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Chained by Fate

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fallenmystic

Governor
(This is my first ever attempt at writing a BDSM story. And I don't really speak English, so it's also the first time that I write any piece of literature in that language. As such, you may find my sentences to be quite dull or awkward. So, I'd like to ask your indulgence for my limited writing skills.

And I know, that the title is rather crappy as it is :D. So, if anyone could suggest me a better one, I'd appreciate much. Oh, and please let me know if there's any typos/grammar mistakes/or overly awkward sentences too.)


Clang, clang, clang, a shrill sound of a bell rings through dark mining shafts, awakening a series of heavy sighs and painful groans in its wake. Finally, it's feeding time! I immediately threw my pickaxe upon a heap of coal that I've dug through the morning shift, raising a cloud of dust into already stifling air - a potent mixture of sweat from unbathed slave girls, urine, and feces. Coughing lightly, the overseer gave me a daggered look, but fortunately, his hand did not move to a glistening coiled leather hanging from his belt.

I put my hands upon my waist and arched my body as far back as I can, protruding my bare breasts almost defiantly into his gaze. "Urrgghh," an involuntary groan escaped my mouth, as my spine protested with a popping noise. It's been a long time since I stopped caring about being naked in front of those men, and they probably don't care either.

To them, we are just filthy animals and livestock in their charge. Although the fact hasn't prevented them from 'using' or abusing any slave girl whom they whimsically choose in whatever manner they please. But it's probably more because of boredom than of any sexual lust they sometimes do that, for I cannot imagine how anyone can feel anything but disgust upon the sight of these smelly, and ugly creatures which I became after toiling in this cave for the past five years.

Soon the cacophony of metal chains dragged over the hard stone floor reverberates through the corridor, as the girls were already rushing towards the hall as fast as their exhausted body and heavy iron allow them.

After watching that ugly bald head of slave 1835 disappearing into the corridor, I finally started to drag my feet to follow suit. That sneaky bitch always steals from my heap whenever I don't watch, so I better be vigilant about it. The overseers don't care about petty quarrels between the girls as long as they can meet their quota. The best they would do is to let them cat-fight each other once in a while. It usually involves a lot of beer and cheering and betting, and they even invite their colleagues who usually work outside the mine to participate in the event.

I put my hands behind my head as it was required whenever we are free to walk with empty hands (which means not carrying any load, or crawling on all-fours) and began rattling my chains as I quickened my pace to catch up other girls. Then I heard a terrible sound of loud cracking immediately followed by a piercing shriek. I was frozen instinctively and turned my head back. Oh, it was the new one which they dragged in this morning, what were its numbers?

"What are you waiting for, you worthless cunt. Move!"

As if to emphasize his last word, he kicked the fallen girl's butts with his rubber boots, drawing another high pitched squeal from her who was bracing her breasts protectively with her arms, apparently where the first blow landed on her still mostly unscathed skin.

"You there, what... 27... 6... 3?", he switched on his flashlight and directed it on my chest, squinting his eyes as he tries to read my numbers which were barely legible under thinkcly covered grime and dust.
"Cunt two-seven-six-three, Master!"

As soon as I heard my numbers uttered by the overseer, I immediately dropped to my knees and yelled my numbers then I threw my legs wide open and put my hands behind my head, as I've done it countless times before. Ignoring the pain from hitting the jagged floor with my knees, I pushed my breasts forward and dropped my eyes on the floor. Under the flashlight, the branded numbers glistened with sweat as they rose and fell nervously, revealing my apprehension of what may come next.

"Collar," he barked a command as he grabbed the loose end of chains which was lying nearby. I quickly raised my chin to allow him access to my rusty steel collar and cast my eyes sideways. It's one of the very first things you learn after you renounce every human right you had, that meeting a free person's eyes without being commanded so constitutes a grave offense.

After short dexterous movements of his fingers, he secured the chains to the ring on my collar with a padlock, and he walked towards the still prostrating girl and repeated the process. I strained to keep my head up, feeling the weight of the heavy chains, which was about 5 feet long.

"From now on, that worthless bitch is your responsibility. If it misbehaves or fails to be productive, both of you will get punished. Is it clear?"

My jaw dropped at his words, and I began to stutter, "Sir, but... but that thing is sti... AHHH!" My protest was cut short by a vicious smack, which he delivered with a full swing with his hand on my left breast. I managed not to break my posture; my thighs still kept wide apart, hands firmly lodged behind my head. The only moving part of my body was my breasts, which were still bobbling from the impact.

I noticed the shocked face of the girl, now embracing her chest even more tightly as if it was her who received the blow. Her terrified eyes rested a moment on my breasts before they moved down between my legs, trembling with disbelief, shock, and maybe pity. I bit down my lips and turned my eyes from her. I suddenly felt a surge of unfamiliar emotion. It was something that I thought to have long forgotten. Is it... shame?

"Is it clear?" an icy cold voice drew my attention back to reality immediately.
"Yes, Master," I answered obediently.
"Good. I'll give you a month to make it useful. And you are allowed to use your voice for that purpose, if necessary."
"Thank you, thank you, Master!"

I immediately fell on the ground and pressed my lips on his boot. Like everything else we perform in this place, it was something expected of a slave girl according to the training protocol. Whenever the Master grants something good to a slave girl, she is expected to show her gratitude by prostrating herself and kissing his boot - hands on either side of her face, palms up, and her butts high up while her legs spread wide. But my gratitude was genuine this time because I don't even remember when was the last time I had a normal conversation with anyone.

When you are a slave girl, you are only allowed to say "Yes, Master," or answer his questions as concisely as possible. Any other conversation is prohibited unless explicitly permitted for a specific task you were given. We are just animals, and speech is for human beings. It's as simple as that.

I felt the rough surface sliding under my lips, leaving a bitter taste of rubber and dirt. I pressed my forehead against the grimy floor and waited for his footsteps to disappear into the distance without breaking my posture. Hiding under my face, I twitched my lips into a faint smile, as my mind exploring all the things that I want to talk with her - someone not superior to myself, or who would steal from me to make my life even more miserable than it already is.

I even felt like the chain which connected me to that poor, innocent girl was a work of some providence or fate.

(To be continued.)
 
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montycrusto

Slave Trader
By the way, is there a limitation about how many times you can edit your post? I edited it several times but now I can't seem to find the edit button. Does editing one's own post 'bump' it in the thread list?
I think there’s a time limit; you can edit for a certain time, then you can’t. Nice story by the way.. I enjoyed reading it very much.. and it reminded me of
8EB36457-CCE8-4250-9E0A-C535B9A82CB4.jpeg
and I see you joined today.. Welcome to Cruxforums, what a great way to start! :p
 

fallenmystic

Governor
I think there’s a time limit; you can edit for a certain time, then you can’t. Nice story by the way.. I enjoyed reading it very much.. and it reminded me of
View attachment 829140
and I see you joined today.. Welcome to Cruxforums, what a great way to start! :p
Ah, that's a relief. I was wondering if I would never be able to improve my story later, if I ever become better at writing (and in English).

I think I saw that image on bdsmlr, and I like it! It reminds me of Tibool's collection also which was the main inspiration for my story.

And thanks again for the warm welcome!
 

montycrusto

Slave Trader
Ah, that's a relief. I was wondering if I would never be able to improve my story later, if I ever become better at writing (and in English).

I think I saw that image on bdsmlr, and I like it! It reminds me of Tibool's collection also which was the main inspiration for my story.

And thanks again for the warm welcome!
This is my first ever attempt at writing a BDSM story.
Wow, that is amazing.. really good writing!! Your English (if I may say so) is fantastic and obviously well up to the job of conveying the sweaty, gritty sensations of such a scenario. Great stuff!!
Also, that’s good that you saw my drawing before on bdsmlr, (DeviantArt deleted it for obscenity).. I also love Tibool works , though I don’t think I’ve seen the one that you chose for your avatar..it’s very nice.
 

fallenmystic

Governor
Also, that’s good that you saw my drawing before on bdsmlr...
OMG. It's only now that I realized you were not merely recommending me that image but also the author of it. I thought I read your nickname somewhere but hadn't made the connection to your blog at bdsmlr which I already 'liked' until now.

Your blog is great and I can't wait to see your future works!
 
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old slave

FELIS RESPICIENS
Really interesting first story, on a theme not often used. As monty says, good English and grammar, and good paragraph spacing; the length of this episode is optimal too.
(To be continued.)
This little phrase is very valuable to our hard-working @Madiosi who collates selected stories into a clean version for archiving, it is so useful to know when a story has ended.

Your story is your idea, but readers' opinions at least show an interest, and can influence the storyline. I personally hope you use the ability to talk to create a dialogue which explains who these girls are and what sort of regime is out there above ground. A 'flashlight' used says modern, but where, why?
 

montycrusto

Slave Trader
OMG. It's only now that I realized you were not merely recommending me that image also the author of it. I thought I read your nickname somewhere but hadn't made the connection to your blog at bdsmlr which I already 'liked' until now.

Your blog is great and I can't wait to see your future works!
Well, thank you! :beer-toast1: and I am looking forward to future updates in your story:thumbsup:
 

windar

Teller of Tales
Very good start. If English isn't your first language, one wouldn't know it from the writing.

You can edit a post for 1 hour. If you want to change it after that, you can ask one of the moderators (the people whose names appear in red).
 

twonines

Tribune
(This is my first ever attempt at writing a BDSM story. And I don't really speak English, so it's also the first time that I write any piece of literature in that language. As such, you may find my sentences to be quite dull or awkward. So, I'd like to ask your indulgence for my limited writing skills.

And I know, that the title is rather crappy as it is :D. So, if anyone could suggest me a better one, I'd appreciate much. Oh, and please let me know if there's any typos/grammar mistakes/or overly awkward sentences too.)


Clang, clang, clang, a shrill sound of a bell rings through dark mining shafts, awakening a series of heavy sighs and painful groans in its wake. Finally, it's feeding time! I immediately threw my pickaxe upon a heap of coal that I've dug through the morning shift, raising a cloud of dust into already stifling air - a potent mixture of sweat from unbathed slave girls, urine, and feces. Coughing lightly, the overseer gave me a daggered look, but fortunately, his hand did not move to a glistening coiled leather hanging from his belt.

I put my hands upon my waist and arched my body as far back as I can, protruding my bare breasts almost defiantly into his gaze. "Urrgghh," an involuntary groan escaped my mouth, as my spine protested with a popping noise. It's been a long time since I stopped caring about being naked in front of those men, and they probably don't care either.

To them, we are just filthy animals and livestock in their charge. Although the fact hasn't prevented them from 'using' or abusing any slave girl whom they whimsically choose in whatever manner they please. But it's probably more because of boredom than of any sexual lust they sometimes do that, for I cannot imagine how anyone can feel anything but disgust upon the sight of these smelly, and ugly creatures which I became after toiling in this cave for the past five years.

Soon the cacophony of metal chains dragged over the hard stone floor reverberates through the corridor, as the girls were already rushing towards the hall as fast as their exhausted body and heavy iron allow them.

After watching that ugly bald head of slave 1835 disappearing into the corridor, I finally started to drag my feet to follow suit. That sneaky bitch always steals from my heap whenever I don't watch, so I better be vigilant about it. The overseers don't care about petty quarrels between the girls as long as they can meet their quota. The best they would do is to let them cat-fight each other once in a while. It usually involves a lot of beer and cheering and betting, and they even invite their colleagues who usually work outside the mine to participate in the event.

I put my hands behind my head as it was required whenever we are free to walk with empty hands (which means not carrying any load, or crawling on all-fours) and began rattling my chains as I quickened my pace to catch up other girls. Then I heard a terrible sound of loud cracking immediately followed by a piercing shriek. I was frozen instinctively and turned my head back. Oh, it was the new one which they dragged in this morning, what were its numbers?

"What are you waiting for, you worthless cunt. Move!"

As if to emphasize his last word, he kicked the fallen girl's butts with his rubber boots, drawing another high pitched squeal from her who was bracing her breasts protectively with her arms, apparently where the first blow landed on her still mostly unscathed skin.

"You there, what... 27... 6... 3?", he switched on his flashlight and directed it on my chest, squinting his eyes as he tries to read my numbers which were barely legible under thinkcly covered grime and dust.
"Cunt two-seven-six-three, Master!"

As soon as I heard my numbers uttered by the overseer, I immediately dropped to my knees and yelled my numbers then I threw my legs wide open and put my hands behind my head, as I've done it countless times before. Ignoring the pain from hitting the jagged floor with my knees, I pushed my breasts forward and dropped my eyes on the floor. Under the flashlight, the branded numbers glistened with sweat as they rose and fell nervously, revealing my apprehension of what may come next.

"Collar," he barked a command as he grabbed the loose end of chains which was lying nearby. I quickly raised my chin to allow him access to my rusty steel collar and cast my eyes sideways. It's one of the very first things you learn after you renounce every human right you had, that meeting a free person's eyes without being commanded so constitutes a grave offense.

After short dexterous movements of his fingers, he secured the chains to the ring on my collar with a padlock, and he walked towards the still prostrating girl and repeated the process. I strained to keep my head up, feeling the weight of the heavy chains, which was about 5 feet long.

"From now on, that worthless bitch is your responsibility. If it misbehaves or fails to be productive, both of you will get punished. Is it clear?"

My jaw dropped at his words, and I began to stutter, "Sir, but... but that thing is sti... AHHH!" My protest was cut short by a vicious smack, which he delivered with a full swing with his hand on my left breast. I managed not to break my posture; my thighs still kept wide apart, hands firmly lodged behind my head. The only moving part of my body was my breasts, which were still bobbling from the impact.

I noticed the shocked face of the girl, now embracing her chest even more tightly as if it was her who received the blow. Her terrified eyes rested a moment on my breasts before they moved down between my legs, trembling with disbelief, shock, and maybe pity. I bit down my lips and turned my eyes from her. I suddenly felt a surge of unfamiliar emotion. It was something that I thought to have long forgotten. Is it... shame?

"Is it clear?" an icy cold voice drew my attention back to reality immediately.
"Yes, Master," I answered obediently.
"Good. I'll give you a month to make it useful. And you are allowed to use your voice for that purpose, if necessary."
"Thank you, thank you, Master!"

I immediately fell on the ground and pressed my lips on his boot. Like everything else we perform in this place, it was something expected of a slave girl according to the training protocol. Whenever the Master grants something good to a slave girl, she is expected to show her gratitude by prostrating herself and kissing his boot - hands on either side of her face, palms up, and her butts high up while her legs spread wide. But my gratitude was genuine this time because I don't even remember when was the last time I had a normal conversation with anyone.

When you are a slave girl, you are only allowed to say "Yes, Master," or answer his questions as concisely as possible. Any other conversation is prohibited unless explicitly permitted for a specific task you were given. We are just animals, and speech is for human beings. It's as simple as that.

I felt the rough surface sliding under my lips, leaving a bitter taste of rubber and dirt. I pressed my forehead against the grimy floor and waited for his footsteps to disappear into the distance without breaking my posture. Hiding under my face, I twitched my lips into a faint smile, as my mind exploring all the things that I want to talk with her - someone not superior to myself, or who would steal from me to make my life even more miserable than it already is.

I even felt like the chain which connected me to that poor, innocent girl was a work of some providence or fate.

(To be continued.)
You have no need to worry about your English it is very good and allied to your imagination it makes for exciting reading,well done.
 

fallenmystic

Governor
I personally hope you use the ability to talk to create a dialogue which explains who these girls are and what sort of regime is out there above ground. A 'flashlight' used says modern, but where, why?
That's something I still need to figure out myself, but I'll definitely try to do that. Thanks for the suggestion :)

You can edit a post for 1 hour. If you want to change it after that, you can ask one of the moderators (the people whose names appear in red).
Ah... then I should be more careful before posting next episodes. Thanks!

You have no need to worry about your English it is very good and allied to your imagination it makes for exciting reading,well done.
Thanks for the encouragement :)
 

fallenmystic

Governor
"Are you... ok?"

I raised my head to the trembling voice of the girl who seemed to have gathered sufficient courage to approach me. Even now, when the overseer was long gone, she was still bracing herself protectively, each hand covering her more private body parts. I caught the sight of reddish stripes beginning to emerge upon her flawless pale skin through her fingers.

I gathered up myself from the ground and stood, giving her a closer look for the first time. Even with her hair completely shaved, her delicate features and clear pale skin emphasized her feminine charm - something we, lowly mine slaves, either never had from the start, or invariably lose as soon as we start wielding our pickaxes.

One of the overseers brought her unconscious body upon his shoulder this morning, shortly after the second rape break. I only caught a glimpse of him, dumping her body like a trash bag at dark a corner of our chamber. Even if I were more curious, I wouldn't have dared to slow down my swing, as it would be a perfect way to earn more whip marks on my already ravaged body.

I hadn't thought much of it because it's something happening all the time. Lives of slave girls are cheap and often short-lived, especially when they are 'D-graders' like us. That poor girl 3128 collapsed while dragging the coal cart several days ago. After several minutes of constant yelling, whipping, and kicking from an angry overseer, she was declared 'for disposal' and dragged off to the trash yard. So I was expecting a replacement would arrive sooner or later. But I certainly did not expect this thing; How come such a young, beautiful girl sent straight to this hell without even getting any proper training? I looked at the freshly branded letters upon her milky breast, reading "D4931". I bet she looks even more attractive than most B-grade ones that I had seen before.

She suddenly let out a cry and frowned. It looks like her fingers unconsciously touched her still unhealed brand wound while trying to cover her breasts. I let out a sigh and addressed her in a stern voice.

"Look, we need to move now unless you want both of us to starve until evening; the lunch break is almost over already."

The girl opened her mouth and was about to say something. Raising my hand to stop her, I continued my first lecture of "How to become a useful slave in 30 days":

"Stop. Just don't say anything until you learn when and how to speak. And just one thing before we start. Put those hands off your tits, NOW!"
"But, but..." she dropped her head and pursed her legs tightly together, turning her chest sideways to hide her vulnerable body.

I stepped closer to the girl and grabbed the chains close to her collar with my left hand. Without hesitation, I slapped hard on her right cheek with my free hand. She widened her eyes with terror and staggered a step back. I forcefully pulled her leash to bring her face close to mine, and

"Listen up, you princess! I don't care what you were before you got the brand. But if you want to survive here, you must do what I say, exactly! Understand?"

Overwhelmed by my words, or perhaps equally as much by the stench from my unbathed body, she turned pale and replied in a trembling voice.

"O...Ok."
"Good. Don't raise your eyes from the ground, never say anything, and just follow what I do exactly. You got it?"

She looked at my face for a while then nodded, raising her cuffed hands to wipe out her tears.

"One last thing before we go. Keep your hands behind your head while you walk, and don't ever, never, cover your body!", I looked straight into her eyes and emphasized every word.

She hesitated a while but slowly raised her arms, shyly revealing her cleanly shaven pits and mound to the full view. Flushing her cheeks to her ears, she dropped her eyes on the ground and awaited my next instruction.

"Good girl," with an assuring pat on her arm, I put her chains back on the ground then carefully stepped it over so that it passed under my ankle chains from my collar. Putting my hands behind my head, I finally gave her the words, "Ok, let's go."

(To be continued...)
 
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fallenmystic

Governor
The corridor leading to the hall was narrow and dark. Bare lightbulbs dangling from the power line in sparse intervals dimly illuminated the dusty ground with cart rails. Even with the grinding works the slaves are doing to in this mine, it cannot be more profitable than real ones where they use machines and professional workers. Everything, including the electricity, comes from the manual labor of the slave girls here. It was actually the point of keeping such an unprofitable mine running with so many overseers and their livestock.

Between the lights, it was so dark that we almost couldn't see our own feet. It isn't an easy task to keep your balance when your ankles are chained together, and your hands lodged behind your head. The ground was uneven, occasionally sprinkled with jagged stones and water puddles.

"Aww... I think I stepped on... something!" a shaky voice from 4931 came from behind.

"Shut up!" I hissed without looking back in a low voice, "Remember, no talking, alright? Just be careful not to slip over".

I didn't have to confirm her apprehension by telling what it was because it must be clear to her by its pungent smell. Although it wasn't so awful as inside the chamber we left, the air was still reeking with the unmistakable stench of urine and feces. There were no toilets in this mine. And unlike those C grade girls and above, we are forbidden to use any civilized facilities, which include toilets. We still needed permission to relieve ourselves, but food poisoning was quite common among the girls, and the overseers love to torment us by denying our requests until we cannot hold any longer.

We followed the winding shaft without a word for a while, with only constant rattling chains from our ankles trailing us. Suddenly I noticed a flashlight approaching ahead of us, an overseer!

I stepped away from the rails and turned my back to the wall, then quickly dropped on my knees and assumed my position. I dragged 4931's chains down to signal her to do the same. She awkwardly knelt beside me, covering her breasts with her elbows. Oh God, this one will surely get both of us killed before tomorrow!

"Are you mad? Push those tits forwards and spread your legs! Quick!" I whispered with anger to which she reluctantly complied.

Soon, a shadow revealed itself behind the light, and it seemed for a moment that he would pass us by without even slowing his steps. But as he was about to walk past 4931, he stopped. I could feel my heart dropping a beat.

He approached closer and directed his flashlight to 4931's face, then her chest, then her shyly protruding lips, and back to her face. I could see her bit down her lips hard to suppress the trembling.

"What is this thing?" the overseer uttered to himself and, without warning, pushed his boot between her legs and began tapping her exposed sex from below. 4931's body jolted upwards at the unexpected intrusion upon her most sensitive part, but she managed to keep her legs apart.

He grabbed the coiled whip from the side of his belt and began to trace 4931's body with its surface. After pushing up and dropping her breasts several times to judge their size and bounce, the coil proceeded to her shaven armpit. It followed the curves of her left shoulder and neck to reach under her chin, jerking it upward with a sudden force. The amount of effort 4931 was putting in keeping her posture was almost palpable by now.

"Who the hell bathed this thing? And why was it shaved like that?" with his last word, his boot lodged another light kick upon her bare womanhood. "Umph," a barely audible moan escaped from 4931's mouth, but thankfully she managed to stay in position.

Unlike those B grade slave girls and above, we were not expected to use our feminine attraction to serve our purpose. It wasn't explicitly forbidden for a C or D grade slave girl to trim her bushes or shave her armpits. But being mostly employed for manual labor and strictly prohibited touch any sharp device except for when it was absolutely necessary. So they lacked both time and method, and probably also a motivation to enhance their appearances in that aspect. Moreover, we - those D-graders - are not even considered a human being anymore, and forbidden to do anything without permission. And their owners typically don't really care about the hygiene of their livestock except when they decide to use one of those animals for different use. But even then, it is rarely given a full bath because quick hosing down or rubbing of just the relevant body part would suffice to prevent the germs.

"May this slave speak, Master?" I quickly pleaded to get his attention away from 4931.
"Speak," he commanded as he turned his light upon my face.
"Thank you, Master. That slave just arrived here this morning without proper processing, so Master Smith ordered this slave to train it, Master."
"A feral one, you say?" a hint of interest was revealed in his tone.

He replaced his whip on his belt again and grabbed 4931's left breast with his calloused hand to read the numbers. "I can see it's not been put to much use in this mine, but look at these skins!" as if appraising a piece of antique, he traced his fingers upon the curves of her milky breasts.

"Is this one a mixed breed? But I haven't seen many mixed ones among the D-graders before," he uttered to himself as he put his finger inside 4931's mouth to examine its teeth.

"This slave was never told, Master."

Actually, it was something I had been wondering myself ever since I met her. Naturally, almost all slaves in this country are females and of Asian descent. After the Racial Purity Act, which deprived all citizens of the Asian ethnicity of their rights, they conscripted all Asian men. And they sent them to the frontlines as cannon fodders, while sending all Asian women to slave training facilities where they would be examined, trained, evaluated, and eventually, sold to white citizens to fund their efforts on the war with the United Asian Nations.

"Look at this nose and these lips. This one looks almost a proper girl, unlike that monkey over there with such a protruding snout!" he spat in my general direction and continued his inspection. "To bad that they already shaved its head like other animals. Otherwise, I would have tried this one, instead of that overpriced B grade cunt I purchased last month," with these words he gave 4931 a light slap on her breast then walked away into the darkness.

We both remained there for a good minute without a word. I felt warm liquid flowing down between my breasts, or 'udders' as they always call them. Suppressed sobbing was heard from 4931, but I didn't reproach her for making a noise.

"Let's go," I said bluntly and started walking. The sound of dragging the chains soon followed, somewhat more demurely than before. We continued our way with our heads hanging low until we stepped into an enlarged space where many girls were still crouching down on the ground, busily sucking off what remained on their hands.

It was the Feeding Hall.

(To be continued...)
 
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fallenmystic

Governor
This is great! I love a brutal slavery scenario and your writing is really vivid!
Great writing! Well done.
Thanks for the encouragement!

I didn't intend to post my stories in such a short interval, but the request for a backstory inspired me to add some raceplay elements to my story so I couldn't wait :)

P. S. Urg... I will definitely rewrite this story after I finish it. Why I always find so many obvious grammar mistakes after that 1 hour limit?
 
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fallenmystic

Governor
I almost finished writing two more episodes today but it made me suspect if I'm carried away too much by my own story. By 'being carried away', I don't mean affection or enthusiasm that an author is supposed to feel about one's own story. Rather, I mean specifically the pacing of the story, and increasing level of explicitness of its contents.

I planned to make this story to span over at least several months, depicting the relationship between the protagonist and her charge. But after just three episodes later, the newly arrived slave is already suffering many humiliating events but she hasn't yet even taken her first meal in her new surroundings. And my two additional episodes deal with even more extreme forms of degradation and humiliation for both of the characters, but they end when the new girl got her first meal.

At this rate, I'm afraid I would inevitably use up all my extreme ideas well before they pass a single day or two in the mine. I suspect that my inexperience as a writer is beginning to affect my story, so I'd like to ask your opinions on the problem.

So, my question is, how do you find the pacing of my story, as a reader? Does it feel too fast or too slow? And if you are a writer (or a reader with more critical mind), how do you control the pace of your story? And, of course, if you find any other aspect of the story should be improved, please feel free to share your opinions.

I'll probably hold those episodes at least a day or so before posting them, so I could read them again and see if I'm moving too fast with the story.
 

old slave

FELIS RESPICIENS
So, my question is, how do you find the pacing of my story, as a reader?
So far, this is a good pace, we are starting to understand the characters and the situation (thank you). In my stories I have usually gone at natural speed (in your case, it takes as long to read about it as a walk through the tunnel would take) then jump to another time (they work all afternoon in silence, then talk when chained at night, for instance).

It partly depends whether you have an ending mapped out. This is often the hardest idea. With no ending, it is not a story, just a list of degradations and humiliations. Once you have an end, work out how long it will take the characters to get there, and pace episodes along that path.

Here on CF, some enjoy death, some prefer a "Happy ending" so you have flexibility how it finishes; in your case, these D-slaves look to have a bleak future, but your imagination may say differently. Anything is possible, a roof collapse kills them, a flogging/crucifixion kills them, a riot/invasion/coup frees them, promotion to B-slave gives 4931 a better life???????
 

Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
So far, this is a good pace, we are starting to understand the characters and the situation (thank you). In my stories I have usually gone at natural speed (in your case, it takes as long to read about it as a walk through the tunnel would take) then jump to another time (they work all afternoon in silence, then talk when chained at night, for instance).

It partly depends whether you have an ending mapped out. This is often the hardest idea. With no ending, it is not a story, just a list of degradations and humiliations. Once you have an end, work out how long it will take the characters to get there, and pace episodes along that path.

Here on CF, some enjoy death, some prefer a "Happy ending" so you have flexibility how it finishes; in your case, these D-slaves look to have a bleak future, but your imagination may say differently. Anything is possible, a roof collapse kills them, a flogging/crucifixion kills them, a riot/invasion/coup frees them, promotion to B-slave gives 4931 a better life???????
I agree with OS’s comments and advice. ;)
 
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