by Mark Andrews
Of course Dad moved in with us but he now had his own body slave. Both Phil and I needed Miriam. First as our sex-guru and with her attending almost full-time on him, she wasn’t available to steer us in the wondrous nuances of way-out sex and we both missed her in our bed terribly. Second we missed her bubbly personality around us in the house.
As he learned more and more about the island, he took to going on walks to investigate this or that and of course he had to have a guide - Miriam! It also meant that when I wanted to go somewhere alone, I didn’t have the other half of my team of ponies, either. He soon realised what was happening however and spoke to Preston about acquiring a slavegirl of his own.
There were literally hundreds of them on the island. They far outweighed the ‘free’ people, possibly ten to one for I was to discover, many more people desire to experience slavery, real slavery, than wanted to be their Masters or Mistresses. Odd, isn’t it? One would think it was the other way around but apparently not so. Anyway, as a result, there were always a number of slaves available, if not actually on the market, as it were, and once Dad’s needs were known, many ‘slave owners’ offered their property to him.
Yes, I know it wasn’t actually that simple. Since the slaves weren’t really property and were actually voluntary slaves, the decision was also theirs to make as well, but in the first instance at least, an owner or lessee of a slave would present a girl to Dad for his appraisal. If he seemed interested, she was asked if she would consent to the sale. In this way he acquired Wani. She was like a miniature doll and hailed from Thailand. She really was an exquisite creature, as bubbly as Miriam and nearly as adept in the sex department. She also made a perfect body-slave (or female valet, if you like). Once he had acquired her, she hardly ever left his side and I was glad for at last his dolour over Mother’s death seemed to abate.
I won’t go on about our household. Suffice to say, our slaves all made our lives easy and comfortable and we, Dad and me that is, were soon going out on our former rounds of the island. Oh, I should say that I also acquired a cook, another young man who had been an apprentice chef and the dishes he dreamed up for our table were wonderful. Between them all, they ran our house with quiet efficiency and once more I had reason to be ecstatic we had found the island.
I mentioned earlier that we had human pony race meetings on the island. Actually we had all manner of sports events that featured our slaves as the competitors and I will detail some of these now. I should also say however that we owners and free residents had our own sports to keep us fit and healthy.
I have already mentioned golf and I will be more specific about that in a minute for the way we played it, it didn’t in the least contribute to our physical wellbeing. We had tennis, though real tennis, not the kind played at Baroness von Eckhardt’s house; squash, in a court in the village; swimming in the lagoons around the island or in pools in its streams; or we could spend time in the gym, guided by Jack Williams. And then we could go riding. This too I will be more specific about later.
First though, the slave sports.
The race track was tiny compared to your normal equine racetrack but it was quite big enough for the human variety. There were two sorts of races: those equivalent to your equine trots, where the gigs were used as trotting frames, and saddle events, for yes, the more stalwart of the slaves, even some of the bigger females, were saddled and carried a jockey on his or her back.
The saddles were designed to fit comfortably around the slave’s neck, over his shoulders, and then buckled around his chest. He was trained to squat to allow his rider to mount him and then straighten up with the jockey now seated astride his neck. Yes, it took super-human effort, but Jack trained them well and the slaves themselves competed with each other as to who was the strongest and fastest.
They weren’t dedicated ponies. Most slaves performed at least dual roles and some many more. For example, our cook turned out to be a very successful saddle pony but that didn’t excuse him from his culinary duties. He simply had to fit his pony training in with them.
They were quite extraordinary events, at least for a newcomer like me and Dad was even more astonished (although as gratified as I was) by them.
To watch as stark naked human beings, harnessed to a gig or saddled as a pony, raced at full tilt around the small track, was about as good as it gets. The girl slaves were just as keen to compete as the males and so there was about an even mix of girls and boys, and of saddle and gig events. It made for variety but it also meant the two sexes among the owners and residents got an even share of titillation at watching the slaves compete. Not, I hasten to add, that I wasn’t interested in the male slaves racing.
Their bodies were all about as good as the human physique can get and since most of them were rock hard from the sexual excitement of competing as human animals, remember their sexual gratification on the island was just as important for its smooth functioning as ours, it was certainly an exciting day. Who won didn’t really matter, at least not to me or Dad. For us, just the sight of half a dozen gigs pulled by pairs of ultra handsome/beautiful naked boys or girls, the girls’ breasts flouncing wonderfully as they ran at full tilt around the track was quite sufficient.
The track had been made to resemble a real racetrack, with white fence, tanbark track and even a small stand for us spectators. There was even a bar for those who hadn’t brought their own liquid refreshments although we had to provide our own lunch. This we ate, with our slaves, in the grassed area beside the stand and at these times we didn’t stand on ceremony, the slaves tucking into the cold chicken or whatever with us. The only difference really was that they were naked and we were fully clothed.
I suppose I should say here that there was never any class differentiation between them and us. They could have come from any class in their homeland and so could we. Class wasn’t the issue here; slavery was. We delighted in ‘owning’ them and they felt fulfilled by being owned. We had to make it as realistic as we could on both sides for it to work well, but we all seemed to know just where to draw the line.
The race meeting took place every couple of months or so. It was not all that regular; just when a group of owners decided the time was ripe and it got around the grapevine. There was no telephone system as such on the island but we all had satellite phones and so communication was never a problem.
I mentioned that golf was hardly an exercise there, at least, not for us. We had to bring our own caddies, but we also had to provide the island’s form of golf buggy. This was not a motorised, or even a wheeled vehicle. Have you guessed? Yes, we used a slave as a saddle pony to walk us around the course.
It was only nine holes but they were particularly difficult, full of hills and dales and corners and I put off playing for a while (although I had taken to the game with gusto once Dad had introduced me to it) for at first I didn’t have the slaves (I thought) to carry my golf bag or to provide me with a seat.
I hadn’t bargained on Phil and Miriam, however. Once my wife realised I wasn’t playing, she reasoned why.
“Master, I know you love golf but you seem to have abandoned it?”
“Got better things to do,” I mumbled, but she persisted and eventually dragged out of me the real reason. She went away and must have talked to Miriam for in a few minutes they were back, together this time, and dropped to their knees in front of my chair. “Master, we want you to play golf and we believe we could serve as your pony and caddy,” Phil said.
I stared at her. “You couldn’t, slavegirl. You couldn’t carry my weight around for a couple of hours?”
“I believe I could, Master...”
Then Miriam chipped in. “And I may be small but I’m strong, Master. I know I could carry your bag...”
I grinned. “Be it on your heads then. But if you fail me, you know I will have to punish you severely...?”
“Of course, Master,�
�� they chorused.
As a result, a saddle was made (yes, we had our own saddler, too, it really was a self-contained community, funded by the owners but supported by all the free residents who had come there to enjoy the slavery and to make their living there) and fitted to Phil’s neck, back and chest and I marvelled how perfect a fit it was, the straps fitting perfectly around her breasts and the smooth underside of the saddle itself resting comfortably on her shoulders.
I was as excited as Phil was when she squatted down to accept me on her back. Jack had come out to supervise this first saddling for he was as unsure as I was if she was as yet strong enough to support me, let alone lift me up. I had wanted to mount her as a rider does an equine horse, placing my left foot in the stirrup and swinging my other leg up until I was seated in the saddle but she demurred, asking if she could at least try to lift me up as custom demanded there.
He watched in as much amazement as I felt as she then exerted her thighs and lifted me up until she was standing erect. I slipped my feet into the stirrups that dangled from under her armpits and grasped the handle that sat up from the bridle around her head and face (yes, even including a bit) and she them walked me around the yard at the back of the house.
“You’ve got a marvel there, James, Jack said as he stared unbelievingly at my wife carrying me around as if I was a mere boy. I was as amazed, as I’ve already said. I knew she was athletic, our lifestyle ensure that, but this bespoke great strength as well.
Anyway, the result was the pair of them took me out to the course and I had a wonderful round of golf, not really caring about my game as I took in all the caddies and steeds carrying my partners as well as other players that morning. Only a few of us used girls, either as caddies or ponies, for it was thought they wouldn’t be strong enough to carry any but the lightest of us owners or residents. Now they had to rethink their ideas for Phil easily carried me around the nine holes and Miriam showed no signs of weariness carrying my heavy golf bag on her back. Indeed, the pair of them then trotted me home after the game.
Dad had to acquire his own gig of course. There were times he wanted to go places other than my destinations and in any case, he soon acquired an independence of his own. Accordingly, he needed a pair of steeds. No female ones were available at the time but his two boys were handsome lads and he treated them well. When they weren’t riding him around the place, or serving as his caddy and pony on the course, they helped out at the hotel. Later, when we moved to my house, they helped Otondo in the garden or the girls in the house.
But there were other slave sporting events. Gymnastics was one. Jack Williams had a team of male and female athletes (all owned by others of course) whom he was training in the beautiful art of gymnastics. The difference was they performed naked.
I never missed one of his shows for both the male and female competitors were the absolute epitome of lithe perfection and grace.
I also never missed a soccer match. These were mixed events, females combing with male team members (when they were good enough in the coach’s eyes) to compete against the island’s other side. Again they played naked and again, everyone turned out to watch the game as might be expected.
There were also boxing and wrestling matches and yes, sometimes girls competed against their male counterparts and won! It was incredible to watch as a lithe girl was pitted against a male wrestler and used her slender body to escape his holds. This was pure amateur wrestling, not the professional TV variety where it was all show and little skill.
I didn’t like the boxing as much; I never have approved of this sport and I chose not to attend. Even the idea of naked girls battering each others’ bodies seemed horrible rather than exciting to me.
You will have appreciated by now that we had wonderful lives on the island. We owners had lives of leisure, supported by as many slaves as we wanted; the residents plied their trade or profession with much the same support; while the slaves themselves were fulfilling their own dreams.
It was an idyllic existence in beautiful tropical surroundings but of course we needed to go home from time to time.
Dad didn’t come with me. “No, I see no need to go, James. With the computer and the satellite connection to the Internet, I can keep perfect control of our investments from here. Besides, I am having much too good a time to bother going home to Cranwell. You can check up on things without me and in the meantime, my slaves are going to teach me new ways of enjoying their bodies...”
Phil and I went home and this time, we took Miriam with us. Both of them hated having to wear clothes and they hated England’s climate even less. Having gone naked for months now, Phil had embraced her nudity totally. Miriam of course was already a confirmed slave and I thought would elect to remain in that state for a long time in the future.
She really was a delightful creature. Worldly beyond her young years and possessed of a wonderful personality as well as a magnificent body, even for its small size, and looks that would have made many world-class models envious, she could have held her own in any of the great salons of Europe or, as I could well testify, act as the perfect slave.
She behaved as a lady of rank when she came to Cranwell.
We had decided it would be an interesting couple of weeks for her to play a great lady from Nigeria and she was therefore accorded one of our best guest suites at Cranwell. While I attended to my duties as Dad’s delegate in running the estate, the pair of them went down to London and made merry with my bank account, although not for clothes. After this fortnight, they would have no use for them, of course. No, it was ornaments and other things for the house, visits to restaurants and the theatre that kept them busy for the few days they spent in the capital.
Back home, we contrived to spirit Miriam into our bedroom late at night. This wasn’t difficult for we had ensconced her in the suite next to ours and there was a connecting door between them. Once again stark naked, the three of us carried on with Phil’s and my sexual education.
There were no regrets as we left Cranwell again and the closer we got back to the island, the happier we were. I think it took all my powers of persuasion for the pair of them to keep their clothes on until the seaplane was out of sight, actually.
We continued to accept invitations to other owners’ homes and many of them were to events as bizarre as the baroness’ tennis party.
By the way, Doctor Swindon finally agreed that the twins truly wanted to be de-sexed, he to become a eunuch and she, whatever you call a female eunuch. He persuaded a colleague of his to come to the island to assist in performing the operations. Not that the boy’s was particularly difficult, it merely involved your normal castration (of his testicles and scrotum) and then the removal of his penile member, replacing it with a tiny bud down low on his groin at the juncture of his thighs.
That whole operation would take less than an hour. It was what the girl wanted for herself that posed the difficulties. Not only did she want a full hysterectomy; she also wanted her vagina totally removed as well so that her groin would be as bare and sexless as her brother’s.
The doctors therefore had to work out how they were going to close up her slit once the womb and other organs of procreation had been removed.
I have to say that while I didn’t approve of their choice, their bodies after they had fully recovered, were something else. At first, they were a curiosity. All of us stared in morbid fascination at their empty groins: they really were empty! There was nothing there at all. Both quite flat and smooth, although now, their stomach muscles (very prominent, you will remember) seemed to march right down to the junction of their thighs.
The tiny bud that marked the end of their urinary tracts was invisible. It had been situated right down low, near the front of their anal opening and so unless they lay down and drew their knees up to their chests, you couldn’t see them.
They didn’t stay long as slaves
after that. Within a few months, they had applied to become owners and even now their new house is being built. I for one will miss seeing their splendid naked bodies trotting their mistress around the island.
The baroness didn’t lose any time in acquiring another set of twins however. Truly, the supply of handsome and beautiful young slaves is endless. The ‘government’ of the island has agents all over the world who keep their ears to the ground and their fingers to the keyboards of their computers, seeking out new slaves. The criteria is strict.
Each must be psychologically evaluated as to his or her real need to be a slave and their suitability for it. They must also be good-looking and have bodies that will match our standards. Once accepted they are placed on a waiting list and when a vacancy occurs in our slave ranks, they are spirited away. This is often the most difficult part of the whole process.
We never simply ‘kidnap’ them. A suitable cover story must therefore be created to account for their absence and it has to be credible, both to their families, friends and employers if they have them.
Once that is achieved however, they are then forcibly enslaved. If the slave recruit is English, say, she is taken to a secret location and stripped naked, their clothes being burned in front of their eyes so that they possess nothing. They are then placed in a crate that has been designed for long-distance transporting of slaves. They sit down in it with their knees up to their chests. First though, they are starved for twenty-four hours and given a series of enemas that will ensure their bowels are empty. Just to make doubly certain however, a large butt plug is inserted up there.
A catheter is then pushed into their urethra and taped in place. This is attached to a plastic bag that sits beneath their knees in the crate. A mouthpiece attached to a bottle of water is then strapped around their faces so they won’t dehydrate on the journey. Last, before the top of the crate is screwed down, they are given a muscle relaxing drug and another drug to put them half out of it. The crate is then shipped as airfreight to the island.
