theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
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Vignettes from the slave pits
- Thread starter theseus
- Start date
Naraku
Draconarius
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Impressive
The girl looked at me shyly, hopefully. She hoped that I would be her way out of a life of poverty and endless hard work and childbearing. She also knew, or thought she knew the price she would have to pay.
“Impressive!” I said to the village chief who was acting as a broker. “Very impressive!”
Indeed, she was. Her body was slim and strong, making her large no, huge tits even more impressive. I weighed each one in my hands. They were firm rubbery, quite delicious.
“Her parents have been offered two cows for her, as a bride price.” The chief said solemnly. I knew he was exaggerating, of course he was. This village was dirt poor. One cow was a fortune! A more likely price for her would be a couple of goats, a few yards of calico, and a few new fish hooks. Still, she would fetch perhaps forty or fifty thousand dollars at an auction in a good market like Cyprus.
I would keep her for a few months of training, and enjoy those firm mounds. Then I would put her on the market, and sell her on before they started to sag. I knew they would not retain their shape for more than a few years. After that? She would probably be sold again, probably to a brothel, the start of a long slide.
For now, she was truly impressive. An object to be enjoyed.
The girl looked at me shyly, hopefully. She hoped that I would be her way out of a life of poverty and endless hard work and childbearing. She also knew, or thought she knew the price she would have to pay.
“Impressive!” I said to the village chief who was acting as a broker. “Very impressive!”
Indeed, she was. Her body was slim and strong, making her large no, huge tits even more impressive. I weighed each one in my hands. They were firm rubbery, quite delicious.
“Her parents have been offered two cows for her, as a bride price.” The chief said solemnly. I knew he was exaggerating, of course he was. This village was dirt poor. One cow was a fortune! A more likely price for her would be a couple of goats, a few yards of calico, and a few new fish hooks. Still, she would fetch perhaps forty or fifty thousand dollars at an auction in a good market like Cyprus.
I would keep her for a few months of training, and enjoy those firm mounds. Then I would put her on the market, and sell her on before they started to sag. I knew they would not retain their shape for more than a few years. After that? She would probably be sold again, probably to a brothel, the start of a long slide.
For now, she was truly impressive. An object to be enjoyed.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Brenda’s Evolution
A month ago, Brenda would have been shocked at the thought of doing the housework in the nude. A month ago, Brenda had been a ‘normal’ fifty-something housewife, mother and grandmother. The discovery of her husband’s secret, perverted fantasies had changed all that!
At first it had seemed that she would, inevitably, join her ever growing circle of friends who were divorced. She had been shocked and disgusted at what she found on his computer. Desperate to discuss her predicament, she had turned to her children. Her son made it very clear that he was not interested in her problems. Her elder ‘born again’ daughter had delivered a little sermon about sex being only for procreation, and advised forgiveness and celibacy.
Her younger daughter, Shelly, the rebellious one who lived in a polyamorous family, and had fallen pregnant in her early teens, sat her down and talked for hours. She persuaded her mother that maturity and sexuality were not mutually exclusive, and that her father’s fantasies, although perhaps not totally acceptable to ‘normal’ society, were certainly not unique and were shared by many. For several days Brenda was in a quandary, while her husband slept on the couch in his study, and the atmosphere in the house was arctic, at best.
Brenda read, and explored the internet, and had several more long, and revealing, conversations with Shelly. She decided that she did not want a divorce. She wanted a vibrant and active sex life with a husband she loved. On the fifth day of the dispute, her husband, George, came home to find his wife, naked, kneeling at the front door, her hands handcuffed behind her back. The sign between her widely spread knees said, simply, “I am your slave.”
Many things had changed in the month that followed. Brenda was not allowed clothes when at home, not under any circumstances! That took some getting used to. At first, she had dreaded the sound of a knock on the door. Slowly, with some difficulty, she accepted that others, strangers, would see her naked. Now she was comfortable, more or less, going outside into the garden, to hang out laundry, put out the garbage, all the little tasks a wife, and a slave, had to do. There were compensations, of course. Their sex life had improved immeasurably! As a slave she was permanently available, available to be used in whatever way George wanted. He had made full use of his powers and privileges. She never knew when he would take her, or how. Just minutes ago, she had been on her hands and knees in the kitchen, cleaning up a spill. “Don’t stop,” he said, as he mounted her from behind. She tried her best, managing to finish her task before completely surrendering to his enthusiastic buggering.
Entertaining had been an ordeal! Their first guests had been Shelly’s poly family, Jacques and Bella. It helped that both Shelly and Bella stripped the moment they arrived. It was a strange, but erotic evening, with three nude women and two formally dressed men.
As she packed the dishwasher after the dinner of the previous evening, Brenda smiled happily. Their guests had been two couples, old friends from university days. There had been surprise, to put it mildly, when she answered the door, naked but for high heels and a broad leather dog collar. Over dinner, she and George had explained their new life. Maude, who had always been the very conservative one at university, and her husband Jim had asked many questions. As they left, Maude took her aside, “Can I call you? Perhaps come around? I need to know more.” There had been a bright, naughty twinkle in her eyes.
Brenda was looking forward to her day. It was going to be a busy one. She would have her body lasered, removing every unwanted hair, even in the most intimate places. Then she would have a final fitting of the custom-made collar and cuffs George had commissioned for her. She looked forward to the time when they would be locked around her throat, wrists and ankles. Permanently! The locks were concealed and once-only. Once locked, the titanium mesh lined leather could only be cut off with special tools. The climax of the day would be her appointment at the tattoo parlour. When she came home, there would be a barcode and the word SLAVE permanently etched on her body.
She smiled, happily. Life, especially sex life, really did begin at 50!
A month ago, Brenda would have been shocked at the thought of doing the housework in the nude. A month ago, Brenda had been a ‘normal’ fifty-something housewife, mother and grandmother. The discovery of her husband’s secret, perverted fantasies had changed all that!
At first it had seemed that she would, inevitably, join her ever growing circle of friends who were divorced. She had been shocked and disgusted at what she found on his computer. Desperate to discuss her predicament, she had turned to her children. Her son made it very clear that he was not interested in her problems. Her elder ‘born again’ daughter had delivered a little sermon about sex being only for procreation, and advised forgiveness and celibacy.
Her younger daughter, Shelly, the rebellious one who lived in a polyamorous family, and had fallen pregnant in her early teens, sat her down and talked for hours. She persuaded her mother that maturity and sexuality were not mutually exclusive, and that her father’s fantasies, although perhaps not totally acceptable to ‘normal’ society, were certainly not unique and were shared by many. For several days Brenda was in a quandary, while her husband slept on the couch in his study, and the atmosphere in the house was arctic, at best.
Brenda read, and explored the internet, and had several more long, and revealing, conversations with Shelly. She decided that she did not want a divorce. She wanted a vibrant and active sex life with a husband she loved. On the fifth day of the dispute, her husband, George, came home to find his wife, naked, kneeling at the front door, her hands handcuffed behind her back. The sign between her widely spread knees said, simply, “I am your slave.”
Many things had changed in the month that followed. Brenda was not allowed clothes when at home, not under any circumstances! That took some getting used to. At first, she had dreaded the sound of a knock on the door. Slowly, with some difficulty, she accepted that others, strangers, would see her naked. Now she was comfortable, more or less, going outside into the garden, to hang out laundry, put out the garbage, all the little tasks a wife, and a slave, had to do. There were compensations, of course. Their sex life had improved immeasurably! As a slave she was permanently available, available to be used in whatever way George wanted. He had made full use of his powers and privileges. She never knew when he would take her, or how. Just minutes ago, she had been on her hands and knees in the kitchen, cleaning up a spill. “Don’t stop,” he said, as he mounted her from behind. She tried her best, managing to finish her task before completely surrendering to his enthusiastic buggering.
Entertaining had been an ordeal! Their first guests had been Shelly’s poly family, Jacques and Bella. It helped that both Shelly and Bella stripped the moment they arrived. It was a strange, but erotic evening, with three nude women and two formally dressed men.
As she packed the dishwasher after the dinner of the previous evening, Brenda smiled happily. Their guests had been two couples, old friends from university days. There had been surprise, to put it mildly, when she answered the door, naked but for high heels and a broad leather dog collar. Over dinner, she and George had explained their new life. Maude, who had always been the very conservative one at university, and her husband Jim had asked many questions. As they left, Maude took her aside, “Can I call you? Perhaps come around? I need to know more.” There had been a bright, naughty twinkle in her eyes.
Brenda was looking forward to her day. It was going to be a busy one. She would have her body lasered, removing every unwanted hair, even in the most intimate places. Then she would have a final fitting of the custom-made collar and cuffs George had commissioned for her. She looked forward to the time when they would be locked around her throat, wrists and ankles. Permanently! The locks were concealed and once-only. Once locked, the titanium mesh lined leather could only be cut off with special tools. The climax of the day would be her appointment at the tattoo parlour. When she came home, there would be a barcode and the word SLAVE permanently etched on her body.
She smiled, happily. Life, especially sex life, really did begin at 50!
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Janina for sale.
Janina couldn’t bear to watch. That woman being so lewdly displayed to the bidders was her mother! Her mother! The chaste, modest Roman lady she had spent her whole life trying to emulate, displayed, naked, for sale to a group of the most notorious brothel owners in Rome. She wished she could close her ears to the patter of the auctioneer, to the obscene descriptions of how her mother could be used by the clients of whichever brothel she would be sold to. What made it worse was that Janina was next! The fate being described for her mother would equally be visited upon her own slim, virgin body.
She almost envied her father and brother, screaming away their lives on their crosses, together with the other plotters. Their suffering would soon be over. Two, perhaps three days of agony, then blissful oblivion. For Janina, her mother, Marcus and the other female relatives of the plotters, the suffering would last for many years, perhaps decades.
“How stupid do you have to be to plot against Demetrius?” The toothless old crone, herself a slave, who had prepared them for sale had mumbled, her voice scathing. “Plot against the Emperor, sure, get caught and you go into exile for a few years. Everybody plots against the Emperor! But Demetrius? That vindictive bastard has much more power than the Emperor. Nobody, nobody fucks with him!” The old woman sucked her teeth. “Now spread your cheeks, girl! Nobody wants to fuck a hairy arse. Let’s get those hairs plucked. You should have taken a lesson from your pretty friend there. No hair around his pretty arse. Young Apollo, indeed.”
Marcus! They had been friends since they were little. Closer than brother and sister. A year ago, he had modelled for a statue of a young Apollo. She had often gone to the temple, to worship, not Apollo, but the statue of the beautiful nude youth whom she worshipped in real life. They had spent the night in the dungeon in each other’s arms, naked, something she had dreamed of, but had known could never happen. They had managed to touch bound hands as they were forced to watch their fathers and her brother nailed to their crosses.
The old crone chortled merrily. “Don’t piss off that bastard Demetrius. You’re fucked, all of you. None of this nice matey patrician thing where one of your cousins buys you and you carry on living the life of a lady, like often happens. Not for you! Oh, no! Your stupid father pissed off the bastard Greek freedman. Guess what? You are in for a closed sale. Invited bidders only. The owners of the most perverted whorehouses in Rome! None of this ladylike lying on your back with your legs spread like ordinary whores, not for you! You are going to be special!”
Marcus had already been sold. The auctioneer’s description had turned her stomach. Surely nobody, not even that greasy Syrian, owner of the most notorious boy brothel in Piraeus, could allow his clients to do things like that to his slaves? It would be inhuman! “Marcus!” She wanted to scream! “Marcus! I love you!”
The hammer fell! She heard her mother sob as the swarthy, hook-nosed Syrian strode up to take possession of his new property.
The auctioneer took Janina by her arm, dragging her to her feet. “Show them what you’ve got, slut.” He hissed at her. “Feet apart! Hips forward! Let them see what they’re paying for. Tits out, such as they are.” In his auctioneer’s voice he called out. “Last, but not least, this delicious young patrician miss. A virgin! Can you believe it! A virgin! When last did you see one of those. Three ways a virgin! You’ll make a profit just selling first dibs at those tight, unused holes. Afterwards? Well, how good is your imagination? Bids came in, rapidly. “Sofi, I see you smiling. I’m sure you will enjoy her. Together with many, many others, of course. She would make a fine addition to your bitch pack. Three hundred, do I hear three hundred?”
“Turn her around! Let us see her arse! With a figure like hers my clients might enjoy her. Perhaps she and pretty boy here can do a double act?” Janina flushed with humiliation as she was turned around, bent over, her cheeks parted to give a good view of the desired orifice. At the same time, her heart raced. “Pretty boy. Marcus. Could they be together? What would a double act be?”
“Sold! Sold for four hundred and fifty! To our Syrian friend.”
She and Marcus would be together. A double act. At least she would have a friend.
Artwork by Julie&Melissa
Janina couldn’t bear to watch. That woman being so lewdly displayed to the bidders was her mother! Her mother! The chaste, modest Roman lady she had spent her whole life trying to emulate, displayed, naked, for sale to a group of the most notorious brothel owners in Rome. She wished she could close her ears to the patter of the auctioneer, to the obscene descriptions of how her mother could be used by the clients of whichever brothel she would be sold to. What made it worse was that Janina was next! The fate being described for her mother would equally be visited upon her own slim, virgin body.
She almost envied her father and brother, screaming away their lives on their crosses, together with the other plotters. Their suffering would soon be over. Two, perhaps three days of agony, then blissful oblivion. For Janina, her mother, Marcus and the other female relatives of the plotters, the suffering would last for many years, perhaps decades.
“How stupid do you have to be to plot against Demetrius?” The toothless old crone, herself a slave, who had prepared them for sale had mumbled, her voice scathing. “Plot against the Emperor, sure, get caught and you go into exile for a few years. Everybody plots against the Emperor! But Demetrius? That vindictive bastard has much more power than the Emperor. Nobody, nobody fucks with him!” The old woman sucked her teeth. “Now spread your cheeks, girl! Nobody wants to fuck a hairy arse. Let’s get those hairs plucked. You should have taken a lesson from your pretty friend there. No hair around his pretty arse. Young Apollo, indeed.”
Marcus! They had been friends since they were little. Closer than brother and sister. A year ago, he had modelled for a statue of a young Apollo. She had often gone to the temple, to worship, not Apollo, but the statue of the beautiful nude youth whom she worshipped in real life. They had spent the night in the dungeon in each other’s arms, naked, something she had dreamed of, but had known could never happen. They had managed to touch bound hands as they were forced to watch their fathers and her brother nailed to their crosses.
The old crone chortled merrily. “Don’t piss off that bastard Demetrius. You’re fucked, all of you. None of this nice matey patrician thing where one of your cousins buys you and you carry on living the life of a lady, like often happens. Not for you! Oh, no! Your stupid father pissed off the bastard Greek freedman. Guess what? You are in for a closed sale. Invited bidders only. The owners of the most perverted whorehouses in Rome! None of this ladylike lying on your back with your legs spread like ordinary whores, not for you! You are going to be special!”
Marcus had already been sold. The auctioneer’s description had turned her stomach. Surely nobody, not even that greasy Syrian, owner of the most notorious boy brothel in Piraeus, could allow his clients to do things like that to his slaves? It would be inhuman! “Marcus!” She wanted to scream! “Marcus! I love you!”
The hammer fell! She heard her mother sob as the swarthy, hook-nosed Syrian strode up to take possession of his new property.
The auctioneer took Janina by her arm, dragging her to her feet. “Show them what you’ve got, slut.” He hissed at her. “Feet apart! Hips forward! Let them see what they’re paying for. Tits out, such as they are.” In his auctioneer’s voice he called out. “Last, but not least, this delicious young patrician miss. A virgin! Can you believe it! A virgin! When last did you see one of those. Three ways a virgin! You’ll make a profit just selling first dibs at those tight, unused holes. Afterwards? Well, how good is your imagination? Bids came in, rapidly. “Sofi, I see you smiling. I’m sure you will enjoy her. Together with many, many others, of course. She would make a fine addition to your bitch pack. Three hundred, do I hear three hundred?”
“Turn her around! Let us see her arse! With a figure like hers my clients might enjoy her. Perhaps she and pretty boy here can do a double act?” Janina flushed with humiliation as she was turned around, bent over, her cheeks parted to give a good view of the desired orifice. At the same time, her heart raced. “Pretty boy. Marcus. Could they be together? What would a double act be?”
“Sold! Sold for four hundred and fifty! To our Syrian friend.”
She and Marcus would be together. A double act. At least she would have a friend.
Artwork by Julie&Melissa
T
The Fallen Angel
Guest
Thanks theseus.....excellent story as usual!
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Thank you.
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
Yes totally awesome as always, SIr. At the risk of repeating myself, the variety of scenarios and your unique twists never fails to intrigue. Sorry if been missing for the last couple, I’m sure my “watch” robot failed me again!
Thank you!
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
No Worries. I have missed our chats, though.
Kav
Tribune
Love small tits
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
I’m Yours
It was one of the most exciting evenings of Lara’s life! She had always been body shy, ashamed of the plump cushion at her waist, her rather large bum, thick thighs and comparatively small breasts. The auction sounded exciting, but the thought of being displayed, naked, to prospective buyers was daunting, to say the least. She hummed and hawed for weeks before making her decision. Once she had decided to expose herself to the possible ridicule of others, she came to the conclusion that it had to be all or nothing. When she filled and signed the agreement binding her to serve as a slave to whomever bought her for a total of nine days, she ticked the box that said, “No Limits”.
She almost lost her nerve on the evening of the auction. The preparation room was full. There would be twenty slaves auctioned that evening. All but four were women. Three of the men, all of whom were already naked, wore tight steel cock cages, the fourth sported a very, very impressive erection, one he managed to sustain throughout the evening. Most of the women were young, and very attractive. She thought that even the older women had better bodies than hers. After all, that was what it was all about, selling her body. Each prospective slave was collared, and his or her lot number written on the belly, just above the pubic area. All of them were completely smooth below the neck.
The slaves to be were displayed for pre-sale inspection for two hours. Prospective buyers and window shoppers made full use of the opportunity to minutely examine, fondle, and generally handle the merchandise. Before too long someone, a rather paunchy, bald man, inserted first one, then two fingers into her, without so much as a word to her. His comments to his companion made her blush deeply. “Tight enough. Probably struggles to find someone who will fuck it. Luckily, they don’t sell them by the pound; it would be the most expensive one here.” He wiped his sticky fingers on her cheek and moved on to inspect a slim, almost emaciated brunette with huge tits. Hands squeezed her tits, pinched her bum. Many fingers penetrated her sex; more than one testing her anus in the same way. She was mortified, disgusted, but her dripping snatch betrayed her excitement at the humiliating treatment.
The auctioneer was equally forthright in his description of her. “Lot seventeen is a, shall we say, generously built ginger. Relatively inexperienced, but in all likelihood desperate for a good, regular fuck. It is sold without reserve, and without limits, other than the normal prohibitions on commercial use and inflicting permanent physical damage. Now! What am I bid?”
There was silence. Deafening silence!
Lara wished she could sink into the floor. Nobody wanted her!
The auctioneer started his patter. “Come on, Ladies and Gentlemen, come on! Granted she’s a bit plump, but her cunt is tighter than most, and her arse, well, many of you have tested it. As for her mouth, look at those lips! Do I hear ten? Five? Five?” His voice raised an octave, “Five? Well, it’s a start, now give me ten! Ten! Ten for a tight cunt and arse! Twenty! Good, you’re starting to wake up.” The bidding gained momentum, helped by the auctioneer’s inventive suggestions of the uses that could be made of her body.
“Two hundred! At last, you are starting to appreciate her quality!” Lara felt better. The scrawny brunette with the big tits had gone for two fifty. She was feeling better about herself, starting to play to the crowd, blowing kisses, sucking her fingers, spreading her lower lips so that they could see inside. “Two twenty! Turn around, girl, bend over.” The last sotto voce. “Look at this glorious bum! Imagine that marked with the cane! CaneMaster! How many could you lay on there without an overlap? Twenty five? Thirty?” The gentleman in question came up, examined the generous expanse of buttock. He stroked his beard. “If she stood still, or was suitably restrained, I daresay I could fit in a full three dozen. I like a challenge. Two fifty!”
The hammer fell at three seventy five! Lara was ecstatic! That was better than most had fetched. Her smile widened when she saw her new ‘owner’ stride up to pay for his new toy. He was formally dressed, handsome, in his fifties. She handed him her leash, smiling. “I’m yours now.” She followed him, happily, proud to be owned, proud of the price he had paid for her body. Then, for the first time, she noticed the coiled, braided leather whip tucked into his belt.
“Are you going to hurt me? With that?” Her voice quavered.
He smiled at her, a nice, warm smile. “Do you enjoy pain?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No! I’ve never been hurt. Do you enjoy hurting girls?”
Another warm smile. He was so handsome. “Sometimes. If they want it? Do you want it? To try?”
He owned her. He could do anything he liked to her. It was in the contract. She had signed it.
“I don’t know,” she said, softly. Her eyes met his. She smiled.
“Perhaps!”
It was one of the most exciting evenings of Lara’s life! She had always been body shy, ashamed of the plump cushion at her waist, her rather large bum, thick thighs and comparatively small breasts. The auction sounded exciting, but the thought of being displayed, naked, to prospective buyers was daunting, to say the least. She hummed and hawed for weeks before making her decision. Once she had decided to expose herself to the possible ridicule of others, she came to the conclusion that it had to be all or nothing. When she filled and signed the agreement binding her to serve as a slave to whomever bought her for a total of nine days, she ticked the box that said, “No Limits”.
She almost lost her nerve on the evening of the auction. The preparation room was full. There would be twenty slaves auctioned that evening. All but four were women. Three of the men, all of whom were already naked, wore tight steel cock cages, the fourth sported a very, very impressive erection, one he managed to sustain throughout the evening. Most of the women were young, and very attractive. She thought that even the older women had better bodies than hers. After all, that was what it was all about, selling her body. Each prospective slave was collared, and his or her lot number written on the belly, just above the pubic area. All of them were completely smooth below the neck.
The slaves to be were displayed for pre-sale inspection for two hours. Prospective buyers and window shoppers made full use of the opportunity to minutely examine, fondle, and generally handle the merchandise. Before too long someone, a rather paunchy, bald man, inserted first one, then two fingers into her, without so much as a word to her. His comments to his companion made her blush deeply. “Tight enough. Probably struggles to find someone who will fuck it. Luckily, they don’t sell them by the pound; it would be the most expensive one here.” He wiped his sticky fingers on her cheek and moved on to inspect a slim, almost emaciated brunette with huge tits. Hands squeezed her tits, pinched her bum. Many fingers penetrated her sex; more than one testing her anus in the same way. She was mortified, disgusted, but her dripping snatch betrayed her excitement at the humiliating treatment.
The auctioneer was equally forthright in his description of her. “Lot seventeen is a, shall we say, generously built ginger. Relatively inexperienced, but in all likelihood desperate for a good, regular fuck. It is sold without reserve, and without limits, other than the normal prohibitions on commercial use and inflicting permanent physical damage. Now! What am I bid?”
There was silence. Deafening silence!
Lara wished she could sink into the floor. Nobody wanted her!
The auctioneer started his patter. “Come on, Ladies and Gentlemen, come on! Granted she’s a bit plump, but her cunt is tighter than most, and her arse, well, many of you have tested it. As for her mouth, look at those lips! Do I hear ten? Five? Five?” His voice raised an octave, “Five? Well, it’s a start, now give me ten! Ten! Ten for a tight cunt and arse! Twenty! Good, you’re starting to wake up.” The bidding gained momentum, helped by the auctioneer’s inventive suggestions of the uses that could be made of her body.
“Two hundred! At last, you are starting to appreciate her quality!” Lara felt better. The scrawny brunette with the big tits had gone for two fifty. She was feeling better about herself, starting to play to the crowd, blowing kisses, sucking her fingers, spreading her lower lips so that they could see inside. “Two twenty! Turn around, girl, bend over.” The last sotto voce. “Look at this glorious bum! Imagine that marked with the cane! CaneMaster! How many could you lay on there without an overlap? Twenty five? Thirty?” The gentleman in question came up, examined the generous expanse of buttock. He stroked his beard. “If she stood still, or was suitably restrained, I daresay I could fit in a full three dozen. I like a challenge. Two fifty!”
The hammer fell at three seventy five! Lara was ecstatic! That was better than most had fetched. Her smile widened when she saw her new ‘owner’ stride up to pay for his new toy. He was formally dressed, handsome, in his fifties. She handed him her leash, smiling. “I’m yours now.” She followed him, happily, proud to be owned, proud of the price he had paid for her body. Then, for the first time, she noticed the coiled, braided leather whip tucked into his belt.
“Are you going to hurt me? With that?” Her voice quavered.
He smiled at her, a nice, warm smile. “Do you enjoy pain?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No! I’ve never been hurt. Do you enjoy hurting girls?”
Another warm smile. He was so handsome. “Sometimes. If they want it? Do you want it? To try?”
He owned her. He could do anything he liked to her. It was in the contract. She had signed it.
“I don’t know,” she said, softly. Her eyes met his. She smiled.
“Perhaps!”
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
The guys will be here soon!
Heidi and her boyfriend were young, energetic and adventurous. They were curious about so many things, with sex at the top of the list. They tried pretty much everything, becoming more and more adventurous. Heidi, who had started off being very hesitant and body shy, became bolder, starting to enjoy the attention she attracted at parties by wearing scanty, suggestive clothing and by provocative behaviour.
Then they discovered BDSM! It started with seeing Fifty Shades of Grey on TV. Heidi, ever inquisitive, started reading up about it. They found some websites. Initially they were appalled by what they saw. Slowly, however, they started experimenting. They tried mild bondage, Heidi having her hands tied with a scarf. The orgasm she had while restrained was amazing! So intense!
They bought a few toys. Nothing radical, just some cuffs, a light flogger, a pair of nipple clamps for Heidi. Feeling very bold, they went to a party with her wearing a short, almost transparent shift, collar, cuffs, and nothing else!
She loved the attention! Somehow, people seemed to think that because she was wearing a collar, she was available to be touched, fondled, objectified. She loved it! A man she had never met cupped her breasts in his hands, suggesting to Dave that such pretty, firm tits really needed a few needles stuck into them. A girl, Heidi’s age, skilfully clipped her cuffs together behind her back, then proceeded to kiss her deeply, her tongue roaming inside Heidi’s mouth like a small, warm, exploring animal. Heidi’s initial shock and disgust soon turned into passion, especially when the girl dropped to her knees, and lifting the hem of the shift, ran her tongue through a very, very wet slit!
That night, at home, Heidi was like an animal! She wanted everything! Anything! Dave had kept her hands locked in her cuffs, behind her back. The frustration of this restriction added intensity to her passion and frustration, and, finally, to her series of shuddering, noisy orgasms!
A week later they were playing at home. Dave had locked her into a hogtie, one that allowed her to kneel. He was teasing her, her desperation rising. She needed to be fucked! “Please, Dave! I need a cock inside me! Anywhere you like! Please!”
He loved the way she knelt, her shoulders pulled back, her firm little tits thrust forward, nipples hard, her juices glistening on her lower lips. “Please, Dave! Fuck me!”
He knee-walked across the bed, his rigid cock almost touching her as she shuffled forward, desperate! “Patience, sweetheart, patience!” His voice was mocking. She was moaning in her need.
“The guys will be here soon! Be patient, my love!” Her eyes widened. “Guys? What guys?” The pleading look on her face had changed to one of surprise, even alarm. “What guys?”
He kissed her nipples as she squirmed in her bonds. “Just three or four guys from the party last week…” Her eyes were wide. “Dave! What the fuck?” There was the sound of a car outside, then a motorcycle. “Fuck?” He said, “that’s what you want, isn’t it? Oh! And I invited that cute little chick who licked your pussy, too.”
Heidi squirmed, trying to free herself, in vain. Three or four guys, and that girl? She smiled at her man.
“Hmmm. You have the best ideas! The very best!”
Heidi and her boyfriend were young, energetic and adventurous. They were curious about so many things, with sex at the top of the list. They tried pretty much everything, becoming more and more adventurous. Heidi, who had started off being very hesitant and body shy, became bolder, starting to enjoy the attention she attracted at parties by wearing scanty, suggestive clothing and by provocative behaviour.
Then they discovered BDSM! It started with seeing Fifty Shades of Grey on TV. Heidi, ever inquisitive, started reading up about it. They found some websites. Initially they were appalled by what they saw. Slowly, however, they started experimenting. They tried mild bondage, Heidi having her hands tied with a scarf. The orgasm she had while restrained was amazing! So intense!
They bought a few toys. Nothing radical, just some cuffs, a light flogger, a pair of nipple clamps for Heidi. Feeling very bold, they went to a party with her wearing a short, almost transparent shift, collar, cuffs, and nothing else!
She loved the attention! Somehow, people seemed to think that because she was wearing a collar, she was available to be touched, fondled, objectified. She loved it! A man she had never met cupped her breasts in his hands, suggesting to Dave that such pretty, firm tits really needed a few needles stuck into them. A girl, Heidi’s age, skilfully clipped her cuffs together behind her back, then proceeded to kiss her deeply, her tongue roaming inside Heidi’s mouth like a small, warm, exploring animal. Heidi’s initial shock and disgust soon turned into passion, especially when the girl dropped to her knees, and lifting the hem of the shift, ran her tongue through a very, very wet slit!
That night, at home, Heidi was like an animal! She wanted everything! Anything! Dave had kept her hands locked in her cuffs, behind her back. The frustration of this restriction added intensity to her passion and frustration, and, finally, to her series of shuddering, noisy orgasms!
A week later they were playing at home. Dave had locked her into a hogtie, one that allowed her to kneel. He was teasing her, her desperation rising. She needed to be fucked! “Please, Dave! I need a cock inside me! Anywhere you like! Please!”
He loved the way she knelt, her shoulders pulled back, her firm little tits thrust forward, nipples hard, her juices glistening on her lower lips. “Please, Dave! Fuck me!”
He knee-walked across the bed, his rigid cock almost touching her as she shuffled forward, desperate! “Patience, sweetheart, patience!” His voice was mocking. She was moaning in her need.
“The guys will be here soon! Be patient, my love!” Her eyes widened. “Guys? What guys?” The pleading look on her face had changed to one of surprise, even alarm. “What guys?”
He kissed her nipples as she squirmed in her bonds. “Just three or four guys from the party last week…” Her eyes were wide. “Dave! What the fuck?” There was the sound of a car outside, then a motorcycle. “Fuck?” He said, “that’s what you want, isn’t it? Oh! And I invited that cute little chick who licked your pussy, too.”
Heidi squirmed, trying to free herself, in vain. Three or four guys, and that girl? She smiled at her man.
“Hmmm. You have the best ideas! The very best!”
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Home Comforts
My wife was starting to accept her new status in the house finally. Admittedly, her expression was still sulky as she laid the table for dinner, that expression would earn her a few hours of clamped nipples, but in general she was starting to accept her lot.
We were having a quiet dinner with friends, just my girlfriend and two other couples. My wife, she used to be known as Grace, but now answered, sometimes reluctantly, to her new name of HotCunt, would serve us and then provide the after dinner entertainment.
It had not been easy for her, at first. Although she had agreed to becoming my slave, she had baulked at some things, requiring stern correction and discipline. For the first weeks her hide was permanently marked by the whip and the paddle, but the final submission had come as a result of a very noisy rebellion. The screaming match had ended with her lying on her belly, in a tight hogtie, on a table liberally strewn with thumbtacks. A thick piece of ginger root, suitably carved, filled her anus and kept her squirming, howling into the penis gag, for five hours. After that, she required only an occasional lick of the whip to keep her compliant.
I had to admit that there was some justification for her pout. Having to serve my girlfriend, who was half her age, and knowing that she would be well used after dinner was a difficult challenge for her. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that one of our female guests was the tattoo artist who would be tattooing the barcode and her slave name onto her mound, right there, on the coffee table? Or perhaps, again, it was the thought that she would be sleeping on the floor at the foot of what had so recently been her bed, while my girlfriend occupied the bed.
I raised my eyebrows at her. The pout changed to a grin. “I think I might enjoy this, after all. Am I getting my reward?”
I nodded smiling. “The trainer says he is almost ready. Then you’ll have to get another tattoo.”
My wife was starting to accept her new status in the house finally. Admittedly, her expression was still sulky as she laid the table for dinner, that expression would earn her a few hours of clamped nipples, but in general she was starting to accept her lot.
We were having a quiet dinner with friends, just my girlfriend and two other couples. My wife, she used to be known as Grace, but now answered, sometimes reluctantly, to her new name of HotCunt, would serve us and then provide the after dinner entertainment.
It had not been easy for her, at first. Although she had agreed to becoming my slave, she had baulked at some things, requiring stern correction and discipline. For the first weeks her hide was permanently marked by the whip and the paddle, but the final submission had come as a result of a very noisy rebellion. The screaming match had ended with her lying on her belly, in a tight hogtie, on a table liberally strewn with thumbtacks. A thick piece of ginger root, suitably carved, filled her anus and kept her squirming, howling into the penis gag, for five hours. After that, she required only an occasional lick of the whip to keep her compliant.
I had to admit that there was some justification for her pout. Having to serve my girlfriend, who was half her age, and knowing that she would be well used after dinner was a difficult challenge for her. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that one of our female guests was the tattoo artist who would be tattooing the barcode and her slave name onto her mound, right there, on the coffee table? Or perhaps, again, it was the thought that she would be sleeping on the floor at the foot of what had so recently been her bed, while my girlfriend occupied the bed.
I raised my eyebrows at her. The pout changed to a grin. “I think I might enjoy this, after all. Am I getting my reward?”
I nodded smiling. “The trainer says he is almost ready. Then you’ll have to get another tattoo.”
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
How many more?
“How many more?”
Susan had long ago lost track of the number of men who had used her. One cock had followed another, with hardly a break for her to catch her breath. Her present occupant was like a steam hammer, driving in and out of her arse with a remorseless rhythm!
Not that she was complaining! Anything but! It was just, well, she was getting sore, and her insides felt bruised and battered. It had been her idea, after all!
“T, at the next party, can I be anybody’s? Put up a sign. Something like ‘Free fuckholes! Use hard and often!’”
She had almost lost her nerve when they arrived at the party. It was a well attended event. She knew most of the people, knew that they would take up the offer of her body with alacrity. She had stood quietly as I stripped her, standing next to the large bed that had become the centrepiece of the lounge. “Here she is, ladies and gentlemen! Susan has expressed the wish that she be fucked, in all holes and all ways, by any and all of you. She will remain available until there have been no takers for fifteen minutes, or until breakfast tomorrow. Enjoy!”
The piston in her bowels shuddered, squirted, filled her once more. Her stomach cramped. She was suddenly empty. She opened her eyes, looking back over her shoulder for the next taker.
“Fuck! No!” She grunted. Her younger sister, Laura, smiled wickedly at her. Sticking out from her naked body was the longest, thickest strap-on Susan had ever seen. For a few long moments Laura stood there, gently stroking the impressive implement. She moved into position.
Susan took a deep, shuddering breath.
Laura smiled at the watchers. “Brace yourself, sis!” Then she thrust home, with all the force of her fit young body!
“Enjoy!”
“How many more?”
Susan had long ago lost track of the number of men who had used her. One cock had followed another, with hardly a break for her to catch her breath. Her present occupant was like a steam hammer, driving in and out of her arse with a remorseless rhythm!
Not that she was complaining! Anything but! It was just, well, she was getting sore, and her insides felt bruised and battered. It had been her idea, after all!
“T, at the next party, can I be anybody’s? Put up a sign. Something like ‘Free fuckholes! Use hard and often!’”
She had almost lost her nerve when they arrived at the party. It was a well attended event. She knew most of the people, knew that they would take up the offer of her body with alacrity. She had stood quietly as I stripped her, standing next to the large bed that had become the centrepiece of the lounge. “Here she is, ladies and gentlemen! Susan has expressed the wish that she be fucked, in all holes and all ways, by any and all of you. She will remain available until there have been no takers for fifteen minutes, or until breakfast tomorrow. Enjoy!”
The piston in her bowels shuddered, squirted, filled her once more. Her stomach cramped. She was suddenly empty. She opened her eyes, looking back over her shoulder for the next taker.
“Fuck! No!” She grunted. Her younger sister, Laura, smiled wickedly at her. Sticking out from her naked body was the longest, thickest strap-on Susan had ever seen. For a few long moments Laura stood there, gently stroking the impressive implement. She moved into position.
Susan took a deep, shuddering breath.
Laura smiled at the watchers. “Brace yourself, sis!” Then she thrust home, with all the force of her fit young body!
“Enjoy!”
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Candelabra
Amy hated candlelit dinners! She hated them with a passion!
Sadly, her Master was very fond of such romantic meals, especially when wooing a new lady. Tonight was no different. The table glittered with crystal glasses and brightly polished silver cutlery, lit by the light of the four candelabra placed around the table. The smells coming from the kitchen had Amy’s stomach growling with hunger. She would have to wait until after dinner to put her nose into her bowl of tasteless slave slop. She stared up at the crutch of the butler’s trousers as he lit the candles.
“How long before the first wax runs down in to asshole or my cunt?” Amy tried to keep as still as possible. If she moved, the molten wax would spill and run down the side of the candle. If she stayed still enough, she might be lucky and it would congeal on the shaft of the candle. Eventually, of course, as the candle burned down, the wax would pour down caking cunt and ass in hot wax.
“Fuck!!” It was Bella’s first time being a candlestick, and she hadn’t learned about keeping still. The Master was just leading his new lady into the dining room. “You won’t sit for a week, slut.” The butler growled out of the corner of his mouth as he bowed low.
They get younger and younger, Amy thought, analysing her upside-down view of the guest. Blonde, slim, almost ethereal, Amy smiled inwardly, how long before she is where I am.
Dinner was slow, seductive. The food smelled incredible! Amy was always hungry; all the slaves were. The Master liked his slaves slender. The slave slop was nutritious, but tasted like shit! The fucking candles were burning down. Her cunt was full of wax now, a glacier of wax slowly joining the two piles in asshole and cunt. “Well, at least there will be no stray hairs down there.” Amy was always the optimist.
Dessert, done. Liqueurs, done. “Go on! Take her to bed and fuck her brains out! This fucking candle is getting hotter as it gets shorter. Get on with it!”
The girl gave Amy a disdainful look as she glided past. “Just you wait, bitch, just you wait. Sooner than you know I’ll be shoving a candle in your cunt. We’ll see you smile then!”
Amy hated candlelit dinners! She hated them with a passion!
Sadly, her Master was very fond of such romantic meals, especially when wooing a new lady. Tonight was no different. The table glittered with crystal glasses and brightly polished silver cutlery, lit by the light of the four candelabra placed around the table. The smells coming from the kitchen had Amy’s stomach growling with hunger. She would have to wait until after dinner to put her nose into her bowl of tasteless slave slop. She stared up at the crutch of the butler’s trousers as he lit the candles.
“How long before the first wax runs down in to asshole or my cunt?” Amy tried to keep as still as possible. If she moved, the molten wax would spill and run down the side of the candle. If she stayed still enough, she might be lucky and it would congeal on the shaft of the candle. Eventually, of course, as the candle burned down, the wax would pour down caking cunt and ass in hot wax.
“Fuck!!” It was Bella’s first time being a candlestick, and she hadn’t learned about keeping still. The Master was just leading his new lady into the dining room. “You won’t sit for a week, slut.” The butler growled out of the corner of his mouth as he bowed low.
They get younger and younger, Amy thought, analysing her upside-down view of the guest. Blonde, slim, almost ethereal, Amy smiled inwardly, how long before she is where I am.
Dinner was slow, seductive. The food smelled incredible! Amy was always hungry; all the slaves were. The Master liked his slaves slender. The slave slop was nutritious, but tasted like shit! The fucking candles were burning down. Her cunt was full of wax now, a glacier of wax slowly joining the two piles in asshole and cunt. “Well, at least there will be no stray hairs down there.” Amy was always the optimist.
Dessert, done. Liqueurs, done. “Go on! Take her to bed and fuck her brains out! This fucking candle is getting hotter as it gets shorter. Get on with it!”
The girl gave Amy a disdainful look as she glided past. “Just you wait, bitch, just you wait. Sooner than you know I’ll be shoving a candle in your cunt. We’ll see you smile then!”
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Alice’s desperate night.
The market was deserted at this time of night, silent, but for the squeaking of rats and the swish of the wings of the owl that hunted them. The stone floor was cold, and hard. Alice’s stomach growled, adding a new sound to the silence of the night. She was hungry.
Her master had emptied the few coins from the jar when he left. There weren’t many, times were hard, and the services of a slave girl, even one as willing and winsome as Alice, were a luxury few could afford. “Something to eat, master?” She had begged, as she realised that he was going to leave her there for the night. “I’ve had nothing solid all day, master, nothing except for a few mouthfuls of…”
He shook his head, sadly. He was not a cruel master. “My children are hungry. Business has been bad, and you have earned little today.” He showed her the few coins he had taken from the jar. “I will leave you here tonight. Perhaps some soldiers from the palace will come by, after the taverns close. They may want some relief, and might even have a coin or two to spare, if you do your duty with enthusiasm and diligence.”
There was a sigh of wings, a startled scream as talons gripped a careless rat! The owl would eat. Alice was jealous. She would happily eat a rat; she was so hungry. Somewhere, in the distance, she heard singing, revellers returning home. “Come this way! I’ll give you a good time!” Her voice echoed from the arches and domes of the market. The singing faded.
Alice stretched out on the cold floor. Times were hard, she was hungry. Perhaps, perhaps, tomorrow, someone would want her, someone would drop a few coins in the jar. Perhaps, tomorrow, she might have something solid to eat. Perhaps?”
Times were hard. Alice was hungry.
Image by Julie & Melissa
The market was deserted at this time of night, silent, but for the squeaking of rats and the swish of the wings of the owl that hunted them. The stone floor was cold, and hard. Alice’s stomach growled, adding a new sound to the silence of the night. She was hungry.
Her master had emptied the few coins from the jar when he left. There weren’t many, times were hard, and the services of a slave girl, even one as willing and winsome as Alice, were a luxury few could afford. “Something to eat, master?” She had begged, as she realised that he was going to leave her there for the night. “I’ve had nothing solid all day, master, nothing except for a few mouthfuls of…”
He shook his head, sadly. He was not a cruel master. “My children are hungry. Business has been bad, and you have earned little today.” He showed her the few coins he had taken from the jar. “I will leave you here tonight. Perhaps some soldiers from the palace will come by, after the taverns close. They may want some relief, and might even have a coin or two to spare, if you do your duty with enthusiasm and diligence.”
There was a sigh of wings, a startled scream as talons gripped a careless rat! The owl would eat. Alice was jealous. She would happily eat a rat; she was so hungry. Somewhere, in the distance, she heard singing, revellers returning home. “Come this way! I’ll give you a good time!” Her voice echoed from the arches and domes of the market. The singing faded.
Alice stretched out on the cold floor. Times were hard, she was hungry. Perhaps, perhaps, tomorrow, someone would want her, someone would drop a few coins in the jar. Perhaps, tomorrow, she might have something solid to eat. Perhaps?”
Times were hard. Alice was hungry.
Image by Julie & Melissa
T
The Fallen Angel
Guest
Another great little tale. I hope our members are more generous with this site before we are out on the streets.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Tinykini.
“Good god, Lorna, what are you wearing?
The guests for my birthday barbecue were starting to arrive, and my eldest daughter was strolling casually to the pool.
“My smallest bikini, dad, just like you told me to.”
“There are small bikinis, and tiny bikinis, but this is…” She smiled, “I think the word you’re looking for is miniscule, dad. Don’t you like it? I was chatting to the vicar, and he wasn’t complaining, although he did seem to be sweating a lot. And stammering.” I could just imagine. I was amazed he hadn’t had a heart attack. Lorna was my eldest, the crazily bright one, the one who was about to graduate with a Ph.D. at twenty five. “If you mother sees you like this, she’ll have a stroke!” She laughed, “Why dad, it covers all the essential bits. In any case, mom isn’t having a stroke, she’s in my room, trying on my spares, all bigger than this, I must say, if not by much, to see which one she looks best in.”
Moira was well past forty, but she still had a stunning, athletic body. She would most certainly turn heads if she appeared in one of Lorna’s ‘spares’, and she was crazy enough to do it. I had visions of a rash of medical emergencies if she and Lorna were seen together.
My eyes were drawn, inexorably, to the tiny scrap of fabric covering, more like highlighting, the slit between her thighs. She smiled broadly. “Like what you see, dad? Granny said you would.” A light bulb popped in my head. “Granny! My mother! She put you up to this?” My eyes dropped again, to that tiny scrap of cloth.
“She gave it to me, dad. She said this could be the first part of your birthday present.” She looked over my shoulder. “Oh! Wow! Mom! You look spectacular!” I swallowed convulsively! Moira looked incredible! When did she get herself so smooth? How had I not noticed? Oh shit, the guests! The vicar! Her bikini was larger than Lorna’s, at least three times the size. I doubted if it would cover the palm of my hand. Her smile made me stand to attention. My eyes swivelled from the blue scrap of fabric to the emerald green scrap in the same location. “Down boy.” My wife smiled. “Later.”
“Ah! There’s the birthday boy! Happy fiftieth, boy!” My mother hugged me tightly, kissing me on the lips as she had done, to my embarrassment, since I was a boy. She beamed at her daughter in law and granddaughter. “Have you told him yet?” The bank manager and his wife strolled up to wish me. He swallowed convulsively at the sight of Moira and Lorna, but managed to control himself. My mother was one of his best clients. He bowed over her hand. “Mrs Miller. So good to see you in a more relaxed atmosphere. “You know my wife?” The lady in question gave my mother a basilisk look; her mouth a thin line of disapproval. She tugged at her husband’s arm and they moved off. Her voice was sharp as they went, the only words I heard clearly being “shameless hussies, both of them.”
My mother laughed. “That has just made my day. Now, you two, have you told him?” Wife and daughter shook their heads. “Well! Don’t just stand there?” Moira and Lorna simply looked at each other, sharing a smile. Mother huffed! “These bathing suits are the first part of your birthday present, boy. The second part…” She looked pointedly at the other two.
“Is us. Both of us. Together!” Wife and daughter chorused.
“Unless, of course, you go all prudish on us, and would prefer a polka dot tie instead,” my daughter said, impishly.
“Just this once,” I said, taking in the two scantily clad women, “I will forego the tie.”
“Good god, Lorna, what are you wearing?
The guests for my birthday barbecue were starting to arrive, and my eldest daughter was strolling casually to the pool.
“My smallest bikini, dad, just like you told me to.”
“There are small bikinis, and tiny bikinis, but this is…” She smiled, “I think the word you’re looking for is miniscule, dad. Don’t you like it? I was chatting to the vicar, and he wasn’t complaining, although he did seem to be sweating a lot. And stammering.” I could just imagine. I was amazed he hadn’t had a heart attack. Lorna was my eldest, the crazily bright one, the one who was about to graduate with a Ph.D. at twenty five. “If you mother sees you like this, she’ll have a stroke!” She laughed, “Why dad, it covers all the essential bits. In any case, mom isn’t having a stroke, she’s in my room, trying on my spares, all bigger than this, I must say, if not by much, to see which one she looks best in.”
Moira was well past forty, but she still had a stunning, athletic body. She would most certainly turn heads if she appeared in one of Lorna’s ‘spares’, and she was crazy enough to do it. I had visions of a rash of medical emergencies if she and Lorna were seen together.
My eyes were drawn, inexorably, to the tiny scrap of fabric covering, more like highlighting, the slit between her thighs. She smiled broadly. “Like what you see, dad? Granny said you would.” A light bulb popped in my head. “Granny! My mother! She put you up to this?” My eyes dropped again, to that tiny scrap of cloth.
“She gave it to me, dad. She said this could be the first part of your birthday present.” She looked over my shoulder. “Oh! Wow! Mom! You look spectacular!” I swallowed convulsively! Moira looked incredible! When did she get herself so smooth? How had I not noticed? Oh shit, the guests! The vicar! Her bikini was larger than Lorna’s, at least three times the size. I doubted if it would cover the palm of my hand. Her smile made me stand to attention. My eyes swivelled from the blue scrap of fabric to the emerald green scrap in the same location. “Down boy.” My wife smiled. “Later.”
“Ah! There’s the birthday boy! Happy fiftieth, boy!” My mother hugged me tightly, kissing me on the lips as she had done, to my embarrassment, since I was a boy. She beamed at her daughter in law and granddaughter. “Have you told him yet?” The bank manager and his wife strolled up to wish me. He swallowed convulsively at the sight of Moira and Lorna, but managed to control himself. My mother was one of his best clients. He bowed over her hand. “Mrs Miller. So good to see you in a more relaxed atmosphere. “You know my wife?” The lady in question gave my mother a basilisk look; her mouth a thin line of disapproval. She tugged at her husband’s arm and they moved off. Her voice was sharp as they went, the only words I heard clearly being “shameless hussies, both of them.”
My mother laughed. “That has just made my day. Now, you two, have you told him?” Wife and daughter shook their heads. “Well! Don’t just stand there?” Moira and Lorna simply looked at each other, sharing a smile. Mother huffed! “These bathing suits are the first part of your birthday present, boy. The second part…” She looked pointedly at the other two.
“Is us. Both of us. Together!” Wife and daughter chorused.
“Unless, of course, you go all prudish on us, and would prefer a polka dot tie instead,” my daughter said, impishly.
“Just this once,” I said, taking in the two scantily clad women, “I will forego the tie.”
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Diet Plan
“Good luck, Ali. You’ll enjoy it. I know. I did.”
Amy gave her friend a tight, close hug. It was cold, very cold. The rain was icy. Ali was already shivering. “The walk will warm you up. That path is pretty steep. Be careful, it gets very slippery in the rain.” She patted her friend’s plump bottom. “I’ll see you in three weeks time. I’m coming up for a month. Don’t exhaust Mustapha and Maclean. Leave them some energy to use on me.”
Ali smiled at her best friend, a weak smile, her teeth chattering. “Maybe by then I’ll look a bit like you.” Ali had always been ashamed of her body, even more so since she met Amy. Physically, Amy was the complete opposite to her. Her petite body was slim, strong, muscular and shapely. Her black hair cascaded down her back. She hated clothes, shedding them the moment she was inside the house they shared. Ali was comfortably built. Carrying a few pounds too many, pounds that no amount of, admittedly half-hearted, dieting managed to eliminate. “Sapfig” her German ex-boyfriend had called her. He had certainly enjoyed her generous body!
“There is nothing wrong with your body,” Amy had told her one lazy Sunday morning, her face glazed with Ali’s juices as she came up for air. “But if you really want to lose weight and put on some muscle, not to mention getting regularly and comprehensively fucked, why don’t you go to the Farm for a couple of months. There’s nothing like a regime of slave slop, hot cum, hard labour and regular fucking to melt off the fat and shape you up.”
There was no going back now. Her clothes were in the car, the fetters were locked. The keys were up at the Farm. Ali took her first steps into slavery, promptly tripping over her chains and almost falling. “Take short steps,” Amy said gaily, “you’ll get used to chains. The slave chains are heavier, and you’ll be wearing them pretty much all the time up there. And remember, stay on the stony part of the path! Don’t walk on the grass. The whip hurts more than your feet will. Bye! Have fun!” Amy gave her friend a last wave as she got into a nice warm car. That rain was freezing and, she thought, would soon turn to sleet.
As she drove home, Amy thought about what was waiting for Ali. She felt the wetness as she thought of Maclean, of his huge, clublike cock, his strange, dispassionate manner when he was fucking a slave. Male or female, it didn’t matter to him. A hole to fill, that was all slaves were. “A job to do.” Just two more weeks of final exams, and then she would be coming up this road again. Then she would be walking up that track. It would be proper winter, then. Kennel time! She wondered whether Ali would go to the kennels? Probably. Would she learn to like it? Amy had no idea, but the thought was a definite turn on.
Ali walked carefully, the rough road surface hurting her feet. What would the path be like? For some reason, the feel of her breasts swinging freely as she walked was exciting. She thought of all the things Amy had told her. Exciting things! Scary things! Unthinkable things!
Amy had described the overseers. Strong, fit men and women, the men chosen for their sexual endowment and stamina. Amy had talked dreamily of them, their size, how they filled a girl. Their insatiability. Being used at any time, anywhere, in any way the user wished. The thought excited Ali. She had always been shy, inhibited. Now she would have no choice!
Other things were more worrying, even disturbing. The food was nutritious, but tasteless. Work was hard, dawn to dusk. Anyone who slacked was ‘encouraged’ with the whip. What would it be like to be whipped? Amy said it was inevitable. Everybody tasted the whip. Ali cried easily when she was hurt, what would she do if she was whipped? Amy had described the slave quarters. Bare, unheated barracks, where the slaves slept on wooden shelves. No blankets, exhausted bodies huddling together for warmth. The kennels! Amy had enthused about them! “It is warm in there. Dogs are more valuable than slaves. There is soft bedding, and the food is much better than the slop we get. Dogs have rights, of course. At first it seems disgusting, but most of us get used to it. Some of us,” she pointed at herself, “some of us really like it. You’ll see.” She was on the path now, her feet hurting on the sharp stones. The rain had turned to sleet. The path was steep, she was no longer to cold, only her nipples were still freezing, hard as pebbles, and aching. She wished she could use her hands to warm them, but the chains prevented that.
Chains! Kennels! Whips! Overseers! Slavery! So many new things to experience. She would have a lot to tell Amy when she arrived. Somewhere ahead she heard voices, a cracking sound. A female voice. “Six! Oh god! Six! The next one please, master!” She wondered what was happening?
She would soon find out!
Suddenly she was excited! This diet was going to work!
“Good luck, Ali. You’ll enjoy it. I know. I did.”
Amy gave her friend a tight, close hug. It was cold, very cold. The rain was icy. Ali was already shivering. “The walk will warm you up. That path is pretty steep. Be careful, it gets very slippery in the rain.” She patted her friend’s plump bottom. “I’ll see you in three weeks time. I’m coming up for a month. Don’t exhaust Mustapha and Maclean. Leave them some energy to use on me.”
Ali smiled at her best friend, a weak smile, her teeth chattering. “Maybe by then I’ll look a bit like you.” Ali had always been ashamed of her body, even more so since she met Amy. Physically, Amy was the complete opposite to her. Her petite body was slim, strong, muscular and shapely. Her black hair cascaded down her back. She hated clothes, shedding them the moment she was inside the house they shared. Ali was comfortably built. Carrying a few pounds too many, pounds that no amount of, admittedly half-hearted, dieting managed to eliminate. “Sapfig” her German ex-boyfriend had called her. He had certainly enjoyed her generous body!
“There is nothing wrong with your body,” Amy had told her one lazy Sunday morning, her face glazed with Ali’s juices as she came up for air. “But if you really want to lose weight and put on some muscle, not to mention getting regularly and comprehensively fucked, why don’t you go to the Farm for a couple of months. There’s nothing like a regime of slave slop, hot cum, hard labour and regular fucking to melt off the fat and shape you up.”
There was no going back now. Her clothes were in the car, the fetters were locked. The keys were up at the Farm. Ali took her first steps into slavery, promptly tripping over her chains and almost falling. “Take short steps,” Amy said gaily, “you’ll get used to chains. The slave chains are heavier, and you’ll be wearing them pretty much all the time up there. And remember, stay on the stony part of the path! Don’t walk on the grass. The whip hurts more than your feet will. Bye! Have fun!” Amy gave her friend a last wave as she got into a nice warm car. That rain was freezing and, she thought, would soon turn to sleet.
As she drove home, Amy thought about what was waiting for Ali. She felt the wetness as she thought of Maclean, of his huge, clublike cock, his strange, dispassionate manner when he was fucking a slave. Male or female, it didn’t matter to him. A hole to fill, that was all slaves were. “A job to do.” Just two more weeks of final exams, and then she would be coming up this road again. Then she would be walking up that track. It would be proper winter, then. Kennel time! She wondered whether Ali would go to the kennels? Probably. Would she learn to like it? Amy had no idea, but the thought was a definite turn on.
Ali walked carefully, the rough road surface hurting her feet. What would the path be like? For some reason, the feel of her breasts swinging freely as she walked was exciting. She thought of all the things Amy had told her. Exciting things! Scary things! Unthinkable things!
Amy had described the overseers. Strong, fit men and women, the men chosen for their sexual endowment and stamina. Amy had talked dreamily of them, their size, how they filled a girl. Their insatiability. Being used at any time, anywhere, in any way the user wished. The thought excited Ali. She had always been shy, inhibited. Now she would have no choice!
Other things were more worrying, even disturbing. The food was nutritious, but tasteless. Work was hard, dawn to dusk. Anyone who slacked was ‘encouraged’ with the whip. What would it be like to be whipped? Amy said it was inevitable. Everybody tasted the whip. Ali cried easily when she was hurt, what would she do if she was whipped? Amy had described the slave quarters. Bare, unheated barracks, where the slaves slept on wooden shelves. No blankets, exhausted bodies huddling together for warmth. The kennels! Amy had enthused about them! “It is warm in there. Dogs are more valuable than slaves. There is soft bedding, and the food is much better than the slop we get. Dogs have rights, of course. At first it seems disgusting, but most of us get used to it. Some of us,” she pointed at herself, “some of us really like it. You’ll see.” She was on the path now, her feet hurting on the sharp stones. The rain had turned to sleet. The path was steep, she was no longer to cold, only her nipples were still freezing, hard as pebbles, and aching. She wished she could use her hands to warm them, but the chains prevented that.
Chains! Kennels! Whips! Overseers! Slavery! So many new things to experience. She would have a lot to tell Amy when she arrived. Somewhere ahead she heard voices, a cracking sound. A female voice. “Six! Oh god! Six! The next one please, master!” She wondered what was happening?
She would soon find out!
Suddenly she was excited! This diet was going to work!