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African Slave
- Thread starter theseus
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theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Chapter 1
Africa! The dark continent! Mysterious, frightening! Home to savage wild animals and even more savage people.
Barbara fell to her knees at the edge of the sea, grateful to be on land. Behind her, on the edge of the reef she could hear the crash of waves on the reef. The crash of waves and the sounds of a ship breaking up. The screams and cries of hundreds of men drowning in the surf.
The storm had come from nowhere. One moment the ship was sailing smoothly across a calm, blue sea. Then the lookout reported a black cloud on the horizon. Like a vision from hell the cloud had rushed toward them, while sailors frantically tried to reduce sail! All was in vain! The ship heeled almost on her beam ends as the wind hit! It was instantly dark! A terrifying darkness of incessant noise and violent motion.
An unknown time later there was a sharper shock than before. With a tremendous crack the foremast bent and broke, dragging the mainmast with it. The ship heeled right over, shuddering and grinding. Sailors and soldiers ran about, some in panic, some in disciplined groups trying to save the ship.
Fatima, her maid, ran up to her carrying a wooden chicken coop, still filled with wet, squawking chickens. “Hold on to this, mistress, as if your life depends on it! It really does! Let me get you out of this!” Barbara felt something plucking at the lacings of her bodice, then the heavy fabric fell free. “Get out of this dress, mistress! It will only drag you down! Quickly!” The ship lurched sickeningly as Barbara struggled out of the heavy fabric. Clad only in her shift, she was hustled to the ship’s side by her maid. With shock she realised that the woman was naked! Completely naked!
A hard push propelled her into the sea. Waves broke over her head as she clung to the chicken coop. She had a brief impression of a slender body describing a graceful arc as her maid dived into the wild sea.
Barbara staggered up the beach. The sun blazed through a break in the clouds, warming her chilled body. With a start she realised that her sodden shift was practically transparent and clung to her body like a second skin.
Barbara Campbell was nineteen years old. Four months previously she had married Major Lord James Campbell, a career army officer and heir to an earldom. The forty five year old officer had fallen head over heels for the young redhead, captivated by her flaming red hair, creamy skin and green eyes. The fact that she was beautiful and intelligent amply made up for the fact that her family was socially far inferior to his.
Three weeks after their wedding his Regiment had been given orders for India, where the native Sepoys had mutinied. With half his battalion he had set sail, leaving his young bride in the care of the maid her had assigned to her. A few weeks later the second ship, with the rest of the troops and several officers’ wives and families had followed. It was that ship that was now disintegrating on the reef.
Along the beach she saw something floundering in the shallows. Walking toward it she realised it was Mrs Captain Curran, the elderly wife of an elderly officer who would never advance beyond the rank of captain. In the strange world of the regiment Barbara, despite her youth, had been the senior wife, treated with deference by all others, even the captain of the ship. The rather dowdy Mrs Curran had been accompanied by her two very plain daughters. The one a year older than Barbara, the other a couple of years younger. Both had hoped to find husbands out in the colonies.
The woman was weighed down by her heavy dress and coat. It was a miracle that she had not drowned. She strode over to the floundering woman, dragging her from the surf and onto the sand.
There was strength in Barbara’s slender body. She had been somewhat of a tomboy, walking, riding and climbing trees. All this had left her with rather more muscle than was fashionable. Not that that had deterred her husband. It was precisely her boyish figure as well as her beauty, which had attracted him to her.
The older woman retched salt water, too exhausted to move. There were other people moving around the beach, the few lucky ones who had survived the sea. It was with relief that Barbara saw Fatima striding along the beach, dressed now in a pair of baggy trousers and a sailor’s striped shirt. She was carrying a bundle of clothing and a midshipman’s dirk.
Fatima held out the sodden bundle, a pair of breeches and a silk shirt. “I got these from Midshipman Fraser, mistress. He doesn’t need them any more.” She gave a wry smile. “ I suggest you change now. That shift does not hide anything, and there is a group of survivors coming along the beach.”
For a moment Barbara was annoyed. By rights she should be addressed as ‘My Lady’ not mistress. Right from the start this woman had lacked the deference expected of a maid. It was the major who had hired her as her maid. Barbara suspected strongly that he knew the woman before their marriage. Knew her intimately!
“That slut of a maid is no better than she should be!” Her mother had said. “A foreigner! From some strange country in the east. Look at the way she walks! No better than a whore!” Barbara smiled. To her mother anyone from outside the county was a foreigner, and therefor suspect, but it was true that this woman came from some foreign country far to the east. Circassia or some strange name. She also had rather too much knowledge of the major’s likes and dislikes.
Before her wedding day she had remarked to Barbara while dressing her. “ The master would prefer if your armpits and your mound were hairless. Your legs also. I could wax them for you.” Barbara had never heard of removing body hair. Surely that was what nature intended? But if that was what her husband to be wanted…?
The process had been painful, but she liked the result. Fatima had left a neat, short triangle of fiery hair at her groin, trimmed well back from the vagina, but apart from that she was completely smooth. Her husband was certainly very pleased on their wedding night!
Her wedding night. She had gone into it with some trepidation. Her mother had told her that it was her duty to “let him have his way with you.” That it was an unavoidable ordeal, something that had to be endured. In truth she had enjoyed it! He was clearly very experienced. He used her slim body to their mutual pleasure, although some things were strange to her. She had grown up around animals, so knew the basics of sex. She had not been prepared for some things. Taking him in her mouth had been strange and unexpected, but after the initial shock not unpleasant. Being taken in the rear was more of an ordeal, but he was skilled and patient, and in the end it was almost enjoyable. It had become more so with practice, of which she had plenty in their short weeks together.
Barbara struggled into the breeches. They were of the finest quality, but somewhat too small. Midshipman Fraser had been only twelve years old. The material moulded to her like a second skin. The shirt could not quite close over even her small breasts, but it certainly covered more than the shift had. Mrs Curran wrinkled her nose disapprovingly. “Have you no shame, my Lady. You are exposed to the gaze of the common soldiers. No lady would wear breeches like that!”
To her surprise she found that the gathering survivors were looking to her for leadership. The only officer who had survived was a young ensign, barely more than a boy. There was a sergeant, and a petty officer from the crew, but neither of them seemed willing to take any kind of leadership role.
“We must go south,” Barbara said. “To Bagamoyo. The Captain told me about it when we passed it two days ago. There are missionaries there and it is close to Zanzibar, where we could get a ship home, or to India.”
“Mistress,” Fatima said quietly, “Bagamoyo is also known for being a base for slavers.”
“Phssst! Slavers! Why would they bother us? They prey on poor savages! Who ever heard of a white slave? In fact they have helped that nice missionary, Dr Livingstone.”
They stayed in the vicinity of the wreck for two days, collecting useful articles and food that washed ashore. Finally they started their march, forty seven men and six women, including Mrs Curran and her younger daughter, Prudence. There were also two soldier’s ‘wives’, hardened campaigners.
For two days they made good progress. The beach was firm underfoot and there were numerous streams for water. Food was scarce, but the soldier’s wives were experts at foraging and managed to find sufficient to stave of starvation. The sun beat down on them. Many had only scant clothing. Prudence had only her shift, but her mother gave her her heavy woollen coat. This was soon discarded. At first the men gazed hungrily at her young body, but soon all were too tired to care.
Barbara trudged through the sand. Ahead of her Fatima was walking strongly, her buttocks moving invitingly under the loose trousers, her full breasts moved in time with her stride. Barbara took a sidelong look at Ensign Lacey. He seemed hypnotised by Fatima’s buttocks.
Her mind wandered back to those early days of her marriage. She had wanted to ask her mother about her husband’s desires, but the old lady brushed her off. “It is not something a decent woman discusses, girl. Not ever!”
On the third morning of her married life Fatima had given her a small bottle of fragrant oil. “You may want to apply that to your behind before going to the master’s bed tonight. It will make it easier, and more pleasant for both of you. It is a recipe my mother gave me in the…” She said no more.
“Fatima! What do you mean I should apply this to my bottom? Why would I want to?”
Fatima sighed. “I assume the master is buggering you. He would be a fool not to. If you lubricate your arsehole with that oil he will find it easier to enter you and you will find it more pleasant. It is something I learnt as a girl. It seems your mother has not done her duty in training you for your duties as a wife.”
“My mother told me nothing,” Barbara said softly. “All she said was that submitting to my husband’s carnal lusts was a cross I had to bear as a wife.” Barbara was silent for a while.
“Buggery,” she finally said, “buggery? Is that not a crime, and a mortal sin? Do they not flog the soldiers for that?”
“Buggery, mistress,” Fatima sighed, “is when a man sticks his cock into your arse. You have the body of a boy, in many ways, so it is natural that you will be used like one. Where I come from it is entirely normal for both boys and women to be used that way. You English!” She spat in disgust.
She was thirsty; it had been a long time since they had found a usable stream. At least the sun was dropping toward the horizon. Soon it would be night.
Nights! Far from her wifely duties being a hardship that had to be borne with resigned stoicism, Barbara found herself thinking of nothing else. Her husband played her body like a fine musical instrument, leaving her spent and gasping, but at the same time begging for more.
Not that he confined their activities to the bedroom at night. She well remembered the day in the stables when he had said softly, “I want your mouth. Now!”
She had looked questioningly at him, her eyes flicking in the direction of the groom mucking out the bedding three stalls away. All he did was nod. She felt the wetness flood her loins as she opened his trousers and took him in her mouth. She thought he would never reach his climax as she tried not to gurgle or choke at the fat meat in her throat. She swallowed the last of his seed and regained her feet just as the groom came over to ask a question of her husband.
He seemed to give her a strange look, but went away to carry on his work. Smiling, her husband used a finger to lift a large blob of semen from her chin, feeding it to her.
She clung to him, giggling hysterically.
The sun plunged to the horizon. The survivors dug holes in the soft, warm sand of the beach for shelter. They had learned that the insects did not come so close to the sea. She slept, cuddled up to Fatima, their bodies pressed close in the chill of early morning.
The sea was like a sheet of beaten copper as they started their day’s march. On the horizon they could see the shark fin silhouettes of local boats. They all prayed for the sight of square sails, for those sails would announce a European ship.
The sun was not far above the horizon when they heard the sounds. A mournful chant was carried on the breeze.
“Praise be unto the Lord!” Mrs Curran exclaimed. “We must be near a church, with a funeral in progress. There must be missionaries near! We are saved!”
Fatima shook her head. “No! We must hide. Quickly! Hide!”
“Be quiet, you stupid girl!” Mrs Curran growled. “Look! Horsemen. Only white men ride horses.” She cupped her hands around her mouth, “Helloooo! Helloooo! Help us. We are white people!”
The horsemen turned toward them.
Africa! The dark continent! Mysterious, frightening! Home to savage wild animals and even more savage people.
Barbara fell to her knees at the edge of the sea, grateful to be on land. Behind her, on the edge of the reef she could hear the crash of waves on the reef. The crash of waves and the sounds of a ship breaking up. The screams and cries of hundreds of men drowning in the surf.
The storm had come from nowhere. One moment the ship was sailing smoothly across a calm, blue sea. Then the lookout reported a black cloud on the horizon. Like a vision from hell the cloud had rushed toward them, while sailors frantically tried to reduce sail! All was in vain! The ship heeled almost on her beam ends as the wind hit! It was instantly dark! A terrifying darkness of incessant noise and violent motion.
An unknown time later there was a sharper shock than before. With a tremendous crack the foremast bent and broke, dragging the mainmast with it. The ship heeled right over, shuddering and grinding. Sailors and soldiers ran about, some in panic, some in disciplined groups trying to save the ship.
Fatima, her maid, ran up to her carrying a wooden chicken coop, still filled with wet, squawking chickens. “Hold on to this, mistress, as if your life depends on it! It really does! Let me get you out of this!” Barbara felt something plucking at the lacings of her bodice, then the heavy fabric fell free. “Get out of this dress, mistress! It will only drag you down! Quickly!” The ship lurched sickeningly as Barbara struggled out of the heavy fabric. Clad only in her shift, she was hustled to the ship’s side by her maid. With shock she realised that the woman was naked! Completely naked!
A hard push propelled her into the sea. Waves broke over her head as she clung to the chicken coop. She had a brief impression of a slender body describing a graceful arc as her maid dived into the wild sea.
Barbara staggered up the beach. The sun blazed through a break in the clouds, warming her chilled body. With a start she realised that her sodden shift was practically transparent and clung to her body like a second skin.
Barbara Campbell was nineteen years old. Four months previously she had married Major Lord James Campbell, a career army officer and heir to an earldom. The forty five year old officer had fallen head over heels for the young redhead, captivated by her flaming red hair, creamy skin and green eyes. The fact that she was beautiful and intelligent amply made up for the fact that her family was socially far inferior to his.
Three weeks after their wedding his Regiment had been given orders for India, where the native Sepoys had mutinied. With half his battalion he had set sail, leaving his young bride in the care of the maid her had assigned to her. A few weeks later the second ship, with the rest of the troops and several officers’ wives and families had followed. It was that ship that was now disintegrating on the reef.
Along the beach she saw something floundering in the shallows. Walking toward it she realised it was Mrs Captain Curran, the elderly wife of an elderly officer who would never advance beyond the rank of captain. In the strange world of the regiment Barbara, despite her youth, had been the senior wife, treated with deference by all others, even the captain of the ship. The rather dowdy Mrs Curran had been accompanied by her two very plain daughters. The one a year older than Barbara, the other a couple of years younger. Both had hoped to find husbands out in the colonies.
The woman was weighed down by her heavy dress and coat. It was a miracle that she had not drowned. She strode over to the floundering woman, dragging her from the surf and onto the sand.
There was strength in Barbara’s slender body. She had been somewhat of a tomboy, walking, riding and climbing trees. All this had left her with rather more muscle than was fashionable. Not that that had deterred her husband. It was precisely her boyish figure as well as her beauty, which had attracted him to her.
The older woman retched salt water, too exhausted to move. There were other people moving around the beach, the few lucky ones who had survived the sea. It was with relief that Barbara saw Fatima striding along the beach, dressed now in a pair of baggy trousers and a sailor’s striped shirt. She was carrying a bundle of clothing and a midshipman’s dirk.
Fatima held out the sodden bundle, a pair of breeches and a silk shirt. “I got these from Midshipman Fraser, mistress. He doesn’t need them any more.” She gave a wry smile. “ I suggest you change now. That shift does not hide anything, and there is a group of survivors coming along the beach.”
For a moment Barbara was annoyed. By rights she should be addressed as ‘My Lady’ not mistress. Right from the start this woman had lacked the deference expected of a maid. It was the major who had hired her as her maid. Barbara suspected strongly that he knew the woman before their marriage. Knew her intimately!
“That slut of a maid is no better than she should be!” Her mother had said. “A foreigner! From some strange country in the east. Look at the way she walks! No better than a whore!” Barbara smiled. To her mother anyone from outside the county was a foreigner, and therefor suspect, but it was true that this woman came from some foreign country far to the east. Circassia or some strange name. She also had rather too much knowledge of the major’s likes and dislikes.
Before her wedding day she had remarked to Barbara while dressing her. “ The master would prefer if your armpits and your mound were hairless. Your legs also. I could wax them for you.” Barbara had never heard of removing body hair. Surely that was what nature intended? But if that was what her husband to be wanted…?
The process had been painful, but she liked the result. Fatima had left a neat, short triangle of fiery hair at her groin, trimmed well back from the vagina, but apart from that she was completely smooth. Her husband was certainly very pleased on their wedding night!
Her wedding night. She had gone into it with some trepidation. Her mother had told her that it was her duty to “let him have his way with you.” That it was an unavoidable ordeal, something that had to be endured. In truth she had enjoyed it! He was clearly very experienced. He used her slim body to their mutual pleasure, although some things were strange to her. She had grown up around animals, so knew the basics of sex. She had not been prepared for some things. Taking him in her mouth had been strange and unexpected, but after the initial shock not unpleasant. Being taken in the rear was more of an ordeal, but he was skilled and patient, and in the end it was almost enjoyable. It had become more so with practice, of which she had plenty in their short weeks together.
Barbara struggled into the breeches. They were of the finest quality, but somewhat too small. Midshipman Fraser had been only twelve years old. The material moulded to her like a second skin. The shirt could not quite close over even her small breasts, but it certainly covered more than the shift had. Mrs Curran wrinkled her nose disapprovingly. “Have you no shame, my Lady. You are exposed to the gaze of the common soldiers. No lady would wear breeches like that!”
To her surprise she found that the gathering survivors were looking to her for leadership. The only officer who had survived was a young ensign, barely more than a boy. There was a sergeant, and a petty officer from the crew, but neither of them seemed willing to take any kind of leadership role.
“We must go south,” Barbara said. “To Bagamoyo. The Captain told me about it when we passed it two days ago. There are missionaries there and it is close to Zanzibar, where we could get a ship home, or to India.”
“Mistress,” Fatima said quietly, “Bagamoyo is also known for being a base for slavers.”
“Phssst! Slavers! Why would they bother us? They prey on poor savages! Who ever heard of a white slave? In fact they have helped that nice missionary, Dr Livingstone.”
They stayed in the vicinity of the wreck for two days, collecting useful articles and food that washed ashore. Finally they started their march, forty seven men and six women, including Mrs Curran and her younger daughter, Prudence. There were also two soldier’s ‘wives’, hardened campaigners.
For two days they made good progress. The beach was firm underfoot and there were numerous streams for water. Food was scarce, but the soldier’s wives were experts at foraging and managed to find sufficient to stave of starvation. The sun beat down on them. Many had only scant clothing. Prudence had only her shift, but her mother gave her her heavy woollen coat. This was soon discarded. At first the men gazed hungrily at her young body, but soon all were too tired to care.
Barbara trudged through the sand. Ahead of her Fatima was walking strongly, her buttocks moving invitingly under the loose trousers, her full breasts moved in time with her stride. Barbara took a sidelong look at Ensign Lacey. He seemed hypnotised by Fatima’s buttocks.
Her mind wandered back to those early days of her marriage. She had wanted to ask her mother about her husband’s desires, but the old lady brushed her off. “It is not something a decent woman discusses, girl. Not ever!”
On the third morning of her married life Fatima had given her a small bottle of fragrant oil. “You may want to apply that to your behind before going to the master’s bed tonight. It will make it easier, and more pleasant for both of you. It is a recipe my mother gave me in the…” She said no more.
“Fatima! What do you mean I should apply this to my bottom? Why would I want to?”
Fatima sighed. “I assume the master is buggering you. He would be a fool not to. If you lubricate your arsehole with that oil he will find it easier to enter you and you will find it more pleasant. It is something I learnt as a girl. It seems your mother has not done her duty in training you for your duties as a wife.”
“My mother told me nothing,” Barbara said softly. “All she said was that submitting to my husband’s carnal lusts was a cross I had to bear as a wife.” Barbara was silent for a while.
“Buggery,” she finally said, “buggery? Is that not a crime, and a mortal sin? Do they not flog the soldiers for that?”
“Buggery, mistress,” Fatima sighed, “is when a man sticks his cock into your arse. You have the body of a boy, in many ways, so it is natural that you will be used like one. Where I come from it is entirely normal for both boys and women to be used that way. You English!” She spat in disgust.
She was thirsty; it had been a long time since they had found a usable stream. At least the sun was dropping toward the horizon. Soon it would be night.
Nights! Far from her wifely duties being a hardship that had to be borne with resigned stoicism, Barbara found herself thinking of nothing else. Her husband played her body like a fine musical instrument, leaving her spent and gasping, but at the same time begging for more.
Not that he confined their activities to the bedroom at night. She well remembered the day in the stables when he had said softly, “I want your mouth. Now!”
She had looked questioningly at him, her eyes flicking in the direction of the groom mucking out the bedding three stalls away. All he did was nod. She felt the wetness flood her loins as she opened his trousers and took him in her mouth. She thought he would never reach his climax as she tried not to gurgle or choke at the fat meat in her throat. She swallowed the last of his seed and regained her feet just as the groom came over to ask a question of her husband.
He seemed to give her a strange look, but went away to carry on his work. Smiling, her husband used a finger to lift a large blob of semen from her chin, feeding it to her.
She clung to him, giggling hysterically.
The sun plunged to the horizon. The survivors dug holes in the soft, warm sand of the beach for shelter. They had learned that the insects did not come so close to the sea. She slept, cuddled up to Fatima, their bodies pressed close in the chill of early morning.
The sea was like a sheet of beaten copper as they started their day’s march. On the horizon they could see the shark fin silhouettes of local boats. They all prayed for the sight of square sails, for those sails would announce a European ship.
The sun was not far above the horizon when they heard the sounds. A mournful chant was carried on the breeze.
“Praise be unto the Lord!” Mrs Curran exclaimed. “We must be near a church, with a funeral in progress. There must be missionaries near! We are saved!”
Fatima shook her head. “No! We must hide. Quickly! Hide!”
“Be quiet, you stupid girl!” Mrs Curran growled. “Look! Horsemen. Only white men ride horses.” She cupped her hands around her mouth, “Helloooo! Helloooo! Help us. We are white people!”
The horsemen turned toward them.
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theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Fatima grabbed Barbara by the shoulders. “Mistress! Listen to me! That stupid woman has sealed our fate. Those are slavers! Please, please, do what I say, no matter what you think. Don’t argue! Just do it!”
Four riders galloped toward them. Despite Mrs Curran’s assertion they were anything but white! Their white robes made their skin seem even blacker. Aquiline noses on two of them attested to some Arab ancestry. The leader looked over the bedraggled collection of survivors before his eyes rested on Barbara’s flaming hair.
She cringed before his glittering gaze. He barked at them in an unintelligible language. Fatima gave a little cry, then pulled her shirt over her head. Stepping out of her trousers she knelt, naked, with her thighs spread wide, her hands palm up on her thighs. She replied to him in what seemed to be the same language. Out of the corner of her mouth she gave an urgent command. “Mistress! Don’t argue! Get undressed now and kneel as I am. Do not look at them! Do it!! Now!”
Barbara drew in her breath to make an angry retort! Strip naked and display herself in front of these savages! Never! Then she remembered Fatima’s earlier warning.
The shirt was easy to take off. The breeches, tight as they were, were much more difficult. The slavers watched, impassive but with interest, as she wriggled and struggled to get them off. Naked, she dropped to her knees. With an inward shudder she spread her legs slightly.
“Wider!” Fatima hissed. “Show them your cunt!”
Her face flaming with embarrassment she spread her knees wide. Only her husband had ever seen her most intimate parts. And Fatima, of course.
The leading rider looked appreciatively at the milky skin, the subtle muscles of belly and thighs, the small firm breasts, the fiery hair and the neat patch of fire at her loins. The exposed cunt gaped slightly, revealing pink inside. He nodded.
He turned back to Fatima. He was interested in her history. She spoke Arabic, albeit a different dialect. She knew immediately how to display herself as a slave should. Her skin was darker than the other, the colour of pale honey. Her groin was smooth, something he understood was unusual among these European barbarians. She herself was a fine specimen. More voluptuous than the creamy one, older.
“Tell me, slave, how you come to speak my language. Unusual for a mzungu.”
Fatima bowed her head further. “I was born to the harem, effendi. My mother was a slave to Taksim Pasha.”
He nodded. “And the creamy one? With the fiery hair?”
“She is my mistress. Her husband, an English Lord, took me from the harem as booty fifteen years ago. I now serve her. She is but young and inexperienced. The master was just starting to teach her the ways of the bedchamber. Now she is yours, as am I.”
He nodded. “These others?” He waved a hand toward the band of survivors.
“Our ship was wrecked on the coast. These are the survivors. Soldiers of the English army, mainly.”
Salim looked over his windfall. His face, as always, was impassive, cruel. Inside, however, he was rejoicing!
This expedition had been a disaster. First he had lost four of his men in a battle with the men of a village. Then his surgeon had botched gelding of a number of the male captives, with the result that almost a third of them had died. After three months of work he had barely eighty slaves, none of them prime stock. Granted a few of the girls would fetch a reasonable price, but most of them were fit only as farm labour. At best he would break even.
Now everything had changed! Fifty or so mzungu slaves. Mostly men, fit, strong. Only six women, and one of those with a face that would sour milk, but… He feasted his eyes on the two women kneeling before him.
These two would fetch more than all the others combined! Then there was the other young woman, two slightly older ones and a boy who, if he survived his gelding, would make a fine catamite! But these two! The older one was delicious. Not yet thirty, he estimated. Born to the harem, trained from birth to please a man. A girl from a harem in the fabled city of Constantinople. Her body was voluptuous. Full, firm breasts, a narrow waist, swelling hips. Thighs between which a man could discover paradise. Her mouth…
And then there was the creamy one, the one with hair like fire. Young, not yet twenty. Slim as a boy. Small, but perfectly shaped breasts tipped with rosy nipples. A waist he could span with his hands. Long, slim, strong thighs. A bottom like a peach. Ah! The pleasure he would find between those firm, creamy globes! The wife of an English Lord.
These two he would sell to Tippoo Tib. Each of them would fetch a fortune. But before then he would enjoy them.
He spoke to the older woman. “Moto, your former mistress, the fiery one, her skin is normally that colour?”
“Her skin has never been exposed to the sun, effendi. It is worth a price beyond pearls. She must be given a garment that excludes the sun. A burqa. When she is displayed it should be inside, or under a canopy, shaded from the sun.”
Salim nodded. The woman clearly knew the worth of her former mistress. It was also clear that she accepted their new status as slaves.
Barbara wanted to know what was happening. The man’s eyes frightened her. They seemed to bore into her very soul. She was distracted by the sight of a column of people emerging from the coastal bush. Some wore loose robes such as the man on horseback wore, but most were naked, tethered neck to neck. Men, women and children. Her stomach knotted as she realised that these were slaves. Slaves! Did this man consider her to be a slave? Surely not! Yet Fatima had told her to strip naked, as these people were.
The man turned his horse away, to shout orders at the others.
Urgently Barbara whispered to Fatima. “Fatima, what is happening? Why did you take your clothes off? Make me take mine off? Expose me to this savage?” The questions tumbled out of her mouth.
Fatima’s whisper was emphatic. “He is the leader of this band of slavers. He now owns us! Forget Lady Barbara! She is gone! He calls you Moto, the fiery one. You are a slave, as I am once more. In truth I never ceased to be a slave. Your husband took me as spoils of war when I was younger than you are. Took me to be his bedslave until he married you. Fifteen years I served him. Now we are fellow slaves. Obey! Always obey! The whip hurts! Believe me!”
Salim barked orders at his men, then turned to Fatima. “Tell these wazungu to get rid of those clothes! Everything!”
Fatima passed on the order. There was some dissent, but she quelled that with a short, sharp explanation of their situation. “Get those clothes off or die! Slowly and very painfully! We are his slaves now!” Mrs Curran started to shout something, while Prudence squealed and subsided to the ground in a faint. “That includes you, you old bitch! Do it! Or taste the whip!”
Mrs Curran strode up to Salim, waving her finger in his face. “Now listen here, you black savage! We are English! If you harm one hair on our heads you will suffer! You hear me! Suffer!”
“Oh, you stupid woman,” Fatima said softly.
Salim did not understand the words, but he certainly understood the tone of voice and the wagging finger. He snapped an order at two of his men. Mrs Curran was cut off in mid-tirade as she was grabbed. There was a ripping of fabric as her clothes were torn from her body. Salim shuddered in disgust as her body was revealed. Pale, blotchy skin, rolls of fat, sagging breasts. Worst of all were the wild patches of hair under her arms and at her groin. A third slaver methodically tore the clothes off Prudence’s unconscious body, revealing a thin body with surprisingly full breasts.
Struggling furiously Mrs Curran was dragged to a tree, her wrists tied to widespread branches. Her shouting turned into an agonised scream as the first blow from a hippo hide kiboko slashed across her back. Blow after blow turned her back into a raw mess. Her screams had changed to hysterical sobs before the slaver stopped. Unable to stand, she was dragged to a log and tied belly down over it. Her screams redoubled as the first slaver entered her. The rest formed a cheerful line, waiting their turn.
(To be continued)
Four riders galloped toward them. Despite Mrs Curran’s assertion they were anything but white! Their white robes made their skin seem even blacker. Aquiline noses on two of them attested to some Arab ancestry. The leader looked over the bedraggled collection of survivors before his eyes rested on Barbara’s flaming hair.
She cringed before his glittering gaze. He barked at them in an unintelligible language. Fatima gave a little cry, then pulled her shirt over her head. Stepping out of her trousers she knelt, naked, with her thighs spread wide, her hands palm up on her thighs. She replied to him in what seemed to be the same language. Out of the corner of her mouth she gave an urgent command. “Mistress! Don’t argue! Get undressed now and kneel as I am. Do not look at them! Do it!! Now!”
Barbara drew in her breath to make an angry retort! Strip naked and display herself in front of these savages! Never! Then she remembered Fatima’s earlier warning.
The shirt was easy to take off. The breeches, tight as they were, were much more difficult. The slavers watched, impassive but with interest, as she wriggled and struggled to get them off. Naked, she dropped to her knees. With an inward shudder she spread her legs slightly.
“Wider!” Fatima hissed. “Show them your cunt!”
Her face flaming with embarrassment she spread her knees wide. Only her husband had ever seen her most intimate parts. And Fatima, of course.
The leading rider looked appreciatively at the milky skin, the subtle muscles of belly and thighs, the small firm breasts, the fiery hair and the neat patch of fire at her loins. The exposed cunt gaped slightly, revealing pink inside. He nodded.
He turned back to Fatima. He was interested in her history. She spoke Arabic, albeit a different dialect. She knew immediately how to display herself as a slave should. Her skin was darker than the other, the colour of pale honey. Her groin was smooth, something he understood was unusual among these European barbarians. She herself was a fine specimen. More voluptuous than the creamy one, older.
“Tell me, slave, how you come to speak my language. Unusual for a mzungu.”
Fatima bowed her head further. “I was born to the harem, effendi. My mother was a slave to Taksim Pasha.”
He nodded. “And the creamy one? With the fiery hair?”
“She is my mistress. Her husband, an English Lord, took me from the harem as booty fifteen years ago. I now serve her. She is but young and inexperienced. The master was just starting to teach her the ways of the bedchamber. Now she is yours, as am I.”
He nodded. “These others?” He waved a hand toward the band of survivors.
“Our ship was wrecked on the coast. These are the survivors. Soldiers of the English army, mainly.”
Salim looked over his windfall. His face, as always, was impassive, cruel. Inside, however, he was rejoicing!
This expedition had been a disaster. First he had lost four of his men in a battle with the men of a village. Then his surgeon had botched gelding of a number of the male captives, with the result that almost a third of them had died. After three months of work he had barely eighty slaves, none of them prime stock. Granted a few of the girls would fetch a reasonable price, but most of them were fit only as farm labour. At best he would break even.
Now everything had changed! Fifty or so mzungu slaves. Mostly men, fit, strong. Only six women, and one of those with a face that would sour milk, but… He feasted his eyes on the two women kneeling before him.
These two would fetch more than all the others combined! Then there was the other young woman, two slightly older ones and a boy who, if he survived his gelding, would make a fine catamite! But these two! The older one was delicious. Not yet thirty, he estimated. Born to the harem, trained from birth to please a man. A girl from a harem in the fabled city of Constantinople. Her body was voluptuous. Full, firm breasts, a narrow waist, swelling hips. Thighs between which a man could discover paradise. Her mouth…
And then there was the creamy one, the one with hair like fire. Young, not yet twenty. Slim as a boy. Small, but perfectly shaped breasts tipped with rosy nipples. A waist he could span with his hands. Long, slim, strong thighs. A bottom like a peach. Ah! The pleasure he would find between those firm, creamy globes! The wife of an English Lord.
These two he would sell to Tippoo Tib. Each of them would fetch a fortune. But before then he would enjoy them.
He spoke to the older woman. “Moto, your former mistress, the fiery one, her skin is normally that colour?”
“Her skin has never been exposed to the sun, effendi. It is worth a price beyond pearls. She must be given a garment that excludes the sun. A burqa. When she is displayed it should be inside, or under a canopy, shaded from the sun.”
Salim nodded. The woman clearly knew the worth of her former mistress. It was also clear that she accepted their new status as slaves.
Barbara wanted to know what was happening. The man’s eyes frightened her. They seemed to bore into her very soul. She was distracted by the sight of a column of people emerging from the coastal bush. Some wore loose robes such as the man on horseback wore, but most were naked, tethered neck to neck. Men, women and children. Her stomach knotted as she realised that these were slaves. Slaves! Did this man consider her to be a slave? Surely not! Yet Fatima had told her to strip naked, as these people were.
The man turned his horse away, to shout orders at the others.
Urgently Barbara whispered to Fatima. “Fatima, what is happening? Why did you take your clothes off? Make me take mine off? Expose me to this savage?” The questions tumbled out of her mouth.
Fatima’s whisper was emphatic. “He is the leader of this band of slavers. He now owns us! Forget Lady Barbara! She is gone! He calls you Moto, the fiery one. You are a slave, as I am once more. In truth I never ceased to be a slave. Your husband took me as spoils of war when I was younger than you are. Took me to be his bedslave until he married you. Fifteen years I served him. Now we are fellow slaves. Obey! Always obey! The whip hurts! Believe me!”
Salim barked orders at his men, then turned to Fatima. “Tell these wazungu to get rid of those clothes! Everything!”
Fatima passed on the order. There was some dissent, but she quelled that with a short, sharp explanation of their situation. “Get those clothes off or die! Slowly and very painfully! We are his slaves now!” Mrs Curran started to shout something, while Prudence squealed and subsided to the ground in a faint. “That includes you, you old bitch! Do it! Or taste the whip!”
Mrs Curran strode up to Salim, waving her finger in his face. “Now listen here, you black savage! We are English! If you harm one hair on our heads you will suffer! You hear me! Suffer!”
“Oh, you stupid woman,” Fatima said softly.
Salim did not understand the words, but he certainly understood the tone of voice and the wagging finger. He snapped an order at two of his men. Mrs Curran was cut off in mid-tirade as she was grabbed. There was a ripping of fabric as her clothes were torn from her body. Salim shuddered in disgust as her body was revealed. Pale, blotchy skin, rolls of fat, sagging breasts. Worst of all were the wild patches of hair under her arms and at her groin. A third slaver methodically tore the clothes off Prudence’s unconscious body, revealing a thin body with surprisingly full breasts.
Struggling furiously Mrs Curran was dragged to a tree, her wrists tied to widespread branches. Her shouting turned into an agonised scream as the first blow from a hippo hide kiboko slashed across her back. Blow after blow turned her back into a raw mess. Her screams had changed to hysterical sobs before the slaver stopped. Unable to stand, she was dragged to a log and tied belly down over it. Her screams redoubled as the first slaver entered her. The rest formed a cheerful line, waiting their turn.
(To be continued)
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Thank you. I like the colour image. it would work for fatima. Lady Barbara needs to be one of those classic, milky skinned redheads.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Thanks. I try, although some people complain that there is too much of the setting and not enough immediate sex.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Chapter 2.
Barbara was appalled! She forgot about her own situation, kneeling naked in the presence of more than a hundred men, and stared in horror as one slaver after another emptied himself into the woman’s body. Those not occupied with the rape were tying the now naked survivors’ hands behind them, connecting them neck to neck with rope. Two others were spreading an awning between a group of palm trees. A naked black slave was spreading rugs and cushions on the ground beneath the awning. Her naked body gleamed with sweat and her back and buttocks showed the marks of the vicious kibokos.
Ensign Lacey stared in fascinated horror at the rape. He had never seen a naked woman. Now he was watching the wife of his company commander being savagely abused. His eyes flicked to Prudence, attached to him by their neck ropes, to her soft, bare breasts. He longed to touch them.
In front of him Lady Barbara knelt next to her maid, Fatima. Naked! The boy had worshipped her from afar, as if she were a goddess, so far above him in social status although not many years his senior in age. A smile from her had been enough to reduce him to stammering confusion. Now she was totally exposed to him. His cock grew and stiffened at the thought. One of the slavers pointed to the erect member, made a comment to one of his fellows, causing both to laugh evilly. He drew his whip across the base of the boy's cock, and made a “pfft” sound.
Not far from the makeshift awning a fire was kindled, two large pots placed on it. One contained water, the other a tarry black substance. Beside the fire a wizened old man busied himself with a whetstone putting a fine edge on an assortment of knives.
Barbara watched all this in horror. One of the soldiers’ ‘wives’ was bound, then forced to her knees. The slaver hitched up his robes and presented himself to her mouth. Tears streaming down her face she started her life as a slave.
“What is happening?” Barbara asked quietly. Fatima spoke from the corner of her mouth. “The men are about to be gelded. That cosy boudoir being prepared is for you. The effendi wants you, now, right away. I hope I can find some oil. He says you resemble a boy, should be used as a boy.”
Barbara felt the world spin. This was surely unthinkable! “Fatima! He cannot be considering…entertaining the idea of…of…of buggering me? There? In full view of a hundred or more people?” She paused, mastering the nausea that rose in her body. “Can he?”
There was pity in Fatima’s eyes. This poor girl had fallen so far, so fast. “Mistress, Moto, Why should he not bugger you now? You are his, his slave. A slave is the lowest form of life. In this place only a pig has a lower status. All you can do is submit. You have seen the price of defiance.” She nodded to where the slavers were still raping the moaning body of Mrs Curran. “You could be a treasured concubine if you want to be, if you do your utmost to please your master. It is not a bad life. For a slave.”
Barbara was appalled! She forgot about her own situation, kneeling naked in the presence of more than a hundred men, and stared in horror as one slaver after another emptied himself into the woman’s body. Those not occupied with the rape were tying the now naked survivors’ hands behind them, connecting them neck to neck with rope. Two others were spreading an awning between a group of palm trees. A naked black slave was spreading rugs and cushions on the ground beneath the awning. Her naked body gleamed with sweat and her back and buttocks showed the marks of the vicious kibokos.
Ensign Lacey stared in fascinated horror at the rape. He had never seen a naked woman. Now he was watching the wife of his company commander being savagely abused. His eyes flicked to Prudence, attached to him by their neck ropes, to her soft, bare breasts. He longed to touch them.
In front of him Lady Barbara knelt next to her maid, Fatima. Naked! The boy had worshipped her from afar, as if she were a goddess, so far above him in social status although not many years his senior in age. A smile from her had been enough to reduce him to stammering confusion. Now she was totally exposed to him. His cock grew and stiffened at the thought. One of the slavers pointed to the erect member, made a comment to one of his fellows, causing both to laugh evilly. He drew his whip across the base of the boy's cock, and made a “pfft” sound.
Not far from the makeshift awning a fire was kindled, two large pots placed on it. One contained water, the other a tarry black substance. Beside the fire a wizened old man busied himself with a whetstone putting a fine edge on an assortment of knives.
Barbara watched all this in horror. One of the soldiers’ ‘wives’ was bound, then forced to her knees. The slaver hitched up his robes and presented himself to her mouth. Tears streaming down her face she started her life as a slave.
“What is happening?” Barbara asked quietly. Fatima spoke from the corner of her mouth. “The men are about to be gelded. That cosy boudoir being prepared is for you. The effendi wants you, now, right away. I hope I can find some oil. He says you resemble a boy, should be used as a boy.”
Barbara felt the world spin. This was surely unthinkable! “Fatima! He cannot be considering…entertaining the idea of…of…of buggering me? There? In full view of a hundred or more people?” She paused, mastering the nausea that rose in her body. “Can he?”
There was pity in Fatima’s eyes. This poor girl had fallen so far, so fast. “Mistress, Moto, Why should he not bugger you now? You are his, his slave. A slave is the lowest form of life. In this place only a pig has a lower status. All you can do is submit. You have seen the price of defiance.” She nodded to where the slavers were still raping the moaning body of Mrs Curran. “You could be a treasured concubine if you want to be, if you do your utmost to please your master. It is not a bad life. For a slave.”
messaline
Crucified Amazon
As usual, Theseus ; your stories are so much well written ...
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Thank you! Perfect!
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Chapter 3
Barbara, Moto now, swallowed back the vomit that threatened to well up. Fatima called out to the black girl, but communication was impossible. Finally she called to one of the slavers. He gave a snigger when he heard her request, but returned with a small jar. As she opened it there was the faint smell of coconut. She tested the viscosity of the stuff between her fingers. Satisfied, she nodded. “Sit up a bit, girl. Let me get to your arse!” Gone was the deference. Fatima was the senior now. She had experience as a slave and in the harem.
Moto knelt higher. She whimpered as the fingers probed her anus, smearing liberal amounts of the oil around the opening, then she gasped as Fatima’s fingers penetrated deep into her. Fatima added copious amounts of the oil. The slaver was unlikely to be gentle. Barbara wept silent tears.
The wizened little man stirred the pot containing the pitch, nodded to himself and shouted to the guards. The coffle of survivors was whipped ungently in his direction. Two brawny slavers took hold of the first man in the line. Still connected to his fellows by the neck he was bent backward over a log. The old man was quick! His knife flashed in the firelight. The man screamed shrilly as his cock and balls were severed with one accurate slice. His body heaved in the grip of the guards as a straw was inserted in the urethra to keep it open while the wound healed. A dab of pitch on the raw wound and the man was released.
The other new slaves looked on in shocked horror as a second was held down over the log. The third man, a broad-shouldered young topman, tried to resist. He was felled by a musket butt to the head. The leader shouted something to Fatima. Her voice quavered as she delivered the message. “If there is any more resistance, the offender and five others will be gutted and staked out on the beach. They will take many hours to die while the crabs and the crows eat their living flesh!”
There was much begging and pleading as man after man was gelded. Ensign Lacey broke down completely. His voice cracking between a boyish treble and the deeper sound he had been cultivating he begged, “Please! I’m not a man yet! I’m only an ensign! Please? I’ve never been with a girl!” His pleas died in a soprano shriek as his manhood was sliced away, the pitiful gobbets of flesh tossed carelessly to where a mass of crows and other scavengers squabbled and feasted on the slaves’ lost manhood.
Salim walked over to where Barbara and Fatima still knelt, awaiting orders. As he passed the senseless body of Mrs Curran, still bound to her log, he shouted an order. The unconscious woman was dragged to the end of the coffle and joined to the line of slaves.
Salim crooked his finger to Barbara. “Kuja!”
“Follow him!” Fatima ordered, pulling the girl to her feet. Fresh tears flowed down her cheeks as she followed the man to the awning, horribly aware that it was in full view of the camp. The screams and curses of the gelded men filled her ears.
Under the Awning the carpets were soft and luxurious under her feet. “On your belly, girl, with this bolster under your hips. Whatever you do, don’t fight him. You can cry and scream, beg even. I think he will enjoy that. But don’t strike him!” Fatima adjusted cushions and bolster until Barbara’s bottom was perfectly presented, then knelt beside her. Barbara turned her head to see the man remove his robe. He was strong, wiry, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Her eyes were drawn to the cock between his legs. Half erect, it was huge. Much bigger than her husband’s, thick and matt black.
Salim looked over at the pale form of the girl, so beautifully presented. He noted the glisten of oil around her anus. Nodded with satisfaction.
“Prepare me!”
Fatima knew exactly what was required. She had done this many times before the Pasha mounted her mother. On her knees, she shuffled over to him. She felt the meatiness of the cock in her mouth, felt a small pang of sympathy for the girl who would soon be the recipient of the flesh that was growing in her mouth. Expertly she licked and sucked until he was fully erect, rock hard and glistening with her saliva.
“Kutosha!” Enough! Salim strode over to his new possession. He ran his fingers down the line of her spine, down to the crack of her buttocks. It was as gentle a touch as his hard, calloused hands could give. He could see that the girl was frightened, terrified. Those incredible green eyes followed his every move, often focused on his groin. That was as it should be. A bedslave should be totally focused on pleasing her master, serving his manhood. Truth to tell he was captivated by her fiery hair, her creamy skin, totally free of blemish and those incredible green eyes. He stroked the fine musculature of her back, each time allowing his fingers to slide down her crack, ending at the oily pucker of her anus. He smiled inwardly, no visible smile ever showed on his stern features, the odalisque certainly knew her trade. The girl looked at him, fearful, tears trickling down her cheeks.
Barbara was terrified! She wanted to run, to scream! This man was going to take his pleasure of her. She thought of her marriage vows. She had sworn to be faithful to her husband. What would her mother think? She would be horrified that her daughter should ever be seen by a black savage, much worse to be possessed by one. Her eyes focused on the erect penis. It was so big! Bigger than her husband’s! That thing was going to enter her, enter her where no man was supposed to enter. Yet her husband had entered there, and she had not found it very unpleasant. She looked into his eyes. Cold, black, expressionless eyes. She saw no mercy there. And yet… His hands were rough, but gentle. The touch of his fingers sent tremors through her body.
“Please sir? Please be gentle with me.”
Salim did not understand the words, but the tone of voice was clear. He would have her, of course he would, he owned her. But he would not be wantonly cruel. He spoke to the odalisque, Fatima, he thought, youngest daughter of the Prophet. “You may comfort her. I will be gentle, but I will have her. That she must realise. I will have her as you were had, and will be again.”
Fatima nodded. She moved to Barbara’s head, held her trembling hands. “He is going to take you now. He is not cruel, by his standards. Try to accept him. Try to relax. If you are tense it will be more difficult for both of you, and more painful for you.”
“Fatima. I’m frightened!”
Her eyes went wide as she felt his hands take hold of her hips, felt the heat of his manhood against the pucker of her anus. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to relax. Fatima held her hands tight. The pressure on her anus increased. She tried to think of her husband, but found his image fading, replaced by the image of a muscular black torso, a rampant black cock.
She moaned, then sighed as he entered her, as adamant black hardness filled her bowels. Lady Barbara Campbell was no more.
Moto the fiery slave surrendered to her fate!
Barbara, Moto now, swallowed back the vomit that threatened to well up. Fatima called out to the black girl, but communication was impossible. Finally she called to one of the slavers. He gave a snigger when he heard her request, but returned with a small jar. As she opened it there was the faint smell of coconut. She tested the viscosity of the stuff between her fingers. Satisfied, she nodded. “Sit up a bit, girl. Let me get to your arse!” Gone was the deference. Fatima was the senior now. She had experience as a slave and in the harem.
Moto knelt higher. She whimpered as the fingers probed her anus, smearing liberal amounts of the oil around the opening, then she gasped as Fatima’s fingers penetrated deep into her. Fatima added copious amounts of the oil. The slaver was unlikely to be gentle. Barbara wept silent tears.
The wizened little man stirred the pot containing the pitch, nodded to himself and shouted to the guards. The coffle of survivors was whipped ungently in his direction. Two brawny slavers took hold of the first man in the line. Still connected to his fellows by the neck he was bent backward over a log. The old man was quick! His knife flashed in the firelight. The man screamed shrilly as his cock and balls were severed with one accurate slice. His body heaved in the grip of the guards as a straw was inserted in the urethra to keep it open while the wound healed. A dab of pitch on the raw wound and the man was released.
The other new slaves looked on in shocked horror as a second was held down over the log. The third man, a broad-shouldered young topman, tried to resist. He was felled by a musket butt to the head. The leader shouted something to Fatima. Her voice quavered as she delivered the message. “If there is any more resistance, the offender and five others will be gutted and staked out on the beach. They will take many hours to die while the crabs and the crows eat their living flesh!”
There was much begging and pleading as man after man was gelded. Ensign Lacey broke down completely. His voice cracking between a boyish treble and the deeper sound he had been cultivating he begged, “Please! I’m not a man yet! I’m only an ensign! Please? I’ve never been with a girl!” His pleas died in a soprano shriek as his manhood was sliced away, the pitiful gobbets of flesh tossed carelessly to where a mass of crows and other scavengers squabbled and feasted on the slaves’ lost manhood.
Salim walked over to where Barbara and Fatima still knelt, awaiting orders. As he passed the senseless body of Mrs Curran, still bound to her log, he shouted an order. The unconscious woman was dragged to the end of the coffle and joined to the line of slaves.
Salim crooked his finger to Barbara. “Kuja!”
“Follow him!” Fatima ordered, pulling the girl to her feet. Fresh tears flowed down her cheeks as she followed the man to the awning, horribly aware that it was in full view of the camp. The screams and curses of the gelded men filled her ears.
Under the Awning the carpets were soft and luxurious under her feet. “On your belly, girl, with this bolster under your hips. Whatever you do, don’t fight him. You can cry and scream, beg even. I think he will enjoy that. But don’t strike him!” Fatima adjusted cushions and bolster until Barbara’s bottom was perfectly presented, then knelt beside her. Barbara turned her head to see the man remove his robe. He was strong, wiry, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Her eyes were drawn to the cock between his legs. Half erect, it was huge. Much bigger than her husband’s, thick and matt black.
Salim looked over at the pale form of the girl, so beautifully presented. He noted the glisten of oil around her anus. Nodded with satisfaction.
“Prepare me!”
Fatima knew exactly what was required. She had done this many times before the Pasha mounted her mother. On her knees, she shuffled over to him. She felt the meatiness of the cock in her mouth, felt a small pang of sympathy for the girl who would soon be the recipient of the flesh that was growing in her mouth. Expertly she licked and sucked until he was fully erect, rock hard and glistening with her saliva.
“Kutosha!” Enough! Salim strode over to his new possession. He ran his fingers down the line of her spine, down to the crack of her buttocks. It was as gentle a touch as his hard, calloused hands could give. He could see that the girl was frightened, terrified. Those incredible green eyes followed his every move, often focused on his groin. That was as it should be. A bedslave should be totally focused on pleasing her master, serving his manhood. Truth to tell he was captivated by her fiery hair, her creamy skin, totally free of blemish and those incredible green eyes. He stroked the fine musculature of her back, each time allowing his fingers to slide down her crack, ending at the oily pucker of her anus. He smiled inwardly, no visible smile ever showed on his stern features, the odalisque certainly knew her trade. The girl looked at him, fearful, tears trickling down her cheeks.
Barbara was terrified! She wanted to run, to scream! This man was going to take his pleasure of her. She thought of her marriage vows. She had sworn to be faithful to her husband. What would her mother think? She would be horrified that her daughter should ever be seen by a black savage, much worse to be possessed by one. Her eyes focused on the erect penis. It was so big! Bigger than her husband’s! That thing was going to enter her, enter her where no man was supposed to enter. Yet her husband had entered there, and she had not found it very unpleasant. She looked into his eyes. Cold, black, expressionless eyes. She saw no mercy there. And yet… His hands were rough, but gentle. The touch of his fingers sent tremors through her body.
“Please sir? Please be gentle with me.”
Salim did not understand the words, but the tone of voice was clear. He would have her, of course he would, he owned her. But he would not be wantonly cruel. He spoke to the odalisque, Fatima, he thought, youngest daughter of the Prophet. “You may comfort her. I will be gentle, but I will have her. That she must realise. I will have her as you were had, and will be again.”
Fatima nodded. She moved to Barbara’s head, held her trembling hands. “He is going to take you now. He is not cruel, by his standards. Try to accept him. Try to relax. If you are tense it will be more difficult for both of you, and more painful for you.”
“Fatima. I’m frightened!”
Her eyes went wide as she felt his hands take hold of her hips, felt the heat of his manhood against the pucker of her anus. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to relax. Fatima held her hands tight. The pressure on her anus increased. She tried to think of her husband, but found his image fading, replaced by the image of a muscular black torso, a rampant black cock.
She moaned, then sighed as he entered her, as adamant black hardness filled her bowels. Lady Barbara Campbell was no more.
Moto the fiery slave surrendered to her fate!
messaline
Crucified Amazon
... and more, she felt pleasure !!! ... like Paskell, the blonde slave of the Sultan ... 
Run, run, Theseus, Moto has much to learn !
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
African Slave
Chapter 4
Moto felt bereft as her master withdrew from her body. She turned her tear-streaked face to him, not wanting him to leave.
Barbara thought she was being torn apart as the cock slowly filled her bowels. She clutched Fatima’s hands, moaned, then screamed as he went deeper. He stopped, allowing her to adjust to the unbearable fullness. Her husband had never done that. He had pounded furiously at her until he spent himself. This ‘savage’ was different. Patient, almost gentle.
He started moving inside her. It hurt less now as he gently moved back and forth. His hard fingers found her nipples, stroking and pinching. Her screams changed to moans, the moans no longer of pain and humiliation, but to something approaching pleasure.
Fatima smiled at her, kissing the tears from her cheeks. “He is good. He will train you well. You will fetch a high price on the market as a fully trained bedslave.”
The invasion was easier now as her body relaxed. He took his time, enjoying showing off his mastery to the small group of slavers watching the taming of the white woman. She was moaning with pleasure now. He withdrew almost all the way, then drove home a final time, his seed gushing and filling her.
Salim withdrew from the slave. This one was a prize! He had noted her reactions with professional skill, noted the change in tone of her moans. This noble mzungu was born to be a slave, born to serve the needs and lusts of a master. She turned her tear-streaked face to look at him, her eyes glazed, clearly regretting her emptiness. Yes, Tippoo Tib would pay handsomely for this one!
Fatima looked at her former mistress’ face. The girl was in a different world. Major Lord Campbell had instructed her to convert his future bride into the equivalent of a harem girl, to teach her all the skills and techniques she had learnt from her mother and the other women in the seraglio. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined this scene. His bride was lost to him now. Lady Barbara Campbell was no more. Moto the slave was discovering what he had seen from the start; that she was a natural slave!
She drew the spent girl toward her, cuddling her, soothing her sobs. She stroked the girl’s body as if she was gentling a nervous filly. Moto started and gave a little squeal as her fingers slid over her sex, feeling the moisture there. She moaned as Fatima’s skilled fingers found the sensitive little nub of flesh, her breathing quickening.
Yasmina the slave girl squatted in the sun outside the awning. She had watched with a mixture of jealousy, hatred and awe as her master took the white woman. Never in her short life had she seen such a thing. Was this woman a witch? A spirit? Surely no human being could have such skin and such hair?
When she had been sold to the slavers by her parents she had hated them. When the leader had selected her for his bed she had fought, cursed, spat at him. The marks of the whipping were fading, but the memory of the pain inflicted by the kiboko was etched in her soul! She had discovered that sharing the bed of the leader had advantages. She did not march with the coffle, but ran beside his horse, her bound hands tied to his saddle. She slept soft and ate his leavings, rather than the tasteless slop served to the others. She had even learnt to enjoy his use of her, although she still retched and gagged when he shoved his sex deep into her throat. She smiled evilly. She wanted to see the expression on the white bitch’s face when he did that to her! Now she was in danger of losing those privileges; if the white witch and her companion became the favourites, she would be sent back to the coffle, to be used indiscriminately by the slavers.
Ensign Lacey knelt in misery, hands cradling the wound in his groin. The physical pain was a throbbing agony, the mental trauma of being a eunuch was starting to sink in. He had watched, his pain almost forgotten, as Lady Barbara, whom he had worshipped from afar, was buggered by the savage. There had always been jokes in the mess about pretty boys such as he being buggered. Now he realised that this could become a reality. Catamite! A word he had come across in a racy novel. Would they make him one of those sorry creatures?
Salim pulled on his robe. “We will stay here for two days while these heal, and the weak die. Mix them in with the other slaves. The women are yours, except these two!” He nodded toward Fatima and Moto. “Yasmina! Find a burqa among the spoils from that village for Moto. Make sure it is clean!”
Yasmina threw the garment at the white woman. Why should she be granted the dignity of clothing while others were shamefully naked? She screamed as Salim’s kiboko slashed across her rump.
(To Be Continued)
Chapter 4
Moto felt bereft as her master withdrew from her body. She turned her tear-streaked face to him, not wanting him to leave.
Barbara thought she was being torn apart as the cock slowly filled her bowels. She clutched Fatima’s hands, moaned, then screamed as he went deeper. He stopped, allowing her to adjust to the unbearable fullness. Her husband had never done that. He had pounded furiously at her until he spent himself. This ‘savage’ was different. Patient, almost gentle.
He started moving inside her. It hurt less now as he gently moved back and forth. His hard fingers found her nipples, stroking and pinching. Her screams changed to moans, the moans no longer of pain and humiliation, but to something approaching pleasure.
Fatima smiled at her, kissing the tears from her cheeks. “He is good. He will train you well. You will fetch a high price on the market as a fully trained bedslave.”
The invasion was easier now as her body relaxed. He took his time, enjoying showing off his mastery to the small group of slavers watching the taming of the white woman. She was moaning with pleasure now. He withdrew almost all the way, then drove home a final time, his seed gushing and filling her.
Salim withdrew from the slave. This one was a prize! He had noted her reactions with professional skill, noted the change in tone of her moans. This noble mzungu was born to be a slave, born to serve the needs and lusts of a master. She turned her tear-streaked face to look at him, her eyes glazed, clearly regretting her emptiness. Yes, Tippoo Tib would pay handsomely for this one!
Fatima looked at her former mistress’ face. The girl was in a different world. Major Lord Campbell had instructed her to convert his future bride into the equivalent of a harem girl, to teach her all the skills and techniques she had learnt from her mother and the other women in the seraglio. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined this scene. His bride was lost to him now. Lady Barbara Campbell was no more. Moto the slave was discovering what he had seen from the start; that she was a natural slave!
She drew the spent girl toward her, cuddling her, soothing her sobs. She stroked the girl’s body as if she was gentling a nervous filly. Moto started and gave a little squeal as her fingers slid over her sex, feeling the moisture there. She moaned as Fatima’s skilled fingers found the sensitive little nub of flesh, her breathing quickening.
Yasmina the slave girl squatted in the sun outside the awning. She had watched with a mixture of jealousy, hatred and awe as her master took the white woman. Never in her short life had she seen such a thing. Was this woman a witch? A spirit? Surely no human being could have such skin and such hair?
When she had been sold to the slavers by her parents she had hated them. When the leader had selected her for his bed she had fought, cursed, spat at him. The marks of the whipping were fading, but the memory of the pain inflicted by the kiboko was etched in her soul! She had discovered that sharing the bed of the leader had advantages. She did not march with the coffle, but ran beside his horse, her bound hands tied to his saddle. She slept soft and ate his leavings, rather than the tasteless slop served to the others. She had even learnt to enjoy his use of her, although she still retched and gagged when he shoved his sex deep into her throat. She smiled evilly. She wanted to see the expression on the white bitch’s face when he did that to her! Now she was in danger of losing those privileges; if the white witch and her companion became the favourites, she would be sent back to the coffle, to be used indiscriminately by the slavers.
Ensign Lacey knelt in misery, hands cradling the wound in his groin. The physical pain was a throbbing agony, the mental trauma of being a eunuch was starting to sink in. He had watched, his pain almost forgotten, as Lady Barbara, whom he had worshipped from afar, was buggered by the savage. There had always been jokes in the mess about pretty boys such as he being buggered. Now he realised that this could become a reality. Catamite! A word he had come across in a racy novel. Would they make him one of those sorry creatures?
Salim pulled on his robe. “We will stay here for two days while these heal, and the weak die. Mix them in with the other slaves. The women are yours, except these two!” He nodded toward Fatima and Moto. “Yasmina! Find a burqa among the spoils from that village for Moto. Make sure it is clean!”
Yasmina threw the garment at the white woman. Why should she be granted the dignity of clothing while others were shamefully naked? She screamed as Salim’s kiboko slashed across her rump.
(To Be Continued)
I disagree. Proper attention to setting and background make for a better story. Plenty of time for mayhem and sex.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Chapter 5
Ensign Lacey stared sadly over the ocean as the rising sun tinged it the shade of beaten copper. The triangular silhouettes of the native boats notched the horizon. Would one of those take him to a life of slavery in an unknown place?
The physical pain of his mutilation had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache, rivalled now by the pain of his sunburn! The mental pain was indescribable! The horror of what had been done to him was only starting to sink in. He was a gelding! He would never be able to go with a girl. Worse, it seemed likely that he would have to submit to disgusting, unnatural practices. He had seen how Lady Barbara, the unreachable object of his desires, had been made to submit to unspeakable things. In full view of slaves and slavers.
An anguished cry made him look down the beach. “Why can’t he just die?” He thought to himself. He was a sailor from the ship who had bitten a slaver who tried to make him take his penis in his mouth, just as Lady Barbara was forced to do. The slaves were all forced to watch as he was impaled on a thick stake planted on the beach. He had been there all night, screaming his agony as the rough wood slowly penetrated his vitals. The slavers were determined to keep him alive as long as possible, giving him water at regular intervals. They did not stop the crabs from stripping the flesh off his feet, however.
His eyes were drawn to four figures walking down to the sea. Fatima, Lady Barbara’s maid, Miss Prudence and a striking black girl. The fourth figure was clad in an all enveloping garment with only a narrow slit for the wearer to see through. He looked with lust at the three naked women. Miss Prudence was badly sunburnt, her skin a flaming red. Her heavy breasts bounced as she walked. He longed to touch them. He looked down at the stub of his cock, tears welling up.
The fourth figure shucked the robe as it reached the water. Lady Barbara! He devoured the creamy skinned figure with his eyes as she entered the water with the others, watched as they washed each other, intimately. Then Lady Barbara emerged from the water, a vision of Venus, only to hide herself under the shapeless robe.
“Look all you like, youngster.” The sailor chained next to him in the coffle said, not unkindly. “That’s all we can do now, being gelded. How long do you think it will be before one of these black baboons shoves his cock into your arse? Or mine, come to that?”
“Must say, her ladyship wasn’t too proud to take his cock in her mouth. Not many Pompey whores who do that! And then only if you fill them with gin!” Lacey shuddered, disgusted at the thought of what lay ahead. His eyes were drawn to the black girl. She was proud in her nakedness, flaunting her body in front of the helpless slaves. Even though the steel collar at her throat advertised her own slave status.
Moto looked at the man on the stake, grateful for the burqa that hid her. His mouth was open in a rictus of agony, his hands bound behind his back. His feet, largely fleshless now, still scrabbling at the rough wood of the stake that was tearing into his body. His feet dislodged the crabs climbing up the stake, huge brutes, some as big as a man’s head. She retched dryly.
Last night her master had demanded the use of her mouth. She had taken the tip between her lips, kissing it as she had her husband’s. Fatima’s voice had been chilling. “Don’t play with it, girl! Take it deep! All of it!” Firm pressure on the back of her head forced the shaft deep into the mouth, until she choked and gagged. The black girl, Yasmina, made a disparaging sound with her tongue.
Try as she might, she could get no more than half his length into her throat without gagging. Fatima gave advice and applied pressure to her head, to no avail. Then the cock in her mouth pulsed and salty slime gushed into the throat. Choking, she pulled back, half spitting, half vomiting the stuff from her mouth. She knelt, gasping for breath, unaware of the reaction of the others. Yasmina looked at her in alarm, shocked, horrified by what she had done. Fatima said softly, “Oh shit, girl. You’re for it now! A slave never, never rejects her master’s gift.” Salim’s face was dark with anger. “You will suffer for this. You!”, he pointed at Fatima and Yasmina, “tomorrow you will take her to my men. She will practice until she can take my full length. If she fails, she will join that fool on a stake!”
Fatima led Barbara to where the slavers were eating their breakfast. She explained the task ahead of them. There were evil smiles and nudges as the first slaver stepped forward. Fatima unlaced the panel of the burqa that covered Barbara’s mouth, and her training began.
Several hours later Barbara was exhausted, her jaw cramped, her belly churning with the amount of semen she had swallowed. She had managed to take all of the last six cocks presented to her. She had swallowed the slimy product without spilling a drop. Another slaver stepped forward. The men exchanged knowing grins. He was gross, his belly wobbling as he walked. Yasmina’s smile dripped with malice. The man lifted his robe, revealing thighs like tree trunks. “Oh my God! No! It is not possible!” Barbara croaked as she saw what awaited her. The cock was as long and as thick as her forearm, black, veined, the circumcised head bulbous. Yasmina guided the thing to Barbara’s lips. She said something unintelligible. Fatima translated, “All of it, white bitch, all of it.”
Barbara thought she was going to die. She couldn’t breathe. Her jaw seemed about to dislocate. Her eyes crossed as she stared at the length of ebony cock still to go into her throat. “Deeper!” Fatima’s voice. Slowly, slowly it found its way into her, until she felt the coarse hair against her nose. Her throat convulsed, cramped, she was going to die. There was an explosion of hot, salty slime, not in her mouth, deep in her throat, beyond swallowing. It flowed straight into her stomach. Everything went black.
When she came to Fatima was closing the panel across her mouth. She had taken more than twenty men, none of whom had seen more of her that her lips and her tongue. The pleasure of seeing her body would come later.
On rubbery legs she followed the other three women back to her master’s tent. Prudence was in deep shock. She knew that a similar ordeal awaited her. She was a virgin in all ways.
In the shade of the tent the burqa was removed, its purpose purely to shield delicate skin from the sun. Salim nodded as Yasmina reported to him. He nodded, then handed her two strips of thick leather, each attached to a handle. The one was about two feet long and six inches wide. The other the same length but only just more than an inch wide. Yasmina smiled broadly as she was given the implements. She spat words into Barbara’s face. Fatima translated. “These are for you, witch! This,” she held up the wider one, “is for those milky tits. Thirty strokes on each one! With this,” The narrower one was offered, “I will have the great pleasure of whipping your witch cunt! Fifty strokes.”
The slaves were collected to witness the punishment. Barbara’s hands were bound behind her back. Two men held her arms. She watched the naked girl, for the first time appreciating the strength of muscle in her arms and shoulders. The hate in her eyes.
The girl swung hard! The thick, stiff leather impacting on a petite, creamy breast. The forest echoed to the screams of agony. That was the first stroke!
(To be continued)
Ensign Lacey stared sadly over the ocean as the rising sun tinged it the shade of beaten copper. The triangular silhouettes of the native boats notched the horizon. Would one of those take him to a life of slavery in an unknown place?
The physical pain of his mutilation had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache, rivalled now by the pain of his sunburn! The mental pain was indescribable! The horror of what had been done to him was only starting to sink in. He was a gelding! He would never be able to go with a girl. Worse, it seemed likely that he would have to submit to disgusting, unnatural practices. He had seen how Lady Barbara, the unreachable object of his desires, had been made to submit to unspeakable things. In full view of slaves and slavers.
An anguished cry made him look down the beach. “Why can’t he just die?” He thought to himself. He was a sailor from the ship who had bitten a slaver who tried to make him take his penis in his mouth, just as Lady Barbara was forced to do. The slaves were all forced to watch as he was impaled on a thick stake planted on the beach. He had been there all night, screaming his agony as the rough wood slowly penetrated his vitals. The slavers were determined to keep him alive as long as possible, giving him water at regular intervals. They did not stop the crabs from stripping the flesh off his feet, however.
His eyes were drawn to four figures walking down to the sea. Fatima, Lady Barbara’s maid, Miss Prudence and a striking black girl. The fourth figure was clad in an all enveloping garment with only a narrow slit for the wearer to see through. He looked with lust at the three naked women. Miss Prudence was badly sunburnt, her skin a flaming red. Her heavy breasts bounced as she walked. He longed to touch them. He looked down at the stub of his cock, tears welling up.
The fourth figure shucked the robe as it reached the water. Lady Barbara! He devoured the creamy skinned figure with his eyes as she entered the water with the others, watched as they washed each other, intimately. Then Lady Barbara emerged from the water, a vision of Venus, only to hide herself under the shapeless robe.
“Look all you like, youngster.” The sailor chained next to him in the coffle said, not unkindly. “That’s all we can do now, being gelded. How long do you think it will be before one of these black baboons shoves his cock into your arse? Or mine, come to that?”
“Must say, her ladyship wasn’t too proud to take his cock in her mouth. Not many Pompey whores who do that! And then only if you fill them with gin!” Lacey shuddered, disgusted at the thought of what lay ahead. His eyes were drawn to the black girl. She was proud in her nakedness, flaunting her body in front of the helpless slaves. Even though the steel collar at her throat advertised her own slave status.
Moto looked at the man on the stake, grateful for the burqa that hid her. His mouth was open in a rictus of agony, his hands bound behind his back. His feet, largely fleshless now, still scrabbling at the rough wood of the stake that was tearing into his body. His feet dislodged the crabs climbing up the stake, huge brutes, some as big as a man’s head. She retched dryly.
Last night her master had demanded the use of her mouth. She had taken the tip between her lips, kissing it as she had her husband’s. Fatima’s voice had been chilling. “Don’t play with it, girl! Take it deep! All of it!” Firm pressure on the back of her head forced the shaft deep into the mouth, until she choked and gagged. The black girl, Yasmina, made a disparaging sound with her tongue.
Try as she might, she could get no more than half his length into her throat without gagging. Fatima gave advice and applied pressure to her head, to no avail. Then the cock in her mouth pulsed and salty slime gushed into the throat. Choking, she pulled back, half spitting, half vomiting the stuff from her mouth. She knelt, gasping for breath, unaware of the reaction of the others. Yasmina looked at her in alarm, shocked, horrified by what she had done. Fatima said softly, “Oh shit, girl. You’re for it now! A slave never, never rejects her master’s gift.” Salim’s face was dark with anger. “You will suffer for this. You!”, he pointed at Fatima and Yasmina, “tomorrow you will take her to my men. She will practice until she can take my full length. If she fails, she will join that fool on a stake!”
Fatima led Barbara to where the slavers were eating their breakfast. She explained the task ahead of them. There were evil smiles and nudges as the first slaver stepped forward. Fatima unlaced the panel of the burqa that covered Barbara’s mouth, and her training began.
Several hours later Barbara was exhausted, her jaw cramped, her belly churning with the amount of semen she had swallowed. She had managed to take all of the last six cocks presented to her. She had swallowed the slimy product without spilling a drop. Another slaver stepped forward. The men exchanged knowing grins. He was gross, his belly wobbling as he walked. Yasmina’s smile dripped with malice. The man lifted his robe, revealing thighs like tree trunks. “Oh my God! No! It is not possible!” Barbara croaked as she saw what awaited her. The cock was as long and as thick as her forearm, black, veined, the circumcised head bulbous. Yasmina guided the thing to Barbara’s lips. She said something unintelligible. Fatima translated, “All of it, white bitch, all of it.”
Barbara thought she was going to die. She couldn’t breathe. Her jaw seemed about to dislocate. Her eyes crossed as she stared at the length of ebony cock still to go into her throat. “Deeper!” Fatima’s voice. Slowly, slowly it found its way into her, until she felt the coarse hair against her nose. Her throat convulsed, cramped, she was going to die. There was an explosion of hot, salty slime, not in her mouth, deep in her throat, beyond swallowing. It flowed straight into her stomach. Everything went black.
When she came to Fatima was closing the panel across her mouth. She had taken more than twenty men, none of whom had seen more of her that her lips and her tongue. The pleasure of seeing her body would come later.
On rubbery legs she followed the other three women back to her master’s tent. Prudence was in deep shock. She knew that a similar ordeal awaited her. She was a virgin in all ways.
In the shade of the tent the burqa was removed, its purpose purely to shield delicate skin from the sun. Salim nodded as Yasmina reported to him. He nodded, then handed her two strips of thick leather, each attached to a handle. The one was about two feet long and six inches wide. The other the same length but only just more than an inch wide. Yasmina smiled broadly as she was given the implements. She spat words into Barbara’s face. Fatima translated. “These are for you, witch! This,” she held up the wider one, “is for those milky tits. Thirty strokes on each one! With this,” The narrower one was offered, “I will have the great pleasure of whipping your witch cunt! Fifty strokes.”
The slaves were collected to witness the punishment. Barbara’s hands were bound behind her back. Two men held her arms. She watched the naked girl, for the first time appreciating the strength of muscle in her arms and shoulders. The hate in her eyes.
The girl swung hard! The thick, stiff leather impacting on a petite, creamy breast. The forest echoed to the screams of agony. That was the first stroke!
(To be continued)