by Mark Andrews
We all had to witness these from time to time, even if we had done nothing wrong ourselves. Mabuchi (probably rightly) thought we would be more docile if we were all aware of what awaited us if we erred.
Mostly he used the electronic collars, those beautifully crafted things we wore that had us all terrified for every waking moment. They certainly were beautiful ornaments and any woman, whether from Africa or the West would be proud to wear one on her neck - as long as it didn’t contain the electronics that could deliver us such horrible pain.
As an electronics student, I was of course intrigued at the workings of the things but I never got to see one disassembled, at least not until The Day - and that was a long way down the track yet.
When he used the collars and not the sjambok (a stiff, rhinoceros hide whip) or the cane, he suspended the girl of boy by her or his thumbs, spread very wide so that the suspension itself was painful.
Then, teasing the victim unmercifully, he would stand in front of her or him and toy with the buttons before pressing either the yellow or red one and sending the slave into gyrations that were quite horrible - but also incredibly fascinating. I am not a sadist in any shape or form. I love Phillipa and I only want to give her happiness and pleasure. The idea of combining pain with our sex is horrible to me but I am aware that deep down, we all have some sadistic tendencies and perhaps they may have surfaced while I was forced to watch a handsome boy or a beautiful girl tortured in this way.
More, though, I think it was the physical beauty of their bodies, performing wonderful tricks of athletic contortions as they tried to cope with the dreadful pain of those shocks to their necks.
The feet were quite free and the body dangled quite loosely until the moment the shock bit into the sides of the neck, sending shards of exquisite pain to the brain. At that moment, their bodies reacted, legs shooting out every which way: doubling up, then shooting out to stretch in iron-hard straightness, every muscle in extreme tension; then perhaps stretching out sideways, the muscles still rigid and quivering powerfully; then drawing up once more in a sort of suspended foetal position ...
The body twisted and turned, both sideways and back and forth, now forwards, now back, combining with the legs to provide an incredible display of muscular beauty. At the same time, the arms pulled on the thumb clamps, forcing the biceps to stand out high along the upper arms while the shoulders also contorted beautifully.
In short, while the shocks continued, their bodies, male or female, looked absolutely stupendous. Of course I was horrified at what was being done to them but at the same time I could appreciate the beauty of their bodies. So could Mabuchi and I think it was for this reason he most often used this form of punishment rather than the cane or sjambok.
Have you ever seen one of these terrifying instruments? They are crafted from rhinoceros hide, as I mentioned before. This is raspy, like sandpaper and when woven around a tapering core of spring steel or fibreglass, it delivers the most horrible pain to human flesh that can be imagined. Just a few strokes to the buttocks and they are laid open and bleeding and the victim is often left with permanent scars to remember his punishment by.
I remember one girl who was cheeky to Mabuchi. He had her strung up by her thumbs, which was unusual when he was going to use the sjambok (already laid out on a white cloth on a small table in front of the punishment position. Usually the girl or boy was forced down onto her or his belly on the floor while the guards fixed their big toes into the little cuffs after which they were drawn up, their legs separating wide as the two wires coming from the pair of winches set wide apart on the ceiling, pulled them up and out.
This position, with their legs nearly (but not quite) in the splits position, hanging upside down from the ceiling, was perfect to attack the rear, either with the sjambok or cane - but not this time. This time the girl, No. 158, was suspended by her thumbs, her body dangling forlornly but right side up and staring in fear down at the hated Mabuchi who now held the dreaded sjambok in his right hand, its tip in his left, bending it to show how supple it was.
“You will learn, 158, that to cheek me is to earn a terrible punishment ...” and with that he lashed out at the underside of her beautiful breasts, catching them in the fullness of their nether curves and causing her to go white with the shock of the pain before her voice uttered a shriek of sheer agony and her legs and body began the contortions that showed off her firm muscles to a tee.
He stepped back after delivering the blow and I could see the tent in his pants as he watched her react to his awful stroke. He waited perhaps two minutes and then began to circle her, feinting at her body when in front of her or delivering a light tap to her calves, the backs of her thighs or her butt when behind her.
At each such stroke, she screamed anew, even before the stroke hit when it was from the front and her body went into more of the beautiful gyrations that roused my libido so easily (and which had me fighting to keep my cock slack for I was standing next to Phillipa and I didn’t want her to see my excitement at the awful pain 158 was going through).
But then he delivered the real stroke - again to her breasts and I wondered that he wasn’t worried about damaging them for if they were bruised, she would be useless as a milk slave until they healed. What I didn’t know was that after this punishment she would be shipped off the island, sold as a sex-slave to some wealthy Japanese businessman and kept in a unit somewhere under guard of one of his servants at all times.
Right now she was being used to soften the rest of us up - to make sure we understood what awaited us if we dared to cheek him or his men or failed to obey them immediately and fully.
He gave her twenty strokes in all, over about an hour or perhaps even more but not all the strokes were delivered to her breasts. After those first two, he attacked her thighs, her bottom, her belly and back, her calves - and even, when he got the opportunity while she was kicking out with her legs, her vagina.
By the time he was finished, she was hanging there nearly unconscious and we were ushered out before they let her down. I never saw her again and it wasn’t until the end that I ever found out what happened to her.
The time came when I was selected to grace Mabuchi’s bed. I knew of course that it would come. He had told us from the beginning that he delighted in our bodies and since he was ambidextrous when it came to sex, used us males as much as the girls. I was dreading this. As much because I had a distaste for homosexual activities as that I hated Mabuchi. Oh yes, with the other boys in the village I had experimented in them but I had quickly found I far preferred girls and came to abhor our former games together.
Mabuchi was a prize bastard, though. He knew a lot about us, watching us carefully and listening to reports on us from his staff. He knew about my love for Phillipa, for example and now he used it against us.
First, I was taken to his suite and made to pose my body as he sat back in an armchair in his bedroom in his silk smoking jacket. I could see the cameras in the ceiling following my every movement and knew I was being monitored. One false move and I would be for the chop, perhaps literally. I stored this information and went on with my posing routine, flexing my muscles while he idly stroked his big fat (and now rigid) cock before my eyes.
I shuddered, knowing that thing was soon going to be buggering me.
I was right and soon enough he ordered me to his bed, to lie in the middle of it with my hands up under my head and my knees drawn up to my chest and then spread wide, exposing my anus for his attentions.
He stood up and casually removed his jacket, the only thing he had on, to reveal a body as lean and hard as those of us slaves. He obviously spent a lot of time in his gym, I thought. But although he was a handsome man and now clearly a very athletic one as well, I still feared and hated him. He was a sadist of the first order and delighting in humiliating us as well as punishing us in the most horrible ways when we erred. I
have to admit he didn’t punish us wantonly but the measures he did take when we earned his wrath were extreme - the sjambok to 158’s breasts and body, for example.
As he hovered over me, I closed my eyes, unwilling to look up at him as he slowly lowered his hard cock towards my bum-hole but he grated at me to open them and to stare into his eyes as he raped me. I steeled myself but then, just as he was about to penetrate, the door flew open and another guard dragged Phillipa into the room to stand beside the bed and watch as I, her lover, was raped by the hated Mabuchi.
But I wasn’t allowed to look at her for long. He growled at me to keep looking at him as he raped me and so I lay there on the satin sheet while Phillipa stood watching. It was horrible. Painful, yes, but the pain I could have borne. No, it was the shame of being anally raped by a man while my girlfriend watched, that was so bad. Actually, as it went on, the pain receded until, when I thought about it again, it had gone entirely, to be replaced by a rather pleasant feeling. But the shame didn’t go. Rather it intensified as the pain receded and I realised that physically, this wasn’t all that bad!
That realisation was utterly dreadful. But then Mabuchi pulled out of me (without coming) and now looked up at Phillipa, gesturing for her to join us on the bed whereupon he began to rape her instead of me while I lay there, the guard grinning evilly down on me, as if daring me to do something about his boss raping my girlfriend while I watched.
It was to get worse!
“I wish you to fuck me while I rape your girl, 371,” he said over his shoulder.
Oh God! Could I? Yes I could. When the alternative was to be strung up by my thumbs or big toes and horribly punished with electric shocks, the sjambok or cane, yes, I would fuck his anus until the cows came home.
I won’t say it was pleasant. It very definitely wasn’t. In fact, the only way I could continue to perform with him was to close my eyes and pretend it was Phillipa I was making love to, not Mabuchi.
I was warned not to come, of course. He delighted in the feel of my quite large cock inside his rectum, reaming back and forth against his anus but he wasn’t going to waste my sperm inside his body and so while I had to keep the action going, I also had to make sure I slowed down when my libido got too close to the edge.
He was a very virile man and he kept us there for a couple of hours while he thoroughly pleasured himself on Phillipa’s body as well as my cock (which I had to keep working inside him most of that time). We must have made an impression on him for after that, we were quite regularly selected to grace his bed.
I spent my spare moments endlessly trying to find a way out of our dreadful predicament. I watched the guards for a chink in their armour; I noted the video cameras always working, watching us and transmitting their signal to the control room, hidden away somewhere in the complex; and I eyed Mabuchi constantly, looking for a way through his defences - but I found nothing. And while we slaves were forbidden to say even a word of greeting to each other and thus unable to formulate any plans, we were just four hundred-odd single units, each powerless to do anything.
I decided the collars were the key. If they could somehow be deactivated, we would have a chance. But where was the computer that was the nexus between the controllers and the collars? In the secret control room no doubt - and I still didn’t have any idea where it was, let alone how to operate the systems it contained.
It wouldn’t even do any good to locate and destroy the power plants for no doubt there were back-up systems - perhaps even more than one for Mabuchi was nothing if he was not careful. He would have thought through the possibility of a slave rebellion very carefully, I was sure.
One of our worst duties on that island was the pony duty, for two reasons: one was the bitter cold outside the buildings of the farm; the other was the method of harnessing.
I don’t think Mabuchi or his men enjoyed their little forays out along the path that ran around the top of the cliff surrounding the island. I’m sure they only went out on them in order to enjoy our bodies in the bitter cold and biting winds that seemed to swirl around and across that island most of the year. But even when it was summer, it was bad for then the blinding sun beat down on our shoulders and we sweated heavily.
Most of the year it was cold, however, and the cold was really awful.
I well remember the first time I was chosen to be the pony-boy. It was a particularly cold and blustery morning right after our milking and Dr Akira had chosen me to be his pony for a few laps along the path. I was taken down to the tackle room that had the metal roller door leading out to the path and for this reason was much colder than the rest of the building. It didn’t prepare me for the icy chill once the door was opened however.
First, though, I had to be harnessed. I stared at the massive rubber dildo near the end of the single pole of the gig with fear and loathing while the doctor stared at me in pleasure ... pleasure at my fear and humiliation.
He continued to do so as the guard made me stand over the horrible thing, greased it and then lifted it up, ordering me to spread my legs wide and bend over slightly, pulling open my buttocks so he could push the monster into my rectum. All it took to keep it there after that was the hinged steel cuff anchored just in front of the dildo that he snapped closed around the root of my cock and balls. Once that was snugly tight - just a little too tight, actually - there was no way the dildo up my backside could possibly come out.
“Hands up behind head, slave-boy,” the guard growled at me as he fitted the bit and bridle over my head, buckling it tight so the bit was pulled right to the back of my mouth and then handed the reins to the doctor as he climbed up into the gig. He then went over and activated the door opener.
The pain in my anus and mouth was bad but the moment the door began to open and the bitter wind curled in under it, I forgot all about that pain as my naked body was attacked by those icy fingers.
“Better run hard, 371, or you’ll freeze right over,” chuckled Akira as he flicked the reins and tickled the coach whip across my shoulders, indicating I was to take off.
He of course, was well covered up. He had on layers of warm clothing, scarves around his neck and a woollen cap over his head as well as a rug across his knees. I was stark naked. I hadn’t a stitch on my body from head to toe and I shivered uncontrollably as I trotted the gig out of the building and down the path towards the cliff.
I realised of course that only if I now exerted a total effort, running that gig at full tilt, would I be able to keep my body warm and so I did this, racing the gig as fast as I could pull it down towards the cliff. As we approached I felt him pulling back on the reins, no doubt to make sure I didn’t just keep going and carry him and the gig right over the top of the cliff down onto the stones and the raging seas below. I would never have done that, though. Suicide was not a choice for me but in any case, I wanted revenge on all those bastards once I worked out how to get free of them.
He pulled on the left rein as we neared the junction, making the bit tug even more horribly at my mouth. Can you imagine what a steel bit in your mouth would feel like? It really is quite horrible. I couldn’t close my mouth over it of course and the tongue guard kept that organ down while I seemed to salivate all the time. But it was buckled tight so that it was pulled right to the back of my mouth and it hurt considerably, especially when he pulled on the reins.
I turned left of course and now sped up again. I know I must have presented an erotic sight to any man who liked to look upon naked males and especially athletic ones as we all were. Of course Akira was also a sadist and he enjoyed whipping my back and buttocks with his long coach whip as I sped along that bitumen track.
Do you know what a coach whip is? It has a long rigid pole about four or five feet long from the end of which trails the lash itself, a woven plait of four thongs that are knotted at the end. It is nothing like as painful as the sjambok but it stings conside
rably just the same.
I think Mabuchi must have suggested he test my stamina for we didn’t do just one or two circuits of the island. Oh no! Each time we came back to the junction with the path up to the farm, I slowed, hoping we would be turning up it but no, on we went for yet another lap of the island. I am no geographer but I knew the distance around that cliff-top path was over a mile and not only was I running for all my worth, I also had to pull the weight of the gig and the doctor as well.
Added to that was the bitter cold. The wind made it worse of course and while there was no snow actually falling, there was some on the ground and I was sure I would get frostbite. No, I didn’t, for my blood circulating at full measure from the accelerated beat of my heart kept my extremities warm enough to ward that off but I felt cold. Utterly frozen and was sure too that my joints would soon freeze up and Akira would then leave me there, naked and alone beside that path while he strode back to the farm.
Such thoughts were morbid, I know, but as I trotted around the island, they began to impinge on my mind. When I realised what was happening, I banished them quickly, instead thinking over my plans to escape and how I had to locate the control room, check it out ...
I was sure if I could do this - somehow, I would then be able to mobilise the slaves and overpower the guards and Mabuchi’s trainers - and then ... Oh yes, then we would exact a fitting revenge on them all.
As my mind worked on the problem, I discovered the biting cold of the wind licking over and around my naked flesh began to ease. It wasn’t that the wind was abating or that the temperature was rising; it must have been that I was forcing my mind to work on something else. I concentrated even harder on the problem and found, to my joy, that the slogging pain in my rectum, the burning on the soles of my feet and the so horrible bitter cold disappeared entirely. So the idea of ‘mind over matter’ was a truth!
