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Vignettes from the slave pits

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fallenmystic

Governor
Why? You are getting plenty of sun on your nude body, and the sex will be plentiful!
But they promised a tour of “an exotic tropical location off the beaten track” but they paraded the girls through the town instead. I’m pretty sure that was what Barbaria complained about. :p
 

theseus

Governor
Cheaper than gelding.

vaged slave bdsmlr-102242-DiAHfSen8c-og.jpg


The high unemployment caused by the post-pandemic depression was a major social challenge. The simple solution was to enslave all the unemployed!

This couple had been rising young professionals when the pandemic had stopped their careers, dead! The newly enslaved couple had been fortunate enough to be bought as a couple. At least they could be together for a while, until their owners tired of one or the other of them and sold them on.

One of the major problems the slave owners had was what to do with male slaves. Females could be bred, producing a new crop of slaves. The males could not be allowed to breed, with the exception of a few selected studs. Castration was an option, but the mortality rate was high, and the medical care expensive. A cheap solution was a cheap, strong, steel cock cage. Barely an inch long, it was effective, and at $20 each it was cheap. Once fitted and locked it could only be removed with a cutting torch.

George felt very exposed, and embarrassed when he and his former wife, now fellow slave, were taken to the beach to serve their new owners. The cage had been fitted the day before, his cock still struggling to escape the relentless steel. He supposed he would get used to it.

Much more difficult to get used to would be watching their owners, husband and wife, enjoying Linda’s body. Watching her moaning with pleasure under their master was much worse than his own first experience of anal penetration.
 

theseus

Governor
Domestic Service.

####bdsmlr-37844-plEe3MqUc1.jpg

Laura’s spendthrift ways had finally become too much for her husband to forgive. When she maxed out her credit card for the umpteenth time he had refused to pay!

The court was not inclined to leniency. She was sentenced to Indentured Service until such time as she had paid off the $50 000 dollar credit card bill and the accumulated interest at 20% per annum. The court further ordered that the maximum daily amount she could earn was $100.

Her husband promptly bought her indenture. It gave him great pleasure to have her stripped and chained. Those chains would be all she had to wear until she paid off her debt.

“$50 a day is all a domestic servant is worth. You will work twelve-hour days, and do whatever duties you are assigned, no matter what that might be.”

This is the second year of her servitude. She has become an expert at working in the restrictive chains. She had also become very skilled in carrying out the many and diverse tasks an attractive indentured servant was required to perform.

Today was no exception. Once she had put away the washing up, she would be required to entertain her employer of the day’s son and his friends from the football team.
 

theseus

Governor
New at the Farm.

pale farm slave bdsmlr-9773263-Yhv9DHJDwt.png
One last look over her shoulder.

Ahead were the slave huts where she would live for the next six months. To the right was the blacksmith’s forge, where the chains would be attached to wrists and ankles, the collar locked around her throat and the brand burned deep into her creamy buttock.

The Farm was both an adventure and a nightmare. She had been well prepared for this. She had been counselled by two experienced slaves. She had fingered the deep brands on their pubic mounds, a special mark of status. She had been told in detail of the life of a slave.

She had undressed for the last time. For the next six months all she would wear would be chains. Chains, and the marks of the whip. Her creamy body would be exposed to the sun, becoming fiery red before turning a shade of bronze. In fact, her body was no longer hers, it belonged to the Farm, to be used as they wished.

She looked back, but it was useless. She had signed the contract. There was no going back.

Six months in chains. A slave!

She could feel the wetness between her thighs.

No going back!
 

theseus

Governor
Fresh Caught.

Screenshot 2019-12-09 at 06.48.56.png

“How about this one, dear?” The matron tugged at the chain attached to Breanna’s collar. “I would much rather have this one around the house than those gross, hairy Gauls. She shot a disparaging look at the line of Gauls slouching against the wall. Strong they might be, but hardly decorative around the house. They were much more suited to labouring in the fields.

Severus looked the young British slave up and down. “Hmm,” he thought to himself, “I’d rather have this one in my bed than one of those. It would be like wrestling with a bear!” He smiled at his wife. “Of course, my dear. She is young and should be easier to train, too. Not nearly as brutish as those sluts.” Always agree with your wife!

“The dealer says she is newly caught, brought in by the 10th legion after their successful campaign in that horrible island. What is it called? Britain? Something like that?”

“Yes, dear.” Severus was more interested in her rose-tipped breasts and her sweetly rounded belly than her provenance. Nice thighs, too.

“He says she is from one of their royal families.” She prattled on.

“I think you will find, my dear, that among those barbarians a man with two pigs and a goat probably considers himself a king. Although I must say, she looks a bit more refined than the rest of these barbarians.”

He haggled briefly with the dealer, settled on a lower price than the dealer wanted.

His wife led her away as he paid the dealer. Catching up to his rightful place ahead of his wife, he took his time to admire the way the slave’s tight little buttocks moved as she walked.

“Yes,” he thought happily, “there is a lot to be said for letting your wife choose the houseslaves. With a bit of guidance, of course.”



My thanks to Julie and Melissa for the artwork.
 

piraland

Governor
New at the Farm.

View attachment 878208
One last look over her shoulder.

Ahead were the slave huts where she would live for the next six months. To the right was the blacksmith’s forge, where the chains would be attached to wrists and ankles, the collar locked around her throat and the brand burned deep into her creamy buttock.

The Farm was both an adventure and a nightmare. She had been well prepared for this. She had been counselled by two experienced slaves. She had fingered the deep brands on their pubic mounds, a special mark of status. She had been told in detail of the life of a slave.

She had undressed for the last time. For the next six months all she would wear would be chains. Chains, and the marks of the whip. Her creamy body would be exposed to the sun, becoming fiery red before turning a shade of bronze. In fact, her body was no longer hers, it belonged to the Farm, to be used as they wished.

She looked back, but it was useless. She had signed the contract. There was no going back.

Six months in chains. A slave!

She could feel the wetness between her thighs.

No going back!
Kathy like me seems to appreciate your text!
I am sure she would love to be in the place of this new slave and spend six months on this farm.
I am also almost certain that by imagining having to undergo this trip in the most total submission, her pussy must overflow with cum.
Not right, Kathy?
 

theseus

Governor
Double Virgin

Screenshot 2019-12-09 at 06.50.01.png

Eirin was nothing if not pragmatic.

Women always came off the worst in a war. The men died, bloodily and painfully, but usually fairly quickly. The women suffered a longer and worse fate.

Slavery!

Eirin had considered herself lucky to escape the mass rape that occurred when the legion overran their town. The grizzled old centurion had protected her from that horrible fate. However, she soon found that his motives were not altruistic. A virgin slave, sold in the right market, would contribute nicely to his retirement fund.

‘A two-way virgin’, the notice said. It could have been three, but he had been unable to resist her hot little mouth. Now she was on the auction block, standing naked before a group of rich equestrians and patricians.

“Our next item, gentlemen, is a pearl beyond price!” The auctioneer was an old hand, an expert at working up the price. He was determined to get a good price for Eirin, both to help his old friend the centurion, and out of gratitude for the wonderful, slow blowjob she had given him just before she went on display. “Look at her! Slim, strong, young, delicious! Look at those thighs, gentlemen, think of the pleasure to be had between them. Those lovely little tits! Sweet, tasty, edible. Not like those German cows that flooded the market after the last expedition to the Rhine! Come, gentlemen, what am I offered for this delicious morsel?”

Eirin, the pragmatist, flirted with the buyers. She was a slave; nothing could change that. One of these Roman pigs would buy her, fuck her, bugger her. Nothing could prevent that. She also knew that whoever it was would treat an expensive slave better than a cheap one. So, she flirted, flaunted her tight young body. “Look at that tight, virgin cunt, gentlemen! Who will give me five hundred to be the first part those lovely lips with his cock!” She arched her back, pushing her hips forward, spreading her thighs just enough to get them all panting and dripping. “Look at that firm ass! Better than any boy! Who will make her squeal as he stretches her rosebud! Seven hundred! Do I hear eight! What a lovely mouth she has. Well trained, as I can attest. She will take every inch of you, even if you are hung like the famous Marcellus!” Marcellus Magnus was known for his equipment, was reputed to have seduced every senator’s wife under fifty, and a few older ones too. “A thousand do I hear? Eleven hundred?

She drew her finger between her lower lips, licked it lasciviously. “Twelve hundred? Any advance on twelve hundred? Twelve fifty! Twelve fifty! Going once! Going twice! Sold to senator Septimus Severus for twelve hundred and fifty sesterces!

Septimus Severus! Eirin had heard that name. That old slave in the cells, she had told them. “Better the quarries than being owned by Septimus Severus! He is the most perverted man in Rome! You cannot imagine what he does to a girl!”

She had been bought by this infamous pervert! A fate worse than the quarries! So why was she so excited? Why was she so wet that she could feel it dripping down her thighs? She put her hands behind her to be bound, felt the rough scratch of the rope tied around her neck. The senator was old, skinny, with a round little paunch.

He twitched her lead rope. “Come, little barbarian, let us go and play!”

Eirin, virgin slave, trembled with fear and excitement as her owner led her away to an uncertain, exciting future!


Thank you to Julie and Melissa for the artwork. You can see more of their work at fantasyunlimited.bdsmlr.com

 

theseus

Governor
Vacation Auction.

auction bdsmlr-9635549-F8RJKKG1hG.jpg

Adventure tourism has become very popular. People go off to explore jungles, climb mountains and explore the high Arctic. This was a different kind of adventure tourism!

This adventure was an adventure into a previous age. An age when slavery was not merely legal, but a normal and accepted part of everyday life. When human flesh was bought and sold on a daily basis, and slaves were considered of less value than animals.

Evelyn was a curious, adventurous girl. As a student of history and psychology she was interested in the mental and psychological aspects of slavery. She was also, she had to admit, excited at the sexual aspects of being a slave. Going to a slave colony seemed to be the perfect way to spend her summer vacation.

The contract had been somewhat intimidating. Pages and pages of conditions. Everything was explained to her in detail, and a counsellor, herself a slave, a permanent one, told her in very graphic terms what slavery was all about. After a thorough medical examination she was taken out to the show pens.

It was exciting, and humiliating, to be out there, naked, to be examined by those in the market for a slave. ‘No limits’, that was the frightening part. The contract went into great detail what that meant. An owner could do anything he, or she, liked to a slave, apart from permanent mutilation.

The excitement, the sexual excitement, was paramount. She was naked, available. She was going to be sold. She was going to be used. She was a slave, an object. She was soft, vulnerable flesh. An instrument for pleasure.

Soon, soon, she would be sold. She couldn’t wait!
 

theseus

Governor
Reparations.

bdsmlr-75293-OuHZGCScii.jpeg
The sheikh chortled as he watched his people examine the latest instalment of ‘reparations’ paid to his country by a guilt stricken European country. The pick of the bunch were already safely installed in his own harem, of course.

It had all started with the latest paroxysm of retroactive guilt in Europe for their history of colonial conquest and slavery. As a result of the ‘politically correct’ education system in the ‘white’ countries, and their arrogant belief that they had discovered and conquered the world, these countries were now all beating their collective breasts and trying to compensate the darker skinned people of the world for the injustices visited upon them by ‘whiteness’! Somehow the feringhee had forgotten that slavery had existed for thousands of years and had been practiced by all societies. Even more conveniently, they had forgotten that his ancestors, until the late 19th century and after, had very happily and profitably traded in ‘white’ slaves. As recently as his grandfather’s time no harem worth the name would be without a few Circassian girls. Europe had forgotten that the pirates and raiders of North Africa and the Ottoman Empire had raided as far afield as Ireland and Iceland for slaves. Millions had been taken, mainly from Southern Europe.

The Sheikh had been in a jocular mood at the United Nations conference to determine the nature of the reparations. He didn’t want their money, his country floated on a sea of oil. He and his people already owned half of Europe’s stock exchanges. He suggested, jokingly, that it would only be fair to compensate the victims of slavery by paying an annual reparation of young and attractive male and female slaves. He had to pull his keffiyeh across his face to hide his mirth at the shocked expressions on the diplomats’ faces as they earnestly discussed his proposal. He sipped at his tea, from that well-known tea grower, Lagavulin, as they debated the matter. He almost fell off his chair when they agreed to provide 500 slaves a year, 400 female, 100 male, for twenty years as compensation.

This was the third year of reparations. He had sent the entire first shipment back, on the grounds that they were too old and unattractive to be acceptable. The quality had since improved greatly.

He waited impatiently for his people to finish their selections. The wives looked on as the naked girls, the boys had all been sent off to be gelded and would be distributed later, were inspected and pawed over. They would get their revenge later, turning white hides red with whip marks, and training white tongues to please.

He sipped his tea, and dreamed of the creamy skinned, redheaded twins waiting for his attention at home.

Historic guilt was wonderful!

Thank you to Julie and Melissa for the artwork. You can see more of their work at fantasyunlimited.bdsmlr.com

If you enjoyed this vignette, there are many more at https://vignettesfromtheslavemarket.bdsmlr.com
 

Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
Theseus, the texts to these are becoming more and more inventive all the time. I especially liked the two most recent posts ... Vacation Auction and Reparations. In my warped little mind, full length stories could easily be written about both scenarios.
 

theseus

Governor
Tourists!

bdsmlr-75293-PQhsRTral4.jpg

Tourists! Why can they not show some respect?

Tourists are always told that, while skimpy beachwear and revealing clothes are allowed at their resorts, when they leave the resorts they should dress conservatively. Many, especially the younger ones, ignore this very wise advice.

These two decided to explore the Friday evening market outside the mosque. It was hot and humid, and they both wore the barest minimum of clothing. The were enjoying themselves, especially the admiring comments from the younger men. The older, more conservative men, and the women, were rather less impressed. Two young studs beckoned them, invited them to follow them down an alley, where they ‘would experience something special’. Always ready for an adventure, the girls followed, willingly.

Minutes later they were seized, hoods placed over their heads, and bundled into a vehicle. Some time later they were hauled out of the vehicle and the hoods removed. The three men were frightening, their faces grim. “You have insulted us and our families, you unbelieving dogs! Flaunted your bodies, tempted our young men. Now you will pay the price of your immorality!” Their clothes, scanty as they were, were stripped from their bodies, to the grinning applause of the group of men.

“You bitches exist no more. By tomorrow morning there will be no record that you arrived in the country, no record that you checked into your hotel. You will no longer exist!” The bearded old man grinned, evilly. “You wanted to display your bodies! Now you will! At the slave market!” he laughed at their disbelieving looks. “Oh yes! Slavery still exists, and you are our latest catch. For the rest of your miserable lives you will exist only to serve your masters.”

He nodded at the leering group of young men. “They are not virgins. Enjoy them! Use them well! Deliver them to the mosque at dawn tomorrow!”

Moments later the first screams echoed from the stone walls. It was going to be a long night for two stupid girls!



Thank you to Julie and Melissa for the artwork. You can see more of their work at https://fantasyunlimited.bdsmlr.com

If you enjoyed this vignette, there are many more at https://vignettesfromtheslavemarket.bdsmlr.com
 

Dauphin

Spectator
Double Virgin

View attachment 878506

Eirin was nothing if not pragmatic.

Women always came off the worst in a war. The men died, bloodily and painfully, but usually fairly quickly. The women suffered a longer and worse fate.

Slavery!

Eirin had considered herself lucky to escape the mass rape that occurred when the legion overran their town. The grizzled old centurion had protected her from that horrible fate. However, she soon found that his motives were not altruistic. A virgin slave, sold in the right market, would contribute nicely to his retirement fund.

‘A two-way virgin’, the notice said. It could have been three, but he had been unable to resist her hot little mouth. Now she was on the auction block, standing naked before a group of rich equestrians and patricians.

“Our next item, gentlemen, is a pearl beyond price!” The auctioneer was an old hand, an expert at working up the price. He was determined to get a good price for Eirin, both to help his old friend the centurion, and out of gratitude for the wonderful, slow blowjob she had given him just before she went on display. “Look at her! Slim, strong, young, delicious! Look at those thighs, gentlemen, think of the pleasure to be had between them. Those lovely little tits! Sweet, tasty, edible. Not like those German cows that flooded the market after the last expedition to the Rhine! Come, gentlemen, what am I offered for this delicious morsel?”

Eirin, the pragmatist, flirted with the buyers. She was a slave; nothing could change that. One of these Roman pigs would buy her, fuck her, bugger her. Nothing could prevent that. She also knew that whoever it was would treat an expensive slave better than a cheap one. So, she flirted, flaunted her tight young body. “Look at that tight, virgin cunt, gentlemen! Who will give me five hundred to be the first part those lovely lips with his cock!” She arched her back, pushing her hips forward, spreading her thighs just enough to get them all panting and dripping. “Look at that firm ass! Better than any boy! Who will make her squeal as he stretches her rosebud! Seven hundred! Do I hear eight! What a lovely mouth she has. Well trained, as I can attest. She will take every inch of you, even if you are hung like the famous Marcellus!” Marcellus Magnus was known for his equipment, was reputed to have seduced every senator’s wife under fifty, and a few older ones too. “A thousand do I hear? Eleven hundred?

She drew her finger between her lower lips, licked it lasciviously. “Twelve hundred? Any advance on twelve hundred? Twelve fifty! Twelve fifty! Going once! Going twice! Sold to senator Septimus Severus for twelve hundred and fifty sesterces!

Septimus Severus! Eirin had heard that name. That old slave in the cells, she had told them. “Better the quarries than being owned by Septimus Severus! He is the most perverted man in Rome! You cannot imagine what he does to a girl!”

She had been bought by this infamous pervert! A fate worse than the quarries! So why was she so excited? Why was she so wet that she could feel it dripping down her thighs? She put her hands behind her to be bound, felt the rough scratch of the rope tied around her neck. The senator was old, skinny, with a round little paunch.

He twitched her lead rope. “Come, little barbarian, let us go and play!”

Eirin, virgin slave, trembled with fear and excitement as her owner led her away to an uncertain, exciting future!


Thank you to Julie and Melissa for the artwork. You can see more of their work at fantasyunlimited.bdsmlr.com
Really nice story. Would be great to hear more about this girls adventures.
 

theseus

Governor
Aftermath of the pandemic.


149053597_rna_182_33_top-modelz-com.jpg

The mood in the family home was sombre. So many companies had failed in the wake of the pandemic. Debbie’s father’s business had been just one of the many.

The visitor was middle aged, elegantly dressed. The family sat in the lounge, all on the edge of their chairs. Her parents, her younger brother and two younger sisters. An air of gloom hung like a pall over the room. Her father, his face drawn and grey, was speaking. “As you all know the business is gone. I am deeply in debt. The bottom has fallen out of the property market, which means that selling the house would not cover our debts, and would leave us both homeless and penniless. Mr Cavendish has a possible solution to our financial needs. It is a drastic solution, one that would, under normal circumstances, be unthinkable.” His voice quavered. “Unfortunately, these are not normal circumstances.”

“I am a trader,” the visitor said, his voice educated, upper class, “a trader in human flesh.” There was a concerted gasp from around the room. The exceptions were Debbie’s parents. Her brother piped up, “You mean, like slave trading?” Cavendish ignored the interruption. “Your mother came to me last week. She had heard about my business and offered to sell herself to me in order to raise the money to pay off your debts and allow your family to survive. Unfortunately, although she is an attractive woman, and is in excellent shape, she is almost forty. At best I might be able to sell her for ten thousand pounds.” He paused, taking in the shocked faces of the family, the gasping sob from Debbie’s mother. “It would not be an advantageous sale. It would in all likelihood be to a very, shall we say, specialised, brothel in Central Africa. Their activities are most charitably described as exotic.”

Her father broke the ensuing silence. “Mom was, and still is, prepared to sacrifice herself to help the family. It has been a very difficult decision. However, Mr Cavendish has a proposal, one that would save the family, although it too, will require an immense personal sacrifice.”

“Miss Turner.” Three heads turned in his direction. He smiled, “Debbie. You are worth ten times your mother’s value.” Debbie felt the blood drain from her face. “You…you…you…want me…” she took a deep, shuddering breath, “to go to a…a…oh my god! You want me to go to a brothel in Africa?”

Her mother went over and gathered her in her arms.

“No, Miss Turner. The brothel is a last resort option, for someone like your mother. You would go to a private collection. Given your age and your looks I will be able to insert clauses into your deed of sale that would prohibit commercial use, as well as export to, shall we say, the less desirable parts of the world, such as Africa, Asia or the Middle East. Collectors generally treat their property well, and keep them in a level of comfort. After all, they are valuable items.”

“You want me to become someone’s property? Like the slaves of old? Isn’t that illegal?”

Cavendish smiled. “Only if you get caught, and believe me, my clients are mostly too well connected for that. We don’t like the term ‘slave’, it has unfortunate connotations. We prefer ‘property’ or sometimes, ‘flesh’. After all, that is what we are selling, young, nubile female flesh.”

“What about school? I’m too young to leave school.”

“I doubt if your school teaches you the skills you will require. You will be trained before being sold. I will conduct much of your training myself. I expect to be able to put a reserve price of one hundred thousand pounds on you, and expect you to fetch a sizable premium over that amount.”

Her father spoke softly. “Debbie, a hundred thousand will enable me to settle the company’s debt, we could keep the house and have something left over with which to start afresh.” His voice broke. “Your sacrifice with save all of us, especially your brother and sisters.”

“What does ‘property’ do, Mr Cavendish? Is it what I suspect? You used the word ‘flesh’. I would be a sex slave?”

Cavendish nodded.

She looked at her family, at the young faces of her sisters, her mother’s tear-streaked cheeks. “Mom, you were prepared to do this, for us? Go to some horrible brothel in Africa?”

Her mother nodded.

“I really have no choice then, do I?”

There was silence, but for her mother’s sobs.

“Miss Turner, I am sorry to have to ask this, here, in front of your family, but I must. Are you a virgin?”

Debbie nodded. “I’ve only dated a boy a few times. Kissed a bit.”

“Thank you. Now, I am afraid I must ask to examine the product I will be selling. I feel it should be done here, so that your siblings, in particular, can appreciate the sacrifice you are making for them. Would you be so kind as to stand here, in front of me, and disrobe? Completely!”

As if in a dream, Debbie stood in front of this man, this stranger, who would soon own her. Her fingers fumbled with buttons as her dress slid rom her shoulders, exposing her tight, lithe young body.

She looked into his eyes, sadly.

“Is my flesh good enough for you, Mr Cavendish?”
 

Paul1969

Spectator
Vacation Auction.

View attachment 878510

Adventure tourism has become very popular. People go off to explore jungles, climb mountains and explore the high Arctic. This was a different kind of adventure tourism!

This adventure was an adventure into a previous age. An age when slavery was not merely legal, but a normal and accepted part of everyday life. When human flesh was bought and sold on a daily basis, and slaves were considered of less value than animals.

Evelyn was a curious, adventurous girl. As a student of history and psychology she was interested in the mental and psychological aspects of slavery. She was also, she had to admit, excited at the sexual aspects of being a slave. Going to a slave colony seemed to be the perfect way to spend her summer vacation.

The contract had been somewhat intimidating. Pages and pages of conditions. Everything was explained to her in detail, and a counsellor, herself a slave, a permanent one, told her in very graphic terms what slavery was all about. After a thorough medical examination she was taken out to the show pens.

It was exciting, and humiliating, to be out there, naked, to be examined by those in the market for a slave. ‘No limits’, that was the frightening part. The contract went into great detail what that meant. An owner could do anything he, or she, liked to a slave, apart from permanent mutilation.

The excitement, the sexual excitement, was paramount. She was naked, available. She was going to be sold. She was going to be used. She was a slave, an object. She was soft, vulnerable flesh. An instrument for pleasure.

Soon, soon, she would be sold. She couldn’t wait!
Enjoyed the story. Perfect picture for it
 

theseus

Governor
Freedom!


young Robyn bdsmlr-158275-euH2ieSxdH.jpg

Robyn relished the feel of the sun on her skin. She was still glowing from her latest session with the Emir. He had ordered her to his bed for the fifth consecutive day. None of the other slave girls in the harem could claim that. Even once a month was considered to be an achievement.

For the first time in her life, Robyn felt free! She was a slave, the property of an Ottoman Emir, yet she had never been so free in her life.

It was the pirates who freed her.

She had grown up to be an upper-class maiden in Victorian England. She had ‘come out’ during the Season in London; made her curtsey to the queen; attended balls and operas, done all the things a proper young lady should.

She hated it! She wanted to explore, to learn, to be curious. None of that was proper for a young lady! Instead she and her governess, together with the entourage of maids, major-domo and other servants required by her rank and status had embarked on a tour of Italy, to see the sights and in particular the art of the classic age. She had examined the statues with great interest, wondering at the casual nakedness of these ancient artworks. Had the Romans and Greeks really been so free?

Miss Cavendish, her governess, had tut-tutted and tried to distract her from the statues of naked men, while Robyn in her turn had been very keen to examine the ‘manly parts’ of the statues. She remembered her mother’s dire comments on the disadvantages of marriage, the requirement to submit to her husband’s carnal lusts. How unpleasant it was to have her ‘womanly parts’ defiled by a husband. Her mother had consoled her that, fortunately, once a wife had produced an heir, and another son as insurance, the husband was usually content to spare her further embarrassment, sating his natural lust on the young maids.

The pirate attack on the little Italian town changed her life! Bearded, turbaned savages had swarmed through the town, dragging screaming women and girls from their houses, collecting them in the town square. They had proceeded to strip their captives naked! Poor Miss Clarence, her governess and companion, had almost died of embarrassment when the pirates tore their clothes off their bodies. She had tried desperately to cover her soft, pale body with her hands. Robyn, on the other hand, had smiled at the bearded, unwashed savage as his hands cupped her breasts. Strong, rough hands that sent strange thrills through her body.

The slavers were thorough. The old, the ugly, the unattractive were released, unwanted. The young and attractive women, naked as the day they were born, were herded into the holds of the galleys. The wailing and crying were deafening, as the women lamented their fate. Robyn was silent, instead of horror at her plight, she felt a strange elation. She was free!

She was free of dresses, and petticoats and stockings, not to mention ‘ladies unmentionables.’ She was free of hypocrisy, of false modesty. She was free of all the strictures of Victorian life. She was no more than a healthy young woman, a young woman who was, at last, free to be what a young woman should be. When the pirates raided the small Italian town and took them as slaves, they had freed her from convention.

She had looked around in wonder as the line of naked slaves was marched from the docks in the Golden Horn, up the hill past the great palace of Topkapi and the famous Hagia Sofia, to the slave market. Places she had read about, but certainly never thought she would see as a slave.

The sale had been exciting! Standing, naked, in the market in Constantinople as men examined her body. Hands touching her, stroking, prodding. Voices clearly discussing her, although she had no way of understanding their words. Miss Cavendish whimpered under the scrutiny. Twice, she collapsed, fainting. A guard’s short braided whip, applied to her ample breasts, soon revived her.

Robyn’s spirits fell when she saw who had bought her. A fat, effeminate man with a strange lisp, his face smooth and sweaty. He had taken the rope that the guard tied around her neck and led the naked girl through the streets to a magnificent building. There she was delivered to a fierce looking woman, wearing the collar of a slave, who took charge of her.

An hour later, bathed, perfumed, a polished steel collar locked snugly around her throat, but still naked, she was led into the presence of her owner. She stared at he tall, slim, but well-built man, he black beard neatly trimmed, who sat in a comfortable chair, an almost naked girl kneeling at his feet. Standing next to him was the fat man, who she now realised was a gelding, a eunuch. Robyn stood there, blushing, as her owner examined her. He nodded, and gave a short command.

She was taken to a comfortable room, with many pillows and low beds. Several beautiful women, most of them scantily clad, sat around, sewing and chatting. The fierce woman led her to a girl who was carefully filing her nails. She spoke for a long time in the unintelligible language that Robyn assumed was Turkish. The girl smiled at her. “You speak French?”

“Of course.” Every well brought up young lady in Robyn’s acquaintance spoke the language.

The girl smiled. “I am Michelle. Welcome to the harem. It will be nice not to be the newest slave.” She was very beautiful, Robyn realised. “You have made a very favourable impression on our lord and master. He wants you prepared for his bed immediately!” She rose to her feet in a single, graceful movement. I waited more than two weeks before he honoured me so.” She walked around Robyn, slowly. “Ah, oui, I see. You have a derriere, ah, like a peach. Our lord, he loves the English way, the derriere.” She smiled softly, her hand intimately fondling Robyn’s buttocks. “Come, we must prepare you!”

The preparation took some time. Robyn’s face flamed with embarrassment as Michelle applied a sweet-smelling oil to her anus. Suddenly she realised what ‘the English way’ was. She had thought that was something practiced only by depraved sailors.

It was a night of wonder for Robyn. She was deflowered, not once, but thrice! By the morning she had a very intimate knowledge of her owner’s ‘manly parts.’ The ‘English way’ proved painful, the other ways pleasant. She wondered if her mother had ever taken her father’s ‘manly parts’ in her mouth, decided not. Her owner was gentle, instructing her in the way of her new life.

Now, a week later, Robyn was content. Her master had called for her night after night. Even the ‘English way’ had become, if not totally pleasant, then satisfying. She was a new, fulfilled, person.

Slave Robyn no longer had ‘womanly parts,’ Slave Robyn had a hot, tight cunt, a cunt that welcomed her owner’s rampant cock. Her mouth could accommodate his not unsubstantial length and girth. She already knew the Turkish for ‘boy,’ used to tell her to present her pert bottom for use. She no longer had to be careful not to reveal an ankle, now she could spread her thighs and welcome her master to her body. Giving him pleasure was the whole, the only purpose of her life.

The sun warmed her body. Robyn, the slave, was happy. At last, she was free!
 

theseus

Governor
Tripoli Slaves.

Resigned to their fate bdsmlr-691436-HozP65S5Sq.jpg

The slave market is a great leveller.

Lady Catherine Fortescue, only daughter of Lord Rothwell, had spent the summer visiting the sights in Italy. She was accompanied by her chaperone, an elderly spinster who was distantly related, and her two maids. Lady Catherine was spoilt, some would call her a spoilt bitch, although never to her face. Perhaps this was why, at the age of twenty, she was still unmarried. This despite the dowry of £ 40,000 she carried in her purse and an income of more than £ 2,000 per annum. She was proud, arrogant, and worst of all, intelligent! She treated her maids, both girls obtained from an orphanage, as objects, possessions to be used and abused at will. The two maids were expected to be on call at all times, and to cater for her slightest whim. For this they were paid the princely salary of £ 30 per annum.

The pirates had struck the small town in Sicily on a Sunday morning. The majority of the population, conveniently, were gathered in one place, the church. Lady Catherine and her party had decided to attend the service, even though it was Catholic, in order to admire the building, originally founded by a Norman Baron, in the 11th Century, a very distant ancestor of her own family.

Curiosity can be fatal.

The pirates were efficient. The congregation were soon sorted into two groups; young, attractive women and girls, plus a few pretty boys in one group, the rest to be freed. Anyone who resisted, or even protested to volubly, were silenced by a sharp knife. Miss Plunkett, the chaperone, was one of the most voluble, and the first to have her throat slit!

The chosen, chosen to be slaves, were taken on board the pirate vessels, confined in the hold. Lady Catherine was in shock! This was 1844! Slavery had been outlawed! She was English, an aristocrat! Slaves were ignorant black savages, not wealthy English misses!

Time passed, night and day the same in the dark hold. Finally, there were different noises. Daylight and heat flooded in. The slaves were herded out onto the deck. Lady Catherine looked around her at white stone buildings, palm trees and desert. “Get your hands off me!” She screamed as one of the slavers took hold of the neck of her dress and jerked, hard! “What do you think you’re doing, you black savage?” She retched and bent over double as his fist slammed into her belly. Within minutes the slaves, all of them, were naked. Iron collars were locked around their throats, connected by short lengths of chain. A jerk on the chain, and more than 40 naked women and boys started their painful journey through the streets of Tripoli.

They were taken to a large shed, where they were washed, their body hair removed, and generally made to look as attractive as possible. A symbol was written on the breast of each slave. Lady Catherine found herself attached to her two maids by their collars. There was now little to distinguish aristocrat and servant. They were three naked, female slaves, soon to be sold. Lady Catherine had once been to a horse fair, this was much the same, with the difference that she was now one of the fillies on show. She and the maids were treated in the same way as those horses had been; appraised, prodded, stroked, examined and discussed, as if they were dumb animals, and not an aristocratic lady and her two servants!

A well-dressed man, in spotless robes, examined them closely, weighing breasts, testing the firmness of buttocks, forcing them to open their mouths so that he could examine their teeth. He beckoned one of the dealers, engaging in a long discussion. The dealer pointed out various assets of the wares he was selling, clearly making some kind of proposal. The buyer, addressed the three slaves, in halting, but understandable English. “Which of you is the Milady?”

Lady Catherine bridled, could this savage not see the difference? Could he be so ignorant? Her temper got the better of her. “I cannot understand the need for that question, you savage? Are you so ignorant that you cannot identify a lady?”

Surprisingly, the man smiled, his teeth gleaming white against his dark skin and black beard. “I see before me three slaves, no better than animals. Three bodies, each with a pair of tits, a mouth, a cunt and thighs that beg to be spread for their master. I see no lady, no servant, merely three slaves. One of which, I might add, has just earned itself a whipping!”

“How dare you speak to me like that?” Lady Caroline was furious! How dare he?

“I take it you are the Milady? And I assume that you are a virgin?” Lady Catherine ignored him.

“If you please, sir.” Polly, one of the maids spoke up. “If you please, sir. She is Lady Catherine, and she is a virgin, sir. After all, her hymen carries with it a £ 40,000 dowry. It is only the likes of us as are casually fucked, sir.” Her eyes met his, “Mostly, like Molly and me, by His Lordship and his friends, sir. His Lordship believing that servants are there to serve, sir. Not much difference between us and slaves, sir. Our cunts is open for their use, sir, and our mouths, and our arses, for that matter, sir! A great one for buggery, is His Lordship! There isn’t a maid, or a stable boy or junior footman as hasn’t had their arses reamed by His Lordship, sir. Why even Mrs McCarthy, sir, the housekeeper, who must be fifty or more years old, was bent over the kitchen table and buggered by His Lordship and his friends, her screaming and hollering like a banshee, sir!”

There was an unintelligible conversation between the man and the dealer. A purse changed hands, a small one. The buyer was given the end of the chain attached to Lady Catherine. “Come! Let me take you to your new home. Mustafa’s Palace of Earthly Delights. You will provide those delights! But first, Polly and Molly, you will entertain my guests by whipping this arrogant whore. You will apply two dozen lashes each to her body. I am sure that she will sing lustily for us, and dance in a most unladylike fashion.”

Lady Catherine found herself in an open square outside an establishment bearing the sign “Mustafa’s Palace of Earthly Delights.” Her wrists were tied to an overhanging branch of a tree, allowing her plenty of room to move, although not to bring her elbows below chin level. A crowd had gathered, relishing the chance of free entertainment. Polly and Molly stood to one side, each examining the long, heavy, braided leather whip she had been given.

Catherine was whimpering. “Please? Don’t hurt me? Remember all the kindnesses you have had from me and my family. Please?”

“Oh, we will, My Lady, we will. We will remember very well. Won’t we, Polly?”

Polly cracked her whip, eliciting a scream from Catherine, who was as yet untouched.

“Remember when his Lordship was kind enough to allow us to be bitches to his entire hunt pack?” Polly cracked the whip again. “I remember that very well!”

She braced her feet and measured the distance to the helpless woman. “Dance nicely, for us, My Lady!”

The whip hissed as it cut the air!

Picture by Kamerijk. https://www.deviantart.com/kamerijk/art/
 
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