Vignettes from the slave pits

[Loinclothslave]

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

Preparing for the inevitable.
View attachment 1055859

“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!”

Simon needs to learn from @Barbaria1 a d Read the fine print! SMH

Thank you @theseus - that lad is lucky he only signed up for six months! Or will he seek a longer contract after 6 months of enforced chastity and cock worship?

As usual your penchant for open endings triggers the thoughtful reader’s mind with a host of possibilities!

 

[theseus]

The Vortex 1

Brenda looked into the mirror. Her marriage was descending into a vortex of boredom and frustration. Her husband appeared to have lost interest in her, was more interested in browsing porn sites. Why?

She saw a mature woman, quite fit, but with breasts that sagged somewhat, a thickening waist, plump hips and good legs, albeit a bit heavy in the thigh. She was fit, played golf three times a week and walked all the way, towing her clubs. She swam regularly; hence the tan. In short, she saw a middle-aged woman. People her and George’s age were too old to have an active sex life, weren’t they?

“Bullshit, Mom! I see a sexy, mature woman who has a lot to offer to a man.” Bella was outraged. “You are eminently fuckable. I know Louis would have you in a flash! Interested?”

Brenda wandered back out to the garden, back into the pool. She swam a dozen lengths, then lay in the sun. Swimming nude was so much better than in a bathing suit. She thought about her two daughters. Just four years apart in age, yet light years apart in every other way. Catherine old before her time, sour, prudish, judgemental. Bella was so different. “Brigitte, who is sharing our bed at the moment.” Bella, Louis and the café au lait teenager, sharing a bed.



She went inside, to George’s study. Still naked, she sat down in front of his computer and signed in. For several hours she browsed, read, digested. Slavery. Women, and men, who were happy to be full time or part time slaves. That was the main core of his interest. Ordinary people in their everyday lives, with a secret, or perhaps not so secret, second life as a slave, or as a master or mistress. She found a page where a prospective slave could register as a slave, read and reread the instructions, the conditions.

She started filling in the forms, then had second thoughts and cancelled the page. She went to the kitchen and made herself some tea, sat sipping the brew. She realised she was still naked. Somehow it felt good, and natural. She thought back to the form she had started to fill in. If she became a slave her owner would have total power over her, within the agreed limits. That included how she dressed, or even if she could wear clothes at all. He could punish her. He could even, she shuddered at the thought, lend her to someone else.

She was suddenly aware of her body, that it ached to be used. She had not felt truly horny for a long time, yet now she ached for George’s hands on her body, his cock deep inside her. She went back to the websites, read some more. Her hand strayed to her groin, finding her clit through the forest of hair.

“Why not”, she said to herself. She went to the bathroom, found scissors, and started trimming back the bush, cutting it short. She was frustrated at not being able to reach stray hairs, and concerned that she would cut herself.

She had, unknowingly, come to a decision. She called Bella. “Hi Bella. I was wondering, could you come around tomorrow? Alone? I have something I need your help with.”

Bella arrived promptly. “What’s the problem?”

Brenda hesitated. “After you left yesterday, I did a lot of thinking. I don’t want to lose your dad, and if that requires me to become his slave…well, it’s worth it. I need your help shaving…down there and perhaps with finding some things, and filling in a slave registration form.”

She had made her decision. Her life, their lives, would change.

For the better?

She hoped so.

 

[Loinclothslave]

Eagerly awaiting chapter 2!

 

[Madiosi]

Part one 2021 now in libary:

Crux-forums E-book Library

If you enjoy what you find in CF Archives and Library, please make donation! Our CruxForums pdfs and ebooks are offered to Members to download free of charge, but, like everything we enjoy here, they are only free for us because ImageMaker pays all the fees to the hosting company, XenForo, who...

www.cruxforums.com

and archive:

https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/vignettes-from-the-slave-pits-2021-part-i-by-theseus.884/

 

[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]

Happy birthday!



“Happy birthday, sweetie! How do you feel?”

Maggie’s face changed into a nervous smile. “Nervous. Excited. A bit scared.” She wriggled uncomfortably, the steel of the handcuffs hurting her wrists. “How long before they come and collect me?”

Her parents stood there, their pride in their daughter obvious. “I know exactly how you feel. It seems like yesterday when I was waiting for collection. Granny sent a message, to say good luck, and enjoy your service. She said those were the best three years of her life.” Her mother had a little catch in her voice. She was thinking back to her eighteenth birthday, when she had, in line with their family tradition, gone off to spend three years as a sex slave. Maggie would be part of the sixth generation of De Roissy women to undergo this rite of passage. She would be taken away as she was, naked and cuffed, to be trained as in every sexual skill imaginable. She would then be sold at auction, to be kept as a slave, ‘indentured servant’ was what her contract would say, until her twenty first birthday.

Her parents left her to reflect on the future. She smiled at the way her father’s hand cupped the curve of her mother’s naked bum. Her mother and grandmother were always naked at home, as was her older sister since she had returned from her three years of servitude. Maggie’s mind wandered to the stories her grandmother told of the time she spent in the harem of a Moroccan drug dealer, of the things she had been required to do, and of the various famous politicians, popstars and movie stars of the late 1970’s who had made use of her body. She giggled as she heard her mother emit that specific throaty scream/moan that meant she was receiving a good buggering. Maggie clenched her butt cheeks at the thought of being buggered. Soon, soon, she would know what that felt like.

She heard the doorbell ring! Voices. Footsteps. Her mother came into the room, glowing, a tell-tale streak of slime on her thigh. “They’re here,” she said softly, “Enjoy!”

Two burly men entered the room. They were dressed all in black, their faces hidden by black balaclavas. Firmly, they helped her to her feet. One of them gave her father a receipt. She walked quietly between them, a lump in her throat, a tear sneaking down her cheek.

“Goodbye, dear! Enjoy!” Her mother’s voice was wistful.

She walked, happily, to her future!

 

[theseus]

A long way to go.



“Get back on your feet, Mom! I don’t want to have to use this whip on you! There is almost a mile to go! Get moving!” Deborah looked pleadingly at her daughter, who was standing in front of her, fiddling with the evil looking whip. “Please Jill, I can’t! My feet hurt! And its not proper that I should be exposed like this. Please, can I have some shoes and clothes?”

Jill flicked the whip experimentally at a flower by the side of the road, surprised to see how the thin leather lash cut the flower off cleanly. She had never used the whip, and was surprised at the effect. What would that do to her mother’s soft skin? “Get up, mom! You’re the next target!” Deborah was indignant! “You wouldn’t dare!” She spat!

Jill took a deep, shuddering breath. “Mom! You accepted the terms of dad’s will. You wanted his entire estate, instead of just a quarter of it, with the rest coming to me. I accept your decision, but now you have to carry out the terms dad specified. You will spend six months at The Farm. You will be a sex slave for that time. That is what dad wanted. Now! Get up! Get walking! I don’t think you want this thing hitting your tits!”

“You greedy little bitch! You plotted this with your father! I won’t do it!” Jill’s arm hardly moved. The tip of the singletail flicked out, cracking across the top of her mother’s ample breasts! “AAAAAARRRGGGGGGHHHH!!!” Deborah screamed, rearing up, losing her balance and falling face down on the stony path. “AAAAAAAGH! Fuck you!” She screamed as the whip sliced across her back and bound arms. Desperately, and not without difficulty, she struggled back onto her feet, whimpering at the pain of bruised and cut feet, added to the pain of the whip. She stumbled forwarded, encouraged by regular flicks of the whip.

Why had her husband put that clause in his will? Was it because he had found out about her little affairs? None had been serious, just physical, no more than casual fucks. She had, she thought, kept them secret. Now she was in this position because she was greedy. A quarter of her husband’s estate would have allowed her to live in comfort for the rest of her life. However, greed, and the longstanding resentment against her beautiful, popular daughter had prompted her to claim the entire estate. She had not thought it through, hadn’t realised what being sent to the Farm really entailed. Her decision had been instant!

“I’ll take it all!” She told the lawyer at the will reading, throwing a triumphant look at her daughter.

“Mrs Grant.” The lawyer’s voice revealed his shock. “Mrs Grant, I strongly advise that you investigate this Farm thoroughly before making such a decision. Once made, the decision is irrevocable! I know nothing of it, but it seems to me that being a sex slave is not a desirable fate for anybody, much less for a lady of,” he cleared his throat to mask his embarrassment, “of your age.”

The whip slashed across her buttocks, like a streak of fire. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you bitch!” She screamed at her daughter. “I’m going as fast as I can!”

“Not fast enough, mother dear. If you arrive late, you will be punished.” Jill gave her mother an evil smile. “After you have been fucked by the chief overseer. Mustapha the Bull! I wish I could see your face when he fucks your ass with that thing.” She flicked the whip at her mother’s butt. She had been astounded when she saw the picture on the Farm’s website. There was no doubt why he was called ‘the bull’! “He should be enough to satisfy even your greedy cunt, mother dear.” She flicked the whip again. Her mother stumbled on the rocky path, sweat pouring from her, mingling with the tears.

Jill was, justifiably, bitter. She had known all about her mother’s affairs, but respected the choice given by her father’s will. She still had her trust fund, which would pay for her university and afterwards supplement her income, but she was understandably annoyed by losing out on her inheritance. “Let the bitch suffer,” she thought.

Deborah had seen the pictures of Mustapha on the website. Her stomach had twisted in fear and excitement at the thought of being fucked by the huge black man. She had been wet, dripping, at the thought. Six months of unlimited sex! Suddenly, she was enthusiastic. She lengthened her stride, ignoring the pain in her feet, the bloody footprints she left behind her. Six months of being fucked stupid, and then, a life of wealth and leisure.

She gave her daughter a look of triumph, gasping as the whip flicked at her nipple. “Tough luck, you little bitch. I get to be fucked, and I get to be rich! Eat your heart out!”

 

[George Cookson]

Nice story I myself would turn the story back some 250yrs to the height of the slave plantion the daughter gifted. the land from her father the mother is stripped naked chained shacked branded made to work in the sugar fields under the overseers lash at night made to fuck suck the negros large cocks in the morning the daughter watchers her mother not happy with her work maybe trade her to the mines. are Quarry l myself would chain her down in the row deck of a galley ship thanks David

 

[theseus]

Nice story I myself would turn the story back some 250yrs to the height of the slave plantion the daughter gifted. the land from her father the mother is stripped naked chained shacked branded made to work in the sugar fields under the overseers lash at night made to fuck suck the negros large cocks in the morning the daughter watchers her mother not happy with her work maybe trade her to the mines. are Quarry l myself would chain her down in the row deck of a galley ship thanks David

Why don't you write your version and post it here? it would make an interesting comparison.

 

[George Cookson]

What do you think i should write about which story thanks David

 

[theseus]

What do you think i should write about which story thanks David

I presumed the story you commented on, "A long way to go", but you are welcome to write your take on any of them. Theseus

 

[theseus]

After Conviction



“Laura Jones, I find you guilty of seventeen charges of contravening the Road Traffic Act. I also find you guilty of seventeen charges of contempt of court for failing to appear in court after receiving summons. Do you have anything to say before I pass sentence?” The judge’s voice indicated boredom and impatience. It had been a long day.

“Get on with it!” Laura said, not quite sotto voce. “Just tell me how much the fine is, so that I can get out of here. I have a dinner party to attend.”

Her lawyer’s jaw dropped in astonishment; his face stricken. “Oh shit,” he thought, “you’ve done it now!”

The judge looked up, his face slowly lighting up with a smile. “Oh dear, Mrs Jones, I am afraid that you will be missing that dinner date.” Laura’s head jerked up. “Laura Jones, on the charges of contravening the Road Traffic Act, I sentence you to thirty six strokes of the medium cat, to be administered to your naked body in the court square.” He paused, watching Laura draw herself up to protest. “On the charges of contempt, I sentence you to spend thirty six hours in the pillory, for the amusement and entertainment of the citizens of the city. You will serve that sentence on three consecutive days, twelve hours per day, from noon until midnight. When not on the pillory, you will be displayed in a barred cage on the court square.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Laura barked at the judge. “I’m not one of the town drabs!” The judge nodded. “I think we can remedy that, Mrs Jones. Rather than being confined to a cage, you can spend the time when you are not in the pillory working in the municipal brothel, thus joining the ranks of the town drabs, as you so rudely describe the ladies who practice that ancient profession. Bailiff! Strip the prisoner!”

Naked, still numb with disbelief, Laura walked out into the street, to the whipping post in the centre of the square. She was acutely aware of the eyes of the watchers, gathered for the afternoon’s entertainment. Aware that she was star attraction of that entertainment! Her eyes were fixed on the semi-naked man next to the whipping post, the muscles of his torso and shoulders rippling as he combed his fingers through the braided leather tails of the cat. There was no fight left in her, just shock and resignation at what awaited her. Those leather tails would strike her, powered by the powerful muscles in the man’s shoulders, thirty six times! She had watched floggings before, watched with cruel excitement as the cat stripped the skin from the back of the victim, as blood flowed from the flayed back, as blood flew in a fine mist from the tails as they whistled through the air to inflict more pain.

She submitted to being tied to the whipping post, her arms pulled up until she was stretched against it, standing on tiptoe, her bare breasts rubbing against the smooth wood of the post. Wood made smooth by the agonised writhing of a multitude of bodies that had suffered here. She listened numbly as the sentence was read out, listened as the executioner swung the whip, experimentally, the tails humming like a swarm of bees. She waited for the first stroke, the first pain.

She wondered whether her husband would attend the dinner on his own? Would he remember to advise the hostess that she would not be able to attend, that she would be unavoidably detained, that she would be entertaining elsewhere.

The executioner grunted! The cat hummed! The entertainment had started!

 

[Loinclothslave]

When the husband hears of Laura’s sentence he suggests the Hostess to move the party to Court Square. Laura will suffer worse humiliation later, when the male guests of the dinner party are first in line for her shift at the brothel!

Laura will never take on such haughty airs ever again! After all, she is now a “drab”

 

[theseus]

Accepted!



“Erica, I am happy to inform you that I have decided to accept you as a trainee slave.”

Her face lit up! “Oh yes! Thank you! Thank you! I suppose I should call you Master now? Thank you, Master!”

I smiled, that happy face was worth 10k on its own. “Now come over here, so that I can replace that crucifix with a collar.” I had measured her neck, the collar would fit snugly, but comfortably, the weight of the stainless steel a constant reminder of her new status.

She was a stunner. Beautifully proportioned, fit, nicely muscled. Medium sized, shapely, firm breasts, bottom like the proverbial peach. She was comfortable in her nudity. Not a virgin, of course, not in any way. Sexually adventurous.

Her story was fairly typical. Graduated from university with a good degree in marketing and a very large student debt. Struggled for more than a year to find a job, desperately trying to keep up her debt repayments, but slowly falling behind. Finally, she had resorted to marketing her most valuable asset, her body! I met her in a bar, where she offered me an all night trick at a very reasonable price. We spent more time talking than fucking, which resulted in my leaving her my card. She called me three days later.

A week later, after medical checks, several interviews with a psychologist in my employ, and practical demonstrations of her abilities I locked the collar around her neck. Ahead of her lay weeks of training. She would learn to serve at table, mix and serve drinks, dance, perhaps cook. She would do yoga for hours a day to refine her already fine body. She would exercise her cunt muscles. Her arse needed to be more flexible, tight but supple. Her cocksucking skills needed refining. She would be exposed to other, perhaps less pleasant practices. Finally, she would be advertised, displayed, and sold.

She looked at me, suddenly serious. It’s real, isn’t it? There’s no going back? I am nothing but flesh, now? No longer human?” I nodded. Her face was troubled. Then, suddenly, it lit up again, with that glorious smile!

“I can’t wait! When do I start?”

 

[theseus]

Are we really going to do this, dear?



“Are we really going to do this, dear?” As always, the sight of my wife, especially in her underwear, caused a delicious stir in my loins. Her question seemed so simple, so ordinary, but in this case, “this” was an act that would change our lives, and our relationship, forever.

“Do you really want this? Are you sure?” I was excited by the prospect, but, at the same time, concerned about the possible damage this could to our relationship.

We had been discussing, and researching, an alternative lifestyle for several years. The children were grown, married, and for the first time in decades we were free to live our lives, and our fantasies. We had read, searched the internet. We had joined an online fetish group, where this kind of activity was openly discussed. We had played out our fantasies, just the two of us, discovering what excited us.

The next step was huge, a point of no return. Jane smiled at me, that smile, the smile that usually preceded naughty pleasures. “I suppose we could donate these to the charity shop,” she said, sliding the bra strap off her shoulders, “after all, I won’t be needing lingerie any more. Will I?” I smiled. “No, no lingerie, no stockings, no bathing suits. A very much simplified wardrobe. The charity shop will be very happy!” In fact, for the moment her new wardrobe consisted of just one garment. It was a simple tunic, held up by a strap over her right shoulder, plunging down on the left, revealing almost all of her left breast, all the way down to her hip. It was short, very short. If the measurements were right, lifting her right arm would reveal her newly, permanently, smooth vagina and a considerable area of buttock. She hadn’t seen it yet. She would receive it, together with her collar, at our family lunch today.

Her collar was a thing of beauty. Tooled black leather, fitted perfectly to her neck, her name and slave number inlaid in 18 carat gold. The secret of the collar was the lining of titanium mesh, so strong that it would require specialised cutting tools to remove it. Once locked, there was no key or other way of removing it.

She had had the fantasy of slavery since her early teens, and when we first dated, so many years ago, she had often talked about this dream, of the possibility of, one day, being able to realise it. Now, finally, we had the opportunity. I looked at her admiringly as she got up off the bed, totally naked now, except for her wedding ring. “Time to go and pack. Everything! Don’t forget the shoes.” She smiled over her shoulder, waggling her bottom at me. I can’t wait to see the kids’ faces when they arrive for lunch. Especially John. He always used to spy on me in the shower, randy little bugger.”

The children were unaware of the surprise that awaited them, of their mother’s transition to a new life. This afternoon they would be greeted by their naked mother. She would serve us, and then, after lunch, I would present her with her collar and her tunic.

I was looking forward to my new life as a slaveowner.

 

[theseus]

The new shift.



Bella sat back; her eyes closed. In a few minutes the doors would open, and another shift would start. This would be her second shift. Never, ever, had she thought that being a whore would be such hard work. Another ten hours of work. Ten hours!

Her body ached. Her throat was sore, her jaw muscles stiff. Her pussy, and her poor, tight little anus burned. Her nipples felt bruised.

Yesterday had been her first shift. Fifteen clients. Half an hour each, then a brief break for a shower before going back into the viewing room to await the summons of yet another horny man.

Ten hours a day, day after day! Every fifteen days she would be allowed a day off. At least she had managed to exceed her quota. Twelve per shift was the minimum required of the whores. Failure to meet the quota had serious, unpleasant, consequences.

She glanced across to where Anna sat, her head between her hands. Her plump, shapeless body, her blotchy skin and her plain, kindly face had little to attract the punters. She had managed to attract only seven clients the previous shift. Tonight, she would be whipped. She would have two shifts to catch up on her quota, two days in which she would have to ‘entertain’ twenty seven clients. If she failed, she would be required to do floor shows. Bella shuddered. There had been one poor woman the previous evening, doing a floor show. Bella had watched in horrified disbelief, unable to believe that such things could happen.

A year as a whore! What a price to pay for what had seemed like a harmless prank. There was no real harm in turning the election posters upside down, was there? The judge thought otherwise! Craig, poor Craig! Her boyfriend. How was he? What was his first shift like? How did he feel after a night as a male whore? Would he survive the year? Would she?

“Heads up whores!” The Madam’s voice roused her. The first clients were wandering in, looking speculatively at the merchandise on offer, sipping from their complimentary glasses of cheap bubbly. Bella smiled invitingly at the man following his paunch into the room. He was old enough to be her grandfather, but his eyes greedily devoured her slim body. “Pick the old ones, if you can girl,” Bess, the wizened old whore with skin like leather had advised her when they showered together between clients the previous night. “They like sweet young flesh, and they cum quickly! Can’t control themselves. Perverts!”

The Paunch took Bella’s hand, leading her to one of the cubicles. As they skirted the performance platform, her eyes met Anna’s. The girl’s eyes were red and puffy from crying. Her hands were already bound, about to be hooked high up on the whipping post. The Madam was idly flicking the evil looking braided leather whip. Bella was glad that she would be in a cubicle, labouring under the man’s gross body. Anything would be better than having to watch Anna’s suffering.

The man’s finger slid, with some difficulty, into her anus. “I want you on your belly, slut!”

Bella sighed. It was hard work, being a whore!

 

[theseus]

Do these people have no shame?



“Do these people have no shame!”

Lucius sighed, quietly. Sometimes he wished his wife would think before she spoke. Certainly, she was all he could wish for in a wife, she came from an excellent family, her grandfather had been a consul, her dowry was more than generous, she was a good mother, and she turned a suitably blind eye to his extracurricular activities. If only she was a bit more intelligent. “They’re slaves, dear. The city is flooded with them. Marius seems to have denuded the newly conquered territories and sent the entire population back to Rome in chains. They have no choice.”

Livia glared at him. “Nonsense! Look at them! Flaunting their nakedness here in the street! Making no attempt to cover themselves! Shameless! Utterly Shameless! Trollops! All of them!” She was in full flow; nothing would stop her now.

Lucius cast a brief eye over the naked women. He felt a pang of pity, albeit a brief one. They were all mature women, wives and mothers, probably, torn from their families. Marched for days from their homes, undoubtedly raped and abused on the way, finally to be sold in job lots of a dozen or more to petty traders. They would sell for a few bronze coins.

“If they were to try to cover themselves, they would be whipped. Slaves are sold naked, and these ones are being sold by small time dealers who can’t or won’t, pay the fees charged at the main slave market. They will fetch almost nothing, a few coppers each. For all we know, they might have been perfectly respectable matrons in their own country.” Livia snorted, a most unladylike sound, and gave her husband a withering look. “Whores! Slatternly whores. Who would buy them?”

One of the slaves met his gaze. His eyes widened with surprise, such boldness! He examined her more closely. Unlike the others, her hands were bound behind her back. Perhaps she had tried to cover herself, he mused. She was not unattractive, would have been beautiful in her youth, although now her breasts had sagged and her thighs thickened. Her eyes sparked with intelligence, he wondered what she had been, in a previous life?

Delia met the Roman’s gaze. “Poor bastard,” she thought, “married to a termagant like that. What a bitch!” Delia spoke perfect Latin. She came from one of the leading families in her city, her husband had been one of the Archons, before the battle. Now, she supposed, he was a collection of scattered bones. “Better dead, than displayed like this,” she thought bitterly. “It would be justice if that bitch found herself in my position one day!”

“What is it about this woman”? Lucius asked himself, once again meeting her eyes.

He turned to his wife, who was still looking disdainfully at the slaves. “You know, dear, cook did say that we were in need of a new kitchen drudge. The old one is sick again, and unlikely to recover. Perhaps we can pick up one of these for next to nothing?” Another unladylike snort. “Well, I suppose at least you won’t be rutting with one of these the way you do with that Nubian! Sometimes I wonder how you have the strength to walk afterwards!”

Lucius took that as consent. He beckoned the dealer, holding out two of the smallest copper coins. “I’ll take one of these.” He pointed, seemingly randomly, at Delia. “That one will do!”

The dealer started to protest, but, realising that in the present market two coppers were as much as he could hope for, bowed and nodded. “Certainly sir.” He detached Delia from the other slaves, tied a rope around her neck, then looked for someone to give it to. Lucius shook his head. He was certainly not going to walk through the city leading a slave like a peasant farmer leading an old milk cow.

“Do you speak her language?” Lucius asked.

A nod. “Enough.” The dealer said.

“Then tell her to follow us. Leave her hands bound. If she tries to run, well she won’t get far. Then she can find out what life is like, nailed to a cross.”

Delia followed. After all, she had no choice. And…there was something about this young man. Perhaps she would end up as something more than a kitchen drudge.

 

[theseus]

Paradise Offered



I was enjoying Paradise! It was lethally expensive, but it certainly delivered on its promises. I lay on my lounger, an icy rum punch in hand, admiring the passing show.

There was much to admire. People of all kinds, colours and sizes. Many were completely naked, other very, very scantily clad. I sipped my drink, appreciatively.

The steward noticed the dwindling contents and padded up to me. “A refill, sir?” He was naked, as were all the staff here. Beautifully built, his manhood just about at my eye level, perfectly circumcised. I knew well that he was bound by the Rule of Paradise. “No is not part of our lexicon.” Staff were always available. Guests had a choice. Even the scantiest of clothing, as little as a silver waist chain, allowed negotiation. Total nudity implied total assent.

The girl wading out of the sea caught my eye. “Delightful!” I thought. She was totally nude, apart from the blue bracelet denoting her guest status. Desire stirred. I watched the play of the muscles in her thighs and belly as she waded ashore.

She glanced in my direction; her attention perhaps caught by the steward bringing me a fresh drink. I raised my eyebrows questioningly. Her eyes widened, she blushed and looked away, just for a moment. Her eyes met mine, and she changed direction slightly to come to me, smiling shyly.

Her voice was husky. “How do you want me?”

Paradise achieved!

 

[theseus]

It Hurts!

“Deborah! Come back here! At once! Your father hasn’t finished!”



Debbie knew she was in trouble, deep trouble. Her mother only used her full name when she was very angry. She knew her parents were only doing this to help her, but… “It hurts. Mom! It fucking hurts!”

Brenda could sympathise with her daughter. After all, she had only discovered anal sex late in life, and it had hurt! A lot! She also knew that it was much better for her husband George to initiate Debbie than for some stranger, perhaps an over eager youth, who would be neither patient nor gentle. George was both of those things, and he was not huge. She knew what the first time felt like, as if some brute was shoving a baseball bat in there, but in fact George was very easy to accommodate.

Slowly, Debbie came back to the bed, her hands still protecting her tight little hole. “Why, mom, why? What’s wrong with just normal sex?” She lay down on the bed, the bolster beneath her hips presenting her bottom for use. Brenda gently applied more lube. “Try to relax. I know it’s difficult when you’re nervous, but it helps to relax the sphincter, too. Take deep, slow breaths.” She sat at her daughter’s head, stroking her hair as her husband moved into position. “Just relax. The sooner you learn to do this the better. I missed out on so many years. Spread your cheeks for him.” Obediently, Debbie reached back and spread her cheeks, exposing the ring of muscle, glistening with lube, to her father’s attentions. “Be gentle, please dad, be gentle.”

George was being as gentle as he could, despite his arousal at the sight of his daughter’s virgin arse. He pressed gently against the ring of muscle, exerting enough pressure to flatten the tip of his cock. He nodded at this wife. “Take deep breaths, dear, and push as if you’re trying to fart.” George saw the slight dilation, and took the opportunity. “Oh! Fuck! Get it out! Get it out!” She squirmed desperately as he consolidated his gains. Brenda flashed him a look. “He’s inside you now, Debs. Relax, the worst is over. Just relax and get used to it inside you.” Debbie’s eyes streamed tears as she looked at her mother. “Is this really necessary, mom?”



Brenda smiled. “It is, if you’re going to follow in my footsteps. Nothing worth doing is entirely painless, one way or another.” Debbie smiled, tearily, “Okay. If I have to. Go on, dad. Do it! All the way!”

 

[theseus]

Kitchen Slave.



“I hate him! Fucking pervert! I hate him!”

It was three o’clock on Sunday morning. Angela was exhausted. The part had lasted into the early hours, and she had been very, very busy indeed. She had served drinks, replenished snacks, given blowjobs, cleared tables, mopped up spills, waited patiently as her most recent fucker spent himself inside her. She had licked countless pussies.

Always on her hands and knees, her chains not permitting her to rise. “I hate these fucking chains! I hate him!” Her knees hurt as she cleaned the floor. As usual, the polishing cloth was the size of her hand. Each time she needed more floor polish, she had to crawl to the scullery. Backward and forward. When he woke, he would expect the house to be spotless. Spotless! If it did not pass his meticulous inspection, his cane would apply its painful pattern to her exposed buttocks.

One of the girls who shared his bed stumbled sleepily into the room. “I need a glass of milk.” Angela looked up at her. She had that freshly fucked look, the shirt she was wearing was not hers, and hid nothing of her cute body. With a sigh, Angela crawled to the fridge. Reaching the top shelf required her to balance precariously on one leg in order to get a hand high enough to reach the milk. She poured a glass full, then crawled back, careful not to spill.

The girl took the glass, drank deeply. “I’m leaking. Clean me up!” A milky trail was working its way down the girl’s tanned inner thigh. “Come on! Do you want me to call Chris?” Angela’s tongue flicked out, lapping the salty stream of semen, all the way up to and into the source. The last time one of his bedmates had complained about her, she had spent the rest of the weekend with quarter pound fishing weights dangling from the clover clamps he attached to her nipples as punishment.

It had all started a month ago. She was five months behind on her rent. It wasn’t her fault, the new restrictions meant that she earned less than a quarter of her normal salary. Chris, her landlord, had at first seemed to be very reasonable. “I quite understand,” he said, his voice exuding charm, “these are hard times for all of us. Perhaps you could clean my house in lieu of rent. Shall we say one weekend for every week of rent you owe?” There were few things she hated more than cleaning house, but one of those was being homeless, so she agreed. After all, it couldn’t be that bad.

He returned the next day, full of smiles. “Just to keep things nice and neat, I’ve drawn up a little contract confirming what we agreed. Just sign here, please?” She glanced at the single page, scribbled her name, and handed it back to him. He nodded, and handed her a copy. “Great! I’ll see you at on Friday. 6 P.M. sharp!”

It was only on the next evening that she idly read the contract. “Debtor shall perform domestic labour as required by the creditor from 1800 on Friday until 0600 on Monday morning. All commands will be obeyed instantly and unquestioningly. Disobedience, and failure to meet the required standard of performance will result in serious penalties.” That’s a bit rough, she thought, being on call all weekend, but needs must!

She was at his front door on Friday, with five minutes to spare. “Come in,” he greeted her, smiling. “Remove your clothes, please.” Her indignant protest lasted for no more than 5 minutes. He pointed out that she had signed the contract. “If you are not naked in one minute, I will evict you! As soon as you step outside your apartment you will be arrested for vagrancy. Oh! And resisting arrest. And assaulting a police officer. The judge will not be lenient. Two years in a maximum security facility, with hard labour, I think. Oh, And I will sue you for damages and breach of contract.” Ten minutes later she was naked, chains connecting wrists, ankles and collar, chains so short that she could not stand.

Her tongue lapped the inside of the girl’s dripping snatch. She smiled, “I’m so glad you enjoy eating pussy. Oh! He fucked my ass as well. Better clean that too!”

The sun was rising as Angela finished her work. She curled up in a corner of the garden, slightly sheltered from the chill wind. She dozed, intermittently, despite her exhaustion. He would want coffee at eight sharp If she was late, her butt would pay.

She had served three weeks, but three more weeks of back rent had accumulated. Was she to be his slave for life?