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Vignettes from the slave pits

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theseus

Governor
The Brothel

Lynne stumbled after her brother. This was not what they had expected. Why, why, had they not read the fine print in the contract? She felt lightheaded, literally, her bald head devoid of the weight of her once luxuriant hair.

She looked down at the barcode tattooed on her mound, remembered the sight in the mirror, the bald-headed girl with WHORE tattooed on her forehead. She stumbled again, tripping over the chain connecting her ankles. Her hands, still cuffed behind her, useless to steady her. The guard ran his hand familiarly over her brother’s buttocks. “Looking forward to this, bumboy? Looking forward to having your tight arse fucked raw?” The door ahead of them opened and they were led into the brothel.

Elegantly dressed men, and some women, moved around, drinks in their hands, chatting or inspecting naked slaves standing on little platforms. Other slaves, clad in very revealing tunics, served drinks and snacks. A shrill scream made her swing around, almost falling again. A girl, no older than herself, was spread-eagled between two pillars. Her back was a mess, criss-crossed with welts. A thickset man, sweat beading his brow, was running his fingers through the strands of a multi-thonged whip. He swung the whip a few times, each time lightly touching her back, elicitating a moan and a pleading “No more. Please, no more.” He grunted as he swung the whip, hard, the thongs clawing her bloody back. She screamed again, her body twisting and turning.

The two new slaves were led to an open area. A woman, a slave by her collar, although she was wearing a diaphanous floor length dress motioned for the guards to bend Lynne backwards over a frame. Her groin was thrust forward. The woman picked up an implement. The end opposite the handle was made of copper wire, bent into an intricate pattern. Lynne winced as the girl screamed again, her pleas hysterical. The woman held the thing up before Lynne’s eyes. She could see now that the design was a kneeling woman. As she watched the wires turned red, then an incandescent white. The realisation hit her! They had talked about branding. This was the branding iron!

“Hold her!” The woman barked. She touched a finger to Lynne’s vagina, sliding it up to just above where it started to divide below her mound. She placed the branding iron so that Lynne could feel the heat. “No, please! You can’t do this to me. Please? You’re a woman. Please?”

The pain as the white hot metal was pressed against her mound was unbelievable, unbearable. For what seemed like an eternity the woman pressed the white hot metal into her flesh. A few minutes later she heard Chris screech as he, too was branded. The woman touched her again, just below the brand. “You have a lovely pussy, my dear. It is going to give pleasure to many. For the next few days it is going to hurt like hell when they fuck you from the front.” She ran her fingers through Lynne’s slit. “If I were you I would do my best to get my pretty ass fucked as much as possible.”

“Take them away. Get them working! This isn’t a holiday camp!”

They were each placed on a low platform, their wrists briefly freed, only to be attached to hooks above their heads. They were on display, totally exposed, both in pain from the branding. There were several other slaves on similar platforms. She looked in amazement at woman who must have been seventy. Like Lynne she was bald, barcoded, branded. Unlike Lynne her skin was leathery and wrinkled, her breasts flat, sagging dugs, her thighs skinny and saggy. Lynne jumped as a hand slid up her inner thigh, parting the soft folds of her vagina, then run up her buttcrack, lingering at her anus, before cupping one of the tight buttocks.

“Now here we have a superb specimen,” a voice behind her said. “She is clearly in tip-top physical shape, a dancer or an athlete,” the hand ran up her buttock to the smooth skin of her back. In front of her she could see the whipped girl, sagging between the pillars, alone and ignored. Had her back once been silky smooth? Before the whip shredded it?

“Yes, definitely a dancer. Look at the definition of the thigh muscles, the lovely tight butt. How many strokes could one fit onto that tiny ass, John? A dozen? Fifteen?” She felt fingers running across he buttocks. “A dozen, I think. No More. Assuming you want to keep it nice and neat.” “Well I suppose the other dozen can go on the front. I might as well get my money’s worth.”

Lynne almost screamed as the two men came into her line of sight. One was the man who had been whipping the girl. The other was a slender, almost effeminate youth. The older man cupped one of her breasts. “Small, but exquisitely shaped. Yes, another half dozen there.” He twisted her nipple until she moaned with pain. “And the last six, there,” he traced a line across the front of her thighs just below her pussy. “There, there,” each one a bit higher, his fingers just touching her pouty lower lips each time, “there, there, and of course the finale, there!” She screamed as the last touch of the finger slid across the new, raw, brand.

Her arms were released from the hook and she was led over to a large, leather covered armchair. The younger man went off and returned with a bundle of thin, whippy canes. A crowd started to gather around her, chatting quietly, discussing her body in intimate, obscene detail. Bets were being laid. With a start she realised that she was about to be caned, caned with those thin canes! And that the very last stroke would be across her new brand!
 

jacksjg89

PROCRASTINATOR
The Brothel

Lynne stumbled after her brother. This was not what they had expected. Why, why, had they not read the fine print in the contract? She felt lightheaded, literally, her bald head devoid of the weight of her once luxuriant hair.

She looked down at the barcode tattooed on her mound, remembered the sight in the mirror, the bald-headed girl with WHORE tattooed on her forehead. She stumbled again, tripping over the chain connecting her ankles. Her hands, still cuffed behind her, useless to steady her. The guard ran his hand familiarly over her brother’s buttocks. “Looking forward to this, bumboy? Looking forward to having your tight arse fucked raw?” The door ahead of them opened and they were led into the brothel.

Elegantly dressed men, and some women, moved around, drinks in their hands, chatting or inspecting naked slaves standing on little platforms. Other slaves, clad in very revealing tunics, served drinks and snacks. A shrill scream made her swing around, almost falling again. A girl, no older than herself, was spread-eagled between two pillars. Her back was a mess, criss-crossed with welts. A thickset man, sweat beading his brow, was running his fingers through the strands of a multi-thonged whip. He swung the whip a few times, each time lightly touching her back, elicitating a moan and a pleading “No more. Please, no more.” He grunted as he swung the whip, hard, the thongs clawing her bloody back. She screamed again, her body twisting and turning.

The two new slaves were led to an open area. A woman, a slave by her collar, although she was wearing a diaphanous floor length dress motioned for the guards to bend Lynne backwards over a frame. Her groin was thrust forward. The woman picked up an implement. The end opposite the handle was made of copper wire, bent into an intricate pattern. Lynne winced as the girl screamed again, her pleas hysterical. The woman held the thing up before Lynne’s eyes. She could see now that the design was a kneeling woman. As she watched the wires turned red, then an incandescent white. The realisation hit her! They had talked about branding. This was the branding iron!

“Hold her!” The woman barked. She touched a finger to Lynne’s vagina, sliding it up to just above where it started to divide below her mound. She placed the branding iron so that Lynne could feel the heat. “No, please! You can’t do this to me. Please? You’re a woman. Please?”

The pain as the white hot metal was pressed against her mound was unbelievable, unbearable. For what seemed like an eternity the woman pressed the white hot metal into her flesh. A few minutes later she heard Chris screech as he, too was branded. The woman touched her again, just below the brand. “You have a lovely pussy, my dear. It is going to give pleasure to many. For the next few days it is going to hurt like hell when they fuck you from the front.” She ran her fingers through Lynne’s slit. “If I were you I would do my best to get my pretty ass fucked as much as possible.”

“Take them away. Get them working! This isn’t a holiday camp!”

They were each placed on a low platform, their wrists briefly freed, only to be attached to hooks above their heads. They were on display, totally exposed, both in pain from the branding. There were several other slaves on similar platforms. She looked in amazement at woman who must have been seventy. Like Lynne she was bald, barcoded, branded. Unlike Lynne her skin was leathery and wrinkled, her breasts flat, sagging dugs, her thighs skinny and saggy. Lynne jumped as a hand slid up her inner thigh, parting the soft folds of her vagina, then run up her buttcrack, lingering at her anus, before cupping one of the tight buttocks.

“Now here we have a superb specimen,” a voice behind her said. “She is clearly in tip-top physical shape, a dancer or an athlete,” the hand ran up her buttock to the smooth skin of her back. In front of her she could see the whipped girl, sagging between the pillars, alone and ignored. Had her back once been silky smooth? Before the whip shredded it?

“Yes, definitely a dancer. Look at the definition of the thigh muscles, the lovely tight butt. How many strokes could one fit onto that tiny ass, John? A dozen? Fifteen?” She felt fingers running across he buttocks. “A dozen, I think. No More. Assuming you want to keep it nice and neat.” “Well I suppose the other dozen can go on the front. I might as well get my money’s worth.”

Lynne almost screamed as the two men came into her line of sight. One was the man who had been whipping the girl. The other was a slender, almost effeminate youth. The older man cupped one of her breasts. “Small, but exquisitely shaped. Yes, another half dozen there.” He twisted her nipple until she moaned with pain. “And the last six, there,” he traced a line across the front of her thighs just below her pussy. “There, there,” each one a bit higher, his fingers just touching her pouty lower lips each time, “there, there, and of course the finale, there!” She screamed as the last touch of the finger slid across the new, raw, brand.

Her arms were released from the hook and she was led over to a large, leather covered armchair. The younger man went off and returned with a bundle of thin, whippy canes. A crowd started to gather around her, chatting quietly, discussing her body in intimate, obscene detail. Bets were being laid. With a start she realised that she was about to be caned, caned with those thin canes! And that the very last stroke would be across her new brand!
Intriguing, and I’m sure later stories will reveal how modern the setting is, or whether it is in this world at all. I am confused as to whether she got branded where the barcode is. Could you clarify?
 

theseus

Governor
Another fragment from a different, incomplete story.

The reluctant slave

It was spring at the farm. The earth had thawed and slaves were busily preparing the soil for planting. What had started out as something of a family joke had become a very profitable business. We had a waiting list of aspiring slaves and vetting new applications was a time consuming job. I beckoned to the slave who was on duty as my runner. “A cup of coffee please, Julia. And perhaps the use of your mouth while I take a break.” She gave me a smile, bobbed her head and ran off. House slaves were generally freed from their ankle chains to preserve the floors and the slaves always relished their freedom of movement.

There was a knock on the door and one of the new overseers, Maclean, marched in. He was a retired British Army sergeant and had not lost the habits of 25 years in uniform. He came to a crashing halt in front of my desk and only just stopped himself from saluting. “Request, Sah! Slave 1283 requests to be freed from her contract, Sah!” He produced a file. “I took the liberty of bringing the file, Sah! Silly request, Sah! 180 days no limits contract, only served two days and she wants out. Stupid request, Sah!”

I managed not to smile. I would have to speak to the slave. The contract was watertight, but all the slaves were volunteers, and sometimes they needed their situation explained to them.

“Bring her in,” I said wearily.

“Sah!” He did an about turn and with a crash of boots marched out, almost flattening Julie in the process. She managed not to spill my coffee, placing it carefully on my desk before dropping to her knees and starting to crawl under the desk to carry out the rest of her task. I had noticed her shudder as Maclean passed her. I put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you very frightened of Mr Maclean?”

I felt the shudder this time. “He…he’s very big, master, and not gentle. He enjoys hurting us, especially the boys. He only uses us like boys, master.”

Nothing wrong with that, I thought. Slaves were meant to be frightened of the overseers, although I did not tolerate wanton cruelty. There was a crash of boots and a rattle of chains outside as Maclean reappeared, leading a slave by her neck chain. “Slave 1283, Sah!”wenona_is_a_beautiful_lamb_lead_to_slaughter____by_e_digitalfantasy-db2yxw3.jpg

The slave was wearing a draught yoke, her hands locked in above her shoulders. The chain was attached to the front of the yoke and would be led between her legs before being attached to the wagon or plough she was harnessed to. It was an uncomfortable arrangement for the slave and served to teach new slaves their status, or lack thereof. The slave was in her late 20’s or early 30’s. Body well proportioned and well toned, owing much to a gym and a good personal trainer. The bikini marks at groin and breasts were a fiery red from sunburn and there were several fresh whip marks on her back and thighs. From the muddy state of her legs she had been harnessed to a plough. Her bruised and swollen labia attested to the effect of the chain.

“You want to be released from your contract? I assume you read and understood it before you signed it?” She nodded, biting her lip and blinking back the tears. “You do understand the meaning of ‘irrevocable’?” She nodded again. “I didn’t realise how inhuman this would be, sir…”

“You address the Master as Master, slave!” Maclean roared!

I motioned him to silence. “What did you expect, slave?” She bit back a sob. “I expected to be used for sex, s…master. Not to be harnessed to a plough like an animal, in such a degrading way. I expected, wanted, sex master, but not to be repeatedly sodomised in front of others. This is cruel and inhuman, sir. I am a human being, not an animal.”

I looked at her, enjoying the sight of her body. The rank smell of sweat and semen wafted over my desk. She had certainly been worked, and fucked, hard. “You were a lawyer before you enslaved yourself?” I asked. She straightened up, defiantly. “Yes, I am a lawyer, and I know my rights.” I shook my head. “You have no rights. But you were quite right in one thing. You are not an animal. Animals have rights. You are an object, a chattel, property! Property to be used as we wish. At any time and in any way! Is that clear!”

I felt Julie shiver, realised my hand was still on her shoulder. Gently, I rubbed the soft skin at the base of her skull, feeling her relax. She knew that this slave was heading for a fall, was grateful that it was not her back that would feel the weight of the cat.

1283 snapped back at me. “I am not an object! I am a free woman with rights! You can’t make me do these disgusting things! I won’t!” Her breasts were heaving, her face reddened with passion. I sighed. “Mr Maclean. Take this slave out and whip her. From now on she can sleep in the yard, strapped to the fucking frame.” She looked at me in disbelief. “You can’t make me do this! You can’t make me do it!” She was screaming now. I reached forward and grabbed her neck chain, pulling her forward over my desk, her face inches from mine. “Maclean! Bugger her! Now! Hard!”

“Sah!”

Like all the overseers Maclean had been chosen for the size of his cock and his sexual appetite and stamina. I looked down at Julie. “Make him hard, very hard.” She shuffled around the desk on her knees, her skilled mouth soon busily at work. The slave looked at me, her eyes pleading. “You can’t do this! Please!” She flinched as a well aimed gobbet of spit hit her anus, then her eyes snapped wide open, her mouth opening to emit a scream as nine inches of thick cock drove mercilessly home in her anus. “No!” She screamed. “You can’t! Oh God! It hurts! Please! Stop!”

“You signed the contract, slave! Willingly. Now you will get to know the reality of slavery.
 

theseus

Governor
Jane

Jane staggered as a sharp stone pierced her already sore foot. The chain connecting her to the slaves in front of and behind her jerked tight, choking her. With an effort she regained her balance. She was tired, so tired! Ahead lay eight hours in the whorehouse. At least six clients an hour, forty-eight cocks pumping their seed into her.

They walked past a smart red convertible parked at the curb. A week ago Jane had owned a car like that, her pride and joy. Fast, nimble and very expensive, it had been her 40th birthday present from her husband. Her husband? Did she still have a husband? Probably not? The spouse of a convicted criminal could apply for an instant divorce. Why wouldn’t he divorce her? Why would he want to wait for five and a half years for a whore? That was what she was now, a filthy, exhausted slave whore!

It had really all started with the car. It was such a pleasure to drive, and drive fast! The speeding fines had piled up. Paying them was no problem, but the demerit points on her licence were! One more speeding offence and her licence would be suspended for a year. She was cruising down the beachfront, the top down, watching the people rather than her speed when she saw the flashing lights in her mirror. “Damn!” She thought. She would have to try something. The officer was young, polite, almost apologetic. That all changed when she handed him her driver’s licence, with the five neatly folded large denomination bills underneath. “You gave me these by mistake, ma’am.”

She gave him her best smile. “Just a small token of appreciation for the sympathetic way you are handling this silly situation. I’m sure you can use it.”

His voice hardened as he beckoned to his partner. “This lady has offered me this. I consider it to an attempt at bribery.” He showed her the money. “Get out of the car, please, madam!” This was an order.

As she stepped out of the car, still thinking she could talk her way out of this, the policewoman took hold of her wrist. Before she realised what was happening her hands were handcuffed behind her and she was led to the police car.

Two hours later she was in court. The government believed that the best way of fighting crime was to make the court system as efficient as possible. Except in capital cases, legal representation was prohibited. Corporal punishment had been reintroduced for minor offences. For more serious offences the sentences were harsh.The trial was over almost before it had begun. She had no defence against the speeding offence and her feeble excuses for the attempted bribe were soon demolished by the evidence of the two police officers.

The judge was curt. “Mrs Jane Ogilvie. Your behaviour has been disgraceful. You have a long history of traffic offences. You seem to think that because you have the money to easily pay the fines you can buy yourself out of trouble. It is time that the consequences of your actions are made clear to you. On the count of speeding, I sentence you to twenty strokes of the cane, to be administered in the court square immediately after this trial. The strokes to be administered to the bare hide.”

Jane was stunned. They couldn’t do this to her! She had watched some of the judicial canings, secretly enjoying the humiliation of the convicts as they were stripped naked and tied to the bench, placed so that the watchers could fully appreciate their pain. But those were common criminals! She was the wife of a prosperous businessman, not some cheap floozie. “Now listen here, young woman! Do you know who I am?” The judge’s pretty lips were a hard line. “You are a convict, sentenced to a judicial whipping. Furthermore, you are in contempt of court with that remark. Perhaps a further ten strokes will show you the error of your ways!”

Jane was about to protest again, but kept silence. ‘Thirty strokes of the cane! She could never endure that!’

The judge carried on, “Coming to the more serious offence, that of attempted bribery of a police officer. I am taking into account your age and your position in society, and am inclined to be merciful. Hence on the charge of attempted bribery I sentence you to one year of community service. You will report to the municipal offices each day at 6 a.m. for twelve hours of service cleaning the streets. You will be issued with a regulation tunic immediately after your caning. You will wear no other garment for the duration of your sentence!”

Jane could not contain herself. “Are you crazy?” She burst out. “You cannot seriously expect me to wear one of those ridiculous garments and go around picking up litter for the next year as if…” The judge slammed her gavel down several times!

You are quite right, Mrs Ogilvie, a lady such as you should not have to wear a garment like that!”

Jane gave her a victorious smile. She knew the woman would come to her senses. “Therefor I withdraw the sentence of community service.” Jane’s smile grew into a broad grin. The judge went on. “An arrogant bitch like you deserves to wear nothing at all! You are sentenced to twelve months at hard labour! You will be branded immediately after your caning! Bailiff! Strip the prisoner!”

The bailiff stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Take your fucking hands off me!” Jane screamed, lashing out at the man, her fist catching him in the face. Three guards wrestled her to the floor. The judge sighed. “You really are more stupid than I thought. On the charge of assaulting an officer of the court I sentence you to a further five years at hard labour! Strip her and take her away before she earns a life sentence!” She banged her gavel and stood up, leaving the courtroom.

There was no fight left in Jane as the men stripped her. ‘Six years hard labour.’ She couldn’t believe it. ‘Six years in a chain gang.’ She sobbed bitterly as the guards led her outside, where the crowds and the cane awaited her.

The sun was blinding after the gloom of the courtroom. The street was full of people going about their daily business. She was grateful that the guards had apparently forgotten about stripping her. She stumbled on her high heels as she was hustled along between two guards, her hands still cuffed behind her back. The court square was busy. People chatting, getting coffee or street food from the stalls lining the square. The public floggings had become a popular public entertainment!

At one side of the square were several large wire mesh cages. Each of them contained a number of people, most of them naked, the day’s collection of miscreants to be flogged. There was a small stage in the centre of the square, equipped with a whipping post and a whipping bench. Jane had sometimes come to watch the whippings, chatting to her friends as the victims screamed under the cane or the lash. Now it was her turn.

The senior guard grinned at her. “Look well, slut! Soon you’ll be screaming on that bench. But we seem to have forgotten something. Those fancy clothes you’re wearing. Up! On the stage!”

She was pushed up the stairs. “Hey! You all! Listen up!” He bellowed at the crowd. “We got a stupid rich bitch here who got caught speeding! And tried to bribe an officer! Got sentenced to twenty strokes of the cane for speeding, but then she sassed the judge, got and extra ten for contempt. On top of that she assaulted an orderly. Got six years slavery for that. Anybody want to fuck her, she’ll be in Public Brothel #2 tonight! Wanna see what she got?”

The crowd bayed, gathering around for the unexpected show. The guard grabbed the front of Jane’s light summer dress. “ Hey! Careful!” she cried, “This dress costs more than you earn in a month!” He gave her an evil smile. “You don’t ever learn, do you? That mouth got you into this. You gotta learn to use it for its real purpose! Sucking cock!” With a powerful tug, he ripped the dress from her body! The rest of her clothes were cut off her. Her Tanzanite earrings disappeared into a pocket. She felt his fingers work the rings off her fingers. He showed her her wedding ring. “You won’t need that. Guaranteed your husband will have divorced you by tomorrow.” He casually tossed the ring into the crowd.

With a start she realised that she was naked in front of several hundred people! Desperately she tried to hide herself, an impossible task with her hands behind her back. She let her hair hang over her face. The guard smirked. “Shy, are we? You’ll have to get over that. You’re not wearing anything for the next six years! Not to mention you’re going to spread your legs for fifty guys a day, at least. Get used to it.”He grabbed her hair, pulling it away from her face. “Anyway, we got to get rid of this.” Digging his hand into her pubic bush, “and this.” He produced a battery powered clipper from his pocket. Switching it on he ran it through her hair.

“No!!!!” She screamed! “You can’t!” Hair fell around her feet as her head was crudely shaven. Sobbing bitterly, she didn’t even bother to struggle as her pubic hair joined the windblown litter in the square. Shorn, she was led into one of the cages to wait her turn at the flogging bench.

An hour or more went by. Jane was cocooned in her misery. A cheer from the crowd brought her back to reality. A squad of well built men and women arrived, all wearing sleeveless tops showing well developed arms and shoulders. The Municipal Floggers. Each carried a bundle of whippy bamboo canes.

The first victim was taken to the platform. A girl in her teens. The sentence was read. Six strokes for repeatedly being late for school. She was sobbing softly as she was tied to the bench, her legs spread so that her tight cunt and anus were clearly visible to the crowd. The Flogger selected a cane. Taking his stance he tapped it gently against her tautly presented buttocks. “Please? I’m sorry. I’ll never be late again.” She sobbed. He adjusted his stance and swung the cane, hard! There was a whistle and a crack as the cane impacted on her tight buttocks. Her scream echoed off the buildings! Five more times the cane smashed into her butt, each time followed by an anguished scream from the girl.

The sobbing, squirming girl was released from the bench. Sobbing hysterically she gently touched the six deep, fiery wheals crossing her bum. Still sobbing she was led to the pillory where she would spend the rest of the day, helplessly displayed to the crowd. Already a group of youngsters were gathering there. Probably her classmates. Jane doubted that they were going to offer condolences.

Jane watched miserably as one punishment followed another. They had started with the lowest number of strokes, working up to the finale. Jane was uncomfortably aware that she was near the end of the line. All those at her end of the line were roughly shorn. Convicts, then. Some bore brands on their right shoulders. A letter “C”. A strongly built man in his forties was led to the bench. His sentence was read. “Twenty strokes of the cane for multiple parking offences.”

Two floggers took up station, one on either side of him. One was right-handed, the other left-handed. He endured the first four strokes in silence, apart from a sharp inhalation at each stroke. The fifth was low, on the fold where buttock met thigh, and must have impacted on his balls. His scream was unearthly! He tried to rear up, almost tearing free of the straps holding him to the bench! Now he was anything but silent, screaming obscenities at each stroke until by the fourteenth stroke he was just screaming and sobbing incoherently. When he was released after the 20th stroke he collapsed, unable to stand. Two of the guards dragged him roughly to a pillory, locking him in.

It was the turn of the first of the crop headed convicts.
 

Attachments

theseus

Governor
Luscious.
She had been taken by force! Day after day she had marched in her chains, until the slave convoy reached the sea. night after night her exhausted body was abused by the leader of the slavers. Now she waited as her body and especially her cute breasts were appraised and valued. It seemed she would be put onto one of the ships in the bay and taken far away to serve to assuage the lusts of strangers.
luscious.jpg
 
Last edited by a moderator:

Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
Another fragment from a different, incomplete story.

The reluctant slave

It was spring at the farm. The earth had thawed and slaves were busily preparing the soil for planting. What had started out as something of a family joke had become a very profitable business. We had a waiting list of aspiring slaves and vetting new applications was a time consuming job. I beckoned to the slave who was on duty as my runner. “A cup of coffee please, Julia. And perhaps the use of your mouth while I take a break.” She gave me a smile, bobbed her head and ran off. House slaves were generally freed from their ankle chains to preserve the floors and the slaves always relished their freedom of movement.

There was a knock on the door and one of the new overseers, Maclean, marched in. He was a retired British Army sergeant and had not lost the habits of 25 years in uniform. He came to a crashing halt in front of my desk and only just stopped himself from saluting. “Request, Sah! Slave 1283 requests to be freed from her contract, Sah!” He produced a file. “I took the liberty of bringing the file, Sah! Silly request, Sah! 180 days no limits contract, only served two days and she wants out. Stupid request, Sah!”

I managed not to smile. I would have to speak to the slave. The contract was watertight, but all the slaves were volunteers, and sometimes they needed their situation explained to them.

“Bring her in,” I said wearily.

“Sah!” He did an about turn and with a crash of boots marched out, almost flattening Julie in the process. She managed not to spill my coffee, placing it carefully on my desk before dropping to her knees and starting to crawl under the desk to carry out the rest of her task. I had noticed her shudder as Maclean passed her. I put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you very frightened of Mr Maclean?”

I felt the shudder this time. “He…he’s very big, master, and not gentle. He enjoys hurting us, especially the boys. He only uses us like boys, master.”

Nothing wrong with that, I thought. Slaves were meant to be frightened of the overseers, although I did not tolerate wanton cruelty. There was a crash of boots and a rattle of chains outside as Maclean reappeared, leading a slave by her neck chain. “Slave 1283, Sah!”View attachment 610515

The slave was wearing a draught yoke, her hands locked in above her shoulders. The chain was attached to the front of the yoke and would be led between her legs before being attached to the wagon or plough she was harnessed to. It was an uncomfortable arrangement for the slave and served to teach new slaves their status, or lack thereof. The slave was in her late 20’s or early 30’s. Body well proportioned and well toned, owing much to a gym and a good personal trainer. The bikini marks at groin and breasts were a fiery red from sunburn and there were several fresh whip marks on her back and thighs. From the muddy state of her legs she had been harnessed to a plough. Her bruised and swollen labia attested to the effect of the chain.

“You want to be released from your contract? I assume you read and understood it before you signed it?” She nodded, biting her lip and blinking back the tears. “You do understand the meaning of ‘irrevocable’?” She nodded again. “I didn’t realise how inhuman this would be, sir…”

“You address the Master as Master, slave!” Maclean roared!

I motioned him to silence. “What did you expect, slave?” She bit back a sob. “I expected to be used for sex, s…master. Not to be harnessed to a plough like an animal, in such a degrading way. I expected, wanted, sex master, but not to be repeatedly sodomised in front of others. This is cruel and inhuman, sir. I am a human being, not an animal.”

I looked at her, enjoying the sight of her body. The rank smell of sweat and semen wafted over my desk. She had certainly been worked, and fucked, hard. “You were a lawyer before you enslaved yourself?” I asked. She straightened up, defiantly. “Yes, I am a lawyer, and I know my rights.” I shook my head. “You have no rights. But you were quite right in one thing. You are not an animal. Animals have rights. You are an object, a chattel, property! Property to be used as we wish. At any time and in any way! Is that clear!”

I felt Julie shiver, realised my hand was still on her shoulder. Gently, I rubbed the soft skin at the base of her skull, feeling her relax. She knew that this slave was heading for a fall, was grateful that it was not her back that would feel the weight of the cat.

1283 snapped back at me. “I am not an object! I am a free woman with rights! You can’t make me do these disgusting things! I won’t!” Her breasts were heaving, her face reddened with passion. I sighed. “Mr Maclean. Take this slave out and whip her. From now on she can sleep in the yard, strapped to the fucking frame.” She looked at me in disbelief. “You can’t make me do this! You can’t make me do it!” She was screaming now. I reached forward and grabbed her neck chain, pulling her forward over my desk, her face inches from mine. “Maclean! Bugger her! Now! Hard!”

“Sah!”

Like all the overseers Maclean had been chosen for the size of his cock and his sexual appetite and stamina. I looked down at Julie. “Make him hard, very hard.” She shuffled around the desk on her knees, her skilled mouth soon busily at work. The slave looked at me, her eyes pleading. “You can’t do this! Please!” She flinched as a well aimed gobbet of spit hit her anus, then her eyes snapped wide open, her mouth opening to emit a scream as nine inches of thick cock drove mercilessly home in her anus. “No!” She screamed. “You can’t! Oh God! It hurts! Please! Stop!”

“You signed the contract, slave! Willingly. Now you will get to know the reality of slavery.
MacLean is a delight ... great character!
 

jacksjg89

PROCRASTINATOR
Jane

Jane staggered as a sharp stone pierced her already sore foot. The chain connecting her to the slaves in front of and behind her jerked tight, choking her. With an effort she regained her balance. She was tired, so tired! Ahead lay eight hours in the whorehouse. At least six clients an hour, forty-eight cocks pumping their seed into her.

They walked past a smart red convertible parked at the curb. A week ago Jane had owned a car like that, her pride and joy. Fast, nimble and very expensive, it had been her 40th birthday present from her husband. Her husband? Did she still have a husband? Probably not? The spouse of a convicted criminal could apply for an instant divorce. Why wouldn’t he divorce her? Why would he want to wait for five and a half years for a whore? That was what she was now, a filthy, exhausted slave whore!

It had really all started with the car. It was such a pleasure to drive, and drive fast! The speeding fines had piled up. Paying them was no problem, but the demerit points on her licence were! One more speeding offence and her licence would be suspended for a year. She was cruising down the beachfront, the top down, watching the people rather than her speed when she saw the flashing lights in her mirror. “Damn!” She thought. She would have to try something. The officer was young, polite, almost apologetic. That all changed when she handed him her driver’s licence, with the five neatly folded large denomination bills underneath. “You gave me these by mistake, ma’am.”

She gave him her best smile. “Just a small token of appreciation for the sympathetic way you are handling this silly situation. I’m sure you can use it.”

His voice hardened as he beckoned to his partner. “This lady has offered me this. I consider it to an attempt at bribery.” He showed her the money. “Get out of the car, please, madam!” This was an order.

As she stepped out of the car, still thinking she could talk her way out of this, the policewoman took hold of her wrist. Before she realised what was happening her hands were handcuffed behind her and she was led to the police car.

Two hours later she was in court. The government believed that the best way of fighting crime was to make the court system as efficient as possible. Except in capital cases, legal representation was prohibited. Corporal punishment had been reintroduced for minor offences. For more serious offences the sentences were harsh.The trial was over almost before it had begun. She had no defence against the speeding offence and her feeble excuses for the attempted bribe were soon demolished by the evidence of the two police officers.

The judge was curt. “Mrs Jane Ogilvie. Your behaviour has been disgraceful. You have a long history of traffic offences. You seem to think that because you have the money to easily pay the fines you can buy yourself out of trouble. It is time that the consequences of your actions are made clear to you. On the count of speeding, I sentence you to twenty strokes of the cane, to be administered in the court square immediately after this trial. The strokes to be administered to the bare hide.”

Jane was stunned. They couldn’t do this to her! She had watched some of the judicial canings, secretly enjoying the humiliation of the convicts as they were stripped naked and tied to the bench, placed so that the watchers could fully appreciate their pain. But those were common criminals! She was the wife of a prosperous businessman, not some cheap floozie. “Now listen here, young woman! Do you know who I am?” The judge’s pretty lips were a hard line. “You are a convict, sentenced to a judicial whipping. Furthermore, you are in contempt of court with that remark. Perhaps a further ten strokes will show you the error of your ways!”

Jane was about to protest again, but kept silence. ‘Thirty strokes of the cane! She could never endure that!’

The judge carried on, “Coming to the more serious offence, that of attempted bribery of a police officer. I am taking into account your age and your position in society, and am inclined to be merciful. Hence on the charge of attempted bribery I sentence you to one year of community service. You will report to the municipal offices each day at 6 a.m. for twelve hours of service cleaning the streets. You will be issued with a regulation tunic immediately after your caning. You will wear no other garment for the duration of your sentence!”

Jane could not contain herself. “Are you crazy?” She burst out. “You cannot seriously expect me to wear one of those ridiculous garments and go around picking up litter for the next year as if…” The judge slammed her gavel down several times!

You are quite right, Mrs Ogilvie, a lady such as you should not have to wear a garment like that!”

Jane gave her a victorious smile. She knew the woman would come to her senses. “Therefor I withdraw the sentence of community service.” Jane’s smile grew into a broad grin. The judge went on. “An arrogant bitch like you deserves to wear nothing at all! You are sentenced to twelve months at hard labour! You will be branded immediately after your caning! Bailiff! Strip the prisoner!”

The bailiff stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Take your fucking hands off me!” Jane screamed, lashing out at the man, her fist catching him in the face. Three guards wrestled her to the floor. The judge sighed. “You really are more stupid than I thought. On the charge of assaulting an officer of the court I sentence you to a further five years at hard labour! Strip her and take her away before she earns a life sentence!” She banged her gavel and stood up, leaving the courtroom.

There was no fight left in Jane as the men stripped her. ‘Six years hard labour.’ She couldn’t believe it. ‘Six years in a chain gang.’ She sobbed bitterly as the guards led her outside, where the crowds and the cane awaited her.

The sun was blinding after the gloom of the courtroom. The street was full of people going about their daily business. She was grateful that the guards had apparently forgotten about stripping her. She stumbled on her high heels as she was hustled along between two guards, her hands still cuffed behind her back. The court square was busy. People chatting, getting coffee or street food from the stalls lining the square. The public floggings had become a popular public entertainment!

At one side of the square were several large wire mesh cages. Each of them contained a number of people, most of them naked, the day’s collection of miscreants to be flogged. There was a small stage in the centre of the square, equipped with a whipping post and a whipping bench. Jane had sometimes come to watch the whippings, chatting to her friends as the victims screamed under the cane or the lash. Now it was her turn.

The senior guard grinned at her. “Look well, slut! Soon you’ll be screaming on that bench. But we seem to have forgotten something. Those fancy clothes you’re wearing. Up! On the stage!”

She was pushed up the stairs. “Hey! You all! Listen up!” He bellowed at the crowd. “We got a stupid rich bitch here who got caught speeding! And tried to bribe an officer! Got sentenced to twenty strokes of the cane for speeding, but then she sassed the judge, got and extra ten for contempt. On top of that she assaulted an orderly. Got six years slavery for that. Anybody want to fuck her, she’ll be in Public Brothel #2 tonight! Wanna see what she got?”

The crowd bayed, gathering around for the unexpected show. The guard grabbed the front of Jane’s light summer dress. “ Hey! Careful!” she cried, “This dress costs more than you earn in a month!” He gave her an evil smile. “You don’t ever learn, do you? That mouth got you into this. You gotta learn to use it for its real purpose! Sucking cock!” With a powerful tug, he ripped the dress from her body! The rest of her clothes were cut off her. Her Tanzanite earrings disappeared into a pocket. She felt his fingers work the rings off her fingers. He showed her her wedding ring. “You won’t need that. Guaranteed your husband will have divorced you by tomorrow.” He casually tossed the ring into the crowd.

With a start she realised that she was naked in front of several hundred people! Desperately she tried to hide herself, an impossible task with her hands behind her back. She let her hair hang over her face. The guard smirked. “Shy, are we? You’ll have to get over that. You’re not wearing anything for the next six years! Not to mention you’re going to spread your legs for fifty guys a day, at least. Get used to it.”He grabbed her hair, pulling it away from her face. “Anyway, we got to get rid of this.” Digging his hand into her pubic bush, “and this.” He produced a battery powered clipper from his pocket. Switching it on he ran it through her hair.

“No!!!!” She screamed! “You can’t!” Hair fell around her feet as her head was crudely shaven. Sobbing bitterly, she didn’t even bother to struggle as her pubic hair joined the windblown litter in the square. Shorn, she was led into one of the cages to wait her turn at the flogging bench.

An hour or more went by. Jane was cocooned in her misery. A cheer from the crowd brought her back to reality. A squad of well built men and women arrived, all wearing sleeveless tops showing well developed arms and shoulders. The Municipal Floggers. Each carried a bundle of whippy bamboo canes.

The first victim was taken to the platform. A girl in her teens. The sentence was read. Six strokes for repeatedly being late for school. She was sobbing softly as she was tied to the bench, her legs spread so that her tight cunt and anus were clearly visible to the crowd. The Flogger selected a cane. Taking his stance he tapped it gently against her tautly presented buttocks. “Please? I’m sorry. I’ll never be late again.” She sobbed. He adjusted his stance and swung the cane, hard! There was a whistle and a crack as the cane impacted on her tight buttocks. Her scream echoed off the buildings! Five more times the cane smashed into her butt, each time followed by an anguished scream from the girl.

The sobbing, squirming girl was released from the bench. Sobbing hysterically she gently touched the six deep, fiery wheals crossing her bum. Still sobbing she was led to the pillory where she would spend the rest of the day, helplessly displayed to the crowd. Already a group of youngsters were gathering there. Probably her classmates. Jane doubted that they were going to offer condolences.

Jane watched miserably as one punishment followed another. They had started with the lowest number of strokes, working up to the finale. Jane was uncomfortably aware that she was near the end of the line. All those at her end of the line were roughly shorn. Convicts, then. Some bore brands on their right shoulders. A letter “C”. A strongly built man in his forties was led to the bench. His sentence was read. “Twenty strokes of the cane for multiple parking offences.”

Two floggers took up station, one on either side of him. One was right-handed, the other left-handed. He endured the first four strokes in silence, apart from a sharp inhalation at each stroke. The fifth was low, on the fold where buttock met thigh, and must have impacted on his balls. His scream was unearthly! He tried to rear up, almost tearing free of the straps holding him to the bench! Now he was anything but silent, screaming obscenities at each stroke until by the fourteenth stroke he was just screaming and sobbing incoherently. When he was released after the 20th stroke he collapsed, unable to stand. Two of the guards dragged him roughly to a pillory, locking him in.

It was the turn of the first of the crop headed convicts.
This here is why I don’t drive
 

theseus

Governor
Carrie
Carrie was embarrassed, very embarrassed. This was 2018, slavery was illegal! Or was it?

She and a number pf others had been kidnapped by a gang who would sell them in a shadowy modern slave trade. She was naked in a room with four guys. Their hands were all over her, touching her everywhere. She knew she would have to get used to this, as a slave. She felt sorry for the boys. They were soon to be ‘cut.’ Cut! It sounded innocuous, except that it meant that their balls and most of their cock would be cut off. The would become geldings, catamites, used in the most depraved ways.

“Let them enjoy it while they can,” she thought.
 

theseus

Governor
Brenda old slave Screen Shot 2018-10-24 at 09.11.10.png
Laura ate her food with enjoyment. Leftovers from her master’s table were a great treat after weeks of eating slave slop. Her mind wandered back to the days when she had been young, a desirable bedslave. Now all she was good for was grunt labour in the fields and serving as a cumdump for overseers and privileged slaves.

She could still remember every detail of that first auction, more than half a century ago. Standing on the show platform, her milky skin and flaming red hair a vivid contrast to the dusky or ebony skins of the other slaves on the market. There was the terror of the bidding, knowing that one of these strangers in the crowd would end up owning her, body and soul.

Her buyer was an old man, incredibly ancient for someone her age. He was cruel! He enjoyed showing her off, this pale waif snatched from a faraway island. His use of her body was brutal.

She learned all about pain. The pain of sodomy in a too tight hole, the pain of the whip as he explored the effect of various implements on her exotic hide. The pain of crucifixion when he crucified her so that her writhing and screaming could entertain his guests.

He soon tired of her, her virginity and novelty a thing of the past. Once again she stood on the auction block, now a used article, her skin, still pale, bearing the marks of the whip. Her buyer was a brothel keeper who specialised in young, exotic boys and girls to tempt the jaded appetites of his clients. Here she discovered perversion beyond imagination. For several years she satisfied the lusts and perversions of her owner’s clients, until she was once again sold.

Once more she looked at the faces of the crowd. Hands had probed her, squeezed her full, firm breasts, speculated about the tightness of her cunt after her years as a whore. Her skin was no longer milky, now a golden bronze from much exposure to the sun and marked with the faint scars of many whippings. The nipples of her firm new breasts were pierced for steel rings, as was her clitoris hood. She stood proudly now, no longer afraid of the unknown. She was inured to the hardships of life as a slave.

Her new owner was not an unkind man. He treated her well, used her often and comprehensively and did not lend her to others too frequently. His sole fault was the pleasure he took from watching her being used by his dogs.

She warmed his bed for several years before he gave her to his grandson for his 12th birthday. Now she was both trainer and toy, as the boy discovered the joys of sex as well as all the contingent pleasures of having a female slave he could use in any way he wished.

He was a curious and inventive lad and over the years he developed a true affection for the slave who had introduced him to sex. He, in turn, had passed her on to his son. He didn’t abuse her more than necessary, and, although she was now a field slave, labouring from dawn to dusk, he sometimes gave her little treats, such as this bowl of leftovers.

As she picked over a half chewed piece of meat she sighed in contentment.
 

Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
View attachment 637163
Laura ate her food with enjoyment. Leftovers from her master’s table were a great treat after weeks of eating slave slop. Her mind wandered back to the days when she had been young, a desirable bedslave. Now all she was good for was grunt labour in the fields and serving as a cumdump for overseers and privileged slaves.

She could still remember every detail of that first auction, more than half a century ago. Standing on the show platform, her milky skin and flaming red hair a vivid contrast to the dusky or ebony skins of the other slaves on the market. There was the terror of the bidding, knowing that one of these strangers in the crowd would end up owning her, body and soul.

Her buyer was an old man, incredibly ancient for someone her age. He was cruel! He enjoyed showing her off, this pale waif snatched from a faraway island. His use of her body was brutal.

She learned all about pain. The pain of sodomy in a too tight hole, the pain of the whip as he explored the effect of various implements on her exotic hide. The pain of crucifixion when he crucified her so that her writhing and screaming could entertain his guests.

He soon tired of her, her virginity and novelty a thing of the past. Once again she stood on the auction block, now a used article, her skin, still pale, bearing the marks of the whip. Her buyer was a brothel keeper who specialised in young, exotic boys and girls to tempt the jaded appetites of his clients. Here she discovered perversion beyond imagination. For several years she satisfied the lusts and perversions of her owner’s clients, until she was once again sold.

Once more she looked at the faces of the crowd. Hands had probed her, squeezed her full, firm breasts, speculated about the tightness of her cunt after her years as a whore. Her skin was no longer milky, now a golden bronze from much exposure to the sun and marked with the faint scars of many whippings. The nipples of her firm new breasts were pierced for steel rings, as was her clitoris hood. She stood proudly now, no longer afraid of the unknown. She was inured to the hardships of life as a slave.

Her new owner was not an unkind man. He treated her well, used her often and comprehensively and did not lend her to others too frequently. His sole fault was the pleasure he took from watching her being used by his dogs.

She warmed his bed for several years before he gave her to his grandson for his 12th birthday. Now she was both trainer and toy, as the boy discovered the joys of sex as well as all the contingent pleasures of having a female slave he could use in any way he wished.

He was a curious and inventive lad and over the years he developed a true affection for the slave who had introduced him to sex. He, in turn, had passed her on to his son. He didn’t abuse her more than necessary, and, although she was now a field slave, labouring from dawn to dusk, he sometimes gave her little treats, such as this bowl of leftovers.

As she picked over a half chewed piece of meat she sighed in contentment.
Nicely imagined and written.
 

old slave

FELIS RESPICIENS
View attachment 637163
Laura ate her food with enjoyment. Leftovers from her master’s table were a great treat after weeks of eating slave slop. Her mind wandered back to the days when she had been young, a desirable bedslave. Now all she was good for was grunt labour in the fields and serving as a cumdump for overseers and privileged slaves.

She could still remember every detail of that first auction, more than half a century ago. Standing on the show platform, her milky skin and flaming red hair a vivid contrast to the dusky or ebony skins of the other slaves on the market. There was the terror of the bidding, knowing that one of these strangers in the crowd would end up owning her, body and soul.

Her buyer was an old man, incredibly ancient for someone her age. He was cruel! He enjoyed showing her off, this pale waif snatched from a faraway island. His use of her body was brutal.

She learned all about pain. The pain of sodomy in a too tight hole, the pain of the whip as he explored the effect of various implements on her exotic hide. The pain of crucifixion when he crucified her so that her writhing and screaming could entertain his guests.

He soon tired of her, her virginity and novelty a thing of the past. Once again she stood on the auction block, now a used article, her skin, still pale, bearing the marks of the whip. Her buyer was a brothel keeper who specialised in young, exotic boys and girls to tempt the jaded appetites of his clients. Here she discovered perversion beyond imagination. For several years she satisfied the lusts and perversions of her owner’s clients, until she was once again sold.

Once more she looked at the faces of the crowd. Hands had probed her, squeezed her full, firm breasts, speculated about the tightness of her cunt after her years as a whore. Her skin was no longer milky, now a golden bronze from much exposure to the sun and marked with the faint scars of many whippings. The nipples of her firm new breasts were pierced for steel rings, as was her clitoris hood. She stood proudly now, no longer afraid of the unknown. She was inured to the hardships of life as a slave.

Her new owner was not an unkind man. He treated her well, used her often and comprehensively and did not lend her to others too frequently. His sole fault was the pleasure he took from watching her being used by his dogs.

She warmed his bed for several years before he gave her to his grandson for his 12th birthday. Now she was both trainer and toy, as the boy discovered the joys of sex as well as all the contingent pleasures of having a female slave he could use in any way he wished.

He was a curious and inventive lad and over the years he developed a true affection for the slave who had introduced him to sex. He, in turn, had passed her on to his son. He didn’t abuse her more than necessary, and, although she was now a field slave, labouring from dawn to dusk, he sometimes gave her little treats, such as this bowl of leftovers.

As she picked over a half chewed piece of meat she sighed in contentment.
A thought-provoking story about that aspect we tend to forget, what happens to us old slaves when we're no longer as desirable or able to perform. Like old horses, some are put out to retire to a pasture; some go for cat food.
 

theseus

Governor
Bess
Bess Screen Shot 2018-11-30 at 14.37.06.png
The slave pens!

How many times had Bess been sold?

She still had dim memories of green hillsides and blue seas, of a carefree girl picking spring flowers for her mother. The ship had looked lie some kind of insect, small and insignificant as it crawled along, propelled by dozens of oars. She faintly heard the beat of a drum. Then she became bored and went back to her flowers.

Her arms full of fragrant blooms, she ran back to the village. She smelt the smoke, but thought nothing of it until she rounded the last bend and saw the fires! The fires, the swarm of dark skinned men rounding up the women and children. There were bodies everywhere, some still writhing in agony. Only a few men had been spared, young, strong men.

She turned to run, but one of the dark raiders ran after her, catching her by her hair, dragging her back to the remains of the village. The older, adult women were being raped. She saw her mother, almost naked, held down by four men as another humped between her spread thighs. Her aunt, her belly swollen with child, was on her hands and knees, being mounted like an animal.
The prisoners were herded onto the ship. The men, naked, chained to the oars. The younger girls kept apart, their virginity a commodity. The older women were used at will.

An eternity later the ship docked in the searing heat of a desert town. Bess had no idea where they were. Her world had consisted only of the village and the surrounding countryside. Here there were few trees, and the sun blazed down. The last scraps of clothing were torn from her body, heavy manacles riveted to her wrists. Together with the other girls, and a few boys who had survived their mutilation, she was led though the streets. She knew by now that they were slaves, to be sold like animals.

Naked, she stood on the auction block as men bid for her. Her owner was a fierce looking man, his beard flecked with grey, a livid scar on his cheek. Her education as a slave started that night. No amount of screaming, begging, pleading, crying saved her from her fate. Neither did her youth. By the time dawn lit up the world she knew that a girl could be penetrated in three ways, all of them painful.

Half a century later Bess was on the block again. No longer a desirable young virgin, her skin creased and leathery after years of exposure to the African sun. All she had to offer was experience, and skill. Skill at healing. Skill at pleasing men, and women, with her mouth, her slave cunt and her accommodating arse. What would she be used for now? She had had so many owners. Her previous owner, rot him, had been amused to give her to his hounds. He had died a painful death from rabies, when one of those hounds had bitten him.

A whip cracked across her shoulders as the bidding started. She looked over the faces, the few bidders, lethargic as the last dregs were sold. The bids were slow, mere coppers. Long gone were the days when bidders had vied for her body. She had been one of the most sought after whores in the most expensive brothel in Algiers. The Bey himself had demanded her services. She smiled at the memory as the bidding ended.
Four coppers. That was her value. A she goat would cost thirty times more. Her owner was old, older than she was, his few remaining teeth black, his body odour overwhelming. As he tied a halter around her neck to lead her away with the three goats he had bought, Bess smiled wryly. Given the choice between servicing her owner or the billy goat walking beside her, she would choose the goat.

Young Bess had come a long way from that almost forgotten Cornish village.
 
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