by Mark Andrews
All this I got both from her that night and from Anthony the next day but in between hearing her story, I was also experiencing the best sexual act of my life. I might only have been twenty-six at that time but before marrying Phillida, I had checked it all out, all except gay love-acts, that is, and now I realised, having delighted in the wonder of Miriam’s wonderful backside, that all my fears and anathema of and for anal sex were ridiculous.
It was a revelation and it made me understand a little bit more about Phil’s craving to be a slave. Of course, with her, it was only to me. She had no desire to be put on the market and sold to the highest bidder whereas nothing would have pleased Miriam more. To have been paraded naked on a slave dealer’s podium in some Eastern market while scores of potential buyers moved up to her, fingered her body and examined her teeth and her sex and anus, would have been wonderful for her. But even being bought by a Western nobleman to be transported to this island for his and his wife’s use was wonderful for her.
With a sudden insight, I asked her if Lady Grey used her sexually. She grinned. “Oh yes, Master. She is a good lover of men but she is even better with us girls and she made me feel good.”
I was learning, fast, that sex, all sex, is good, if you open your mind to it and try to forget what society has taught you over the years of your upbringing.
That night she led me through more sexual nuances than I could have believed possible. Not every type of sex. Not only did we not have time for them, nor was my sexual stamina sufficient, but she knew that too much, too soon, would be mind-blunting. Instead, what she did was to show me how to use little twists in my thrusts, or to hold back a few seconds before plunging back in, or to intersperse the action with my cock with soft kisses, just brushing my lips against a part of her body, or using my fingertips in the same way.
She led me down the first paths of an awareness of the female and male erogenous zones, things I had only been very vaguely aware of prior to this... In short, she began my sexual education without me even realising it for I was quickly to come to the realisation that what I had learned to that point was about equivalent to what an infant knows of speech in his first year of life - nothing!
She didn’t tire me unduly however. As I said before, both Phil and I were fit and healthy. I knew of course she could have exhausted me if she had wished. She didn’t. Her role was to educate me, not kill me and when at last she called a halt, we snuggled up together, much as Phil and I did each night, and I slept a dreamless sleep, awaking refreshed and rearing to go.
Miriam was already up and as soon as she heard me stirring brought in a slice of toast and tea from the kitchenette then crawled in beside me to tease me with her lips, tongue and teeth and her fingertips as I struggled to eat the toast and sip the tea.
She made breakfast while I showered, alone this time for she was busy with my breakfast preparations and laying out my clothes for the morning. During breakfast she sat on the floor beside my chair, eating titbits that I handed her from my plate as I ate. I knew she would eat a proper breakfast afterwards but this illusion of being fed as an animal pleased both of us.
After breakfast, Preston pulled up outside, ready to take me on my first tour of the island. As you will remember, his gig was pulled by his two muscular girl-slaves and after I had greeted him and mounted the gig, I asked him of their backgrounds.
“The white girl was a female body-builder and she was very good at it too, as you can see from her physique. She had a female lover who had a fantasy about selling her...”
I stared at him in awe. “And she let her?”
He grinned. “She sure did. It seems the moment the lover proposed the idea, Beryl knew it was what had been lurking in the back of her mind for years. The lover apparently had a new conquest in the wings and when I appeared at their New York apartment to buy her, the new girl showed herself, to Beryl’s shame. She was pleased therefore, when I took her away. She still doesn’t like sex with men but I make her submit to it and she likes the idea of being forced into it. I indulge her other craving willingly however. Muscular females have always been a turn-on for me and I allow her to spend two hours every day in the gym.
“Ziba there, was sold into slavery by her father. She was horrified at first at the very idea of being a slave but in a few months she too realised it was what she wanted after all. I got her from an itinerant slave trader in the Middle East. She is a natural at sex, a bit like your Miriam (see what I mean about everyone knowing everything about everyone else) and she too loves to train her body. These two are the best developed female slaves on the island,” he finished proudly.
I am not as keen on overly muscular females but I had to admit the pair of them did have truly splendid bodies and I openly admired them to him.
I asked him then how Phil had fared. He looked at me closely for a second and smiled. “You didn’t go down to see her then?”
“No, you suggested I leave her to stew all day today?”
“I did. It will be for the best but I know you must be aching to see her. I tell you what, when we return, we’ll have a peek at her, eh?” Through the camera!”
I had imagined he was relenting and we were going down to the cellars to see her in the flesh but I soon subsided. I knew they were far better equipped to know what was best for a new slave although I knew poor Phil must really be feeling dreadful by now.
“Yes, she will,” said my companion as the two muscular and very naked slavegirls trotted us out of town and down the road around the island. I stared at him. Had he read my thoughts? He had - partly as he grinned broadly. “Yes, I know you were thinking she must be feeling bad and she is. She will be cold and sore but she will be thinking that this is what she has wanted for so long and her mind will be going over all the possibilities that await her as your slave.
“She is going to be disconcerted that you will be buying Miriam today...”
“But I haven’t...”
“Haven’t bought her yet? No, I know, but you will. When we reach Lord Grey’s house, you will go in and ask him if you may buy her... Tell me you haven’t been thinking about it?”
“I have, it’s true. But I wasn’t sure if it would be the right thing to do?”
“It is, believe me. That girl is second to none when it comes to sexual prowess and while she will teach you everything there is to know about it, she will also train your wife in the sexual arts.”
That was what made me decide to go and see the president when we reached his house and you know the outcome already.
But before we were anywhere near his house, we reached the pig farm and its attached waste digester.
The pig farm itself was nothing extraordinary, except that its workers were slaves, one male and one female. Nothing extraordinary in that, you say? No, except that when not mucking out the pens or preparing the swill for the pigs, they were treated as pigs themselves, being accommodated in a pen with four pigs, sleeping against them and feeding and passing their wastes with them. They were hosed down by the farm’s owner when the pigs were cleaned and in every respect treated as pigs as much as possible.
I looked at Preston quizzically as we came out of the pig house and he laughed. “It’s what they wanted, James. Many potential slaves have a secret urge to be treated as animals. Look at our ponies. They delight in being harnessed as human equines and lashed to trot around our streets and roads. We even have a couple of human dogs which you will meet later.
From the pig house, we strolled down to the waste digester. This is a remarkable machine or perhaps process would be a better description. It relies on the fact that anaerobic bacteria working on animal wastes quickly turn them into methane, which can be tapped off and used to run the village’s main generator, the by-product being a totally inert fertiliser that is quite safe to use even on vegetable gardens, as raw human sewage is not.
To aid the process, they used a breaking down tank which I have already described. Its paddles were normally pushed by four slaves from outside the tank, as you would expect, but as Preston said when he was describing a possible punishment for their masochists, they could be made to hop into the chest-high sewage and pig waste, and push the boom from inside. This tank is fed from the town sewage pipes and from the pig pens via concrete sluices.
Once the stuff has been reduced to a mush, it is transferred to the huge anaerobic tank which is then sealed against air and the process begins. The methane is tapped off from the gasometer that floats above the mush, rising as more and more methane is produced, and is then piped to the power house gasometer not far from the pig farm. It had all been designed to maximise what was available and I marvelled at the ingenuity of the designer.
Once the primary process is complete (after a few days) and little more methane is being produced, the mush is then pumped into the aerobic tank which, as the name implies, is open to the air. This completes the breaking down process and the liquid that is tapped off, as well as the hard residue is a perfect fertiliser.
From the waste digester plant, we trotted along to the president’s house.
It was a beautiful estate, understandable, I suppose, given his wealth and the fact that he and Lady Grey spent most of their time on the island. He had designed the house himself, or at least its basic outline and he was proud to show me over it himself.
We had morning tea with him after he had shown me over the house and his slave stables. Misunderstanding what the stables were for, I asked why he didn’t keep his slaves in the house as apparently other owners did. “Oh I do, the house slaves, that is. These are for my ponies, for just as many Englishmen like to train equine horses, I do the same with my stable of human ponies.”
As he explained this, we were walking out of the back of the rather large stables building - constructed with the same fine stone as his house and with the same craftsmanship and I gasped as I now saw his training track, complete with white-painted fences and a half-dozen human ponies (three male and three female) all running flat out, pulling the light gigs, while their grooms lashed at their naked back and buttocks with their long coach-whips.
“And they all like this?” I asked in disbelief as I stared at the scene and hoping that neither Preston nor Anthony could see the tent in my jeans.
“The peer grinned back at me. “They glory in it. If those grooms weren’t serious in lashing their backs they would be disappointed, believe me.”
“What’s it for, though? I mean, I know you use them as transport vehicles, but that doesn’t need six slaves?”
“No, it doesn’t. But you see, many of us adored horse-racing when we were back in our own countries and here, human pony racing seemed the logical course. We made enquiries through our slave sources about young men and women who might enjoy being turned into equine animals and here we are.”
“So there are a lot of you who have their own stables?”
“Most of us. We stage race meetings from time to time... If it interests you, I’ll be happy to give you a few pointers and see about the staff you will need...”
He didn’t once glance down at my straining trouser front, being the gentleman he was, but I knew he was aware of my condition, which was probably why he had made the comment.
I have already told of the transaction we agreed on that morning so I won’t mention it again. Suffice to say as we mounted up for the next stage of our trip, I was thrilled to the very core of my being that he had agreed to sell Miriam to me and that she was now mine.
As we moved off though, my thoughts were again diverted to the backs of the two muscular, naked female slaves pulling us along. It really was an incredible sight. Their bodies were so magnificent and I use that word advisedly. Although they were well-muscled, they weren’t too much so. At least not to my mind. If you were looking for all soft curves and dimples, they certainly wouldn’t suit, but I loved Phil’s lithe athleticism and the energy it gave her in bed. These two girls were just a bit more muscular than that and as I stared ahead at their pounding feet, straining thighs and wonderfully undulating bottom cheeks with the tails poking out and up from between them, my cock again went into its rigid state.
It was doing that a lot that day and Preston laughed at me. “Don’t worry about it, James. Once you get used to having all these beautiful naked women around you, you will be able to control it.” He paused a moment then, looking ahead at his two ponies, went on: “They are a magnificent pair, though, aren’t they?”
“They certainly are, Preston. I think, once I sort out things back home so that Phil and I can spend most of our time here, that I will take up Anthony’s offer and start a small stable of my own.”
“I thought you might,” he said dryly.
We fell silent then, both of us watching the pair of human ponies ahead of us, Preston to revel in his ownership of the pair and me to marvel at their power and stamina. For while I have said we trotted along, once we were on the main road around the island, he whipped them into a gallop and the pair of them really ran flat out. It wasn’t for miles, of course. I know the human body is not capable of that, even considering the legendary ancient Marathon runner who ran flat out for twenty-five miles in 490 BC. Even if that story is true, the runner is said to have collapsed and died upon reaching Athens so the point is moot.
This pair had to run up to a couple of miles at a time though and that is quite a feat considering the pace and that we were going up and down rises on the road. But not only were they running at what looked to me like a sprint, they were also doing it with perfect grace and symmetry. Each left foot hit the dirt of the road’s surface at precisely the same time...
I know I said they had to keep their hands up behind their heads as they trotted and this is true, they do. But when we are out on the open road and they are whipped to a gallop, they are then permitted to use them to counter the reaction of their torsos to the motion of their legs. It’s obvious why. If they weren’t, their running would be severely restricted and in any case, even with their hands and arms flying back and forth, both their ponytails, that on their heads as well as the one poking up from out of their buttocks, still swung wonderfully from side to side.
Our next stop was the gymnasium.
Chapter 4
In this well set-up building lay the reason the for the perfection of the bodies of all the slaves on the island.
Jack Williams was not only an Olympic quality gymnast but also a physical education graduate. When he heard about the island through the grapevine of slave aficionados, he asked if they could use a physical educationalist and after they had carefully checked out his credentials, both as to his qualifications as well as his security risk, they welcomed him with open arms. The gym was built and equipped to his specifications and he was also supplied with a house.
Their investment paid off for now every owner and lessee of a slave could ensure his or her property was individually moulded just about to their owner’s specifications.
Each slave spent as much time as was agreed between Jack and his or her owner/lessee, and Jack designed a personal program to develop the slave’s body just as his or her owner wished.
Most wanted their domestic (sex) slaves lithe and supple although those used as ponies or for labour had to be more muscular of course. You may be wondering here that any human being could willingly consent to being enslaved as a base labourer, perhaps as a quarry slave?
Believe it! I too found it hard to credit until I researched the craving in many human beings to be dominated by others. I quickly found out that there is a huge proportion of humans who secretly crave to be the abject slave of another and some want that slavery to be as hard as in the Roman Empire. When Preston and I actually reached the quarry on my orientation tour and I was able to talk to some of those slaves, I marvell
ed that they toiled at such hard labour, yes, under the whip, to dig out the blocks for the newest building on the island - mine.
And this applied as much to the female slaves as males!
You would think no girl could possibly want to labour in the quarry, or say, endlessly push the poles that worked the paddles in the waste digester, but they did. I would say there were just about as many females as males working at these tasks.
That led me to another question for Preston. “How long do the slaves stay here? I mean are any permanent or is their slavery for a fixed term?”
“Some come with the intention of making their whole lives here, James. We accept them as such but we know that as they grow older, the attraction will eventually pall and then they will be returned to their homes of course or, if they wish it, they may stay on here as free residents to fulfil some useful vocation.”
But I was starting to tell of the gymnasium and of Jack’s programme for the slaves. As I said, it was fully equipped with every gymnastic item you could think of although I was astonished to see the girl slaves performing on the parallel and horizontal bars, and the box and vaulting horse alongside the males. In the world of gymnastics, females are restricted to the balance beam and the like. Not here, though and all of them, female and male, all performed their exercises stark naked, the males even without an athletic support! Hell, they did everything naked! No slave was ever permitted even the tiniest rag to cover his or her genitals while on the island.
What a sight! A couple of dozen extraordinarily handsome or beautiful naked young slaves working flat out at all manner of different exercises each designed for that slave’s particular body and his Master’s requirements, supervised by Jack and his slave assistant.
