Vignettes from the slave pits

[theseus]

Paying for her studies.



“It’s only for a year.”

Sheila’s mother’s voice was so persuasive. Only a year, and then she would have enough money to go to university without having to worry about student loans and scrimping and scraping to live. Lots of people took a gap year to earn money for their studies.

Only a year!

Other girls worked as waitresses, bartenders, salesgirls. They would be earning minimum wage.

“Think about it. You would be having sex anyway, with that geeky guy who blushes every time I look at him. This way you earn good money, live a comfortable life, and have sex with people with plenty of experience.”

“But mom, now I can choose who I have sex with. If I become a sex slave I’ll have no choice. That’s horrible! What if I don’t like him?”

“Or her,” her mother said. “It could be a woman. Look at yourself! You’re a stunner. They will bid thousands, tens of thousands, to own you. It’s just for a year.”

Sheila sighed. “I suppose you know best. After all, you are my mom.” She smiled wanly as she reached for the pen and signed the contract. On Saturday she would stand, naked, on the auction block, to be sold as a sex slave for a year.

“Oh well, it’s done. Who knows, it could be a lot of fun!”

 

[theseus]

Lena



Lena looked out at the sea of faces. The truth was slowly starting to sink in.

The last day had been a blur. The bailiffs arriving at their house just as she was on her way to school. The warrant being read out. Her father was bankrupt. All fixed and movable property would be sold by public auction to repay the creditors. That was enough of a shock, but worse was to come.
Three bailiffs collected the family in a room. “In terms of the new Bankruptcy Act the insolvent and his or her entire family are classified as movable property. You will be sold together with your other assets.”

She hadn’t really believed that this would happen. Even when she was stripped naked and photographed for the catalogue it was unreal. Now she looked at the crowd of people. She was alone on the auction block, the first of her family to be sold. In a daze she heard the auctioneer’s patter, the graphic description of her body, the use that could be made of it.

“What am I bid for this fine slave?”

 

[theseus]

Curiousity
​

Sharon wandered along the beach in Paradise. Dave, her fabulously rich lover of three month’s standing was busy in their luxurious villa, making another million. They had been in Paradise for a week. It was wonderful! Luxurious, discrete, absolutely beautiful. She could have anything she wanted. All she had to was, literally, to snap her fingers and one of the staff would be there to meet her needs. This was the life she had dreamed of. Dave was attentive, considerate, a wonderful lover.

Yet?

She paused, watching a ghost crab busily clearing sand from his house.

SHE WAS BORED SHITLESS!

She strode back to the villa, purposefully.

“Dave, what happens at Slave Island?”

He looked up from his computer. “It’s a place for people who fantasise about being slaves. They go there to be chained, beaten, fucked in every way you can imagine, and many you can’t, and generally abused. Free people, like us, can go there and use and abuse them however they want, short of maiming or killing them. Apart from that, nothing is prohibited on Slave Island.”

He turned back to his computer.

“Can I go?”

He looked up, surprised. “You want to go and see people being used as objects? Hmm, I need another day to clinch this deal, so shall we do a day trip on Wednesday?”

“I don’t want to do a fucking day trip to go and perve at slaves!” She shouted. “I want to go there as a fucking fuckslave! I’m bored!”

Dave raised his eyebrows. “You’re sure?”

“Yes! I’m fucking sure!”

Dave rang a bell to summon a servant. Within seconds a petite Thai maid arrived.

“Call the main office! Tell them I need an escort to take a slave to Slave Island.”

The maid looked at Sharon. “Oh! Missee!” She said softly before running off.

Minutes later four uniformed men arrived.

“This woman is to be taken to Slave island and held there for a month. You are welcome to enjoy her until she is shipped.”

“Dave!” Sharon screamed, as a hand ripped her flimsy dress from her body. Moments later she was handcuffed and being hustled out of the door.

She wasn’t going to have much chance to be bored now!

 

[theseus]

The Anniversary Gift



The Colonial Administrator was in a quandary. What to give his wife for their wedding anniversary?

She had been getting restive recently, harping on about the number of attractive female slaves they had in their household. “Your job here is to eradicate the slave trade! Yet our household is overrun by these half naked savages!” His attempts to explain that he was saving these poor, innocent slaves from a terrible fate in the harems and brothels of Ungujaa by giving them a home in a Christian household were not totally convincing.

He had consulted his friend Theseus, a somewhat questionable character, but one with intelligence and business sense.

“John, how often do you visit your wife’s bedroom?”

The Official hesitated, “Twice, perhaps three times a month. She is a very delicate, aristocratic lady, you know. Prone to headaches.”

“Yet your own bed is seldom empty?”

The official grunted.

“I think we need to visit my old friend Tippoo Tib. He keeps a stock of special quality at his house. You know it? Just down the alley from the Africa Hotel.”

The notorious slaver had welcomed them, fed them thick, sweet coffee and pondered the problem. “I have just the gift you need!” He despatched a slave girl with whispered instructions.

The slave she returned with was magnificent! The official admired his physique, was envious of the thick black root dangling between his muscled thighs.

The price was surprisingly low. They parted with deep bows and expressions of respect.

Tippoo Tib smiled wolfishly at the back of the departing official and his new purchase. These mzungu were so transparent, so innocent. The wife would no longer complain about the presence of slaves in the household, although her headaches might increase in frequency, at least as far as her husband was concerned. The price of the slave was indeed very low, but interference in Tippoo’s business activities would be minimal in future.

A very profitable transaction indeed!

 

[theseus]

Fear of Claws



Veronica was nervous as she scrubbed the kitchen floor. The former member of parliament drew this duty with monotonous regularity. Admittedly this kind of menial work was preferable to pulling a plough in the fields or swinging a heavy sledgehammer in the quarries, but…!

A faint sound caught her attention! Terrified, she looked around. “Please, please, not again! Please!”

It had been only two days since she last heard the sound of his claws on the tiles, since he had sniffed at her, mounted her and filled her with his seed. “Please, not again!”

Tap,tap,tap,tap. She wanted to scream! Her chains did not allow her to stand up. She was totally vulnerable. Tap. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Softer now, further away. She sighed with relief and carried on with her work.

Suddenly! Tap, tap, tap, tap. So close! She whimpered as a cold nose touched her. “No! No! Not again! Please!”

 

[Harsh Martinet]

Damned horny Chihuahua

 

[theseus]

Introduction


"Aren't you forgetting something?" His voice was soft, frightening.

It felt so strange to be kneeling, naked, in front of this stranger. This man who now ruled her entire life for the next six months. This man who was going to train her to be the daughter her parents wanted.

The black and yellow braided leather whip tapped against his leg. He looked pointedly at her tightly clenched thighs.

She couldn't! She knew what was expected, but... She was a virgin, modest. She couldn't bring herself to spread her knees wide as he expected her to, to display her vagina, he called it a cunt, to this man.

The short whip slapped against his leg again. She winced. Her father had told her that she would be whipped if she was disobedient. Her brain refused to imagine what that braided leather would feel like on her soft skin.

SLAP!

She couldn't!

SLAP!

With a soft whimper, she spread her knees.

Wide!

 

[Madiosi]

The 2019's edition now in archive:

http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/vignettes-from-the-slave-pits-by-theseus.737/

and libary:

Crux-forums E-book Library

No: 282 Michele Patri - Public Executions in the Arena - Part 2-2019 For comments visit the original thread: http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/public-executions-in-the-arena.5032/

www.cruxforums.com

 

[theseus]

Cindy’s Punishment
​

Cindy sobbed hysterically as the counted the final stroke.

“100! Oh God! 100!”

100 strokes of the bullwhip!

Discipline was strict at the Torture camp. After all, that was why people went there. But 100 lashes!

She had tried, she really had. Pleasing five men at the same time was not easy. She had lost co-ordination, and one of the men she was giving a hand job had complained. All her holes were full, her right hand was doing well, but she was too rough with her left hand.

Now her body was a fiery sea of pain. Her scream as the bucketful of brine was poured down her back was blood curdling! She danced and writhed, anything to relieve the pain!

And her ordeal had only just started. The twenty five men who had been selected to fuck her were lining up.

She would be tied on her back, on a rough, hairy coir mat.

 

[theseus]

Julia's Fate


Image by @GoatJr

Julia wondered why her mother was heading toward the slave market? Normally they would make a detour to avoid that place of sorrow.

Just the thought of those poor people, most of them slaves through no fault of their own, waiting to be sold like animals was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

What went through their minds as they were displayed naked, pawed at, prodded, examined intimately by total strangers who would possibly become their owners? Her friends told her that they were just slaves, and that slaves had no feelings, but she didn’t believe that. Most of them had once been free, captured in war by people like her father.

Her father.

Life had been hard since he had been killed on campaign in a far-off part of the Empire. His pay had stopped, and her mother had struggled to keep their household together. Julia had helped, taking in washing from the wealthier households, but their savings were running out, and there was no sign of the pension her mother was entitled to as the widow of a centurion. Feeding five mouths was a continuous struggle. Her sisters and her brother still too young to help.

The sight of those slaves made her feel sick.

She was distracted by the sight of a senator examining two girls, both about her age, both naked, the one showing the marks of a whipping, so that she missed most of her mother’s conversation with the man in the plain tunic. Then she realised they were haggling. “One hundred sesterces,” her mother said. “Forty!” was the gruff reply. What was her mother buying? They didn’t have forty sesterces, much less a hundred. In fact, she doubted if all the small coins they had amounted to one sestertius.

“Sixty,” the man said, “not an uncia more!”

Her mother nodded. “I have no choice.”

“Julia! Raise your arms!” Automatically, Julia obeyed. With one move her mother pulled her tunic over her head, leaving her naked in the middle of the slave market.

“Mother! What are you doing?” She screamed, as the man deftly trapped her wrists and with the speed of long practice bound them together. “Mother!”

Her mother hugged her, tears streaming down her face. “I have no choice. We have no money, and nothing left the sell. The children must eat.” Her mother sobbed. “I hope your owner is kind.”

She stumbled away, clutching the small purse of coins, the price of her daughter’s freedom.

Julia was numb, too shocked to react. This could not be true! Her mother had sold her! She was a slave! Impossible!

The man in the tunic, her owner, called over to the senator. “My lord, may I interest you in this prize. Virgin, untouched, healthy. She speaks Latin. Only 250, my lord. A bargain, my lord!”

The naked, chestnut haired slave girl gave her a sympathetic smile. They were sisters, now.

Sisters in slavery!

 

[theseus]

Breanna Sold



Septimus Secundus gave his last bidding rival a pointed look as he raised his hand for a final bid. Nobody would be stupid enough to ignore that look!

Septimus wanted the Celtic slave girl.

Freshly enslaved, Breanna came from an aristocratic family who had once ruled extensive estates in Gaul. Now the she was just one of the many slaves sent back to Rome after yet another successful campaign. She had survived the long march to the coast, survived being packed like livestock into the hold of the merchant ship that took the slaves to Rome. Despite all this, she had retained her boyish figure and innocent look.

That was exactly what Septimus wanted. A bed toy with the looks of a boy, to be used as a boy, but unmistakably female. After all, he had his political career to consider.

The other bidder, a Gaul, despite his toga sporting the narrow red stripe of an equestrian had pushed the bidding hard. When the auctioneer turned the girl around to give Septimus a closer view of her tight buttocks the decision was made. That look warned the Gaul of the consequences of opposition.

As the hammer fell the Gaul walked away, shaking his head.

Breanna saw who her buyer was for the first time. Her knees buckled at the sight of the Roman’s gross body, the rippling rolls of fat around his neck. She wished she could die. ‘I am Breanna’, she said to herself. ‘I am noble, strong, virtuous.’

Her virtue would soon disappear, engulfed by the Roman. Her strength and nobility were all she had now.

 

[The Fallen Angel]

Nice little story. Good to see that Madi is busy making sure they are all archived. I remember the girl standing next to Septimus was a Russian model called Sophia or maybe Sofia or even Sophie!

 

[theseus]

Coming of Age.



Cathy’s family was an old and aristocratic one. They could trace their line back through the centuries. Tradition and custom played an important part in their way of life. Tradition affected her in many ways, from formal ways of address to the order in which family members were served at dinner.

As her birthday approached, she became more and more impatient and excited. She was coming of age! Soon, on her birthday, she would be instructed in one of the most important rituals of her family.

The Collaring!

She longed to wear a collar as her mother, her grandmother and her older cousins did. She longed to be allowed into the secret wing of the ancient house, to learn the mysteries that happened there. Mysteries that no woman could mention to one who was not an initiate, on pain of a horrible, final, punishment.

Now it was time! The old ballroom was lit by hundreds of candles. Her male relatives, those initiated into the rite, were dressed in costumes dating back centuries. The collared women, led by her grandmother, were all dressed in scarlet silk tunics, their feet in scarlet slippers, their hair piled up on top of their heads.

Cathy was unique in this assembly. She was clad in a simple white tunic, her feet bare. Her grandmother and the youngest initiate led her to the Grand Master, dressed in black and gold, his face masked and his head adorned with golden antlers.

There was absolute silence as he intoned a blessing. A collared girl, naked, carried the collar on a scarlet silk pillow. Kneeling, she presented it to the Grand Master.

The audience started a slow chant as he placed the collar around her throat.

She was elated! At last! She was collared!

The chant deepened, became more insistent, somehow menacing, as the initiates followed the Grand Master and the virginal Cathy to the great, double doors that led to the Secret Wing!

Soon! Very soon, she would learn the Mystery!

 

[theseus]

The Reluctant Slave - 180 days later.



It was slave 1283’s last day at The Farm. In a few hours she would become Catherine Newton again. She would be a rising lawyer, junior partner in a prestigious law firm. An independent, liberated woman.

She looked out over the rugged countryside of The Farm, a place where she had been reduced to a status lower than an animal, an object, a thing! She was naked, as she had been for the last six months, but today she was not shackled. She was going home.

Her stomach rumbled, as it always seemed to do after she was buggered. Maclean, the overseer who had broken her, had taken her ass for the last time. His buggering had been gentler, less mechanical than usual. His voice had been equally gentle, almost nostalgic, as he pulled out of her mouth after she had cleaned him. “I’ll miss you, 1283. Ye have a verra lovely body, and after your initial defiance have become a good slave. He patted her bottom. I shall miss that tight asshole, 1283.” He marched off, leaving her free and unoccupied.

180 Days. That was what she had signed up for. 180 days of slavery, slavery without limits. It had not been what she expected. MacLean had sodomised her 180 times! Each time with the mechanical efficiency and brutality that was his trademark. He was not the only one! There had been too many to count. Hundreds of men during her time in the brothel, sometimes as many as twenty a day. So many overseers, and other free men, and women, who had used her body as and when they pleased. And the dogs! She suppressed a shudder at the thought.

She had been harnessed to the plough, broken rocks in the quarry, carried building blocks for the new barracks. She had cooked, and cleaned. And always there was the whip! The stinging, agonising bite of the whip, the thudding impact of the flogger, the screaming agony of the cane!

And the other punishments! Eight hours tied to the cross, her body racked with cramp, her newly flogged back scraped raw against the rough wood of the cross. The thirst, the constant battle to breathe! The blazing sun had scorched her skin, sucking every drop of moisture from her. Thirst! Desperate she had finally accepted the only drink on offer, a disgusting mixture of urine and semen collected in a bucket at the foot of her cross. She had struggled, she had danced, she had screamed in agony as tortured muscles cramped. Several times the Master, the owner of The Farm, had come to look at her, to look at his watch and shake his head. Each time he had looked up at her pain wracked body, lifted a questioning eyebrow.

At first, she had screamed her defiance of the question. “Fuck you, you sick pervert! Fuck you! Never! Never!” Later it had been a hoarse croak, even later an almost inaudible whisper. “Fuck you!”

Finally, the eighth time, her words were different. The sun had been shining in her eyes for hours, her body was contorted by cramp, she was almost delirious. “Please, Master, I want them to fuck me, please?” He held a hand to his ear. “I can’t hear you.”

She wanted to scream, but the whisper that emerged was just audible. “Let the dogs fuck me. Please, just take me down from here.”

There had been other punishments, many of them, but none as bad as that. Now it was over!

Back at the Farm office she was handed a small parcel. Her clothes and her car keys. The soft kiss of silk panties. The clinging roughness of her jeans, looser now than they had been when she arrived, her shirt tight about her shoulders, much more muscular than before. The constriction of her boots on feet that had been bare for six months.

The Master was there. He handed her a fat envelope. “Your share of your earnings at the brothel. You were clearly very popular.”

All she had to do was walk down the hill to the carpark, her feet comfortable in boots, and she would be a free woman. Never again would a stranger use her body, never would she be whipped, abused. She would be free!

The only reminder would be the barcode above her sex, her permanently smooth sex.

She looked into the brown eyes beneath the intimidating eyebrows. She was his equal, now!

Gracefully, she dropped to her knees.

“Master? When I come back, will you brand me? Please?”

 

[cynthia the inocent]

Intriguing, and I’m sure later stories will reveal how modern the setting is, or whether it is in this world at all. I am confused as to whether she got branded where the barcode is. Could you clarify?

Oh yes. I fit into that scenario. I love the feeling of helplessness and being abused. When you are done punishing me for being a slut, Fill my body with your cum. I am that old wrinkled woman, craveing what may well be her last hurrah. Please make it exquisite.

 

[KageKamen]

The Brothel

A harsh beginning for a new slave! I wonder how she and her brother were so unlucky - and how long they'll last in that sort of environment. Somehow I doubt until she's as wrinkied as that old slave... I also wonder why they removed her hair - a law?

Another fragment from a different, incomplete story.

The reluctant slave

You'd think a lawyer would know how to read the fine print - indeed, that she'd have dissected it back to front before signing! As for the master... he seems polite, but I think it may just be a front.

Jane

Jane staggered as a sharp stone pierced her already sore foot. The chain connecting her to the slaves in front of and behind her jerked tight, choking her. With an effort she regained her balance. She was tired, so tired! Ahead lay eight hours in the whorehouse. At least six clients an hour, forty-eight cocks pumping their seed into her.

I admit I'm no expert, but six an hour seems a bit many unless some of them share.

Anyway, Jane seems like an expert at digging herself in deeper - so much of one that I'm quite surprised she's lasted this long unpunished in a society that publicly canes schoolgirls for lateness. Did she just have very bad luck with the policeman and judge?

Luscious.
She had been taken by force! Day after day she had marched in her chains, until the slave convoy reached the sea. night after night her exhausted body was abused by the leader of the slavers. Now she waited as her body and especially her cute breasts were appraised and valued. It seemed she would be put onto one of the ships in the bay and taken far away to serve to assuage the lusts of strangers.
View attachment 610551

I'd love to hear more of this one's tale - will her beauty survive the voyage?

View attachment 637163

Old worn-out slavegirls part 1! Notable points here include:

The pain of crucifixion when he crucified her so that her writhing and screaming could entertain his guests.

I'm assuming this was with ropes - nails would probably not have left her able to do field labour.

Speaking of which, that's a harsh retirement for a long-loyal bedslave. DO they need every set of hands they can get or something. And what exactly does it mean that he didn't abuse her more than necessary?

Bess
View attachment 650299

Old slaves part 2! This time with more focus on the enslavement, which I always like. As a tradeoff though, her ownership record is brushed over - it seems she's been passed around a lot more than Laura has. I wonder if she'll also end up in the fields - or might one of her masters actually free her one day? Probablly too much to hope, but...

(Also, in their long lives of sex did either of these two produce any children?)

 

[KageKamen]

Oarslave

A month is a lot less than most oarslaves - count yourself lucky, and always read the fine print!

Market Day

Jane seems to know how these things work - is this her first time on the block?

View attachment 676645

I understand the need for discipline, but is it really wise to damage some of your slave's most valuable parts?

View attachment 677066
The price of a kiss.

Kennels for the dogs, or the male slaves? Either way, I think that or a whipping would probably have sufficed - both makes me think the narrator has a problem with girl-on-girl.

View attachment 677070
Lisa’s birthday gift.

Not that it's my place to nitpick my seniors, but where's the slavery?

 

[KageKamen]

View attachment 677083
Desert March

More than half lost on route? These slavers may want to rethink their methods. Maybe invest in a wagon or two.

Can Irma and her daughter at least talk at night?

View attachment 677288

Cathy’s Adventure​

Certainly an experience - but one not many would seek. I wonder how many regret it? At the least, I hope six months is the longest term one can sign up to at once.

The fall​

Officially, any respectable lady would choose death over such a fate. The maids can't fault their lady for cowardice, though - they want to live too, even like this.

View attachment 677290

The Virgin Slave​

At least she wasn’t chained. After all, what hope did she have of escape in this wilderness where there were wild animals, no food and very few places where she would be able to find water? How could she outwit or outrun the slavers, with their horses and dogs trained to track down wayward slaves. A few had tried. She had watched as they were brought back, as they were whipped bloody. Now those who had misbehaved or tried to escape stumbled along in a coffle, weighed down by heavy chains while she walked free, naked but for the thin silver chain around her hips denoting her virginity.

Indeed, no need to waste chains on cooperative girls, at last as long as they remain so.

 

[bobinder]

I remember the girl standing next to Septimus was a Russian model called Sophia or maybe Sofia or even Sophie!

Correct, Melissa - she used several variations of those names with different studios - 'Sofi. A' aka 'Sofie' etc. I recall that you employed her in a number of manips.

​

 

[The Fallen Angel]

Correct, Melissa - she used several variations of those names with different studios - 'Sofi. A' aka 'Sofie' etc. I recall that you employed her in a number of manips.

View attachment 804327View attachment 804325View attachment 804326​

The third pic is one of ours but somebody has (rather badly) replaced the original face. I'll look for the original.