Crux-Emperor Baracus X
Rectidolor
might have to trim that picture...
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Vignettes from the slave pits
- Thread starter theseus
- Start date
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Thank you.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Are you comfortable?
“Mom, are you comfortable, I mean, really comfortable, in every way, like that?” Gail’s voice was uncertain, she was clearly not totally at ease. Moira smiled at her daughter, a smile that invited her to continue. “I mean, I don’t mean to criticise, or to judge, but… but… well, it’s been more than half a year since I saw either you or dad wearing clothes, except when we are out somewhere in public, and, well…” Her voice trailed off. “Kitty has been asking questions.” ‘Granny and grandpa go bare at home, why can’t we?’ Mom, this has got to stop!”
“What you’re really saying is that you aren’t comfortable with me like this.” Moira was being the patient, understanding parent. Because I am very comfortable like this, and so is dad. In fact, we have never been more comfortable, more relaxed, and,” her eyes sparkled with merriment, “more intimate and sexual.” Gail almost stamped her foot! “Mom!” She looked around hurriedly to see if Kitty was around, “For fuck’s sake, you’re impossible! Of course, I’m not comfortable, and neither is Dave. Why do you think he so seldom visits these days?”
Moira laughed. “I had noticed his discomfort. Not to mention the way he avoids looking at me, except for that sidelong look like a dog eyeing a steak on the kitchen table.”
“Mom!” This time she did stamp her foot. “Mom! You’re incorrigible! You are also very, well, attractive and…well, he is only human.” Gail blushed. “And here I was thinking it was just a case of badly sized underwear.” Moira chuckled merrily. “Are you jealous?”
Gail was quiet for a while. “I suppose I am. Plus, you and dad seem so happy, so much younger, since you shed your clothes. As if you shed age and care with your clothes. She looked up as her father walked in, quickly averting her eyes from his manhood. “This looks like a very serious discussion,” he said, playfully tweaking his wife’s nipple. Moira laughed, throatily, pushing her breast into his hand. “Gail was concerned about my comfort, and the fact that Dave has the hots for me.” George stroked his beard. “Has he now? Are you going to let him scratch his itch?” Her nipples were hard now.
“Dad!” There was a hint of laughter in Gail’s outraged cry. “Dad! How can you suggest such an outrageous thing? You’re not seriously…are you? Mom! You wouldn’t even think of such a thing.” She looked from one parent to another, her eyes widening. “You would. Both of you. You really would.” Suddenly she giggled. “I can imagine the expression on his face.” Her giggles intensified until they ended in a burst of coughing. “I can just imagine! Can I watch?”
George changed the subject. “We’re going to sell up here. There is a community about fifty miles away that shares our beliefs and our lifestyle. We have bought into the farm they have settled on and will be building a home there. I hope you will be regular visitors, and that you won’t be too shocked. It is a clothing free and open sex community.” Gail nodded. “If we came to visit, would we have to conform to their rules?” “I mean? What about Kitty? And, well, mom and Dave? Would we have to be naked, like you?”
Moira explained that guests and relatives, while encouraged to follow the customs of the community, were not required to conform. “We’re going to build a big enough place so that you can come and stay for extended periods, if you wish. That would make us both very happy.”
Gail sat quiet for a while, pondering the change that had come over her parents. Their new lifestyle was outrageous, shocking, some would say disgusting. On the other hand, she had never seen them so happy, so comfortable, so contented. Her eyes went back to her father’s hand, gently fondling her mother’s breast, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. She smiled. It was natural! It should be normal. She stood and hugged both of them. “I think we might be spending a lot of time at your new place. I’m sure we’ll fit in.”
Suddenly her clothes felt constricting, unnecessary, superfluous. She thought she and George and Kitty would have no trouble fitting in with the rest of the community.
“Mom, are you comfortable, I mean, really comfortable, in every way, like that?” Gail’s voice was uncertain, she was clearly not totally at ease. Moira smiled at her daughter, a smile that invited her to continue. “I mean, I don’t mean to criticise, or to judge, but… but… well, it’s been more than half a year since I saw either you or dad wearing clothes, except when we are out somewhere in public, and, well…” Her voice trailed off. “Kitty has been asking questions.” ‘Granny and grandpa go bare at home, why can’t we?’ Mom, this has got to stop!”
“What you’re really saying is that you aren’t comfortable with me like this.” Moira was being the patient, understanding parent. Because I am very comfortable like this, and so is dad. In fact, we have never been more comfortable, more relaxed, and,” her eyes sparkled with merriment, “more intimate and sexual.” Gail almost stamped her foot! “Mom!” She looked around hurriedly to see if Kitty was around, “For fuck’s sake, you’re impossible! Of course, I’m not comfortable, and neither is Dave. Why do you think he so seldom visits these days?”
Moira laughed. “I had noticed his discomfort. Not to mention the way he avoids looking at me, except for that sidelong look like a dog eyeing a steak on the kitchen table.”
“Mom!” This time she did stamp her foot. “Mom! You’re incorrigible! You are also very, well, attractive and…well, he is only human.” Gail blushed. “And here I was thinking it was just a case of badly sized underwear.” Moira chuckled merrily. “Are you jealous?”
Gail was quiet for a while. “I suppose I am. Plus, you and dad seem so happy, so much younger, since you shed your clothes. As if you shed age and care with your clothes. She looked up as her father walked in, quickly averting her eyes from his manhood. “This looks like a very serious discussion,” he said, playfully tweaking his wife’s nipple. Moira laughed, throatily, pushing her breast into his hand. “Gail was concerned about my comfort, and the fact that Dave has the hots for me.” George stroked his beard. “Has he now? Are you going to let him scratch his itch?” Her nipples were hard now.
“Dad!” There was a hint of laughter in Gail’s outraged cry. “Dad! How can you suggest such an outrageous thing? You’re not seriously…are you? Mom! You wouldn’t even think of such a thing.” She looked from one parent to another, her eyes widening. “You would. Both of you. You really would.” Suddenly she giggled. “I can imagine the expression on his face.” Her giggles intensified until they ended in a burst of coughing. “I can just imagine! Can I watch?”
George changed the subject. “We’re going to sell up here. There is a community about fifty miles away that shares our beliefs and our lifestyle. We have bought into the farm they have settled on and will be building a home there. I hope you will be regular visitors, and that you won’t be too shocked. It is a clothing free and open sex community.” Gail nodded. “If we came to visit, would we have to conform to their rules?” “I mean? What about Kitty? And, well, mom and Dave? Would we have to be naked, like you?”
Moira explained that guests and relatives, while encouraged to follow the customs of the community, were not required to conform. “We’re going to build a big enough place so that you can come and stay for extended periods, if you wish. That would make us both very happy.”
Gail sat quiet for a while, pondering the change that had come over her parents. Their new lifestyle was outrageous, shocking, some would say disgusting. On the other hand, she had never seen them so happy, so comfortable, so contented. Her eyes went back to her father’s hand, gently fondling her mother’s breast, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. She smiled. It was natural! It should be normal. She stood and hugged both of them. “I think we might be spending a lot of time at your new place. I’m sure we’ll fit in.”
Suddenly her clothes felt constricting, unnecessary, superfluous. She thought she and George and Kitty would have no trouble fitting in with the rest of the community.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Acceptance
“I’m sure I’ll get used to this.”
“I mean, the thought that I am owned, that somebody, a total stranger, paid money, a lot of money, for my body and that I am now his property. How can that be? I’m a person, a human being. I can’t be owned. Can I?”
Gina was pretty and innocent looking. She was sitting on the bed, freshly bathed, perfumed, made up. Ready for use. By a total stranger. A man who had borrowed her from her owner. “Borrowed me! Borrowed me! Like I was a lawnmower, or a powertool. I’m a human being, a person, not some THING to be lent out! Aren’t I?”
Gina had come into this voluntarily, if not entirely willingly. Poverty is a grim ruler! The pandemic had destroyed her family. They had been a comfortable middle-class family, her father had owned his own little business, and all the family had pitched in to help. That was all in the past. Unable to trade, her dad had gone bankrupt. A few weeks later he died, a victim of the virus. Money was scarce, work even scarcer. They all hunted for work, did odd jobs. Gina had to give up her dance classes, her great love. Then a woman, one she had sometimes seen around the studio, ‘accidentally’ bumped into her in the street. They chatted for a while, ending with the woman, Lynda, inviting her for coffee. After an hour of chat and coffee, another luxury Gina had had to give up, Lynda came to the point.
“You’re broke, aren’t you? Your family are about to be evicted, and you have nowhere to go, nowhere except the streets. Right?” Gina nodded, numbly. Lynda had just, brutally and accurately, summarised the situation. “What are you going to do? Turn tricks in the parking lot?” Gina blushed. She had actually thought about it, becoming a prostitute, but discarded the thought immediately. There had to something she could do to earn a living for her family? “I’ve watched you in class. You have a good body, girlish, innocent, the kind men will pay good money for.” Lynda smiled, “Women, too.”
Over the next hour Lynda filled in her proposal. Gina would sell herself as a slave, a sex slave. It was better than prostitution. After all, a slave was worth money, valuable, and would be looked after well so that she retained her value. She would be given training, groomed, and be sold by auction to the highest bidder. She would be a slave for twenty years. Half of her sale price would be given to her mother, the remainder, plus a percentage of any resale, would be invested in order to provide her with a pension when she was freed. Lynda named an amount that caused Gina to gape in amazement! “You’re joking! I can’t be worth that much! What would I have to do to justify a price like that?” Lynda smiled. “Obey! Simply obey!”
The man moved around the room. The man who had borrowed her. He was distinguished looking, dressed in an expensive looking suit. He had removed his jacket, hanging it carefully on a hanger. He had spoken only three words. “Good evening, Rosebud.” Rosebud! She wasn’t Gina any more. Rosebud! “What shall I call you?” Her owner had said conversationally, on that first afternoon of her slavery. “Rosebud! Yes, Rosebud. Why?” He smiled. “Because you have such a perfect rosebud. I shall use it often, in fact, I will use it almost exclusively. It is your best feature.” He had used it then, and several times since. Slave life is strange, she mused, to be named after your anus.
The man was unpacking his rather bulky briefcase. She knew the use of most of the items he was arranging fastidiously on a side table. Nipple clamps, two large buttplugs, handcuffs, a penis gag. A flogger and an evil looking singletail whip. She knew their use, of course she did, they were there to hurt her, although as yet she had not been whipped. The auctioneer had made a point of showing off her pale skin. “So pale, so soft, so sensitive, Ladies and Gentlemen, her skin will mark up beautifully under the whip!” She had not yet been whipped. Would it be as painful as those first buggerings had been? Would she get used to it? Even start to enjoy it? As she was beginning to enjoy the buggering?
The man had finished laying out his equipment. Now he undid his tie, smoothed it and folded it. His shirt was next, carefully hung up. Gina watched. He was not young, there was grey in his chest hair, but the torso was strong, well-muscled. He sat down, removing his shoes and socks, each sock placed neatly in its own shoe. He undid his belt, his fly, removed his trousers, again neatly hanging them up. His underpants were tight, she could see the outline of his cock, he was circumcised. She swallowed nervously. She was a slave. Slaves had only one deity, at least in her limited experience. Slaves served and worshipped cock! The underpants came off. His cock was half erect, slowly inflating and growing. Not huge, she noted with relief, not as big as the Master. He walked toward her.
“I want your mouth.” Gina smiled as she moved to the edge of the bed, her tongue out to taste his cock, a cock that didn’t taste of her own bowels! Her Master only used her mouth to clean him after buggering her. She started to get off the bed, to kneel at his feet. “No, I want to play with your tits, they’re beautiful.”
She took her time, using all the skill she had learned in her short career as a slave. The cock tasted so good, unsullied by her bowels. She relished the taste, the texture, the aroma of the firm shaft of flesh. She played with him, bringing him to the edge several times before he lost control and flooded her throat with his seed. She swallowed every drop.
She lay back, her thighs spread invitingly, her pussy, her slave cunt, wet and needy.
The man, would she ever know his name, kissed her, deeply, lovingly, seeming to enjoy the taste of his own cum in her mouth. He broke the kiss, smiling at her. His finger slid easily into her moist slit. He licked it clean. “Delicious!” He said, smiling, “But you know as well as I do that that hole is unavailable to me. Your Master was very clear in his instructions. “You are welcome to fuck her face and her ass. You are welcome to whip her, or hurt her in any way that pleases you. However, use of her cunt is prohibited! So is any stimulation of her clitoris. That hole is reserved for one user only.”
Tears welled in Gina’s eyes. She was so horny, so needy, so empty. Her pussy ached with need. Her master was so cruel! His orders were emphatic! She would never do that. It was disgusting, unnatural. She would never ask for that, no matter how needy her pussy was. It wasn’t fair!
The man was hardening again. Gina sighed, her eyes pleading. He shook his head. “Turn around, please,” he said softly.
She obeyed.
“I can see why you are named Rosebud,” he laughed. “Perfect, absolutely perfect.” She gave a shuddering sigh as he entered her there.
One day, one day, she would come to terms with being a slave.
“I’m sure I’ll get used to this.”
“I mean, the thought that I am owned, that somebody, a total stranger, paid money, a lot of money, for my body and that I am now his property. How can that be? I’m a person, a human being. I can’t be owned. Can I?”
Gina was pretty and innocent looking. She was sitting on the bed, freshly bathed, perfumed, made up. Ready for use. By a total stranger. A man who had borrowed her from her owner. “Borrowed me! Borrowed me! Like I was a lawnmower, or a powertool. I’m a human being, a person, not some THING to be lent out! Aren’t I?”
Gina had come into this voluntarily, if not entirely willingly. Poverty is a grim ruler! The pandemic had destroyed her family. They had been a comfortable middle-class family, her father had owned his own little business, and all the family had pitched in to help. That was all in the past. Unable to trade, her dad had gone bankrupt. A few weeks later he died, a victim of the virus. Money was scarce, work even scarcer. They all hunted for work, did odd jobs. Gina had to give up her dance classes, her great love. Then a woman, one she had sometimes seen around the studio, ‘accidentally’ bumped into her in the street. They chatted for a while, ending with the woman, Lynda, inviting her for coffee. After an hour of chat and coffee, another luxury Gina had had to give up, Lynda came to the point.
“You’re broke, aren’t you? Your family are about to be evicted, and you have nowhere to go, nowhere except the streets. Right?” Gina nodded, numbly. Lynda had just, brutally and accurately, summarised the situation. “What are you going to do? Turn tricks in the parking lot?” Gina blushed. She had actually thought about it, becoming a prostitute, but discarded the thought immediately. There had to something she could do to earn a living for her family? “I’ve watched you in class. You have a good body, girlish, innocent, the kind men will pay good money for.” Lynda smiled, “Women, too.”
Over the next hour Lynda filled in her proposal. Gina would sell herself as a slave, a sex slave. It was better than prostitution. After all, a slave was worth money, valuable, and would be looked after well so that she retained her value. She would be given training, groomed, and be sold by auction to the highest bidder. She would be a slave for twenty years. Half of her sale price would be given to her mother, the remainder, plus a percentage of any resale, would be invested in order to provide her with a pension when she was freed. Lynda named an amount that caused Gina to gape in amazement! “You’re joking! I can’t be worth that much! What would I have to do to justify a price like that?” Lynda smiled. “Obey! Simply obey!”
The man moved around the room. The man who had borrowed her. He was distinguished looking, dressed in an expensive looking suit. He had removed his jacket, hanging it carefully on a hanger. He had spoken only three words. “Good evening, Rosebud.” Rosebud! She wasn’t Gina any more. Rosebud! “What shall I call you?” Her owner had said conversationally, on that first afternoon of her slavery. “Rosebud! Yes, Rosebud. Why?” He smiled. “Because you have such a perfect rosebud. I shall use it often, in fact, I will use it almost exclusively. It is your best feature.” He had used it then, and several times since. Slave life is strange, she mused, to be named after your anus.
The man was unpacking his rather bulky briefcase. She knew the use of most of the items he was arranging fastidiously on a side table. Nipple clamps, two large buttplugs, handcuffs, a penis gag. A flogger and an evil looking singletail whip. She knew their use, of course she did, they were there to hurt her, although as yet she had not been whipped. The auctioneer had made a point of showing off her pale skin. “So pale, so soft, so sensitive, Ladies and Gentlemen, her skin will mark up beautifully under the whip!” She had not yet been whipped. Would it be as painful as those first buggerings had been? Would she get used to it? Even start to enjoy it? As she was beginning to enjoy the buggering?
The man had finished laying out his equipment. Now he undid his tie, smoothed it and folded it. His shirt was next, carefully hung up. Gina watched. He was not young, there was grey in his chest hair, but the torso was strong, well-muscled. He sat down, removing his shoes and socks, each sock placed neatly in its own shoe. He undid his belt, his fly, removed his trousers, again neatly hanging them up. His underpants were tight, she could see the outline of his cock, he was circumcised. She swallowed nervously. She was a slave. Slaves had only one deity, at least in her limited experience. Slaves served and worshipped cock! The underpants came off. His cock was half erect, slowly inflating and growing. Not huge, she noted with relief, not as big as the Master. He walked toward her.
“I want your mouth.” Gina smiled as she moved to the edge of the bed, her tongue out to taste his cock, a cock that didn’t taste of her own bowels! Her Master only used her mouth to clean him after buggering her. She started to get off the bed, to kneel at his feet. “No, I want to play with your tits, they’re beautiful.”
She took her time, using all the skill she had learned in her short career as a slave. The cock tasted so good, unsullied by her bowels. She relished the taste, the texture, the aroma of the firm shaft of flesh. She played with him, bringing him to the edge several times before he lost control and flooded her throat with his seed. She swallowed every drop.
She lay back, her thighs spread invitingly, her pussy, her slave cunt, wet and needy.
The man, would she ever know his name, kissed her, deeply, lovingly, seeming to enjoy the taste of his own cum in her mouth. He broke the kiss, smiling at her. His finger slid easily into her moist slit. He licked it clean. “Delicious!” He said, smiling, “But you know as well as I do that that hole is unavailable to me. Your Master was very clear in his instructions. “You are welcome to fuck her face and her ass. You are welcome to whip her, or hurt her in any way that pleases you. However, use of her cunt is prohibited! So is any stimulation of her clitoris. That hole is reserved for one user only.”
Tears welled in Gina’s eyes. She was so horny, so needy, so empty. Her pussy ached with need. Her master was so cruel! His orders were emphatic! She would never do that. It was disgusting, unnatural. She would never ask for that, no matter how needy her pussy was. It wasn’t fair!
The man was hardening again. Gina sighed, her eyes pleading. He shook his head. “Turn around, please,” he said softly.
She obeyed.
“I can see why you are named Rosebud,” he laughed. “Perfect, absolutely perfect.” She gave a shuddering sigh as he entered her there.
One day, one day, she would come to terms with being a slave.
JoeyRainbow
Magistrate
Great story. And nice contemporary setting/scenario.
Rosebud is a great slave name. It almost sounds sweet, but in a humiliating, mocking way.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Prime Flesh
“Busy week ahead,” Mustapha grunted as he and MacLean watched the new batch of slaves struggle up the path to The Farm. It was always like this at the beginning of summer. Eager young, and not so young, things wanting to explore the forbidden, the taboo lifestyle that The Farm offered.
MacLean nodded; he was a man of few words. “It must be old age creeping up on me, my eyesight going, but I imagine that there is something missing about these two prime specimens coming along. Prime flesh indeed, but something strange about their hands, maybe?”
Mustapha was silent for a while, digesting this outburst of volubility from the Scots ex-soldier. “Well, I can see their hands. Not right, is it? Should be behind their backs. Don’t see no handcuffs either.” He loosened the coiled whip tucked into his belt, “Looks like they are eager for some dance classes, and then a nice pony ride.”
Sue and Kay examined the two men standing at the top of the hill. Both topped the six-foot mark by several inches, and both, while not young, were superb specimens of manhood. Sue’s eyes focused on the bulge in their trousers, licking her lips at the thought of what those trousers concealed. Kay, ever the friendly one, called out gaily. “G’day gents! How they hanging? Beautiful day, ain’t it?” Her broad Australian accent was almost as indecipherable as MacLean’s Scots. “Are y’all overseers here? My friend Anna said the overseers were all well-hung studs. I’m Sue, and this is my friend Kay. We’re coming for the whole summer, just graduated college, and giving ourselves a treat.”
“You ladies are college graduates?” He asked, his voice innocent. “Don’t they teach reading in college these days?” The girls looked at him, blankly. “Didn’t you read the contract you signed? The instructions about coming here?” Sue laughed, “All that boring legalese. Nope, we just signed and paid our money. We want to have some kinky fun.” Mustapha nodded. “What happened to the other stuff in the parcel, the handcuffs?”
Kay giggled. “Those things looked hard and uncomfortable, and there were no keys. We left them at home. It said to cuff our hands behind our backs. Have you walked up this path? Its rocky and steep and dangerous, we could have fallen and hurt ourselves.” They were standing in front of the two overseers now, Sue eyeing Leroy with great interest. Her father had always maintained that niggers were hung like horses. She didn’t notice that both men now had whips in their hands, as well as handcuffs. “Stop right there, ladies! Hands behind your backs.” MacLean’s voice had the crack of command that caused both to obey instantly. Moments later they felt the hard, cold steel of the cuffs close around their wrists. “Had you read all the documents, you would have noticed what they say about obedience, discipline and punishment. Now! You’re not going to walk up the rest of the path with your hands cuffed behind you, you’re going to run! And when we get to the top, you can both have a nice relaxing dance class, and then a pony ride. Move!”
Nothing happened. Both girls stood there, stunned by the turn of events. Then Sue yelped as Leroy’s whip cracked against her buttocks! The crack of leather against flesh was echoed by MacLean’s whip, he finding the tender inside of Kay’s thigh. “Move, you bitches!” They ran!
It was less than four hundred yards to the Processing Centre, but both girls’ bodies were liberally marked by the time they got there. Both were panting, and sobbing as they came to a halt to a burst of applause from a group of men, and one woman, all wearing the same khaki uniform as their two tormentors. “These two ladies have earned a therapeutic dance class. Shall we?” The overseers gathered in a loose circle around the girls, each one now with a long whip in hand. The girls stood, panting, bewildered! The female overseer twitched her wrist, hardly seeming to move at all. The very tip of her whip flicked across Kay’s clit! Her scream was unearthly! Whips flicked out at the two girls, the lashes biting into backs, thighs breasts and bellies. Clits and nipples twitched as fast-moving leather licked at them. The girls danced, dodged, vainly attempting to avoid the stinging leather tongues, they begged, they pleaded, they cried and screamed, all in vain. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of pain to the girls, but was, in fact no more than ten minutes, the whips stopped there probing. The girls collapsed to the ground, sobbing.
Four overseers went off, returning with what looked like a sawhorse, but one with a triangular steel top. Kay was lifted up by two overseers, and very gently lowered onto the horse. She screamed hysterically as her weight settled onto the triangular bar, and the steel bit into her already agonisingly tender vagina. Her feet were locked into cuffs, her legs bent, throwing her forward so that her full weight was on her tortured pussy. “Health and safety,” the overseer said, grinning from ear to ear, “we wouldn’t want you to fall off and hurt yourself now, would we?” Susan screamed shrilly as she was lowered onto the horse. “Take me off, take me off, take me off! I can’t bear it! Take me off! I’m being cut in half! Please!” The female overseer, whose angelic face concealed her sadistic nature, reached between the girls, attaching a nasty, toothed clamp to each clit. The clamps were connected to each other, so that each twist and wriggle of either girl pulled painfully at each tender little nub. She did the same for their nipples.
“Enjoy, ladies. We’ll let you get off after dinner. Meanwhile, you can discuss the pros and cons of reading the fine print in contracts, and the benefits of strict obedience of the rules. See you in a couple of hours.” She started walking away, “Oh, and I suggest you keep flexing your shoulders to stop your arms cramping from being locked behind you by those cuffs you decided not to wear.” She blew a kiss as she walked off.
Eternity is a long time. Sue and Kay appreciated the concept as the sun, slowly, agonisingly slowly, made its way to the horizon. Both wondered when dinner time was?
“Busy week ahead,” Mustapha grunted as he and MacLean watched the new batch of slaves struggle up the path to The Farm. It was always like this at the beginning of summer. Eager young, and not so young, things wanting to explore the forbidden, the taboo lifestyle that The Farm offered.
MacLean nodded; he was a man of few words. “It must be old age creeping up on me, my eyesight going, but I imagine that there is something missing about these two prime specimens coming along. Prime flesh indeed, but something strange about their hands, maybe?”
Mustapha was silent for a while, digesting this outburst of volubility from the Scots ex-soldier. “Well, I can see their hands. Not right, is it? Should be behind their backs. Don’t see no handcuffs either.” He loosened the coiled whip tucked into his belt, “Looks like they are eager for some dance classes, and then a nice pony ride.”
Sue and Kay examined the two men standing at the top of the hill. Both topped the six-foot mark by several inches, and both, while not young, were superb specimens of manhood. Sue’s eyes focused on the bulge in their trousers, licking her lips at the thought of what those trousers concealed. Kay, ever the friendly one, called out gaily. “G’day gents! How they hanging? Beautiful day, ain’t it?” Her broad Australian accent was almost as indecipherable as MacLean’s Scots. “Are y’all overseers here? My friend Anna said the overseers were all well-hung studs. I’m Sue, and this is my friend Kay. We’re coming for the whole summer, just graduated college, and giving ourselves a treat.”
“You ladies are college graduates?” He asked, his voice innocent. “Don’t they teach reading in college these days?” The girls looked at him, blankly. “Didn’t you read the contract you signed? The instructions about coming here?” Sue laughed, “All that boring legalese. Nope, we just signed and paid our money. We want to have some kinky fun.” Mustapha nodded. “What happened to the other stuff in the parcel, the handcuffs?”
Kay giggled. “Those things looked hard and uncomfortable, and there were no keys. We left them at home. It said to cuff our hands behind our backs. Have you walked up this path? Its rocky and steep and dangerous, we could have fallen and hurt ourselves.” They were standing in front of the two overseers now, Sue eyeing Leroy with great interest. Her father had always maintained that niggers were hung like horses. She didn’t notice that both men now had whips in their hands, as well as handcuffs. “Stop right there, ladies! Hands behind your backs.” MacLean’s voice had the crack of command that caused both to obey instantly. Moments later they felt the hard, cold steel of the cuffs close around their wrists. “Had you read all the documents, you would have noticed what they say about obedience, discipline and punishment. Now! You’re not going to walk up the rest of the path with your hands cuffed behind you, you’re going to run! And when we get to the top, you can both have a nice relaxing dance class, and then a pony ride. Move!”
Nothing happened. Both girls stood there, stunned by the turn of events. Then Sue yelped as Leroy’s whip cracked against her buttocks! The crack of leather against flesh was echoed by MacLean’s whip, he finding the tender inside of Kay’s thigh. “Move, you bitches!” They ran!
It was less than four hundred yards to the Processing Centre, but both girls’ bodies were liberally marked by the time they got there. Both were panting, and sobbing as they came to a halt to a burst of applause from a group of men, and one woman, all wearing the same khaki uniform as their two tormentors. “These two ladies have earned a therapeutic dance class. Shall we?” The overseers gathered in a loose circle around the girls, each one now with a long whip in hand. The girls stood, panting, bewildered! The female overseer twitched her wrist, hardly seeming to move at all. The very tip of her whip flicked across Kay’s clit! Her scream was unearthly! Whips flicked out at the two girls, the lashes biting into backs, thighs breasts and bellies. Clits and nipples twitched as fast-moving leather licked at them. The girls danced, dodged, vainly attempting to avoid the stinging leather tongues, they begged, they pleaded, they cried and screamed, all in vain. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of pain to the girls, but was, in fact no more than ten minutes, the whips stopped there probing. The girls collapsed to the ground, sobbing.
Four overseers went off, returning with what looked like a sawhorse, but one with a triangular steel top. Kay was lifted up by two overseers, and very gently lowered onto the horse. She screamed hysterically as her weight settled onto the triangular bar, and the steel bit into her already agonisingly tender vagina. Her feet were locked into cuffs, her legs bent, throwing her forward so that her full weight was on her tortured pussy. “Health and safety,” the overseer said, grinning from ear to ear, “we wouldn’t want you to fall off and hurt yourself now, would we?” Susan screamed shrilly as she was lowered onto the horse. “Take me off, take me off, take me off! I can’t bear it! Take me off! I’m being cut in half! Please!” The female overseer, whose angelic face concealed her sadistic nature, reached between the girls, attaching a nasty, toothed clamp to each clit. The clamps were connected to each other, so that each twist and wriggle of either girl pulled painfully at each tender little nub. She did the same for their nipples.
“Enjoy, ladies. We’ll let you get off after dinner. Meanwhile, you can discuss the pros and cons of reading the fine print in contracts, and the benefits of strict obedience of the rules. See you in a couple of hours.” She started walking away, “Oh, and I suggest you keep flexing your shoulders to stop your arms cramping from being locked behind you by those cuffs you decided not to wear.” She blew a kiss as she walked off.
Eternity is a long time. Sue and Kay appreciated the concept as the sun, slowly, agonisingly slowly, made its way to the horizon. Both wondered when dinner time was?
twonines
LIMERICUS
Obviously the Australian branch of the Moore family.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Birthday Gift
A slave is an object, property, a mere chattel. Anna knew that, had known that when she put herself up for sale several years before rather than spend her life doing minimum wage jobs. She had, she thought, been a good slave to her three consecutive Masters. She had accepted their quirks, their kinks and their perversions. Their idiosyncrasies. She had done everything in her power to please them, no matter how repulsive she found them.
Her present Master had owned her for almost two years. He was a good Master, treating the dozen girls in his extensive collection well. He was sparing with the whip and encouraged the collection, ten girls and two boys, to enjoy themselves as much as possible. He enjoyed watching them play with each other, devising complex games that involved inventive sexual practices. They ate well, and the slave kennels were comfortable, much more comfortable that the dingy rooms she had lived in when she was free. He even allowed his slaves to keep their names. Not for him names like Fuckface and Wetcunt. “After all,” he used to say, “you were free once, and you have feelings.”
Anna was a good fuck. She had lots of practice, after all. She was enthusiastic and uninhibited, a good thing, as slaves were not allowed inhibitions. She enjoyed the variety of people who used her body. The Master was generous when it came to sharing his property. She had, at first, been reluctant with other women, free and owned, but that, too, had passed. She had hoped the Master would keep her for a long time, and had done everything she could to ensure that she maintained his interest. All was well in her world.
Until this morning. She had given him his wake-up blowjob, a long, slow, expert performance. She had swallowed his gift, and offered her mouth for a kiss. He often kissed his slaves, and especially liked the taste of his own semen in a slave’s mouth. He had taken her face in both hands. There was no kiss for her this morning.
“Anna, today is Vincent’s birthday. His eighteenth birthday.” Vincent was a nasty, spoilt brat, the Master’s nephew, a cruel, petulant brat. He had fucked her, of course, used her, literally as if she was an object, a thing with no feelings, he was a nasty, perverted little shit! “I think it is time for him to take on the responsibility of managing his own collection.”
“God help them,” she thought, “any slave he owns is going to have a very miserable life. Little shit!”
He picked a speck of semen off her chin, offered it to her to lick from his finger. “So, I’ve decided to give you to him as his birthday gift. I’ll hand you over at his party this evening.”
Anna’s world exploded. She felt sick, her stomach cramped, she had to use all her willpower not to be sick. Tears welled in her eyes. “Please, Master, please? Not that. Please Master.” She looked up at his face. There was no softness there. He was not going to change his mind. She exhaled, shuddering. “I am your property, Master. I am yours to dispose of as you please.”
The evening was a gala event, The twelve slaves in the collection were all there, beautifully, tantalisingly dressed. Yes, there were twelve. Her replacement had already been purchased. A cute, petite blonde with a face like an angel and the most amazing blue eyes. Her cutaway bodice offering up perky little breasts. Anna thought the Master would have an orgasm just looking at those eyes as the girl’s lips closed around him. Anna stood out in the company, naked but for her steel collar and chains. Vincent, her new Master, was carelessly dressed in his black tie, a smug look on his face. Master, her now former Master, made a little speech. He ended with, “It gives me great pleasure present you with Anna, a superb slave, to start your own private collection. I know she will serve you well.”
The look in Vincent, her Master’s eyes sent chills down her spine. He offered no thank you, nothing, simply barked, “You! Bitch! Get on your knees and worship you Lord and Master! Now!”
How quickly life can change, for a slave.
A slave is an object, property, a mere chattel. Anna knew that, had known that when she put herself up for sale several years before rather than spend her life doing minimum wage jobs. She had, she thought, been a good slave to her three consecutive Masters. She had accepted their quirks, their kinks and their perversions. Their idiosyncrasies. She had done everything in her power to please them, no matter how repulsive she found them.
Her present Master had owned her for almost two years. He was a good Master, treating the dozen girls in his extensive collection well. He was sparing with the whip and encouraged the collection, ten girls and two boys, to enjoy themselves as much as possible. He enjoyed watching them play with each other, devising complex games that involved inventive sexual practices. They ate well, and the slave kennels were comfortable, much more comfortable that the dingy rooms she had lived in when she was free. He even allowed his slaves to keep their names. Not for him names like Fuckface and Wetcunt. “After all,” he used to say, “you were free once, and you have feelings.”
Anna was a good fuck. She had lots of practice, after all. She was enthusiastic and uninhibited, a good thing, as slaves were not allowed inhibitions. She enjoyed the variety of people who used her body. The Master was generous when it came to sharing his property. She had, at first, been reluctant with other women, free and owned, but that, too, had passed. She had hoped the Master would keep her for a long time, and had done everything she could to ensure that she maintained his interest. All was well in her world.
Until this morning. She had given him his wake-up blowjob, a long, slow, expert performance. She had swallowed his gift, and offered her mouth for a kiss. He often kissed his slaves, and especially liked the taste of his own semen in a slave’s mouth. He had taken her face in both hands. There was no kiss for her this morning.
“Anna, today is Vincent’s birthday. His eighteenth birthday.” Vincent was a nasty, spoilt brat, the Master’s nephew, a cruel, petulant brat. He had fucked her, of course, used her, literally as if she was an object, a thing with no feelings, he was a nasty, perverted little shit! “I think it is time for him to take on the responsibility of managing his own collection.”
“God help them,” she thought, “any slave he owns is going to have a very miserable life. Little shit!”
He picked a speck of semen off her chin, offered it to her to lick from his finger. “So, I’ve decided to give you to him as his birthday gift. I’ll hand you over at his party this evening.”
Anna’s world exploded. She felt sick, her stomach cramped, she had to use all her willpower not to be sick. Tears welled in her eyes. “Please, Master, please? Not that. Please Master.” She looked up at his face. There was no softness there. He was not going to change his mind. She exhaled, shuddering. “I am your property, Master. I am yours to dispose of as you please.”
The evening was a gala event, The twelve slaves in the collection were all there, beautifully, tantalisingly dressed. Yes, there were twelve. Her replacement had already been purchased. A cute, petite blonde with a face like an angel and the most amazing blue eyes. Her cutaway bodice offering up perky little breasts. Anna thought the Master would have an orgasm just looking at those eyes as the girl’s lips closed around him. Anna stood out in the company, naked but for her steel collar and chains. Vincent, her new Master, was carelessly dressed in his black tie, a smug look on his face. Master, her now former Master, made a little speech. He ended with, “It gives me great pleasure present you with Anna, a superb slave, to start your own private collection. I know she will serve you well.”
The look in Vincent, her Master’s eyes sent chills down her spine. He offered no thank you, nothing, simply barked, “You! Bitch! Get on your knees and worship you Lord and Master! Now!”
How quickly life can change, for a slave.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Think of the positives.
“I know it’s frustrating, and I know it’s uncomfortable and you feel humiliated, but think of the positives, my love.”
George had difficulty in finding anything positive about his situation. His cock was confined in a tiny steel cage, so small that his shaft was pushed into his body, with only his swollen balls to show that he was a man at all. Where were the positives in all this?
Helen kissed him, her tongue like a little animal in his mouth. He loved her so much, was prepared to do anything for her; except, perhaps, this!
“We’re together,” she said, her voice husky. “We get to sleep together, every night, get to cuddle and play with each other all the time, and you get to watch, and lick me clean afterwards. You have such a skilled tongue!”
George stifled a sob. “I know, and I’m grateful that we’re together, but, it’s hard, watching you, seeing those men…” Now he did sob. “Watching you cum! With other men! It’s driving me crazy! And now, there is that woman. Are you becoming lesbian? What is happening to us?” She hugged him tight, feeling the hard steel of his cage against her pussy, realising that she was turned on by it. His voice was ragged. “I know I get to eat you out, and I love it! Always have! You have the most beautiful pussy, the tastiest. Only, now, I eat it when it is full of another man’s cum. What does that make me?” She hugged him even tighter, grinding his cage against her cunt, her ever hungry cunt, she had to admit. “And your ass, I love your beautiful rosebud, love the musky taste of you, but now it belongs to other men, to strangers. Strangers who make me, make me do the unspeakable.”
She moved slightly away from him, her hand cupping his swollen balls. He moaned softly. “What’s unspeakable about cleaning a man’s cock, with your mouth? Cocks taste so good, and the texture, the feel, in your mouth. Come on, admit you like it!” He nodded numbly, “I do, sort of, but, it’s not right, not natural, I’m not gay.” She stroked his back, “Sucking cock doesn’t make you gay. Anyway, they taste of me, don’t they? You like the taste of me, don’t you?” He nodded. He loved everything about her.
“Now,” she said, becoming business-like. Saïd is coming over in an hour. He is bringing three friends of his, also from Zanzibar. They have never fucked a white woman, so I think it is going to be a very, very hot session.” She smiled, dreamily. “They want me to take all four of them at the same time. They want to see if I can take two of them in my butt. Imagine that! Two cocks in my ass!” She moved toward the bathroom. “We need to shower, and do my makeup, and lube me very, very well. Come!” She smiled over her shoulder. “And I guess we should plug you; you never know when one of them might get carried away.”
He washed her, lovingly, examining every inch of her body for a blemish, a stray hair. He perfumed her body, applied the subtle makeup she liked. She looked stunning! Perfect!
He lay on her lap to allow her to insert the plug. It was a new one, heavy steel, bigger than his previous one. It also had an electric shock function, remotely operated by her phone. It administered random vibrations and shocks, of varying intensity, something which certainly kept his attention, and stimulated him, while he watched Helen being gang-fucked. Lastly, he helped put on the translucent robe which was all she would wear for her guests. He, of course, would be naked all the time.
They chatted aimlessly for a few minutes, until the doorbell rang. He went to answer it. He hated this part. Having to welcome the men, and sometimes women, who would fuck his wife, having to welcome them in his nude state, the cage so obvious, the plug in his arse almost as visible.
There were four of them. Saïd, he knew; the hawk nosed Zanzibari had fucked Helen a number of times. His companions were like him, tall, lean men wearing long white robes and little round hats. He bowed, showing them into the living room, where Helen waited. The plug in his arse buzzed, stimulating his prostate. His caged cock fought its steel home. Soon he would be watching his wife moan and scream with pleasure at the hands of these men. Soon the cum would trickle from his cage.
As he led them through the house, Helen’s words came back to him. “It’s only for two years, my love. Just two years, and then the debt will be paid off, and we can go back to being a normal couple.” She had arched an eyebrow. “If we want to.”
“I know it’s frustrating, and I know it’s uncomfortable and you feel humiliated, but think of the positives, my love.”
George had difficulty in finding anything positive about his situation. His cock was confined in a tiny steel cage, so small that his shaft was pushed into his body, with only his swollen balls to show that he was a man at all. Where were the positives in all this?
Helen kissed him, her tongue like a little animal in his mouth. He loved her so much, was prepared to do anything for her; except, perhaps, this!
“We’re together,” she said, her voice husky. “We get to sleep together, every night, get to cuddle and play with each other all the time, and you get to watch, and lick me clean afterwards. You have such a skilled tongue!”
George stifled a sob. “I know, and I’m grateful that we’re together, but, it’s hard, watching you, seeing those men…” Now he did sob. “Watching you cum! With other men! It’s driving me crazy! And now, there is that woman. Are you becoming lesbian? What is happening to us?” She hugged him tight, feeling the hard steel of his cage against her pussy, realising that she was turned on by it. His voice was ragged. “I know I get to eat you out, and I love it! Always have! You have the most beautiful pussy, the tastiest. Only, now, I eat it when it is full of another man’s cum. What does that make me?” She hugged him even tighter, grinding his cage against her cunt, her ever hungry cunt, she had to admit. “And your ass, I love your beautiful rosebud, love the musky taste of you, but now it belongs to other men, to strangers. Strangers who make me, make me do the unspeakable.”
She moved slightly away from him, her hand cupping his swollen balls. He moaned softly. “What’s unspeakable about cleaning a man’s cock, with your mouth? Cocks taste so good, and the texture, the feel, in your mouth. Come on, admit you like it!” He nodded numbly, “I do, sort of, but, it’s not right, not natural, I’m not gay.” She stroked his back, “Sucking cock doesn’t make you gay. Anyway, they taste of me, don’t they? You like the taste of me, don’t you?” He nodded. He loved everything about her.
“Now,” she said, becoming business-like. Saïd is coming over in an hour. He is bringing three friends of his, also from Zanzibar. They have never fucked a white woman, so I think it is going to be a very, very hot session.” She smiled, dreamily. “They want me to take all four of them at the same time. They want to see if I can take two of them in my butt. Imagine that! Two cocks in my ass!” She moved toward the bathroom. “We need to shower, and do my makeup, and lube me very, very well. Come!” She smiled over her shoulder. “And I guess we should plug you; you never know when one of them might get carried away.”
He washed her, lovingly, examining every inch of her body for a blemish, a stray hair. He perfumed her body, applied the subtle makeup she liked. She looked stunning! Perfect!
He lay on her lap to allow her to insert the plug. It was a new one, heavy steel, bigger than his previous one. It also had an electric shock function, remotely operated by her phone. It administered random vibrations and shocks, of varying intensity, something which certainly kept his attention, and stimulated him, while he watched Helen being gang-fucked. Lastly, he helped put on the translucent robe which was all she would wear for her guests. He, of course, would be naked all the time.
They chatted aimlessly for a few minutes, until the doorbell rang. He went to answer it. He hated this part. Having to welcome the men, and sometimes women, who would fuck his wife, having to welcome them in his nude state, the cage so obvious, the plug in his arse almost as visible.
There were four of them. Saïd, he knew; the hawk nosed Zanzibari had fucked Helen a number of times. His companions were like him, tall, lean men wearing long white robes and little round hats. He bowed, showing them into the living room, where Helen waited. The plug in his arse buzzed, stimulating his prostate. His caged cock fought its steel home. Soon he would be watching his wife moan and scream with pleasure at the hands of these men. Soon the cum would trickle from his cage.
As he led them through the house, Helen’s words came back to him. “It’s only for two years, my love. Just two years, and then the debt will be paid off, and we can go back to being a normal couple.” She had arched an eyebrow. “If we want to.”
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Shamefan suggested that I should tell the story behind this picture. Here is my attempt.
The sins of the father.
The whole town was there, looking at her! Watching her walk of shame as the Qadi led her to the square outside the mosque. These were people she had known all her life, people she had nursed, tended to, tried to help, tried to make friends with. Now they stared at her. Some with sympathy, some with hostility, most with blank acceptance. Some of the younger men, and some not so young, looked upon her naked body with undisguised lust! Subconsciously, she straightened her back, tightened her stomach muscles and pushed out her breasts. She was embarrassed, and excited, by the wetness between her thighs. As the Qadi tugged at the chain attached to her collar, she realised that a strange, perverted part of her was enjoying this experience. Faintly, above the murmur of the crowd, she could hear the screams and sobs, the begging and the threats of divine retribution, as her parents were repeatedly raped.
She had grown up in his village. Her father was a committed, fanatical fundamentalist missionary. An unsuccessful one. To her knowledge he had never actually converted anyone to his narrow, intolerant version of Christianity. As a small child she had longed to join the village children in their play, watching longingly as the naked or half naked boys and girls laughed and chattered in the dusty streets. “You’ll not besmirch yourself by mixing with those godless heathens!” Her father had thundered. “If you have nothing constructive to do, you can memorise an additional chapter of the Good Book every day.” As she grew older, she had helped her mother in the clinic attached to the mission, tending to the hurts and illnesses of the villagers. Every Sunday she and her mother had attended the services in the mission chapel, morning and evening. She had sat on the hard benches, trying not to wriggle as her father thundered out his hours-long sermons to the congregation, a congregation of two. She had never understood why her father hated the villagers so much. Far from being ungodly, they were devout, praying five times a day and attending the mosque on Fridays and holy days. She had tried to ask her father why he considered them ‘godless’ and ‘spawn of the devil’, but such questions had only earned her painful whippings and demeaning tasks to save her from apostacy.
“No! Not there! Not again! You condemn both of us to the eternal fires of hell with the sin of Sodom!” Lydia smiled. Her poor mother. She was a genuinely good woman, totally devoted to, and dominated by, her husband. The Sin of Sodom. Her father so often thundered on about that in his sermons. For all her life she had wondered what this heinous sin was, until an hour ago, when she had seen her father, and later her mother, suffer this sin at the hands of the village youths.
The Qadi looked at her, quizzically. Was it his imagination, or was the girl actually smiling? He had always had a soft spot for her, ever since the little girl had toddled to join the other village children as they came to listen to his stories in the shade of the huge old fig tree next to the mosque. He had also seen the consequences of her curiousity, as she hobbled painfully around the village after yet another beating from her father. His attempts to reason with the missionary had always ended in the same way. Screaming, abuse and threats of violence and divine punishment. The girl had grown up lonely and alone. Now she was suffering for the sins of her father. The village had always tolerated the old missionary, treated him with respect, the respect due to the witless, but ignoring his religious ranting. Until the day when, during Ramadan, he had dragged a pig into the mosque, slaughtered it and splashed blood everywhere, desecrating not only the mosque, but also the holy books. That could not go unpunished! Many villagers had wanted to crucify the family! The old man shook his head; listening to the sounds coming from the mission, that might, after all, been the more merciful sentence. Instead, the missionary and his wife would live out their lives as the slaves of the village.
The Qadi attached the chain on Lydia’s collar to the old fig tree. She stood there, naked, vulnerable, her hands bound behind her. Her eyes pleading for some kind of covering, something to hide her shame. He shook his head. “I am sorry, my daughter. I cannot. Your father’s sin is too great. Again, to his amazement, she smiled. “The sins of the fathers are visited upon the children,” she said softly, “It is in the book of Ezekiel. Will I suffer as my father and mother are suffering?” Again, he nodded. “You will, my child, although not in the same way, and I hope, not so violently.” He paused as he saw a tear slide down her cheek. “You are a virgin, my daughter, a virgin in all ways. There are men who will pay large amounts of money, very large amounts of money, for the pleasure of taking that virginity, that threefold virginity. Especially if the virgin is an attractive white girl. That money will do much to improve the lot of the children in this village, the children you tried so hard to befriend.” She nodded again. “Will I commit the sin of Sodom?” He smiled, “The sin your father was so fond of, and which he is now experiencing for himself? You will. Your vagina, your mouth and your anus, they all have value, and will be used. Eventually, perhaps many years from now, the men who buy you will tire of you. You will then be returned to this village, to serve as your mother and father now serve.” He touched her hair, lightly. “I will leave you here, for the people to see that justice is done. Do not be afraid. They will not hurt you. They know that the sin is not yours. My wife will bring food and water. I cannot unbind your hands.” He turned and walked into his house; his head bowed.
Lydia squatted in the dust under the tree where once she had tried to join the other children in their play. “The sins of the fathers…” Somewhere, deep down in her core, there was a flutter of excitement. The sins of the flesh. The sin of Sodom. These things had always been hinted at, darkly. Now, men, rich men, black men, would pay to practice these sins on her, on her vulnerable, helpless body. Again, she felt the wetness between her legs.
“The sins of the father!” Squatting in the dust under the old tree, Lydia smiled.
Artwork by Prismarinepaint
The sins of the father.
The whole town was there, looking at her! Watching her walk of shame as the Qadi led her to the square outside the mosque. These were people she had known all her life, people she had nursed, tended to, tried to help, tried to make friends with. Now they stared at her. Some with sympathy, some with hostility, most with blank acceptance. Some of the younger men, and some not so young, looked upon her naked body with undisguised lust! Subconsciously, she straightened her back, tightened her stomach muscles and pushed out her breasts. She was embarrassed, and excited, by the wetness between her thighs. As the Qadi tugged at the chain attached to her collar, she realised that a strange, perverted part of her was enjoying this experience. Faintly, above the murmur of the crowd, she could hear the screams and sobs, the begging and the threats of divine retribution, as her parents were repeatedly raped.
She had grown up in his village. Her father was a committed, fanatical fundamentalist missionary. An unsuccessful one. To her knowledge he had never actually converted anyone to his narrow, intolerant version of Christianity. As a small child she had longed to join the village children in their play, watching longingly as the naked or half naked boys and girls laughed and chattered in the dusty streets. “You’ll not besmirch yourself by mixing with those godless heathens!” Her father had thundered. “If you have nothing constructive to do, you can memorise an additional chapter of the Good Book every day.” As she grew older, she had helped her mother in the clinic attached to the mission, tending to the hurts and illnesses of the villagers. Every Sunday she and her mother had attended the services in the mission chapel, morning and evening. She had sat on the hard benches, trying not to wriggle as her father thundered out his hours-long sermons to the congregation, a congregation of two. She had never understood why her father hated the villagers so much. Far from being ungodly, they were devout, praying five times a day and attending the mosque on Fridays and holy days. She had tried to ask her father why he considered them ‘godless’ and ‘spawn of the devil’, but such questions had only earned her painful whippings and demeaning tasks to save her from apostacy.
“No! Not there! Not again! You condemn both of us to the eternal fires of hell with the sin of Sodom!” Lydia smiled. Her poor mother. She was a genuinely good woman, totally devoted to, and dominated by, her husband. The Sin of Sodom. Her father so often thundered on about that in his sermons. For all her life she had wondered what this heinous sin was, until an hour ago, when she had seen her father, and later her mother, suffer this sin at the hands of the village youths.
The Qadi looked at her, quizzically. Was it his imagination, or was the girl actually smiling? He had always had a soft spot for her, ever since the little girl had toddled to join the other village children as they came to listen to his stories in the shade of the huge old fig tree next to the mosque. He had also seen the consequences of her curiousity, as she hobbled painfully around the village after yet another beating from her father. His attempts to reason with the missionary had always ended in the same way. Screaming, abuse and threats of violence and divine punishment. The girl had grown up lonely and alone. Now she was suffering for the sins of her father. The village had always tolerated the old missionary, treated him with respect, the respect due to the witless, but ignoring his religious ranting. Until the day when, during Ramadan, he had dragged a pig into the mosque, slaughtered it and splashed blood everywhere, desecrating not only the mosque, but also the holy books. That could not go unpunished! Many villagers had wanted to crucify the family! The old man shook his head; listening to the sounds coming from the mission, that might, after all, been the more merciful sentence. Instead, the missionary and his wife would live out their lives as the slaves of the village.
The Qadi attached the chain on Lydia’s collar to the old fig tree. She stood there, naked, vulnerable, her hands bound behind her. Her eyes pleading for some kind of covering, something to hide her shame. He shook his head. “I am sorry, my daughter. I cannot. Your father’s sin is too great. Again, to his amazement, she smiled. “The sins of the fathers are visited upon the children,” she said softly, “It is in the book of Ezekiel. Will I suffer as my father and mother are suffering?” Again, he nodded. “You will, my child, although not in the same way, and I hope, not so violently.” He paused as he saw a tear slide down her cheek. “You are a virgin, my daughter, a virgin in all ways. There are men who will pay large amounts of money, very large amounts of money, for the pleasure of taking that virginity, that threefold virginity. Especially if the virgin is an attractive white girl. That money will do much to improve the lot of the children in this village, the children you tried so hard to befriend.” She nodded again. “Will I commit the sin of Sodom?” He smiled, “The sin your father was so fond of, and which he is now experiencing for himself? You will. Your vagina, your mouth and your anus, they all have value, and will be used. Eventually, perhaps many years from now, the men who buy you will tire of you. You will then be returned to this village, to serve as your mother and father now serve.” He touched her hair, lightly. “I will leave you here, for the people to see that justice is done. Do not be afraid. They will not hurt you. They know that the sin is not yours. My wife will bring food and water. I cannot unbind your hands.” He turned and walked into his house; his head bowed.
Lydia squatted in the dust under the tree where once she had tried to join the other children in their play. “The sins of the fathers…” Somewhere, deep down in her core, there was a flutter of excitement. The sins of the flesh. The sin of Sodom. These things had always been hinted at, darkly. Now, men, rich men, black men, would pay to practice these sins on her, on her vulnerable, helpless body. Again, she felt the wetness between her legs.
“The sins of the father!” Squatting in the dust under the old tree, Lydia smiled.
Artwork by Prismarinepaint
Attachments
Shamefan
Tribune
That is superb, thanks for taking me up on my suggestion.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Tribute
“Bloody peasants! Always an excuse! Too much rain. Too little rain. Bullfinches ate all the fruit buds. The sheep got foot rot. Excuses! Taxes are taxes, and taxes they will pay!”
The farm looked prosperous. Neat, solid buildings, walls well maintained, ditches clear. The farmer’s clothes were well worn, but of good quality. He stood in the doorway, hat scrunched up in his hands, head bowed. A strong man, perhaps forty years old, showing the broad-shouldered build of an archer. I remembered him from the war against the Scots ten years before. A good man. “My Lord, I know I am in arrears. I have paid all I can. It has been a bad year. The storms back in April destroyed the barley, and two cows drowned when the river burst its banks. My wife caught the fever, and has been bedridden since, my daughter looking after her. I can pay the arrears next quarter day, my Lord, please. I have served you well.”
I shrugged. “I remember you, Jed, from the Scottish wars. The King wants men, men at arms, fully equipped. As you know, armour and war horses are expensive.”
“My Lord, we have barely enough to keep us alive, three mouths to feed, a sick wife. Please, my Lord.”
“How much does he owe?” Walter, the reeve, consulted his lists. “Seventeen shillings, my Lord. One cow and forty sacks of barley.”
“My Lord,” Jed interrupted, “I have no barley, the whole of the crop was lost, and two cows. Please, my Lord, allow me some grace.”
I shook my head. “You have a daughter? Bring her! Ready for travel.” I smiled, an evil smile. Bring her out! Ready for travel!” He seemed to shrivel, to shrink. “Please my Lord, she is all we have. She nurses my wife. Our son,” he sobbed, “our son was killed fighting for you in your war with Lord Montague, last year.”
I had had enough of excuses. “Bring her, now! Or I burn your house, with all of you inside!”
He scuttled into the house. I would give them a few minutes. After all, how long does it take to strip a girl? I heard a soft cry, the girl’s voice. “Father, no. Please, who will look after mam? Please?” The sound of tearing cloth. The soft sound of bare feet.
The girl was lovely. Pretty, innocent. A bit lacking in the tit department, but firm and strong. She would keep me amused for a while, perhaps as much as two months. There was pleasure to be had between her thighs. After that? My soldiers would enjoy her for a while, then, in say half a year, I would sell her to old Madge. She was always in the market for reasonably fresh girls. Once they were in her house they did not last very long. Exhaustion and abuse wore them out quickly. I nodded to Gwynn, the leader of my archers. “Bind her hands, a rope around her neck, she can run beside my horse.”
Gwynn moved to her. “Hands behind your back, love. We don’t want you trying to escape, or covering that sweet cunny, now do we?” His hands roamed freely as he bound her hands. She moaned softly, shaking her head, as he cupped a firm, round buttock in his horny hand. “Nice bum, lass. I do like a firm, tight arse. His Lordship will pass you on to us when he tires of you, before sells you to old Madge. Open you up nicely, we will. Madge’s girls work had. Do you a favour, we will, stretching you.” He passed the rope’s and to me. “Fine little piece, my Lord. Lovely arse.”
“Will I ever see you again, Rosey?” The farmer held his daughter’s shoulders for a moment. I smiled at him as I tied her leash to my saddle. “She should be at Madge’s in about six months. A few pennies will buy you some time with her.” I spurred my horse, the girl braking into a run to prevent being dragged, and strangled. I liked the way her breasts bounced firmly as she ran. Perhaps I would keep her for three months, especially if Gwynn’s assessment of her charms were accurate. Gwynn would simply have to wait his turn.
“Peasants! They never learn! But they do breed fine daughters.”
“Bloody peasants! Always an excuse! Too much rain. Too little rain. Bullfinches ate all the fruit buds. The sheep got foot rot. Excuses! Taxes are taxes, and taxes they will pay!”
The farm looked prosperous. Neat, solid buildings, walls well maintained, ditches clear. The farmer’s clothes were well worn, but of good quality. He stood in the doorway, hat scrunched up in his hands, head bowed. A strong man, perhaps forty years old, showing the broad-shouldered build of an archer. I remembered him from the war against the Scots ten years before. A good man. “My Lord, I know I am in arrears. I have paid all I can. It has been a bad year. The storms back in April destroyed the barley, and two cows drowned when the river burst its banks. My wife caught the fever, and has been bedridden since, my daughter looking after her. I can pay the arrears next quarter day, my Lord, please. I have served you well.”
I shrugged. “I remember you, Jed, from the Scottish wars. The King wants men, men at arms, fully equipped. As you know, armour and war horses are expensive.”
“My Lord, we have barely enough to keep us alive, three mouths to feed, a sick wife. Please, my Lord.”
“How much does he owe?” Walter, the reeve, consulted his lists. “Seventeen shillings, my Lord. One cow and forty sacks of barley.”
“My Lord,” Jed interrupted, “I have no barley, the whole of the crop was lost, and two cows. Please, my Lord, allow me some grace.”
I shook my head. “You have a daughter? Bring her! Ready for travel.” I smiled, an evil smile. Bring her out! Ready for travel!” He seemed to shrivel, to shrink. “Please my Lord, she is all we have. She nurses my wife. Our son,” he sobbed, “our son was killed fighting for you in your war with Lord Montague, last year.”
I had had enough of excuses. “Bring her, now! Or I burn your house, with all of you inside!”
He scuttled into the house. I would give them a few minutes. After all, how long does it take to strip a girl? I heard a soft cry, the girl’s voice. “Father, no. Please, who will look after mam? Please?” The sound of tearing cloth. The soft sound of bare feet.
The girl was lovely. Pretty, innocent. A bit lacking in the tit department, but firm and strong. She would keep me amused for a while, perhaps as much as two months. There was pleasure to be had between her thighs. After that? My soldiers would enjoy her for a while, then, in say half a year, I would sell her to old Madge. She was always in the market for reasonably fresh girls. Once they were in her house they did not last very long. Exhaustion and abuse wore them out quickly. I nodded to Gwynn, the leader of my archers. “Bind her hands, a rope around her neck, she can run beside my horse.”
Gwynn moved to her. “Hands behind your back, love. We don’t want you trying to escape, or covering that sweet cunny, now do we?” His hands roamed freely as he bound her hands. She moaned softly, shaking her head, as he cupped a firm, round buttock in his horny hand. “Nice bum, lass. I do like a firm, tight arse. His Lordship will pass you on to us when he tires of you, before sells you to old Madge. Open you up nicely, we will. Madge’s girls work had. Do you a favour, we will, stretching you.” He passed the rope’s and to me. “Fine little piece, my Lord. Lovely arse.”
“Will I ever see you again, Rosey?” The farmer held his daughter’s shoulders for a moment. I smiled at him as I tied her leash to my saddle. “She should be at Madge’s in about six months. A few pennies will buy you some time with her.” I spurred my horse, the girl braking into a run to prevent being dragged, and strangled. I liked the way her breasts bounced firmly as she ran. Perhaps I would keep her for three months, especially if Gwynn’s assessment of her charms were accurate. Gwynn would simply have to wait his turn.
“Peasants! They never learn! But they do breed fine daughters.”
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Her Purpose in Life
“It will stretch! Mom said it would. I must just be patient.” Stella recited her little mantra as her uncle slowly, slowly but inexorably, drove his cock into her too tight arse. She could hear her mother’s voice as if she were sitting next to her, watching her being buggered. “Women exist to please their men. That is our purpose in life. We are in this world to give pleasure to the men in our lives. No matter what they want, it is our purpose to deliver, willingly and without complaint.”
“Ouch! Oww! Please uncle George, please be gentle. It really hurts! You’re too big!” He stopped, just an inch or two inside her. He chuckled softly. “You know, that is exactly what Lynne said at this stage of proceedings. I know it hurts, but, well, no gain without pain.” Again, the soft chuckle, accompanied by a gentle thrust that inserted another half inch of meat into her anus. “Better now?” She panted softly. “A little bit. I feel as if I’m going to burst.” Stella looked up as her mother entered the room. She was dressed in the short, flimsy tunic all the women in her uncle’s household wore when at home. Her uncle took advantage of her distraction to insert another fraction of an inch. “Hi sis,” he said amiably, “does this bring back memories?” Her mother laughed. “I bet you feel as if you have a fencepost in your ass, Stella. Just relax, the worst is over. Only about five inches to go, then it gets good.” Stella sighed. Her uncle raised an eyebrow at his sister. “Dave?” He asked, looking pointedly at the glistening slime on her thighs. “Jimmy! He’s like a triphammer. He and Dave are working up the courage to double me. Ambitious young sods.”
Stella and her mother had moved in with uncle George two years ago, after her father had been killed in a car crash. They had been accepted as members of the family and, quite naturally, had joined aunt Amy and her cousins Jill and Claire as playthings of the three males. Doubled? Stella thought. How does that feel? Already she felt as if she had a tree trunk inside her, what would a second cock in her pussy feel like?
“Oh! Oh shit! Uncle George!” Her mother stroked her cheek, “Three more inches, only one to go and he will be hilt deep. How does it feel?” Stella took several deep breaths. “Okay, I think. Sort of burny, and very, very full!” She took a couple of slow, deep breaths, then thrust her bottom up, hard! “Oh! Fuck! Is it all in?” Her uncle laughed. “To the hilt. Now, relax for a few minutes, get used to it, and I’ll start fucking you.”
They lay, quiet, her body adjusting to the invasion. Claire strolled in, bending over to take a close look at the father’s cock buried in her cousin, followed closely by her two brothers. “Perhaps I should just charge admission,” Stella panted, stifling a laugh, “you could invite the neighbours as well!” Claire headed for the door, to be stopped by her mother, who had just joined the party. “Don’t you dare, young lady! This is family only, at least for now.”
Stella had a fit of the giggles. Her mother was taking pictures, and apart from Jill, all of her family were watching her buggering. Her uncle took advantage of her distraction to move to the final act, withdrawing from her until only his glans was inside her. “What are you doing? Don’t stop now, please!” Stella burst out, among her giggles. “I was so nice and……full!” The last word was a scream, as he drove hilt deep in one long stroke, then got into a rhythm of strokes, really fucking her now. Hard! She was all sensation! Her entire being concentrated on one small ring of muscle!
Suddenly she was aware that her invader was swelling, becoming even thicker. Hot jets filled her bowels! Her uncle collapsed on her back, panting, his weight squashing her. Her mother kissed her, their tongues meeting. Slowly, she returned to reality. Her invader slipped out of her, flaccid now. She felt the cool air on her distended anus. She felt empty. Bereft. Soft lips kissed her very tender ring. A sharp tongue licked, probed. Claire! “That was so beautiful, cuz! I can’t wait for it to be my turn!”
Stella smiled. She was complete now, the last barrier breached. She existed to please. She knew her purpose in life!
“It will stretch! Mom said it would. I must just be patient.” Stella recited her little mantra as her uncle slowly, slowly but inexorably, drove his cock into her too tight arse. She could hear her mother’s voice as if she were sitting next to her, watching her being buggered. “Women exist to please their men. That is our purpose in life. We are in this world to give pleasure to the men in our lives. No matter what they want, it is our purpose to deliver, willingly and without complaint.”
“Ouch! Oww! Please uncle George, please be gentle. It really hurts! You’re too big!” He stopped, just an inch or two inside her. He chuckled softly. “You know, that is exactly what Lynne said at this stage of proceedings. I know it hurts, but, well, no gain without pain.” Again, the soft chuckle, accompanied by a gentle thrust that inserted another half inch of meat into her anus. “Better now?” She panted softly. “A little bit. I feel as if I’m going to burst.” Stella looked up as her mother entered the room. She was dressed in the short, flimsy tunic all the women in her uncle’s household wore when at home. Her uncle took advantage of her distraction to insert another fraction of an inch. “Hi sis,” he said amiably, “does this bring back memories?” Her mother laughed. “I bet you feel as if you have a fencepost in your ass, Stella. Just relax, the worst is over. Only about five inches to go, then it gets good.” Stella sighed. Her uncle raised an eyebrow at his sister. “Dave?” He asked, looking pointedly at the glistening slime on her thighs. “Jimmy! He’s like a triphammer. He and Dave are working up the courage to double me. Ambitious young sods.”
Stella and her mother had moved in with uncle George two years ago, after her father had been killed in a car crash. They had been accepted as members of the family and, quite naturally, had joined aunt Amy and her cousins Jill and Claire as playthings of the three males. Doubled? Stella thought. How does that feel? Already she felt as if she had a tree trunk inside her, what would a second cock in her pussy feel like?
“Oh! Oh shit! Uncle George!” Her mother stroked her cheek, “Three more inches, only one to go and he will be hilt deep. How does it feel?” Stella took several deep breaths. “Okay, I think. Sort of burny, and very, very full!” She took a couple of slow, deep breaths, then thrust her bottom up, hard! “Oh! Fuck! Is it all in?” Her uncle laughed. “To the hilt. Now, relax for a few minutes, get used to it, and I’ll start fucking you.”
They lay, quiet, her body adjusting to the invasion. Claire strolled in, bending over to take a close look at the father’s cock buried in her cousin, followed closely by her two brothers. “Perhaps I should just charge admission,” Stella panted, stifling a laugh, “you could invite the neighbours as well!” Claire headed for the door, to be stopped by her mother, who had just joined the party. “Don’t you dare, young lady! This is family only, at least for now.”
Stella had a fit of the giggles. Her mother was taking pictures, and apart from Jill, all of her family were watching her buggering. Her uncle took advantage of her distraction to move to the final act, withdrawing from her until only his glans was inside her. “What are you doing? Don’t stop now, please!” Stella burst out, among her giggles. “I was so nice and……full!” The last word was a scream, as he drove hilt deep in one long stroke, then got into a rhythm of strokes, really fucking her now. Hard! She was all sensation! Her entire being concentrated on one small ring of muscle!
Suddenly she was aware that her invader was swelling, becoming even thicker. Hot jets filled her bowels! Her uncle collapsed on her back, panting, his weight squashing her. Her mother kissed her, their tongues meeting. Slowly, she returned to reality. Her invader slipped out of her, flaccid now. She felt the cool air on her distended anus. She felt empty. Bereft. Soft lips kissed her very tender ring. A sharp tongue licked, probed. Claire! “That was so beautiful, cuz! I can’t wait for it to be my turn!”
Stella smiled. She was complete now, the last barrier breached. She existed to please. She knew her purpose in life!
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Bella
“You’ll have Bella for your bed this weekend.” James smiled, “Obviously not only her. Any item you wish from the collection, of course. I hope you like Bella, she is new, very new, and surprisingly, quite innocent. She came to me a virgin. Be gentle with her.” James was a good host, an old friend. He had impeccable taste when it came to flesh, his collection was the best I had ever come across. “One thing, she has a request for you. It will be interesting to see whether she has the courage to ask you. I hope she does. She has promise. Enjoy her.”
The girl was waiting in my room. She stood by the shuttered window, her stance uncertain, her expression, if not quite fearful, certainly hesitant. She was neat, petite, nothing spectacular, but certainly a very attractive package. A perfect example of James’ taste.
“G…good afternoon, master. My name is Ch..Bella. I am here to serve you.” I smiled at the hesitant stutters. Her voice was pleasant, her accent indicating that she was not some stray off the streets. She blushed as I looked her up and down. “Have you been a slave for long, Ch…Bella?” I imitated her stutter, knowing she had almost given me her real name, rather than the one given to her as a slave. James was thoughtful in the naming of his flesh, not for him names like ‘Hungrycunt or Fuckface’. Her blush deepened. “Four days, master.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, clearly embarrassed by my frank gaze, knowing that she was mine to use however I wished.
I sat down in the big armchair, enjoying watching her. I was in no rush to use her. After all, I had all weekend. Her eyes followed me. “How did you come to be a slave, Bella?” She took several deep breaths. “It was my parents’ idea. Well, my mom’s really. She said it would be good for me to be property, to learn that privilege has to be earned, not inherited.” Interesting! She clearly came from a privileged background; the accent spoke of an exclusive private school. I nodded. “Carry on.” Another deep breath. “She was a slave when she was young, for three years, until she met my dad. He bought her.” She paused again. “Dad says they will invest my sale price for me. When I come up for resale, if I don’t want to carry on, they will buy me back, but I have to be a slave for at least two years.” I nodded. “Did you enjoy being sold?” She nodded. “It was exciting! There were five of us, all naked. The viewers could touch us, stroke us, feel our bodies. They weren’t allowed to penetrate me, being a virgin. The others, well, there was no such limitation. I liked it, strangers, touching me, dis using my body, its uses, as if I couldn’t hear, as if I was an inanimate object. Well, I am an object, a chattel, but,” a shy smile,” I’m not inanimate. My mom and dad were there, watching. Perhaps they thought I might get cold feet at the last minute.”
I beckoned her to me. She came slowly, walking on tiptoe. “Come. Sit on my lap.” Her body was firm, her skin soft and silky. I played with her nipple. It hardened instantly. “Master,” hesitantly, “master, I was a virgin when Master James bought me. Well, sort of. At school Natalie and I, just tongues and lips, but never with a man.” My hand strayed down across her firm belly, lower, she gave a soft moan, spreading her thighs slightly, giving me access. “Master, master…Master James says my bottom,” a deep breath and a soft smile, “not my bottom, I am flesh now, my arsehole,” a little giggle, “is too tight. It needs stretching. Would you…be so kind as to help me? I might cry. Please ignore the tears.”
My fingers found her little nub, she sighed, opening her legs a fraction wider. She was wet. I took my time. Her breathing quickened, her body relaxed, her thighs spread. She was panting, moaning. Her body stiffened, shuddered, spasmed. I kept her on the plateau for several minutes. “No more, please master, no more.” Her body moulded into my lap. I offered her my wet fingers. She licked them clean. “Thank you,” she said, shyly.
I played with her body. It was going to be a very pleasant weekend.
“You’ll have Bella for your bed this weekend.” James smiled, “Obviously not only her. Any item you wish from the collection, of course. I hope you like Bella, she is new, very new, and surprisingly, quite innocent. She came to me a virgin. Be gentle with her.” James was a good host, an old friend. He had impeccable taste when it came to flesh, his collection was the best I had ever come across. “One thing, she has a request for you. It will be interesting to see whether she has the courage to ask you. I hope she does. She has promise. Enjoy her.”
The girl was waiting in my room. She stood by the shuttered window, her stance uncertain, her expression, if not quite fearful, certainly hesitant. She was neat, petite, nothing spectacular, but certainly a very attractive package. A perfect example of James’ taste.
“G…good afternoon, master. My name is Ch..Bella. I am here to serve you.” I smiled at the hesitant stutters. Her voice was pleasant, her accent indicating that she was not some stray off the streets. She blushed as I looked her up and down. “Have you been a slave for long, Ch…Bella?” I imitated her stutter, knowing she had almost given me her real name, rather than the one given to her as a slave. James was thoughtful in the naming of his flesh, not for him names like ‘Hungrycunt or Fuckface’. Her blush deepened. “Four days, master.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, clearly embarrassed by my frank gaze, knowing that she was mine to use however I wished.
I sat down in the big armchair, enjoying watching her. I was in no rush to use her. After all, I had all weekend. Her eyes followed me. “How did you come to be a slave, Bella?” She took several deep breaths. “It was my parents’ idea. Well, my mom’s really. She said it would be good for me to be property, to learn that privilege has to be earned, not inherited.” Interesting! She clearly came from a privileged background; the accent spoke of an exclusive private school. I nodded. “Carry on.” Another deep breath. “She was a slave when she was young, for three years, until she met my dad. He bought her.” She paused again. “Dad says they will invest my sale price for me. When I come up for resale, if I don’t want to carry on, they will buy me back, but I have to be a slave for at least two years.” I nodded. “Did you enjoy being sold?” She nodded. “It was exciting! There were five of us, all naked. The viewers could touch us, stroke us, feel our bodies. They weren’t allowed to penetrate me, being a virgin. The others, well, there was no such limitation. I liked it, strangers, touching me, dis using my body, its uses, as if I couldn’t hear, as if I was an inanimate object. Well, I am an object, a chattel, but,” a shy smile,” I’m not inanimate. My mom and dad were there, watching. Perhaps they thought I might get cold feet at the last minute.”
I beckoned her to me. She came slowly, walking on tiptoe. “Come. Sit on my lap.” Her body was firm, her skin soft and silky. I played with her nipple. It hardened instantly. “Master,” hesitantly, “master, I was a virgin when Master James bought me. Well, sort of. At school Natalie and I, just tongues and lips, but never with a man.” My hand strayed down across her firm belly, lower, she gave a soft moan, spreading her thighs slightly, giving me access. “Master, master…Master James says my bottom,” a deep breath and a soft smile, “not my bottom, I am flesh now, my arsehole,” a little giggle, “is too tight. It needs stretching. Would you…be so kind as to help me? I might cry. Please ignore the tears.”
My fingers found her little nub, she sighed, opening her legs a fraction wider. She was wet. I took my time. Her breathing quickened, her body relaxed, her thighs spread. She was panting, moaning. Her body stiffened, shuddered, spasmed. I kept her on the plateau for several minutes. “No more, please master, no more.” Her body moulded into my lap. I offered her my wet fingers. She licked them clean. “Thank you,” she said, shyly.
I played with her body. It was going to be a very pleasant weekend.
Anklebiter
Magistrate
I hope we might get to hear of sweet little Heidi's rescue, or perhaps her further humiliation as her brother has to watch.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Farewell to Freedom
Inge desperately wanted to wave a last farewell to her parents. Sadly, the handcuffs made that impossible. All she could do was look back longingly at them. Seeing them perhaps for the last time, before she started walking up the stony path to The Farm, and a life of slavery. Her father’s face was impassive as he stood, one arm comfortingly around her mother’s shoulders. Her mother attempted a smile, but even at this distance Inge could see the glint of tears.
Sven hugged his wife more tightly. Their daughter looked so vulnerable, so frail, so beautiful in her naked helplessness. Why did she have to be so stubborn? His mind flashed back to that evening, two months ago, when Inge had walked into his study, a document file in her hand. Magda had been right behind her, her face stricken. “Father,” Inge said softly. His eyebrows lifted at the formality, what had happened to the usual daddy? Magda stifled a sob. “Father, I have decided that I want to go to The Farm. I have signed the contract, but as I am under twenty-one, I need you to co-sign it. Please?”
Sven nodded. “The Farm is a good place. I think you will enjoy the experience. As you know, your mother and I have spent time there, on both sides of the collar, and thoroughly enjoyed it. How long are you going for?” Magda could no longer contain herself. “She wants to go for life, the stupid girl, life! No limits!” Sven nodded. “Inge. Life is a very long time. Had it been three months, even six, I would have signed immediately, but life…. As for No Limits, do you truly understand what that means?” Inge nodded. “I think so. It is laid out, graphically, in the contract. And mom told me about it, about her experiences. I didn’t think you two…I mean, I know you are very liberal, and you swing, but…”
The silence seemed endless. “Why life? Sven finally asked.
“All my life, since I was little, I’ve dreamed about being a slave. I used to sneak into your study and find the album with your photographs, long before you allowed me to see them, of you and mom, naked, chained, pulling the plough, of mom being whipped, of you servicing those men, and I wanted to be there. To be like that, to be a slave.”
Sven nodded, “Fair enough. We enjoyed our time, but that was for relatively short periods of time, two or three months. Life is a very long time.”
Another long, heavy silence. “The contract says that I can opt out after a year.”
Magda spoke, softly. “Yes, you can opt out, but does the contract say what the procedure is?” Inge shook her head. “You will, of course, have been barcoded by that time, as both your father and I are. The barcode describes, among other things, your skills and predilections. In my case that includes my life in the kennels. If you elect to opt out, you will be expelled from The Farm. You will be taken to a public road. You will be naked, your hands tied behind you, as when you arrived. They will have had fun with your body. It will be full of writing, describing exactly what you are and your preferences. Your head will be shaved, and you will have WHORE written in big letters on your forehead. They will advise us of your expulsion by post. The letter will be posted after you are dropped off at the side of the road. You know what the postal system is like. It will take two, perhaps three days to reach us. In the meantime, you will probably be used by every passing motorist.”
Inge looked back at her parents. Would she ever see them again? Or would she see them, or one of them, as a free person wanting a slave to use, perhaps in a house of pleasure somewhere. What if her father…? The thought sent exciting sparks into her core. Or her grandfather? He often went to The Farm, as a Guest. She smiled at her parents. They waved. Turning, she headed up the path, wincing as she trod on the first sharp stone, the first of many!
Life! As a slave! A no-limits sex slave! Her dream come true!
Inge desperately wanted to wave a last farewell to her parents. Sadly, the handcuffs made that impossible. All she could do was look back longingly at them. Seeing them perhaps for the last time, before she started walking up the stony path to The Farm, and a life of slavery. Her father’s face was impassive as he stood, one arm comfortingly around her mother’s shoulders. Her mother attempted a smile, but even at this distance Inge could see the glint of tears.
Sven hugged his wife more tightly. Their daughter looked so vulnerable, so frail, so beautiful in her naked helplessness. Why did she have to be so stubborn? His mind flashed back to that evening, two months ago, when Inge had walked into his study, a document file in her hand. Magda had been right behind her, her face stricken. “Father,” Inge said softly. His eyebrows lifted at the formality, what had happened to the usual daddy? Magda stifled a sob. “Father, I have decided that I want to go to The Farm. I have signed the contract, but as I am under twenty-one, I need you to co-sign it. Please?”
Sven nodded. “The Farm is a good place. I think you will enjoy the experience. As you know, your mother and I have spent time there, on both sides of the collar, and thoroughly enjoyed it. How long are you going for?” Magda could no longer contain herself. “She wants to go for life, the stupid girl, life! No limits!” Sven nodded. “Inge. Life is a very long time. Had it been three months, even six, I would have signed immediately, but life…. As for No Limits, do you truly understand what that means?” Inge nodded. “I think so. It is laid out, graphically, in the contract. And mom told me about it, about her experiences. I didn’t think you two…I mean, I know you are very liberal, and you swing, but…”
The silence seemed endless. “Why life? Sven finally asked.
“All my life, since I was little, I’ve dreamed about being a slave. I used to sneak into your study and find the album with your photographs, long before you allowed me to see them, of you and mom, naked, chained, pulling the plough, of mom being whipped, of you servicing those men, and I wanted to be there. To be like that, to be a slave.”
Sven nodded, “Fair enough. We enjoyed our time, but that was for relatively short periods of time, two or three months. Life is a very long time.”
Another long, heavy silence. “The contract says that I can opt out after a year.”
Magda spoke, softly. “Yes, you can opt out, but does the contract say what the procedure is?” Inge shook her head. “You will, of course, have been barcoded by that time, as both your father and I are. The barcode describes, among other things, your skills and predilections. In my case that includes my life in the kennels. If you elect to opt out, you will be expelled from The Farm. You will be taken to a public road. You will be naked, your hands tied behind you, as when you arrived. They will have had fun with your body. It will be full of writing, describing exactly what you are and your preferences. Your head will be shaved, and you will have WHORE written in big letters on your forehead. They will advise us of your expulsion by post. The letter will be posted after you are dropped off at the side of the road. You know what the postal system is like. It will take two, perhaps three days to reach us. In the meantime, you will probably be used by every passing motorist.”
Inge looked back at her parents. Would she ever see them again? Or would she see them, or one of them, as a free person wanting a slave to use, perhaps in a house of pleasure somewhere. What if her father…? The thought sent exciting sparks into her core. Or her grandfather? He often went to The Farm, as a Guest. She smiled at her parents. They waved. Turning, she headed up the path, wincing as she trod on the first sharp stone, the first of many!
Life! As a slave! A no-limits sex slave! Her dream come true!
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Death of a whore
“Get me off here! Get this thing out of my ass! Please! It hurts so much! I don’t want to die like this! Hanging here! With this stick in my ass! Please let me down! I’m a good whore! I don’t want to die! Please, gods? Let me die? Let it stop hurting! I don’t want to die!!!!!!”
Hekla’s pleas went unheard among the cacophony. Screams! Begging. The thud of hammers driving iron spikes through tender flesh. Moans! Shouted orders! It was a scene of bedlam and wanton cruelty! And all because one aristocratic pervert had been beaten to death in an alley near a brothel. As a result, every whore in the town was sentenced to death by crucifixion.
Hekla had not chosen to be a whore. Like all the girls in her village she had dreamed of marrying a handsome farmer who made enough to ensure that his family could eat something every day, and that not too many of her children would die before her.
The arrival of the soldiers had changed that. Nobody in the village had shown any resistance, but that did not spare them. All the women, even her old grandmother, had been raped, as had many of the younger men and boys. They had walked for days, following the legion, being used by the soldiers at every stop. At a large town they had been sold. For the first time she had been naked in front of crowds of people, people who touched her, probed her and finally bid on her. She and about a hundred others, male and female, all young and attractive, had been chained together, still naked, and loaded on a ship. After days of misery, they arrived in a port, she heard the name Ostia. Here they were sold again, this time singly, but no less humiliatingly.
Hekla had to breathe. Hanging by her arms all she could do was pant, shallow little breaths that gave her no relief. She had to stand! Stand! Gods! How can you be so cruel? Stand! On the spikes the soldiers had driven through her heels into the side of the cross, shattering bones and raising the pain levels to intolerable peaks. Pain! Her whole life consisted of excruciating, intolerable pain. “Fuck you all!” She screamed shrilly as she dragged herself into a standing position, Causing new shards of agony from her nailed wrists as well as her feet. The splintery stick shoved into her arse sent its own little refinements of agony though her core as it slid slowly out of her stretched, abused arse. She tried to stretch as high as possible, while taking deep breaths of air, wanting desperately to get the thing all the way out of her. She could feel it, right at the entrance. Just a little bit higher! Agony! Raw, blinding agony! “Fuck yooou!!!!” She half screamed, half sobbed, as her thigh muscles gave up the fight and she slowly collapsed, the hated stake defiling her again, until all her weight was suspended from her wrists. “Fuck you,” she sobbed, ‘please let me die. Please? I so wanted to live.”
Hekla had been a good whore. Her body was lithe and strong. She tried her utmost to give the customers the pleasure they sought, no matter how disgusting she found their demands. Her clients left, smiling. There were nice ones, too. Like the elderly knight, who would pay for several hours of her time and then just cuddle her, stroke her, hug her. He was incapable of anything more, even when she used her mouth as his farewell treat. Each time he would slip a silver coin into her hand. She had nineteen coins in her secret hiding place. She had thought that thirty would buy her freedom. She wondered if one of the new girls had found her hoard? She had seen the new coffle walking along the road, only a few eternities after she had been nailed. She had seen the terrified expressions on their faces, realising that they could face the same fate.
The sun burned down. Beside her, Anna begged for water. She watched as the soldier pissed on a sponge, then held it up for the girl to suck dry. He had been a regular visitor between her thighs. “How long before….?” Anna croaked. “How long?” Tears rolled down her cheeks. The soldier looked embarrassed. He had had her the night before. The girl had sobbed under him as he drove into her, had thanked him afterwards. It was only her second night in the brothel. He had felt her naked body buck under him again, as he straddled her, hammering the spikes through her wrists. He shook his head. “You might last another day, perhaps two.” The whore sobbed. “How long…?” The soldier remembered her warm wetness, the little moans of pleasure, as she had writhed under him the night before, the desperate strength and the earsplitting screams as he had driven the nails through her wrists not two hours before.
He shook his head and walked away.
Hekla needed to breathe!
Two days!
Artwork by 3DFranco
“Get me off here! Get this thing out of my ass! Please! It hurts so much! I don’t want to die like this! Hanging here! With this stick in my ass! Please let me down! I’m a good whore! I don’t want to die! Please, gods? Let me die? Let it stop hurting! I don’t want to die!!!!!!”
Hekla’s pleas went unheard among the cacophony. Screams! Begging. The thud of hammers driving iron spikes through tender flesh. Moans! Shouted orders! It was a scene of bedlam and wanton cruelty! And all because one aristocratic pervert had been beaten to death in an alley near a brothel. As a result, every whore in the town was sentenced to death by crucifixion.
Hekla had not chosen to be a whore. Like all the girls in her village she had dreamed of marrying a handsome farmer who made enough to ensure that his family could eat something every day, and that not too many of her children would die before her.
The arrival of the soldiers had changed that. Nobody in the village had shown any resistance, but that did not spare them. All the women, even her old grandmother, had been raped, as had many of the younger men and boys. They had walked for days, following the legion, being used by the soldiers at every stop. At a large town they had been sold. For the first time she had been naked in front of crowds of people, people who touched her, probed her and finally bid on her. She and about a hundred others, male and female, all young and attractive, had been chained together, still naked, and loaded on a ship. After days of misery, they arrived in a port, she heard the name Ostia. Here they were sold again, this time singly, but no less humiliatingly.
Hekla had to breathe. Hanging by her arms all she could do was pant, shallow little breaths that gave her no relief. She had to stand! Stand! Gods! How can you be so cruel? Stand! On the spikes the soldiers had driven through her heels into the side of the cross, shattering bones and raising the pain levels to intolerable peaks. Pain! Her whole life consisted of excruciating, intolerable pain. “Fuck you all!” She screamed shrilly as she dragged herself into a standing position, Causing new shards of agony from her nailed wrists as well as her feet. The splintery stick shoved into her arse sent its own little refinements of agony though her core as it slid slowly out of her stretched, abused arse. She tried to stretch as high as possible, while taking deep breaths of air, wanting desperately to get the thing all the way out of her. She could feel it, right at the entrance. Just a little bit higher! Agony! Raw, blinding agony! “Fuck yooou!!!!” She half screamed, half sobbed, as her thigh muscles gave up the fight and she slowly collapsed, the hated stake defiling her again, until all her weight was suspended from her wrists. “Fuck you,” she sobbed, ‘please let me die. Please? I so wanted to live.”
Hekla had been a good whore. Her body was lithe and strong. She tried her utmost to give the customers the pleasure they sought, no matter how disgusting she found their demands. Her clients left, smiling. There were nice ones, too. Like the elderly knight, who would pay for several hours of her time and then just cuddle her, stroke her, hug her. He was incapable of anything more, even when she used her mouth as his farewell treat. Each time he would slip a silver coin into her hand. She had nineteen coins in her secret hiding place. She had thought that thirty would buy her freedom. She wondered if one of the new girls had found her hoard? She had seen the new coffle walking along the road, only a few eternities after she had been nailed. She had seen the terrified expressions on their faces, realising that they could face the same fate.
The sun burned down. Beside her, Anna begged for water. She watched as the soldier pissed on a sponge, then held it up for the girl to suck dry. He had been a regular visitor between her thighs. “How long before….?” Anna croaked. “How long?” Tears rolled down her cheeks. The soldier looked embarrassed. He had had her the night before. The girl had sobbed under him as he drove into her, had thanked him afterwards. It was only her second night in the brothel. He had felt her naked body buck under him again, as he straddled her, hammering the spikes through her wrists. He shook his head. “You might last another day, perhaps two.” The whore sobbed. “How long…?” The soldier remembered her warm wetness, the little moans of pleasure, as she had writhed under him the night before, the desperate strength and the earsplitting screams as he had driven the nails through her wrists not two hours before.
He shook his head and walked away.
Hekla needed to breathe!
Two days!
Artwork by 3DFranco
One of your very best Theseus! I really liked it!