I, Slave

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Next, still balanced in that horrible position, the two slaves started lathering my legs, pussy and armpits. Mistress Black produced a straight edged razor and held it up for me to see.

"Now hold still you stupid girl. If I accidently kill you I might get into trouble."

"Yes, Mistress Black," I grunted as every muscle in my body went taught in dreadful anticipation.

I concentrated with mind-numbing effort on remaining motionless as I was shaved. Mistress Black took her time, careful removing every hint of stubble with the long, sharp blade. Up and down my legs and across my armpits she scraped the lather off with practiced care. She finished by shaving my pussy bald. She never nicked me once. When she finished I was weeping silently.

Finally she gave the order I'd been hoping for: "Let her down." The tension on the straps was released and I dropped to the floor.

I was stood up and "clothed". White, thigh-high stockings were pulled onto my legs. White high heels were strapped onto my feet. That was it. I was ordered to kneel at attention and Mistress Black applied my makeup herself as the two slaves brushed out my hair. I expected Mistress Black would apply the makeup to a slutty effect, but her efforts were very subtle. If anything I looked even younger than usual.

The girls put a collar around my neck. A leash was attached to the back of the collar and run down the length of my back, through my ass crack and pussy. Mistress Black jerked me forward and I was led through a door and down a down a flight of steps. I had some difficulty with the four inch heels, especially with the leash biting into my delicate under parts. Mistress Black berated me for my clumsiness as I tottered along.

We followed a long, bland corridor to a small room with a round dais in which were planted two erect steel poles; they were about two yards tall and a yard and a half apart. At the top and base of each pole were shackles. I was strapped in by my wrists and ankles. My two fellow slaves didn't say a word to me as they turned and left the room. The lights went off. I was left alone and nude, tied spread eagle to the poles in the pitch black room.

And I waited...

6. The Initiation

Time passed. One thing about being bound - whether it's simply manacled to a headboard or suspended upside down from the ceiling in an elaborate lattice of nylon cord - is that time loses meaning. Over the course of my slave career I can't tell you how many eternities I've spent tied up one way and another. Eventually, a good slave learns to deal with that weird temporal limbo and let the dull ache of physical constraint flow through you as you hold your mind in a zen state of stillness. Some poor girls never master the trick. They get twitchy, weird... sometimes they go completely nuts. Thank God I'd done so much yoga and gymnastics; it had given me a degree of mental and physical discipline that helped me endure. Sometimes I think that was the only thing that saved my sanity.

But as I waited alone in the dark on that first day, I was too panicked and the experience was still too new. I desperately tried to convince myself that Mistress Black was just trying to frighten me but when I began to wonder how anyone at home would find me, I realized the depth of my predicament. It was solely up to Master whether or not I would ever be free again. I cursed myself for my stupid, stubborn rush into this situation.

Eventually I wore myself out with worry and just hung there, waiting for something to happen. When, after I don't know how many hours, the ceiling groaned and began to slide apart I screamed in surprise.

I could hear a chuckle drift down from above.

"I hope my new acquisition's timidity doesn't discourage any of you gentlemen," said Master with a wry smile evident in his voice. That provoked several male belly laughs from his audience.

I looked up. After so long in the dark, the light flooding down onto me seemed impossibly bright. As I felt the platform begin to rise I looked around in a terrified squint. What horror next awaited me?

As I rose through the floor I could see my audience. Half a dozen men of various ages and races sat back in comfortable chairs watching me with critical eyes as more and more of my body came into view. By each man sat a slave girl, obediently kneeling at attention or, in one case, slowly fellating their Master d'jour. To my right The Master stood dressed in a black leather harness, his thick powerful body on display to intimidating effect. He looked tall and severe as he watched me rise to meet him. I didn't see the whip in his right hand.

With a soft clank, the platform stopped rising. Master turned towards the semi-circle of men and spoke. "Gentlemen, I am proud to present my newest recruit." Master paused for effect. I blushed from head to toe as every eye into the room inspected me. "She's an American girl. Not two days ago she was full of high spirits and bright dreams for the future. Now she is a mere fuck toy, worth only whatever pleasure you can derive from her subtle young body. Today, I invite you to witness her final transformation into my slave. Today, her last remaining shreds of will and hope will be scourged from her psyche. Are you ready to begin gentlemen?"

There was nodding from the men.

But, at last, I broke. "Please, no..." I pleaded.

"As you gentlemen can see, she is still not fully trained," said Master. In a swift movement, his arm flashed up and the cruel swipe of a whip's long leather lash bit across my breasts. I howled in pain.

"Please..." I sobbed.

He lashed me again, twice. I remained quiet that time. Two parallel welts rose across my heaving breasts, one across my ass.

Master turned back to his small audience. "Now that you've seen the goods, does anyone wish to change their final bid?"

Two men raised their hands. One was a pale, scrawny and greasy little man with thick round glasses and a limp comb-over, the other was rotund and hairy with swarthy skin and cruel hawk-eyes. Mistress White walked by and accepted folded sheets of paper from them.

Bids? I thought as I started to grow hysterical. He's selling me? I jerked my wrists and ankles against my manacles, trying against hope to escape, heedless of the fact that I didn't know any detail of where I was or how to get home. "No! Don't sell me. Please!" I wailed aloud again even though I knew I would be punished.

I was. His next flick of the whip lashed up between my legs and almost made me pass out from pain. I kept quiet after that except for the occasional sob.

Master turned to me. He looped the lash of his whip in his hand and prodded me in the abdomen with the pommel. "Say your name slave."

I broke down crying. I had a name, a real name. I wanted to shout it, to insist on my humanity, but I was so scared.

"WHAT IS YOUR NAME SLAVE?" Master demanded with a shout. He let the whip uncoil again and drew his arm back to strike me again.

"Seventy-Seven!" I cried out, adding hastily: "Master."

"Yes," he said calmly as he let his arm relax once gain. "Very good. You accept your name, slave?"

"Yes... Yes Master," I said. I could feel a dense slick of panic sweat flowing across my skin now.

"And you accept it forever?"

"Yes Master." I said weakly.

"Very good, Seventy-Seven," he said patting me gently on the cheek. Without turning he called out: "Twenty-Two!"

Mistress Black strode up with some kind of scary looking device on a sliver tray. It looked like a fountain pen crossed with a gun. The Master took it in hand and dropped to a knee in front of me. "This will hurt, dear." he said gently as he brought the thing to my pubis. Every muscle in my body tensed up.

I felt burning trail of fire being etched into my bare mound as he tattooed my new name onto me: "LXXVII". I wept as he marked me. The permanence of it shattered something within me forever. There was no turning back now. He moved around me to make the same mark in the small of my back. When I looked up and caught Mistress Black's eye she was giving me a taunting smile. I told you so, it seemed to say.

When he was done The Master moved around me again to speak to our audience. "Now gentlemen, we get to what you've been waiting for. Number One, who has won the auction?"

"Mr. Blue," said Mistress White. (As I would eventually find out, the usual policy at the resort was to use a guest's cabin as his name. The cabins were Blue, Red, Green, Black, Orange, Grey and Brown. Almost no one used their real names at the resort.)

There was a smattering of applause as the pale, scrawny little man with thick round glasses and a limp comb-over rose and bowed. Master beckoned him to come up to the dais and join us.

The Master turned to look at me. He said, "Mr. Blue has paid quite a bit of money to assist me with your transformation, Seventy-Seven. Don't you think you ought to thank him?" As he spoke his deep blue eyes held me, bored into me. His face was tight and glowering but his eyes held a special gift. Deep in the intricate weave of blue flecked with iridescent green that were his irises, a gentle psychic caress of understanding reached up and touched me. It's OK, he seemed to be saying. Trust me. It was a thin, tenuous lifeline to sanity and I clutched at it greedily from the depths of my hopelessness.

"Thank you very much, Master Blue," I said in a tiny, almost sub-vocal, voice. "Thank you for helping me."

The Master smiled. He liked my response. He liked me. I felt my heart flutter at this morsel of approval.

Mr. Blue blushed as his nostrils flared and his fingers twitched.

Mistress Black appeared again with her silver tray. This time there was a cloth on the tray and on that cloth were six heavy-duty, surgical steel needles. When I saw them I cowered back against my shackles. Mr. Blue giggled slightly as he saw my eyes pop wide in fear anew. He smiled a gummy smile.

It began. Master talked Mr. Blue through the process. As directed, he took my left nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I squirmed at his touch and at all the eyes watching him touch me. When my Master told him to squeeze my sensitive bud of pink skin I squirmed harder. I clenched my teeth, determined not to cry out or embarrass my Master. I tried, but I failed. When Mistress Black picked up the first steel needle and handed it to Mr. Blue a gasp escaped me. Then I lost control again.

"No," I begged uselessly. "Please don't. Please. I'll do anything. I'll do anything for you. Pleeeease..."

I was a bad slave, but Master let me beg. When I looked for pity from Mr. Blue I could see my terror had only aroused him.

He brought the tip of the needle to the base of my nipple. He poked me slightly and I cried out more from dread than from pain. Mr. Blue's forehead oozed sweat. His breathing was shallow and his pupils dilated as he continued. He pushed harder and the sharp steel lanced into my tender flesh. I screamed as I saw a fat bead of blood form on my nipple and run down my breast and abdomen. Mr. Blue paused, savoring the act. Slowly - so terribly slowly - he pushed it through, savoring each slight twitch of progress as he impaled my nipple on the shining spike. I wailed and begged, out of my head like an animal in a trap. Finally he was finished and a four inch steel needle stood imbedded through my nipple with twin seeps of deep red spawning a steady bloody trickle down my trembling body.

"Five to go, my dear," said The Master. I looked into his eyes for mercy. There was none, just an understanding that it had to be this way. I didn't understand, but I believed him. I braced for the next spike.

Mr. Blue went even slower piercing my right nipple and I whimpered and sobbed just as badly as I did for the first needle. After my nipples, my legs were unbound. Several girls were summoned to spread them wide for Mr. Blue to do my clit and labia. I passed out briefly when he pierced my clit. Mistress Black slapped me and spit in my face until I roused. I whimpered pathetically as they did my lips. I could feel the blood dribbling down my thighs as they let my feet drop back to the floor.

Finally, I was ordered to present my tongue to Mr. Blue. He took the tip between his fingers and thumb and readied himself to pierce me one last time. I held myself still as he tortured me with the slowest impalement yet. My eyes were blurry with tears as he stepped away but I could see he seemed deeply satisfied as he slouched back to his seat, his movements almost sleepy.

Mistress Black assisted Mistress White as she removed the needles and replaced them with surgical steel rings in my clit, labia and nipples. A stud was put through the hole in my tongue. A slender silver chain was attached between my nipples and from each nipple to my clit. It all hurt. Oh God it hurt.

I was left hanging between my posts with my body streaked with blood and crisscrossed by slender metal chains. But still, I was not done.

Mistress Black strutted out with a piece of equipment. I stared at it in disbelief and terror. It was a low stool, only twelve inches high, but embedded in the center of the seat was a horrific iron phallus: nine inches tall, two and a half wide and girded with studs. I knew it was for me. When I was released from my shackles I felt no relief.

I was guided over the stool and told to sit. I lowered myself gingerly towards the shaft until Mistress Black got behind me and forced me down. My body protested as the cruel device filled me and pried me wide. When all of it was embedded deep within me Mistress Black bound my wrists together behind me and my ankles to two of the opposing legs of the stool. She moved around front and got to her hands and knees. I felt a click as she fastened a latch at the base of the studded iron dildo to my new clit ring. I whimpered in discomfort. Then the phallus started vibrating. I gasped as pleasure began to swamp the aching pain.

"Gentlemen," announced Master in a booming voice. "I present you with my newest delight, number Seventy-Seven."

There was applause, hearty applause. They liked me. I tried to look up at them but the pain from my new piercings and the pleasure from the vibrating seat were too much. I could not focus.

"Please, gentlemen, bestow your blessings on this slave. Join me in her baptism," said The Master. I looked at him though eyes that threatened to roll back into my head in the mounting ecstasy blossoming through my body. I saw he had his penis in his hand. It was so long, so fat; it reminded me of the iron shaft on my stool that now purred inside me. He was stroking it, offering it for me to take into my mouth. I did, doing my best to avoid the dull ache from my newly pierced tongue. He moved aside and pulled his manhood from my mouth. To my surprise I saw the other men now ringed me in, each with his cock in his hand, all stroking eagerly at my face. I gasped when I realized what they were up to.

They took turns at my face, pushing their cocks back into my mouth, fucking my face for a few strokes then letting the next man have a turn. Eventually my mouth was left empty and there was only a panorama of hands and cocks undulating before me. Mistress White was behind me; her fingers reaching into my mouth and prying my jaw open for the flood. With a twitch the first cock erupted and sprayed Mistress White and me with long jets of sticky, stringy sperm. Then another splashed back into my mouth and along my nose; then another and another. Soon my face was a glossy white mask of spunk. My eyes burned from the semen that seeped between my eyelids. My tongue was awash in the cum of half a dozen men.

Blinded by the flows of genetic ooze, I felt feminine mouths roaming my flesh as my fellow slaves were set upon me to suck the jism from my skin and pass it into my mouth with frothy soul kisses. I choked back my disgust and drank mouthful after mouthful of the slimy mixture of semen, spit, sweat and blood. However, the pungent stink of sex and the feel of all those mouths working across my flesh inflamed my desire. Finally, the gentle tugging on my clit as I twisted gingerly on the purring iron dildo brought me to climax. Strands of pale filth stretched between my lips as I opened my mouth to groan. I shuddered on my stool, coming vividly and reluctantly as they all watched.

I heard the clapping fading away. My performance had been a hit. I looked up at The Master, searching for a look of approval, a nod, anything...

I wanted to be a good slave.

7. The Courtyard

I was left impaled on the purring stool as the men relaxed and enjoyed the spectacle of me desperately riding out orgasm after orgasm. The other slaves fetched cocktails and fed their masters hors d'oeuvres as the men laughed and placed large bets how long I'd last between climaxes. I fought back the urge to beg as the overwhelming waves of pleasure became a kind of torture. I bore it as best I could, like a good slave.

Finally the little party broke up and men began leaving with their girls in tow, retiring to their cabins for long nights of degradation and cruelty. One man stayed behind to speak privately to The Master. He was a hefty bald man with skin an impossibly dark shade of blue-black. They spoke in low tones. I could see by their glances and gestures they were discussing me. Finally they shook hands and Master summoned two of his lieutenants. He pointed at me as he spoke softly to them.

The Master and the dark man left and I was alone with the two lieutenants. It was the same two who'd pulled me into the van that morning. I suddenly realized I hadn't even spent an entire day in captivity yet. I was so tired. I felt like I had already lived a lifetime in bondage.

The lieutenant with the blue eyes and the heavy jaw, Paolo, turned off the purring phallus with a remote control as the other began to free me from the stool. I gasped a thank you but they only laughed.

"You wouldn't be thanking us if you knew what was coming next," said Lieutenant Paolo.

I whimpered involuntarily.

I was stood up. The lieutenants kept hold of my arms as my cramped legs struggled to bear my weight. A leash was attached to my collar and I was pushed stumbling down a series of richly paneled and decorated halls. The art works hanging on the walls were surprising enough to penetrate the weary panic of my mind. I think I saw what looked like a Klee, a Modigliani, a Turner, a Rembrandt. In any other situation I would have been thrilled to be in the same room with such a collection of great works. But as it was, I was mostly dreading what would be awaiting me at my eventual destination.

Finally I was thrust through a door into the open night air. I was in a courtyard about three yards to a side and paved in old, mossy bricks. In the center of the courtyard was a circular drain. Above, a quarter moon bathed the scene in ghostly light.

"Knees!" ordered the dark eyed lieutenant. I obeyed, getting onto my aching knees more rapidly that was comfortable as the other lieutenant walked up with an armful of rope.

I was bound again. My ankles and wrists all tied together behind me as I knelt on the hard paving stones of the courtyard floor. I was order to keep my thighs open. I adjusted my stance so my sex was fully visible to the watching lieutenants. Then they slipped a fat metal ring into my mouth and strapped it to my head. I bit down on the ring. It held my mouth wide open like a bite guard.

"OK slave, give us your tongue," said Ian, the dark eyed lieutenant.

I hesitated, looking up at them with wide, reluctant eyes. My tongue still hurt: a lot. I didn't want to give it to them.

Paolo pulled a pair of fold-down pliers from his back pocket and unfurled it in front of my face. "OK, bitch. I don't mind doing it the hard way, if that's what you want," he said.

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