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Chained by Fate - Part 9

Flushed radiance shimmering from afar, and a flash, darkness, then light again. Murmuring shadows and coldness on my back, my mind drifted towards the distant light. And the light! Is it the morning already? And its warmth, burning, burning inside me. And what about the pain?... the PAIN!

"AAAAIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"

My bestial scream reverberated through the hollowed cavern, shaking the still drowsing girls out of their slumber. Arching my back, I writhed in agony as my feminine muscles twitching under searing pain.

"See? You don't have to wake them up one by one." The overseer smiled proudly to his colleague, as he crushed the tip of his cigarette deep into the petals of my fragrant flower. It was Master Zinovieff again! The small burn mark near my right nipple was his handy work. And probably I'll get another one inside me once the blister heals.

I dropped my back on the cold floor again and panted. Before I could catch my breath, Master Zinovieff pulled his smartphone close to my face and ordered, "Look here, cunt!" Soon a flash fired into my face and my eyes were blinded by the light. His junior colleague removed the padlock that was holding my ankle shackles with my leash as he fired another flash on my breasts. As I gained the freedom of my feet again, I immediately fell on the ground on all fours, presenting my backside to the gaze of his smartphone's glassy eye.

"Spread your cheeks." Master Zinovieff ordered.
I obediently parted my buttocks with my hands and a flash fired. When they were finished with me, I crawled to each of them and pressed my lips on their boots.
"Thank you, Master." I kept my head lowered, waiting for them to walk away.
"Ashtray!"

Unexpected as the command was, I immediately sprang to my feet to assume the standard kneeling position. After spreading my thighs wide and locking my fingers firmly behind my head, as usual, I tilted my head back slightly and opened my mouth wide. The same position was called 'Toilet' sometimes, for an obvious reason.
Master Zinovieff cleared his throat and spit into my mouth, then casually threw his still warm cigarette into the mix before he moved to Barbara.
Without hesitation, I swallowed the vile contents and dropped my head again as I felt the rough texture grazing down my throat, "Thank you, Master."

This was the routine we all went through every morning. Only the method of waking us changed every day. Sometimes, it was a slap or two in the face, and sometimes it was twisting our nipples or a kick between our legs. Locking my fingers firmly behind my head, I stole a glance at Barbara, hoping she wouldn't get such a violent wake-up call. Fortunately, she was already awake, probably thanks to my horrible screaming. As Master Zinovieff moved between her legs to scan the barcode, she turned her face toward my direction and sent me a secret smile.
"Good morning, Barb," I greeted her back by moving my lips without a sound, as they repeated the same routine to prepare her for the morning work.

After taking a photo of her tattooed mound, Master Zinovieff held his smartphone directly above Barbara to take a shot of her entire body. Then he proceeded to take each photo of her genital, face, breasts, back, and buttocks subsequently before moving to another girl to repeat the process. It was certainly not for his personal use. Probably not many overseers would feel any lust by seeing images of unwashed bodies of the lowest slave girls, which they have to see every day.

Instead, it was a mandatory procedure for all slave owners to take those photos of their properties and upload them to the National Slave Registry(NSR) each day. Fortunately for them, there was an official app that can significantly simplify the process. Once you take a photo of the barcode tattooed on a slave girl's mound, it automatically marks the subsequent photographs as belonging to the same slave marked by the number. Then her owner can upload them to the registry with a single touch on his phone.

The purpose of this process was varied. First of all, when a slave runs away, they can identify her by comparing her face with the wanted girl's recent photo records. Some runaway slaves steal clothes to cover their brandings and put on heavy makeup to hide their Asian features, pretending they were free women. Still, with these photographs, a facial recognition app can do wonders to quickly see through their disguise.

Also, they can provide valuable information to the buyer when she was sold either in a public auction or private exchange. With such a detailed visual history of a slave, one can pre-examine the merchandise before they visit the auction house. And it also prevents those dishonest sellers from tampering with their goods. One could take a photo of a slave, for example, after making her hold ice cubes in her vagina for half an hour. It was a secret trick of many slave merchants before, to make their slave's stretched lips contract to more desired proportions. And it was a common practice to apply makeups to a slave's areolas and folds to give them lighter shade, which can make her look younger or of a more valuable breed. But after the introduction of the NSR, all these despicable practices have disappeared mostly.

Anyone could visit the NSR's website and browse the registry if they want. Some breeders check earlier photos of their potential procurements when they buy old former A or B grade girls for the purpose. For them, it is their genes that really matter, and sometimes only a few years of toil in chains can destroy a girl's appearances beyond recognition.

"Thank you, Master." Barbara greeted them almost cheerfully, as she kissed her owner's feet obediently, faithfully replicating my performance of the ritual. She was undoubtedly a very smart girl, although sometimes somewhat unpredictable.

As they finished preparing every girl for the morning work, the junior overseer walked to the heavy wooden box and unlocked the padlock, taking out pickaxes and throwing them near the deposits. As he was busy shuttling between the box and the end of the shaft with the tools, Master Zinovieff looked around the rows of knelt down girls and spoke, "Which bitches want to go to the litter box?" At his words, several girls dropped their hands on the ground and crawled to Master Zinovieff's feet, pressing their foreheads on the ground.

"Cunt five-two-one-seven begs to poop, Master."
"Cunt three-o-double-six begs to pee, Master."
"Cunt two-five-seven-four begs to poop, Master."
"Cunt double-four-one-eight begs to poop, Master."

The girls pleaded in unison with their butts raised high, eagerly waiting to be led to their 'litter box'. Master Zinovieff's started to pace up and down behind the prostrated girls at a leisurely pace, randomly stroking their butts or prodding their lewdly protruding folds with the tip of his boot. It was mostly those girls who needed to empty their bowels that subject themselves to such degradation in the morning since most used the night time to empty their bladders.

Master Zinovieff's grabbed the leash of 5217, who was at the end of the line. "Let's go." With a slap across her raised buttocks, he began to lead her towards the spot near the sidewall. Each girl followed her in line, crawling close behind the girl in front, wading their way through dried, and still wet waste near the wall on their bare hands and knees.

"Position!" With Master Zinovieff's command, the girls raised their hands from the filth to sit down in line, turning their backs facing the wall. Most of the girls quickly rubbed their hands on their butts before they parked them behind their heads. Unlike the standard kneeling position, they were squatting, spreading their legs wide in shape of the letter 'M'. Some of the girls uncomfortably twisted their hips, impatiently waiting for their owner's permission.

"Go!" Finally, the permission was given, and the girls all began to flex their muscles. Their exposed folds twitched and tensed like a clam for a moment before their urethral orifice pushed forwards to release the long-suppressed streams. Some of the girls began to drip from their hips and thighs as their stream blocked and diverted by their curtains. The expanding puddles merged under their hips, wetting their feet before they started flowing towards the hallway.

As the girls flushed their face in exertion and shame, thin damp strings of disgusting mess began to drizzle out from their mostly ravaged holes. Only a few girls haven't tasted the rough surface of the thick pickaxe handle inside their all available openings yet.

Soon, nasty smell cut through the stifling air which was already thick with our body odor and female pheromone of sour cheese and fish. The paltry amount of the rotten gruel we were fed every day gave our waste such uniform dampness and smell.

"I... I'm going to puke." Barbara whispered from my side, barely suppressing her retch.
"See why you should relieve yourself at night?" I whispered back, almost triumphantly. "Just swallow it, Barb, if you don't want to taste what those girls just produced."
Barbara shuddered and turned pale as she quickly turned her face to resume her position.

"Cut it out! We don't have all day long!" With impatient shouts and occasional whippings from Master Zinovieff, the girls were sent crawling back to their seats promptly. They trudged across the swamp again on their bare hands and feet, some still dangling their unfinished business between their buttocks. The junior overseer opened the water tap and hosed down the floor and the walls. However, no water was wasted on the soiled body of the girls because this silly ritual was all part of the psychological mechanism that was designed to break our spirit in the most efficient ways.

Having our most basic bodily functions so controlled by our owners, we learn that nothing we do with our bodies can be performed against their will. And every shred of our sense of human dignity so stripped from us, we learn that we are nothing but animals compared with our superior owners. That was also the reason why they never bathe us, or why they shave our heads while leaving other body hairs intact.

Being forced to pee like a dog with our hairy bodies smeared with our own excretions, it becomes easier for us to see who we really are. A stupid, filthy animal that is closer to a monkey than proper human beings like our owners. And with our heads so shaved to reveal our ugliness, we no longer fancy that we still possess our feminine attraction to sway our owners - a potentially dangerous weapon of a naked female slave.

The water now drenched most of the floor, washing down urine stains and dried feces from the surface.
"You can drink!" With Master Zinovieff's command, the girls prostrated into the pool one by one and started to quench their thirst with the putrid water.

"Siss... I...", Barbara's trembling eyes pleaded with horror, her face all pale with shock and degradation.
"Just do it! You won't survive without water, and this is the cleanest water they'll ever give you to drink here." I commanded her with a stern voice.
She reluctantly lowered her face to put her tightly sealed lips below the surface. She retched uncontrollably as she uneasily parted her lips to allow the salty liquid inside her mouth.

"Come on, Barb. You can do it!"
As if to encourage her, I crawled closer to her side and let my thigh touch her skin as I began to drink the smelly mixture. I could feel her trembling subsided under my touch.

Subsequently, all of us were greedily drinking from the common water source of our own taste and smell. Twenty heads lowered to the ground, busily sucking, slurping, lapping from the floor. Twenty flowers proudly held high, swaying with our efforts, saturating the air with our own fragrance.

Peaceful under the ever vigilant gaze of our shepherd,

Twenty sows were drinking from the water.

(To be continued...)

P. S.: I decided to drop that gross scene I mentioned earlier altogether. The episode was already quite long, and our Barbara was behaving exceptionally well this morning. So I couldn't find a good excuse to punish her in such a gross way - well, at least for now.
 
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It looks like my story won't get much attraction outside the few you've been so kindly following and liking it so far.

It's fine with me really, although I'd be lying if I say I wouldn't have loved it if my story was more popular. Still, I'm already enjoying much - probably too much - writing this story. I tried to write a few short stories in my native language before but it was mostly a painful process to me. So I was quite surprised when I found myself almost obsessively keep writing more episodes as soon as I started writing a BDSM story in English.

Of course, it doesn't mean the story is very good but I'm enjoying it greatly which has been helping me to go on.

Anyway, I'd still like to ask a question here. If my story is not that popular among people, is it more because of my writing skills or of its themes (i.e. racism, urination/defacation, etc)?

I can't help with the theme because these elements are probably what have contributed to the appeal that I'm feeling from my own story. But as to my writing skills, I can try to improve if there are specific problems you could point out. For example, I think that my story doesn't read as fluidly as those from more accomplished writers here for some reason. And I feel that my story feels a bit cringe at times but I can't put my finger on the cause exactly.

As such, I'd like to hear more criticism in both of the aspects. Even if I can't do much about the theme, it'd still give me a valuable insight on what elements the readers in CF like and what they don't. It's difficult to see such things when you have peculiar quirks in your own preferences in such stories.
 
It looks like my story won't get much attraction outside the few you've been so kindly following and liking it so far.

It can take awhile. Not everyone who reads comments either: Sometimes shorter posts helps as not everyone has the time to read longer segments.
 
It can take awhile. Not everyone who reads comments either: Sometimes shorter posts helps as not everyone has the time to read longer segments.
I hope this to be the case since I'd love to see more reactions in future, even if most of them could be in criticism. On the other hand, I have such a bad habit of producing such walls of texts when I write in my native language. The difficulty I feel when I try to post in English probably have concealed such a defect so far, but I suppose it shows nevertheless from time to time ;)
 
It looks like my story won't get much attraction outside the few you've been so kindly following and liking it so far.

It's fine with me really, although I'd be lying if I say I wouldn't have loved it if my story was more popular. Still, I'm already enjoying much - probably too much - writing this story. I tried to write a few short stories in my native language before but it was mostly a painful process to me. So I was quite surprised when I found myself almost obsessively keep writing more episodes as soon as I started writing a BDSM story in English.

Of course, it doesn't mean the story is very good but I'm enjoying it greatly which has been helping me to go on.

Anyway, I'd still like to ask a question here. If my story is not that popular among people, is it more because of my writing skills or of its themes (i.e. racism, urination/defacation, etc)?

I can't help with the theme because these elements are probably what have contributed to the appeal that I'm feeling from my own story. But as to my writing skills, I can try to improve if there are specific problems you could point out. For example, I think that my story doesn't read as fluidly as those from more accomplished writers here for some reason. And I feel that my story feels a bit cringe at times but I can't put my finger on the cause exactly.

As such, I'd like to hear more criticism in both of the aspects. Even if I can't do much about the theme, it'd still give me a valuable insight on what elements the readers in CF like and what they don't. It's difficult to see such things when you have peculiar quirks in your own preferences in such stories.
For me personally, the story goes a little too far into elements that turn off my enjoyment.. racist language, excessive squalor and (for want of a better word) shit. I think your writing style is mostly fine, but those things are off-putting for me, which is a shame, as I was enjoying the story very much at first.

However I hope you will stay true to your artistic vision and your own proclivities, and not be too much swayed by other people’s likes and dislikes. You can certainly never please everyone, and the only person you really have to satisfy is yourself :thumbsup:
 
For me personally, the story goes a little too far into elements that turn off my enjoyment.. racist language, excessive squalor and (for want of a better word) shit. I think your writing style is mostly fine, but those things are off-putting for me, which is a shame, as I was enjoying the story very much at first.

However I hope you will stay true to your artistic vision and your own proclivities, and not be too much swayed by other people’s likes and dislikes. You can certainly never please everyone, and the only person you really have to satisfy is yourself :thumbsup:
That was exactly the type of a feedback I wished to get when I wrote that comment. Even if it turns out that my story isn't compatible with the preferences of some of our members, it helps me much to know what sorts of things that I like personally may turn off others, how much, or how many.

On a side note, I didn't know what 'squalor' means so I had to consult a dictionary. And from the description, I think it neatly surmises those elements that I personally I love to find in my poor slave girls of my story.

On the other hand, that 'shit factor', I think it's just an incidental thing as I'm more into the sense of degradation coming from being forced to display one's basic bodily function than into actual dipping one's body into the mess. I think I have one or two ideas that I have in store for this story that involve this particular theme. But if it turns out it disgusts too many readers, I can at least tone down the description a bit, if I decide to keep them in my story.

Thanks much for the feedback! :)
 
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That was exactly the type of a feedback I wished to get when I wrote that comment. Even if it turns out that my story isn't compatible with the preferences of some of our members, it helps me much to know what sorts of things that I like personally may turn off others, how much, or how many.

On a side note, I didn't know what 'squalor' means so I had to consult a dictionary. And from the description, I think it neatly surmises those elements that I personally I love to find in my poor slave girls of my story.

On the other hand, that 'shit factor', I think it's just an incidental thing as I'm more into the sense of degradation coming from being forced to display one's basic bodily function than into actual dipping one's body into the mess. I think I have one or two ideas that I have in store for this story that involve this particular theme. But if it turns out it disgusts too many readers, I can at least tone down the description a bit, if I decide to keep them in my story.

Thanks much for the feedback! :)
You’re welcome, and please don’t tone it down because of me, I’m sure there are others who like that kind of thing, who would be disappointed if you were to change course. That’s why I say, write the stories that You would want to read, and people can take it or leave it, the important thing is to follow your own inspiration. :rolleyes: :thumbsup:
 
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 even felt like the chain which connected me to that poor, innocent girl was a work of some providence or fate.

(To be continued.)
A very strong start, full of atmosphere and feeling and even a bit of anticipation. Makes it very clear this story takes place in those dark realms no-one, slave or free, on the surface likes to even think about. (Well, except twisted sorts like us I guess.)

"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.

....

"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...)

Some initial contrast between our two leads - the cynical veteran and the innocent new meat. In most stories the latter would inspire the former to regain her lost spirit, but here on CF such happy roads are not so common.

I'm not quite sure why covering the body is such a no-no, but I guess it's because it shows some sense of shame or dignity - a human awareness.

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.
I do wonder as to the point - surely there are more efficient ways to deal with low-grade girls. A bullet to the head, if nothing else.

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.

No toilets even for the guards? I'm not sure if I want to know what they do instead...

Our first hint of the critical grade system - and that our heroines are right at the (literally) shit-stained bottom of it .

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.

...

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.

And the exposition continues, expanding on the grade system (although the high end remains elusive) as well as establishing the racial and gendered nature of this slavery.

As for the rate of the story - well, it depends on a few things. Number of planned chapters, incidents, in-universe time...
 
I'm not quite sure why covering the body is such a no-no, but I guess it's because it shows some sense of shame or dignity - a human awareness.
You are right in assuming that those feelings are reserved for respectable female members of civilized society. As such, slaves - especially those D-grade ones which are considered animals by law - are not entitled to have them. But the behaviour is strictly enforced to even higher grade slaves, the reason of which I tried to explain in the following sentence:
It is because these are considered not only the most valuable parts of a slave girl's body but also very the essence of her existence - a slave can serve her purpose without a brain, but without her sex, she is absolutely nothing. There is a reason why she is called a 'cunt' because that is what she truly is.
As such, the most important function of a higher grade slave pleasing her owner using her body. And because all slaves are females, such body parts that define their feminity is the essence of their existence, even for the lowest grade ones.

And being slaves, the whole purpose of their existence is to be useful to their owners. Because of that, they are required to present their most useful and essential features at all times for their owners, showing their availability as a tool and acknowledging their inferiority and status.

I do wonder as to the point - surely there are more efficient ways to deal with low-grade girls. A bullet to the head, if nothing else.
I have to admit this was an oversight from my part. I'm glad that we are starting to see such kind of criticisms in this thread now.

Initially, I imagined such a place could also serve as a correctional facility for more stuborn girls or those who committed some serious offence to their owners. So it was also about correcting their mistaken notion of still being a human somehow that they run such a facility despite the expense.

Originally, I imagined the protagonist to be at least as good looking to be eligible for getting a C grade. But because she was involved in some feminist club before she was expelled from her college due to the Racial Purity Act, they gave her D grade to make her repent her past.

But I dropped the setting while trying to contrast the physical attraction between the two main characters. Maybe this was a mistake and I better find out how to fix this plot hole with more plausible explanations.

No toilets even for the guards? I'm not sure if I want to know what they do instead...
You will see soon enough :p

Thanks much for providing such detailed and valuable feedback! It really helps me improving my story.

P.S.: I find it interesting that my last episode seems to be the least 'liked' one so far, when it happens to be the personal favorite of mine. Probably, it could be because it's the newest one, but I suspect it's also because of the subject matter.

Having fetishes about abusing women is itself a rather uncommon thing. As such, I feel it difficult sometimes to see what specific aspects of my dark fantasies are more common among us and what are not so much.

It's always been one of my greatest 'turn-ons', the idea of a shy, innocent girl being forced to display her most basic bodily functions for all to see, as if she was merely a dog. And I think such a desire of keeping our body clean and properly covered is one of the more important distinction we have - especially for females - to other animals.

So I always loved the idea of a modest, innocent girl to be denied of such a privilege and kept as a filthy animal. But somehow, I don't like such materials dealing with 'watersports' or 'scat' play without emphasizing the degradation it causes. As such, I tried to describe the scene in details - like how their muscles twitches - but in such a way that it serves the theme of innocent girls being treated like animals.

But now I wonder, if my fascination of such a particular form of female degradation could be less common than I thought. So, I'd like to ask how many of you share such a fantasy, and if you do, how much? And if you also like such a fantasy, is there any specific aspect of it that can push it into uncomfortable territory?

Regardless of how many answers I'd get for my questions, I feel it to be exceptionally liberating to be able to discuss such darkest elements of my fantasies so freely with other people. I'm so glad to be here and I'm willing to stay as long as I still manage to feel such desires.
 
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You are right in assuming that those feelings are reserved for respectable female members of civilized society. As such, slaves - especially those D-grade ones which are considered animals by law - are not entitled to have them. But the behaviour is strictly enforced to even higher grade slaves, the reason of which I tried to explain in the following sentence:

As such, the most important function of a higher grade slave pleasing her owner using her body. And because all slaves are females, such body parts that define their feminity is the essence of their existence, even for the lowest grade ones.

And being slaves, the whole purpose of their existence is to be useful to their owners. Because of that, they are required to present their most useful and essential features at all times for their owners, showing their availability as a tool and acknowledging their inferiority and status.
It does seem a little odd in a place where the slaves are mainly for labour and not really very good sex objects. But I suppose it at least makes for a good basic obedience test.

An skipping ahead - I liked the degradation and bodily function aspect, but almost choked when they were made to drink. So different standards for everyone, I guess.
 
The Feeding Hall was a cavernous space carved out roughly into an oval area, which was about 30 feet wide and slightly longer in length. It didn't look so spacious though, not only because of a couple of sturdy wooden pillars standing along the centerline of the hall but also because of various pieces of furniture adorning the space. There are several small tables and chairs mostly made of wooden crates. Still, of course, we were forbidden to even touch them except when they use us on top of them occasionally.
Quite the further glimpse of life in the mine, driving home the utter degradation of D-grade girls. But the worst is yet to come...

Our numbers are mostly for the convenience of our owners, so they consist of just four digits. However, if you want to identify a random slave you don't know, you need to scan the barcode, typically tattooed above her mound. It denotes her registration number, and if you run it through the national slave registry, you can get her full history. In a slave processing facility, all new entries are examined thoroughly and graded according to the result. After that, they are put to intense training, which lasts from 3 to 12 months, depending on their intended use. Regardless of the duration, they are branded when they finish the course successfully, with a distinctive mark of the training facility. which is often called a 'training brand.'

An eminently sensible system, I'd say, combining ancient and modern forms of record-keeping. Might consider using a form of it myself.

I know it was something inevitable, but somehow, I didn't feel it fair for her to suffer in the same way as the rest of poor girls in this mine did. Maybe it was partly because now I know for a fact that she had more human genes than me. But it wasn't just that. I just didn't want to see her perfect body to be damaged and disfigured like ours. I would feel sorry if that china-like surface of her breasts gets broken with whip marks and cigarette burns. And these breasts... looking how 4931 holding her hands behind her head pushing them so prominently forward, I felt something; something strange that I have never felt before.
Aww - is someone in love?

Such a terrible punishment though - even to help break the new one, there would surely be even some guards who would find that over the top.

Thanks for the advice about the T&R.

In the process of imagining a backstory, I thought about a scenario where only 'A grade' girls get sent to the breeding facility when they get old, so they can produce the next generation of slave girls with better genes. However, I couldn't think of any credible way to explain away how those offsprings can be protected from sexual assaults for 18+ years. So I decided either drop the setting altogether or just don't mention that part to conform to the underage rules. Either way, I'll make sure I won't inadvertently violate any such rules regarding underage characters :)
I'm sure there are other uses for A-grade girls - from household service to elite brothels. If one can afford them...

And it doesn't seem like a sustainable population is much of a goal here anyway.
 
I'm sure there are other uses for A-grade girls - from household service to elite brothels. If one can afford them...
And it doesn't seem like a sustainable population is much of a goal here anyway.
I won't spoil too much but you guessed it perfectly how I imagined those A-grade girls would be used. Only very rich or powerful people can afford owning one, so they are often proudly displayed in their home or private parties like a piece of artwork. Owning such a slave is equivalent to owning a Lamborghini, for instance. So they were always groomed in perfect conditions, and allowed almost human level privileges including 'owning' (not technically though, as she is still a property herself, so cannot legally own anything) a mobile phone.

And from the fragments I wrote for later episodes, they are "trained with every sex technic known to man," as it was their main function as a pleasure slave (which covers both A and B grade girls, in contrast to the rest who are called 'work slaves'). So as you guessed it, they can be also found in elite brothels.

On the other hand, such affluent people typically own many other lower grade slaves too. So household chores are mostly performed by B-grade girls, while the A-grade girl serves as a 'Mistress' over them all, managing their operations for her owner aside from providing exquisite sexual services to him herself.

Anyway, I really like reading your feedbacks and insights of my story. Thanks much for your thoughts! :)
 
Chained by Fate - Part 10

When we finished quelching our thirst, Master Zinovieff promptly ordered us to start our daily work. One by one, the girls picked up their pickaxes from the floor and scattered to their designated spot on the walls to dig in. All twenty girls of this gang were diggers or 'moles' as they sometimes called us. And there were three more of such groups that operated either in different shifts or shafts.

There were other kinds of slave workers in this facility too. A small number of girls, for example, were used as beasts of burden and called as 'mules' accordingly. They supplied each shaft with those parts needed to construct support beams or to extend the cart rails, as we dig deeper. It was also such 'mules' who drgged the coal carts, which constantly shuttled back and forth between each shaft and the dumpsite.

Lastly, there were those 'hamsters' who turned the generator all day long while chained to a giant capstan to generate electricity. They always have a couple of spare girls leashed nearby, so they can easily replace a spent girl with a spare like a battery without stopping the generator. The replaced girl would get whippings according to the duration she lasted and kept leashed until it becomes her turn to rotate the capstan again. It didn't always bring her much respite from her toils, though, as it also meant she was now free to be used in many sadistic and sexual ways by bored overseers.

In short, each girl was assigned a single simple task and made to repeat the process endlessly until her body finally succumbs to the exertion and no longer to be useful. At that point, they hanged the spent girl from one of the beams in the corridors, so that she can be a reminder to other girls what awaits them when they cease to be useful. Then they cut down the body after one or two days and dump it into the incinerator with other wastes from the facility. But before that, they usually file a procurement request for a replacement, which typically arrives in two to three days.

Few girls lasted more than five years in this condition, and that was how they were cleaning the country of more defective genes like my own. Even now, they were trying to improve this subhuman species by breeding those retired A-grade girls to produce the next generation slave girls. They will look more like proper human girls and less like me. And they will eventually replace inferior breeds like me in just a few years.

Suddenly the air whistled, and fiery pain soon burst across my buttocks.
"What are you waiting for, you lazy swine!" An angry voice of Master Zinovieff hissed behind my back.
"Uhmmmph!" Gritting my teeth to suppress a scream, I tensed my cheeks to fight the pain.
"Thank you, Master!" I expressed my gratitude for his attention, and promptly began to pound the wall with my pickaxe.

Getting whipped from behind was something so frequent and casual for work slaves like us that only new girls would make a fuss about it. As the slaves started to dig their designated spots, Master Zinovieff kept pacing back and forth behind the girls, randomly striking their backs or butts left and right as he walked. Sometimes, he did it to urge a slacking girl to quicken her pace, but more often than not, he did it just to keep the rhythm going.

Clang, clang, clang! Smack!
A girl groans and silently whimpers.
Clang, clang, clang! Smack!
"Faster!" An angry shout and another one falters.

As the symphony of steel and leather picked up its pace, billows of black smoke started to rise from the walls and engulfed the entire shaft with suffocating shroud. Master Zinovieff pulled out a dust mask and wore it over his face. For health concerns, the rules recommended all personnel who worked underground to wear a mask during the work hours. And they also rotated the overseers, so today we have Master Zinovieff instead of Master Smith to supervise our gang.

And of course, we were not counted as 'personnel' as we were merely tools they use and very disposable ones at that. As they chipped away the jagged mass of coal formation, the girls constantly coughed out black bile while inhaling more poisonous dust in the process. It wasn't just physical exertion that made it rare for a girl to last more than five years in this mine.

"Aieee!" Barbara's shrill voice pierced through the suffocating mist, as the overseer casually flicked his braided whip across her porcelain-like buttocks as he walked past her. Unlike other girls whose entire backside was covered with thickened hide from repeated abuse, her skin was still soft to the touch and looked so transparent that you could see her veins through it. Barbara yelped, jolted, and skipped every time the leather marked her body with a new stripe. Amused by her reactions, Master Zinovieff made it sort of a game to strike an unmarked spot each time he passed her, making her sway her hip and raise her legs in different directions.

"You want to dance, huh? Do you think we'd have bought such a bald monkey like you if we wanted to see some dancing, cunt?" With these words, Master Zinovieff delivered a particularly vicious strike between her legs to catch her sex, which was still raw from yesterday's abuse.
"ARRRHHHHHHHGG!" Barbara howled miserably and crouched down, covering her sensitive skin protectively with both of her hands. Immediately, a savage kick landed upon her waist, throwing her body flying to the side. Barbara writhed helplessly on the ground, her mouth opened wide as she gasped for air.
"How dare you *THUD!* cover your cunt, *TWACK!* you worthless swine! *THUMP*!" He emphasized his words with alternately kicking or stomping random parts of her sprawled body. The beating continued over a minute after he finished his speech, and she threw her arms and legs frantically to stop his kicks and stompings in vain. Barbara kept squealing like a pig as she rolled over the grimy ground, collecting footprints and bruises on every inch of her skin.

I just wanted to embrace her and hold her trembling body tightly upon my chest. How much I wanted to kiss her bruised body to calm her pain, and how much I yearned to erase her marks of shame with my lips. But I couldn't.

As he was done with the beatings, Master Zinovieff wiped his brows to clean off sweats from the exercise and commanded me bluntly, "Toilet!".
"Yes, Master!" Like an automaton, my body reacted to his command immediately, even before my mind comprehended its meaning. I hit the ground with my knees and spread my thighs. With my hands locked behind my head, and my breasts pushed forward, I opened my mouth wide and tilted my head back slightly. My eyes locked with Barbara's and we stared into each other, as Master Zinovieff undid his zipper and pulled out his fat shaft.

His careless aim threw the warm liquid all over my face, and the salty stream soon began to overflow from my mouth to the valley of my breasts, branching into multiple brooks on my belly. Barbara didn't turn her sad eyes from my face until I swallowed his gift and crawled to his feet, receiving his drizzling member in my mouth. After carefully wiping his shaft with my tongue and sucking salty liquid off his head with my lips, I pulled him out and blew my breath over his wet surface until it dried completely. Master Zinovieff grabbed his member and tapped it over my forehead several times as he ordered, "Now go back to your work, you disgusting pig!"
Still dripping from my chin and my wet bushes, I answered him with a flushed face, "Thank you, Master"

And I felt ashamed. I had done this more times than I could remember. But this was the first time that I felt such emotion after I accepted my status in this world. I am a cunt and sometimes a toilet, but I am a urinal with feelings. And I yearned to kiss Barbara's trampled and bruised body so much. But my lips weren't made to caress anything but my owner's dripping head. There was nothing I can do to change that. I felt ashamed, and I was angry.

Barbara gathered herself up slowly without turning her face towards me. I threw a glance towards Master Zinovieff and saw him smacking the glistening back of 2574, who was digging at the opposite side of the shaft. Taking a deep breath to suppress my fear, I took a step towards Barbara.

"Barb, I..." I put my hand upon her trembling shoulder and whispered.
"I know," she turned her teary face and whispered, then she softly kissed on my blackened hand. I saw her eyes shaking with the same kind of fire that was ravaging my heart.

"Chair!" Suddenly, Master Zinovieff's voice rang from the opposite side again, and I saw poor 2574 immediately throwing herself on all fours and raised her back in the shape of a table. He grabbed a rag and rubbed it on 2574's back a few times to clean off the grime and sweat before he sat down upon the tiny girl's frame.
"Mmmmph..... AH!..... Hmph!" She whimpered and tensed her body as Master Zinovieff nonchalantly shoved the handle of his whip deep inside her dry tunnel. Holding his whip like a horse's tail between her legs, she trembled her body as she sobbed in pain and shame. She was the newest girl after Barbara in this gang.
"Shut up, cunt! And you better hold that tight. If you make another sound or lose that whip, it will be your pickaxe next time." He spoke as he gave her a hard slap on her tensed buttock.
"Yes, Master!" 2574 replied in a panic-stricken voice and tensed her cheeks, trying to grip the polished leather as hard as she could.

Master Zinovieff was a real sadist, and I hated him. After crossing his legs and surveying the sweat-soaked girls idly, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and began to play a mobile game, which he always played when he got bored during his shift.

Looking at him riding 2574's tiny body like a horse, I felt a throbbing pain inside me where his cigarette touched my sensitive skin. Suppressing a sudden urge to smash his skull with my pickaxe, I redirected its tip to a crack in the wall, pounding it with what strength left in my enfeebled arms.

I hated him so much, and I smashed the wall.
I hated to see footprints on Barbara's miky-white skin, and I smashed it again.
I hated to see a girl playing a horse with a whip beween her legs.
I hated to spread my legs to become his ashtray.
I hated to open my mouth to become his urinal.
I hated to be used like that in front of Barbara.
I hated to be an ugly bald monkey to Barb.
I hated to be a worthless cunt to her.

And I hated myself so much.

(To be continued...)
 
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I think now I have a good idea how the story will end, and I'm half way through writing the next chapter now. In the meanwhile, I'll post a few pictures from my bdsmlr.com bookmarks that I find relevant to the theme of the story:

First off, the basic pose for my slaves. In my story, the slaves are often forced to pose themselves either in kneeling or squatting position, as shown in the attached images. I particularly like the pose, because it displays a slave girl's body without any reservation. Her most feminine body parts are not just revealed, but forced to be prominently emphasized - her breasts pushed forwards, and her womanhood stretched and protruding.

And as in my story, they are so exposed as to be an easy target for abuse. The angle of her breasts presents a good target for whipping or slapping, and her sex is located at the perfect height and angle to be kicked or tapped from under.
 

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And as my story has a recurring theme of treating female slaves as animals, I like the idea of keeping them unwashed and unshaven. And also, they are often forced to relieve like a dog. These images show some of the elements that match such theme:
 

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And there was a scene in which a slave was forced to clean her master's boots with her sex and tongue (in that order). I found a few images with a similar theme, so I'll attach them here.
 

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And lastly, miscellaneous images that contain various other elements depicted in my story, such as trampling, cigarette torture, shoving a tool's handle into a female part, or forced labour.

The last one shows an Asian woman whose nipples might be the kind of ones that 'Raisin' in my story would have. Of course, I imagined her to be much younger, being a 'C-grade' slave and all. But it was such a dark pigmentation of nipples and areolas in certain ethnicity of women that I had in mine when I wrote about 'Raisin'.

Just a disclaimer, I actually even prefer dark skinned Asian women personally, so I don't think they look bad at all in real life.
 

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She raised her tearful eyes to my face, "How... how can you live like that?" and asked me in a broken voice.
"What do you mean?" I crouched down beside her and raised my thumbs to wipe her tears as I asked.
"They... they treat us like animals!" She protested as she flushed her face.
"But we are animals. Aren't we?"
"No! How can you say that?" She widened her eyes in shock.
"Just accept the fact. You can't do anything about it. It will feel better that way," I replied without emotion as I withdrew my hand from her face.
"But... but my father always told me we are all equals, regardless of our skin color."
"Maybe your father told you such a tale, just to make your Asian mother feel better."
"Don't talk about my parents like that! You don't even know them!" I could see a sudden flash of anger dancing inside her fiery brown eyes.
"Then you think you know what it is to be a slave girl? And how long have you been a slave? A week? Or a month at most?"
"I... I was a free woman until yesterday." Her confession even surprised me, but I tried not to show my emotion.
"Then you don't understand. And do you know how much I envied those white girls, their fair skins and golden hairs, whenever they taunted me for having such 'animal features'?"
"No, but......" Her eyes shook with conflicting feelings.
"You don't know because you look almost like them! Can you even imagine how many times I cursed my squinty eyes or this protruding mouth, or 'snout' as they call it?"
She opened her mouth to say something, but she just dropped her eyes to avoid my gaze. After a moment, she said in a weak voice, "I'm sorry."

I gathered myself up and looked down on her still crouching frame as I spoke, "We are just born that way, and we can't change that. We are born to serve our superiors, like how the females are born to serve the males and breed. That's the Law of Nature, like how they teach you at school."

Acceptance vs resistance - a core of this story. It's easy for us to see that Barbara is right - but also to see that such beliefs leave her much less fitted to survive in her new environment. But then, how long will she survive even if she changes them - and will that extra time be worth living?

Chained By Fate - Part 7

The walls and floors of this facility were littered with many ringed plates or posts, so the overseers could easily tie their slaves either for punishment or 'parking' wherever they were. In fact, after the Slavery Act which followed shortly after the Racial Purity Act, it became a common sight that those who still retained their citizenship dragging those who had lost it on the streets, naked by their leash. So I heard they have similar devices everywhere nowadays, including subway stations, restaurants, or restrooms. But I hadn't seen such a sight myself since I was sent to a training facility, then transferred to this mine shortly after they passed the Act.

Seems quite convenient, especaillu in places which won't allow slaves in for either moral or hygiene reasons.

Slave girls are whipped or lashed all the time, and it's just part of our lives. Work slaves like us, especially, don't regard getting whipped on our backs or butts while we work as 'punishment' because it's something we get every single day, and almost every hour. A rider doesn't 'punish' his horse by striking it with his riding crop because it's part of the relationship between a horse and its rider. So, neither they really 'punish' us by encouraging us to swing our pickaxes faster, with occasional whippings on our backs and butts.
A decent musing on the relationship between slaves and the whip, too - might borrow it for mi bdsmlr at some point. Of course, not all slaves might agree...

our breasts or between our legs that they administer their whippings or lashings for punishment, depending on the severity of the offence. It is because these are considered not only the most valuable parts of a slave girl's body but also very the essence of her existence - a slave can serve her purpose without a brain, but without her sex, she is absolutely nothing. There is a reason why she is called a 'cunt' because that is what she truly is....

....At that moment, I cursed my feminity as much as my blood. It is because I have a cunt that I am a cunt. And as long as I am a cunt, I have to suffer because the primary function of a cunt, aside from pleasuring men, is to be whipped, beaten, stretched, torn, burned, humiliated, and degraded. That is why we, cunts, exist in this world.
I have to admit, I do find this view of slaves disconcerting and incongruous, but that probably means it's being done right - intent to disturb and all.

"This stupid slave doesn't deserve to live, Master. It can only be grateful if its owner decides to spare its worthless life, and correct its ways to serve him better, Master." I said what was expected by the ritual, and tensed my body for the inevitable blow.

Another disconcerting aspect, although this time I do get the point - make them say it long enough, hear it often enough, and eventually they might believe it. As for the whipping itself, it's truly a savage one.

As soon as they released us from our chains, we collapsed on the ground, like a Marionette cut off from its lines. Without allowing us time to stretch our stiffened joints, they roughly grabbed our arms and chained them together from behind. Then we were ordered to lie on our back and pull our knees up so that they can connect our collar to the ankle shackes with short chains.
An awkward position to sleep in, but certain secure.
 
In my case, I am less - if at all - attracted to physical pain but much more so to psychological humiliation and degradation of women. So, it is unlikely you will see scenes involving an extreme torture like the case with many stories from some of other great authors here. It will probably involve a reference to such an excruciating torment and death as the plot needs it, but I will not describe all its gory details.

In fact, I am a bit afraid if my description of the intense whipping scene in my last episode was rather dull or unconvincing compared with so many excellent examples you can read from this community. I love the idea of a slave getting mercilessly whipped, but it’s more of such psychological aspects that a female’s delicate and private body parts are subjected to such an abuse, or that she is reminded of her place by being forced to suffer in public and bear the marks of her lesson than of the actual physical agony that appeals to my taste in such a fantasy.
I'd say you realised it quite well. Mi own tastes likely sit somewhere between the physical and the psychological - a slave's life grinds away body and soul alike.

For example, I love it when there is more than just some impulsive lust or personal contempt that makes them abuse or humiliate women. For example, when a Roman soldier harasses a naked prisoner girl, it’s mainly just that he has such a personality to abuse helpless girls and that the society permits it.

But I love it more when there are more systematic and fundamental reasons why those girls should be treated that way. Gorean fantasy could be a good example of this, because in that world you can see there are many explicit laws and social conventions regarding how a slave girl should be treated which constitutes a system that sees her as a property or an animal.

I think such settings can be exploited to provide a much more engaging and extreme kinds of degradation and humiliation for women. If you happen to become a criminal and abused by an unruly soldier, it’s just an unfortunate incident that you have fallen to such a misfortune.

But if there is a whole system which defines who you are, whom you are inferior to, how you are supposed to serve your superiors, or what protocol should be followed when you are punished or sold, and so on, it can feel much more hopelessly degrading a situation because the whole world condemns you as a lowly animal and a mere commodity. And the abuse or humiliation you get from your superiors could feel more degrading when it is done in a casual manner as if it was something you deserve by nature.

hmm... I think I have somehow similar and yet opposite feelings. I like the system, but I also like luck to remain a factor. It's not so deep a sting if one never had any chance of being more - look how much the mine is affecting Barbara as opposed to the rest. And I like contrasting "good" and "bad" masters.

Because of that, slavery in mi ideas tends to follow a more broad-spectrum, Romanesque model, with a wide variety of entrances and exits. But there is something to be said for tales of doom too, at least from a horror perspective.
 
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