sex. “Look at this perfect rosebud, lady and gentlemen, tight, flexible, welcoming!” His finger slid into her anus, lubricated by her own juices. James stirred uncomfortably, his erection hurting. “What is wrong with me?” he thought. “That is my daughter! How can I be so aroused by her humiliation?” Yet, his body knew what it wanted.

The bidding crept up. One of the men dropped out. Now it was a straight fight between the two bidders, a stern looking woman who looked to be in her thirties or early forties, and a man in his fifties. “One hundred thousand!” The auctioneer called. “This truly is prime flesh!” Meghan stood tall, proud! She was valuable property, after all! There were two more bids. “Going, going, gone! Lot 37 sold to Sir Iain Paget for the sum of one hundred and four thousand five hundred pounds! Congratulations, Sir Iain. A fine addition to your collection. Your brand in the usual position?” The buyer stepped up onto the platform, a broad, stiff leather collar in his hand. James watched as the collar was locked around his daughter’s throat. She was no longer his daughter, he supposed. She was now the property of this man. “You’re going to be brave now, aren’t you girl?” James heard the man’s words, soft as they were. “No screaming or struggling, no need to tie you down?” Meghan nodded.

She watched as two men brought a padded bench onto the stage. She was bent over backwards, one man holding her shoulders, the other her knees. She whimpered softly as a third took a red-hot branding iron from the brazier next to the platform. “This will hurt, girl.” Her owner’s soft Scottish burr was somehow reassuring. “You may scream as the brand is applied. There is no shame in that. It may help you to know that I only brand the flesh I intend to keep for a good while.” The man with the brand approached her, looked to Sir Iain for approval. “The usual place, Baker.”

Meghan could feel the heat! “Surely not there?” She thought.

“Oh! Jesus Fuck! FUUUUUUCK!!!” The red-hot iron pressed into the soft, tender flesh of her mound. The pain was incredible! Then it was over, more or less. The man sprayed a cool something on the brand. Almost instantly the pain faded to mere agony. Her owner helped her to her feet. Her legs wobbled for a moment, then she caught herself. She was valuable property! Something to be proud of. Slowly she straightened, standing tall and proud. Sir Iain gently moved her arms behind her, snapping on the handcuffs. “We’ll have you measured and fitted for a permanent collar and cuffs tomorrow, girl.” His voice was oft, soothing. “You are very brave. Prime flesh indeed!” He clipped a leash to her collar. “Come! I am going to enjoy you.” She followed her owner, giving her father a tear-stained smile, a triumphant smile, as she passed him.

James watched, heart bursting with pride, cock throbbing with lust, as his daughter was led away to slavery.

 

[theseus]

Are they hurting yet?



“Are they hurting yet?”

“HEEEEEGH” Anna nodded her head. She shook her breasts, wincing at the pain from her crushed nipples. The site of the pain moved for a few moments, then settled back to the same itching, burning ache. She looked at the clock on the mantle. Ten minutes had gone by since Dave had applied those accursed clover clamps.

“I’m almost ready.” Dave was putting the last items in the ‘toy bag’. The small singletail was the last thing to be packed. She wriggled again, drool dripping onto her breasts and belly. Her elbows were pulled close together by the cuffs applied above her elbows, complementing the other pair securing her wrists. Her tortured breasts were thrust forward, offered for display. She shook her breasts once more, the new pain a change from the nagging ache. She thought of the singletail. The fiendishly thin lash would certainly help to distract her attention from the pain in her nipples when it sliced into the tops of her breasts.

Dave tugged at the chain joining the clamps. “AAAARRGGGHHH” She shook her head desperately. He smiled at her. “Let’s go! It’s going to be a good party. I’m very proud of you, that you agreed to keep those on until we get home in the morning.” He gave the chain another, fairly gentle, twitch.

It was barely eight P.M. These parties usually lasted until the early hours of the morning. Relief from this torture would only come at perhaps five or six in the morning. She chewed at the gag in her mouth. That was staying there all night, too. Dave would ease it so that she could have water at regular intervals, but, apart from that, the only thing she would have in her mouth on this occasion would be the red rubber ball. Not at all what she really wanted. Anna was a cocksucker! She liked nothing better than the feeling of a thick cock filling her mouth and throat. Tonight, that pleasure would be denied her.

Dave tugged at the chain again. She followed obediently. At the front door, he stopped suddenly. “I knew I’d forgotten something!” He disappeared for a few minutes. She heard the tinkling of a silver bell. “NNGGGH!” She shook her head, furiously. “PEEEAAAGH NNGGGH!”

“Open wide!” Obediently she spread her legs. Drool and tears dripped onto her breasts. “AAAGH!” The clamp bit into her left labia! Before she could protest again, the other labia was similarly clamped. The bell tinkled merrily as he dropped the chain. “PPEEEGGHHHH” She pleaded as the new pain registered. “And your leash, of course.” The clamp attached to the leash had little teeth. She screamed into the gag as it bit into her clit! She followed him, quickly, not wanting him to tug at her leash.

Sitting in the car was an ordeal. To make things worse, he seemed to find every bump in the road, making her breasts bounce. She loved these parties, and she knew that tonight she would be the centre of attraction. She had willingly agreed to the clamps, and the gag, and the leash, not quite appreciating how it would feel. She wriggled in the car seat. There was a smile behind the gag. There was a dark mark on the leather of the seat; drool and pussy juice combining. Her nipples ached and burned; her pussy lips screamed pain! She couldn’t wait until they got to the party, until the others saw her. She knew the best cure for the pain she was enduring would be there in abundance. She wondered who would be first” Whose would be the first cock to drill into her arse? She hoped it would be Frank, Frank with the fat cock, the one that spread her to tearing point. “MMMMMMMG” She smiled at Dave. He was the best husband ever! And tonight was going to be the best party ever!

 

[theseus]

The Auction of the Innocent



Attempting to defraud the Emperor was not the best idea Senator Severus, now former Senator Severus, galley slave, had ever had.

Consul Septimus, his arch enemy and one of those who lost a fortune due to the fraud, had prosecuted him. The case was unanswerable, the verdict unanimous. “You are stripped of your rank as senator, and of your citizenship. You are sentenced to life in the galleys.” Severus’ knees had buckled at the words. The galleys! Chained to an oar, constantly whipped, poorly fed, driven past exhaustion. He would not survive for long, but any time spent at the oar would be too long! “Your entire family, wife, son, daughter and sister are also stripped of their citizenship and are to be sold into slavery.” Severus sighed. Not unexpected. He would have to get a message to his friends to buy them and ensure that they were treated well.

Septimus was merciless. The next day the new galley slave, naked, in chains, his back an agony of raw flesh from the first of many floggings, was made to stand and watch the sale of his family. He wept, bitterly, as one by one, they were stripped naked. His wife was a modest woman, always veiled, never flaunting her looks. His sister and daughter shared her modesty. Now they stood, naked, exposed to the eyes of the city. That hurt him more than the flogging had.

His wife was the first to be offered. “The next four lots are former citizens, sentenced to slavery for the crimes committed by the pater familias! It has become the custom for such families to arrange that such slaves be purchased by relatives and friends, and promptly freed. In this case the Senate has decreed that only approved buyers may bid.” His eyes swept the crowd, finding Severus. His smile was evil. “The approved buyers in this case are the owners of the ten most notorious brothels in Ostia, the ones best known for their creativity in the field of perverse pleasure.” “No!!!!” Severus shouted, then screamed as the soldier guarding him dragged the hard edge of his shield down the slave’s lacerated back.

The Auctioneer grabbed a handful of the weeping woman’s hair. “Now, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he winked at old Gerda, Madam of the vilest whorehouse in Ostia, “when last were you called a lady, Gerda? Here we have the senator’s lady. Not too bad, for an old duck. Tits are good, a bit saggy, but pretty good. Spread your legs, slave! You’ll be doing a lot of that!” He brutally entered her with three fingers. “Sloppy, but fine for those Nubians that hang around your place, Felix! Now, what am I bid for this old whore? Come on, she has a good ten years left in her, before you need to put her on the street behind the fishgutting shed!” There was loud laughter at that crack. Only the most worn out, diseased whores plied their trade, standing up or kneeling, in the reeking alley among the rotting fish remnants. Julia sobbed bitterly as she was sold to Felix.

Caius was next. He had expected to start the Cursus Honorum, the series of military and civic positions that would lead to the consulship, but now he stood there, naked, embarrassed. “The son and heir. You’ve fallen a long way, boy! Atticus, where are you? You Greeks like a bumboy, don’t you? Here’s one for your house. Although, he has a pretty cock, too. Will you let him keep it?” He took Caius’ shoulder. “Turn around boy! Let them see the important part!” As he was turned around to show his bottom to the crowd, Caius was pleading with the auctioneer. “Please? I’m not one of those. I would die!” The auctioneer bellowed with laughter. “He’s not one of those, he says! Please don’t let them fuck my tight, patrician arse.” He parted Caius’ nether cheeks. “Who is going to have this virgin shitter?” The bidding started! There was strong competition between Gerda and Atticus. The price soared! Caius was knocked down to a late bidder, Magnus, whose house was notorious as the home of the most foul perversions.

Aurelia was Severus’ half-sister, almost the same age as his daughter. She truly was golden! Her slim, pale body was soon sold to Gerda. Her virginity would be sold off to the highest bidder. After that she would be a special for the first week or two, attracting a high fee, before settling down to the hard whore’s grind of a dozen or two fucks a day. Severus was mentally destroyed. Watching the humiliation of his family was worse than being a galley slave.

Severa was the last to be sold. The classic patrician virgin, slim, innocent, sheltered from the world. She stood straight, as she had always been taught, her hands by her sides. The auctioneer started his patter, pointed out her small, firm breasts, her mouth which could have been specially designed for sucking a cock, her slim hips, almost as slim as her brother’s. Severa was Severus’ favourite, the apple of his eye. His deeds had brought her here, to be sold, not merely as a slave, but as a whore of the foulest kind. “Give me a bid, Ladies and Gentlemen. A patrician virgin.” The bidding rose, and rose. Julia was made to do a little dance, to bend over to show her anus, even to suck the auctioneer’s fingers. “Sold! Sold to Magnus! Start booking your places now. I foresee the pleasure of a brother/sister combination. Magnus, you are a man of vision!”

Severus was prodded by his guard, prodded towards the road to Ostia. Walking in front of him was his naked wife, soon to be serving in a brothel. He wanted to die. He wondered how long it would be before he was whipped to death? It could not come soon enough!

Artwork by Julie and Melissa

 

[Marcia]

Watching the Sale

View attachment 984153

Watching your daughter being sold into slavery is a moving, disturbing, yet incredibly erotic experience.

James sat in the auction room, watching as one girl after another was sold off for amounts of money that he could barely conceive. One creamy skinned redhead went for £ 154 000 to an obese black man, the Minister of Finance in some remote, oil rich African country.

Finally, Meghan, his youngest daughter, was led up onto the small stage that was the auction block. She was naked, her body smooth, her skin oiled so that it gleamed in the spotlights. Every detail of her body was revealed. She squatted on the platform, waiting for the auctioneer to begin.

James wanted to cry. She was so young, so beautiful, so innocent, yet, she was so desirable. He moved uncomfortably as his erection swelled unbidden, driven by the sight of his own daughter, so wantonly displayed. Why? Why had she done this? Why had she decided that slavery was the best option for her? That there was no future for her other than servitude?

It had all started when he asked her about her plans for university. She had been about to graduate from high school, in all likelihood with straight A’s and he thought it was time to decide where and what she wanted to study. “I don’t think it’s worth going to university, dad. The world is in a mess. Going to university is going to cost you a lot of money, money you can’t really afford. The way things are going, I will end up with an expensive degree without hope of a suitable job. You will be in debt, and I will probably end up marrying some jerk, have a couple of kids and struggle to make end meet for the rest of my life.” James had nodded. It was sad that a girl of her age, with her life ahead of her, was so cynical. On the other hand, he had to admit that her assessment of the state of the world was pretty accurate and realistic. “If I sell myself as a slave, I will be a valuable, and probably valued, object. I will be housed, fed, given medical attention, and” she smiled broadly at him, “be regularly and thoroughly fucked.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “You really think this is the best future for you? Truly?” Meghan nodded. “In fact, dad, I have already signed a contract. Because I am not yet twenty-one, I need your approval. If I get that, I start my training next week.”

The auctioneer started his introduction. He motioned Meghan to stand, legs apart, hands behind her head. “Lot 37, ladies and gentlemen, is an eighteen-year-old slave, a first sale. As you can see, she is in fine shape, fit, and healthy.” He ran his hands down her body, expertly pinching her nipples so that they stood erect and proud. He ran his hands down her belly, sliding through the folds of her slit, a finger penetrating, emerging wet and shiny. “Eager, ready, and willing! Now, ladies and gentlemen, what am I bid. Reserve is twenty thousand, sterling.” The bids flew! Soon they were in excess of fifty thousand. James was amazed, and rather proud, that his little girl could be so valuable. Bidding slowed. There were now no more than half a dozen bidders. By the time the bids reached seventy thousand only three remained.

“Come on, lady, gentlemen. This is no stock in trade kitchen trull. You are not buying her to polish the silverware, although…look at those lips! Imagine them polishing you! This is not merely property; this is prime flesh! The bids rose, reaching eighty-five. “Bend over, girl, back to the buyers, legs spread,” he ordered her softly. She obeyed instantly. She was open, exposed. His finger reached deep into her sex, a very wet, sex. “Look at this perfect rosebud, lady and gentlemen, tight, flexible, welcoming!” His finger slid into her anus, lubricated by her own juices. James stirred uncomfortably, his erection hurting. “What is wrong with me?” he thought. “That is my daughter! How can I be so aroused by her humiliation?” Yet, his body knew what it wanted.

The bidding crept up. One of the men dropped out. Now it was a straight fight between the two bidders, a stern looking woman who looked to be in her thirties or early forties, and a man in his fifties. “One hundred thousand!” The auctioneer called. “This truly is prime flesh!” Meghan stood tall, proud! She was valuable property, after all! There were two more bids. “Going, going, gone! Lot 37 sold to Sir Iain Paget for the sum of one hundred and four thousand five hundred pounds! Congratulations, Sir Iain. A fine addition to your collection. Your brand in the usual position?” The buyer stepped up onto the platform, a broad, stiff leather collar in his hand. James watched as the collar was locked around his daughter’s throat. She was no longer his daughter, he supposed. She was now the property of this man. “You’re going to be brave now, aren’t you girl?” James heard the man’s words, soft as they were. “No screaming or struggling, no need to tie you down?” Meghan nodded.

She watched as two men brought a padded bench onto the stage. She was bent over backwards, one man holding her shoulders, the other her knees. She whimpered softly as a third took a red-hot branding iron from the brazier next to the platform. “This will hurt, girl.” Her owner’s soft Scottish burr was somehow reassuring. “You may scream as the brand is applied. There is no shame in that. It may help you to know that I only brand the flesh I intend to keep for a good while.” The man with the brand approached her, looked to Sir Iain for approval. “The usual place, Baker.”

Meghan could feel the heat! “Surely not there?” She thought.

“Oh! Jesus Fuck! FUUUUUUCK!!!” The red-hot iron pressed into the soft, tender flesh of her mound. The pain was incredible! Then it was over, more or less. The man sprayed a cool something on the brand. Almost instantly the pain faded to mere agony. Her owner helped her to her feet. Her legs wobbled for a moment, then she caught herself. She was valuable property! Something to be proud of. Slowly she straightened, standing tall and proud. Sir Iain gently moved her arms behind her, snapping on the handcuffs. “We’ll have you measured and fitted for a permanent collar and cuffs tomorrow, girl.” His voice was oft, soothing. “You are very brave. Prime flesh indeed!” He clipped a leash to her collar. “Come! I am going to enjoy you.” She followed her owner, giving her father a tear-stained smile, a triumphant smile, as she passed him.

James watched, heart bursting with pride, cock throbbing with lust, as his daughter was led away to slavery.

Thank you Theseus for this sexciting tory.. A young girl goes voluntary to the auction block.

 

[theseus]

Priapus



Amy’s new life was very, very exciting!

She had been a slave for three weeks. It had been a big decision, to sell herself, knowing that she would no longer be free, would no longer have any control over her actions or even her body, knowing that she would be a slave for many years, decades, until whoever owned her decided that she was no longer worth keeping, and freed her.

Slavery was so wonderful! She was amazed at the freedom that came with slavery. She was no longer bound by convention, no longer had to suppress the natural needs of her body. Her Master had rules, of course, and enforced those rules strictly.

That was another new discovery for her. She enjoyed punishment! Well, perhaps enjoyed was not the right word, after all, pain was not pleasant, but somewhere deep inside her the pain and ritual of punishment released something that allowed her to soar to unheard of heights of ecstasy!

She had learned that her body was an instrument of pleasure. An instrument that could be played like a fine violin. The playing gave pleasure to her Master and his friends, but, increasingly, the use of her body gave pleasure to her. She worshipped at the altar of that pleasure. Worshipped at the altar of the great god Priapus!



Priapus! Penis! Dick! Cock! It had so many names, that wonderful, beautiful shaft of flesh that she served. She loved everything about it. It’s hardness, the velvety smoothness of the shaft, the feel of the head as she took it in her lips. The taste! The textures on her tongue as she traced that wonderfully sensitive organ along the length of the shaft. The veins that stood out as it filled with blood, a hard, beautiful shaft designed to invade her body and fill it with pleasure!

She loved a cock in her mouth. Loved the feeling of being filled, loved the slow thrust that drove her Deity deep into her throat, loved the pulse of the organ as it spurted its load of sperm into her. She loved the feel of her vaginal lips being slowly parted as the penis drove deep into the sheath nature designed for it. And then there was her anus. The invasion that had, at first, seemed so unnatural, so painful, so humiliating. It had taken time, and much sobbing and pleading as her sphincter repeatedly lost the battle with the invading god Priapus, but now she craved the invasion, the wonderful fullness.

Amy was a happy slave. There was so much life ahead of her, so many years of use, so many years of serving her Deity with her heart, her soul, and most importantly, her body.

 

[theseus]

Camping Gear



“Surely, I can have a robe, or something? What if it is cold?” Alison was having second thoughts about the weekend camp, and the rules she had earlier agreed to.

James smiled at his wife. He was loading the last case of beer into the car. “The weather forecast is for hot, sunny days, and minimum temperatures in the low 20’s, Celsius. In any case, if you do get chilly, I’m sure there will be many people prepared to give you a cuddle to warm you up.” He dropped something into the vase on the mantlepiece. “In case I forget, the keys to your chains are in there. Come, let’s go! We don’t want to miss a moment of the fun.”

With a deep sigh, she headed for the door. Why had she ever agreed to this? She peered out of the front door, looking for stray passers-by who might see her. “James! Why is the car out in the street?” There was a faint note of hysteria in her voice. He laughed. “Shy? There are going to be close to one hundred people at the camp. Anyway, it was easier to load it there.” She took a deep breath, and stepped out of the door.

The camp had been planned for months. The Society had hired the entire venue for six days, ensured that they would have complete privacy, and strictly vetted the members who applied to come camping. They would be there for four nights. She had agreed that she would spend the entire time naked and chained. The keys to her chains were now in the house as they drove through the beautiful countryside. She knew that she was visible to passing motorists, although, thankfully, there were few of those. “James,” she said, tentatively. “I know I agreed to all this, but…well, I’m having second thoughts.” He nodded, his eyes on the road. “Well, I know I have to be chained all week end, and, well, I’ll be naked, but…” She saw the little smile on his face, she knew he was not going to relent. “I know I agreed, but, well, giving blowjobs to anyone you tell me to, and…licking women. I’m shy, James, and, well I’m not lesbian.” He raised an eyebrow. She stammered on. “Well, we agreed that you could have sex with me in front of the others,” she shuddered at the thought, “in all my holes, and you suggested…you suggested that you might…you might make me available…to others. I know I agreed, James, but…I’m frightened.”

There was silence for several miles. “Frightened of what?” He asked, softly. Another long silence. “Frightened that I might like it too much! That I will continue to want it, after the week end.” She pointed at the dark, wet patch on the leather of the seat. “That I might turn into a total whore.”

The campsite was a buzz of activity. Subs and slaves, most of them nude or semi-nude and many of them wearing some kind of restraint, were pitching tents, carrying boxes of gear and food, doing all the work of setting up camp. Masters and Mistresses stood or sat around, most of them with a cool drink in hand. One master already had a girl kneeling in front of him, her hands cuffed behind her back, her head bobbing as she served him. An emerald green crystal gleamed from between her butt cheeks. Alison was bent over, driving in tent pegs. Her chains made it all more difficult, and she was very aware that when she bent over, she was completely exposed from behind. How long before someone…? Her vaginal muscles contracted and she felt herself gush at the thought that someone, James, or someone else, might come up behind her and…

Alison smiled as she worked. She was on the edge of an orgasm, had been for a while, and nobody had even touched her, yet! It was going to be an exciting week end! Why had they not done this before?

 

[theseus]

A Mother’s Advice.



“I know it is difficult, and I know that you want to gag and feel like you want to vomit, but this is a skill you have to learn”

“But Mom! Its long, and its thick, and it tastes awful.” Helen looked at her mother, pleading.

Laura smiled at her daughter’s protest. “I have known longer, and I have known thicker. Your father is both. This is a basic skill for a girl. And believe me, the real thing tastes much better.” Laura smiled, “well, most of the time, anyway. Now come, try again! Practice makes perfect, as your dad would say. He always expects perfection. One smooth movement, until your chin pushes against the balls. Come on! You can do it!”

A good mother owes it to her daughter to ensure that she is equipped with all the necessary life skills.

 

[theseus]

Defeat



Courage had not been enough. The stone walls had not been enough. The raiders were just too strong, too brave, too many! The lucky ones had died defending the ancient fort. The survivors, and in particular the women, had nothing but humiliation and abuse to look forward to. Nothing ahead but a life of slavery.

Alyssa had not even been able to say farewell to her husband, her father, or her brothers. Their mutilated bodies had been stripped of armour, weapons and clothing; the bodies thrown willy-nilly on a pyre. The stench of roasting flesh filled her nostrils. The victorious chief had found her weeping over the body of her mother, the old lady, too old to have value as a slave, had been hacked down in cold blood. Alyssa fought hard as they seized her, ripping the clothes from her body. The chief would bear the scars from her fingernails on his face for the rest of his life. He was not about to forgive her for that.

Now she waited, numbed by grief, for the next horror to be visited upon her. The waiting made it so much worse. She was to be given to the warriors! Her body would be used, abused, by those blood crazed savages. She tried not to show her fear, her disgust for what was about to happen. If she was lucky, she would not survive the mass rape. If not, her abused body would be sold. She would be a slave for the rest of her life.

There was no mercy, no sympathy, no pity. She was a slave!

 

[theseus]

Farm Labour



The thunderstorm had washed most of the filth from her body. For the first time since she had arrived at The Farm three weeks previously, Lorna was vaguely clean. The rain had done little to reduce the smell, however. She could smell herself. The rank, gamey smell of a woman who worked fourteen hour days in the blazing sun, the smell of sweat, and body fluids, the smell of a well fucked bitch. She looked around cautiously, wanting to stretch her back, yet afraid that one of the overseers would see her. She had developed respect for their prowess with the long bullwhips, for their ability to flick the lash at a tender spot. A nipple, a clitoris, the tight pucker of a slave’s anus.

Lorna was a very young, very successful businesswoman. She was a self-made multi-millionaire by the time she was twenty five. She worked eighteen hour days, had no time for relaxation. She was exhausted and totally burnt out!

It was her father, of all people, who pointed her to The Farm. “Lorna! You’re a bloody mess! Look at you! Pale, drawn, flabby! Bags under your eyes! You look like shit, girl!” She glared at him, almost spitting with anger. “Nobody talks to me like that! Not even you, dad! I run a huge conglomerate. I built it! From nothing! I don’t have to listen to this!” Suddenly, she burst into tears! She buried her head against his chest, her make-up smearing his immaculate uniform. “Oh dad, I’m so tired! But I have to be here, it is my business, I can’t leave it to others.” He let her sob, massaging her back. Finally, she lifted her tear-filled eyes to his. He smiled at his little girl. “When last did you get laid?” He asked, softly.

“Dad! That’s not a question a father asks his daughter? It’s none of your business!” She sobbed again, “When I took that vacation in Acapulco. A one nighter.” Her father barked with laughter. “Vacation! Three nights! With a whole bunch of meetings! That was more than two years ago!” Slowly she calmed down. “What must I do, dad?”

He stroked his beard. “I think you need at least three months off. I mean totally off. No phones, no e-mails, no contact with the outside world. I think you need to go to The Farm.” She looked up in surprise. “Isn’t that that weirdo place run by your old Navy buddy?” He laughed. “I think he might be flattered by that description, but if you repeated it while you’re at The Farm it will probably earn you a dozen lashes. Yes! I think you need to go there, as one of the slaves. For at least three months. The company will run itself. You have very competent managers, managers who might rather enjoy not having you breathing down their necks every day.”

It was the first of several discussions. Eventually she signed the papers and told her staff that she was taking a three month break. Her father drove her to The Farm. There was one other vehicle in the parking area. She watched as a middle-aged couple undressed, placed their clothes in their car, and left the keys in the ignition. The man cuffed the woman’s hands behind her back, then somewhat awkwardly, did the same to his own hands. They kissed, and started the walk up the stony track that led to The Farm.

“Out you get!” Her father ordered. “Strip! Everything! That includes your watch and your rings!” She started stripping, embarrassed at her father’s presence trying to hide her heavy breasts from him, while at the same time trying to conceal her newly lasered sex. “Those too!” He said, pointing at her sandals. She looked at the rocky path, the distant pair of naked people picking their way among the sharp stones. “Hands!” His voice carried the assurance of many years of command. A tear ran down her cheek as she put her hands behind her, feeling the cold steel of the handcuffs encircle her wrists. He slapped her bare bottom. “Off you go! I’ll see you at the top.”

An hour later her father, having driven up the road to The Farm, watched his daughter stagger up the last few yards of the track. She had clearly fallen several times; her knees were bloody and she was covered in mud. She was given no respite. She was collared, heavy cuffs were locked onto wrists and ankles and connected by equally heavy chains. “McLean!” The bearded owner of The Farm bellowed, in true naval fashion. A heavily built, bearded man came running. He crashed to a halt. “Sah!” He bellowed. “New field slave, McLean! To be treated hard. You can have her for the night. No washing! Kennels once a week. Unlimited use!” Lorna stared at the man with an expression of horror on her face. Man? Monster, more like. He removed a whip from his belt. “Run! Bitch! Over there!” He pointed up the hill at a log hut. “Move!” The whip licked out.

Panting, sweating, her body smarting from the kiss of the whip, filthy from several falls, she reached the hut. Running in chains was a new, daunting experience. She was let into the hut, a spartan space with a narrow bed, a table and a single chair. Screwed into the wall, at knee height, was a heavy steel ring.

McLean led her inside, leaving her standing. His nose wrinkled in disgust as he examined her. She was acutely aware of her nakedness, the fact that she was sweaty, smelly, and covered in mud and dirt. “Could I have something to wash with? Please? Sir?” It went against all she believed in to speak so humbly to a man, a man who was clearly not an intellectual giant, but she was starting to realise what she had let herself in for.

“Wash? You’re a field slave! Field slaves are lower than animals. You don’t get to wash, not for the whole time you are here, three months, I believe?” He was stripping off his shirt, revealing massive arms and shoulders. He unbuckled his belt, dropping his trousers.

“Is that real?” She gasped! “Oh my god! It can’t be?” Her stomach knotted at the thought of that thing, that monstrously thick shaft, entering her. There was no doubt in her mind that that was what he intended.

“It is real enough. You will worship this, and many others like it. On your knees, slave!” It was inches from her face, an impossible challenge, yet, she thought of the punishments she had been told about, shuddered at the thought. It was the lesser of the two evils. She opened her mouth as wide as she could.

A boot in the ribs woke her in the cold hour before dawn. She had slept on the hard wooden floor, chained to the wall by her collar, slept despite her aching body that felt as if it had been split in two, slept despite the cramps caused by the invasion of her bowels, slept from sheer exhaustion. A handful of hair served to lift her off the floor and bend her over the bed. “Please, master, not there, not again. I’m so sore!” Her voice was croak, her throat raw from the abuse it had suffered. “Oh my god,” she croaked as that implacable shaft forced itself, once more, past the resistance of the ring of muscle, deep into her.

He allowed her a drink of water from a trough before joining her to the coffle of naked slaves heading out to the worksite. The sky was just turning pink with the first flush of dawn.

Three weeks later she stretched briefly, avoiding the lash. The office flab was gone, replaced by firm muscle. Working from dawn to dusk had become a routine, one she, to her own surprise, found that she actually enjoyed. Amazingly, there was much about her new life that she enjoyed. The hard, physical work. The arbitrary use of her body by the overseers and any other free men and women who wished its use. She smiled inwardly at the memory of the kennels, at first the feeling of total horror when she realised what being sent there meant, now the anticipation of plentiful, tasty food, so much better than the tasteless slop fed to the slaves. Even the bite of the whip was sometimes welcome.

She screamed as the tip of the whip cracked unerringly against her anus, causing her to leap erect. The whip flicked out again, the tip snapping against her left nipple. “Get to work, slave! This is no holiday!” McLean stood there, grinning. As she bent over, hacking at the earth with her mattock, she felt the blunt heat and pressure where the whip had just kissed.

“Mmmm,” she thought, as the heat penetrated her, pushing back against the blunt force. “I know where I’m spending next summer. Dad was right! A girl needs a break, and regular fucking!

 

[montycrusto]

Farm Labour

View attachment 995171

The thunderstorm had washed most of the filth from her body. For the first time since she had arrived at The Farm three weeks previously, Lorna was vaguely clean. The rain had done little to reduce the smell, however. She could smell herself. The rank, gamey smell of a woman who worked fourteen hour days in the blazing sun, the smell of sweat, and body fluids, the smell of a well fucked bitch. She looked around cautiously, wanting to stretch her back, yet afraid that one of the overseers would see her. She had developed respect for their prowess with the long bullwhips, for their ability to flick the lash at a tender spot. A nipple, a clitoris, the tight pucker of a slave’s anus.

Lorna was a very young, very successful businesswoman. She was a self-made multi-millionaire by the time she was twenty five. She worked eighteen hour days, had no time for relaxation. She was exhausted and totally burnt out!

It was her father, of all people, who pointed her to The Farm. “Lorna! You’re a bloody mess! Look at you! Pale, drawn, flabby! Bags under your eyes! You look like shit, girl!” She glared at him, almost spitting with anger. “Nobody talks to me like that! Not even you, dad! I run a huge conglomerate. I built it! From nothing! I don’t have to listen to this!” Suddenly, she burst into tears! She buried her head against his chest, her make-up smearing his immaculate uniform. “Oh dad, I’m so tired! But I have to be here, it is my business, I can’t leave it to others.” He let her sob, massaging her back. Finally, she lifted her tear-filled eyes to his. He smiled at his little girl. “When last did you get laid?” He asked, softly.

“Dad! That’s not a question a father asks his daughter? It’s none of your business!” She sobbed again, “When I took that vacation in Acapulco. A one nighter.” Her father barked with laughter. “Vacation! Three nights! With a whole bunch of meetings! That was more than two years ago!” Slowly she calmed down. “What must I do, dad?”

He stroked his beard. “I think you need at least three months off. I mean totally off. No phones, no e-mails, no contact with the outside world. I think you need to go to The Farm.” She looked up in surprise. “Isn’t that that weirdo place run by your old Navy buddy?” He laughed. “I think he might be flattered by that description, but if you repeated it while you’re at The Farm it will probably earn you a dozen lashes. Yes! I think you need to go there, as one of the slaves. For at least three months. The company will run itself. You have very competent managers, managers who might rather enjoy not having you breathing down their necks every day.”

It was the first of several discussions. Eventually she signed the papers and told her staff that she was taking a three month break. Her father drove her to The Farm. There was one other vehicle in the parking area. She watched as a middle-aged couple undressed, placed their clothes in their car, and left the keys in the ignition. The man cuffed the woman’s hands behind her back, then somewhat awkwardly, did the same to his own hands. They kissed, and started the walk up the stony track that led to The Farm.

“Out you get!” Her father ordered. “Strip! Everything! That includes your watch and your rings!” She started stripping, embarrassed at her father’s presence trying to hide her heavy breasts from him, while at the same time trying to conceal her newly lasered sex. “Those too!” He said, pointing at her sandals. She looked at the rocky path, the distant pair of naked people picking their way among the sharp stones. “Hands!” His voice carried the assurance of many years of command. A tear ran down her cheek as she put her hands behind her, feeling the cold steel of the handcuffs encircle her wrists. He slapped her bare bottom. “Off you go! I’ll see you at the top.”

An hour later her father, having driven up the road to The Farm, watched his daughter stagger up the last few yards of the track. She had clearly fallen several times; her knees were bloody and she was covered in mud. She was given no respite. She was collared, heavy cuffs were locked onto wrists and ankles and connected by equally heavy chains. “McLean!” The bearded owner of The Farm bellowed, in true naval fashion. A heavily built, bearded man came running. He crashed to a halt. “Sah!” He bellowed. “New field slave, McLean! To be treated hard. You can have her for the night. No washing! Kennels once a week. Unlimited use!” Lorna stared at the man with an expression of horror on her face. Man? Monster, more like. He removed a whip from his belt. “Run! Bitch! Over there!” He pointed up the hill at a log hut. “Move!” The whip licked out.

Panting, sweating, her body smarting from the kiss of the whip, filthy from several falls, she reached the hut. Running in chains was a new, daunting experience. She was let into the hut, a spartan space with a narrow bed, a table and a single chair. Screwed into the wall, at knee height, was a heavy steel ring.

McLean led her inside, leaving her standing. His nose wrinkled in disgust as he examined her. She was acutely aware of her nakedness, the fact that she was sweaty, smelly, and covered in mud and dirt. “Could I have something to wash with? Please? Sir?” It went against all she believed in to speak so humbly to a man, a man who was clearly not an intellectual giant, but she was starting to realise what she had let herself in for.

“Wash? You’re a field slave! Field slaves are lower than animals. You don’t get to wash, not for the whole time you are here, three months, I believe?” He was stripping off his shirt, revealing massive arms and shoulders. He unbuckled his belt, dropping his trousers.

“Is that real?” She gasped! “Oh my god! It can’t be?” Her stomach knotted at the thought of that thing, that monstrously thick shaft, entering her. There was no doubt in her mind that that was what he intended.

“It is real enough. You will worship this, and many others like it. On your knees, slave!” It was inches from her face, an impossible challenge, yet, she thought of the punishments she had been told about, shuddered at the thought. It was the lesser of the two evils. She opened her mouth as wide as she could.

A boot in the ribs woke her in the cold hour before dawn. She had slept on the hard wooden floor, chained to the wall by her collar, slept despite her aching body that felt as if it had been split in two, slept despite the cramps caused by the invasion of her bowels, slept from sheer exhaustion. A handful of hair served to lift her off the floor and bend her over the bed. “Please, master, not there, not again. I’m so sore!” Her voice was croak, her throat raw from the abuse it had suffered. “Oh my god,” she croaked as that implacable shaft forced itself, once more, past the resistance of the ring of muscle, deep into her.

He allowed her a drink of water from a trough before joining her to the coffle of naked slaves heading out to the worksite. The sky was just turning pink with the first flush of dawn.

Three weeks later she stretched briefly, avoiding the lash. The office flab was gone, replaced by firm muscle. Working from dawn to dusk had become a routine, one she, to her own surprise, found that she actually enjoyed. Amazingly, there was much about her new life that she enjoyed. The hard, physical work. The arbitrary use of her body by the overseers and any other free men and women who wished its use. She smiled inwardly at the memory of the kennels, at first the feeling of total horror when she realised what being sent there meant, now the anticipation of plentiful, tasty food, so much better than the tasteless slop fed to the slaves. Even the bite of the whip was sometimes welcome.

She screamed as the tip of the whip cracked unerringly against her anus, causing her to leap erect. The whip flicked out again, the tip snapping against her left nipple. “Get to work, slave! This is no holiday!” McLean stood there, grinning. As she bent over, hacking at the earth with her mattock, she felt the blunt heat and pressure where the whip had just kissed.

“Mmmm,” she thought, as the heat penetrated her, pushing back against the blunt force. “I know where I’m spending next summer. Dad was right! A girl needs a break, and regular fucking!

Brilliant, @theseus !!
one of your best ever vignettes!
Great picture too

 

[theseus]

Brilliant, @theseus !!
one of your best ever vignettes!
Great picture too

Thank you!

 

[theseus]

Assignation



The corridor seemed to go on forever. Room 2354. She looked at each door as she passed it. 2322 was the last one she had passed. She walked proudly, back straight, head up. Her face was impassive, showing no sign of the turmoil inside her. No sign of her doubts, her fears, her naked lust!

The instructions in the note her husband had left her were simple, and very detailed.

“You are to take a taxi to the Garden Plaza hotel. You will wear the short yellow sun dress and the matching heels. Nothing else! Nothing! Other than your wedding ring, of course. Take the bottle of champagne in the fridge with you.

Take the lift to the 23rd floor. Undress in the lift and leave your clothes there. Keep only your wedding ring. Go to room 2354. Walk slowly down the corridor. Do not try to hide yourself. The door to the room will be open. Enter!

You are to obey every order you receive in that room. You are to do whatever is required of you. Anything and everything! You are to stay there for the entire week end. You may leave at 6 a.m. on Monday morning. Your clothes will be on the stand in the lift lobby.

Do not embarrass me!”

She walked on; the corridor blessedly deserted. When she had made the promise to obey her husband in all things, she had thought it to be a formality. “Love, honour and obey,” the old formula, just words. She had never thought that they would be taken literally, enforced. She never thought that he would require this of her. That he would require her to give herself, totally give herself, to a stranger. Or strangers! Would there be more than one? What did await her? Behind the door of suite 2354?

A door opened. A couple emerged, dressed formally, as if for the opera, or a formal dinner. The woman’s eyes widened in shock, shock at seeing a naked woman walking down the corridor, a bottle of very, very expensive champagne in her hand. The man looked her up and down, slowly, deliberately, appreciatively, insultingly. He raised an eyebrow. She felt the heat of the blush rise, her stomach knot in embarrassment. She walked on. Shoulders back, head high.

2354!

She took a deep breath. Another. Shuddering. Her stomach was a hard knot. She could feel the moisture trickling down her thigh.

She opened the door. Walked into the softly lit room.

“Close the door, and lock it.” The voice was deep, strong.

Obedience! Love, honour and obey! She had promised.

She glanced at her wedding ring. The token of that promise. The symbol of her marriage. This was what marriage was all about.

Obedience!

Total, unquestioning obedience!

 

[Marcia]

Assignation

View attachment 995461

The corridor seemed to go on forever. Room 2354. She looked at each door as she passed it. 2322 was the last one she had passed. She walked proudly, back straight, head up. Her face was impassive, showing no sign of the turmoil inside her. No sign of her doubts, her fears, her naked lust!

The instructions in the note her husband had left her were simple, and very detailed.

“You are to take a taxi to the Garden Plaza hotel. You will wear the short yellow sun dress and the matching heels. Nothing else! Nothing! Other than your wedding ring, of course. Take the bottle of champagne in the fridge with you.

Take the lift to the 23rd floor. Undress in the lift and leave your clothes there. Keep only your wedding ring. Go to room 2354. Walk slowly down the corridor. Do not try to hide yourself. The door to the room will be open. Enter!

You are to obey every order you receive in that room. You are to do whatever is required of you. Anything and everything! You are to stay there for the entire week end. You may leave at 6 a.m. on Monday morning. Your clothes will be on the stand in the lift lobby.

Do not embarrass me!”

She walked on; the corridor blessedly deserted. When she had made the promise to obey her husband in all things, she had thought it to be a formality. “Love, honour and obey,” the old formula, just words. She had never thought that they would be taken literally, enforced. She never thought that he would require this of her. That he would require her to give herself, totally give herself, to a stranger. Or strangers! Would there be more than one? What did await her? Behind the door of suite 2354?

A door opened. A couple emerged, dressed formally, as if for the opera, or a formal dinner. The woman’s eyes widened in shock, shock at seeing a naked woman walking down the corridor, a bottle of very, very expensive champagne in her hand. The man looked her up and down, slowly, deliberately, appreciatively, insultingly. He raised an eyebrow. She felt the heat of the blush rise, her stomach knot in embarrassment. She walked on. Shoulders back, head high.

2354!

She took a deep breath. Another. Shuddering. Her stomach was a hard knot. She could feel the moisture trickling down her thigh.

She opened the door. Walked into the softly lit room.

“Close the door, and lock it.” The voice was deep, strong.

Obedience! Love, honour and obey! She had promised.

She glanced at her wedding ring. The token of that promise. The symbol of her marriage. This was what marriage was all about.

Obedience!

Total, unquestioning obedience!

You wrote another exciting story about obedience @theseus. Thank you!

 

[theseus]

The old man



Anna looked back at the gathering of men. They had clearly enjoyed her dance, to judge by the visible bulges. One of the bodyguards, the rather good-looking, musclebound one, was rubbing his crotch, his eyes still fixed on her naked body as she went upstairs.

Anna wasn’t her real name, but it was the name her owner had given her when he bought her. He had bought five girls at the auction. Not wanting to be bothered with learning names, he had renamed them all. Anna; Bella, the African girl; Cassy, the Russian; Darling, the petite Asian, and Eva, the tall Norwegian.

She smiled at the old man as he lifted a bushy eyebrow. She liked the old man. He was a very frequent guest, and seemed to like her. She hoped that he would be able to have her that evening. The old man was special. He was old enough to be her grandfather, perhaps her great grandfather, she thought. He was still a big man. He was gentle, and kind, and funny.

The big bodyguard would be nice. She liked hard-muscled men, but he would use her and then discard her. The old man, on the other hand, would spend hours playing with her, stroking her, bringing her to the edge, letting her down, then bringing her back up again. He seemed to derive more pleasure from giving her orgasms than he did from his own! Sometimes he just watched her as she played with herself, but most often he would ask her to ride him. “I enjoy watching you,” he would say. She wished he would buy her.

Anna had come a long way from the chaos of civil war, refugee camps and the makeshift brothel in the narrow alley on an island overrun by refugees and tourists. She was well housed, well fed, and, she had to admit, well and pleasantly fucked; most of the time. Slavery was not the worst of fates.

She gave the old man one more sidelong glance.

“I hope you get to fuck me tonight,” she thought, as she blew him a kiss.

 

[d'Not]

How very kind you are sir, to this old fart. I relate.

 

[theseus]

The Training of a Slave



“I know it’s difficult! You have to learn. You’re no good as a fuckslave if you can’t deep throat a long, thick cock. Remember to look into his eyes as you suck him.”

“Gggghhhhggg!” was all Julia could get out. Her throat was spasming, she felt as if she wanted to vomit. She would never get that thing all the way into her throat. And to make it worse, the slave whose cock she was so desperately trying to swallow looked bored!

James wanted to shout at the girl. “Come on, you bitch! Get my fucking cock down your throat, for fuck’s sake!” He was bored, and sore, and really had no interest in women. Being sold as a training aid to the school did have its advantages, of course. He got to keep his cock and balls, as they were the main training aid. Had he not come here, he would have been gelded, like the other male convicts. This slut really had no clue! Her teeth were constantly scraping at his dick, and so far she had been unable to get even half his cock down her throat. Mary was trying hard, with advice and a steadying hand, but all to no avail. The only consolation he had was that a poor performance like this would not go unpunished, and that he would have the pleasure of making this slave bitch dance to the song of the whip!

Julia struggled once more to swallow the meaty shaft. She knew the price of failure, and this was just the start of her training. The bloody thing had to go down! Slave training was no fun at all!

 

[Loinclothslave]

I’d be in a real dilemma here. I’m pretty sure I fail miserably at sucking cock, not really my thing. However in this particular scenario I would definitely be craving the punishment. So maybe they should incentivize me by simply whipping me if I performed well? I suspect that would work especially well if they started whipping me during a good performance. Rather like spurring on a horse past the winning post, except it’s spurring on this slave to the whipping post?

Great vignette as always, thank you @theseus