Vignettes from the slave pits

[Loinclothslave]

Of course, dear.

View attachment 1020195

“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.

Far out, @theseus did you write this for me? My Ghod that pressed so many buttons. Miss Loinclothslave is positively panting just reading this!

Chained, kneeling, and waiting. With all those tools for pain waiting to be used just as she wants, nay needs, them to be….

Trust you to then find an even deeper humiliation for her to suffer as her opening act!

Trust you also, as usual, for leaving an open ending so I can dream up a variety of erotic finishes!

Thank you as always!

 

[theseus]

Rental



“Yep! She’s in pretty good nick for her age. Body is still good. Bit thick about the waist, sure, but it’s mainly muscle, not flab. Tits are good. Tight cunt! Exercises the muscles for an hour every day.” Lynda listened silently as her husband extolled her virtues. Virtues? Well, perhaps not virtues. Usability, perhaps?

“Limits?” One of the punters asked. Her husband stroked his beard. “None, really. Look, I don’t want her back with a missing leg, or the Clap, but apart from that, you can use her any way you like.” He nodded at another question. “Yes, of course you can feel her tits. And her cunt. It will be soaking, always is.” He touched her on the shoulder. “Spread your legs, bitch, let them see the merchandise.” She blushed as she spread her thighs. She was wet, soaking! She always was. Being displayed like this, talked about like this, available to the highest bidder, was tremendously exciting. She let out a soft little moan as the little tattoo in the fold alongside her vagina caught her eye. It was new, she had forgotten about it. It was small, but it announced her for what she had become. The little dog’s paw spoke volumes.

A young man, looking somewhat uncertain, asked a shy question. “Does she, does she do anal?” His cheeks coloured as he spoke. Steve, her husband, smiled. “Of course, sir. She does anything you wish.” The elegant, grey haired woman smiled at the naked young man whose leash she held in her left hand, her right hand holding a flute of champagne. “Sounds a bit like you, my pet. Shall I buy her? I might even let you out of that nasty cage, if you’re very, very good. And Rufus would enjoy her. He needs a change from you.” The youth blushed, looking down at the tiny steel cage that contained his cock. He, too, sported a dog’s paw tattoo, this one on his buttock.

Lynda’s stomach was knotted with excitement. Who would buy her? That was the best part, and the worst part, of this game. The uncertainty! This was her third sale. The first two had been for a week end, this time she was to be sold for a month. Thirty one days! Thirty one nights! Their daughter, Riley, had looked at her mother with all the scepticism of a seven year old when she told her and young Sam that she was going away for a holiday. “Are you going to come home all stripey again, mom?” Riley smiled. “You looked just like a zebra.” Her ‘owner’ the last time had taken a singletail to her an hour before she went home, striping her hide from knees to neck.

That was the true excitement! Not knowing who would ‘own’ her, how he, or she, or they, would use her. She had heard Brenda’s remark to her slave. Was she a possible buyer? Her anus contracted. Brenda, and her pet, the youth, what was his name, Woofles? And Rufus! Oh shit! Rufus. The dog paw tattoo marked her. A month, a whole month! She felt the excitement build, the flush rise, she breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. It would not do to cum now!

Steve’s voice penetrated her thoughts, he was still telling the punters about her cunt exercises, how she could milk a man to orgasm, not moving a muscle, other than that well trained ring of muscle. Soon now, soon, she would stand on the block, listening to the bids.

Lynda Smythe, wife, mother, PTA chairperson, shameless whore, willing, no limits slave.

 

[theseus]

Try before you buy.



Modern marketing practices are universal, even in the slave market in Ougadougou. Buyers now expect a warranty with their purchases, and there are all kinds of measures to protect the buyer. For the slaves, especially the young European slaves, this can add to the ordeal of being sold. Ibrahim, a thoroughly progressive dealer, has eagerly embraced these modern practices.

Abdullah was shopping for a new bedwarmer, and the latest shipment of Europeans caught his eye. He rather liked the look of blonde Anna. She was tall, slim and blonde. She had smallish, shapely breasts, long, slim legs and lovely tight bum. As for her mouth? Well, he could picture what it would be best at. “I have just one concern, brother Ibrahim. She looks very tight. You know how I enjoy using them as if they were boys.”

Ibrahim gave him a knowing leer, “And I have heard, many times, that you are, shall we say, generously equipped.” He popped into his office, emerging with a very large black dildo. “Is this about your size?” Abdullah studied the very realistically made object. “Well,” he said, stroking his beard, “I do not wish to boast, but it is rather modest. However, I am sure it will do.”

At this point Anna was regretting the impulse that had made her take a course in conversational Arabic. She wished she couldn’t understand their conversation. After all, she was in a very compromising position, and it seemed that things were about to become rather more uncomfortable. Abdullah admired the workmanship of the implement, spat on it, commenting, “one this small hardly compares with the real thing, but I suppose it will do as a trial.”

Claire looked down, shyly, not wanting to attract attention to herself. She had no idea what the men were saying, but it was quite clear to her that Anna was about to find out. It was all rather exciting, this sudden change in her circumstances. Being naked in a market in an unknown African city where almost everything imaginable was on sale, including, she thought wryly, naked European girls, was not something she had intended to do, but now that she was there, something long repressed was stirring deep inside her. Perhaps that was why she had decided to go to the rock festival in Marrakesh, why she had ignored her grandfather’s cautionary words. The old man was worldly-wise but politically incorrect. “Enjoy the festival, girl. I was at Woodstock, best weekend of my life. Just be careful, and watch those wogs. You’ll get laid, for sure, but you’re on the pill, so that’s okay. Don’t drink anything that you haven’t opened, and don’t take any drugs. Have fun!” Well, she had gotten laid, and had disregarded the old man’s advice about booze and drugs. She had woken up, naked, chained to a naked girl on either side of her, in a shipping container. Now she was being sold here, in the back of beyond.

She shot another glance at the dildo in Abdullah’s hand. Was he really going to do what she thought he was going to do? Anna, on the other hand had no doubts about his intentions. That thing was going into her virgin bunghole! She winced as Ibrahim continued his sales pitch. “Try before you buy, that is my motto, Effendi. By all means see if she will be a good fit.”

Anna took a deep breath, trying to relax. “For what I am about to receive,” she muttered in Russian. “Damn these western ideas of customer satisfaction! They are just a bloody pain in the ass!”


Picture by Julie & Melissa

 

[theseus]

Emily.



If truth be told, Emily rather liked being a slave.

Admittedly, slavery was not at the top of her agenda when she and her friend Brigitte decided to take a package holiday to North Africa; sun, sea and perhaps a bit of sex had been what they were looking for. Emily was always happy to have Brigitte along for a holiday. She was not the brightest of her friends, but she was good company, and her big tits bulging out of her bikini top always pulled the guys. Emily was happy to pick up the scraps. They should have smelled a rat when the tour they booked was so cheap, but…well…such is life.

Waking up in a dark, windowless room had been a shock! Being forcibly stripped by three men, and then dragged out into the blazing sun, where they were sold to a veiled woman, had been terrifying. Being told, in broken English, that the woman had bought them to be slaves in her husband’s harem had been, quite frankly, exciting! There were downsides, of course. The Mistress had whipped each of them, laughing as they danced around in a vain attempt to avoid the lash. “I remind unbelievers what happen if they bad!” She had laughed.

That wasn’t the only pain they suffered. The local blacksmith had been as gentle as he could be, but a clitoris is a delicate morsel, and his thick, calloused fingers had hurt more than the ring he had inserted in each of their little morsels. Worse were the three rings he had inserted in each of their pussy lips, and the constant weight and irritation of the padlock that closed up their pussies. “No have little infidel bastards running around. Husband fuck mouth and ass.”

Emily had no objection to oral sex. She had sucked a few cocks in her time, although she was always disappointed with the thin, pale things presented to her. Anal was new! Somewhat disgusting, and certainly painful at first. The Mistress had kindly, (well, perhaps her intention had been kind,) helped by making them wear ever larger buttplugs until the Master fitted more or less comfortably. Sucking the Master was an experience. No small, white flabby thing there! She relished the glorious, thick, rigid ebony staff that was presented for her attention. Brigitte, the silly girl, had squealed and protested, then had screamed and protested as the Mistress plied her whip on her plump tits.

Best of all, as far as Emily was concerned, were the weekly morning tea parties when the Mistresses would bring their husbands’ slaves to show off their oral skills. She did wish the Mistress would be a bit more gentle in the way she tugged at the leashes attached to their clit rings, but the reward at the end was worth the discomfort. She had no idea where they found the men, but they were superb! Such magnificent specimens! Such size! Such girth! Such copious, delicious, creamy goodness! She had already drained three this morning, her Mistress watching proudly, and the fourth was already starting to rise to the occasion. Her mouth would have been watering, if it had not already been filled with three loads of rich, creamy cum. He was the best of them all, so delicious and filling! Brigitte was still struggling with her first, gagging and choking. The Mistress’ whip would be singing again soon.

Emily was a happy slave. If only…If only she could persuade the Mistress to shave down there! She so hated hair in her teeth!



Artwork by Julie & Melissa

 

[George Cookson]

Oarslave

View attachment 676403

Paradise Island is a large atoll in the tropical ocean. It consists of dozens of islands. A consortium of rich entrepreneurs bought the atoll from a corrupt state. By agreement the atoll was not subject to any laws except those made by the owners. The government of the state turned a blind eye to all activities on the island.

Paradise was marketed as a perfect getaway place for sexual adventure. Most people stayed on Vanilla Island, the largest and most developed of the islands. It was a perfect fun in the sun resort, with sex as the main attraction.

Melanie had had a quarrel with her boyfriend. In a fit of pique she signed up for a month on Slave Island, signed up without reading any of the documents. She found herself chained to an oar on one of the galleys that transported visitors between islands. She remembered being amazed at the scantily clad oarsmen, and women, of the galley that took her and Dave to Vanilla Island.

On this galley she was not scantily clad, she was naked. She was chained to her oar and whenever she showed the slightest hesitation the whip cracked across her helpless body. Food was minimal, water more so. Her main diet was cum from the overseers and the passengers. The only time she was released from her oar was when someone wanted to fuck her. Fortunately this was quite often, because it was the only respite from the oar and the whip.

As they waited for a new group of passengers to board, headed for Gay Island, she looked out over the calm water. Her mouth was still filled with the salty creamy taste of cum. This was only the morning of day 2! How many days in this month? Was it 30, or 31?

The cox’n barked an order. Tired muscles protested as she grasped her oar. She heard the whistle of the whip, flinched instinctively. The crack and the scream were almost simultaneous. Not her back this time. The old woman, the one with short grey hair, she must be nearly 60. The whip cracked again. Gay Island was far away. She pulled at her oar.

Was it 30 days? Or 31?

 

[George Cookson]

I wish it was me stripped chained branded and whipped fucked by Arab master 18yrs old 5yrs at the oar benches many galley ship.

 

[theseus]

Achievement



People change very quickly, if the circumstances are right.

Less than three months ago Claire was a fairly typical suburban girl. She was modest, too modest many would say, shy, and something of an introvert. She put all her energy into her studies and her sport. Many young men had pursued her, some had dated her, all had been frustrated.

Then, one day, everything changed. On an early morning run, a van had stopped in the tree-lined road ahead of her. She had given it no more than a curious glance, until two men leapt out, one skilfully tripping her, the other, with the ease of long practice, cuffing her hands behind her back. A black leather hood was forced over her head, buckled around her neck, and secured with a padlock. Blind, disorientated, helpless, she lay in the van as it drove for what seemed like hours. Finally, it stopped. She was helped out.

“No! What are you doing?” Her screams were ignored as hands cut the clothing from her body. “Please, you can’t do this. Please?” Strong hands gripped her arms, frogmarching her over gravel and thick grass, up some wooden stairs, and through a door. Hands roamed shamelessly over her body. “Nice, very nice. Good, firm tits. Nice ass. Lovely, strong thighs. She an athlete of some kind? A good fuck! Pity about the tan lines, but a week or so in the sun and they’ll be gone. As for this,” Fingers twined into her thick, unruly pubic bush, “nothing a bit of lasering won’t cure.” She felt something cold and hard close around her throat, heard the click of a lock. “Let’s see what she looks like.” Another voice, female. The leather hood was removed from her head. Blinded by the light, it took a few moments for her to assimilate her surroundings. She was in a comfortably furnished room. There were four of them, three men and a woman. The men were all youngish, well built. One of them was a black man, a magnificent specimen, his muscles straining against his shirt. “Hey, she’s pretty, too.” The same voice that had described her so brutally. The woman was middle-aged, striking, her face beautiful, but her eyes as hard as agate.

“Who are you? Why am I here? What is going on?” Claire tried to remain calm, but her voice had a hysterical edge to it. It was the woman who spoke, her hands scratching the ears of a large dog that sat at her side. “You are at the training camp. I’m sure there will be a search for you. After several days a witness will come forward to tell the police that he saw a girl matching your description, in running gear, getting into a car with a young man. Several days later the car, previously reported stolen, will be found. There will be parts of your clothing, stained with your blood. Sadly, the body, and the murderer, will never be found.” She smiled, bringing chills down Claire’s spine. “As for you, after your training, you will be sold. There is a high demand for blonde, athletic girls at the moment. It happens after every Olympics. Too many hours watching fit, scantily glad girls on TV.” She turned to the black man. “Mustapha! Take her to the preparation centre. She can get some sleep in a cage. Tomorrow she gets lasered, microchipped and examined. She might just be virgin.” Her smile was terrifying. “Don’t worry. You can still have her mouth and her ass.” He half bowed. “Yes, Ma’am. Normal routine?” The woman nodded. “If she resists, whip her. No permanent marks!”

Helpless, Claire followed the man. She was taken to a hut where an old woman, wrinkled, but still beautiful, looked her up and down. “Fine piece of flesh, Mustapha. Wild caught?” He nodded, smiling. “Might even be intact. Wanna check?” The woman nodded. “Spread your legs girl!” Blushing, Claire obeyed, still numb at her situation. “No!” She screamed as a finger entered her. “What are you doing?” “Checking to see how valuable you are, girl,” the woman shook her head sadly. “Nothing there. How many times you been fucked, girl?” Claire shook her head, “Never! I’m a virgin.” Again, the shake of the head. “Not any more, you’re not. No hymen. Your value just dropped by twenty percent.” She smiled at the big black. “She’s all yours. Don’t stretch her too much. She probably hasn’t been fucked, but ‘no hymen, no certificate’. Used goods.”

A month later Claire stood on the auction block as men and women bid for the ownership of her body. She had stopped fighting! For the first weeks she had resisted at every turn. Screamed foul insults at Mustapha and the two other trainers as the violated her body, then screamed and begged for mercy as the cruel leather tongue of the whip licked threads of fire on her flesh. The Dealer, Mistress Athene, had tired of the struggle. “Right, bitch! One more chance. If you don’t buckle, you will find yourself the star in a snuff movie! Understand!” Claire spat at her!

The frame was set up in a small amphitheatre. A couple of dozen spectators sipped wine as they waited for here to be brought in. She fought hard, but eventually was strapped to the frame. “What now? She wondered, “what were they going to do to her now?” The Mistress entered, followed, her dog and her pet male slave at her heels. What followed broke her! She screamed, she cursed them, she begged, she cried. To no avail. The frame was strong. She was helpless. The brute was tireless. Finally, broken, she was released. The watchers cheered, clapped. She could not look at them. “Bitch.” There was no fight left in her.

There were eight of them on display for the party. Eight of them displayed for the pleasure of three dozen or so guests. She sat up straight, her back stiff, her thighs spread wide, displayed. She wondered idly how many of these people would fuck her? She was resigned to her fate now. Gone were the dreams of sporting and academic achievement. For her there would be no marriage, children, family. Her life had changed forever. This was what she was, a fuckslave.

As she waited, spread, advertising her assets, she scanned the guests. Who would be first? How many would there be? She was content, now, to be what she was. Proud, even, that she could excite the lust of so many men and women. That, too, was an achievement!



Artwork by Morphing Only

 

[Loinclothslave]

Very nice, @theseus , I particularly liked when she was tied to the frame for her “last chance” punishment without describing her torture in detail. What I’m imagining happened is probably very different to what you and other readers imagine! “Always leave them wanting more”

I generally don’t think I like kidnapping fantasy, unless it ends in slavery. She’s a lucky slave alright! If you need another my address is XX….

 

[theseus]

Delicious treat on the Farm



My holiday at The Farm had been thoroughly relaxing, and very, very pleasurable. I had had a very stressful year, and my doctor suggested that I get away from it all for at least three weeks.
You need to go somewhere that is completely away from phones, from computers, from modern life. A place where you can live as we were meant to live. I spent a month there some years ago, and came back totally refreshed. I have done that every year since then.” She told me about The Farm; how she went there regularly, as a sex slave. I admit to being astonished. She was such a businesslike, professional person. The thought of her as a naked sex slave was both surprising and incredibly arousing.

The very next day I received confirmation of my booking as a premium guest at The Farm.

I was met at he parking area by a young lady wearing a short tunic that left one pert breast totally exposed. She knelt in front of me. “Mr Prentice? Welcome to The Farm. My name is Candy, and I, like all the other staff at The Farm, exist solely to make your stay as pleasant as possible.” She smiled broadly. “Here nothing is impossible.” As she rose, the tunic slipped to the ground.

It was more than a mile to the main buildings. I sat in cushioned comfort in a small chariot, sipping champagne, while four naked girls, thick pony tails protruding from their butts, strained to pull the chariot uphill over the stony path. Candy trotted alongside, occasionally encouraging them with a whip. It was a good start to my visit.

My chalet was rustic, but very comfortable, with comfortable chairs, a small kitchen and a well stocked bar. I followed the still naked Candy to the bedroom, thinking salacious thoughts at the sight of firm buttocks. She smiled at me, invitingly. “I gather from Dr Fraser, better known here as Doc Juicypuss, that you are very stressed and need destressing therapy.” She was unbuttoning my shirt as I thought about my doctor as “Doc Juicypuss.” Clearly, she had hidden talents. My reverie was interrupted as my trousers slid to the ground. “May I?” Candy was on her knees, her lips an inch away from my rapidly rising member. “Juicypuss said I should give you special treatment.” I willingly surrendered to the ministrations of her lips.

Later, much later, as we lay sprawled on the very rumpled bed, my hand idly toying with Candy’s nipple, I had a thought. “Next time,” I thought out loud, “Next time I will ensure that you are designated for my use, and, I will ensure that Doc Juicypuss is here as your assistant.

As Candy’s lips started working miracles of resurrection, I idly thought whether I could get Dr Prentice, Juicypuss, to persuade my medical insurance to pay for my “therapy.”

 

[Loinclothslave]

I do enjoy your slave farm stories, @theseus , have you thought about creating an anthology?

And, more importantly, do they take applications from male slaves?

 

[theseus]

I do enjoy your slave farm stories, @theseus , have you thought about creating an anthology?

And, more importantly, do they take applications from male slaves?

Madiosi has put together two volumes of my vignettes, although not all are about the Farm. Male slaves are welcome. Normal rules apply.

 

[theseus]

Craving!



To all intents and purposes Michelle was a typical suburban wife and mother. Every morning she loaded the kids into the car and took them to school. In the afternoon she picked them up, took them to their sport training, their dance classes or music lessons. She was member of the PTA, a volunteer charity, did yoga every day, and, twice a week, attended a philosophy group.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, at 4.45 in the afternoon, she said goodbye to the family, got into her car, and went off to her ‘philosophy group’. She parked in a safe parking area, and walked the two hundred yards to the run-down bar. Entering through the staff entrance, she went straight to the small, bare cubicle. The paint was flaking off the walls, the floor was stained, the whole place smelled musty, the smell of sweat and bodily fluids and poor cleaning.

She closed and locked the door, stripped off, hanging her clothing on the nail in the wall. Naked now, but for stockings and heels, she turned on the camera. The red light blinked on. She was being filmed; her image being streamed live to thousands of subscribers to Gloryhole.com. She knelt beside the hole, waiting, almost panting, for the first cock to appear through the hole. For the next two hours she sucked. Sucked cock! Big ones, little ones. Thick ones and thin ones. White ones and black ones. She deep throated and swallowed, time and again. Wherever possible, between cocks, she smiled at the camera, a broad, cummy smile of ecstasy. Smiled at her watchers, smiled at one watcher in particular, her biggest fan!

Exactly two hours after she had switched the camera on, the hole snapped closed and the camera light went off. She dressed, slipped out of the cubicle, walked to the car, very aware of her dripping pussy, and drove home. Her husband greeted her at the door, kissing her deeply, tongue roaming her mouth, relishing the taste of her. He smiled broadly. “Was that as good as it looked?” She nodded, and went off to prepare supper.

With the kids put to bed, they went to their bedroom. She stripped, as she had earlier, and waited on her knees as he turned on the big monitor on the bedroom wall. She watched herself in the cubicle, as her husband stripped. They both watched as she took him, slow and deep, relishing the warm, firm, thickness of him. Ahead lay hours of passion, hours of pleasure, hours of love.

He really was her biggest fan!

 

[theseus]

Sale of the Matrons



“Arrogant swine!” Leah would love to shout the words out loud! She would like to strangle this arrogant Roman who was so casually examining her and her companions. Could he even imagine how it felt for a respectable wife and mother to be standing here in a market, naked, bound, terribly exposed, for idle wastrels to examine, stare at, and make crude comments about.

Leah accepted her slavery. God decreed one’s fate. She had been free, a member of an aristocratic family. She had owned slaves. Although her people treated slaves with dignity, almost as members of the family. They were decently clothed and seldom maltreated, unless, of course, they deserved it. When they were sold, they were allowed the dignity of clothing. If a man did wish to purchase a girl for his bed, he examined her discretely, in a private place.

Her people’s defeat by the Romans had ended all that, and had ended in slavery for her and her family, as well as all their friends. There had been no dignity for them, any of them. Defeat had brought all the evils that went with it. The destruction of their city and their people, slavery, and for the women, rape. This was the way of the world. Victorious soldiers had to vent their bloodlust and fear. Leah had accepted her rape, and the added horror of seeing her daughters raped. She had accepted their slavery. It was God’s will. What was more difficult was the cruelty of the Romans, the way they casually heaped indignity upon the new slaves.

They walked for days; naked, bound, humiliated. At the market the women were prepared for sale. Their body hair was removed, a humiliating experience for her people. They were washed, perfumed, treated like prize cattle. Naked, their hands bound behind them to prevent them trying to preserve some modesty, they were put on show. The younger women were sold quickly, for the older ones the ordeal was longer. The comments of the shoppers were more caustic, more hurtful. These were modest women. Being discussed in such graphic, disparaging terms was hurtful in the extreme. The Romans were ignorant of the fact that most upper class women in their world spoke good Latin.

Severus was looking for a house slave. His wife would not allow her to be young and beddable, it would have to be one of these older ones. He walked slowly down the line of slaves, prodding a soft belly here, shuddering at dimpled thighs and sagging udders. One woman caught his eye. Unlike the others her eyes were not downcast. She looked him in the eye, her expression one of haughty contempt. Her breasts sagged, but somehow attracted him. Her belly was flat, her thighs firm and strong. Her jaw was set firmly. She would have to be tamed. “That one looks as if she would cut my throat given half a chance! I certainly wouldn’t shove my cock into her mouth without a restraining ring! I have no desire to be a eunuch!” His friends laughed, one of them lifting her breast, then letting it drop. The woman’s eyes were as hard as basalt. “You try to stick your filthy Roman cock into my mouth and I will certainly bite it off, you arrogant swine.”

He called the dealer over. “How much for this one?” He lifted her breast. “Two hundred, senator.” Severus laughed. “I want just the one, not the whole coffle! I’ll give you ten.” The dealer feigned amazement. “Ten, senator? Ten? You jest! Look at her! Fine thighs, trim arse, flat belly. This is quality, not a slag like this one.” He prodded another slave’s still plump belly.

Severus pinched a nipple between thumb and forefinger, lifting Leah’s breast until the nipple was stretched painfully, and tears came to her eyes. “Quality?” He dropped her breast. Quality? With floppy dugs like these?” Leah bridled at the insult, wanting to let him know exactly what she thought of his opinion, but choked back her angry words. Better he did not know she spoke fluent Latin. “Oh, I’m in a good mood today. I’ll give you twenty.”

The dealer looked pained. “My Lord, I admit her tits are a bit saggy, but she is quality. I’ll tell you what, just for you, because you’re a good customer, one fifty.” Severus laughed! “You are a comic, my friend, you should be on the stage. You are amusing, I like that. Twenty five.” The dealer shook his head. “One twenty five, no less. Look, senator, I know she’s not exactly a spring chicken, and she’s been well used, but look, feel her cunt. Tight as a Vestal Virgin, it is!” Leah stifled a gasp as his fingers invaded her, her muscles instantly tensing to evict the invader. He gave a satisfied smile, extracting his fingers. “Come, sir, try for yourself, tight as a clam!”

Severus shrugged. “You have a cloth, I assume?” He slid two fingers inside her, noted the anger in her eyes. Her internal muscles did tighten amazingly. Did these barbarians all have such tight cunts? Perhaps she could give his wife some tips? He wiped his fingers fastidiously on the offered cloth. “I am buying a kitchen drudge, not a concubine. However, you have amused me. I’ll give you sixty, if you have her branded and deliver her to my house.”

The dealer looked heartbroken. A fine act. With the glut of slaves on the market he had expected no more than forty. He bowed. “You drive a hard bargain, senator. Demetrius has your brand, I recall? Left buttock, as usual, sir?” Varus stroked his chin. “No. Left breast, I think. It might distract attention from the sag.” He handed over six coins.

“Left tit it is, sir. You’ll have her within the hour. Take a bit of time for Demetrius to get the iron nice and hot.”

Leah’s stomach was a tight knot of fear. The thought of having a white-hot branding iron applied to her breast appalled her! Yet, she knew she had no choice. She was a slave, now, no longer a noble lady. Yet, in a strange way, she hoped this man would take her, if not to his bed, then on the floor or across a fence. For some reason his fingers inside her had excited her.

Was she becoming a true slave?

 

[theseus]

The Punishment Room



Maria, Laura and her daughter, Lily stared, horrified, at the main item of furniture in the Punishment Room. The punishment bench, on which they would be strapped to receive their punishment.

Discipline at The Farm was strict! Very strict! There were many rules, and it was very easy for a slave to transgress one or other minor rule. Punishments for these minor infractions were usually immediate, all the overseers carried whips, and used them. Regularly! Few slaves did not bear the mark of the whip or the flogger on their hides.

For the serious offences there was a more formal procedure. Offenders were held in strict confinement in the punishment cells, before being brought to trial on a Thursday. Those convicted, and acquittals were so rare as to be non-existent, then had Thursday night to reflect on their sins and anticipate the punishment to come.

Evidence was led, and the accused was allowed to plead for mercy. Mercy, however, was a rare commodity. Punishments were generally in the form of a caning. The minimum sentence being twenty four strokes to the buttocks. The maximum sentence was seventy five strokes, fifty of which were applied to the buttocks, the remainder being applied to the breasts. Offenders were strapped to a special punishment bench, allowing them no room for movement.

On this particular Friday there were three offenders awaiting punishment. Maria had refused to have anal sex with a guest. She would receive thirty six strokes of the cane, followed by eight hours in the fucking frame. Her mouth and vagina would be filled with thick dildoes, leaving only the disputed anus available for use. The other two were Laura and her daughter Lily. They had come to the Farm to celebrate Lily’s coming of age, but had found the challenge to be greater than expected. Both of them had an aversion to swallowing. Worse, Lily had spat out the guest’s gift in disgust. For refusing to swallow, each of them had been sentenced to fifty strokes. For being defiant and spitting out the gift, Lily had been awarded an extra ten strokes, to be applied to her breasts.

Maria was the first to punished. She let out a soft whimper as she was led to the bench. “You two. Hands behind your heads! You will watch every stroke.” The guard gave them an evil grin. “You will be able to appreciate the Master’s skills, before you get to feel their full effect. Maria protested as she was bent over the bench. “No, please, no. He wanted me to do something unnatural. Please?” The two assistants had no mercy. Heavy leather straps were tightened across har back, her thighs, her ankles and her wrists. She turned her head, the only part of her that could move, to Laura, “Please, don’t let them do this.” Laura could only shake her head.

The canemaster entered the room. He was a mild looking man, in his fifties, with thinning, greying hair, dressed in and old fashioned three-piece, pinstripe suit. Behind him came an assistant, carrying a container of canes. He strokes Maria’s bottom, gently. She tried to evade his touch. He tapped the leather strap across her back. “Another notch, please?” An assistant pulled the belt tighter. Tears dripped from Maria’s nose. The canemaster removed his coat, hanging it fastidiously on the hook at the door. In his shirtsleeves, the muscular development of his shoulders was obvious. “Thirty-six. You will hardly feel them, my dear. Such a nice, firm bottom was made for the cane.”

He tested several canes, flexing them, swishing them in the air, before making his choice. “Shall we begin, my dear?” Maria sobbed. He shook his head, smiling sadly. “Oh dear. You young people have no concept of courtesy. The polite answer would have been, ‘Yes please, Sir.’ And yet you sob, before I have even started. Oh dear.” He tapped the cane gently against her bottom, before bringing his arm back and delivering a mighty, singing stroke! The cane connected with her flesh with a mighty, meaty, crack! For a brief moment there was silence, then Maria arched, as far as the straps would allow! “Oh my God! No more, please! I’ll die.” Her tormentor merely smiled, raising the cane once more. Six strokes a minute, that was his rhythm. Stroke after stroke cracked against firm flesh. Maria begged! She screamed! She sobbed! She moaned! At each stroke she bucked against her bonds, helplessly!

Lily watched in helpless horror as red wheals ruined into deep furrows, as the muscles of Maria’s bottom twitched and jumped in protest at the abuse rained upon them. Watched, and sobbed, as blood beaded, and then sprayed under the cane. Finally, she broke, sobbing in her mother’s arms.


Exactly six minutes after the first, the last stroke cracked against Maria’s twitching, agony filled flesh. The canemaster handed the cane to his assistant. “Mark that one. It is a good one, fit to be used again.” He looked at mother and daughter. “Very touching! However, you were ordered to watch with your hands behind your heads, not engage in a cuddle!” He glanced at the punishment sheet. “You, Lily! I like to keep things regular, in half dozens. You have already been awarded ten to your breasts, an untidy number. I will make that eighteen. You! The loving, comforting mother, will receive six on those lovely firm globes.”

Freed, Maria straightened painfully, her hands reaching for her flaming buttocks. “Hands behind you head!” He warned. She walked to the wall, sobbing uncontrollably.

An assistant took Lily’s arm. “No!” She screamed! The canemaster stepped forward, his hand cupping her firm young breast. “I like a challenge!” He exclaimed. “Fitting in eighteen on those will test my skill! Strap her down. We’ll do the bottom first. Leave those delicious globes for dessert.” Face down on the bench, the strap tightened across her back, arms and legs immobile, Lily looked, pleading, at her mother. She felt his hands once more stroking her bottom. The cane swished. “Shall we begin, young lady?” Panic seized her! She wanted to scream, to plead, to beg forgiveness, ask for mercy. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Yes, please, sir.” Her voice was cracked and ragged. As the cane whistled, she steeled herself for her descent into hell!


Images Lupus Films

 

[theseus]

It Fits!



She didn’t think it would go in. “No way! Its way too thick! It will never fit!” She remembered what she was! “Master!” She added.

It was her first day as his slave. She had thought about it for days before taking the plunge and signing the papers. It had all been so very formal and proper. The lawyer had explained to her what she was committing herself to, in explicit detail.

“Miss Crawford. By signing these documents, you are committing yourself to serve Mr Findlay as an indentured servant for the period of ten years. In return for this service, you will be paid the amount of fifty thousand dollars, which amount will be invested for you and paid out at the time of your release from these articles of indenture on the 23rd day of April, 2031.”

Ten years, Kim thought, that’s more than half of my life so far.

“In terms of your indenture, you will serve Mr Findlay, or any other person or persons he designates, in any way he wishes. He may rent you, lend you or sell your indenture to any other person. There are no limits to your use, other than there must be no serious disfigurement or fatal injury.” The lawyer steepled his fingers. “What that means, Miss Crawford, is that you may be whipped or hurt in other ways, as long as there is no serious scarring or disfigurement. You may, and will be, used sexually in any manner your owner wishes. Do you understand this?” She nodded, a lump in her throat. “Then please sign here, and here, and initial in all the places marked with an x. Mr Crawford, as she is under twenty-one, you need to sign here, and here.”

Now it was done. She was effectively a slave for the next ten years! Her owner had stripped her in the lawyer’s office, in front of her father. She had been given a flimsy, almost transparent shift. “That is all you get to wear from now on.” It had been very embarrassing walking through the city to his car, followed by wolf whistles and pointed comments.

Now was the biggest challenge! Her first use! Her first fucking as his slave. She watched in eager anticipation, spiced with horror, as he undressed. He was well built, muscular, and massive! Massive in every department, especially there! Massively thick! Surely that would never fit into her almost virgin pussy? Would he want his money back? If he couldn’t get in?

He smiled reassuringly, reading the consternation on her face. “It will fit! Girls are made to stretch, and stretch you will. Not just that tight little pussy, but your mouth and your doubtless even tighter asshole.” She spread her legs wide, grateful that she had lubed herself well. She was still not certain that it would fit as the blunt head nestled against the soft folds of her pussy. She watched in fascinated disbelief as the head slowly disappeared inside her, stretching her wider than she had ever been stretched. She had expected pain, but all she felt was an amazing fullness and a sense of wonder. “It fits! It feels good! So good!”

As she surrendered to the wonderful sensation of fullness, she wondered, for a brief moment, about the other places he would penetrate. Well, she had ten years to become used to this, and to enjoy it! She smiled, a little smile of satisfaction and wonder.

Perhaps ten years was not so long, after all.

 

[montycrusto]

It Fits!

View attachment 1051588

She didn’t think it would go in. “No way! Its way too thick! It will never fit!” She remembered what she was! “Master!” She added.

It was her first day as his slave. She had thought about it for days before taking the plunge and signing the papers. It had all been so very formal and proper. The lawyer had explained to her what she was committing herself to, in explicit detail.

“Miss Crawford. By signing these documents, you are committing yourself to serve Mr Findlay as an indentured servant for the period of ten years. In return for this service, you will be paid the amount of fifty thousand dollars, which amount will be invested for you and paid out at the time of your release from these articles of indenture on the 23rd day of April, 2031.”

Ten years, Kim thought, that’s more than half of my life so far.

“In terms of your indenture, you will serve Mr Findlay, or any other person or persons he designates, in any way he wishes. He may rent you, lend you or sell your indenture to any other person. There are no limits to your use, other than there must be no serious disfigurement or fatal injury.” The lawyer steepled his fingers. “What that means, Miss Crawford, is that you may be whipped or hurt in other ways, as long as there is no serious scarring or disfigurement. You may, and will be, used sexually in any manner your owner wishes. Do you understand this?” She nodded, a lump in her throat. “Then please sign here, and here, and initial in all the places marked with an x. Mr Crawford, as she is under twenty-one, you need to sign here, and here.”

Now it was done. She was effectively a slave for the next ten years! Her owner had stripped her in the lawyer’s office, in front of her father. She had been given a flimsy, almost transparent shift. “That is all you get to wear from now on.” It had been very embarrassing walking through the city to his car, followed by wolf whistles and pointed comments.

Now was the biggest challenge! Her first use! Her first fucking as his slave. She watched in eager anticipation, spiced with horror, as he undressed. He was well built, muscular, and massive! Massive in every department, especially there! Massively thick! Surely that would never fit into her almost virgin pussy? Would he want his money back? If he couldn’t get in?

He smiled reassuringly, reading the consternation on her face. “It will fit! Girls are made to stretch, and stretch you will. Not just that tight little pussy, but your mouth and your doubtless even tighter asshole.” She spread her legs wide, grateful that she had lubed herself well. She was still not certain that it would fit as the blunt head nestled against the soft folds of her pussy. She watched in fascinated disbelief as the head slowly disappeared inside her, stretching her wider than she had ever been stretched. She had expected pain, but all she felt was an amazing fullness and a sense of wonder. “It fits! It feels good! So good!”

As she surrendered to the wonderful sensation of fullness, she wondered, for a brief moment, about the other places he would penetrate. Well, she had ten years to become used to this, and to enjoy it! She smiled, a little smile of satisfaction and wonder.

Perhaps ten years was not so long, after all.

Fabulous story and great picture too

 

[theseus]

Lost in the forest.



Ally was lost! Totally lost in the forest. Somewhere was the Farm, but she was totally disorientated. She felt like she had been walking for hours, and now it was getting dark, and it was getting cold.

Ally was frightened. Up here in the mountains the night-time temperatures often dropped below zero. She was lost, naked, hungry and frightened. Would she die here? Frozen to death?

Her best friend Gwen had dropped her at the parking area. “Al? Are you sure this is the right thing to do? What kind of a place is this you are going to? Where you have to arrive totally naked, wearing those silly chains? You can’t even stand up properly with them on. How are you going to walk more than a mile in this bush bent over almost double?”

That was her fault. She hadn’t read the instruction properly. She had given them measurements in inches. When the chains arrived, the chains were all way too short. She wrote to complain, but was told that the instructions were clear, ‘chain length to be provided in centimetres.’ As a result, the length of chain between her ankles was no more than eight inches, and her hands could not be lifted above her knees. “I guess we have to live with our mistakes,” were her parting words to Gwen, who shook her head sadly as her best friend’s pale, slender body shuffled uncomfortably into the forest.

Now she was frightened, really frightened! She had wanted to go to a place where her shyness, her inhibitions, would be irrelevant. A place where she could live those secret, dark desires she had harboured and hidden for so long. She shivered; the temperature was dropping fast. Would she die here?

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. She pricked up her ears. Perhaps she would be rescued. The dog barked again, seeming closer, answered by another. She shivered, from cold and fear. Dogs frightened her, despite her secret desires. No, not frightened, they terrified her! “Oh my god!” She screamed as the dog burst from the underbrush! A big, tawny hound, tongue flapping, tail wagging. He, unmistakeably he, sniffed at her as the other dog loped up, adding his nose, and tongue, to the inspection. She whimpered with fear and relief. The dogs wore collars. Surely there would be an owner somewhere?

A husky young man stepped out of the bush, an amused smile on his face. “Well, well, well. You have got yourself into a pickle.” She struggled to her feet, in a half crouching position forced by her chains. “No! Go away!” She shouted at the dog taking a deep sniff at her vagina. “Go away!” The young man turned, still smiling. “No! Not you, sir, please don’t go. It’s this dog. He’s…” He laughed, a happy, booming sound. “He’s sniffing at his new bitch, wondering if she’s ready for him?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you?” Her blush coloured her all the way to the tops of her breasts. “Well, I can’t wait around while you shuffle along. I assume you are fresh meat. Rather lost fresh meat. No barcode. Welcome to the Farm. The boys will be happy to escort you. You will get used to them, and by them, in time. Goodbye.”

Ally stumbled along in the wake of the dogs, her mind a whirl. For years this had been the stuff of guilty dreams. Could those dreams come true? The Farm was going to be more interesting than she ever thought it would be.

 

[theseus]

The Labour Camp



Lorna had lost everything! Her husband. Her family. Her home. Her freedom. Her dignity. Her shoes! She had no shoes! For five years she would have no shoes! That was more than she could bear! She had no clothes, either, but it was the shoes that broke her spirit.

Lorna loved shoes. She had more than five hundred pairs. Shoes were her downfall. She loved to shop for shoes, she loved trying them on, and she loved buying them. Finally, her husband stopped paying her credit card bills. That hadn’t stopped her. She maxed her cards, applied for others, and maxed those.

The charges were serious. Theft, fraud, so many others. The judge was merciless. “Lorna Fraser. You have been found guilty on all charges. An aggravating factor is that you have shown no remorse for your actions, or for your ridiculous addiction.” Lorna glared at the judge; how could she consider her love for shoes to be ridiculous? What kind of a woman was she? The judge continued. “I therefor sentence you to five years at hard labour, to be served at the Special Labour Camp for Incorrigible Female Offenders.” She smiled evilly from her superior position on the Bench. “You will not have to concern yourself about shoes, or clothes, for that matter. Because you will have neither. Your life will consist of brutal, unceasing labour, and satisfying the lusts of inventive and insatiable guards, male and female. Now, the guards will take you outside, relieve you of those unnecessary clothes, and introduce you to the heavy flogger. Four dozen should tenderise you nicely. Take her away!”



Image by Luvbight.

 

[theseus]

The Gardener.



“Oh well, it could have been worse, I suppose?”

That was the refrain churning through Shirley’s brain as she prepared the spring hanging baskets. She was a keen gardener and when at home spent much of her time pottering in the garden. Not in the nude, of course, but, well, things had changed for Shirley.

She had always had something of a cavalier attitude towards ‘No Parking’ signs. She also paid little attention to news bulletins, so the Servitude Act had slipped by her. In an attempt to reduce the amount of petty crime, including traffic offences, the Act authorised “humiliating and painful sentences of Penal Servitude” for repeat offenders. Thus, her impressive collection of unpaid parking fines had resulted in Shirley ending up in the dock in the municipal court.

“Mrs Shirley Williams. I find you guilty of twenty seven counts of illegal parking. I also find you guilty of twenty seven counts of contempt of court for ignoring those parking tickets. On the first charge I sentence you to six months of penal servitude. The sentence to be served at the pleasure of the court. You will be denied any form of clothing or bodily covering for the duration of the sentence. On the contempt charge, I sentence you to one stroke of the medium cane for each instance of contempt. These strokes will be applied to the bare buttocks in a public place.”

Now, a month into her sentence, Shirley was quite content with her fate. The man who had bought her indenture was an avid gardener, the spring sun was warm and comforting on her naked body, and the excruciating pain of the caning had faded into unpleasant memory. Best of all was her “owner’s” interpretation of “fair usage.” Sex! Guiltless, sex! Sex with her husband had become a routine, boring affair. She had considered taking a lover, but the social consequences of discovery had discouraged her. Now, she had no choice. If questioned, she need only point to the rules governing disobedient convicts, and the punishments meted out to the disobedient. She could claim, with a clear conscience, that she had no choice!

He would be home soon, and, it being Saturday, he would have a few friends with him. She was loud in her pleasure, and all the neighbours would know that Convict Williams was, once again, being roundly and comprehensively fucked. Perhaps there were other offences she could commit, ones that carried longer sentences?

Perhaps?

 

[theseus]

Some days ago Loinclothslave asked me whether I ever wrote about male slaves. Here is one for him.

Preparing for the inevitable.


“Now listen to me boy!” The overseer, Max, was not unkind. Simon respected him, even liked him, despite the punishments he had received from the big black man. “I got a job to do. That job is to turn you, and the other slaves assigned to me, into usable fuckmeat.” Simon inhaled, ready to protest, but Max was ahead of him. “Yeah! I know! You’re gonna tell me that you thought you were signing up to be a fuckslave to some lovely chick. Well, you should have read the contract. Don’t they teach you that at law school? No! You signed up as a fuckslave for six months. No Limits!”

Simon sighed. That had been his dream, that he would serve some beautiful Mistress who would allow him to please her in every way she wanted. The thought that he would be used by men hadn’t crossed his mind for one second.

Max smiled. “Yeah, life’s a bitch, ain’t it? Especially for a bitch. So, get used to the idea that your cock is in that cute little cage for the next six months, and that you, mister wannabe legal eagle, are going to be a well-used bumboy.” Simon looked down at the cage encasing his cock. He had worn it for less than twelve hours, but already his balls were swollen, and the frustration was boiling over. Six months! “You gonna learn to suck cock, boy, and you gonna learn to take cock, mine and many more, up your tight, legal eagle asshole. Now, we can do this easy, or we can do this raw. You can use the next day with that dinky little toy, learning to deep throat it, and stretching your tight boy pussy, or we can just go ahead right now with the real thing. Your choice!” Max grabbed the impressive bulge in his jeans to emphasise his point.

Simon licked the dildo tentatively. “Dinky little toy”, indeed! He could barely fit the head of it in his mouth, much less take it ball deep down his throat. As for his ass, his virgin ass? Impossible!” Yet, he had seen Max naked, gaped in fascinated horror at the massive organ presently causing those jeans to bulge. He had watched, barely an hour ago, as it had been driven, inch after never ending inch, into the sobbing slave woman’s arse. There was no mercy in the big man. He licked the dildo again, stretching his jaw, taking the first couple of inches into his mouth before gagging. Max smiled. “Good boy!”

Max unbuckled his belt. The slave woman’s eyes widened! “Please, not again. So soon!” She dropped to her knees, mouth opening. The more lubrication, the better, she thought, resigned to the fate she had chosen for herself. Simon watched, working the dildo further down his throat, as she slowly, with much gagging, took the whole intimidating length of thick, dark flesh into her throat. He watched, gagging, as the slimy length slid from her throat, as she bent over the bolster, their eyes meeting as she pulled her generous buttocks apart. “Tomorrow,” those eyes said, “tomorrow you will be bent over this bolster. Prepare well!” Simon’s cock swelled painfully in its cage as he watched her buggering. “Tomorrow,” He thought, with a mixture of fear and excitement, “that will be me!”

He swallowed another inch of dildo. “Yes!” He thought. “Yes! Tomorrow!”