Strange Days Pt. 03

There was a long delay as the Masters conferred. They joked and laughed, occasionally staring up into the bus, at their females waiting silently and patiently in our compact queue. Finally, one of the men went to speak to the women standing by. The slaves nodded, keeping their eyes downcast. Laura and Danica moved forward to the storage compartment under the bus and hauled out the five men's luggage. They loaded the bags onto a hand-cart standing by. For the rest of us newcomers, besides our discarded clothes there were no belongings. "All you have, all that you need, is what you are," we had been told.

With the air conditioning switched off, it quickly turned hot and stuffy in the congested aisle. Our naked torsos pressed together became sweaty and sticky. Perspiration trickled off Francine's breasts and dribbled onto my buttocks, seeping into the crevice. It was a weird experience, to be compressed like that, motionless and silent, sniffing and sharing each other's exudations. The only sound was that of breathing and the occasional muted cough, the only movement the shuffling of bare feet starting to ache on the corrugated floor. Even then we kept as still as possible. Whenever I felt tempted to make a noise or shift my position, I admonished myself that we were not here just to please the Masters but to test our own commitment to the path we had chosen.

Nevertheless, there was a mutual sigh of relief when we were ordered off the bus. We shambled forward, and when I reached the lowest stair I hesitated, for only a second but fighting back a sudden panic, before stepping down. Without the use of my hands (still clasped behind my head), I could not utilize the railing to ease my descent onto the hard ground, and a twinge of pain through the unprotected soles of my feet was my introduction to the Commune. I also could not shield myself from the men's gaze; and though I should have been inured by our evenings at Charlotte's home, I felt more goosebumps creep over my skin.

The Masters watched us come out. They appeared blasé, and though possibly feigned their indifference was unnerving. If our nudity didn't animate, it was because they had other ways to amuse themselves with our bodies. I shivered.

As Laura and Danica began towing their cart with the men's luggage towards the white buildings in the distance, Claudia and Justine ushered us thirty into a line along the side of the bus. They used gestures rather than words to keep us bunched up in a single file.

When we were all assembled, it was one of the Masters who commanded us to turn to face the side of the bus. We stood shoulder to shoulder, stiffly erect, our hands now behind our backs to close up as much as we could. We still spread along one side and the rear of the bus. The seven males and the two slaves then moved along the line, binding our arms. The new Masters were not gentle, but I suppose that was due to inexperience since they were slower at the task as well. It was Justine who took hold of my wrists and got me to grasp one fist in the other. She looped a leather strap around my upper arms.

Jessica to my right grunted. From the corner of my eye — I dared not turn my head — I saw that the Master binding her, Jonathan, was making her strap too taut. She began to groan, and I could sense that the young man was becoming flustered. It seemed that he'd put the belt too close to her elbows and had pulled so hard that he could not release the buckle to adjust it. He vented his frustration on it, and on Jessica. Claudia politely intervened and fixed the problem.

"Thanks," he muttered.

Claudia did not respond, moving to the next girl. It seemed to me a good thing that a Master was willing to accept help from one of his slaves; but it was a reminder that just as we new slavegirls were here to learn, so were the new Masters. The men's education would be the women's tribulation. I found myself trembling at the thought, and could not decide if it was trepidation or elation that I was feeling. Most likely it was both.

In the meantime, Justine shackled my wrists with leather bracelets. My arms were now pinioned in such a way that I could not flex or bend them. The cuffs were connected with only a single link, so my hands were locked tightly together, stressing my arms and shoulders. But having your elbows trussed actually eases the strain on your wrists; and as a bonus it accentuates your breasts (for a display pleasing to the Masters). We were standing close enough to the bus that when I swayed a little, my teats grazed the side panel. To my surprise the metal felt ice-cold. Perhaps that was my imagination; but the shock sent a ripple along the entire length of my body. I only just now realized how sensitized I'd become, how stimulated I was as I waited, naked and bound, to be marched to the Compound and into servitude.

And I was appalled that my nipples were hard and erect. I could not hide my feelings. But there was something else. It was the same with the four veteran slaves. It seemed that they were in a constant state of arousal, like a permanent orgasm. That wasn't surprising; but it had to be an exhausting, exasperating and embarrassing way to spend your days and weeks. Well... I would find out.

Next came gags and blindfolds. Justine, from behind, gently prised my lips apart with her fingers; but when I opened my jaws she shoved in a latex ball, and secured it, wrenching my head backwards, with a leather band fastened at the back. The shiny crimson orb filled my mouth and protruded slightly. Immediately saliva began to collect behind it, but I couldn't properly swallow. And because the gag did not form a perfect seal with my lips, the drool soon began to seep out, trickle down my chin, dribble onto my chest and ooze between my breasts into my belly button. Noisomely evocative, the ball-gag's violation of my mouth and my dignity was another of the weirdly erotic sensations (like bare skin on a bus seat and nipples against cold metal) which you can never be fully prepared for.

Yet my blindfolding came almost as a relief. Justine tied a black satin sash about my head. There is something oddly calming at being sightless, and the cool, soft fabric also had a soothing effect on my flushed cheeks. But at the same time your other senses are enhanced. The fragrances from the flowers in the nearby field were intoxicating. So were scents from the other girls — perfume, shampoo, deodorant, perspiration blending in an exotically sensual aroma.

We were commanded to left-turn, rearranging ourselves from row into column, and we closed up until we touched once more. Having naked bodies pressed front and back against mine was already becoming familiar. The manacled hands of Jessica, now to my front again, were wedged into my crotch, and down there I could feel a growing exhilaration. She was feeling what I felt in Francine behind me — breasts swelling, nipples hardening, loins becoming warm and wet. It was another wonderfully erotic sensation, to be bonded so snugly with my sister slaves.

We were then yoked. From what I could tell a single long rope was used, into which were tied loops at short intervals. These were placed over our heads and constricted about our necks, like a noose but with a knot to prevent choking. When that was done, one of the men gave the order to move. As we began to shuffle down the slope, we remained huddled, to keep from straying off or falling on the meandering path; and the feel of the other girls' bodies pressed against mine was also, in a way, reassuring. Selena was probably still at the head of the queue, and blindfolded like the rest of us. In later drills the lead girl would be steered by a leash, so I guess that's how we were being guided.

In any case, the Masters had spaced themselves along the outside of our column. There were seven of them to escort their thirty slaves. They each brandished canes, which they employed to urge us on whenever we slowed, or someone faltered or stumbled. All that was normally needed was a poke, but the occasional yelp meant that sometimes more incentive was required. A couple of places ahead of me I heard the squeaky voice of little Stephanie, albeit distorted by her gag. She squealed more than most of us, so I pictured her having a rough time. But she's high-spirited, so was doubtless being obstinate.

We were heading down the hill, and when we reached the base and the ground levelled out and the path straightened, we were prodded by our Masters to increase the spacing between each other, stretching out our tethers which were of about half an arm's length. This allowed us to move a little faster without tripping over each other's feet. We maintained our bearing blindfolded by keeping the rope taut and feeling for subtle tugs skewed left or right. Wherever the path curved, one of the men stationed himself there and tapped us with his cane to herd us in the correct direction. If any of us took a misstep or misjudged her tempo, we bumped into each other. The offender received a sharp whack and so did the girls on either side. This was the only time I felt the sting of the cane, and was proud that I never wavered.

So it was hard going. We did not march. We shambled along, puffing and panting through our gags, trying to maintain our pace and rhythm from behind the black satin sashes, our arms and torsos sore and muscles beginning to cramp from the stringency of our bonds, our jaws aching from the inserted crimson balls. The pebbles of the pathway jabbed our bare feet. The sun now made only fleeting appearances, but it was a hot and humid day, and there was not a single gust of wind, so the sweat dripped off our bodies. By the time we reached our destination, we were enervated... and elated.

We had arrived.