fallenmystic
Tribune
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.
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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