Vignettes from the slave pits

[theseus]

This was not the first time Anne had been on the auction block, nor even the tenth, but even an old slave can hope for a good owner.

Anne had belonged to many people. There had been the very fit and horny young man, many years ago when she herself was young and nubile. He had been killed by a rival, and all his property, including Anne, sold.

Her new owner was a sadist, one who enjoyed seeing her writhe in pain, who thrived on her screams and marked her body with clinical precision. After a year of abuse he had become bored and put her up for sale.

In the following years she had been sold many times. To a number of men, several women and to a college fraternity where she and two others served more than thirty young men.

Then there had been the brothel. Year after year of her body being used repeatedly. Ten, sometimes twenty times a day. She had done live performances, she had served large groups, she had done many, many unspeakable things. Then an older man had paid for her body. He had returned several times, each time asking specifically for her, an ageing whore past her prime. Finally she had been collared, ready for sale. “This is it,” she thought, “this time it will be the quarries.”

The old man had taken her leash and led her to his humble farm. For more than ten years she had worked for him, cooked for him, warmed his bed. It had been a happy time. She had almost forgotten that she was a slave. Her body recovered from the abuses of the brothel, her mind had found peace.

His death was sudden, his heart gave as he panted between her thighs. Now she was up for sale again. Who would want a slave in her sixth decade, almost at the end of that decade? She showed her body to the best advantage, hoping for the best. After all, experience should count for something.

“Please, somebody nice, buy me.”

 

[Crux-Emperor Baracus X]

View attachment 692793
This was not the first time Anne had been on the auction block, nor even the tenth, but even an old slave can hope for a good owner.

Anne had belonged to many people. There had been the very fit and horny young man, many years ago when she herself was young and nubile. He had been killed by a rival, and all his property, including Anne, sold.

Her new owner was a sadist, one who enjoyed seeing her writhe in pain, who thrived on her screams and marked her body with clinical precision. After a year of abuse he had become bored and put her up for sale.

In the following years she had been sold many times. To a number of men, several women and to a college fraternity where she and two others served more than thirty young men.

Then there had been the brothel. Year after year of her body being used repeatedly. Ten, sometimes twenty times a day. She had done live performances, she had served large groups, she had done many, many unspeakable things. Then an older man had paid for her body. He had returned several times, each time asking specifically for her, an ageing whore past her prime. Finally she had been collared, ready for sale. “This is it,” she thought, “this time it will be the quarries.”

The old man had taken her leash and led her to his humble farm. For more than ten years she had worked for him, cooked for him, warmed his bed. It had been a happy time. She had almost forgotten that she was a slave. Her body recovered from the abuses of the brothel, her mind had found peace.

His death was sudden, his heart gave as he panted between her thighs. Now she was up for sale again. Who would want a slave in her sixth decade, almost at the end of that decade? She showed her body to the best advantage, hoping for the best. After all, experience should count for something.

“Please, somebody nice, buy me.”

Good one @theseus

 

[theseus]

Heather had always wanted real breasts. In her teens she had watched, with increasing jealousy, as her friends’ chests expanded, while hers remained stubbornly flat. She had envied Sharon, who at fifteen had a pair of D-cups that made every boy at school drool.

For a gymnast, and a good one, a flat chest had advantages, but Heather would gladly have sacrificed those advantages for a C-cup, even a B.

Then, in her second year at university, on a gymnastics scholarship, she received the dreaded buff parcel. A week later her roommate had put her out with the garbage, naked, her hands cuffed behind her back.

The Female Servitude Act had claimed another victim!

She had been sold at auction, to a man in his fifties. A handsome, well built, well dressed man. She was led away with is other two purchases, two pretty, girlish young men sentenced to slavery for drug dealing. She soon discovered that she had been bought for her slim hips, her shapely, firm buttocks, her flat chest. For her boyish looks. Her owner had no interest in women. He bought her as a boy!

For two years she had been used as the other boys were. She had sucked, she had presented her anus for use. Not once, in two years, had her tight, juicy little snatch been used. She had been caught playing with herself once. That had earned her a whipping, and eight agonising hours on the wooden pony. She had been warned that next time her clit would be amputated and her pussy permanently sealed.

She was her master’s favourite, with many privileges. She hated it, hated every time she lay on her belly, ready for use.

Oh! If only she had grown breasts!

 

[Madiosi]

Please give the stories titles/headlines in future, @theseus !

 

[theseus]

Please give the stories titles/headlines in future, @theseus !

Okay, I will. For these two you can just use the names of the characters as the titles. Are you turning these into an e-book?

 

[Madiosi]

Okay, I will. For these two you can just use the names of the characters as the titles. Are you turning these into an e-book?

I planned it. At the end of the year maybe a own book, maybe inside the next cruxers digest.

 

[theseus]

End of the year would be great. I will have added several new stories, perhaps enough to justify own book.

 

[Madiosi]

End of the year would be great. I will have added several new stories, perhaps enough to justify own book.

OK, then a own book!

 

[theseus]

MacLean

Overseers at The Farm were chosen for their size, strength, initiative and the ingenuity of their punishments. Being hung like a bull was an added recommendation.

MacLean had been a sergeant in the British Army and had retired after 25 years of service. At 41 he was in the prime of his life, and landing a job where he could have unlimited sex, exercise his sadistic streak and be well paid for the privilege was a dream come true.

For the slaves at The Farm an encounter with MacLean was a nightmare. He and Mustafa, the huge black overseer, made a perfect right hand/left hand combination when it came to any kind of whipping.

Two dozen strokes of the cane administered by these two left any slave in agony, deeply bruised and barely able to hobble. For the poor slave worse was to come, as the two overseers always exercised their right to bugger the punished slave while she, or he, was still bent over the caning bench. When it came to the cat or the heavy flogger, his strength was such that each stroke knocked the breath out of the punished slave. Often they had suffered several strokes before they managed to find the breath to scream.

For many a new slave having to satisfy MacLean’s lust was terrifying! The sight of his giant member, the sickening knowledge that it would penetrate them in whichever orifice he desired rapidly brought home the reality of their servitude. There was no mercy and his stamina was legend.

He was the perfect overseer.

 

[theseus]

Amy’s Punishment

Amy hated being buggered!

She couldn’t understand why men would spurn her tight, hungry pussy in favour of her asshole. Amy was a slave, and a slave does not deny anyone the use of any part of her body. It was a big mistake when Amy complained about a client wanting to use her ass.

“I don’t like being buggered. It hurts too much.”

“I fully intend to fuck your lovely little ass, not once but many times.”

“Please, no. Look at my pussy. It’s tight and wet. Much better than an asshole.”

She spread her legs wide, in an almost 180 degree split. Her tight cunt gaped slightly, giving the client a view of the soft pink interior, glistening with her juices.

He tapped her pubic mound with a finger. “What does that barcode say?” His voice was harsh.

Amy realised she had made a mistake. “Slave/whore,” her voice was small, “no limits.”

“Yes! Slave/whore! Does a slave refuse the use of her body to her master?” He roared!

“No,” she whispered.

“And what happens to such slaves?”

“They get punished? Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

"I will fuck your arse! Hard! Several times! Then tomorrow you will be flogged."

“Now, whore, get onto your belly. That ass is in for a stretching!”

This is just the start of her punishment. Tied down with her ass on offer to all comers while she waits for her whipping. Four dozen lashes with that horrible braided cat. Then her hungry pussy will be clamped shut and her mouth will be fitted with a ring gag, one too small for a cock to enter.

For the next week she will be a one-hole whore!

 

[theseus]

Waiting

She knows that she has been disobedient. She knows that she deserves her punishment.

Why does he have to make her wait? Wait like this? Naked, exposed to the eyes of all the other campers? How long will it be before he starts? How many more people will come by, commenting on her status, her body? How many hands will touch her, intimately, as if she is an inanimate object?

Her Master is a loving master, but he is strict, very strict. He is demanding, a sadist and very, very inventive with his punishments. If only he would get on with it! The waiting is almost worse than the punishment. As she kneels here, exposed, her mind conjures up the various ways he would hurt her.

The whip? Of course, that goes without saying. But which whip? Punishing which part of her vulnerable, pale body?

Clamps? Needles? Electricity? Flames?

Please! Please, let him get on with it! Let the pain start! No matter how bad. The sooner it starts, the sooner it will be over.

Anything, anything is better than this waiting!

 

[theseus]

Kindness


Life in the brothel was hard!

Ellen had been whipped for not totally satisfying a client. Her back was on fire!

The overseer was a kind old whore. “Working on your back is going to be hell for you. I’ll cuff you face down for your shift.”

Ellen moaned a protest. That wasn’t much help. She still had to do her 12-hour shift, only now her ass would be invitingly exposed, and the clients would still be putting their full weight on her painful back and buttocks.

The old whore prattled on. “Yeah, I know they’re going to fuck your ass now, but to be honest that tight little hole needs stretching. Enjoy!”

Ellen sobbed softly as the first client dropped his trousers. This was only her third day in the brothel. Her sentence was ten years!

 

[montycrusto]

Kindness

View attachment 719017
Life in the brothel was hard!

Ellen had been whipped for not totally satisfying a client. Her back was on fire!

The overseer was a kind old whore. “Working on your back is going to be hell for you. I’ll cuff you face down for your shift.”

Ellen moaned a protest. That wasn’t much help. She still had to do her 12-hour shift, only now her ass would be invitingly exposed, and the clients would still be putting their full weight on her painful back and buttocks.

The old whore prattled on. “Yeah, I know they’re going to fuck your ass now, but to be honest that tight little hole needs stretching. Enjoy!”

Ellen sobbed softly as the first client dropped his trousers. This was only her third day in the brothel. Her sentence was ten years!

Great story/caption

 

[theseus]

Reprieve

It had been five years. Five years of hard labour. Five years of abuse. Five years during which she had not been allowed to clean herself.

Sheila was stunned when the overseer gave her the news. She had expected another whipping, at the very lest, when she was freed form her chains and led to the office in the quarry. The chief overseer had wrinkled his nose at the rank smell of her. “Slave 5934. In view of your good behaviour you have been granted a partial reprieve. Your sentence of extreme hard labour for fifteen years has been amended to lifelong slavery.”

Her mind was a whirl. This was hardly a reprieve, to become a slave for life. Then she thought again. She had survived five years in the quarry without serious injury. Nobody she knew of had lived for more than ten years. Her fifteen-year sentence had been an effective death sentence. Life as a slave could hardly be worse than ten more years in the quarry. She nodded numbly. “Thank you, master.”

She walked the five miles to the prison feeling as light as a feather. For the first time in five years she was wearing only handcuffs. Gone were the heavy chains at wrist and ankle, gone was the steel collar, gone was the chain connecting her to the rest of her gang, a chain that was only released when the wearer died. Died, or when the wearer was miraculously reprieved!

Two weeks later she is the property of a farmer. She is still naked, as she will be for the rest of her life, but she is clean and well fed. Nothing much remains of the slim, elegant human rights lawyer who fell foul of the new regime. She had been shocked to see the heavily muscled figure in the mirror, but now at least that figure was clean.

Her owner still made her work from sunrise to sunset, but she had not tasted the whip since he bought her, and when he wanted her body he took her into his bed. Best of all, she was not chained, not even at night.

She smiled to herself. Slavery was bad, and infringed on her human rights, but it was a whole lot better than the quarry.

 

[theseus]

Fuck you!


“Fuck you all!” Leila thought. “Fuck you all, you sick bunch of perverts!”

She looked defiantly at the sea of faces in front of her. Prospective buyers, voyeurs and hangers on. She knelt proudly on the block, legs spread, hands on hips.

“Fuck you all!”

She had been on show for hours. For those hours she had been probed, prodded, stroked, discussed. They had talked about her as if she wasn’t there, as if she was just an inanimate object. “Lovely firm tits,” a woman had said after squeezing them and pinching her nipples. “I’ll enjoy making them bounce with a cane.”

“Nice tight cunt,” said a man to his companion, “unusual in a slave. They’re normally slack and fucked out at this age.” He extracted the fingers that had penetrated deep inside her, sniffing at her aroma.

“Lovely lips! I can just see them wrapped around my cock.” The speaker was short and fat and smelled of urine and stale sweat. “Fuck you,” she thought, “stick your filthy little prick in my mouth and I’ll bite it off. Bastard!” She would end her life writhing on a cross if she did, but she could think it.

The bidding had started. Despite herself she looked to see who was bidding, hoping that the buyer would not be wantonly cruel or hopelessly perverted. After all, she was a woman, a human being. She sighed inwardly; she was also a slave, an object lower than an animal. The bidding was high, but she could not see who was bidding. “Please let it be a man, and let him be humane.” She had been owned by a woman, a woman who was wantonly cruel, as only a woman could be.

The hammer fell. She looked around in vain to see who had bought her. Two guards took her arms, cuffed her wrists behind her back. She tried desperately to appear impassive as she was led away. Her face was impassive, but her heart was breaking, screaming despair.

She was a slave!

 

[theseus]

Devotion


The process of transition from wife to her husband's slave brought many new experiences. Wearing a collar all the time was just a start.

"I'm going to put these on you. It will hurt, but it will hurt even more when I take them off in three hours' time." Her husband, her Master, was meticulous in explaining what and why he did things. "For a start I'll only attach a light weight to the chain. We'll start with a quarter of a pound."

Jill hissed as the clamp bit into the tender flesh of her nipple. This was unbearable! There was no way she could bear this for three hours! No way! Yet she knew she would have to. Much as he loved her, her would show no mercy. Once he had attached the other clamp and added the weight, only a quarter of a pound, they would go for their daily run. The usual six miles through the forest, she would be naked, her hands cuffed behind her. The thought of the weight tugging at her nipples for that time was beyond imagination.

She loved him so much!

 

[theseus]

Maria


Maria wanted to get married, but his family insisted on a large dowry, including cash and modern appliances. It would take her many years to accumulate such a dowry. Her family was no help at all.

Finally she accepted the inevitable. She had one asset, an asset that many men wanted.

Her body!

After a while she found a suitable man. Six months of slavery would give her the dowry she needed.

The contract was detailed. Her owner could make her work at hard labour. He could punish her in any way he liked; he could lend her to others; he could put her on display. She had never heard of some of the sexual practices carefully listed in the contract.

She signed the contract!

Now she was a slave!

 

[theseus]

Reality Check



For years Caroline had lived in a society where it was a known fact that Europeans were infinitely superior to Africans.

When her husband was made governor of an island colony she was thrilled. She would be the centre of society! The Queen Bee!

That was exactly how it was. For almost a year she was the social arbiter for the small community of white officials and merchants. The local population was almost invisible to her, except as obsequious servants.

Then came the revolution! The world was turned upside down! The rebels invaded her mansion. Her clothes, her possessions, all were looted. The servants strutted around in her husband’s gaudy uniforms. He didn’t care. His severed head watched from a spike above the front door.

For the women there was a worse fate, much worse! Stripped naked they were paraded around the town, mocked and reviled. Then they were displayed in the slave market, together with all the other savage slaves from the mainland. For hours she stood there while the new rulers prodded, probed and pinched her creamy white flesh.

Then came the final humiliation. No auction for the white women, they were not considered worthy. They were, instead, awarded to the people, in exchange for a single goat. Lady Caroline, Queen Bee and leader of fashion, had started a new fashion. Naked, she followed her new owner, a small shopkeeper.

Somehow, she no longer felt so superior.

 

[Eulalia]

May I slip in a short vignette inspired by a fine image by a lesser-known artist on DevArt,
DPAdoc, and several of your delicious pieces, especially the one above about MacLean?

No Peace for a Pretty Prisoner

"Prisoner KH25619! Stay where you are!"

Kia's heart sinks. After long, long hours straining and sweating in the mine, all she desperately wants is to wolf down the lukewarm greasy soup and mouldy bread they've left for her, and snatch a few hours sleep on the filthy floor of her cage.

But he's on duty, that one, the new guard. Booted out of the Army for repeated offences against women, he's walked straight into a job with a private, no-questions-asked, Prison Management Company. Now pretty prisoners can expect no peace ...

Kia freezes, trembling, as he strides towards her, his massive tool too obviously fully charged under his guard uniform pants. She knows she'll have to submit, be on her best behaviour.

What will it be? Fuck-rape? Anal? Sucking? Probably all three ... trouble with being submissive, it only arouses them more ... the bleating of the lamb excites the tiger.

But any resistance, even just failing to say "Thankyou, Sir," and he'll use his belt on her. And she's seen what that does to a girl's body ...

 

[theseus]

May I slip in a short vignette inspired by a fine image by a lesser-known artist on DevArt,
DPAdoc, and several of your delicious pieces, especially the one above about MacLean?

View attachment 719964No Peace for a Pretty Prisoner

"Prisoner KH25619! Stay where you are!"

Kia's heart sinks. After long, long hours straining and sweating in the mine, all she desperately wants is to wolf down the lukewarm greasy soup and mouldy bread they've left for her, and snatch a few hours sleep on the filthy floor of her cage.

But he's on duty, that one, the new guard. Booted out of the Army for repeated offences against women, he's walked straight into a job with a private, no-questions-asked, Prison Management Company. Now pretty prisoners can expect no peace ...

Kia freezes, trembling, as he strides towards her, his massive tool too obviously fully charged under his guard uniform pants. She knows she'll have to submit, be on her best behaviour.

What will it be? Fuck-rape? Anal? Sucking? Probably all three ... trouble with being submissive, it only arouses them more ... the bleating of the lamb excites the tiger.

But any resistance, even just failing to say "Thankyou, Sir," and he'll use his belt on her. And she's seen what that does to a girl's body ...

Thanks Eulalia. A great piece of writing, as always. You seem to fancy our gentle friend Maclean?