Eternal Slave Ch. 02 - Gift Slave

Flaccid. It's a word that's used for one purpose and one purpose only, namely to describe the state of the thing between a man's legs around the time he starts wondering when it's acceptable to come up with an excuse for excusing himself. Not only was my thingy soft, limp, and squishy, but it was also sore, aching, throbbing, smarting, raw, and tender. Right now, if it had its own way, even if a million more women like Desire came along and offered themselves up to it, it would shrivel up, retreat inside the body and hide behind the prostrate until it was safe to come out again.

My mind, though, was blown away, despite the fact that no oral sex had been administrated. I had had sex. With another person. With a woman, no less. A beautiful woman to boot. A woman who wanted me as her sex slave, even. A woman who apparently didn't stay for breakfast, or even for cuddling. Guys with experience seem to feel this is an attractive trait in a woman, but I found I missed her. I wanted to hold her again, kiss her.

That last thought was the link that forced my mind away from sex and towards having to assess my situation. Where was she? And where was I?

I dropped my exhausted body down on the sand which had mysteriously appeared and had an existential crisis. Just like every other person in every other piece of fiction who ever stepped into a wardrobe or fell down a rabbit hole, I performed the 'I'm dreaming' routine, the 'This can't be true' defense, and finally entered 'I'm going crazy' hysteria.

Warm. It was warm here, wherever I had ended up. The sky was blue, the clouds were mostly absent, the sun was massive and angry. In fact, it was so big and glaring I was soon convinced it was not the same sun I had grown up under. On the other hand, I had been raised in a place so full of rain and clouds and gray, gray days that I was a bit unfamiliar with the concept of sunshine. Perhaps a person growing up in the Sahara or on the beaches of Rio might look up, nod, and say, "Yup, I know that thing. And we're not going to have sleet today either. I sure am lucky to be living here."

The sand was warm, too, and I was surrounded by palm trees of every size and shape. And shades of the color green. Dark green, forest green, lime green, you name it. Some carried fruits, some carried flowers, some carried exotic birds, all of them smelled sweet and tropical. Behind me were some rocky hills extending out of a forest, in front of me I could feel the ocean. No matter where I was, it was a completely new world, and as of right now it seemed far more inviting than the old one, even though I had not yet accepted what had happened to me.

In fact, looking at the five stages of grief, and imagining that being transported to this world was somehow a bad thing (which it could be, since as far as I knew there had been no Internet, hospitals, or WCs in either Narnia or Wonderland), I did not even pass through the denial stage before I had to stop philosophizing and react to the world around me. No time for anger, bargaining, denial, or acceptance. Those would have to come later, as would basking in the sun with a Piña Colada if it came to that.

Somewhere in the distance, a woman began laughing.

It was a clear, free laugh. Nothing sensual about it at all, just a simple expression of joy. That didn't matter. There was some primal instinct inside me that made me want to go find who she was, what she looked like, and what she was wearing.

"No, no, no," my exhausted cock said. "None of that. I can't deal with women right now."

I figured that I would have to deal with that woman, no matter what the various parts of my body were telling me. I had no water, no food, no clothes, no shelter, nowhere to go. I might not need Woman right now, but I needed people. And the woman was not alone. I could hear some almost inaudible chattering going on in the direction where I imagined the sea to be.

I got up on my feet, brushing sand off my naked ass. Well, there was that. I was naked. And I was about to show myself to a group of women. Luckily there was a short palm nearby with huge leaves as well as some pretty, red flowers. I ripped one of the leaves off, meaty and thick, and did an Adam and Eve trick to my crotch.

"Don't rub me! I'm hurting!" my cock said.

I ignored the whining, useless bastard and began staggering in the direction the salty air came from. My body was still stiff after all the new and interesting ways I have learned to move when I was with Desire. Who was she, after all? I had no idea.

I brushed away a few more palms, some bushes, some straw, and some tall grass, and stepped on a lot of pointy twigs and sharp rocks before I saw them.

Down there on the beach, two hundred yards away, inside a lagoon on the edge of a mighty blue-green, crystal clear ocean. Women. Maybe ten in all. Wading in the shallow waters with spears in their hands, looking for something. Probably catching fish.

One thing I learned pretty quick about this new world was that people here did not conform to any old world races. These women were rather short and dark-skinned, and looked like they had combined the stances and curves of Africans with the grace and faces of South Asian women, added some unique features found only in this world, and mixed it all together to produce creatures that made my cock groan in despair.

They were voluptuous and beautiful, with wide hips, big butts, and full, juicy breasts. Their hair was long, black, and glossy, forming lazy waves that reflected the burning sun. They wore yellow and white summer dresses, for lack of a better word, that were long enough to trail in the water next to them, yet were sleeveless and with so deep cleavages that my cock begged for mercy.

No mercy was forthcoming. The women moved with a combination of deadly skill and feminine grace that had the unfortunate side effect of showing off their bodies in the best possible light. They didn't know I was hiding up here, so they weren't even trying to show off for a man, for crying out loud. Stop that bending over! Don't take those long steps! And for the love of all that's holy, don't stop to lean backwards and shake your head like that! If you don't want to get all that long, lush, sexy black hair in your eyes, wear a bloody hat!

I looked down. Well, that didn't take long, did it?

"I didn't want to," my cock said, looking back up at me from behind the leaf, raw, aching, and sad. "The nasty women made me."

It also did look bigger than I was used to, now that it was erect. What was going on with me?

As I looked at them, I found one of the women to be nastier to my little buddy than the others. She was one of the darkest ones, had the longest hair of the group, and was around my own age. Her face was sweet and innocent, and her body fuller than most of the others. But what made my eyes follow her around were her smiles and laughter. She cracked jokes, even though I couldn't catch the punch lines, teased the others, took their replies in stride, and seemed to have a great time.

"Why is she doing that to me?" my cock said as she bent down to touch the tip of her spear. Her juicy butt was pressed against the wet, yellow dress, and no shape or curve was kept hidden. "I can't deal with this right now! I just can't!"

There was no escape. My fingertips reached beneath the leaf and began caressing it, looking for places that didn't hurt so bad.

The woman held up a fish, one of those colorful, flat ones you get a lot of in the tropics, and a few of the others whistled approvingly at her. She laughed and bowed, again with her butt towards me, and began walking up on the beach. I saw that under the palm tree closest to the shore there was a basket of sorts, half full of the catch of the day.

I ought to have removed my naughty hand, made a sound in my throat, and tried to introduce myself in all the languages I knew. Alternatively, I could have stepped back and crouched behind a plant, waiting, figuring out my options.

I didn't. I went on stroking my protesting member and waddled a little closer, hoping to see the woman clearer, hoping that the tall grass would hide me.

I was right about the first thing, wrong about the second. Just like every book on sneaking ever written had warned me about, I immediately trod on something dry that broke with a snap.

She looked up. Our eyes met. My blue ones, surprised, a little scared. Her brown ones, surprised, hugely interested.

"Slave!" she hollered out to her friends. "There's a gift slave here! I found a new gift slave! Come! This is going to be so much fun!"

I turned and ran.

She cackled and set after me. The other women grabbed their spears and followed.

***

As a kid I was very fast on the 100 meter dash, but after 200 I would start heaving for breath and stumbling more than I ran. I was no longer a kid, but I was also no longer the man I had been only a few hours ago. Not only was I larger in the department of private parts, but somehow I felt in better shape than any desk jockey could reasonably expect. In fact, I ought to be able to outdistance any of my desk jockey female co-workers in no time, even the slim, fit one who did triathlons. Perhaps also short, voluptuous exotic female warriors, if it hadn't been for one immediate problem.

"Hey, slave! Stop! Don't leave. I want to talk to you!" When the woman wasn't shouting at me, she wolf-whistled.

My feet were still pathetic pieces of civilized, thin-skinned, puny, shoe-cradled flesh that just could not come smashing down on broken seashells, sharp rocks, or thorny bushes with impunity. After a few steps of pain all I could do was hobble, my cock still hard, slapping me across my belly. And when the woman chasing you has hard, well-trained soles and about a hundred yards to catch up, the end result is a given.

"I'll be nice, I promise! At least, I won't be too naughty."

She was laughing and whooping as she chased me, and I could tell by the sound getting closer just how fast she was gaining. I managed to get a little way into the lush forest, managed to see a little village of huts over by a steep cliff and a waterfall, then it was all over.

When you are a woman carrying a spear about seven feet long, you are able to make any man you are pursuing trip and fall in the most spectacular way with just a little poke around his ankles. You'll have him groveling at your feet for a few, precious seconds while you laugh and plan your next move. Just a dating tip for the ladies.

After that, the woman's next move was to step into the heap of brown leaves where my tumbling had deposited me, and get on top of me before I had the chance to orient myself. Her legs found my shoulders, her butt my chest, her wet dress my crotch, and her hands found her hair as she laughed and tossed it aside for a moment before the wind blew it back across her face.

"Come on, slave!" she said and then brushed at my hair with her left hand with an almost tender gesture. "Let me see if you got any fight in you. This is your one chance to escape, you know! But be quick, before all the girls arrive. See, I'm even putting my weapon away." She tossed her spear aside, making dry, crumbled palm leaves fly where it landed.

I believed her, so I gave it a shot. Again, my body felt much stronger now, and I believed I had a more than fair chance of wriggling free or even toss her into a nearby bush. First I tried to roll over, thinking I would be able to make her fall off that way. Somehow that didn't work. Somehow she had one hand and one foot dug into the sand next to me and the other limbs fastened under my body, and it felt like trying to a log when all the branches are still attached.

"Way to go, slave! You almost got me! Try again!" She grinned and threw me a kiss.

I had no idea why my cock continued to show her my appreciation, despite my predicament. It went on suggestion she just slide back down across my body and the we could stop making war and make other things instead.

My next attempt was to tear my arms free. After all, all she had to keep them in place were her knees. That also didn't work. She leaned forward, and the weight of a juicy butt, a nice, soft belly, and two enormous breasts was enough to pin me down. Her crotch was pushed forward towards my head as she giggled, and I got a fleeting vision that there was something else I would rather do to her than fight.

"You're so strong, slave! I can't believe it! Show me some more of your manly, manly strength!"

My final attempt was just to panic and struggle every which way to see if it was possible to somehow get a limb free or my weight on my side. Not a chance. She rode me like a bucking horse or a rodeo bull, adjusting her position and posture and grip in response to everything I tried. If she had been wearing a cowboy hat and shouted "Yeehaw!" I wouldn't have been surprised.

It was, to be honest, one of the most humiliating things I'd been subjected to in my life. The panic of finding out I just could not break free. That I was being held in place by a woman much smaller than me. That I was unable to detest her, that I was just an inch away from begging for sex. And that she was doubled over with laughter and having the greatest time of her life. It was all too much.

I stopped. Lay completely still and just stared up at the blue sky, away from her angelic face and her big, brown eyes.

"Come on!" she said and pouted. "You've got more fight in you, slave. I know it!" I have no idea what language we spoke, except that we both sounded native for some reason.

"Let me go," I said. "I haven't done anything to you."

"Of course I'll let you go," she said and tweaked my nose. "Just throw me off."

I didn't reply.

"What was that?" she said and fondled the biceps on my right arm. "You said a big, strong man like you can't brush off a little, weak girl like me?"

I stayed silent.

Her pout deepened. "Aw, you're no fun, slave! But I know how to put the fight back in you."

"What do you mean?" I said.

"I've noticed something funny about you," she said and cocked her head. "We've been having a nice, old tussle, but whenever you've tried to buck me, something of yours has tapped me in the small of my back. Do you know what I mean?"

"Stuff happens, all right?" I said.

"Let's see," she said and let her right hand slip behind her back.

I lay completely still. Around us the other women were approaching, some smiling, some frowning.

"Oh my. What's this?"

I gasped. Her touch was silky and tender, tapping down my shaft.

"And just feel the size of this. Wow! Do you like what I'm doing, slave?"

I nodded. I wasn't sure if it was the arousal or the humiliation that made blood rush to my face, but there was not point in hiding anything anymore.

"Maybe some other time," she said. "This is not going to make you struggle, only pant. But hey, what have we here? A little pouch, is it? And... Stones? Round, smooth stones, is that what these are?"

"No, please..." I begged.

"Yes, slave," she said. "That's exactly what these are. I feel a little frustrated right now, and I have heard that if you grind round stones together in your hand, it'll make you feel better."

She giggled, winked, and caressed my cheek with her other hand.

"Let's try, shall me?"

Her eyes lit up and she squeezed as hard as she could, her laughter singing in tune to the tightening of her fingers. It was more painful than anything I've ever experienced before, it was like my soul was stabbed. Back and forth, up and down, round and round they went inside her palm. She was utterly merciless.

"You crazy bitch! What are you doing!" I shouted.

"Dance for me slave!" she giggled. "Dance!"

Oh, I danced for her, all right. It was just that there was nothing coordinated about my frantic struggles, no clear plan as to what I was doing except trying to twist my body so that my poor, tender balls would escape her merciless grip. I failed, of course. Again. There was nothing to be gained by this but pain and bitter humiliation as she laughed and laughed.

At last she stopped and looked at me with her sweet, innocent face. "Aw... Did that sting, poor slave? It was fun, though!" She clapped her hands together and leaned forward to kiss me on the brow.

I turned my head away, but her lips found me all the same. And when she sat up, she all but crushed my stiff traitor with her butt.

"One part of you is eager to get to know me and my wicked ways better, at least," she said. "And it's the most important part, for sure! The one that makes the decisions!"

"Midnight Glow!" one of the other women who now surrounded us, said. She was taller, older, and less voluptuous than the woman who was straddling me. She looked far beyond annoyed. "Why are you tormenting that poor man. Get off him!"

"Hey, Wave," the woman named Midnight Glow said. "Take it easy. He's a gift slave. This is what gift slaves do."

"He's not a slave!" Wave said. "He's a free man."

"Don't come here and tell me that an alien-looking man who all of a sudden shows up on this sacred shore and manages to stay hard," here she tickled my cock, making me moan and a few of the younger women giggle, "after being chased down, defeated, and having his balls kneaded is anything but a gift slave brought to us by the Lady Desire herself!" Midnight Glow said.

"That may be," Wave said and refused to look at my crotch, "but slavery is something a man or woman enters into voluntarily. Let him up, and if he chooses he can lay down with you again. But it's his choice. And when he hears you have one gift slave and three husbands already, he may very well choose to refuse."

"You won't refuse little, harmless me, will you, handsome?" Midnight Glow said and patted my shaft with the fingers on one hand while she combed her hair with the ones on the other. Her smile was lopsided and bright.

"Let me go, please," I said in a dignified tone that had be in sharp contrast to my undignified moans and squirms.

"Let him go, Glow," Wave said.

The younger woman rolled her eyes and was about to release me when a third voice spoke.

"Wait! Don't let him go just yet." The speaker was the oldest woman around, probably in her late forties. She was still beautiful, with extraordinarily large and intense eyes. Those eyes scared me, but not as much as they enticed me. She was a woman of power, and the slave in me was drawn to such women.

Wave did not seem drawn to her at all. Wave seemed very much annoyed at the interruption.

"He's free, Sprite," she said. "She has to let him go."

Sprite took a step closer to Wave, and the two older women faced each other. Sparks, as they say, flew.

Midnight Glow watched them with, as they say, faint amusement. Except it wasn't very faint. It looked as if she wanted them to start scratching each others' eyes out. Her hand was fondling the balls she had so recently crushed, and they forgave her instantly. One of the younger woman, a slimmer girl of around twenty, was watching the teasing with fascination. Glow winked at her, and she blushed.

"Do you even bother to consider what this means?" Sprite said. "All our men have been taken by the Sea Hag, and suddenly the Lady Desire sends us this gift slave? This man is here to help us. He must help us. Whether he wants to or not."

"Maybe that's why he's here," Wave said. "And none of us hope that more than me. I miss my Storm so much. But gift slaves help womankind because it's in their blood, not because they are forced to. Let him go, explain the situation, and ask him to help. Don't make him hate us."

"The Sea Hag could attack our island any day," Sprite said. "We need to figure this out at once. Do you want your children captured and sold at the slave markets of Iron Sands? Do you want to be marched off to end your days kneeling for some Lord or other? Do you want our men to be the pirates who come here to raid us, enslaved by their desire for that witch?"