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Forever Slavery a story of torture, death and love

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Loinclothslave

slave to the whip
I would like to acknowledge Michael Lanes help in inspiring this fragment. We were just having fun on a random thread, a few back and forth, his character crucified mine.

However it then lead to inspiring this. Michael was instrumental in the back story and inspiring me to create this. Hope you like.

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Background: Loinclothslave is a true soul slave. Her whole existence is devoted to her brutal enslavement. I am totally fulfilled as a lowly slave in chains. I crave punishment and any thing goes. After confessing my need fir my master’s torture and seeking the ultimate sanction- a proper slave death by crucifixion I was determined to have my dream death. After a minor infraction, my beautiful master, who was the only one who ever understood my need to be enslaved and tortured, obliged me while indulging my request to remain in chains even after I was nailed to the cross. He then proceeded to torture me almost unto death before I died in agony on the cross, utterly fulfilled. I had no way to know if Forever Slavery was real, I savored this tortuous death only because I loved my master so deeply and needed it to happen to me so badly from the depths of my depraved soul.

Below is this miserable slave’s story beginning from when I passed off this mortal coil....


Loinclothslave arrives beyond the mortal pale. This worthless slave remains in chains just as it had hoped. As a forever slave she arrives with broken bones healed and the beautiful iron spikes have fallen from her wrists and ankles. It is as if she lives again. But this is not the mortal realm, ghostly apparitions appear and fade. This is another place and time. She doesn’t understand why she can’t see any people at all in this realm.

One time, before her master purchased her, she was a slave held in a torture chamber. Most occupants were those wretches accused of witchcraft along with a handful of desperate criminals. Loinclothslave found herself there at the whim of an especially cruel master who paid for her to be put to the question and tortured as a witch. By arrangement she would be released before she confessed but it must be convincing. Money exchanged hands. Her then master sought to gain respect by use of torture but she could never respect a pig without the courage to whip and torture his own slaves! She would never respect him at all after this casual brutality by proxy.

The inquisitors always maintained a witch can never use their spell craft if they are chained in iron. Thus any witch (for them, there was no “accused” - all would eventually confess under their brutal methods) was *always* kept in manacles and fetters, with iron collars and chains. In fact it was here that Loinclothslave learned she preferred to be shackled and collared in hard iron.

The chamber was busy, a local famine had “revealed” many covens, so the torturers were kept busy. Loinclothslave suffered all the torments, from her frequent flogging, to inspection for the Devil’s mark. From the strappado to bastinado. From riding the horse, to the gibbet. Boiling oil and water torture. From the Judas seat to a simple torture table, where she was tormented with by hot needles, whips, hot irons, and hot pliers.

At last comes the rack, feared by so many. The chamber was so busy they indeed held two racks. As loinclothslave was chained to the rack a witch was chained to the other. The inquisitors were utterly merciless and would tighten the rack until the slave was at breaking point, literally one more notch would break them, dislocating the shoulders. It is agony, then the tormented are treated to more whips, hot irons, breast claws and so on

This is where Loinclothslave’s incredible stamina for pain bloomed anew. Her love of being tortured was enhanced by her experiences here.

Chained to the rack she was in agony but also in ecstasy. The inquisitors tormented the two racked victims for the entire day. Neither one confessed.

The inquisitors were in the habit of leaving such victims racked in agony over night in anticipation of the crescendo the next day when they would be broken and flailed.
On this terrible night, the slave finds herself racked next to a witch. Not a pretend condemned by jealous neighbour style “witch” but a genuine Necromancer.

They talked. She learned it was in fact true that a witch could not utilize it’s powers while manacled, collared, and fettered in iron. They spoke long through the night and dawn had not yet broken when the necromancer spoke darkly of the forever slave universe.

If circumstances were right, slave’s dying under torture would awaken after death as a forever slave. It only worked for slaves who were genuine soul slaves, who craved a slave’s lot including fetishes for the lash and being tortured. Even then it only works if a slave dies a genuine slave’s death and in chains. And it *must* be carried out by their one true Soul Master.

But for most, the realm is a trap. It deadens the soul, after all, it’s full of dedicated slaves without masters....

Most dedicated slaves crave some form of torture so much they fade without it so it is mostly a ghost realm. But if only these slaves, who tend to arrive there by accident knew, there is a way out. The trick is to find another who is corporeal and influct another slave death upon one another. It must be exactly the same at least in terms of major elements, spake the Necromancer. By doing doing so the slave returns suddenly to its mortal realm, back in slavery to its master.

After returning to its original mortal realm, so long as this slave dies by slave death (torture, crucifixion, impalement, whipped to death, etc,) and it is carried out by the same master (or Mistress) and in their slave chains, it can be repeated. And after making a trinity of such crossings they can also bring their master to the slave realm so long as the slave dies before him.... then returning is easy, so long as the master gives the same slave death that killed it, both slave and master are returned to their mortal realm.

————————-

Loinclothslave seeks out a still corporeal slave in the realm. She finds a young male slave who is lonely and confused, desperately frustrated. And from a completely different universe where slaves have no name but the sexual power dynamics are reversed.

he needs no convincing at all of her veracity but there is a problem because he died under the lash. crucifixion doesn’t leave a free hand to whip someone and dying under the lash gives him no time to hammer the spikes!

But they had plenty of time to work out all the logistics, find and make their required equipment, and make sure they remembered all important details of their death. For example the whip slave died by the scourge but had also been flogged with a Cat O nine tails and two different types of single tailed whips. Almost at the last he also remembered being tortured with hot irons the same day.

In the end, they were still trying to figure how a dying slave on a cross whips her companion to death until loincloth slave realised- she doesn’t need to have all 3 nails through her wrists an ankles to die!

The other logistics were fairly easy to work out, loincloth slave was also whipped and branded both before and after she’d been placed on the cross so she figured they could do this to each other first.

If she just starts off the whip slave with his ferocious flogging, includes the hot irons torture, getting it all done save the Scourging whilst he performs the same tasks on her.

Next she gets the whip-slave to hammer all three spikes home, nailing her back to the cross. The key epiphany was that he can then lever the spike from her right wrist, and pass her the scourge so she can finish whipping him to death. With her chains still on it was difficult but not impossible to wield the scourge with sufficient force to kill him.

Needless to say this all caused them both an unimaginable amount of pain. Of course for these two the biggest problem that caused was even more painful arousal.

While it occurred to both that there was no guarantee the rest of the Necromancer’s story was true or not, neither suggested alternatives like staying in this realm and fulfilling their pain need together. When they spoke about it they both agreed that their ultimate clawing need to be owned and properly enslaved override anything else, including the risk that their second deaths would be completely final.

She is in delicious agony and with a purpose. The whip slave has just expired after taking brutal punishment. It took far more scourging than she would have thought possible! She didn’t forget to have whip slave scourge her, even across her face She would again die without her womanhood but that last scourging had to be self inflicted given she couldn’t kill whip slave if her thighs were broken and couldn’t see...

Oh Master, I am dancing on the cross, oh my soul master, I am dancing home!
 
Please mark always the end of messages with "tbc" or "The End".
Sorry I didn’t realise. I imagine there’s some guidelines for posting stories that I missed.
I very much doubt I can manage sequels to this fragment given her master character on the home world is run by Michael.

please arrange severe punishment at my inconvenience

“The End”
 
Sorry I didn’t realise. I imagine there’s some guidelines for posting stories that I missed.

I didn't know we were supposed to do that either.

It’s actually not a requirement here, but it is a helpful courtesy to Madiosi when he collects story episodes for the purpose of assembling ebook versions of writers’ works. It can also be useful for readers too.
 
Part 2:

Over the past two weeks, ever since crucifying the best slave he’s ever had, he’s been having queer dreams. Not just erotic dreams, which he’s had before after crucifying others, and he’d had many of those about her as well. No these were odd, dreams of a spirit world, as well as the fresh blood and pain of his former slave.

Why did she insist on remaining chained when crucified, he’d wondered? It was one of the only requests he acquiesced to, even denying her beloved loincloth. Knowing her as he did, that seemed completely strange. He’d known she actually relished the torturous death, and even thought she’d deliberately insulted him when she spilled his cum in front of others. Embarrassed and disappointed in her, some might say that invoking the ultimate sanction was heavy handed but he had a reputation as the cruelest master to consider.

In an unconscious way he’d fulfilled her perverted desires. It was no simple crucifixion, he’d tortured her savagely both before bringing her to the execution ground and also while she was nailed to the cross. Chained by fetters beneath the nails, collar to the stipe, and her wrists still manacled alongside the nails, joined by a longer chain.

Why did she beg so much for the chains? Why did he bother to comply? He was angry, and she deserved her harsh but fair punishment. He’d left her utterly ruined in all ways....

The next morning after ablutions, he called fir his young new sex slave, purchased just before that crucifixion- he’d wanted to torment his old slave with jealousy as she died on that cross.

The slave girl was brought to him. She was certainly attractive enough...

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... but something lacked. Certainly she performed her duties well enough, well trained in the art of using her tongue. Yet whenever he whipped her there was a barrier. She’d plead for mercy in what seemed to him a bland fashion. She clearly feared him and served from that fear, but something he couldn’t place lacked in her.

That evening he dreamed of the executed one once more. It was extremely vivid, visions of the cross, a razor scourging- a revisiting of her crucifixion in excruciating detail, almost as if he was watching it unfold once more. He thought he heard her voice!

Waking drenched with perspiration and incredibly aroused, he was bewildered and decided to call for his nubile sex slave to assist relieving his obvious tension. She employed her talents skillfully, bringing him to climax, but left him feeling empty instead of fulfilled. So he decided another round was in order and to satisfy his hunger employed his brutality, calling for a brazier in addition to the items he kept handy in his boudoir.

Chaining the poor defenceless slavegirl to the stone table, he used several whips to torture her, but was still unsatisfied, unable to rise... So using a red hot iron to make her scream in agony he finally rose and penetrated her, coming at last after half an hour utilizing brand after now white hot brand while he pumped her loins as she wept and screamed under the cruel heat....

He had her dragged to the dungeon as she screamed and pleaded. “Place this one in a single cell and chain her to the wall. She is to be watered but left unfed, take her now!”

Usually random sexual torture if this kind, once consummated, left him deeply satisfied, able to soundly slumber as a child.

He slept fitfully and irritably. His following day was full of his extensive estate’s business. As one of the wealthiest landholders, he held many responsibilities with a horde of slaves to be managed. Mostly managed by a team of sadistic overseers, occasionally problems would reach the master.

This time it was an old slave-scribe. He had served faithfully and honestly for over 30 years and the Master knew him on sight. To say it was a surprise was an understatement.

“Why is old Joe here?”

A weasel of an overseer responded...

“This slave has fabricated the accounts, Master (he owned everyone on the Estate). Old Joe has been stealing from you, just look at last month’s egg sales, and compare with our current production. For comparison, sir, here’s last years figures. And you’ll also notice he has done the same with the wheat sales figures. It is clear, Master, that old Joe has been skimming profits.”

Stealing from their Master is, of course, a capital crime. In the case of simple petty theft, such as stealing food driven by hunger (he preferred his slaves underfed), the Overseers are permitted to commute the automatic death sentence to horrible torture instead, but when the ultimate sanction was required Master had to pronounce it. He was judge, jury, and executioner in one.

Distracted and irritated from last night, he went over the figures. The discrepancy was glaringly obvious but in his befuddlement he failed to detect the obvious forgery. Instead he decided he would be generous - accused slaves generally are not permitted to act in their own defence - and asked old Joe if that was indeed his mark at the bottom of each page.

“Yes, master, but...”

The old slave was quite correctly cut off with a blow from the Overseer. The slave was only permitted to answer the question at that point. Feeling betrayed and shocked it was one he’d trusted for decades, the Master’s patience was tested to its limit!

“So, my once trusted slave, Joe, you claim innocence despite your mark?”

“Yes, master, I beg for your mercy!”

“Very well then, your years of service have earned you the right to a slave’s defence!”

“Oh thank you Master, I...”

“SILENCE! I did not give you leave to speak! Guards, to the dungeon with him, if he passes the trial by fire, we shall speak further.”

The truth, of course, was it was the very Overseer who’d brought Joe before him had made the clumsy forgery, it was only when another accounting slave pointed out the discrepancy to the same Overseer that he denounced old Joe to save his skin!

After a long day the tired and angry Master retired without comfort. Even more vivid dreams colored his repose, he was haunted by visions of his old loincloth wearing slave. Again the vixen whispered in his nightmares, again a vision of her execution!

Six more days, and six more torrid nights, the dead slave’s voice now ringing in his ears, the Master has had his repast when a clerical slave approaches... the slave correctly grovels, awaiting acknowledgment and permission to speak.... Master takes his time, irritated to his wit’s end, unwilling to deal with petty administrators. At last he relents, giving leave with a curt gesture.

“Master, old Joe has undergone his week of trial by fire and has confessed, would you prefer to have him brought before you? “

“No, slave, I shall visit the wretch in the chamber, place him on the X cross in case I have further questions “

“Yes Master!” Scurrying away.

The rest of the morning is once again interrupted by visions until after lunch he decides to question his old faithful scribe slave more closely. Thinking “Perhaps some cruelty will distract my mind?”



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He comes down to the chamber and old Joe is begging for mercy, insensible from days of unbearable pain, begging for forgiveness. It is entirely possible the poor innocent man now actually believes his guilt and quite likely been driven insane from the relentless pain.

All the Master asks is “Why?” But old Joe is unable to provide a convincing answer- it is difficult to justify why you committed a crime you are innocent of. He is slowly roasted over hot coals and after 5 hours of relentless torment, passes.

Normally the Master is rock hard after such a session but not today. Not when plagued by hallucinations and worry for his own sanity. He decides to make use of his sex slave, her hunger by now may make her eager to please.

He heads for the cells, “where is that stupid slut of a slave girl I sent here last week?”

He can hear her chains clinking...

“Number 3, Sire “

“Give me the keys!”

As he approaches the row, he hears those chains clinking, but they appear to be coming from the dankest punishment cell, number 5.

“Who’s in 5?”

“None sire, we only had the girl and old Joe here, he won’t be using #1 now....”

Perhaps it was rats? Suddenly, he is sure he hears a moan and faint sobbing...

Curious, he goes to 5, thinking the jailer might have gotten confused...

“I feel so empty, perhaps this hungry whore is now motivated enough to help fill my void?”

The door is in a neglected corner and is usually only used on slaves condemned to complete starvation. Sewer pipes provide some sort of water, so they starve in agony for weeks and months before they expire, probably that’s why they put his sex slave in here, he thought, although he hadn’t quite intended to leave her in such a predicament, he was sorely tempted to turn and leave her to a fate worse than death.

“Still, she can perform her duty one last time, that skillful tongue may revive me, then she can rot” his depravity knew no bounds.

The sobbing is clear now

With great difficulty, due to parts of the door being rusted to the dungeon bars, he wrenches it open...

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“Oh, Master! MASTER!!! Please, I beg you, please kiss me with your whip!!!!!”

Almost fainting on the spot, Master’s fugue has lifted! He doesn’t understand how, why, whether by miracle or witchcraft, but it is HER!

TBC
 
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