• Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.

Vignettes from the slave pits

Go to CruxDreams.com
Kinky Camp bdsmlr-35385-eSHXr8g4V5.jpg

Kinky Camp.

The Kinky Camp had sounded like a good idea. A whole long weekend of kink at a secluded campsite in the woods with a group of likeminded people. When her boyfriend mentioned the slave auction she was enthusiastic. She thought being displayed naked and ‘sold’ at the slave auction would be fun!

Now she is not so sure. Several women, and a few men, has already been auctioned off. Each time the auctioneer had read out the conditions of sale. Once auctioned she would belong to the buyer, probably a total stranger, for three days. In that time he, or she (oh god!) could use her in any way they wished.

“No Limits!” The auctioneer kept on repeating that phrase. “No Limits!”

Her boyfriend took her arm. “You’re next. Good luck.”
 
The beginning.

1569912867118.png

“What would you like for your 40thbirthday dear?”

Janet’s husband was very loving, very considerate and very, very boring. “You can have anything you want. Jewellery, a cruise, a new car. Anything. It’s not as if we are short of money.”

That was true. Brendan was a consummate businessman. Everything he touched turned to gold. His business was his whole life.

Janet thought for a while. “Anything? No matter how outrageous?”

Her husband nodded. “Anything you like.”


Today was her fortieth birthday. She had locked her clothes and everything else, including her wedding ring in her old truck. She could still remember the look on his face when she told him what she wanted. Remember it! It was the highlight of her life. Astonishment. Disbelief. Outrage. Hurt. Acceptance. All those had crossed his features in moments.

“You want to go to some farm to be a slave? A sex slave?” His voice had risen an octave.

She nodded. “Please. It would make me even happier if you would come to The Farm and use me, as a slave. Please?.”

He looked bewildered. “Why?”

It took the rest of the evening to explain. The fantasies she had had since she was a girl, the constraints of their place in society. She would be forty, time to start a new kind of life. With him, but on a different basis.

“Please. I need this. I need this badly. When I come back I would like to be your slave. To fulfil your every wish, your every fantasy.”

He looked at her dubiously. “My fantasies are dark, very dark. They would disgust you.” He shook his head in dismay. “Are you sure? Really sure? What about the children? Our friends? What would they think?”

“The children are old enough. They will understand. Our friends, the neighbours? I don’t give a damn!”



She had not gone ten yards before she stood on the first sharp stone. The track to The Farm had not been built for comfortable walking. She carried her shoes in her hand, knowing it was forbidden to wear them. She had brought them because Brendan had arranged for her to be wearing them, and only them, when he came to use her in two months’ time.

She had signed up for six months. The no limits option. She was damp as she walked, the excitement building with every step. There were a few others along the route. Singles, couples, small groups. All naked, all heading the same way. All somewhat apprehensive.

Finally she crossed the stream, the water cool on her bruised feet. Fifty yards further on she saw the first of the overseers. A powerfully built black man, barechested, a coiled whip in his hand. She smiled at him, her eyes dropping to the bulge in his trousers. A sizable bulge!

The whip uncoiled almost at its own volition. The tip flicked out like a lightning bolt, searing her nipple. The smile turned to a scream.

His smile was wide and genuine, his teeth white in his black face. “Welcome to The Farm, slave!”
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Meghan.

View attachment 720443

Meghan was a domme. She had owned several slaves on short leases. Then she became curious about switching roles.

She wondered what it would feel like to have to submit to another person?

She was not one to take half measures. When she returned her most recent slave, Susan, to the agency, she promptly signed up as a slave for a year.

Now she is in the viewing pen, next to the woman she owned just a few hours before. Already she can feel the twinge of apprehension in her belly as buyers examine her. Who will buy her? What will they do with her?
She's pretty. I've always had a soft-spot for red-heads. Sometimes I dye my hair red, but it's more crimson than this. Sometimes I dye it blue or green or multi-coloured. I'm not into girls as such (natch I've had a few cuddles and kisses, which was fun...) but I could with her I think... maybe! (Don't tell the BF!)
 
bdsmlr-1037871-tVgEn2Bud0-og.jpg

The fine print

Silly boy! When will they learn to read a contract?

He is a beautiful specimen, his body perfectly proportioned, toned, fit. He has a kinky streak, and thought that a summer spent at The Farm would be a great treat. He envisioned hard work and plentiful, kinky sex. The thought of all those naked slave girls made him drip with excitement.

He didn't read the contract.

"What's this?" He asked the pretty naked slave girl who was processing him. He wondered when he would get to fuck her.

"This?" She smiled, holding up the metal contraption. "This is your cock cage. All male slaves wear them. We can't have feral cocks running around the Farm, now can we?"

She was an expert. His cock resisted being forced into the tiny steel cage, desperately erect. A tiny pressure in the right spot solved that problem and he was soon caged.

"Who has the keys?" He asked desperately.

"Keys?, she smiled brightly. "Keys? It has a time lock. Yours is set for," she checked her clipboard, "120 days. The entire duration of your stay." She smiled again. " You'll get used to it. Just keep lubed up." She patted his firm butt. "Now! Let's get you fitted with shackles and you can go and meet the overseers."
 
***bdsmlr-543834-TFiIyIwsu6.jpg

The overseer

The overseers at The Farm were chosen for their physique, their sexual prowess and their disciplinary inventiveness. They were meant to intimidate slaves and they succeeded.

For the new slave the first sight of an overseer was daunting. Heavily muscled, carrying the ever present coiled whip that could inflict instant pain, they were usually bare chested. The slave's eyes inevitably dropped to look at the genital area of the overseer. Their tight trousers showing off their assets.

Every slave, male and female, would experience the whip, and the goad barely concealed in those trousers.
 
***bdsmlr-224125-soQuQJpULk.gif

Reality!

She wanted sexual adventure. The Farm seemed the perfect place to find this. Here there were no taboos!

She was incredibly excited as she made the long, naked walk to the processing centre. Dripping as she was processed. The slave pens were uncomfortable, crowded, smelly. reeking of sweat and sex, of men and woman kept in close confines. The veterans told her of the pleasures that awaited the slaves chosen for the brothel, or even better to service a private client or one of the overseers.

Good food, a comfortable bed, warmth. A hot shower!

Emma was so happy when the overseer beckoned her after her day in the fields. She was tired, filthy, but the thought of a good meal and a wash was so attractive. She was determined to impress him, so that she could spend many nights away from the pens.

She certainly impressed him! Her screams as he reamed her ass were the loudest he had heard. Her wild promises of alternatives to the brutal assfucking were inventive and, frankly implausible.

His stamina was impressive.

Perhaps the slave pens had something going for them after all.
 
***bdsmlr-389073-YSGwgXPrWc-og.jpg

Teeth!

"You were warned about teeth! Forty eight hours like this should concentrate your mind."

"Ggggmf!" "Graaagh!

Julia thought her jaw would dislocate. Her mouth was stretched to the limit, her muscles already spasming. She looked desperately at the line of customers at her cocksucking station. Now all she had to offer was the depths of her throat. Some of them were huge! Thick! It was impossible to avoid a tooth touching the sacred cock!

"Grrrff" "Uggghh"

"Next time? Next time we have a complaint about your teeth scraping a cock? Quite simple. We remove all of them. No problem after that!"

Life as a slave was not easy.
 
***bdsmlr-324764-eb9efpJyTb.jpg

Devotion

"She would do it! Her husband wanted it, and she loved him more than anything else. She would have to put her career on hold. It would be difficult not to see her parents for six months, and possibly they might never want to speak to her or see her again once they found out what she was going to do. But her husband wanted it! And she loved him."

She waited for the sound of the key in the door. He had told her to be naked. Packing was not a problem, she would need nothing where she was going. Nothing, not even her glasses. For the next six months the world would be in soft focus. The Farm! How could it even exist? It broke every law, every rule. Yet it existed. Perhaps because it gave free membership to senior political figures, judges and senators, the chief of police.

The Farm, were there were no rules. Where slaves were used and abused, subjected to the most unthinkable practices. The place she would spend the next six months. Where her husband would use her as he would many others. Where she would be used, by him and many others. used in the most perverted ways.

She heard the car in the driveway, the rattle of his keys. She looked at the handcuffs on the bedside table. She took a deep breath.

Removing her glasses she picked up the handcuffs, awkwardly locking her wrists behind her.

The door opened.

"I'm ready, darling. Shall we go?"
 
***bdsmlr-241351-7ZbhEtfj1c.jpg

Pride.

She was proud!

She was determined not to show her despair, her pain, her humiliation. Her back was straight and her head was high as she walked to the place of punishment. She was determined not to disgrace herself by screaming, by begging for mercy. 24 Lashes of the whip to her back. 12 Strokes of the cane to her breasts. That was the sentence.

Inside she wanted to scream, to fight, to beg. Inside she wanted to run away.

She was proud!

She would take the whipping, the caning. She would endure the public exposure. She would endure the nine months in a public brothel as a common whore.

She was proud!

Inside she was sobbing.
 
****bdsmlr-302580-dRw9z6vsGP.jpg

Brothel slave.

It was her first night in the brothel. This was not one of those luxurious brothels with soft lights, mood music and cheap champagne where the 'girls' wafted around in filmy gowns.

This was public brothel #7. Here dockworkers and quarry labourers paid a few coins for a quick fuck. There was no finesse. The whores' beds, mere platforms, were three feet apart, the customers were randomly assigned a fuckstation, where they patiently waited in line for their five minutes with one of the whores.

She was chained to her bed, her legs spread wide. Her screams of protest and outrage muffled by the gag. There were two holes available for use. She struggled against the unyielding steel, to no avail. The waiting customers were becoming impatient, the first ones already with their pants unzipped.

The bell rang, the first man straddled her. He had five minutes.

It was the start of her eight hour shift.
 
Dream come true
1573192357255.pngThis was the reality of life on The Farm. This is what she had signed up for, what she had paid for.
Laura needed a break from her career. A three month sabbatical seemed to be the answer. A complete change from a high profile career.

She had signed up for The Farm, walked naked along the path of pain, been stripped, barcoded, micro-chipped. She had endured the showing room, stood on the podium as people bid to own her body. Now she was the property of this man. His to do with as he pleased. Her sole purpose in life was now to please him.

This was what she needed!
 
Namib night
Namib night bdsmlr-32141-BlWcjIZt4V.jpgThey tried to escape, but where can three naked girls go in the wastes of the Namib desert? The dusk is full of strange noises. Grunts, clicks, strange moans. The rocks crack as they cool.

Slavery is terrible! Frightening! But perhaps slavery is preferable to being eaten alive by some predator, or dying slowly of thirst and hunger.
If they could, they would return to the slavers' camp. They would be punished, but they would be alive.

If only they weren't totally lost!

Surrounded by the waning desert light, the sinister sounds, they clutch each other in despair.
 
Chains

CHAINS .jpg
For the new slaves at The Farm their chains were the symbol of their new status. For most of them this was part of the dream, to be held, naked and in chains, for the use of the free members of The Farm.

Few of them had thought much about their chains beyond that fantasy image. Even fewer, perhaps none, had realised how their chains would affect every moment of their new lives.

The chains were heavy! Some had played bondage games in their previous lives. The chains there had been symbolic, light links attached to soft leather or fur-lined cuffs. This was reality! Heavy steel collars and cuffs, attached with fastenings that could only be removed by the blacksmith’s special tools. They made their presence felt every minute of the day. The chains themselves were heavy, awkward. They restricted movement, as was their purpose, requiring that the slave think carefully about each move. In the first days slaves were constantly tripping over their fetters, to be whipped back to their feet by the ever present guards.

The weight added to the exhaustion of slaves, once soft men and women, who worked 12-hour days in the fields, quarries and building sites of The Farm. Every task was s much more difficult, so much more tiring. Rest was not an option. At the slightest sign of slacking a guard’s whip would snake out, the lash finding a tender spot on the slave’s body. A nipple, a clit, a penis. Rest was for people, not objects.

Sheila had been at the farm for four days. She was exhausted. The Farm had been everything she expected, everything she had dreamed about. She had been graded, marked, micro-chipped. She had learned to sleep the sleep of exhaustion on the cold concrete floor of the pens, huddled together with other slaves for warmth. She had learned to fight for her share of the tasteless gruel that was slave food. She had been fucked, oh so many times by so many people! After all, that was why she came to The Farm. She still screamed and begged for mercy when she was sodomised, as happened several times a day. Why did all the guards have to be so big!

She enjoyed the moment of rest as she waited for the rest of the coffle to be connected. Then would come the two mile walk back to the pens, constantly urged by the flicking tongues of the whips.

Chains! The mark of the slave. The achievement of her dream.
 

Attachments

  • 1573275964497.png
    1573275964497.png
    1 MB · Views: 452
Last edited by a moderator:
The Road
422099042.jpgSophie fell for the fifth time. With her hands cuffed behind her back there was no way to break her fall. The rough stones of the path claimed skin from tender flesh as she fell.

“Fuck this! Why am I doing this?”

Behind her she heard the crunch of her husband’s hiking boots on the rough stones of the Road. “Because you are a slave on the way to the Farm. Because you’re a horny slut who wants to spend the next three months being fucked silly.” His voice sounded amused. “While you’re on your knees, how about a blowjob?”

“Fuck you!” She screamed. “My fucking feet hurt! These stones are sharp, and all you can think of is a blowjob! And I keep on tripping over these fucking chains!” Her voice rose to a crescendo of rage and frustration.

She struggled to her knees, sobbing. “How far?”

Frank checked his GPS. “About another mile. The bad bit is still to come.” He took a long swig from his water bottle.

“Can I have some, please?”

He shook his head. “No assistance may be given to slaves on the road to The Farm.” He gave her an evil grin. “You can have some cum, if you like. That’s allowed.”

The older woman they had passed a while before came past. Her sagging breasts swinging, her grey hair straggling around her face. She gave Sophie an encouraging smile. “Courage, girl. This is my fourth time, and it seems to get longer and rougher every time.” She turned to Frank. “I’ll have that cum if you’re offering?”

Sophie stared in disbelief as her husband unzipped his fly. The old woman dropped to her knees, her mouth reaching for its reward. Her head bobbed busily as she warmed to her task.

Sophie struggled to her feet, wincing in pain as her bruised feet stood on yet more sharp flints. She almost tripped again, the chains tangling under her feet, her attention distracted by the sight of the old woman, she must be sixty at least, skilfully fellating her husband in the middle of the road. She felt jealous of the old woman. Four times! And she kept on coming back for more!

Wearily, painfully, Sophie staggered on up the road. Another mile! How would she be able to manage that? Behind her she heard Frank’s familiar grunt as he came.

She thought of what lay ahead. Three months as a ‘no limits’ slave. She remembered the description in the contract. Did people really do those things? Were some of them even possible? Had that old woman done those things? An old woman with sagging breasts, strong thighs, unruly grey hair? An old woman with a brand burned deep into her pubic mound? An old woman who had just given her husband a blowjob? An old woman who kept on coming back for more!

One foot in front of the other, one painful step after another. Sophie smiled to herself. It would be worth it! This was her dream!



1074711603.jpg1247730447-1.jpg
 
girl bums as96z50iv4.jpeg
Three Trainees
“Three of them. I’m only bloody human! You’d think they’d hire some more of us if there is such a rush on! Always pinching the bloody pennies, they are.”

MacLean grumbled under his breath as he entered the training room. The three new slaves lay on their bellies, as ordered. They were shivering with apprehension. All of them were anal virgins, and now they realised that it was Maclean who would be training them!

All the slaves were terrified of MacLean! It was not his size, although that was impressive, but the fact that he was totally unemotional. MacLean was not a man of great imagination. Mercy and empathy did not enter into his world. Duty was supreme! He had been ordered to bugger these three girls. He would do it dispassionately, effectively and thoroughly. He did not care that they were virgins, that they were new, that they were frightened. There were three arseholes to be fucked as ordered, Sah!

He undressed slowly, folding his clothes neatly. “Get on with it, for God’s sake!” Moira, the redhead, thought. His cock, less dispassionate than the rest of him, was already fully erect, all nine inches of it! He surveyed the expectant, shivering butts before him. Eeny, meeny, miny, mo. Okay, centre one first, then the other blonde, leave the redhead until last. He would be pretty much empty by then, so her ordeal would be the longest.

He straddled the slim hips of the centre one, his cock probing for the quivering sphincter like a heatseeking missile. Her scream echoed off the walls as it found its target, overcame its futile resistance, and burrowed deep into her bowels.

The other two girls waited, nervously. Their turn would come. There was no rushing Maclean!

Duty!
 
Adrienne

Adrienne.jpg

“No! Take that off! Please! I want to see them. I want to see who is touching me. I want to see the people who want to buy me. Please! Please! Take it off!”

Adrienne had been calm throughout the ordeal, so far.

She knew this was her fate, ever since she had been selected for slavery when she reached puberty. The time with her parents, friends and family had been precious, something she knew would end. Then the time had come! Now she was a slave.

Forever!

She was stoic when she was stripped in front of her friends and family. She was silent, accepting, as the barcode was tattooed on her pubic mound, forever identifying her as a sex slave with no limits. She even flirted with the viewers in the viewing room, actually enjoying the attention as they circled around her and the other slaves on show, ogling their bodies, so wantonly displayed.

Then they blindfolded her! She would be auctioned like that, unable to see the bidders. Unable to see whose hands touched her in the final showing. Unlike in the viewing room, the approved bidders were allowed to touch the slaves, probe their bodies. The thought of not being able to see terrified her. There was a hush as she was led into the auction room and guided to the block.

She sensed the people around her, the heat of their bodies, the lust. She gasped as someone touched her breast. Who was it? There were male and female voices. The examination was interminable.

Finally, the auctioneer started his patter, driving up the price, extolling her attributes. “Going once! Going twice! Sold to number 38!”

She was helped off the auction block.

Who had bought her? Who was number 38?

She felt the heat of the sun on her naked skin. She was outside! Where? In the street? Were there people watching? A hand pushed her head down, guided her to knee-walk into something. A door slammed with a metallic clang. She was aware of bars around her. A cage? Footsteps receded.

“Please!” She screamed, “Please! Let me see! Please!”
 
Last edited by a moderator:
cosmo-jpeg.jpg
Paradise
What does a fifty year old multi billionaire do when he realises that there is more to life than making money?

Frank realised that even if he did nothing the income would be more than he could realistically spend. He sat down with his lawyer, set up sizable trust funds for his children and his four ex-wives, and started looking for his fantasy home.

A hundred million paid to an impoverished tropical country bought him a large, uninhabited atoll. A few tens of millions a year ensured that nobody interfered with him. Quietly, he started to build his fantasy world. The main town would be based on ancient Rome, a ‘typical’ Roman coastal town, with a few luxurious palaces. This would operate as a very exclusive resort. Most of the other islands in the atoll would be left wild, but a few became theme islands. There would be a Slave Island, a Family Island and a small island which would be named simply, Hell.

The only laws in Paradise would be his laws. The main enterprise was pleasure, the realisation of fantasies, no matter how extreme.

Amazing what a billion can buy you.
 
The Sale

bdsmlr-12618-Uhe2rlF1ct.jpg

I woke, sweaty and disorientated, stiff and thirsty. The door rattled as the slavers came in, selecting slaves and taking them outside. There were a dozen of us, including Candy.

We were taken to a well. A hose squirted the worst of the filth off us. We were taken to the market, each of us chained to an iron pillar. Even at this early hour there were many other slaves on display. Prospective buyers strolled around, feeling a breast, stretching open pussy lips to examine the interior. Fingers probed my anus, pried open my lips. I saw a fat, grey haired old man running his hands over Candy’s body, fingers probing deeply. Amy was also being pawed, penetrated, palpated. Time passed. The sun rose higher, heat beating down on us. Sweat poured from my body. I was desperately thirsty.
A heavily muscled man, huge paunch sagging obscenely, stripped off his shirt. He opened a bag extracting heavy, multi-lashed whips. He had huge arms and shoulders. I realised that soon those powerful arms would be swinging a whip that would cut into my flesh. The brazier was already a bed of red-hot coals. The man with the apron was consulting a list, possibly of prospective buyers, and inserting branding irons into the coals.

The first slave, a beautifully built young man, the scar of his castration still red raw, was led to the whipping posts. He screamed shrilly at the second stroke, pleading piteously as the whip flayed his back and chest.

He was put on the block, and soon buyers were bidding. The hammer fell, and he was taken to be branded.

Candy was next! Her golden body was stretched tight between the posts, toes barely touching the ground. The whip swung! I was fascinated by the way the man’s paunch swung, then wobbled with the follow through. Candy grunted! Her back suddenly had white lines across it, lines that soon turned a fiery red. The second blow followed. At the third blow tears were streaming down her face, but apart from the grunts as the whip knocked the air from her lungs, she had not yet made a sound. The fifth blow fell on her chest. She gave a little whimper, shook her head, then waited for the next blow. The sixth blow was across the front of her thighs. Again a little whimper, a shake of the head. I waited for the ogre to swing his whip again. Instead, almost tenderly, he untied her from the posts. Smiling a tight little smile she was led to the auction block.

The bidding was lively. Clearly many people wanted to own the girl. I just hoped that Theseus’ plan to rig the auction in his favour worked! I lost track of the bidding as I was hustled to the whipping posts. My gut knotted! This was it! I was stretched tight between the posts, legs spread wide, on the extreme tips of my toes. My body was like a bowstring! I was sure I looked good like this. My belly hollowed, buttocks tight, breasts thrust forward.

I was aware that the clamour of the bidding had stopped. I was now concentrating on my own plight. The gross ogre, with the fearsome whip casually over his shoulder, was running his hands down my body. Foetid breath assaulted my nostrils. He stank of old sweat. His fingers penetrated my pussy. To my surprise I realised I was wet, soaking, in fact. The ogre gave me a gap-toothed grin. I heard a shrill scream, drawn out, smelt the now familiar smell of roasting meat. Candy had been branded!

The ogre disappeared from my sight. I realised that I was now the centre of attention. Faces looking at me with evil anticipation. I heard shuffling behind me, a whispering whistle, then a brutal impact that knocked the breath out of my lungs with a grunt!
That wasn’t so bad! I said to myself. Then the abused nerve endings reacted! It felt as if a giant cat had raked red hot claws across my back! My whole back was a sea of fire! Lustful faces stared at me from the crowd. There were women there too, eyes glittering from behind their veils. I wanted to scream! To beg! I couldn’t take this! My mouth opened to let out the scream of agony!

Then I thought of Candy, her silence, the little shake of the head. I couldn’t let her be braver than I was. The scream turned into a strangled croak. There was the whistling again! Another fiery sheet of pain engulfed me, lower this time! Again, across my tight buttocks, and again! My back was on fire from my shoulders to my knees!

I had managed to stay silent, apart from the involuntary grunts, and little mewling sounds I could not control. Tears streamed down my face. I was trampling, writhing, anything to try and reduce the pain. I could see from the faces before me that they were enjoying the spectacle!
The ogre came into my field of view, thick fingers combing the strands of the whip, lovingly. I saw the fingers were coated with blood. Mine! Perhaps it was over! Please let it be over!

I was fascinated by the wobble of his belly as he braced his thick, muscular legs. It wasn’t over! No! It wasn’t over! His arm drew back, powerful shoulders flexed as he swung the whip.

My breasts! My vulnerable, outthrust breasts! The world dissolved in a red mist of pain. Again and again and again! Breasts, belly, pussy, thighs! My world was a world of pain! I managed not to scream, my moans louder. I was hanging by my wrists now, the strength vanished from my legs. Through a red mist I saw the ogre give a satisfied nod, a smile. I was being untied! It was over!

My legs would hardly support me as I was led to the auction block. I looked at the sea of faces. In just a few minutes, I would be the helpless chattel of one of these faces. The bidding started. Whenever it flagged, the auctioneer’s assistant would show off some part of me to spur the interest of the bidders. My pussy lips were spread wide open, I was bent over and my buttcheeks spread, thick fingers entering my anus, the voice no doubt extolling the pleasures that would be derived from sodomising me. I noticed that two of the bidders were women. What would it be like to be the slave of a woman? Good? Bad?
The hammer fell. I had no idea who had bought me! I was led toward the man with the apron, the brazier, the red-hot branding irons. I could feel the heat. More pain! Could I take more pain?

Four men grabbed me, held me face down on the table. I struggled, to no avail. I felt the heat of the iron approaching my left buttock. Pain! Searing, blinding pain! The smell of roasting flesh! My flesh! I screamed! Screamed long and loud, my throat raw!

NOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was a branded slave.
 
Last edited:
The Secretary
bdsmlr-79627-qoPKVmjDoR.jpg

She had been a secretary, struggling from month to month to pay the bills, buy food, pay the rent. There was never anything left over for savings, a holiday, or even little luxuries.

Then one of her boss' colleagues made her an offer. He would invest $100 000 for her. It would be her retirement fund. All she had to do was become his slave for as long as it pleased him. There would be no limits to her slavery or the use made of her, with the exception that there was to be no lasting physical harm.
She thought about it for a week, then signed the documents.

Now she waits to be shipped to is country house, there to join the rest of his 'collection.'
 
Last edited:
Back
Top Bottom