by Mark Andrews
Of the twelve girls we had accepted as our first consignment, three were Asian: from Japan, Thailand and Singapore; three were English; four were black: from the USA, Nigeria, Ghana and the Sudan; there was an American girl from Washington while the last was an exquisite little Polynesian girl from Tahiti. All were of the prescribed age - eighteen to twenty and all were slim and nicely bodied as well as quite beautiful. Some were from the so-called upper classes; others from working backgrounds. I didn’t care. All would soon be nothing more than slavegirls...
But I cared enough to have the first girl selected from a definitely upper class environment. She wasn’t exactly titled but she did come from a lesser branch of one of England’s oldest and noblest houses. Allison Howard was very conscious of her connection to the dukes of Norfolk and was a perfect candidate, in my opinion, anyway, for our ranks of slavegirls. She was a snob of the first order and one I was going to enjoy taming.
When she was dragged into our presence by her trainer, a very muscular young black named Henry, she was kicking and screaming and fighting against him tooth and nail. He quite easily held her slender form at arm’s length however, grinning hugely through the chain mail hood over his head and quite oblivious of her screams of rage and her attempts to hit out at him as he dragged her along.
He stood her in the centre of one wall, in the space between the frame there and the first row of seats. Right now, these were occupied by the other trainers and by any of the other officers and crew who were off duty and who wished to attend. I stood waiting for her and Adam was next to me, holding one of our little toys in his hand - an electronic prodder, an item that was going to instil real terror into each of these girls over the next few days.
“Who are you?” she cried plaintively as she stared around the room from me, to the engines of pain ranged around the four walls and then to the almost naked trainers and crew seated in the chairs before her.
For answer, I slapped her face - hard. “Be quiet, slut. You will learn never to open it unless invited. Learn well, for pain is my teacher...”
I nodded to Adam and he now stepped forward, thumbing the switch on the prodder and pressing the two sharp tines (which had replaced the blunt brass nubs found on the usual models of these items) through her smart dress and into her belly.
“Aaagheeeaaaghooowwwghaaagh!” she screamed, doubling over and clutching at her stomach while we stood there, watching with interest as she slowly recovered.
“Have you learned?” I asked softly, smiling lightly as I took in her slim but nicely shaped body and beautiful face.
“You beast!” she cried, by way of answer, making as if to rush in and hit me. Of course she didn’t. Henry was ready for her and grabbed her slender arm, twisting it behind her while Adam rammed the still active prodder into her breasts. She screamed again, the blood now draining from her face as the shocks agonised her so sensitive mammaries.
“Well?” I said.
“Yes. I understand,” she said sullenly.
“Smile!” I said harshly. “You will always smile when I or one of my men address you!” and nodded to Adam again. This time the tines went straight into her sex and her yowls of pain were even more strident. I glanced out at the rows of near-naked trainers seated in the chairs before me and grinned as I noted every cock was now hard as a rock, all standing straight up their bellies. It wasn’t lost on her either as she stared wildly from me, to Adam, still holding the prodder out towards her, and then to the trainers seated in the first rows right in front of her. She couldn’t easily see the seamen behind them but I could see the tenting in their uniform pants and grinned again. Oh yes, I had a good crew for this little venture alright.
She now grinned. It was only in a sickly fashion but it was a start. In time she would come across as a bright and bubbly girl, ready and willing to do anything - anything at all our clients required of her.
“You will now strip, slut,” I said, very slowly and very deliberately, staring straight into her eyes. She stared back at me, the hate back again and very visible. I didn’t mention that during my years as an entrepreneur, I had had elocution lessons. I didn’t want an Oxford accent but I did want one that indicated me as a man of substance. This wasn’t snobbery. It was a calculated ploy to make me more acceptable to the wheelers and dealers I had to contend with in my early days. It also meant young Allison had no idea what my background was. My accent was cosmopolitan-English enough to hide whether I was an aristocrat or merely middle-class. It was a good move. She was now uncertain of what to do. It was just as I wanted it.
I waited and watched, smiling lightly as she tried to balance the certainty of more pain from the prodder if she refused to comply - against her loss of dignity if she stripped in front of all of us. Her dignity won and I was pleased. I didn’t want a too early capitulation on the part of these girls. Fire and spirit would make them better slave-sluts in the future.
She folded her arms across her firm bosom and set her face defiantly. “I won’t,” she said. “Do your worst. I am a cousin of the Duke of Norfolk and when he hears of this, you will be punished!”
I grinned. “But he isn’t going to hear of it, slut. You have disappeared. No-one saw it and no-one is going to rescue you... Now, will you be sensible and remove your clothing - all of it incidentally. I want you stark naked - totally so, your breasts and your sex open and exposed to us all.”
“I will not,” she said and stamped her foot in anger.
Adam was ready and thrust the prodder into her buttocks, which made her push her middle out at us, whereupon he rammed the sharp times into her sex again - and then her breasts - all sharp prods that had her screaming in pain and frustration and bending her lithe body this way and that in a comical show that displayed it beautifully.
“Alright, alright!” she screamed at last, her face now very pale but her eyes still flashing in anger. “I’ll strip...”
She undid the zipper on her very fashionable dress and stepped out of it. Under it she wore a slip, bra, panties, stockings and very expensive shoes. First the slip came off, to be deposited on top of the dress, now a crumpled heap on the plain iron deck beside her. It was followed by her shoes and stockings and now there only remained her bra and panties. She seemed reluctant but when Adam gestured with the prodder towards her shapely breasts, she quickly reached up and unclipped it, allowing it to fall to the floor.
I eyed her appreciatively. If all the other girls were as good as this, we would be doing very well indeed in a few months. Her body was flawless. A perfect shape and toned by a great deal of squash and riding. Her skin was pure peaches and cream and without a single blemish that I could see. She was fair, with fine, silver-blonde hair and deep blue eyes and her facial features were utterly lovely. A smallish nose, pearl-white teeth and a model’s dream-face: high cheek-bones, a wide mouth and again, flawless skin.
I gestured towards the panties, a tiny garment that covered very little anyway. Now she blushed a deep red but eyeing the thing in Adam’s hand, she stifled a moan of terror and pushed her fingers into the thong-like waistband and pushed them down off her slender hips then stepped out of them. Now she was utterly naked and I heard the sighs of approbation from the men seated in the chairs. As well they might for stark naked, she was a thing of exquisite beauty.
Not that I let on of course. I stared at her, a frown on my face as I let my eyes rake up and down her body. “Ugh,” I said at last, to her utter shock and consternation. “Not much of a body,” I went on, my hand now reaching out to stroke her lovely breasts - at which she angrily brushed them aside. I withdrew them as Adam shoved the tines into her left breast, grinning hugely as he held them there for long seconds while she gasped and screamed out in her agony.
When she was against standing upright I went on. “Learn, girl, that you are now no more than a slut-slave...”
“Slave!!!???” she
expostulated. I’m no slave! I am the cousin of the Duke of Norfolk...”
“So you keep saying. But you are not. Not any more. You are now a just a slut-slavegirl and you are going to be trained to serve any man I designate as your master for the moment...”
“Serve? I am no servant. I have my own maid at home!”
“You may have, once. You don’t any more. Now you are the servant, or more properly, the slave - my slave and I am going to train you to be a very competent little sex-slut, able to use her body to please any man I choose to give her to.”
The blood drained out of her face once more as she stood there, now cowering in fear and shame before us: fear at what I had just said, and shame at her so total nakedness before us. “You can’t be serious, she whispered, her former blustering bravado now gone as she stared at my men, the near-naked trainers, all of whom still sported raging erections and then at the instruments of pain ranged around us.
“What are these for?” she asked, staring from one to the other of them.
I grinned. “Oh, these you will become very familiar with. Every time you show the slightest reluctance to learn a lesson and then, after we take on our clients, to serve them with your body to give them the very best in sexual satisfaction, you will be brought down here and, in front of as many guests as choose to come and witness it, punished ruthlessly for your sins.”
“But they look like torture machines?” she said plaintively.
“They are,” I said grinning even more widely. “They will twist your body into fantastic shapes and expose very part of it for the whip, the cane, the prodder and various other clips, screws and other gadgets contained in the various cupboards around the room.”
She now stared at these fearfully but their doors hid their contents from her view and ignorance is another wonderful tool. “What do I have to do?” she said tremulously.
“That’s better,” I said. “You have to learn your lessons well, be strictly obedient to every one of my trainers and crew and appear at least to be delighting in your duties...” I paused and again reached out to fondle her so soft and at the same time, so firm breasts. This time she didn’t shrink back but I knew she wasn’t trained yet. The pain and humiliation she had suffered today was enough to cow her for the moment but a night’s rest would have her rebellious again, I knew.
“Right now,” I went on, “you are going to have these ugly hairs removed so your sex is on full display. Then you will be ringed in appropriate places and finally branded with the mark of a sex-slave - right here, on your belly.” I traced with my fingers, a spot on her flat lower belly, exactly halfway between her navel and the top of her vaginal slit while she stared at me in horror. “It, of all your decorations will mark you for what you are for the rest of your life...”
She stared at me in more horror but by now her ability to take it all in was gone and Henry now grasped her arm and led her, quite docile now out of the room. This little scene would now be repeated with each of the other girls and then, tomorrow, we would begin to ring and brand them. I was very much looking forward to tomorrow...
Chapter 2
Humiliation, degradation and pain were the tools we were going to use to break down these lovelies and plucking the natural hairs from their bodies, followed by the application of an extremely painful but effective depilatory over their mounds and the other places on their bodies that sported a hairy growth such as their legs and armpits, would not only make them look a great deal better (and more like slaves), but would also effectively administer a good dose of each of the above tools to their psyches.
The next morning, the former Miss Allison Howard, now merely the slave-slut Allison, stared at me in total horror. “You can’t be serious about this,” she ventured.
For answer, Henry, the magnificently-bodied black from Barbados, lashed at her buttocks, those beautifully rounded twin orbs that quivered deliciously with her every step. She jumped and yowled in pain as twin marks appeared across both delightful cheeks, her hands now rubbing them wretchedly, her eyes now quite woebegone, all the fire now gone - at least for the moment.
I didn’t even bother to reply as Henry manacled her into an upright frame in the doctor’s clinic. This was made of two heavy pipes that were fixed between the deck and deck-head and boasted stainless steel wires that emerged over pulleys let into the tops and bottoms of the two pipes. Once the manacles on the end of the wires were snapped onto her wrists and ankles and William, the doctor, had operated the controller that worked the four winches, she was drawn up into a long ‘X’, quite tightly. Certainly tightly enough to put a most painful strain on her shoulder and hip joints.
“You’re a beast!” she said, staring down at me.
I grinned. “I know.” So some of the fire had returned. But these outbursts couldn’t be ignored. Henry caned her again, this time three times and each of them was very hard, his magnificent biceps muscle curling up into a perfect tennis ball-sized lump of power - and then leapt back into its more normal size as he delivered the three strokes to her shapely bottom.
She yowled of course but when she had quietened down, I observed to her that she could go on resisting us as long as she wanted - every time she did however, she would suffer...
Henry now pulled up a stool and, armed only with a pair of tweezers, began to pluck out her pubic hair. She stared down at him and her face screwed up into an expression of utter disgust. “You can’t be going to expose my sex in this way, surely?” she said, looking at me plaintively.
“Of course, slut-slave. You are a sex object now. Your body - all of it, must be perfectly exposed and on show to my clients who are going to want to see all of you before choosing which of you is to pleasure them...”
She stared at me again. “You mean I am going to be a whore - a prostitute?” She now looked appalled.
“No,” I said, smiling in that bland contemptuous way I had decided to adopt when dealing with the slaves, “not a whore and not a prostitute - a slave. A slavegirl whose one function is to give sexual pleasure to her master of the moment - my client, who will be paying me, not you, for the use of your body...”
It was a brutal ploy but brutality was a weapon we needed to employ if we were to break these sluts down quickly and then build them into willing and compliant sex-slaves.
As Henry worked over her mound, the pain began to accumulate. Try it. Pluck out a few hairs down there. It doesn’t hurt much, does it? But if you were to keep going, removing whole areas and then go on to denude the whole of the pubis, by the time you were finished, it would be sheer hell.
This was what she was finding now. Henry was relentless. He gave her no breaks and while one hand applied the tweezers, the other reached up to fondle her nipples, her nose and her nether lips, remarking more to himself than to her, how beautiful she was going to look once the rings were applied to these spots on her body.
She began to cry as she listened to his melodious voice conjecturing how the hot needles would pierce her sensitive flesh; how she would squirm in agony but then how the rings would make her look so much better - like the real-life slave-slut she now was... But he didn’t finish there. As his right hand continued to expertly pluck tuft after tuft from her mound, his other hand moved to her flat belly - to the area between her vagina and belly button.
“Ah yes,” he murmured, staring up into her blue eyes, “as the branding iron approaches this lovely soft belly, you will feel its radiant heat - and then it will touch this smooth white flesh and sear in, burning down, down, down through the skin and into the muscle. The pain will be the worst you have ever felt but when it is over, you will be marked - for ever as a slave whore of the Helot - even later, years later, when you are no longer beautiful and we have sold you on as a drudge to scrub floors on your knees, naked still, the mark will still identify you as a former sex-slave of this ship...”
I stood and listened admiringly as he painted a word picture every bit as good as anything I could have done - and perhaps better. I looked meaningfully from Adam to the doctor, raising my eyebrows in appreciation of his psychological skills. We had certainly picked the right young man in him...
Allison wasn’t as impressed. She moaned now, and not only as the pain accumulated in her lower body. Henry’s portrayal of her coming ringing and branding and then her life as a sex-slave, followed by her descent into drudgery as her looks faded, had underlined to her perfectly what life now held for her and she saw only misery ahead.
I decided to perk her up a bit. Misery was good for it made it easier to break her down but we wanted bright and bubbly slavegirls not woebegone wretches. “Of course,” I observed, “there is an alternative...?”
She perked up immediately, her blue eyes brightening as they focussed on me. “Alternative?” she said, much more brightly.
“Yes. Of course you are a slavegirl and you will learn to be a perfect sex-slave, but it will not all be bad. Some of our clients may well be very nice-looking and you may even enjoy a romp in bed with them. And you never know, one might even offer me a very nice sum for your body. You could even end up as a harem slave in an Eastern seraglio...?”
The hope faded as she took this in. “And you call that good news?,” she spat - for which show of temper, Henry grabbed an extra-large tuft of hairs and gave them a good yank. She screamed and now the lustre in her bright eyes faded once more. I had given her a straw to clutch at and then snatched it away with even worse news...
