old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
Thank you, theseus.
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Vignettes from the slave pits
- Thread starter theseus
- Start date
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Vielen Dank
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Oarslave
Paradise Island is a large atoll in the tropical ocean. It consists of dozens of islands. A consortium of rich entrepreneurs bought the atoll from a corrupt state. By agreement the atoll was not subject to any laws except those made by the owners. The government of the state turned a blind eye to all activities on the island.
Paradise was marketed as a perfect getaway place for sexual adventure. Most people stayed on Vanilla Island, the largest and most developed of the islands. It was a perfect fun in the sun resort, with sex as the main attraction.
Melanie had had a quarrel with her boyfriend. In a fit of pique she signed up for a month on Slave Island, signed up without reading any of the documents. She found herself chained to an oar on one of the galleys that transported visitors between islands. She remembered being amazed at the scantily clad oarsmen, and women, of the galley that took her and Dave to Vanilla Island.
On this galley she was not scantily clad, she was naked. She was chained to her oar and whenever she showed the slightest hesitation the whip cracked across her helpless body. Food was minimal, water more so. Her main diet was cum from the overseers and the passengers. The only time she was released from her oar was when someone wanted to fuck her. Fortunately this was quite often, because it was the only respite from the oar and the whip.
As they waited for a new group of passengers to board, headed for Gay Island, she looked out over the calm water. Her mouth was still filled with the salty creamy taste of cum. This was only the morning of day 2! How many days in this month? Was it 30, or 31?
The cox’n barked an order. Tired muscles protested as she grasped her oar. She heard the whistle of the whip, flinched instinctively. The crack and the scream were almost simultaneous. Not her back this time. The old woman, the one with short grey hair, she must be nearly 60. The whip cracked again. Gay Island was far away. She pulled at her oar.
Was it 30 days? Or 31?
Paradise Island is a large atoll in the tropical ocean. It consists of dozens of islands. A consortium of rich entrepreneurs bought the atoll from a corrupt state. By agreement the atoll was not subject to any laws except those made by the owners. The government of the state turned a blind eye to all activities on the island.
Paradise was marketed as a perfect getaway place for sexual adventure. Most people stayed on Vanilla Island, the largest and most developed of the islands. It was a perfect fun in the sun resort, with sex as the main attraction.
Melanie had had a quarrel with her boyfriend. In a fit of pique she signed up for a month on Slave Island, signed up without reading any of the documents. She found herself chained to an oar on one of the galleys that transported visitors between islands. She remembered being amazed at the scantily clad oarsmen, and women, of the galley that took her and Dave to Vanilla Island.
On this galley she was not scantily clad, she was naked. She was chained to her oar and whenever she showed the slightest hesitation the whip cracked across her helpless body. Food was minimal, water more so. Her main diet was cum from the overseers and the passengers. The only time she was released from her oar was when someone wanted to fuck her. Fortunately this was quite often, because it was the only respite from the oar and the whip.
As they waited for a new group of passengers to board, headed for Gay Island, she looked out over the calm water. Her mouth was still filled with the salty creamy taste of cum. This was only the morning of day 2! How many days in this month? Was it 30, or 31?
The cox’n barked an order. Tired muscles protested as she grasped her oar. She heard the whistle of the whip, flinched instinctively. The crack and the scream were almost simultaneous. Not her back this time. The old woman, the one with short grey hair, she must be nearly 60. The whip cracked again. Gay Island was far away. She pulled at her oar.
Was it 30 days? Or 31?
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theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Market Day
Jane knew that her body was too muscular and hard for the harem. The men liked their bedmates soft and submissive. For her, and the two slaves behind her in the coffle the future was most likely one of hard labour. Hard labour interspersed with rough, brutal sex.
She heard the redhead at the back protest again at the busy hands of the guard. She would go to the harem, the prissy cow! Those soft curves would drive these savages mad!
Ahead she heard the cries of the auctioneer. She would soon know her fate.
Jane knew that her body was too muscular and hard for the harem. The men liked their bedmates soft and submissive. For her, and the two slaves behind her in the coffle the future was most likely one of hard labour. Hard labour interspersed with rough, brutal sex.
She heard the redhead at the back protest again at the busy hands of the guard. She would go to the harem, the prissy cow! Those soft curves would drive these savages mad!
Ahead she heard the cries of the auctioneer. She would soon know her fate.
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theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Sultana
Sultana could not quite grasp what was happening.
She had learned at school that the last vestiges of slavery in Africa had been abolished in the late 19thCentury. This was 2019! This couldn’t be happening!
She had gone to Zanzibar to do research for a term paper. Her guide was best described as a charming rogue. His black skin spoke of Africa, his beak of a nose of Omani ancestry. He had taken her all over the island, shown her the old slave market and the Cathedral built on the site of the whipping post, the dark slave pits, the monument. He had shown her the tacky souvenir shops, Tippoo Tib the slaver’s house, now being converted into a luxury boutique hotel and the hose where Freddy Mercury had lived. She had seen dozens of beautiful old doors, each hiding the house behind. He was a raconteur, a storyteller.
They had dinner at a quiet restaurant that served Zanzibari food to tourists. The last she remembered was him telling her about the trade in harem slaves to the Ottoman Empire.
She had woken in this bare room. Naked, cuffs on ankles and wrists. She had screamed blue murder, to no avail.
Eventually he had appeared, still suave and charming. “I’m afraid, my dear, that it was an offer I could not refuse. $25,000! A fortune in Zanzibar. Your new owner is a connoisseur, a collector. You will be well treated, unless you misbehave. After all, you are valuable piece of merchandise.”
His hands roamed her naked body, applying Ylang-ylang oil until her skin gleamed.
“Of course, he will eventually tire of you and sell you. Perhaps to Ali’s brothel. Ali is a good friend, and owes me some favours. It may be several years, but I can wait.”
He helped her to her feet. She could barely shuffle in her cuffs. “Come, my dear. Your new life awaits you.”
Sultana could not quite grasp what was happening.
She had learned at school that the last vestiges of slavery in Africa had been abolished in the late 19thCentury. This was 2019! This couldn’t be happening!
She had gone to Zanzibar to do research for a term paper. Her guide was best described as a charming rogue. His black skin spoke of Africa, his beak of a nose of Omani ancestry. He had taken her all over the island, shown her the old slave market and the Cathedral built on the site of the whipping post, the dark slave pits, the monument. He had shown her the tacky souvenir shops, Tippoo Tib the slaver’s house, now being converted into a luxury boutique hotel and the hose where Freddy Mercury had lived. She had seen dozens of beautiful old doors, each hiding the house behind. He was a raconteur, a storyteller.
They had dinner at a quiet restaurant that served Zanzibari food to tourists. The last she remembered was him telling her about the trade in harem slaves to the Ottoman Empire.
She had woken in this bare room. Naked, cuffs on ankles and wrists. She had screamed blue murder, to no avail.
Eventually he had appeared, still suave and charming. “I’m afraid, my dear, that it was an offer I could not refuse. $25,000! A fortune in Zanzibar. Your new owner is a connoisseur, a collector. You will be well treated, unless you misbehave. After all, you are valuable piece of merchandise.”
His hands roamed her naked body, applying Ylang-ylang oil until her skin gleamed.
“Of course, he will eventually tire of you and sell you. Perhaps to Ali’s brothel. Ali is a good friend, and owes me some favours. It may be several years, but I can wait.”
He helped her to her feet. She could barely shuffle in her cuffs. “Come, my dear. Your new life awaits you.”
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theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
"Not the cane again! Please, not the cane again!" She had done her best. It was not her fault that she couldn't be as good as the experienced sex slaves. She had tried! Her owner had promised her sixty strokes of the cane on her breasts the next time there was a complaint from a client.
All night, locked in the tiny punishment cell she had agonised over what her punishment would be. Her previous punishment had been twenty strokes on her buttocks. That had been excruciating! She thought she would die, hoped she would die. Nothing could be worse than that!
Now she knew. Her breasts would be destroyed!
She was only three weeks into her five-year sentence.
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theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
She had been a secretary; struggling from month to month to pay the bills, buy food, pay the rent. There was never anything left over for savings, a holiday, or even little luxuries.
Then one of her boss' colleagues made her an offer. He would invest $50 000 for her. It would be her retirement fund. All she had to do was become his slave for as long as it pleased him. There would be no limits to her slavery or the use made of her, with the exception that there was to be no lasting physical harm. She could be sold, and then 10% of her purchase price would be added to her trust fund. She would be released only at the wish of her owner, probably when she was too old to be of use as a sex slave.
She thought about it for a week, then signed the documents. Now she waits to be shipped to his country house, there to join the rest of his 'collection.'
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theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Nicole had a very high opinion of herself. A newly qualified lawyer, she knew that she was smart, intelligent and beautiful. She had a habit of looking down on lesser mortals. Her client was clearly one of these lesser mortals, a minor gangster accused of human trafficking. She made no secret that she thought he was a despicable piece of trash!
She had been driving out to a house party in a plush suburb when the van crashed into her convertible. Dazed from the impact, she offered no resistance to the two men who pulled her out of her car and bundled her into the padded back of the van.
Now, 24 hours later, she is no longer the smart lawyer. Stripped naked, she has had an expanding plug shoved painfully into her virgin arse and tightened until there is no way for it to come out. Her hands are cuffed and her ankles are attached to the buttplug in such a way that she can only crawl. Now she is crawling to her food bowl. A bowl filled with leftover scraps deemed unsuitable for the dogs, liberally coated with the cum of the guards.
She has been told that she is destined for the collection of a South American drug baron, one notorious for his perverted tastes. In the meantime she is learning her new status in life.
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theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Dreams of Clothing
Julia walked through the hot, steamy streets of Zanzibar. Two days ago she had been a passenger on an exclusive, small cruise ship. Now she was naked, cold, hard steel locked firmly around neck, wrist and ankle. She had been told that they were going to the slave market. To be sold!The cruise had been fun. It was marketed as a singles cruise, with the unstated subtext of sex and fun in the sun. She had enjoyed flaunting her body, wearing the tiniest, most daring bikinis by day, seductive dresses in the evening. She had enjoyed teasing the guys, taking her time in selecting a bedmate, or perhaps two, for the cruise. The pirates had struck in the middle of a pool party. Within minutes the passengers and the more attractive crewmembers had been rounded up. The rest died in a hail of gunfire.
Then the nightmare really started. She hadn’t been wearing much, just a bright orange microkini. Even that was taken from her. Each of the slaves, and they were soon informed that that is what they were, were fitted with shiny steel collars and cuffs. They were kept in the sweltering, darkness of a hold until the ship arrived at its new destination.
Here they were washed, hair combed and generally made to look as pretty as possible. Julia was horrified when she saw the bustling town. Men dresses in long gowns, women veiled from head to toe. She was naked, naked as the day she was born! She and the other slaves were marched through the town, the target of stares and many lewd comments. They were to be sold on auction, and their captors made sure that as much of the town as possible saw them.
As they wound their way through the streets she spied a black girl, the only woman not veiled. She was carrying a basket of fruit on her head and was clearly also a slave. Julia envied her, for around her waist she wore a tiny scrap of fabric covering her sex.
Julia would have exchanged all her expensive designer clothes for such a scrap of fabric. Anything was better than her present state!
Thank you for the illustrated stories, but don't forget the thumbnail-rule!
Crux-Emperor Baracus X
Rectidolor
Brilliant series !! 
I agree!Brilliant series !!
Crux-Emperor Baracus X
Rectidolor
Here's some nice pics of slave scenarios....would anyone like to write a short story about any of them ??(In their own words of course....)
Crux-Emperor Baracus X
Rectidolor
Suffering in servitude....
She was just a sex-slave
Reduced to sucking cocks...
Sperm,her only sustenance
A revolting,spunky slimy diet
No option but to swallow....
No matter what she thought.
Fastened to the fuck-bench
Her exposed cunt daily abused
Brutally raped against her will
All orifices repeatedly violated
Bare arse,especially so....
Cum dribbling most repulsive.
Nude,her body grimed with dirt
Fresh from the rock face,below
She'd been selected at random
Her turn to serve her masters...
Exposed breasts dangled heavily
Nipples painfully targeted,tweaked...
Her eyes red with salty tears
Mutely offering her mouth,
Obedience harsly,painfully learnt
She had NO rights at all
Merely captured into slavery
A source of sadistic pleasure....
Chained,like a mere beast
Denied all her basic clothing
Toiling unmercifully in the mines
Enduring hours of heavy labour
The heat and darkness unbearable
Urged on by cruel whips !!
Like others before her
She no longer felt human
No more granted a name
Her identity,was anonymous
Just a number,now 'Slave #345'
Branded,burnt onto her bum...
You couldn't call them pretty
Naked bodies covered in filth
Dirty hair all matted and oily
Perpetually left unclean,disgusting
Bodies stinking of stale sweat
Piss and shit,also evident....
Any indiscretion swiftly dealt with
Punishment mostly quite severe
Naked women covered in marks
Examples made,indiscriminately
Terrible rumours abounded,
Whispered quite fearfully,for good reason !!
Awful stories soon circulated...
Serious miscreants soon disappeared
Could it really be true....??
(Even in this day and age....??)
Apparently they died in agony,
Nailed to a T-shaped Cross !!
When the guards eventually came,
It's best to cooperate
Irrelevant what they thought....
Led away in chains,upstairs
To face whatever fate awaited
Pray it's not to be Crucified...!!
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
"I shall apply my mind to this." That is what the politicians always say. I hope my application of my three brain cells will be more productive and pleasing than theirs.
I'm relative sure.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
The price of a kiss.
Kitchen duty is a sought after privilege among the slaves at the Farm. Not only do the slaves get to sleep in the warmth of the kitchen in winter, but they have access to the leftovers of the free guests, much better than the tasteless, unappetising but nutritionally balanced slop in the slave’s feeding throughs. In addition there was always the chance the one of the guests might notice them and take them to their beds.
Alice and Michelle were on washing up duty. They were fairly new at the Farm and had responded well to their training. I had wandered into the scullery because of the silence. Dishwashing is normally a fairly noisy occupation. The sight that met my eyes was very entertaining. Two slim, lithe bodies intertwined, lips and hands busy on firm flesh, little pants of passion.
“I hope the two of you enjoyed that kiss! You can savour the pleasure of it as Leroy strips the skin off your backs tomorrow morning. Two dozen each will teach you to keep your minds on the washing up.” They leapt apart! “Please master. It was only for a moment. Please?”
“Considering you two are clearly feeling horny, you can spend the rest of the night in the kennels. The boys do like a horny girl!”
They would have an active night before Leroy collected them in the morning for their appointment with the lash.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Lisa’s birthday gift.
My daughter Lisa wanted a beach party for her 18th birthday. I thought it was a great idea! All her friends would be there and I could legitimately enjoy watching them play on the beach.
Lisa was a bit late, wanting to make an entrance. Eventually there was cheering and clapping as the birthday girl arrived. She posed on the rock, showing off for her friends.
I looked up proudly to see my favourite child’s arrival, then recoiled in shock!
What the hell was she wearing? Or not wearing? A bit of black string, and three minute scraps of silver fabric that barely covered her nipples and her slit.
I took in the applause and comments of her friends. “Well done Lisa!” “Go for it, girl!” There was the inevitable "Take it off!" although There wasn't much need of that. “Turn around, we want to see the back,” a boy called. She did so, doing a slow pirouette to show that the back of the bathing suit was no more than a black string that vanished between the globes of her buttocks.
I pushed my way through the crowd, hissing at her, “Where did you get that…thing?”
She gave me her best smile, enough to make any father’s heart melt. “It’s my birthday present from Granny Anne, dad. The card that came with it says, ‘You’ve got it girl! Flaunt it!”
I was speechless, and defeated. All I could do was look appreciatively at what she was flaunting. One thing I had learnt very early in my married life.
Never, ever, disagree with your mother in law!
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