Slavery - Full Circle Page 2

She liked feeling my breasts, too, of course. Mine are smaller than hers but more muscly, I suppose. She liked to slap them with the palm of her foot but they didn’t stay in one place for long, moving up and down my body in this depraved, painful but so terribly humiliating a manner until we reached her home.

  Even from my supine position on the floor, I could see the two massive gateposts with their wrought iron gates as we swept into the long driveway, and then the huge, lovely old trees that lined its sides, until we pulled up under the massive porte cochere at the front entrance and she alighted, the tall and so muscular naked black chauffeur having now bounded out of the car, ran around it and was now holding the door open for her while her butler stood on the steps, ready to escort her into the house. He was apparently a paid servant for he was clothed; that much I could see from my position once the door was opened.

  But then the door was closed on me and the car proceeded around the great house to the garages at the rear.

  Once there, it was opened again by the chauffeur who stood there, grinning down at me as he helped me up off the floor and to climb out. “Welcome to Ravenscroft, girl,” he said in that deep and so mellifluous accent very often found in Jamaicans and the like. “My name is Joel, but you had better call me Big Balls. That’s what she calls me and the others have to call me that, too.”

  I glanced down at his so naked genitals and gasped. “Good God in Heaven! Well, she’s aptly named you, Big Balls,” I said, grinning up at him.

  “I don’t know what your name is,girl but you won’t be keeping it for long, anyway. She has given each of us slaves a name she says is appropriate for us. Looking at you, she might call you Muscles for you really have a great body... But what am I talking for? If you aren’t in the house quick smart, she’s going to raise hell and then it will be you and me for the chop!”

  He grabbed my arm and led me straight over to the back door, guiding me in and through to the kitchens. There I saw more naked slaves, some male, some female but all working hard at some task or another.

  Big Balls left then, scurrying off before he aroused her wrath, I imagined. I wasn’t left standing long however for the butler then strode in. It seemed he was her only paid employee and had her confidence. He was a slim, greying and dignified-looking man in his sixties, I judged, and from their expressions, the slaves feared him as much as I now did Madeleine.

  I was soon to find out why.

  “You!” he barked. “Come with me! I noticed one of the little controller badges on the left lapel of his morning suit and jumped to obey. All of us slaves were really frightened of the shocks those collars could give us.

  He led me to her private sitting room and on the way there I began to appreciate just how enormous this old house was. I had never been invited there when we were at school, of course but I knew her friends had and the reports that filtered back told of its huge size. I don’t think I believed them, however. I now knew they had not been exaggerated.

  As we entered the room, she glanced over at us and then smiled. It was not an encouraging expression. I shuddered as her cold blue eyes raked up and down my so naked body.

  “I want this slut caned, Hobbs,” she said. “Caned very hard. Very hard indeed. She was very rude to me when we were girls and I want to see - and to hear - her suffer now. I want you to cane her buttocks first. I think perhaps twenty strokes but each of them is to be delivered with your full strength.

  “Yes, madam,” he replied but I didn’t like the look on his face. He was clearly relishing caning my bottom.

  But she wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot. “And then I want her upended with her feet drawn out wide. I think ten strokes to her filthy cunt and another ten to her anus, all delivered hard...”

  Now his face positively glowed and I understood why the staff in the kitchen so feared this urbane-looking man who was clearly in sync with his employer. “Yes again, Madam,” he said.

  She gloated as she stared at the fear that I knew must be etched all over my face. “Yes, slut, you do well to fear me. The next ten years are going to be three thousand, six hundred and fifty days of unmitigated horror for you - and there is nothing you can do - nothing at all, to relieve it. I am going to work these fine muscles of yours until you drop - every single day. And then I am going to punish you for your perfidy in rejecting my love...”

  I thought of replying but then decided not to, wisely I think. I was already slated for extreme pain from the cane. God knows what she would have done if I had objected!

  But then I stared again. She had been sitting in what was obviously her favourite chair but I hadn’t noticed a series of little buttons on its right arm. She pressed one of these now and a section of the beautiful wood panelling on the wall opposite her slid aside and a wooden form, hinged at one end to the wall behind the panel, dropped down, operated by a hydraulic ram.

  Once it was down fully, the butler gestured to me to lie down along the bench thus formed and to stretch my arms down to cuffs attached to the base of the supporting legs. He then locked my ankles into Velcro cuffs on the ends of chains, the links of which fitted neatly into lugs at the bottom two corners of the bench. These allowed them to be adjusted to the stature of any victim.

  “Twenty strokes, madam,” he breathed in almost sepulchral tones, now fetching a very real rattan cane from a tall brass holder in one corner.

  I lay there, my head off the end of the bench facing her, in a deep funk. Oh yes, I knew slaves could be disciplined in this manner but citizens couldn’t. Corporal punishment had not been restored either in schools or the home and it certainly hadn’t been for the punishment of criminals - not unless they were sentenced to slavery, anyway.

  I glanced at my new owner, sitting watching the actions with a huge self-satisfied expression of smugness on her face and I wondered, just for a split-second how she would be looking if the roles were reversed. But as I said it was a fleeting thought, for now the cane struck my bottom for the first time.

  I was paralysed by the pain of it. Oh yes, I had heard the banshee scream as it descended but then there was nothing. I didn’t feel it strike, I don’t think. But then, was it one or two seconds later, it hit me. I was sure the cane had been replaced with a red-hot poker for that’s what it felt like.

  I didn’t scream. Not at first. I couldn’t. The pain of that blow knocked the stuffing right out of me, at least for a few seconds.

  I did however react physically. The moment the pain surfaced in my brain, I began to writhe and to pull mightily at the manacles and chains that held me so securely

  And then, too, as my body began its frantic pulling and writhing, I let fly vocally, now giving voice to my agony, for believe me, agony it truly was.

  “Aaaeeeooowwwaaaggghhheee,” I screamed, or something like that except that it went on and on, I swept my head back and forth, I yelled and cursed, uttering distinctly unladylike epithets about everything and everyone - but especially about Madeleine.

  She sat there and took it, not saying a word but her smile grew even broader as she watched me suffer and listened to my screams and then I noted that her eyes were really watching my muscles.

  You will remember I said I was more muscular than her and I believe many men would think me too athletic. Not that I was a female bodybuilder. I don’t like the gross muscles they build and mine are nothing like that. I was an athlete and that’s the sort of muscles I had. But she seemed to be glorying in them as I continued to pull and strain while my body slowly came to terms with that first of twenty strokes to my buttocks.

  And as I lay there, trying to cope with that dreadful pain, another thought hit me: could I possibly handle another one like that, let alone nineteen?

  The answer is that of course I could. I didn’t have much option, did I? I was bound to that caning bench very securely. There was no way I could get up off it so if she w
anted to give me a hundred strokes there was not a thing I could do about it.

  So how was I going to cope with another nineteen such strokes, I asked myself.

  By not responding. That’s how. Yes, I had just given her a wonderful show that first time but if I was somehow able to absorb that pain and stay still, she wasn’t going to like it one bit. But could I do it? I had no idea. The pain had been truly awful. But then I thought of Madeleine’s gloating smile. She was getting off on my agony! I couldn’t let her get away with that.

  And then my mind, its processes now darting willy-nilly from one idea to another, reverted to that first thought. She also liked my muscles. I knew I was going to be destined for her bed, probably sooner rather than later: how was I going to cope with a woman’s slobbering kisses all over my body?

  I grinned then. Yes I did, even through the pain that was still tearing at my buttocks and shafting in great red-hot shards up all over me. I had just thought of Big Balls. I would think of him as she used me. As long as I didn’t have to look at her, I would pretend it was his beautiful body lying next to me and his tongue caressing my flesh...

  Would it work? I had no idea, but in any case, I then heard that awful whistle of air telling me another stroke was going to hit in milliseconds.

  I steeled myself, flexing hard every single muscle in my body over which I had control and directing my voice not to utter a single peep.

  I didn’t manage it. I did grunt and perhaps screamed just a little but I forced my body to lie still, or at least as still as I could. Yes, I did move a little but there was none of the powerful gyrations, the twisting and turning, the whipping back and forth of my head or the clenching and relaxing of my buttock cheeks that had followed the first one.

  I didn’t look at her. I knew she would be angry and I didn’t want to make it any more so than necessary.

  There was dead silence in the room, at least after my brief groan was done but then she spoke: “I told you she would be strong, Hobbs,” she said, and I was shocked to hear a note of admiration in her voice. It didn’t make any difference to the punishment, though. “I will be interested to see if she can keep it up for the whole twenty strokes. Proceed, Hobbs.”

  He did. I had known, really, she wouldn’t be forgiving but using every last gram of my reserves, I was able to keep my reactions, both physical and vocal, down to a minimum.

  But then of course I was to suffer the even worse torture of the cane to my vagina and then my anus.

  For this, Hobbs undid all four manacles then ordered me over onto my back but with my head now back to the wall. My buttocks were a right mess, of course. Not that I could see them, but I could certainly feel them and when I reached behind me, I could also feel the blood. Nevertheless, an order was an order and the slightest breach of one meant more and more punishment. That much I was well aware of.

  He fixed my wrists to the manacles formerly encasing my ankles but then drew my left leg up and back, fastening it to a chain and manacle dangling from the wall way out on either side of the bench. That was followed by another one to my other ankle and I now lay there with my legs pulled up and out very wide apart, exposing my vagina and anus perfectly for that horrible cane.

  She had ordered Hobbs to cane them hard but I knew if he did so with the same force he had used on my buttocks, they would probably destroy both organs permanently. Did she want that, I wondered.

  Apparently not for while those ten strokes were not mere taps and hurt a lot, they didn’t break the skin. And it was the same with the final ten strokes to my anus. Those were indeed mere caresses, or so it felt and I was childishly grateful, actually getting down on my knees and thanking her.

  I’m sure she had studied Pavlov and his conditioning theories and if so I was a perfect example of how pain and its absence could be used as training factors in controlling humans as well as animals. I despised myself as I knelt there in tears, thanking her for being so lenient with me but I was powerless to do otherwise.

  “Just look at the slut, Hobbs. Thanking me like a baby for being so nice to her. But I think, since I want her tonight, you may treat her injuries. Use my own personal salve. However let her be aware that if she doesn’t please me tonight, there will be twenty more strokes to her buttocks tomorrow morning and after that she can pull the big roller over the lawns all day...”

  Her salve was magic. Hobbs applied it carefully but as he did, the terrible hurt in the cheeks of my buttocks and the lesser, but still painful soreness in my vagina seemed to just melt away.

  Hobbs wasn’t backward in feeling my body however and he told me I was going to be a popular item in his bed as well as Madeleine’s.

  I stared up at him. “So I will be your plaything as well as the mistress’?”

  He grinned. “Oh yes and while you are new, I think you may expect to be called on every night. After that, well Miss Albrecht will enjoy having you perform for her pleasure with the other slaves, female as well as male in the little entertainments she puts on for her friends...”

  Chapter 2

  For the rest of that day, I was put to scrubbing floors. I am not a snob - heavens, I had nothing to be snobbish about but even if I had, I don’t think it is in my nature to affect airs and graces over others. But that toil, so useless (for the floors were already as clean as a whisker) and so shaming because of its very uselessness, really underlined to me my new status. I really was a slave. A naked, nude slave, able to be used at the most degrading, useless but backbreaking tasks for as long as they could prod me to keep going.

  My collar had been programmed by Hobbs to keep me at it. It really was a remarkable piece of advanced technology. It could sense my attitude, for a start, and if I once brought my upper body to the erect position, wham! It hit - and how. I didn’t try that again in a hurry.

  But it also sensed the rate of my scrubbing, presumably from the rhythm of the movements of my neck and if I slowed down it gave me another shock; this one different in its pattern but just as painful.

  Then there was the effort I was expending. I think this may have had something to do with the sweat oozing from my pores but I’m not really sure about that, or at least I wasn’t then. Anyway, even if I kept my body down on all fours and maintained the rhythm of my arm movements, if I didn’t apply the full power of my muscles to the task, then wham again! I soon learned, I can tell you!

  I had to start in the furthest reaches of the sculleries, larders and pantries which, as you can imagine in such a huge house, were big and extensive and then, scrubbing each floor in turn, move back into the kitchens proper and then through to the serving pantry - and then start in all over again, time after time.

  The floors were all flagstones made of slate there and they were as hard as nails on my knees but that was no excuse to stop or even slow down. Hobbs came by regularly, pausing to watch me at work for a few minutes and then go off on his rounds. And Madeleine arrived once to see how I was getting on.

  “Not the miss prissy law student are you now, Anne?” she sneered down at me, the pointed toe of her shoe coming out to dig into my sides and between my thighs (from behind, of course). She giggled as I screamed when the point entered my anus and then probed into my vagina but I knew better than to stop the frenetic back and forth motion of the huge scrubbing brush over the floor.

  “I am your slave, mistress and will perform each task assigned to me to the best of my ability,” I said bravely, hoping my response would not engender another scream of rage.

  It didn’t. But she did confirm my fate for this evening. “Well said, slavegirl, but I can see your lovely bottom has healed well so you will be gracing my bed this evening...”

  “Yes, mistress,” I said, trying to put some enthusiasm into my voice. It must have satisfied her, for she just sniffed and moved off.

  You may be sneering at my apparent capitulation to
her? It was, of a sort, but it was designed to give me a breathing space. A continued resistance or opposition to her could only lead to worse and worse punishments; I was absolutely sure of that. Obedience might not save me from her sexual advances and the routine digs at my body, not to mention the unceasing hard labour, but it might obviate the gratuitous punishments she clearly delighted in inflicting on me and, as I say, give me a breathing space to work out a long-term game plan.

  Working hard wasn’t difficult. I had always applied myself to every task set me, whether it was my chores, school work, study or sports and so I devised a routine with the scrubbing brush so that a small portion of my brain could maintain the work in a scientific manner while the rest of it worked on some means of making life bearable in the predicament I now found myself in.

  I didn’t think I had any other choice. No-one believed I was innocent; not even my parents, but even if they had, they certainly didn’t have the resources to mount an appeal but in any case, there were no grounds for one. No. I was stuck there until I could find a way out on my own.

  It had to be Madeleine, of course. She was the weak link. It was she who had engineered this whole smelly kettle of fish but I wasn’t going to let her know that I knew that. It was my one trump card and as yet I had no idea how to use it. Best therefore, to knuckle down and at least pretend to accept my ten years of slavery to her.

  And that included sex.

  My antipathy towards lesbian sex had not abated one iota but I knew I was going to have to pretend to a turn-around there, too. Tonight was going to be difficult, to say the least. But I was going to have to make her believe that I now adored her body and that I wanted to learn everything there was to know about female-to-female sex - and then show an apparent delight in it.

  Yes, I would try to use mental images of Big Balls’ beautiful body, at least at first, thinking of him, his handsome face and wonderful smile; his broad, boulder-like shoulders; his smooth, velvet-like skin. clean-cut chest muscles and, of course, the incredible display of pebble-like stomach muscles; not to mention the sculpted thighs and boyish buttocks. But mostly, of course, there was that incredible set of genitals: the long, thick penis with its beautifully formed crown and the massive pair of testicles dangling behind it, all displayed so well under the totally smooth pubes.