Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
(With thanks to Marcus’ fabulous 3 Models graphic novel for inspiration)
The nation of Asyemrabia has become more prominent in recent months. First raising the media’s ire with the legalization of chattel slavery, several months ago. It has recently caused extra controversy by reintroducing crucifixion for blasphemy (and routine slave punishment by crucifixion for misdemeanors at the discretion of owners which the media ignores).
Today, 3 masochist women models have visited the country specifically to break the law and face such a cruel sentence! They set up a pay per view website, and organize a camera crew to film their torment. The proceeds, they hope, will set up their surviving families for life.
Mistress notices this and is both intrigued and massively turned on by the idea of witnessing such agonizing torture for herself. The first public, legal crucifixion in over 1,000 years! Upon learning of their arrest, she is determined.
She organizes to travel to the place of execution and joins a large group of sadists and curious masochists, all of whom have paid large sums to visit.
To my surprise, mistress has also organized entry for me, placing me into a crate in my loincloth and chains, I am packed as additional baggage added to her Business class ticket. I am not told what is happening at all..
The flight is arduous for me, as the cargo hold is not heated and the temperature drops below freezing. Still, it is survivable due to the insulation of the box, and the fact I am short chained into a fetal position with a longer skirt than usual.
Upon landing, the customs officials have no qualms as they witness her unbox me at baggage collection, lengthens my connector chain, and puts a leash on me. She makes me crawl under her lash right through customs! Slavery is legal here, but she must pay a tax, which she does.
I will not be permitted off my knees or be unchained the whole time we are here! It is like a grim paradise, everywhere we go I see other slaves - admittedly permitted to walk, but shackled or collared, always in skirts (it is law that no slave is permitted to wear pants) and with nice fresh marks.
As a special treat, Mistress took me to the slave market, and my heart leapt with joy as formerly “free” peasants were sold for pennies to work the same fields they used to work but under the lash in bondage. I was so envious of their good fortune. I was only a de facto slave. Back home if I escaped and ran, Mistress would have to hire the mafia to recapture me. Here it would be a simple police matter.
Unbeknownst to me, Mistress had a special treat in store, and dragged me to the back stalls of the market. It was larger than expected with rows of whipping posts to induct and train the newly enslaved, the crack of the lash and the new slaves’ whimpers of pain a constant, erotic reminder of where we were.
Finally we reached a closed off section where I could hear even more painful screams. Still on my knees, my loincloth now dirty and torn, I was chained to a post. Mistress left me there - soon all I knew was sudden deep burning pain and I screamed horribly as a brand was applied to my upper right arm! Another to my left buttock as I writhed in agony with a dreadful hiss and the unmistakable smell of burning meat. I was quite hungry, having remained under since 72 hours before we left - to prevent accidents - so the smell made me salivate. Finally to my inner left thigh, which was the most painful, I screamed and felt myself edge towards unconsciousness.
My hope grew with each branding, surely this meant? I dared not think it! Soon after, my burns still feeling as if aflame, Mistress reappeared. She was brandishing paperwork and grinning like a kid at Christmas. “This is your paperwork, slave, you are now legally my property!”
Unfortunately I was still chained to the branding post, otherwise I would have groveled before her in supplication, but I was still able to say “slave, in it’s joyful gratitude, humbly begs for a further mark of ownership.” Mistress obliged with some wicked full-strength strokes from the snake whip she always carried, using sufficient force to draw blood. My first lashes as truly owned property!
I’d never been more content in all my miserable life!
Our 5 star hotel provided slave quarters for every guest. I spent the cold desert evenings and unbearably hot days chained to a post in their slave quarters. It was really just a few pillars and posts with chains to secure us and highly secure with an electrified razor wire fence instead of walls. There was only a handful of us, most guests were international ones. We were watered and fed a daily meal of gruel, but were not maltreated, unless a slave resisted.
One newly acquired slave did try to resist, trying to escape while still shackled and making a break towards the gate. Clinking as it tried to The gate guards would have none of it, stopping the slave in it’s tracks with cudgels and cattle prods. The slave was manacled to the central whipping post.
We were all forced to watch it being scourged, then tortured with electricity and burning hot irons. The next morning it’s master was informed and authorized it to be put inside a metal gibbet which hung high from a tall pillar, left to suffer a slow death by starvation ( the overseers kept it watered by giving it piss soaked rags to suck).
(A beautiful sight for visitors to behold, a fully legal, modern slave coffle! I knew this was paradise!)
TBC
The nation of Asyemrabia has become more prominent in recent months. First raising the media’s ire with the legalization of chattel slavery, several months ago. It has recently caused extra controversy by reintroducing crucifixion for blasphemy (and routine slave punishment by crucifixion for misdemeanors at the discretion of owners which the media ignores).
Today, 3 masochist women models have visited the country specifically to break the law and face such a cruel sentence! They set up a pay per view website, and organize a camera crew to film their torment. The proceeds, they hope, will set up their surviving families for life.
Mistress notices this and is both intrigued and massively turned on by the idea of witnessing such agonizing torture for herself. The first public, legal crucifixion in over 1,000 years! Upon learning of their arrest, she is determined.
She organizes to travel to the place of execution and joins a large group of sadists and curious masochists, all of whom have paid large sums to visit.
To my surprise, mistress has also organized entry for me, placing me into a crate in my loincloth and chains, I am packed as additional baggage added to her Business class ticket. I am not told what is happening at all..
The flight is arduous for me, as the cargo hold is not heated and the temperature drops below freezing. Still, it is survivable due to the insulation of the box, and the fact I am short chained into a fetal position with a longer skirt than usual.
Upon landing, the customs officials have no qualms as they witness her unbox me at baggage collection, lengthens my connector chain, and puts a leash on me. She makes me crawl under her lash right through customs! Slavery is legal here, but she must pay a tax, which she does.
I will not be permitted off my knees or be unchained the whole time we are here! It is like a grim paradise, everywhere we go I see other slaves - admittedly permitted to walk, but shackled or collared, always in skirts (it is law that no slave is permitted to wear pants) and with nice fresh marks.
As a special treat, Mistress took me to the slave market, and my heart leapt with joy as formerly “free” peasants were sold for pennies to work the same fields they used to work but under the lash in bondage. I was so envious of their good fortune. I was only a de facto slave. Back home if I escaped and ran, Mistress would have to hire the mafia to recapture me. Here it would be a simple police matter.
Unbeknownst to me, Mistress had a special treat in store, and dragged me to the back stalls of the market. It was larger than expected with rows of whipping posts to induct and train the newly enslaved, the crack of the lash and the new slaves’ whimpers of pain a constant, erotic reminder of where we were.
Finally we reached a closed off section where I could hear even more painful screams. Still on my knees, my loincloth now dirty and torn, I was chained to a post. Mistress left me there - soon all I knew was sudden deep burning pain and I screamed horribly as a brand was applied to my upper right arm! Another to my left buttock as I writhed in agony with a dreadful hiss and the unmistakable smell of burning meat. I was quite hungry, having remained under since 72 hours before we left - to prevent accidents - so the smell made me salivate. Finally to my inner left thigh, which was the most painful, I screamed and felt myself edge towards unconsciousness.
My hope grew with each branding, surely this meant? I dared not think it! Soon after, my burns still feeling as if aflame, Mistress reappeared. She was brandishing paperwork and grinning like a kid at Christmas. “This is your paperwork, slave, you are now legally my property!”
Unfortunately I was still chained to the branding post, otherwise I would have groveled before her in supplication, but I was still able to say “slave, in it’s joyful gratitude, humbly begs for a further mark of ownership.” Mistress obliged with some wicked full-strength strokes from the snake whip she always carried, using sufficient force to draw blood. My first lashes as truly owned property!
I’d never been more content in all my miserable life!
Our 5 star hotel provided slave quarters for every guest. I spent the cold desert evenings and unbearably hot days chained to a post in their slave quarters. It was really just a few pillars and posts with chains to secure us and highly secure with an electrified razor wire fence instead of walls. There was only a handful of us, most guests were international ones. We were watered and fed a daily meal of gruel, but were not maltreated, unless a slave resisted.
One newly acquired slave did try to resist, trying to escape while still shackled and making a break towards the gate. Clinking as it tried to The gate guards would have none of it, stopping the slave in it’s tracks with cudgels and cattle prods. The slave was manacled to the central whipping post.
We were all forced to watch it being scourged, then tortured with electricity and burning hot irons. The next morning it’s master was informed and authorized it to be put inside a metal gibbet which hung high from a tall pillar, left to suffer a slow death by starvation ( the overseers kept it watered by giving it piss soaked rags to suck).
(A beautiful sight for visitors to behold, a fully legal, modern slave coffle! I knew this was paradise!)
TBC
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