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Mine Misery
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
oh how Sarah has fallen...
windar
Teller of Tales
Ooh dear
The thread snaps; the mistress becomes the slave
Nicely written, Windar!
I think every so often, the slaves ought to get a bit of justice. Let's not make a habit of it, of course, but now and then it's a good thing.
windar
Teller of Tales
Chapter 10 Sarah Learns Some Lessons (Sarah 3)
George and Jake led us across several naked sleeping women, all lying in a fetal position, their ankle chains attached to their neck collars, until we reached an empty spot on the floor. “Alright, you two cunts,” Jake barked, “Lie down.” Not wanting any further trouble, we hastened to obey. The two men knelt and clipped our ankle chains to our neck collars, forcing us into the same uncomfortable posture the other slaves were in.
“Don’t get too comfy,” George said, snickering. “You guys are on my night shift, so you’re on the job in about an hour.” As if comfort were possible, lying naked on the hard ground in the fetal position, barely able to move, listening to the snores and moans of the other women. And of course my back still burned from the whipping I had just endured.
It seemed as though I had just laid down, but it probably was an hour or so later, when I heard a woman shouting harshly. “Night shift, wakey-wakey, everybody up!” Suddenly, there was a commotion as several women and a few men dressed in khakis and boots, unlike the rest of us who were naked, and carrying brutal looking whips, moved through the mass of prone bodies detaching neck collars from ankle chains. I later learned they were called “enforcers” and for very good reason.
As the women were freed from their sleeping position, they sat up, rubbing their legs and arms to alleviate the stiffness. Soon, Amy and I were freed and were doing the same. Before we could really soothe our aches and pains, the woman who had woken us began shouting, “On your feet, you lazy sluts! Let’s go! Now!” I had never been so sore, but I glanced at Amy and we both struggled to our feet, still attached at the ankle.
“Line up! Breakfast time!” Not knowing what we were supposed to do, we just followed the other slaves and joined a line that filed past a table where a nasty-looking woman, naked just like us, was dishing a disgusting looking gruel into bowls. Amy and I each took one. I looked around for spoons but didn’t see any, so we leaned against the walls of the chamber and tipped our bowls as we saw the other women doing, allowing the porridge to run into our mouths. And Charles had had the nerve to complain about my cooking.
They gave us only enough time to wolf down the food before they had us line up and march down the tunnel past areas where large chunks of the walls had been gouged out. Finally, we reached a stretch of tunnel where the rock appeared smoother. There were carts about every 20 feet along the passageway.
As we passed each cart, a pair of slaves, chained together at the ankles, peeled off from the parade. Each grabbed up a pick that was lying in the cart and they began swinging it against the rock wall, breaking off small pieces of salt-encrusted rock.
Soon we were at the head of the line. Standing beside the next cart, clad in khakis and boots and carrying a whip, was one of the enforcers. I almost choked when I saw who it was. It was Barb, our former slave from the plantation! And she was glaring at me.
“Well, if it isn’t ‘Miss Sarah’,” she said. “Former Mistress of the plantation, now a mine slave.”
“B-b-barb?” I stammered.
She grabbed my hair and raised her whip as if to strike me. “That would be Ma’am. That’s how you refer to enforcers in this mine. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied, my voice quavering.
“And I do believe that’s your sidekick Amy.”
“Yes Ma’am,” Amy replied, looking just as frightened as I felt.
“Now I’m only going to tell you this once, so you had better listen well. You each take a pick and you start breaking chunks off that wall. Your job is to fill the cart by the end of the day. Fail and you’ll get a good dozen with this,” she threatened, brandishing her whip. “Do I make myself clear?”
Both Amy and I nodded vigorously and replied, “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Good, because don’t think I’m going to go easy on you just because we’re half sisters.”
“Half what?” I asked not sure that I had heard right. Barb glared at me. “I mean half sisters, Ma’am?” Barb just smiled and strode off, leaving me staring after her, stunned.
My puzzlement was interrupted by Amy tapping me on the shoulder. “Sarah, we better get to work. I think she wasn’t kidding about whipping us.”
“No, Amy, I don’t think she was,” I replied, lifting the heavy pick from the cart. I walked over to the rock wall and swung the pick as hard as I could. It bounced off and clattered to the floor, sending pain shooting through my arms and my still raw back. Amy tried swinging hers with results that were little better. For the next while, we struggled, getting nowhere, sweat pouring off of us. “How would we ever fill the cart?” I wondered.
Eventually one of the enforcers came by. I did a double take. It was Pat. She showed us the right way to swing the pick so that we could chip off some of the rock. By the time the woman who had served the gruel came by with water, we had a small pile of salt-encrusted stones at our feet. We stopped and began loading them into the cart. They barely covered the bottom.
“You guys better step up the pace,” the water server warned. “You won’t even come close to filling the cart at that rate.”
“Step it up?” I wondered. I was already exhausted. I had spent my life having slaves do every physical task for me and this was all too much for me. Nevertheless, I tried to go faster. So did Amy. But, despite our best efforts, by the time the whistle blew to end the shift, we barely had the cart half full.
And there, coming down the tunnel, were Pat and Barb, accompanied by George, who was also looking pleased with himself. “Let’s see how our two princesses have done with what’s probably the first honest day’s work in their lives,” Barb peered into the cart. “Barely half full!”
“What a couple of lazy sluts,” Pat added gleefully. “I don’t recall them doing a lick of work back on the plantation either.”
George smiled. “Take them both down to the posts and give them each a dozen.” So they marched me and Amy down the tunnel to a large chamber where the entire night shift was assembled. George gave a little speech about how everyone had to pull their weight, then had the two of us trussed up side by side to adjacent posts.
Barb delivered a dozen lashes to me while Pat delivered the same to Amy. Perhaps it wasn’t quite as bad as the bullwhipping I had received from George, but, especially on top of the welts already there, it was still excruciating. Amy and I screamed and bawled like babies from the start of the ordeal to the finish until finally they let us down.
Although I wasn’t really hungry, some of the other women urged me to eat to keep my strength up, so I forced myself to eat a bowl of porridge, this time with some awful chunks of some kind of “meat” before the enforcers locked us in to our sleeping positions.
I cried myself to sleep, knowing that this was how I would spend the rest of my life, at least the little that remained before an early death from overwork. And so the days passed.
George and Jake led us across several naked sleeping women, all lying in a fetal position, their ankle chains attached to their neck collars, until we reached an empty spot on the floor. “Alright, you two cunts,” Jake barked, “Lie down.” Not wanting any further trouble, we hastened to obey. The two men knelt and clipped our ankle chains to our neck collars, forcing us into the same uncomfortable posture the other slaves were in.
“Don’t get too comfy,” George said, snickering. “You guys are on my night shift, so you’re on the job in about an hour.” As if comfort were possible, lying naked on the hard ground in the fetal position, barely able to move, listening to the snores and moans of the other women. And of course my back still burned from the whipping I had just endured.
It seemed as though I had just laid down, but it probably was an hour or so later, when I heard a woman shouting harshly. “Night shift, wakey-wakey, everybody up!” Suddenly, there was a commotion as several women and a few men dressed in khakis and boots, unlike the rest of us who were naked, and carrying brutal looking whips, moved through the mass of prone bodies detaching neck collars from ankle chains. I later learned they were called “enforcers” and for very good reason.
As the women were freed from their sleeping position, they sat up, rubbing their legs and arms to alleviate the stiffness. Soon, Amy and I were freed and were doing the same. Before we could really soothe our aches and pains, the woman who had woken us began shouting, “On your feet, you lazy sluts! Let’s go! Now!” I had never been so sore, but I glanced at Amy and we both struggled to our feet, still attached at the ankle.
“Line up! Breakfast time!” Not knowing what we were supposed to do, we just followed the other slaves and joined a line that filed past a table where a nasty-looking woman, naked just like us, was dishing a disgusting looking gruel into bowls. Amy and I each took one. I looked around for spoons but didn’t see any, so we leaned against the walls of the chamber and tipped our bowls as we saw the other women doing, allowing the porridge to run into our mouths. And Charles had had the nerve to complain about my cooking.
They gave us only enough time to wolf down the food before they had us line up and march down the tunnel past areas where large chunks of the walls had been gouged out. Finally, we reached a stretch of tunnel where the rock appeared smoother. There were carts about every 20 feet along the passageway.
As we passed each cart, a pair of slaves, chained together at the ankles, peeled off from the parade. Each grabbed up a pick that was lying in the cart and they began swinging it against the rock wall, breaking off small pieces of salt-encrusted rock.
Soon we were at the head of the line. Standing beside the next cart, clad in khakis and boots and carrying a whip, was one of the enforcers. I almost choked when I saw who it was. It was Barb, our former slave from the plantation! And she was glaring at me.
“Well, if it isn’t ‘Miss Sarah’,” she said. “Former Mistress of the plantation, now a mine slave.”
“B-b-barb?” I stammered.
She grabbed my hair and raised her whip as if to strike me. “That would be Ma’am. That’s how you refer to enforcers in this mine. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied, my voice quavering.
“And I do believe that’s your sidekick Amy.”
“Yes Ma’am,” Amy replied, looking just as frightened as I felt.
“Now I’m only going to tell you this once, so you had better listen well. You each take a pick and you start breaking chunks off that wall. Your job is to fill the cart by the end of the day. Fail and you’ll get a good dozen with this,” she threatened, brandishing her whip. “Do I make myself clear?”
Both Amy and I nodded vigorously and replied, “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Good, because don’t think I’m going to go easy on you just because we’re half sisters.”
“Half what?” I asked not sure that I had heard right. Barb glared at me. “I mean half sisters, Ma’am?” Barb just smiled and strode off, leaving me staring after her, stunned.
My puzzlement was interrupted by Amy tapping me on the shoulder. “Sarah, we better get to work. I think she wasn’t kidding about whipping us.”
“No, Amy, I don’t think she was,” I replied, lifting the heavy pick from the cart. I walked over to the rock wall and swung the pick as hard as I could. It bounced off and clattered to the floor, sending pain shooting through my arms and my still raw back. Amy tried swinging hers with results that were little better. For the next while, we struggled, getting nowhere, sweat pouring off of us. “How would we ever fill the cart?” I wondered.
Eventually one of the enforcers came by. I did a double take. It was Pat. She showed us the right way to swing the pick so that we could chip off some of the rock. By the time the woman who had served the gruel came by with water, we had a small pile of salt-encrusted stones at our feet. We stopped and began loading them into the cart. They barely covered the bottom.
“You guys better step up the pace,” the water server warned. “You won’t even come close to filling the cart at that rate.”
“Step it up?” I wondered. I was already exhausted. I had spent my life having slaves do every physical task for me and this was all too much for me. Nevertheless, I tried to go faster. So did Amy. But, despite our best efforts, by the time the whistle blew to end the shift, we barely had the cart half full.
And there, coming down the tunnel, were Pat and Barb, accompanied by George, who was also looking pleased with himself. “Let’s see how our two princesses have done with what’s probably the first honest day’s work in their lives,” Barb peered into the cart. “Barely half full!”
“What a couple of lazy sluts,” Pat added gleefully. “I don’t recall them doing a lick of work back on the plantation either.”
George smiled. “Take them both down to the posts and give them each a dozen.” So they marched me and Amy down the tunnel to a large chamber where the entire night shift was assembled. George gave a little speech about how everyone had to pull their weight, then had the two of us trussed up side by side to adjacent posts.
Barb delivered a dozen lashes to me while Pat delivered the same to Amy. Perhaps it wasn’t quite as bad as the bullwhipping I had received from George, but, especially on top of the welts already there, it was still excruciating. Amy and I screamed and bawled like babies from the start of the ordeal to the finish until finally they let us down.
Although I wasn’t really hungry, some of the other women urged me to eat to keep my strength up, so I forced myself to eat a bowl of porridge, this time with some awful chunks of some kind of “meat” before the enforcers locked us in to our sleeping positions.
I cried myself to sleep, knowing that this was how I would spend the rest of my life, at least the little that remained before an early death from overwork. And so the days passed.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
That was a hard day for Sarah who never did any physical work before.
And on top of that being confronted with her ex slaves.
And being puzzled with that "half sisters".
And being whipped by the hated Barb.
We don't often see Barb in that position but she seems to have adapted quite well.
And on top of that being confronted with her ex slaves.
And being puzzled with that "half sisters".
And being whipped by the hated Barb.
We don't often see Barb in that position but she seems to have adapted quite well.
windar
Teller of Tales
windar
Teller of Tales
Episodes 9 & 10 are very good, particularly the description of Sarah's intake.
A strange twist in the story, with Barb as an overseer.
Demerits will fly around in the mine!(hopefully not on CF)
Oh, I'm there will still be plenty of demerits here for bad boys like us
We all must play the roles that circumstances give us. Plantation owner one day, slave the next. Slave one day, enforcer the next.
And who knows what is coming? Well, Barb and I might (but maybe not even us
).
windar
Teller of Tales
OS, surely you didn't think that missing quota was the ONLY thing a slave could be whipped or otherwise punished for
that's a clause I never thought I'd read on CruxForums!
Don't believe everything you read....that's a clause I never thought I'd read on CruxForums!
windar
Teller of Tales
I think death has always been a valid cause to suspend any whipping awarded to a slave. Not because it matters to the slave, but it's a waste of energy on the flogger's part that could be better applied to deserving slaves who are still alivethat's a clause I never thought I'd read on CruxForums!
This is a horrible accusation!!! Please report to court, Eul!In my experience on the Forums, a slavegirl's death is at best a temporary intermission
yes Sir - a few seconds while I reincarnate...
(it's useful they keep my chains on me so I'm still shackled,
naked and ready for whatever's awaiting me when I resurrect
)
It's the responsible thing to do...yes Sir - a few seconds while I reincarnate...
(it's useful they keep my chains on me so I'm still shackled,
naked and ready for whatever's awaiting me when I resurrect
windar
Teller of Tales
So do we guys get to reincarnate also? Cause you fed me to sharks (yes, YOU, Eul) and I haven't been seen sinceyes Sir - a few seconds while I reincarnate...
(it's useful they keep my chains on me so I'm still shackled,
naked and ready for whatever's awaiting me when I resurrect
