Vignettes from the slave pits

[theseus]

The Hood.



It was pitch black inside the hood! There was no sound, other than the soft susurration caused by the noise cancelling ear buds. All she could taste and smell was the metallic, rubbery tang of the heavy rubber penis gag. Even the air that she sucked through the porous nose filter was tainted with that tang.

Her knees hurt! She seemed to have been kneeling forever, although she was certain that it could not have been more than a few hours. The sun was still shining on her body, but the air was cooling. Was it late afternoon? Late afternoon on Friday? She knew that she would not be released until late night Sunday. She would not eat, would drink only when a tube was pushed through the mask and gag into her mouth. She had been given one drink, so far. It had not been water!

Her body seemed to be super sensitive. With so many senses removed, the others seemed to go into hyperdrive. Hands had touched her. So many hands! Hard hands, the calloused hands of men who worked with their hands. Incredibly soft hands. Women? They had touched, stroked, squeezed, penetrated. Her newly pierced nipples were rock hard! She was leaking! Dripping! Soaking wet! Desperately needy!

How long would she have to wait until somebody penetrated her two available orifices with more than a finger? She ached for that! Ached! She was desperate for a cock! She didn’t care whose cock, any cock! She wanted to be fucked! But then, why use a cock? There were so many things that could be used to penetrate a helpless, desperately needy woman. A woman? Was she even that anymore? Perhaps she really was just a pair of fuckholes, a collection of nerve endings?

Few people, looking at the naked, hooded slut, at the puddle forming under her, would have recognised the respectable upper middle-class matron she had been only a few hours ago. How did her husband feel, the only person who knew who she was? Was he enjoying this? Watching her exposure? Had his hands been among those that touched her?

Something new touched her breast. Something soft, supple, many stranded. Her nipple hardened even more at the sensation. What was it? It moved to her other breast, sliding across her erect nipple. A whip! Oh shit! A whip! What if it stopped stroking? She would not hear the soft whistle, would know nothing until a fiery streak of pain screamed across her body! Part of her body feared it, another part wanted it more than anything else. “Use it!” She tried to scream. The penis gag filling her mouth prevented even that.

Hands beneath her buttocks, lifting her, so that she kneeled high. Something round and cold touched the supersensitive skin inside her lower lips. Hands on her shoulders, pushing down! The thing entering her! Becoming rapidly wider! Filling her, stretching her! Deeper! Painfully wide now! Stretching! Oh God!

Impact! Pain! On the top of her breasts. God! A flogger, the lashes spreading to cover her already over sensitive breasts. Instinct making her hunker down, driving the thing beneath her even deeper into her!

Sensation! She screamed, soundlessly inside the hood, her body convulsing with her orgasm. The first of many! For an eternity she was flooded with sensations. Pleasure! Pain! Ecstasy! Humiliation! David would be watching! One of the many! The cameras would be recording everything, broadcasting it to the world.

There was no time. There was just sensation!

For an unknown eternity, nothing had touched her. She was empty. The tube contained a substance she recognised as she sucked hungrily, thirstily! Semen! Large amounts of it!

The sun had gone now, the air cooled. It was evening, she thought. Evening of the first day.

“Thank you, David! Thank you!” Her words echoed inside her private world. “You have been the best husband a woman could have. And this was the best anniversary present I could have had! 20 years! I can’t wait for the next twenty! I love you!”

 

[theseus]

Everyday Life.



“Ah, yes, it’s been a good year, it has. Best olive harvest in years, the garlic has done well, and the wine promises to be a special vintage.” The two farmers chatted companionably as they walked down the road. “Pity those damn fool slaves had to go and kill the old Senator. The old sod was over eighty, her had to die soon. Did they not know they would all end up on the cross? Look at this one. What a waste! Fine little piece like that?” Publius glanced up at the girl writhing in pain on the cross, one of the more than thirty lining the road. “What a waste! Tell me, how did that experimental crop go?” “The barley, you mean? Not very well. Enough to make some of that firewater they make where that poor girl comes from, but not an experiment I will repeat.” Their voices faded as they walked companionably down the road.

Maeve twisted on her cross, rising up painfully to be able to breathe. The pain was excruciating, the broken bones in wrists and feet grating on the rough iron of the nails. Yet, her body fought the pain, fought to live. She was young, her life was, had been, ahead of her. Life as a slave, certainly, but life, nevertheless. Now, all that awaited her was death. Slow, painful death. The sun burned into her unprotected skin. Her naked skin, never before exposed to the sun. She gasped, sucking in great lungfuls of air, lifegiving air! She knew that very soon, in just a few breaths, the pain would conquer the desire to breathe, she would hang by her arms again, until the next time, until the desire to breathe was stronger than the fear of pain, when she would once again rise on the cross, in the eternal, painful, dance of death.

The sun rose higher, burning into pale, Hibernian skin unused to such exposure. Sweat streamed down her body. Her mouth was dry, her tongue swollen, her throat raw from screaming and thirst. A guard came around occasionally, allowing her to suck a foul-tasting mixture of sour wine and water from a sponge. She drank greedily, but there was never enough to assuage her raving thirst. Flies and other insects feasted on her helpless body, sucking moisture from her eyes, biting and stinging. She desperately wanted to chase them away, to scratch her itching nose. All she could do was shake her head, and stare helplessly at her hands, spread wide and nailed to the unyielding wood of the cross.

Maeve had time to think. Plenty of time to think. Dwelling on the injustice of her fate, and that of her fellow slaves, helped to take her mind off the constant pain, off the knowledge that she was dying, albeit far too slowly. She was here because her master had been murdered. He had been a good master, not unkind, and with a taste for young, pale flesh. He had bought her for her youth, her flaming red hair and her milky skin, hoping that the attentions of a girl a quarter of his age would rejuvenate his aging body. On the night of his murder she had, as so often, been hard at work ‘raising the dead,’ as she called it. He groaned softly, happily, as her mouth did its magic, the withered stalk slowly rising into a semblance of rigidity.

“Father?” His son’s voice called softly from the atrium, “are you still awake?”

“Damn him!” The old man moaned. “Quick, under the bed! If he finds you here there will be another argument that will last for hours. He will berate me for wasting my waning energy on whores. Not that I consider you to be a whore, my dear.” She rolled under the bed. It was not the first time they had been interrupted in this way.

The argument seemed to continue for ages! At times the bed rocked, seemingly under physical assault. She hated the son. He was totally unlike his father. Ambitious, cruel, vindictive. His voice dripped contempt of the old man. Finally, there was grunt, a soft moan from the old man, and the sound of her receding footsteps. Maeve emerged cautiously from her hiding place. There was blood everywhere! The old man was still breathing, frothy blood bubbling from his mouth with each gasping breath. She flung herself onto the bed, cradling his head, alternately screaming for help and cooing soothing words about how he would survive.

She was still rocking, cradling his body, when they found her.

The sun was low, shining into her eyes. The pain was an ever-present thing, although, somehow, her mind had come to accept it as normal. She heard the voices before she saw them. “….there are many questions around the case. I think the young sod has a lot to answer for. The Aedile is questioning the involvement of the slaves in the murder. Not that that would have saved them. The law is the law, and if the master is murdered, they dance, guilty or not!” She saw their approach, chatting companionably, the one leading a young bull, obviously his purchase for the day.

The one in red glanced up at her, briefly. “Still alive, the poor bitch. Skin burned as red as a boiled lobster. These Hibernians can’t take the sun.”

Brown robe, leading his bull, gave her more attention. “What a way to die! Look at the flies clustering around her eyes, not to mention her cunni. She’s still moving well. They are giving them water, to help them last longer. She is strong, despite her slight build. She will last. Two, three days more? Perhaps longer.”

Red robe replied, his voice sad. “Her eyes will have gone by then, probably tomorrow. She’s still too active for the crows to settle, but that won’t last. Such striking eyes, too. Don’t see emerald green very often.” He watched appreciatively, enjoying the play of her muscles as she painfully rose on her nailed feet in order to take deep breaths. “She’s got spirit, too. What a waste of a lovely body.”

Their voices faded as they walked on, chatting about everyday things.

Everyday things! Like a girl dying, slowly and painfully, naked on a cross by the side of the road.



Image by de Mulotto

 

[theseus]

There’s a First Time for Everything!



“Oh my god! Oh fuck! No! No! Don’t stop! Just stay there for a moment, let me get used to it!”

Somehow, in all the years of an active sex life, Anne had never experienced anal sex. For her generation it was something slightly off colour, not quite done. Her husband would never have dreamed of it! Her widowhood had freed her to live out her fantasies. She had become quite popular at the regular parties held by the Community, known as a goer and willing to try anything, despite her age. Yet, somehow, nobody had ever sodomised her, until now.

The two young men, their combined ages almost added up to hers, grinned at each other as she took deep breaths, wiggling her bum slightly, trying to get used to the invasion of her arse. She could smell the other cock, the one poised to fill her mouth, she was already salivating at the thought. She exhaled slowly.

“So fucking full! Amazing! Slowly now boy, slowly. I’m an old lady. Bugger me gently.” She smiled up at the face looking down at her. “Come on! Shove that delicious prick into my mouth! All the way down my throat. Perhaps you can meet your friend somewhere in the middle!”

He needed no second invitation. He went deep, all the way, feeling her throat convulse around the invading shaft. For long minutes both men pounded away at the old woman, like reciprocating pistons. She was struggling to breathe! Her mouthfucker, considerate young man that he was, withdrew for a few moments. She gasped for breath. She smiled up at him, drool and precum dripping from her chin. “I wish those old biddies at the retirement home could see me now! Well! Don’t just stand there! Shove it down my throat!” He obeyed instantly, driving home in one smooth stroke!

Some time later they lay, entwined, on the bed. The small group of watchers applauded. Anne panted quietly, cum dribbling from her nose, her tongue licking idly at Eric’s balls. Behind her, Chris’ softening cock was still buried in her arse. “You chaps are amazing,” she panted, “Why did it take me so long to discover buggery? That was…unbelievable!”

She kissed both of them, deep, cummy kisses. She looked at the audience, acknowledging their soft applause. “Well, while I’m all still stretched and lubed, is there anyone else who wants to bugger an old lady?”

 

[theseus]

The Watcher



“Are you enjoying this, dear?” Sharon panted as she rode her black bull’s cock.

I grunted, nodding my head. Speaking was impossible, a penis gag that seemed every bit as big as the one filling my wife’s cunt made certain of that. I writhed uncomfortably on the dildo filling my arse, painfully aware of my cock desperately trying to escape from its steel cage, bulging through the bars. I was strapped to a hard wooden chair, unable to do anything about my wife’s pleasure and humiliation.

“Oh, fuck! He’s so thick, and so deep!” She moaned, as she rose up, exposing inch after inch after inch of glistening black shaft as it emerged, seemingly without end, from her body. One of the other watchers, idly playing with his cock, cupped one of her breasts in a big hand, “You finished making small talk, bitch. I got better things for your mouth to do.”

Sharon leaned forward, lips and tongue reaching for the fat, shiny black glans presented to her, her tongue licking at the drop of pre-cum before her lips stretched wide to accommodate the ebony shaft that slowly slid deeper and deeper into her throat. I watched, spellbound, hovering on the edge of my own orgasm, at the play of the muscles in my wife’s thighs and belly as she lowered herself once more onto the massive organ. The third watcher played idly with his cock, keeping it rock hard. He wagged it in my face. “She ain’t never going to want that pitiful little thing inside her again, white boy. She tasted the real thing, now. My eyes crossed as I tried to focus on the cock so close to my face. He wiped the slick tip on my face. “Now this ole boy,” he stroked himself again, “now this ole boy is going to ream out her tight white ass. Yeah, your nose in the air white wife fucked by three black boys, live on the internet!” My eyes flicked to the five red lights, each on a camera, capturing this scene for the live Cuckold Channel. “And then, white boy, I’m gonna take that gag outa your mouth, and you gonna clean this black pecker that just came outa your sweet wife’s ass.”

We had fantasised about this for a long time. Discussed the scenario, me being tied down, watching as she was fucked by a number of men. The penis gag, and the dildo in my ass were her idea. We had discussed other possibilities, some of which caused my stomach to knot with fear and anticipation. She had smiled wickedly as she suggested that I should share some of her experiences, that she would enjoy watching too.

Learning about the Cuckold Channel had been a bonus. Thousands of likeminded people would be able to share our pleasure and humiliation live.

I rather liked the idea of being a movie star.

 

[theseus]

Party Time



It was the blindfold that made it so exciting. Anne waited patiently for her husband to pack his toy bag. She eagerly anticipated that some of those toys would be used on her at the party. The nipple clamps, the flogger, and that new singletail she had not yet tasted. She would be naked all evening, naked and restrained. Most important of all, she would be blindfolded. That was what made it so exciting! Not knowing who was using her!

She smiled as Rob folded the cloak around her naked body. Driving to and from the party was part of the excitement. There was always the chance of being stopped at a roadblock, or an accident. Explaining to a policeman why there was a naked, bound woman in the car. The possibility that her Rob would offer her to the policeman in exchange for letting them go.

She loved these parties. Loved the knowledge that people looked at her body. Touched it. And, most of all, used it!

Being used! That was her purpose in life! Being used in whatever way her user, or users, wanted. Being used wantonly, casually, by strangers, strangers because they were invisible. Never knowing whether the person she met in the street, met socially, met at work, had used her in some way or another, or had watched as she was used.

The car stopped. He opened the door for her, helped her out into the cool air of the evening, becoming cooler as he removed the cloak. He kissed her, his hands roaming her body, sliding between her legs, offering his damp fingers for her to clean.

“Ready dear? There will be a special surprise for you this evening. Something new and very, very exciting! Shall we?”

Excited, slightly nervous, she followed him into the dark unknown.

 

[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 instructions 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]

What if nobody buys me?



“What if nobody buys me? If nobody wants me? I’ll die of embarrassment!”

Amy shed her robe, her hair still up in an untidy ponytail. I had been ready for some time, butterflies fluttering in my belly at the thought of being sold after so many years of abstinence. Motherhood had taken precedence, but now the time had come to, once again, stand naked on the auction block.

“I mean, look at me, mom. How can I compete against Susan, with her red hair and creamy skin and those beautiful, big boobs, or Katy? Her skin is like black velvet?”

“They will be salivating over you,” I thought, examining her sturdy, tomboy’s body, her perky tits and strong thighs. I wondered if I should just leave her hair as it was, rather than doing something more elegant with it? Buyers would like that waiflike, tomboy look.

“Let Susan enjoy her tits while she can. They will be starting to sag by the time she is twenty! Gravity will win!” She gave me an uncertain smile. “Believe me, there is no chance that you will be left unsold! None!”

I could say that with certainty. I knew that my son, the eldest of my three children, had pooled his savings with those of three of his friends to form a syndicate. I had a strong suspicion about his intended purchase, the butterflies fluttering furiously in my belly at the thought, but I knew he would never let his sister suffer the humiliation of remaining unsold at her virgin sale. Lucy, my youngest, fully dressed and pouting furiously because I had refused to let her be sold, arranging for her to spend the coming fortnight with the man most likely to be her father, paternity always being uncertain in our society, spoke up. “You’ll sell, sis. Even if it is only to someone who wants your ass as if you’re a boy.” I gave Lucy the ‘mother’ look, the one that told her that she had an appointment with the cane when we were all back home after two weeks. Her hands instinctively moved to the firm globes of her own cute butt.

Amy was naked now, as naked as I was. We would walk to the market, less than half a mile away. A bit of advertising never did harm. I thought back to my own virgin sale, almost two decades ago, remembering the excitement, and the fear of being left unsold. I took a quick look in the mirror. Was I still a saleable item? “Not bad,” I thought. A few laugh lines in my face. The tits were still good, ‘cherish those b-cups, Amy’ I thought. After three children my own b-cups were still pert and firm. Children had rounded my belly a trifle, but not unattractively. Legs still good, butt firm. I would sell! With luck, to the right buyers.

We walked, hand in hand, to the Town Park, where the weekly sales were held. There was a good crowd, and I greeted friends and neighbours, enjoying the speculative looks, the admiring glances. I realised how much I had missed this! The suspense of waiting to be sold.

The Virgin Pen was crowded with eager Virgins and prospective buyers. Susan’s milky skin stood out like a beacon, even though she was surrounded by admirers. “Men! Obsessed with big tits!” I patted Amy on her butt. “In you go, girl! Have fun! I’ll see you in two weeks.” Her smile betrayed her nervousness. “You too, mom! I hope Sam and the guys have enough money!”

With a toss of her scruffy ponytail, chest pushed out, hips swinging, she walked into the Virgin Pen.

 

[theseus]

Do you like them?



“Do you like them?”

She looked so innocent, so vulnerable, as she looked at me. “I hope you like them. They’re very small, I know, but…”

She could have been my daughter. So young, so innocent looking. So pretty. She blushed. “My friend Tina, she says if I…” she blushed prettily. “She says if I suck lots of cocks, they’ll get bigger.” She blushed again. “She says that’s why her tits are so big. She loves cocksucking.”

I touched each soft, rosy nipple. I didn’t want those lovely little globes to be any bigger. “They don’t put you off, do they? Being so small?” Her eyes were pleading. My trousers were suddenly way too tight. “Will you teach me, please? Will you teach me how to suck cock?”

I said nothing, too busy enjoying the view. “Shall I take the rest of my clothes off? Before…? Would you like that?” I nodded, silently.

She stood, her dress sliding to the floor, leaving her wearing just a pair of chaste cotton panties. This was looking better and better. Flat belly, slim hips, strong slender thighs, shapely calves. Her feet were delicate and high arched. I looked pointedly at the panties, raising an eyebrow. She looked down, blushing again. “Must I?” Her voice was an almost inaudible whisper. “I’m shy.” This time I raised both eyebrows.

She slid the garment down her hips, probably the last time she would ever wear anything like that. Her hands moved to cover the smooth mound and cleft thus revealed. “Take your hands away,” I said softly, “never, never ever try to cover yourself. That is your owner’s property, you have no right to try and hide it. He, or she, will decide how it is to be displayed and used.” I stroked the satin soft mound, my finger tracing the tight, slightly damp, slit below. “It’s permanent. Tina said men would like it like that, especially built the way I am.” I nodded, Tina clearly knew a thing or two.

“You are a virgin?” She nodded, silently. “And your butthole?” Her eyes went wide! Clearly, she hadn’t thought of being used like that. “Yes,” a soft whisper. “And I gather from your request that I teach you about oral sex that you have not experienced that either?” She shook her head, her head low. “And yet you say you want to spend the rest of your life as a sex slave?” Again, she nodded. “Please. I’ve dreamed about it since I was a girl. Please?”

We spent the next hour going through the documents. She was clearly uncomfortable being naked but equally was determined to carry on. Finally, and with some determination, she said, “Where do I sign?”

“It’s not quite as simple as that. There have to be two independent witnesses to witness your signature, to attest that it is entirely of your own free will, and to witness to your collaring.” She nodded again, “Where do we find them?” I smiled, “Strangely there are many volunteers for the job. My secretary has called two of them, they should be here in a few minutes.” She got up, walking over to her abandoned dress. “You won’t need that,” I said softly. “You are wearing all you need for the signing.

“But, but, there will be strangers coming here. They can’t see me like this?” I laughed, “Why do you think there are so many volunteers, darling? In any case, you will be in the showroom tomorrow. There will be lots of strangers there, and they will be doing more than looking at you.” I opened a cupboard and extracted a collar. It was two inches wide, made of heavy black leather. Between the layers of leather was a titanium mesh, impossible to cut without special tools. It fitted snugly around her throat. I didn’t lock it, that would come later. “237/21,” I read the number engraved on the plate. “That is who you are now, your former name is irrelevant.”

My secretary led in the two witnesses. One was a big-bellied man in his fifties. The other, a youth who looked to be the same age as 237, did a double take. “Megan! What are you doing here? I never thought of you as…” His voice tapered off, embarrassed. “Gentlemen you are here to witness the enslaving and collaring of slave 237/21.” She handed the girl a pen. “Sign here, to certify that you are over eighteen, and here to agree to your enslavement.” 237 signed, her hand steady. I stepped up and placed the collar around her neck. “Once locked, only your owner can unlock it. That is unlikely to happen.” The lock clicked, a final sound. “237, you are now a slave, for the rest of your life. You will be sold tomorrow. Hold out your hands!” She obeyed, overwhelmed by her change in status. The leather cuffs fitted snugly, the locks engaging smoothly. I moved her hands behind her, clicked the links.

The young man who had witnessed her enslavement watched, spellbound. “You’re going to be in the showrooms tomorrow? I’ll tell all our classmates. Good luck, I hope somebody nice buys you.”

I led her down to the holding cells. There were seven other girls and one young man in the dormitory. All were destined for sale the next day, each one chained to a bed by their collars, their hands cuffed behind them. Before I handed her over to the old crone who feed them, water them and prepare them for the showrooms the next day, I turned 237 to face me. “To answer your first question,” I said, kissing each pink nipple. “I like them a lot! The more so because when you are sold tomorrow, you, and those pretty little tits, will be making a significant contribution to my bank account. A three-way virgin is a real rarity!”

Her lovely grey eyes met mine, tears welling up. “Thank you.”

 

[theseus]

Slave quarters



This was not how Cynthia imagined it would be.

When she had applied to come to The Farm, she had visions of herself as an odalisque in a harem. A sex slave living in a comfortable harem, taking long, languorous baths and sleeping in soft beds after passionate lovemaking with a handsome stud.

This was the reality! In her four days at The Farm she had spent twelve hours a day labouring in the fields, digging drainage ditches. She had been punished because there was a trace of dirt on the blade of her hoe when she handed it in at the end of the day, a dozen excruciating strokes of the cane!

There had certainly been sex. The overseers were all massively endowed and seemed to be constantly erect. No soft beds and silken sheets for her. Buggered face down in the mud of the ditch, then whipped back to work the moment the overseer withdrew. She had lost count of the cocks she had serviced.

After her shift she was herded back here, fed a revolting mess and finally allowed to rest her weary body. If she was lucky she only had to service two or three of the overseers. Then she would be allowed to curl up on this hard, narrow shelf for a few hours sleep.

If she could sleep. It was cold, very cold, and there were no blankets. She shivered violently. The experienced slaves told her to be nice to the overseers, then perhaps she would be allowed to sleep in the kennels. It was warmer there, and the food was better.

“There is a price to pay, of course.” The wrinkled old slave smiled at her, showing the gap where her front teeth had been, “but they’re no worse than the overseers. And it’s warm.”

Her teeth chattered. “Never!” She thought. “But then…it would be nice to be warm.”

 

[theseus]

The Punishment Room



“Two dozen, please sir, for being disruptive in class, sir.”

Claire was terrified! “Please don’t let me piss myself, like I did last time. Please? That was only a dozen, but I couldn’t hold it in.” Her mind was in a whirl! It was Mr Fraser again. He of the strong arm, the unerring aim, the clammy, hands that explored her bottom after each stroke. “Just checking that she is fit to take the full punishment, Miss Waterfield.” He had told the headmistress.

“Assume the position, girl! You know the rules. You have been here before.” She knew the rules, all right! Bend over at the waist, feet her shoulders’ width apart. Hands clamped tightly around her ankles. Knees absolutely straight. Do not let go of your ankles until told to, no matter what! That will result in the punishment being doubled, and it will start from scratch. “Yeah,” Claire thought, “no matter what! No matter how much it hurts. No matter that his hands are stroking your bum, your bum that is on fire. No matter that his fingers are deep in your pussy. No matter how much he fondles your dangling tits. Hold tight and keep count. And for fuck’s sake don’t piss yourself again!” She bent over, holding on to her ankles as if her life depended on it.

She inhaled sharply as his hand roamed her bottom. “I see the marks from last time have faded almost completely, Miss Leclerc. I hope you will be more in control of yourself this time.” Claire was silent, biting her lip. Inside, she was screaming! “Get on with it, you fucking pervert! Get the fuck on with it!”

His foot nudged her feet wider. “You may carry out the punishment, Mr Fraser.” Miss Waterfield’s voice was cold. “Please do not spare the girl. Lay them on hard!”

“And fuck you too, you frigid old bitch!” Claire thought as she braced herself for the first stroke. She didn’t have long to wait. “Fuck! He is so good at this! Fuck!” She took a shuddering breath, “One, sir.” She started sobbing on the seventh stroke. “Feet, Miss Leclerc, feet! Keep them still!” Miss Waterfield’s voice was dry. “I thought that last one was a bit light, Mr Fraser. Lay them on hard, sir!” His hands roamed her fiery globes, fingers finding the damp slit between them. “Of course, Headmistress. The girl is healthy and taking the punishment well.”

The cane whistled and thwacked against firm girl flesh. Again, and again, and again. Desperately, Claire counted, her hands clamped vicelike around her ankles. Her knees straight, her feet firmly planted on the carpet. “Sixteen! Oh God! Please! I can’t take any more! Please stop!” The touch of his hands was like fire, roaming the sea of pain that was her bottom. They roamed further, weighing her free hanging breasts. “Are you suggesting that we apply the rest of the punishment to her udders, Mr Fraser? If not, I suggest you leave them to dangle and apply yourself to your duty, sir!” Miss Waterfield’s voice was dry and dripping with sarcasm.

The seventeenth was the hardest and most painful yet! “Seventeen! Jesus! Fuck!” Miss Waterfield inhaled sharply. “Language, Leclerc, language. Be so kind as to add six additional strokes to the punishment, Mr Fraser. Carry on!”

“Kind!” Claire thought, “Kind!” Thwack! “Eighteen!” She screamed. She screamed at each stroke now. “Twenty-nine!” One more, please let my bladder hold, one more. Thwack!!! “Thirty! Thirty! Thank you, sir!” She remained bent over, not daring to move until Miss Waterfield gave her permission.

“You may stand up, Miss Leclerc. I see you managed to control your bladder this time. Stand up, put your hands behind your head, shoulders back. You may contemplate your sins for thirty minutes.”

Claire straightened up, slowly, carefully, very painfully. Back straight, hands behind her head, she walked toward the wooden panelling. Atkins Minor, tears already streaming down her face, the tops of her perky little tits glistening with them, walked past her. “Serve you right, you stuck up little bitch. You and your, “I’m a good girl. I don’t do that kind of thing. It’s disgusting.” You’ll be licking us all tonight.

“One…” The girl sobbed. “One…Please sir, I’ve never been caned before, sir. Please?”

“Pull yourself together, girl!”

The girl sobbed, almost hysterical. “Please…Sir… One dozen, please, sir. For talking back to a prefect, sir.” More sobs. Claire studied the grain of the panelling in front of her nose. Hearing Miss Purity sob and beg almost made her own caning worthwhile. “Please don’t hurt me. Sir.”

“Stupid little bitch,” Claire thought, flexing her butt, trying to make the pain go away. “Of course, he is going to hurt you! That’s what he does. And he’s going to play with those puffy tits as well. And that old bitch Miss Waterfield will be getting off, watching you squirm and beg. I’ll bet you will be kneeling with your face between her legs soon.” Claire smiled as the first ‘thwack’ was followed by a scream, and a sobbed “One!”

“Scream,” Claire thought, the pain in her own bum starting to morph to a warm glow, “Scream, and lick her old cunt. It will be good practice for licking mine tonight.” Claire smiled in anticipation as the cane thwacked rhythmically against Atkins Minor’s tight ass. “There will be two sore bums in my bed tonight! And one very, very busy little tongue!”



Artwork by Julie and Melissa!

 

[theseus]

Kinky Camp



Christine was tired! It was only 8 a.m. on the first morning of the camp, but she had been working hard for several hours.

The Master had woken at dawn. Despite the activities of the previous night, his needs had to be satisfied. Immediately! He tasted of last night’s party. Her juices, and those of an unknown number of others.

They had arrived at the campsite the previous afternoon. Tents were being pitched, and there was a constant stream of slaves and subs carrying boxes and bags from the parking area to the campsite. She had stripped immediately. She would be naked for the next four days. She had stood quietly as the Master chained her. She was a slave this weekend. It was going to be fun!

Her first task was to set up the master’s chair and bring him a cold beer. Walking and working in chains was surprisingly difficult. She kept on tripping over them! The Master and several other masters and mistresses sat comfortably, chatting and keeping an eye on slaves and subs as they set up camp. Soon Christine’s body was streaming with sweat as she lugged tent, baggage, food boxes and the portable fridge to their site. As she staggered along carrying a folding table, the Master beckoned her. Without a word, he pointed to his fly. He continued his discussion about the comparative advantages of singletails as opposed to floggers as she knelt, opened his fly, and took him in her mouth. He held her head when he was ready, almost choking her with gushes of his seed. She carefully licked him clean, thanked him for his gift, and continued her work.

The barbecue that evening had been lively. He had lent her to four different men, casually, without asking her permission. Why would he? She was a slave, after all. A chattel. An object to be used. Her very helplessness added spice to the experience. The Master and Master Dave had resolved their discussion about whips. Everybody had gathered around as she received first two dozen lashes with the flogger, and then two dozen with the singletail. She had screamed, and cried, and begged for mercy. The result was split. The consensus was that the singletail left much better marks, and that her screams were louder and more desperate while it was used. The flogger was considered superior on terms of the sounds of impact, and the general reddening of her skin. Personally, she favoured the flogger.

The Master was fully hard now, the sacred Phallus hard and glistening in the dawn light. From nearby tents came the sounds of morning. The soft slurp of mouth on cock; the slap, slap, slap of flesh against flesh; soft moans and squeals; the sharper crack of a paddle against a deserving bottom. “On your belly.” The Master spoke for the first time. She rolled over, tucking a pillow under her hips. He always buggered her in the morning.

She had hated it at first, considered it dirty and disgusting, not to mention painful. In the last few months, she had come to accept it, then enjoy it. She sighed contentedly as the Phallus conquered the resistance of her sphincter, and slowly, smoothly, slid deep inside her. He took his time, relishing her tightness. Warmth flooded inside her. She gave a little moan of disappointment as he left her.

“Coffee!” He said.

She crawled out of the tent, walked off to the communal kitchen carrying the makings of his morning coffee. Amy walked ahead of her, stiffly, her cute little butt a bright red. Clearly, she was the source of the paddling sounds. Julia groaned softly as she bent over the stove. The weights on the evil looking clover clamps stretched her nipples, impressively. Little padlocks prevented the clamps from being removed. Christine made soothing sounds. “How heavy are those?” She asked as she spooned coffee into the percolator. “Half a pound each.” Julia replied, shaking her ample breasts. “They are driving me mad! Master says, if I’m extra good, he’ll take them off tomorrow.” She knew that Julia had arrived wearing those clamps. She couldn’t imagine whet her nipples must feel like.

She cleaned up while the Master enjoyed his coffee. He wrapped a kikoi around his waist and strolled off to chat with his friends, leaving her to tidy the tent and prepare his breakfast. Hampered by her chains, she started cleaning and tidying the tent. The sun was warm on her naked body. She lay down, just for a moment, she thought.

Half an hour later, a hungry Master came looking for her. He wanted his breakfast.

She looked so lovely, so innocent, sleeping like that. There was love in his eyes as he gazed at his sleeping slave. He left her for a moment, returning with the singletail in his hand. He measured the distance to her breasts.

“Just one flick of the lash across both nipples,” he thought. “That will remind her of her duty!”

 

[theseus]

Eyes of Submission



“Never!” She had said. “Never! I won’t do it! There is nothing you can do that will make me! Forget it!”

Her defiance was amusing. “Nothing?” I said, “Nothing?” She shook her head, defiantly. “Nothing!” She almost spat the word.

“Have you noticed, young lady,” I asked softly, “have you noticed that you are naked? Have you noticed that your hands are cuffed behind your back? You are not really in a position to be defiant, are you?”

“I won’t do it! Never!”

She whimpered softly as the sharp little teeth of the electrodes bit into soft, pink nipples. Her eyes widened at the sight of the wires leading into the control box. The reaction to the electrode that clamped onto her clitoris was more heartfelt, a soft scream and a sob! “No! Please!” She struggled against the straps securing legs and arms to the hard wooden chair. To no avail. Her eyes pleaded with the girl who had applied the electrodes, and now sat with her hand on the control box. “You’re a woman!” She sobbed. “Have you no heart?”

Amy shrugged her shoulders. “I’m a slave. I do what I’m told. I don’t want to wear those things.” I moved over to her, my flaccid member an inch from her nose. “No! I won’t! Never!” Her eyes were defiant.

“Give her a taste, Amy. Just a taste.” Amy turned the dial fractionally. The blue eyes widened! She squirmed in her bonds. “Like it?” I asked softly. She shook her head.

Amy spoke, softly. “Don’t fight it, my sister. You can’t win. Take the Master in your mouth. It’s not nasty; in fact,” her eyes flicked up to me, smiling, “it’s rather nice. You’ll get to love it. Just open your mouth.”

“Never!” The girl hissed through clenched teeth.

“Take it to three,” I told Amy. The ensuing scream was louder. Her back arched, she shook her breasts, trying to get rid of the electrodes. The sharp little teeth bit harder. I counted slowly to twenty. “Back to one.” I said.

Her eyes were streaming tears, sweat was beading on her forehead. She was shuddering and sobbing. “Take the master in your mouth, my sister.” Amy’s voice was still soft, almost a whisper. The girl shook her head. “Never!” Amy extended a finger, stroking a hard, erect nipple, so cruelly clamped. “Save yourself the pain. Open your mouth.” Another firm shake of the head.

“Take it up to eight, please Amy.” Her slim fingers turned the dial, slowly, building up the voltage. The blue eyes widened with shock! Her body shook! “Stop! Please stop!” Amy looked at me, fingers hovering over the dial. I counted, slowly, to twenty. “Turn it off.”

The girl was panting, sobbing, her body sheened with sweat. Her eyes focused on my sex. “Never!” She sobbed. Amy shook her head. “You can’t win, my sister.” The girl glared at her. “Traitor! Bitch! Never!”

“Fifteen please, Amy.” Her scream rent the air! The heavy chair rocked and creaked. Her arms and legs strained against the wide leather straps. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” I counted, slowly. “Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty one, Twenty two, Twenty three, twen…”

“Stop! Please stop! I’ll do it! Just stop! Please!”
I nodded. Amy turned down the dial to zero. She unbuckled the straps, letting the girl slide out of the chair. “This is going to hurt,” she said gently, as she undid the clamps. The girl screamed as each one was released. “Now,” she said softly, her voice sympathetic, “Knee-walk to the Master. Take him in your mouth. Remember teeth! Do not let one touch him! Start slowly, but remember you must take it all. All the way in your throat. Remember to swallow. Do not spill.” The girl simply sobbed. Amy gave her a little push.

She knee-walked to me. I could smell her, the smell of sweat, of fear, of arousal. She looked at my penis, cross eyed. A little shudder. She opened her mouth. “You could have saved yourself the pain,” Amy muttered.

Her lips were warm. I could feel them tremble. I filled her mouth. Her eyes looked up into mine. Such lovely eyes. I put my hand on her head. “All of it. Take your time.”

She did. There was no more defiance. Only submission. I looked at Amy. She gave me a weak smile. “She could have saved herself the pain.”

 

[Loinclothslave]

Eyes of Submission

View attachment 1096222

“”
…. “She could have saved herself the pain.”

Maybe she wanted and needed the pain? And perhaps next time she will need the pain again? Will she beg for it next time?

 

[theseus]

Discipline



It was the day after her sale, and already Louise was in trouble.

There were four other girls in the ‘collection’. They were all about the same age, but that was where the similarity stopped. They ranged in colour from milky white to deep, blue-black, in build from tiny Kim through to Abida’s strapping six-foot frame. The Master seemed nice; he had certainly given her a good orgasm during her welcome fuck. The Mistress was intimidating, but Louise thought she had been satisfied with the comprehensive tongue-fuck she had received. Louise was very grateful that her training at the dealer had included pleasing women.

Yet, here she was, bent over the back of a chair, her bottom on fire, the muscles jumping involuntarily from the pain. “Five, Mistress! Thank you, Mistress! May I have the next one, please?”

One fingerprint on a juice glass at breakfast. Almost unnoticeable, yet the Mistress had seen it, remarked on it. “Unacceptable! Totally unacceptable!” She had glanced at her husband. “It is her first offence. Perhaps just a couple of dozen? As a warning?” The master had looked up from his newspaper, briefly. “Of course, dear. This evening, in my study? Let her have the day to consider her crime. The cane, I assume?”

For Louise the day seemed never ending. She had carried out her duties, often helped by advice from Abida, her voice kind and melodious as she helped the new girl. Sinead, the curvy, creamy skinned redhead had been sympathetic, lifting the back of her brief slave shift to show the fading marks on her creamy bottom. “Four dozen, that was, four dozen, for letting a tooth touch the sacred cock. Laid on by the Mistress. She has a rare skill with the cane.” Such sympathy did little to ease Louise’s concerns. She couldn’t imagine what that would feel like.

There were four guests at dinner, two couples. After dinner drinks were served in the study. Louise’s stomach knotted into a tight ball as she realised that she was to be the after dinner entertainment. She served the drinks, very aware that her evening dress was almost transparent. Her fellow slaves knelt in a row against the bookshelves, their hands behind their heads.

The Master tapped his glass. “Louise, who joined us yesterday, has committed a minor offence. She will now pay for that offence.” He smiled at her. “She will also, by the dignity with which she accepts her punishment, prove that she is a worthy slave. Please remove your dress, my dear. I think my guests will want to examine your bottom in its unblemished state, so that they can make an informed comparison after your Mistress has demonstrated her art.”

She had no choice but to obey. No choice but to go from one guest to another, no choice but to let their hands explore her bottom, and wherever else they wished to explore. The Mistress chose a cane from the bundle kept in the study. “Please bend over the back of the chair. Hold on to the seat. Do not let go! Your punishment will be doubled if you do. I’m sure you don’t want that, do you, my dear?”

She bent over, knees straight, hands gripping the seat of the chair. She was acutely aware that her master and his guests had a perfect view of her bottom, her pussy and her anus.

“Ready?” The Mistress’ voice sounded so kind, so gentle. “Now remember, count each stroke, and when you are ready, ask me for the next one. Twenty four! Ready?”

Louise took a deep breath. “Yes, Mistress. I am ready. May I have the first stroke, please?”

The cane tapped gently against the firm globes of her bottom. There was a whistle, a flat crack, and her world exploded into pain! Her hands instinctively relaxed their grip on the chair, desperate to soothe her abused bottom! Just for a moment! Then she resumed her death grip on the chair, took a deep, shuddering breath. “One, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. May I have the next stroke please, Mistress?”

Stroke after stroke, agony after agony! Her world contracted. Consisted of no more than her bottom, that site of flaming, searing pain. “Twenty four, Mistress! Thank you, Mistress! May I have the next stroke please, Mistress?

A soft hand touched her back. Cool lips kissed the nape of her neck. “Do you really want another one, my dear?” The mistress laughed softly. “You have done very well. You may let go of the chair. Stand up and go and show our guests your bottom.”

Louise straightened up slowly, painfully. She walked stiffly to the guests, moaned softly as fingers gently, incredibly painfully, traced the stripes on her bottom. The Mistress kissed the tears from her cheeks. “I think our guests need their drinks refreshed, my dear.” Louise served drinks. One of the female guests, a lady in her sixties, stroked her hand. “You were very brave, little girl. I shall ask your Master to lend you to us for a few days sometime soon.”

The Mistress ran her fingers down her back. “Now, collect your dress, I should think you will not want to wear it. You may join me in my bath,” a gentle kiss on her nose, “and then in my bed. I’m sure I can kiss you better.”



Artwork by Julie and Melissa

 

[The Fallen Angel]

Discipline

View attachment 1098477

It was the day after her sale, and already Louise was in trouble.

There were four other girls in the ‘collection’. They were all about the same age, but that was where the similarity stopped. They ranged in colour from milky white to deep, blue-black, in build from tiny Kim through to Abida’s strapping six-foot frame. The Master seemed nice; he had certainly given her a good orgasm during her welcome fuck. The Mistress was intimidating, but Louise thought she had been satisfied with the comprehensive tongue-fuck she had received. Louise was very grateful that her training at the dealer had included pleasing women.

Yet, here she was, bent over the back of a chair, her bottom on fire, the muscles jumping involuntarily from the pain. “Five, Mistress! Thank you, Mistress! May I have the next one, please?”

One fingerprint on a juice glass at breakfast. Almost unnoticeable, yet the Mistress had seen it, remarked on it. “Unacceptable! Totally unacceptable!” She had glanced at her husband. “It is her first offence. Perhaps just a couple of dozen? As a warning?” The master had looked up from his newspaper, briefly. “Of course, dear. This evening, in my study? Let her have the day to consider her crime. The cane, I assume?”

For Louise the day seemed never ending. She had carried out her duties, often helped by advice from Abida, her voice kind and melodious as she helped the new girl. Sinead, the curvy, creamy skinned redhead had been sympathetic, lifting the back of her brief slave shift to show the fading marks on her creamy bottom. “Four dozen, that was, four dozen, for letting a tooth touch the sacred cock. Laid on by the Mistress. She has a rare skill with the cane.” Such sympathy did little to ease Louise’s concerns. She couldn’t imagine what that would feel like.

There were four guests at dinner, two couples. After dinner drinks were served in the study. Louise’s stomach knotted into a tight ball as she realised that she was to be the after dinner entertainment. She served the drinks, very aware that her evening dress was almost transparent. Her fellow slaves knelt in a row against the bookshelves, their hands behind their heads.

The Master tapped his glass. “Louise, who joined us yesterday, has committed a minor offence. She will now pay for that offence.” He smiled at her. “She will also, by the dignity with which she accepts her punishment, prove that she is a worthy slave. Please remove your dress, my dear. I think my guests will want to examine your bottom in its unblemished state, so that they can make an informed comparison after your Mistress has demonstrated her art.”

She had no choice but to obey. No choice but to go from one guest to another, no choice but to let their hands explore her bottom, and wherever else they wished to explore. The Mistress chose a cane from the bundle kept in the study. “Please bend over the back of the chair. Hold on to the seat. Do not let go! Your punishment will be doubled if you do. I’m sure you don’t want that, do you, my dear?”

She bent over, knees straight, hands gripping the seat of the chair. She was acutely aware that her master and his guests had a perfect view of her bottom, her pussy and her anus.

“Ready?” The Mistress’ voice sounded so kind, so gentle. “Now remember, count each stroke, and when you are ready, ask me for the next one. Twenty four! Ready?”

Louise took a deep breath. “Yes, Mistress. I am ready. May I have the first stroke, please?”

The cane tapped gently against the firm globes of her bottom. There was a whistle, a flat crack, and her world exploded into pain! Her hands instinctively relaxed their grip on the chair, desperate to soothe her abused bottom! Just for a moment! Then she resumed her death grip on the chair, took a deep, shuddering breath. “One, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. May I have the next stroke please, Mistress?”

Stroke after stroke, agony after agony! Her world contracted. Consisted of no more than her bottom, that site of flaming, searing pain. “Twenty four, Mistress! Thank you, Mistress! May I have the next stroke please, Mistress?

A soft hand touched her back. Cool lips kissed the nape of her neck. “Do you really want another one, my dear?” The mistress laughed softly. “You have done very well. You may let go of the chair. Stand up and go and show our guests your bottom.”

Louise straightened up slowly, painfully. She walked stiffly to the guests, moaned softly as fingers gently, incredibly painfully, traced the stripes on her bottom. The Mistress kissed the tears from her cheeks. “I think our guests need their drinks refreshed, my dear.” Louise served drinks. One of the female guests, a lady in her sixties, stroked her hand. “You were very brave, little girl. I shall ask your Master to lend you to us for a few days sometime soon.”

The Mistress ran her fingers down her back. “Now, collect your dress, I should think you will not want to wear it. You may join me in my bath,” a gentle kiss on her nose, “and then in my bed. I’m sure I can kiss you better.”



Artwork by Julie and Melissa

When you aren't watching I'm going to "steal" that story!

 

[The Fallen Angel]

Eyes of Submission

View attachment 1096222

“Never!” She had said. “Never! I won’t do it! There is nothing you can do that will make me! Forget it!”

Her defiance was amusing. “Nothing?” I said, “Nothing?” She shook her head, defiantly. “Nothing!” She almost spat the word.

“Have you noticed, young lady,” I asked softly, “have you noticed that you are naked? Have you noticed that your hands are cuffed behind your back? You are not really in a position to be defiant, are you?”

“I won’t do it! Never!”

She whimpered softly as the sharp little teeth of the electrodes bit into soft, pink nipples. Her eyes widened at the sight of the wires leading into the control box. The reaction to the electrode that clamped onto her clitoris was more heartfelt, a soft scream and a sob! “No! Please!” She struggled against the straps securing legs and arms to the hard wooden chair. To no avail. Her eyes pleaded with the girl who had applied the electrodes, and now sat with her hand on the control box. “You’re a woman!” She sobbed. “Have you no heart?”

Amy shrugged her shoulders. “I’m a slave. I do what I’m told. I don’t want to wear those things.” I moved over to her, my flaccid member an inch from her nose. “No! I won’t! Never!” Her eyes were defiant.

“Give her a taste, Amy. Just a taste.” Amy turned the dial fractionally. The blue eyes widened! She squirmed in her bonds. “Like it?” I asked softly. She shook her head.

Amy spoke, softly. “Don’t fight it, my sister. You can’t win. Take the Master in your mouth. It’s not nasty; in fact,” her eyes flicked up to me, smiling, “it’s rather nice. You’ll get to love it. Just open your mouth.”

“Never!” The girl hissed through clenched teeth.

“Take it to three,” I told Amy. The ensuing scream was louder. Her back arched, she shook her breasts, trying to get rid of the electrodes. The sharp little teeth bit harder. I counted slowly to twenty. “Back to one.” I said.

Her eyes were streaming tears, sweat was beading on her forehead. She was shuddering and sobbing. “Take the master in your mouth, my sister.” Amy’s voice was still soft, almost a whisper. The girl shook her head. “Never!” Amy extended a finger, stroking a hard, erect nipple, so cruelly clamped. “Save yourself the pain. Open your mouth.” Another firm shake of the head.

“Take it up to eight, please Amy.” Her slim fingers turned the dial, slowly, building up the voltage. The blue eyes widened with shock! Her body shook! “Stop! Please stop!” Amy looked at me, fingers hovering over the dial. I counted, slowly, to twenty. “Turn it off.”

The girl was panting, sobbing, her body sheened with sweat. Her eyes focused on my sex. “Never!” She sobbed. Amy shook her head. “You can’t win, my sister.” The girl glared at her. “Traitor! Bitch! Never!”

“Fifteen please, Amy.” Her scream rent the air! The heavy chair rocked and creaked. Her arms and legs strained against the wide leather straps. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” I counted, slowly. “Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty one, Twenty two, Twenty three, twen…”

“Stop! Please stop! I’ll do it! Just stop! Please!”
I nodded. Amy turned down the dial to zero. She unbuckled the straps, letting the girl slide out of the chair. “This is going to hurt,” she said gently, as she undid the clamps. The girl screamed as each one was released. “Now,” she said softly, her voice sympathetic, “Knee-walk to the Master. Take him in your mouth. Remember teeth! Do not let one touch him! Start slowly, but remember you must take it all. All the way in your throat. Remember to swallow. Do not spill.” The girl simply sobbed. Amy gave her a little push.

She knee-walked to me. I could smell her, the smell of sweat, of fear, of arousal. She looked at my penis, cross eyed. A little shudder. She opened her mouth. “You could have saved yourself the pain,” Amy muttered.

Her lips were warm. I could feel them tremble. I filled her mouth. Her eyes looked up into mine. Such lovely eyes. I put my hand on her head. “All of it. Take your time.”

She did. There was no more defiance. Only submission. I looked at Amy. She gave me a weak smile. “She could have saved herself the pain.”

We just had a smart meter installed. The problem is that when you switch something on you dash to the damn meter to see how much electricity you are using and then it tells you how much it is costing and that you are exceeding your weekly budget! Does Amy know how much she is using?

 

[The Fallen Angel]

The Punishment Room

View attachment 1093560

“Two dozen, please sir, for being disruptive in class, sir.”

Claire was terrified! “Please don’t let me piss myself, like I did last time. Please? That was only a dozen, but I couldn’t hold it in.” Her mind was in a whirl! It was Mr Fraser again. He of the strong arm, the unerring aim, the clammy, hands that explored her bottom after each stroke. “Just checking that she is fit to take the full punishment, Miss Waterfield.” He had told the headmistress.

“Assume the position, girl! You know the rules. You have been here before.” She knew the rules, all right! Bend over at the waist, feet her shoulders’ width apart. Hands clamped tightly around her ankles. Knees absolutely straight. Do not let go of your ankles until told to, no matter what! That will result in the punishment being doubled, and it will start from scratch. “Yeah,” Claire thought, “no matter what! No matter how much it hurts. No matter that his hands are stroking your bum, your bum that is on fire. No matter that his fingers are deep in your pussy. No matter how much he fondles your dangling tits. Hold tight and keep count. And for fuck’s sake don’t piss yourself again!” She bent over, holding on to her ankles as if her life depended on it.

She inhaled sharply as his hand roamed her bottom. “I see the marks from last time have faded almost completely, Miss Leclerc. I hope you will be more in control of yourself this time.” Claire was silent, biting her lip. Inside, she was screaming! “Get on with it, you fucking pervert! Get the fuck on with it!”

His foot nudged her feet wider. “You may carry out the punishment, Mr Fraser.” Miss Waterfield’s voice was cold. “Please do not spare the girl. Lay them on hard!”

“And fuck you too, you frigid old bitch!” Claire thought as she braced herself for the first stroke. She didn’t have long to wait. “Fuck! He is so good at this! Fuck!” She took a shuddering breath, “One, sir.” She started sobbing on the seventh stroke. “Feet, Miss Leclerc, feet! Keep them still!” Miss Waterfield’s voice was dry. “I thought that last one was a bit light, Mr Fraser. Lay them on hard, sir!” His hands roamed her fiery globes, fingers finding the damp slit between them. “Of course, Headmistress. The girl is healthy and taking the punishment well.”

The cane whistled and thwacked against firm girl flesh. Again, and again, and again. Desperately, Claire counted, her hands clamped vicelike around her ankles. Her knees straight, her feet firmly planted on the carpet. “Sixteen! Oh God! Please! I can’t take any more! Please stop!” The touch of his hands was like fire, roaming the sea of pain that was her bottom. They roamed further, weighing her free hanging breasts. “Are you suggesting that we apply the rest of the punishment to her udders, Mr Fraser? If not, I suggest you leave them to dangle and apply yourself to your duty, sir!” Miss Waterfield’s voice was dry and dripping with sarcasm.

The seventeenth was the hardest and most painful yet! “Seventeen! Jesus! Fuck!” Miss Waterfield inhaled sharply. “Language, Leclerc, language. Be so kind as to add six additional strokes to the punishment, Mr Fraser. Carry on!”

“Kind!” Claire thought, “Kind!” Thwack! “Eighteen!” She screamed. She screamed at each stroke now. “Twenty-nine!” One more, please let my bladder hold, one more. Thwack!!! “Thirty! Thirty! Thank you, sir!” She remained bent over, not daring to move until Miss Waterfield gave her permission.

“You may stand up, Miss Leclerc. I see you managed to control your bladder this time. Stand up, put your hands behind your head, shoulders back. You may contemplate your sins for thirty minutes.”

Claire straightened up, slowly, carefully, very painfully. Back straight, hands behind her head, she walked toward the wooden panelling. Atkins Minor, tears already streaming down her face, the tops of her perky little tits glistening with them, walked past her. “Serve you right, you stuck up little bitch. You and your, “I’m a good girl. I don’t do that kind of thing. It’s disgusting.” You’ll be licking us all tonight.

“One…” The girl sobbed. “One…Please sir, I’ve never been caned before, sir. Please?”

“Pull yourself together, girl!”

The girl sobbed, almost hysterical. “Please…Sir… One dozen, please, sir. For talking back to a prefect, sir.” More sobs. Claire studied the grain of the panelling in front of her nose. Hearing Miss Purity sob and beg almost made her own caning worthwhile. “Please don’t hurt me. Sir.”

“Stupid little bitch,” Claire thought, flexing her butt, trying to make the pain go away. “Of course, he is going to hurt you! That’s what he does. And he’s going to play with those puffy tits as well. And that old bitch Miss Waterfield will be getting off, watching you squirm and beg. I’ll bet you will be kneeling with your face between her legs soon.” Claire smiled as the first ‘thwack’ was followed by a scream, and a sobbed “One!”

“Scream,” Claire thought, the pain in her own bum starting to morph to a warm glow, “Scream, and lick her old cunt. It will be good practice for licking mine tonight.” Claire smiled in anticipation as the cane thwacked rhythmically against Atkins Minor’s tight ass. “There will be two sore bums in my bed tonight! And one very, very busy little tongue!”



Artwork by Julie and Melissa!

Another story I'm going to nick and put in a PDF of St Melanias

 

[theseus]

Another story I'm going to nick and put in a PDF of St Melanias

You are very welcome! After all, I couldn't do it without you.

 

[theseus]

Bed and Breakfast



“Come on in! Welcome to Dream House! Our house is your house. Thank you for booking with us. My name is Clara. Let me show you around.”

The guest was tall, in early middle age. He was well dressed. Clearly a prosperous man taking a short holiday on the coast. His eyes flicked up and down her body. Clara was aware that the sundress she was wearing was very light, and very short. She was also aware that her nipples were hardening, making little peaks in the soft fabric. She handed him the comprehensive manual her husband had compiled for their new B&B venture. It covered the house, the amenities and the attractions in the area, water sports being the main attraction. He flicked through the book. Toward the end of the book his eyebrows rose. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of Clara’s stomach. She and her husband had discussed this extensively, they had agreed on the wording, and she had agreed to the content, but now, somehow, it was very, very real. She glanced at the page. It would be under Appliances and Amenities. Everything listed, in alphabetic order.

Washer: Fully automatic. Step by step instructions are posted on the front of the appliance.

Wife: Feel free to use it in whatever way pleases you. As with all the appliances and amenities, be considerate of other guests and ensure that you leave it in a serviceable state.

Windsurfers: There are several to choose from…

He smiled at her. “You are the wife?” Clara nodded. “I have some, shall we say, unusual and particular tastes. You are aware of the wording? It implies that you agree with whatever I want. Is that so?” Clara nodded again. “Yes, Sir.”

He nodded, silently, then smiled at her. “I think I am going to enjoy my stay here. But first, I need a drink. You have whisky, a single malt?” She brought him a Highland Park, made some suggestions as to his dinner, and left him admiring the view over the bay.

Dinner over, served by Clara who had changed into a floor length dress for the occasion, the guest settled down with a glass of port. She waited, attentively. “Tell me,” He asked casually, gesturing at the manual, “the book mentions a playroom. For children?” She blushed. “Not quite, Sir. Do you wish to see it?”

He followed her, his glass in his hand, admiring the way her buttocks moved under the fine silk of her dress. It was clear that there was nothing other than skin under the dress. She opened the heavy, padded door of the playroom, turned on the lights, and stood aside for him to enter. Her nipples had hardened again. He gave her a meaningful look. He had noticed!

He took in the furnishings. Several well-padded benches, a couple of easy chairs, a spanking bench, pillory, and X-cross. The walls were decorated with an assortment of whips, chains, coils of rope. “Very comprehensive.” His eyebrows lifted again. “You play here?” She nodded, her face flaming. “With your husband?” She nodded again. “And others?” Her face was on fire! Her nipples stuck out like lighthouses! “Sometimes, Sir”

She went upstairs, showered, looked at herself in the mirror. He was a total stranger. Could she do this? Did she want to do this? She carefully lubed herself, walked naked to the bed. She heard him coming up the stairs.

She lay on her side, her back to the door. He said nothing as he entered, but she was aware he was studying her. She looked back at him. “My husband said you would probably prefer anal,” she said softly.

He nodded, unbuttoning his shirt. “You know, I think I might!”

 

[Madiosi]

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-ii-by-theseus.900/