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Vignettes from the slave pits

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theseus

Governor
The Prize

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It was the usual Friday night get together. George had three of his best friends over for a barbecue, a few games of pool, and then the game on TV. As usual. Anne served drinks, prepared food, and, in general, was the perfect wife.

The pool games were highly competitive. All four of them were good players, games were close. “I know,” George said after the third game, “let’s make this more interesting. There should be a prize for the overall winner.” Andy, who was one game up, smiled. “You offering a bottle of that fine single malt?”

“George laughed. “Well, that is pushing things a bit. Do you know what that cost? No, I was thinking of something that will be a lot more fun. Laura!”

Laura looked in his direction, sure she had missed the rest of the sentence, that she hadn’t heard what she was supposed to fetch as a prize. She gave him a quizzical look.

“Laura will be the prize! The winner gets to keep her until Monday morning. How’s that sound?” There were puzzled looks around the table. Nobody was quite sure what he meant. “C’mon guys! The winner gets to have Laura for the weekend. That’s worth playing for.” Geoff started to say something, then thought better of it. George couldn’t mean that, surely?

“Come here, love, show them what they’re playing for!” George was smiling broadly. Laura was uncertain, was this one of his jokes? “You mean…” she asked, her fingers fiddling with the top button of her shirt, “you mean…?” He nodded. “Are you game?” She said nothing, merely continuing unbuttoning her shirt.

Laura was forty-three. She had two grown children, and a very new grandson. She took of her shirt, then reached behind her back to undo her bra. Three pairs of male eyes stared at her, in disbelief. George smiled encouragement. She was proud of her body. Granted she was a bit thicker about the waist than she had been, and her thighs were slightly heavy, but they were firm, and shapely. She was in good shape. Even her tits only sagged a bit, and they were still firm. She dropped the bra on the floor. Geoff licked his lips. “Are they worth playing for?” She asked, laughing.

She and George had talked about this, jokingly. She had never thought he would do it, but now that he had, she was happy to go along with it. Since the kids had left home their sex life had blossomed. They were both adventurous, and very happy to experiment. George had fantasised about her being fucked by other men, while he watched. Perhaps tonight was the night?

She unbuttoned the button of her jeans, unzipped the fly. She wriggled them down over her hips. Kicking off her shoes, she stepped out of the jeans. Slowly, she walked to each of the men, naked now, but for her silk g-string. She felt up each one, grasping his crutch, sizing him up. He eyes widened when she felt Jim. He was the quiet one. If that was real, she hoped he would win. She walked back to the chair, slipping out of her last garment. Her pussy was perfectly smooth, lasered some years ago. She exercised it daily, strengthening the muscles until she could make George cum without either of them moving. Her ass was equally tight, and equally accommodating. “Well, gentlemen, here is your prize.” She smiled, “worth playing for? Just one thing. The winner must fuck me on the pool table, with everyone watching. And remember! I am a three-hole girl. They all need to be filled,” again she smiled, lasciviously, “all at once would be nice.”

She hoisted up onto the bar stool. “May the best, and biggest, man win!”
 

theseus

Governor
Learning her Trade

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Tulip finished her dance, the last item in the evening’s entertainment. She had started out dressed in a filmy costume, which she had slowly stripped away to the sensuous music, until finally she was naked. It had been her ambition to be a ballerina, and she had just been granted an apprenticeship to a ballet company when her whole world imploded.

Tulip had been a slave for eleven days. She still thought of herself as Cathy, but that name had gone, together with her freedom, when her father’s insolvent estate had been liquidated. It had been a shock to discover that her parents, her sister and herself were classed as ‘movable assets’. Her owner gave all the flesh in his collection the names of flowers.

They had been sold right there, in the garden of their house, the only home she had known, together with the furniture, their clothes, even her cat. They were sold right at the end, when a large crowd had gathered, a crowd that included their neighbours and many of her friends. It was horrible, being examined before the sale. They were naked, their clothes being sold in several mixed lots. That horrible Mr Forbes, who had always tried to get her to come over to his place to look at his collection of erotic statues, had slid his hands over every inch of her and her sister’s bodies, pinching their nipples and squeezing their butts.

Her father was sold first. He didn’t fetch much, sold to a man who hired out chain gangs of slaves for dangerous and dirty work. Her mother was sold to a man who ran a chain of brothels. Leading her away he was overheard to say, “She’s in pretty good nick for her age. Still pretty firm. Anyway, my clients aren’t that fussy. All they really want is a tight hole to shove their cocks into.”

The bidding for Cathy had been much fiercer. Her lithe dancer’s body was obviously sought after. Mr Forbes had fallen out early in the bidding, much to her relief. The auctioneer described her body, and its potential uses, in horribly graphic terms. He made much of her virginity. She had guarded it so diligently, allowing her boyfriend only the most cursory of feels. As the hammer fell and she was sold she regretted that she had not let him pop her cherry. That now belonged to her owner.

Her owner was quite a nice man. He wasn’t cruel, although he made it very clear to his ‘collection’ that they were possessions. ‘Flesh’ he called them. There were seven girls in his collection, all of them in their teens. There was an older woman, a long-time slave, who was the overseer. She was responsible for their training and discipline. She was the one who whipped the girls when punishment was required. So far, Cathy had avoided punishment, apart from one stroke of the whip, applied as a sample of the price of misbehaviour. Her owner had taken her cherries, all three of them. For the first few days she had been sore, and seemingly always dripping cum from somewhere.

Her owner turned to his guest. “You’ll be wanting company for the night, I’m sure?” Cathy shuddered as she looked at the man. “Please don’t let him choose me,” she thought. She had been used by four men other than her owner, and one woman. She had never thought of being with a woman. Her reluctance had almost cost her a whipping. This man was gross! He was big, with a paunch like a barrel. His hands were huge, his fingers like sausages, very hairy sausages. She shuddered at the thought of those hands roaming her body, like huge, hairy spiders.

The guest’s piggy eyes examined the goods on offer. “Please, not me.” Cathy prayed. “I’ll take that one. The dancer. She’s buck naked already, saves me stripping her.” Cathy wanted to cry, instead, she forced a smile. This was her life now. She was a slave, a fuckslave.

“Tulip! Come over here! Our guest has honoured you by choosing you as his companion for the night. Don’t disappoint him, or me.” He turned to his guest. “You must sample the joys of her ass. So tight, but like a velvet glove. If she disappoints, she can entertain us again tomorrow, this time dancing to the song of the whip.”

Cathy gave the guest what she hoped was a seductive smile. Slavery was not easy. She had a whole lifetime of servitude ahead of her.
 

Jastrow

Imperator
You’re next!

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The hill was noisy.

The air was filled with screams, groans, pleading voices and the thud of hammers hitting iron nails. Gemina knelt in the dust, trying to look inconspicuous, trying to shut out the sounds of her friends’ slow death, trying to ignore the fact that soon, very soon, she would be screaming in agony like the others.

She already hurt all over. Her bound hands clutched at her breasts where the guards had amused themselves sticking burning slivers of wood into tender flesh. Breasts that had been crushed in a giant vice. She hurt from multiple rapes, she hurt from the torture they used to wring confessions from the slaves, and she hurt from the flogging she had been given prior to the agonising walk up the hill, dragging her cross. So much pain, and all for something they were all innocent of.

“You’re next!” His hands were stained with blood, in his hand was the heavy hammer that would drive the spikes through her flesh. She recognised him. He had raped her at least three times last night. Brutally! Intending to hurt her. “Please! I’ve been hurt so much. I didn’t do it, none of us did. It was the young master. He poisoned his father.” His boot swung, brutally impacting on her anus. “On your feet! I haven’t got all day! There’s another seven of you bitches to nail up before I can get some breakfast. Move!!”

She struggled to her feet, hampered by the rope connecting her ankles. Behind her, Anna screamed again! She had just been raised, and the shock was wearing off, the pain taking full effect. “Take me down! Oh gods! Take me down! I can’t take it! It hurts! I can’t take it! I’ll die!” The guard chuckled. “That’s the point, bitch! Remember! That’s why you’re here. To die! Slowly! Painfully! You’re here to die!”

Gemina stumbled behind the guard, Anna’s cries and pleas for mercy ringing in her ears. Her arms and wrists were so thin. How could she hang from them, for hours, days. Her wrists nailed to the wood of the cross, the spikes grating against the bones. Impossible!

He stopped to pick up four long, rusty spikes. She looked at them with horror. Those were for her. Those spikes were going to be hammered through her flesh, through her bones, Attaching her to the rough wood of the cross, for the rest of her life! Her bladder betrayed her, the warm liquid running down her thighs. She stumbled after him, numb with horror and fear!

Freya’s cross was just being raised. Gemina watched, petrified, as the cross became more vertical. Her friend’s slight body slid down the rough wood, the girl moaning as the wood scraped against her raw back. Her feet were neatly crossed, nailed by one spike. As her weight came onto the spikes through her wrists she started screaming! A high, unearthly keening of utter, indescribable agony. The screaming was cut off, briefly, as the cross was dropped into the hole prepared for it. The brutal jerk silenced the girl for a moment, just a moment, before she screeched out her new, unbearable agony! An agony she would have to bear, for many, many hours! For the rest of her life, in fact.

There were four men waiting at the empty cross. Big, strong, brutal men. “Lie down on the upright. Spread your arms along the patibulum.” The carnifex’s voice was soft, almost kindly. She did as she was told, whimpering softly as the rough wood scraped against her raw back. “Up a bit.” His boot against her bum shoved her a touch higher, painfully. “That’ll do. Hold her!”

Strong hands held her arms in place, others took her ankles, spreading them wide apart. “Nice cunt,” one of them said. “Do we get to fuck her?” The carnifex was kneeling next to her right hand, the point of the spike feeling for the right spot in her wrist. “Yep!” he grunted. “I’m going to nail her feet to the sides of the stipes, so her legs will be spread nice and wide to welcome us.” Gemina listened to this casual conversation with disbelief. These were the men who were going to kill her, yet it seemed that it was all a casual day’s work for them.

Her attention was caught by a soft cry and the squawk of a raven. She looked up to where a man and a woman were crucified together, on a double cross, her left wrist and his right wrist nailed with the same spike. The tituli told the story. Adultura and Adulterer. Illicit lovers who had been caught in the act. The woman was shaking her head, weakly, in an attempt to frighten the raven. For a moment her eye met Gemina’s, exchanging a look of sympathy and pity. Just her left eye! Where the right eye should be was a bloody socket, where the raven had succeeded in his quest for a juicy morsel. Her lover was beyond caring. He had clearly been dead for some time. The ravens had been busy there. The carnifex caught the direction of her gaze. “Tough old bitch, that one. Nailed her up six days ago. She won’t see tonight’s sunset, that’s for sure. Her other eye will be gone soon.” He grunted with satisfaction as the tip of the spike found just the right spot. “Ready, boys?”

Gemina watched as the hammer moved, incredibly slowly, from its position above his shoulder. It seemed to take forever to make the journey to the broad head of the spike his left hand held against her wrist. She watched, fascinated, as if from a different place, as the heavy hammer struck the spike. She heard the metallic sound as though from a long distance. She watched as the tip of the iron spike disappeared into her slim wrist. It all seemed unreal, some kind of a dream.

PAIN!!!!!

Unbelievable, unbearable, shocking pain! Her scream echoed against the hills! Her body arched, legs thrashing wildly! One of the men holding a leg lost his grip! Her leg thrashed, he reeled back as her heel smashed into his face, blood spurting from his broken nose. The man who had been holding her left wrist grabbed wildly for the flailing leg. There was no need to hold that wrist, it was already firmly attached to the patibulum, the spike driven through the flesh and bone, deep into the wood.

“Idiot! Can’t you do anything right? I hope your fucking nose hurts!” The carnifex was not impressed. The hammer struck the spike twice more, gentle taps, driving it home so that the broad head rested neatly against her wrist. He was a perfectionist. He watched his helpers as they struggled to hold the girl. Slim she might be, but she was strong! She would last for days, perhaps as long as the one-eyed adulteress watching from her cross. “If you ladies have quite finished messing around, I would like to nail the right wrist,” he snarled. “If it’s not too much trouble, that is.” He knew that his spike had found exactly the right spot, crushing the median nerve against the bone, causing incredible pain. Her fingers turned into claws.

Gemina looked at her hand in disbelief. The pain was incredible, shooting up her arm into her shoulder. The slightest movement intensified it tenfold! What would it be like when she was hanging by her wrists? She couldn’t bear it!

The carnifex moved to her right wrist, the tip of the spike feeling for the sweet spot. She watched the intent expression on his face as he sought the spot. “Please?” She whimpered. “Please? No more. I can’t bear it. I’ll die.” He smiled at her, a kind, almost fatherly smile. “Of course you’ll die, girl. That’s the whole idea. But you won’t die for a long time. Three, four, maybe five days. Who knows, you might even last as long as that faithless bitch up there. You’ll be praying for death for a long time! Got it!” He smiled as he felt the spot he wanted for the spike. “Now, for fuck’s sake, hold on to her, you dozy bastards!”

This time the hammer seemed to move like lightning, the pain shooting up har arm, her world turning red with agony! Two more taps, and he was satisfied. “Now for her feet, then we can fuck her.”

They spread her knees wide, drawing up her feet until they were flat against the side of the stipes, her legs bent almost double. She could hear and feel the bones in her feet crunch and break under the onslaught of the spikes. Somewhere in her brain, there was the realisation that unbearable pain could become even worse, even more unbearable, and that despite the pain she was still alive, feeling every detail of her pain, hearing the echoes of her shrieks. All the while she was aware of the pitying gaze of the one-eyed woman on the cross.

She had no choice about being used. She was spread wide for them. Every touch, every thrust, sent new waves of pain through her, yet, somehow, there was also pleasure. She was swamped in sensation!

The one-eyed woman shook her head, the raven squawked, and flew off, a gobbet of her cheek in its bill. Her eye watched Gemina’s humiliation. She knew that it was only a matter of time before she would no longer see, before the raven gained its juicy titbit, before she would suffer in darkness. Soon, she knew, Gemina would be hanging opposite her, doing her slow dance, wanting to die, trying desperately to live.

“Right, you dozy bastards! Tuck your cocks away. Let’s get this one up. There are six more to do before we can go home!” They lifted the head of the cross. Gemina screamed shrilly as her weight shifted on the rough wood, her raw, scourged back scraping against the wood, her weight being borne by her mangled wrists. She had thought the pain unbearable before, now it was ten times worse, and getting even worse as the cross approached the vertical. Then the base of the cross dropped into the hole dug for it, dropped with a solid thud! White hot agony flooded her body at the sudden jerk! Her shrieks were wild, she danced helplessly on her cross. There was no escape! No way to ease the pain!

It was so difficult to breathe. She would suffocate. Her brain welcomed it; she would die soon. Her body had other ideas. Life! Life was precious! It would do anything to live! She gasped desperately, futilely.

The one-eyed woman looked at her, pityingly. “You have to stand up. Straighten your legs, take the strain off your shoulders and chest.” Gemina tried. She could feel the broken bones in her feet grating against the spikes. Her pain had a new centre. Her legs were strong, slowly, they straightened. She took deep gasps of air. “That is our dance! The dance of the dead.” The woman half smiled, in her own world of agony. “No!” She screamed. The raven squawked triumphantly, flying off, the juicy titbit in its beak.

The woman turned her empty eye sockets toward Gemina. “This is our life. Welcome to hell!”



I don't know whose artwork this is. Could someone please tell me, so that I can give him/her credit.
It is one of mine. Great story!
 

theseus

Governor
The Hitching Rail

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“Why are you looking so pissed off, Alice?” Carrie asked cheerfully.

“Like I should be happy to be standing here, outside an African market, with my cunt chained to a hitching rail, waiting for my Mistress to do her shopping so that I can carry it home like a pack animal?”

Sandy chipped in, cheerfully. “C’mon, Alice! It’s not so bad! The sun is nice and warm, and it gives us a chance to get together and catch up on the gossip. Its no worse than spending our days packing shelves in the supermarket, like we were doing before this holiday. At least we get to have some fun. After all, this holiday was advertised as ‘Sun, Sex and Adventure’. We’ve had plenty of all three!”

“Speak for yourself!” Alice was determined to be grumpy. “You might be getting sex; all I’m getting is buggery! My Master seems to think I’m a boy, and only uses me like one. As for my fucking Mistress, she thinks the only place for my tongue is up her ass! And when I’m not doing that, I’m her packhorse, carrying her shopping while she tugs at my leash, or standing here being gawked at!”

Carrie’s laugh was like the sound of silver bells. “Okay, so we came here on a holiday that was a scam, and got ourselves kidnapped and enslaved instead. Still, they feed us well, and the sex is good. My Master is a real stud, despite his grey beard, and his sons! Ooh la la! Abdullah, the eldest. Hmmmm!” She smiled a little smile of pure satisfaction. “He is that big!” she moved her hands far apart. “Talk about full-fill-meat! And.” She smiled at Alice, “I don’t mind them buggering me at all. It feels sooo good!”

Sandy just smiled a little, secret smile. Anything was better than packing supermarket shelves in Surbiton. Besides, her Master and Mistress were young, and sexy, and did threesomes. She liked that. “Have you thought about trying to educate him, Alice? After all, he might not know any better. That might explain why they have no children. Anyway, I like where I am. My Master says he is going to get me a dog. I love dogs! We were too poor to have pets at home.”

Alice gave her a mocking smile. “I’m sure the dog will love you, too.” Stupid little bitch, she thought. You’re going to spend a lot of time on your hands and knees. Carrie interrupted her thoughts. “Remember at school, during break time we used to sit under the tree dreaming about the kind of rings we would get, and which boys would slip them onto our fingers? Well,” she looked down at the ring piercing her clit, firmly chained to the hitching post, “we got our rings, just not on our fingers.”

Alice smiled morosely. This was a disaster. Their holiday had turned out to be a trap, they were now slaves in some African country nobody had heard of, and they were being led around the town by their cunts! And these two dimwits were happy because their owners had big cocks! What kind of a name was Khabadami anyway?” She tugged experimentally at the chain attached to her clit, wincing. She wasn’t going anywhere!

What had that American general said, in that war in Viet Nam? “If you’ve got them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow!” Perhaps that also applied to clits!


Artwork by Julie & Melissa.
 
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theseus

Governor
The Last Walk

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“Why? I did nothing wrong! Do I have to die like this? Why?”

The cross was heavy, the wood rough and splintery against the soft skin of her back. Gudrun looked once more at the path ahead, the path to the top of the hill. The hill was decorated with crosses, crosses that bore men and women writhing in pain, no, in agony, as they died slowly, too slowly. All because they had dared to defend their town against the invading Romans.

She looked pleadingly at the young legionary who was assigned to take her to the hill. He was not much older than she was, a nice looking young man, looking rather uncertain about what he had been ordered to do. “Please?” He said in atrocious German. “Please, pick up your cross and walk to the place of execution. I do not wish to hurt you, but if you do not go now, I will have to whip you. Please get up and walk.” He swallowed convulsively. She looked at him, almost with pity. “He is going to be sick. He hates what he has to do. Why do these Romans do this? Why are they so cruel?”

The warriors had fought hard against the invading Romans, selling their lives dearly. They had died with the swords in their hands, and even now would be feasting in Valhalla. For those who survived death would be slower in coming, and much more painful! The Legate commanding the legion had decided that he would make an example of the townsfolk, in order to terrify others into submission. One in five of the townsfolk would be crucified! The rest would be sold into slavery, as was usual. Selection of those who were to die was totally random.

Gudrun staggered to her feet, bent under the heavy cross. The young legionary followed her, looking miserable. He was deeply unhappy. He had joined the army for the glory, the fame of being one of the finest soldiers in the world. Not for this! Not to kill the innocent. This girl, so pretty, so soft, so fragile, was going to die! She was going to die horribly, slowly, painfully. Why? He looked longingly at her naked body. She would be much better off as a slave, even if it was in a brothel.

The sounds of suffering grew louder. Screams! Voices, male and female, begging for mercy! The sound of crying, of hysterical sobbing! The dull thud of hammers hitting nails! Driving those nails through human flesh. Ahead a cross was being raised, the woman screaming hysterically as her full weight was borne by the nails through wrists and feet. She recognised the contorted face, the head thrashing frantically back and forth, long grey hair whipping around her face. Her grandmother!

“Junius!” A burly soldier with a hammer in his hand bellowed. The young soldier raised his head, straightened. “Bring that one over here! Come on, soldier! Buck up! I haven’t got all fucking day!”

Gudrun looked up into her grandmother’s pain filled eyes. Their crosses would be beside each other. Perhaps that would be a comfort. A small, very small, comfort.


Picture from Cruxdreams.
 

theseus

Governor
Discovery

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It had taken a long time, but eventually she had discovered who she really was. The journey had not been easy, and she still had a number of difficult decisions to make, but, at last, she knew who she was, and for the first time in her life she was truly happy.

This holiday was the realisation of a dream. She had finally given up her job as a bricklayer, locked her troublesome little clit in its cage, and headed off to find adventure in the Caribbean. She had hesitated, just for a moment, the little key in her hand, “shall I, or shan’t I?” She tossed the key from hand to hand, then dropped it in her dressing table drawer. She picked up her suitcase, a small suitcase, containing a few short dresses, shorts, tops and two tiny bikinis, a couple of pairs of sandals, and that was it.

She looked at herself in the mirror as she walked out of her flat. Long auburn hair, good legs, especially in the high heels she was wearing. Her skirt was almost indecently short, tight enough to show the firm globes of her butt. Her shirt was knotted below her ribs, she had no boobs, yet. She knew she had a sexy tummy. As she locked the door, she thought of the fun she would have at airport security. She would have to have a complete body search. The cage would certainly set alarm bells ringing.

The airport had been fun, especially as her passport was still in her old name. Peter, rather than Peta. The island was great. It hadn’t taken long for her to attract these two studs. Granted, at first, they had been somewhat disconcerted at what was between her legs, but she soon allayed their fears. The power of a skilful mouth is amazing! Today was spit roast day! She couldn’t wait, and neither, it seemed, could they.

Well, she thought, salivating, “That old saying is very true. Girls do have fun. Much more fun!”
 

theseus

Governor
Expanding her Horizons.

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“Oh God! This is amazing! I’m sooo full! I didn’t think it would go in, and it hurt so much, but, now! Oh shit! Deeper! Please! Bugger me! Hard! Please!”

It had taken some time to convince her that anal sex was not unnatural or disgusting. “No! It’s nasty, and dirty, and they say it hurts terribly! No way! What’s wrong with my pussy? Isn’t it good enough for you?”

I wanted her arse! She had a delicious bum, and a delectable rosebud. It just begged to have a cock inserted in it. I was patient, and gentle. First just my tongue, touching and teasing. “No! How can you do that, that’s disgusting!” Which slowly turned into, “It’s disgusting, but it does feel nice.”

She learned about enemas. Fingers followed. First one, well lubed, then two, then three. There was much protest, some giggling, and plenty of wrinkling of her nose, especially when I presented my fingers to her to sniff. She would later learn to lick them, a prelude to the required cleaning of the cock that buggered her.

Patience!

I slowly drove my cock home. She was no longer complaining. There were smiles now, and giggles, and little panting noises. I let her set the pace, allowing her to ride me, to get used to the invasion of her bowels. She was tight, almost too tight. She would have to start wearing a buttplug, another new sensation. A girl has so much to learn. There were little gasps as I finally let go, and she felt the hot surge of semen in her bowels for the first time. There was a little sigh of disappointment as I slid out of her. She gave me that special little smile. “Can we do this again? Please? Soon?”

I explained to her about the buttplug. She looked doubtful, until I showed her a small one. It slipped in easily. “Keep that in you unless you need to go to the toilet. Then wash it, lube it, and put it back when you’re done. We’ll give you a bigger one tomorrow.” In a few days I would bugger her again. Perhaps in a few weeks she would be ready to be doubled.

I kissed her slowly, gently. “Did you enjoy that?” She nodded, thoughtfully. “Once it stopped hurting. It sort of burns, at first.”

I watched her fondly as she walked to the shower, smiling at the way she clenched her butt, unnecessarily, to keep the plug in.

It takes time, and patience, and a sense of humour, to train a daughter.
 

Baracus

Rectidolor
Expanding her Horizons.

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“Oh God! This is amazing! I’m sooo full! I didn’t think it would go in, and it hurt so much, but, now! Oh shit! Deeper! Please! Bugger me! Hard! Please!”

It had taken some time to convince her that anal sex was not unnatural or disgusting. “No! It’s nasty, and dirty, and they say it hurts terribly! No way! What’s wrong with my pussy? Isn’t it good enough for you?”

I wanted her arse! She had a delicious bum, and a delectable rosebud. It just begged to have a cock inserted in it. I was patient, and gentle. First just my tongue, touching and teasing. “No! How can you do that, that’s disgusting!” Which slowly turned into, “It’s disgusting, but it does feel nice.”

She learned about enemas. Fingers followed. First one, well lubed, then two, then three. There was much protest, some giggling, and plenty of wrinkling of her nose, especially when I presented my fingers to her to sniff. She would later learn to lick them, a prelude to the required cleaning of the cock that buggered her.

Patience!

I slowly drove my cock home. She was no longer complaining. There were smiles now, and giggles, and little panting noises. I let her set the pace, allowing her to ride me, to get used to the invasion of her bowels. She was tight, almost too tight. She would have to start wearing a buttplug, another new sensation. A girl has so much to learn. There were little gasps as I finally let go, and she felt the hot surge of semen in her bowels for the first time. There was a little sigh of disappointment as I slid out of her. She gave me that special little smile. “Can we do this again? Please? Soon?”

I explained to her about the buttplug. She looked doubtful, until I showed her a small one. It slipped in easily. “Keep that in you unless you need to go to the toilet. Then wash it, lube it, and put it back when you’re done. We’ll give you a bigger one tomorrow.” In a few days I would bugger her again. Perhaps in a few weeks she would be ready to be doubled.

I kissed her slowly, gently. “Did you enjoy that?” She nodded, thoughtfully. “Once it stopped hurting. It sort of burns, at first.”

I watched her fondly as she walked to the shower, smiling at the way she clenched her butt, unnecessarily, to keep the plug in.

It takes time, and patience, and a sense of humour, to train a daughter.
Such a twist !!
 

theseus

Governor


The Scream.


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Her scream echoed off the hills!

The sun was setting on the first day of her dying. It had been a long day, a day of pain, humiliation and despair. They had joked and laughed as they nailed her, as she thrashed around in pain! They had nailed one arm, then left her, sobbing, hugging the broken wrist, as they had a leisurely breakfast. Bread and cheese and whisky. Then they had nailed her other hand, and had fallen around to catch her flailing legs and drive the spikes through her feet.

The Laird had stood over her tortured body, spat in her face. “You betrayed us, you faithless bitch! Betrayed the clan, your family. Called in the sassenach soldiers. Let them come and save you now. Raise the bitch up!”

They had not been gentle, each bump as the cross was raised and wedged into its hole jarred broken bones. Her screams echoed off the hills, the men laughed. “She should not be given the dignity of clothing!” The voice was harsh, merciless. A voice she had known all her life. The voice of her father. He reached up and tore the shift from her body, her naked body exposed to all. The jug of whisky did the rounds.

The sun rose in the sky, hot on her naked body. She was thirsty. She stared out over the hills, trying to forget the pain. They were so beautiful, the heather all in flower, the sun glinting on the waters of the loch. Life was beautiful! She was young! Her life was ahead of her! She moaned as she struggled to raise herself, the broken bones in her feet grating against the iron spikes, the pain shooting up her legs. She took deep breaths, the air scented with the scents of spring. She wanted to live!

The men were bored. One by one they started off home. Her father was last to leave. He spat at her. “Accursed witch! Suffer! I hope you live long. I hope you spend many days in your agony!” He walked off, not looking back.

She gazed out over the glen. She was innocent! She had not betrayed them! They hated her because she was different. The feared her because she questioned. A woman was supposed to accept, to obey. The sun moved across the sky, agonisingly slowly. “How can you do this? How can you be so cruel? Why do you hate meeee?”

“Me, me, me.” The echo came back from the crags. An eagle screeched somewhere behind her. She heard a corncrake call, saw it in the heather. It would live. It would find a mate, raise chicks. She would die, slowly, painfully.

Would the pain never end? She looked up at her hands, the fingers curled like claws. She dragged herself up. Pain! “Take me down! Get me off here!” The echoes rolled around her. She was strong. She would live a long time. Caw! She heard the crow, looked around. It sat on the end of her crossbar, its black, beady eyes watching her. She looked at the sharp beak. “Go away!” It flapped off. She knew it would be back.

The sun sank, the clouds turned gold. It was so beautiful. She pulled herself up, her calf cramped, the muscle bunching. There was no way to stretch it! The agony crawled up her leg as other muscles cramped in sympathy. “You bastards!! Come back and take me down! Kill me! Don’t leave me here! AAAARRRGGHH!!!!!”

Her world was pain. Her world one of was incredible beauty! Unbearable pain! Unbelievable suffering! Her screams echoed from the hills. Screams of pain! Screams of pain! Screams of anger! Screams of sorrow! Screams of hate!

It was the first day of her dying.


Artwork by Jucundus.
 

montycrusto

Slave Trader


The Scream.


View attachment 1015822

Her scream echoed off the hills!

The sun was setting on the first day of her dying. It had been a long day, a day of pain, humiliation and despair. They had joked and laughed as they nailed her, as she thrashed around in pain! They had nailed one arm, then left her, sobbing, hugging the broken wrist, as they had a leisurely breakfast. Bread and cheese and whisky. Then they had nailed her other hand, and had fallen around to catch her flailing legs and drive the spikes through her feet.

The Laird had stood over her tortured body, spat in her face. “You betrayed us, you faithless bitch! Betrayed the clan, your family. Called in the sassenach soldiers. Let them come and save you now. Raise the bitch up!”

They had not been gentle, each bump as the cross was raised and wedged into its hole jarred broken bones. Her screams echoed off the hills, the men laughed. “She should not be given the dignity of clothing!” The voice was harsh, merciless. A voice she had known all her life. The voice of her father. He reached up and tore the shift from her body, her naked body exposed to all. The jug of whisky did the rounds.

The sun rose in the sky, hot on her naked body. She was thirsty. She stared out over the hills, trying to forget the pain. They were so beautiful, the heather all in flower, the sun glinting on the waters of the loch. Life was beautiful! She was young! Her life was ahead of her! She moaned as she struggled to raise herself, the broken bones in her feet grating against the iron spikes, the pain shooting up her legs. She took deep breaths, the air scented with the scents of spring. She wanted to live!

The men were bored. One by one they started off home. Her father was last to leave. He spat at her. “Accursed witch! Suffer! I hope you live long. I hope you spend many days in your agony!” He walked off, not looking back.

She gazed out over the glen. She was innocent! She had not betrayed them! They hated her because she was different. The feared her because she questioned. A woman was supposed to accept, to obey. The sun moved across the sky, agonisingly slowly. “How can you do this? How can you be so cruel? Why do you hate meeee?”

“Me, me, me.” The echo came back from the crags. An eagle screeched somewhere behind her. She heard a corncrake call, saw it in the heather. It would live. It would find a mate, raise chicks. She would die, slowly, painfully.

Would the pain never end? She looked up at her hands, the fingers curled like claws. She dragged herself up. Pain! “Take me down! Get me off here!” The echoes rolled around her. She was strong. She would live a long time. Caw! She heard the crow, looked around. It sat on the end of her crossbar, its black, beady eyes watching her. She looked at the sharp beak. “Go away!” It flapped off. She knew it would be back.

The sun sank, the clouds turned gold. It was so beautiful. She pulled herself up, her calf cramped, the muscle bunching. There was no way to stretch it! The agony crawled up her leg as other muscles cramped in sympathy. “You bastards!! Come back and take me down! Kill me! Don’t leave me here! AAAARRRGGHH!!!!!”

Her world was pain. Her world one of was incredible beauty! Unbearable pain! Unbelievable suffering! Her screams echoed from the hills. Screams of pain! Screams of pain! Screams of anger! Screams of sorrow! Screams of hate!

It was the first day of her dying.


Artwork by Jucundus.
Good story and lovely artwork by @jucundus :thumbsup:
 

theseus

Governor
Forever?

collar bdsmlr-10016250-jat8p4MB11.jpg

“How do I take this off, Master?”

He smiled at his new slave. “Well, if you can find someone with a special diamond saw, you could take it off. Another option is to remove your head, but that is rather drastic. You are a slave now, your collar stays until you die, and then we bury you wearing it.”

Tara was stunned. She had resigned herself to slavery. She had no choice; debts had to be paid, and she was the payment. Life for a poor girl was hard, and slavery was probably no worse than her life as a free, poor, peasant would have been. The work she was expected to do around the house was so much easier than the daily grind in her father’s poor, stony fields. There it was dawn to dusk, rain or shine, six days a week. Even the sex was better than at home. Her uncle and brothers were rough, careless, nasty in the way they used her.

It was just…the collar. It was so hard, so uncomfortable, so brutal. So humiliating! It marked her as something less than human, an object, perhaps lower than an animal.

Her Master was not cruel. She was fed, better than she had been at home. She never went to bed hungry. Her little bed was comfortable, and she didn’t even have to share her blanket. She had a smock, one that covered her more or less modestly. Admittedly, she was not allowed to wear it yet, the Master said he enjoyed looking at her as she worked around the house. He was even quite gentle when he used her body, and his bed was so big, and soft. Last night he had allowed her to sleep there!

She supposed she would get used to the collar. Perhaps if she was very good the Master would let her have some soft fabric, satin perhaps, or velvet, that she could line the collar with so that it did not chafe so badly.

She looked into the eyes of the man who owned her. “Thank you, Master. I shall try to be a good slave. This collar will remind me that I am a slave. Forever!”
 

theseus

Governor
How do you give a blowjob, mom?

so cute bdsmlr-10114216-KKk6eIEssq.jpg

“How do you give a blowjob, mom?”

“Sheila!” Her mother’s mouth was pursed in that prim way Sheila hated so much. “That is not something one discusses. One day, when you are married, you can ask your husband. Do not mention that disgusting act again! Ever!” Sheila persisted. “But mom! Marguerite says her boyfriend loves it when she gives him a blowjob. I don’t even know what it is!” Her mother let out a snort of annoyance. “You friend Marguerite is no better than she should be! This subject is closed! If you want to discuss such disgusting subjects, wait until you are married, and discuss it with your husband!”

Sheila had gone through her final year of high school frustrated by her ignorance and her parents’ prudishness. If only her grandmother hadn’t died so early. The old lady had always had a smile, a quip, and a naughty gleam in her eye. Shortly before she had died three years previously the old lady had had a serious talk with her only granddaughter. “Sheila, always remember that life is there to be lived, to be enjoyed, to the full! Somehow, I failed with your mother. I hope you will heed my words.

On her eighteenth birthday, shortly before her graduation, Mr Freebody, the family solicitor, had asked her to meet him at this office. Her mother wanted to accompany her, but Freebody was adamant. I have strict instructions that Miss Winters is to be alone. I cannot alter that.”

Sheila was agog with curiousity as she stepped into the lawyer’s book lined office. “Miss Winters, may I call you Sheila, your grandmother has left you several legacies, to become yours, under your sole control, once you have turned eighteen. She has made ample provision for your studies, as well as for an allowance that will allow you to live comfortably. The last legacy, the one that she regarded as the most important, is this.” He handed her an envelope. Tears pricked in her eyes as she recognised her grandmother’s handwriting. “Please read it immediately, Sheila. There are matters we must discuss.”

Sheila opened the letter.

“Dear Sheila, I wish I could have told you this in person, but life got in the way. By the time you read this you will be eighteen. I know that you have been frustrated by your parents’ prudishness and their unwillingness to speak to you about sexual matters. At the time, I felt it would be improper for me to go against their wishes.” A tear dripped onto the paper, blurring the ink. “I have always maintained that life should be lived to the full. I think I have achieved that in my life, as your grandfather did in his. I suspect that you have felt very frustrated in the last few years. You are eighteen now, free to live your life. I have left a substantial sum in the hands of Mr Freebody to be used solely for you to discover life. Take his advice! He is not quite the dried-up old stick he looks like!” Sheila glanced at the severely suited solicitor, smiling. He smiled back. “I suspect that you are still as curious about things sexual, probably more so. If he suggests the Farm, heed his advice. Your grandfather and I had many happy times there. Remember! Live life to the full! Always! Love, Granny Anne.”

Sheila sat on the deck at the Farm, waiting her turn to be barcoded. She had graduated at the top of her class, and would be going to university to study economics, but before then, she had three months to learn about life! Mr Freebody had indeed suggested the Farm. He had arranged for her to interviewed by the owner and founder, a retired naval officer who had been one of her grandfather’s junior officers. She had signed up for the full period. As she was ignorant of most things, she had signed up without limits. Now she was here, having walked the last mile, naked and handcuffed. Soon, she would be barcoded and assigned to an overseer for initial training.

She smiled happily, in anticipation of the experiences to come. She had been assured that her first lesson would entail giving a blowjob!
 

Marcia

Assistant executioner
The Last Walk

View attachment 1014748

“Why? I did nothing wrong! Do I have to die like this? Why?”

The cross was heavy, the wood rough and splintery against the soft skin of her back. Gudrun looked once more at the path ahead, the path to the top of the hill. The hill was decorated with crosses, crosses that bore men and women writhing in pain, no, in agony, as they died slowly, too slowly. All because they had dared to defend their town against the invading Romans.

She looked pleadingly at the young legionary who was assigned to take her to the hill. He was not much older than she was, a nice looking young man, looking rather uncertain about what he had been ordered to do. “Please?” He said in atrocious German. “Please, pick up your cross and walk to the place of execution. I do not wish to hurt you, but if you do not go now, I will have to whip you. Please get up and walk.” He swallowed convulsively. She looked at him, almost with pity. “He is going to be sick. He hates what he has to do. Why do these Romans do this? Why are they so cruel?”

The warriors had fought hard against the invading Romans, selling their lives dearly. They had died with the swords in their hands, and even now would be feasting in Valhalla. For those who survived death would be slower in coming, and much more painful! The Legate commanding the legion had decided that he would make an example of the townsfolk, in order to terrify others into submission. One in five of the townsfolk would be crucified! The rest would be sold into slavery, as was usual. Selection of those who were to die was totally random.

Gudrun staggered to her feet, bent under the heavy cross. The young legionary followed her, looking miserable. He was deeply unhappy. He had joined the army for the glory, the fame of being one of the finest soldiers in the world. Not for this! Not to kill the innocent. This girl, so pretty, so soft, so fragile, was going to die! She was going to die horribly, slowly, painfully. Why? He looked longingly at her naked body. She would be much better off as a slave, even if it was in a brothel.

The sounds of suffering grew louder. Screams! Voices, male and female, begging for mercy! The sound of crying, of hysterical sobbing! The dull thud of hammers hitting nails! Driving those nails through human flesh. Ahead a cross was being raised, the woman screaming hysterically as her full weight was borne by the nails through wrists and feet. She recognised the contorted face, the head thrashing frantically back and forth, long grey hair whipping around her face. Her grandmother!

“Junius!” A burly soldier with a hammer in his hand bellowed. The young soldier raised his head, straightened. “Bring that one over here! Come on, soldier! Buck up! I haven’t got all fucking day!”

Gudrun looked up into her grandmother’s pain filled eyes. Their crosses would be beside each other. Perhaps that would be a comfort. A small, very small, comfort.


Picture from Cruxdreams.
That`s another exciting story that describes the feelings of a girl sentenced to the cross. Thank you.
 

theseus

Governor
Of course, dear.

Of course! bdsmlr-10056088-4hGDXyoLBk.jpg

“Of course, dear. Of course, I understand. Five of them? All weekend? Anything they like? Anything?? Yes, dear, I do know what I am. I’ll be waiting for them. Good bye. I love you!”

Eleanore’s husband rang off. She had almost two hours to prepare herself, and the house. Collar, wrist and ankle cuffs for her. Nipple clamps, of course, the clovers. A four-ounce weight on each. That was going to hurt! She hated those bloody clamps!

Toys laid out in the living room. Whips, canes, floggers. The pear! How she hated that thing! Gags. Buttplugs. The electroplay equipment.

She went to the bathroom to shower, and to ensure that there was not a single stray hair to mar her nakedness. Forty-five minutes to go. She locked the collar around her throat. Ankle cuffs, the ones with the short chain. She threaded the handcuffs through the ankle chain. Once locked onto her wrists, she would be unable to get out of her kneeling position. Her breasts would be thrust out, the weights on the clamps dragging her already sagging dugs down.

She picked up the first clamp. She hated these things! They hurt! The burning ache, the sharp jags of pain as she moved and the weights dragged at her nipples. She took a deep breath. “Oh fuck!” She screamed out loud as the clamp crushed her left nipple. The swinging weight jerked her nipple rhythmically. Whimpering softly, she picked up the other clamp. “Why do I do this?” Her voice was soft, as she applied the clamp to her right nipple. “FUUUUCCKK!!! Fuck you! Why do I love you so much???” She removed her watch, checked the time. Forty minutes to go. She knee-walked to the side table, placed it there, face down. Time was irrelevant now. She was now totally naked, except for the wedding ring. He insisted she keep that on. To show the world that she was, truly, a slut-wife. She knee-walked back to her place opposite the front door, off the carpet, on the bare wooden floor. The clamps tugged painfully at her nipples.

Now for the contact lenses. She would effectively be blind. They allowed her to see darkness and light, and to detect some movement, but that was it. The blindness was a part, a major part, of the excitement. She would never know who had used her, who had abused her. In the street, they would know her. Every time a man smiled at her she would wonder? “Have I sucked him off? Has his cock filled my bowels with his seed?”

She felt behind her for the handcuffs. They, whoever they were, would have the keys. It was a bit of a struggle, but soon her hands were cuffed to the ankle chain. She settled down to wait. Her knees hurt; her nipples were burning! She shook them, aggravating the pain, but, for a few moments, transferring the pain to a different, almost welcome level.

This was the third time. Before it had only been for an evening. This time it was all weekend! She waited patiently. The first time it had been just one man. A total stranger. He had used her mercilessly, leaving her marked and weeping. He had said not a single word to her. The second time there had been, she thought, two men and a woman. Certainly, two cocks had penetrated her simultaneously, and for the first time in her life she had tasted another woman. She thought it was the woman who had whipped her breasts until they felt like raw meat.

Blind, naked, helpless, she knelt on the hard floor. The weights dragged on her nipples, she spread her knees wider. “They want to see your gaping, dripping, hungry cunt,” he had said. She knew that the cameras were recording this. Later, he would show her the edited video, the faces of her users carefully blurred out. She knelt, descending into subspace, aware that there was a damp spot on the floorboards. Time was irrelevant in her blind world.

The key turned in the lock. She started, jerking up, the weights sending waves of agony through her nipples. It had been dark; she must have waited for many hours. There were shapes in the square of light that was the door. She could only make out a single, large silhouette. “Look, she’s dripping! Look at that wet patch on the floor. She hasn’t pissed herself, has she?” The voice was young, female. A male voice laughed. “Not enough for piss. He said she had a hot, wet cunt.” The square of light disappeared as the door closed, other lights came on. There was a clink of glasses, voices in the background. She remained where she was, ignored. They would move her when they were ready.

There was a strange sound. A kind of snuffling sound. Something tapped rapidly on the wooden floor. It was a familiar sound, but she couldn’t place it. The female voice giggled. “He’s going to…” Another male voice interrupted. “I think she is about have a big surprise. It won’t be the last. Watch!”

Eleanore was trying to place the sound. It sounded like…No! Surely not? He wouldn’t sanction that. Would he? Would he? She squealed as something cold and damp touched her wet cunt, as hot breath flooded over it, as a warm, rough tongue licked at her juices. “No! He can’t have given permission for this? No, not this!” The breath was hot. Her stomach twisted, she was filled with disgust, fear, and incredible excitement!

She knew the video of this weekend would be terrible. Terribly exciting!

She loved him so much!
 

KageKamen

Tribune
Forever?

View attachment 1016132

“How do I take this off, Master?”

He smiled at his new slave. “Well, if you can find someone with a special diamond saw, you could take it off. Another option is to remove your head, but that is rather drastic. You are a slave now, your collar stays until you die, and then we bury you wearing it.”

Tara was stunned. She had resigned herself to slavery. She had no choice; debts had to be paid, and she was the payment. Life for a poor girl was hard, and slavery was probably no worse than her life as a free, poor, peasant would have been. The work she was expected to do around the house was so much easier than the daily grind in her father’s poor, stony fields. There it was dawn to dusk, rain or shine, six days a week. Even the sex was better than at home. Her uncle and brothers were rough, careless, nasty in the way they used her.

It was just…the collar. It was so hard, so uncomfortable, so brutal. So humiliating! It marked her as something less than human, an object, perhaps lower than an animal.

Her Master was not cruel. She was fed, better than she had been at home. She never went to bed hungry. Her little bed was comfortable, and she didn’t even have to share her blanket. She had a smock, one that covered her more or less modestly. Admittedly, she was not allowed to wear it yet, the Master said he enjoyed looking at her as she worked around the house. He was even quite gentle when he used her body, and his bed was so big, and soft. Last night he had allowed her to sleep there!

She supposed she would get used to the collar. Perhaps if she was very good the Master would let her have some soft fabric, satin perhaps, or velvet, that she could line the collar with so that it did not chafe so badly.

She looked into the eyes of the man who owned her. “Thank you, Master. I shall try to be a good slave. This collar will remind me that I am a slave. Forever!”
Well, glad to know she's moving up in the world... sort of!
 
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