The Story of Caya

by Damien Dsoul

  Suddenly the tarpaulin wrap got pulled up and three men stuck their faces past it and looked at her. Their eyes gleamed with animosity at her. One of them said something and they unlatched the back lock of the lorry and brought her down, unmindful of the shackles digging into her skin. She saw that she was in the middle of a courtyard. In front of her were a wide stairs leading into a mansion. There were lush garden with dynamic types of flowers on either side of the courtyard and people were bent over attending to them. Catherine was surprised to see that the servants were all white, all half naked except for the lion cloth that covered their private areas.

  “Let’s go!” one of the bandits barked at her, startling her from what she was looking at.

  One of the militant men led the way forward while another marched behind her. The sound of her shackles scratching against the ground as she walked up the stairs followed them. A white servant wearing a white shirt and pants held the door open for them. He bowed his head as the bandits walked past him, not looking up until they had entered the house and then he closed the door and disappeared to whatever corner of the house from where he’d appeared from.

  The floor of the house was marble and the sound of the foot echoed as they went further into the household. The one in front came to a large pair of twin doors and pushed the doors open and indicated at Catherine to step inside.

  “Your Mistress wants to see you.”

  The bandit grinned at her as she walked past him nervous and shaky at whomever she was about to meet in the room. She walked in and nearly jumped when she heard the door close behind her.

  It was a spacious living room with lots of French windows opened through which she had a near unsheltered view of the backside of the estate. The furniture were thick and cream-coloured, matching the curtains. A smell of incense percolated around the room; from hidden speakers in the wall wafted a piano concerto. Everything about the room spoke of wealth. She stood in the centre with her hands pressed against her sides, not knowing what to do except train her eyes around. There were three other doors at either end of the room. She was still looking around when one of the doors opened and in walked a talk black woman dressed in equestrian gear with black booths and a riding crop in her gloved hand. Two servants trailed behind her on their hands and knees with a dog collar around their necks, one male and the other female, both Caucasian, blonde-haired, and dressed in the same outfit as she.

  The black woman was pulling at their leash and she let it fall to the floor and approached Catherine. She circled around her, looking her up and down and all over; the two servants stood on their knees close to the door waiting. There was a listlessness in their eyes as if they were on drugs and that they weren’t really there. Catherine would later learn that this was how the black Mistress preferred her servants to behave when in her presence - never are they to reveal any form of emotion or make as if they were observing anything, or else they would have their hides turned raw from what she would punish them with.

  The black Mistress had a statuesque built about her: wide shoulders, well proportioned hips with long pair of legs. She walked with a certain nimbleness like only a model would. Her complexion was chocolate. Her hair tied behind her head in a bun. She had piercing dark brown eyes; Catherine felt intimidated by her presence. She came and stood in front of her, taking her hands out of her gloves. She slapped Catherine’s face with the pair of gloves; Catherine blinked her eyes and winced from the contact of the gloves as there was nothing she could do about it. The Mistress’ eyes burned with anger at her.

  “How dare you look at me that way, slave?” the Mistress barked at her and once again lashed at her with her hand gloves. “Remove that pitiful look from your eyes at once, bitch! Off with them right now or I’ll get a knife and cut those eyes out your face for you. Don’t think I won’t do it - I’ve done it before to a former bitch slave who looked just like you. Lazy and incompetent. You’re not the lazy or incompetent type, are you?”

  “No ... no, ma’am,” Catherine replied.

  The Mistress slapped her face once again. “Don’t you dare ‘ma’am’ me, bitch-slave. Whenever you address me, and only when necessary, you will refer to me as Mistress Tiffany. Is that clear, or should I keep slapping it into your head?”

  “No, Mistress Tiffany!” Catherine shouted out her answer. “No, Mistress. I hear you perfectly.”

  “This is my home, slave. My plantation. I manage it when my husband - your black Lord, Master Wale, isn’t around. For now he’s away on business, but will return soon enough to see what new slaves he has acquired. But know that every black man and every black woman you meet in here is both your master and mistress. Until then, know that you are no longer that which you once were before you were brought here. This is your new home, this will be your new life, and you’re to stick with it for as long as your worthless life is mine to use and do away with whenever I so choose. I do not tolerant disobedience, stubbornness, laziness or any negative form of dereliction of duty. From this moment on, you’re nothing close to a cockroach I would step on anytime. Should you disobey my words or fail to leave up to expectations, or at any time in the near future indulge your pea-brained mind to concoct some form of rebellion, I will snatch the life out of you.” Mistress Tiffany shot her hand out and grasped Catherine’s throat, making her utter a squawk of surprise. “And don’t think that I won’t end you life if I so desire to. Do I make myself clear to you, bitch-slave?”

  Catherine felt droplets of the woman’s spit land on her face. The Mistress was a beautiful woman, but seeing her this way was like being up-close to a dragon. Catherine could only wonder what her husband might be like.

  “You will be given a quarters to stay and fitting clothes to wear just like the one you have on. Your clothes will be the same outfit along with a pair of whites to wear only on announced occasions and only when demanded of you to have one. A rooster will be drawn for you and the other new servants. Whatever job detail your name falls on, that’s what you will do. No exceptions. Am I getting through to you so far?”

  Catherine nodded her head at the same time answered: “Yes, Mistress.”

  “As I said already, this will be your new home, and in this new home there are rules you’re never supposed to break aside from the ones specifying your work. You are not to fraternize with any of the male slaves. As long as you’re here, you don’t know them and they too know nothing of you; fraternization will only happen when its expected of you. Should you be caught fraternizing, you will be punished severely for it. You’re never to refuse your Master or Mistress with whatever you demand of you. Those are the two main rules I will give you for now. The others, you’ll learn as time goes on. Your female slave companions who’ve been here already will brief you on that. Like Shawana here,” she turned towards the white girl slave. “Tell me, Shawana, does our latest slave look like an obedient one?”

  “Yes, Mistress, she does,” the slave known as Shawana answered.

  “Hmm, perhaps a little demonstration is necessary. Shawana here is my most cherished bitch-slave,” Mistress Tiffany said to her. “She’s been with me going six years now. Soon you’re going to be just like her: obedient and dutiful in every way. And should you so much as think of escaping, I will personally flay your skin and let the vultures feast on you. Shawana, rise to your feet, take off your top and show her what I mean.”

  The white girl got to her feet and came forward, her fingers unbuttoned her top and she freed it and turned around to show her back to Catherine who invariably whimpered and choked on the pocket of air that arose in her throat as she saw the lines of stretch marks she knew were horsewhips that serrated her backside. They looked like tiny rivers all criss-crossed over each other. Mistress Tiffany licked her lips in delight at the evident fear that lit Catherine’s eyes.

  “You see that, bitch? That was what happened to Shawana the first time she tried to run away.
She got as far as three miles from here when my boys caught up with her. That was her first time and since then there hasn’t been a second. Learn from that, slave girl. And keep that pussy of yours tight for now.”

  Shawana waited for the Mistress to tell her to wear her shirt back on before she did and then told her to lead Catherine away.

  ***

  Her real name wasn’t Shawana, she explained to Catherine as she led her out of the mansion house and out into the bright sun and walked down a gravelled path towards the south-west section of the compound, past a row of trees where a row of squatter-like structures stood. She could barely remember much about her former life. Actually she did, but like every other slave in here, she opted to forget it. The little she remembered she relayed to Catherine as they approached the structure building where she and the rest of the female slaves in the compound stayed; there was another squatter-like structure similar to this one on the other side of the compound that was reserved for the white boi-slaves.

  She couldn’t recall her real name anymore, although she knew it comes close to the present one she had which Black Mistress Tiffany had given her. Mistress Tiffany was responsible for naming every white bitch-slave or white boi-slave that was under her staff. She told Catherine that very soon she too will be given her own. How did she happen to be here? She and her boyfriend had visited the country to do some mountain-climbing. It had happened while they’d been out in the woods: these armed bandits had taken them hostage and then they’d ended up just as Catherine and her people had. Where was her boyfriend now? Catherine enquired. Shawana turned to her and said: “I don’t have a boyfriend anymore. I have Black Masters now. You will too very soon.”

  Catherine stopped at that. “I don’t ... I don’t understand.”

  Shawana looked at her and smiled. “Don’t worry, slave. In time, you will.”

  They passed other white women slaves along the way. They all wore near-naked clothing just like she, and some of them had dog leashes clipped to a choker on their neck. A black man came out of the building rudely pulling at the end of a dog leash attached to a white woman-slave’s neck. She was a redhead and she displayed no restrain at all as the man took her away. Catherine watched them go, frightened.

  “What was that about?” she asked Shawana.

  “Going to fuck her and maybe breed her,” she answered matter-of-factly as she led Catherine into the building. “Don’t worry, slave. In time you’ll get used to it.”

  Catherine cringed. “No, I never will. I’d rather be raped.”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll do that too. You’re going to love it when it happens.”

  The squatters building was a one-storey crumbling affair with the red bricked walls looking burnt and falling apart. Much of the windows were cracked or broken. It looked like the sort of place to hide refugees or illegal aliens. Catherine looked up and she saw holes up in the ceiling; the inner walls looked soggy and wet. They passed other white women slaves on the way, some said hello to her and others went about doing their thing; few of the women were Asian. They looked like they were in an all-girl’s frat house waiting for college guys to come take them out or something.

  Up the stairs they went and walked down a long corridor with rooms alongside it, although there weren’t any sign of doors except for piece of cloth draped over the space where a door should be. There was the sound of fucking coming from behind some of the curtained doorways. Shawana stopped at one of them and pulled back the curtain. A black Master was inside fucking a white slave. The black man turned his head and growled at the two women who’d just interrupted his sex. Shawana bowed her head reverently; she pulled at Catherine’s arm, indicating for her to do the same thing. Catherine caught the gesture and obeyed.

  “Sorry to interrupt you, Master,” said Shawana with her head lowered. “Please forgive our interrupting you.”

  “Fucking slave bitches!” the black man cursed at them and told them to come in and get down on their knees.

  Both young women entered the room, their hands pressed against their thighs, looking dutiful and submissive, and slipped down to their knees and waited for what he was going to do next. The black man cursed at them once more, told them he would be right there to handle them, and went back to what he was doing.

  The white bitch-slave he’d been fucking had all the while been stroking his shaft and rubbing her pussy with the other hand, keeping it further wet for him. She would suffer for it should he encountered that her pussy had gotten dry. He came down on the bed and they both gasped as his cock slipped back into her cunt. He half sat up, held one of her leg on his shoulder and thrust his cock back and forth into her wet pussy. The white-slave responded resoundingly from the might of his pick filling her up. The man groaned and gritted his teeth as the bitch’s pussy tightened more around his shaft. He ran his hand over her white skin while still keeping with his thrusting action.

  “Dirty slave white bitch! That’s what you are ... Uhhggghhh ... that’s what slaves like you will always be!”

  The woman wouldn’t stop panting and rotating her hips against him. “Yes ... yes, master! Fuck your slave, master!”

  Catherine tried to turn her eyes away from the fucking that was happening but her peripheral vision captured everything. She turned to look at Shawana and was shocked and surprised to hear her exhaling deeply. Her eyes were fixated on the activity before them, and unlike Catherine, she wasn’t feeling shy about it at all. Catherine looked down at her hands and saw that she had undone the top button of her white pants and was fondling her crotch. She took out her hand and licked at her finger, moaning while she did, then returned it back into her pants.

  On the bed, the black man’s body now glistened with copious sweat as he went on fucking the white slave under him. He pulled out of her and roughly pulled her up to her feet and made her bend the over way, presenting her buttocks at him. He slapped the head of his cock on top of her ass. The slave bitch wiggled her ass invitingly at him. The black master grinned as he slid the mushroom-shaped head of his prick followed by some inches of his cock into her waiting hole; the slave groaned at the same time gripped the sheets of the bed as his thrusts pushed her back and forward. His hands slapped her ass cheeks hard. One hand pulled at her thigh each time she pushed forward as if wanting to escape the feel of his cock. Shawana pushed her outfit skirt down her thighs and now Catherine’s eyes switched from her rubbing and finger-fucking her pussy to the animalistic sex happening in front of her. The smell of their sex filled the room; she inhaled the sweetness of the white slave’s pussy juice mixed with the black man’s sweat. He came up on the bed, planted both legs against the side of the slave’s thighs and grunted as he thrust his cock deep inside her. the bitch slave could do little except groan from the exercise, enjoying the feel of the superior man’s cock filling her wet hole.

  “Ahhhgggghhhhh ... Aaaggggghhhh ... Master! Ohhhh, fuck me, Master!”

  The Master grabbed the slave bitch’s hair and pulled her face up to look at her. “Where you want your Master to pour his cum into, slave?”

  “Uhhhgggg ... in me, Master ... I want ... I want your cum in me, sir!”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear, slave.”

  He pushed her head down on resumed fucking her hard. He was gasping with effort now, his body thick with sweat. Shawana was finger-fucking herself faster in rhythm with his actions, willing herself to cum simultaneously.

  “Fuck the bitch-slave, Master,” she too echoed. “Breed her, Master!”

  The sound of his palm slapping against the slave’s ass resounded in Catherine’s ears. The bitch pushed her butt with vigour towards the black man, moaning with excitement. The man pulled her up, exhaling a lengthy groan as he pumped his full tank of cum inside her. The bitch slave pulled her hands back to hold her black Master against her and she too moaned sharply with pain and ecstasy as she felt t
he floodgates of her womb open to receive more and more of what he was shooting inside her.

  “Thank you, Master,” she murmured amidst her moans. “Thank you so much, Master.”

  He allowed her to fall down on the bed. His cock slipped out of her, wet with her cum stain but still erect. Catherine marvelled at the sight of his prick: so long and sturdy. She had seen her boyfriend Michael’s cock numerous times, had even held it once when he talked her into jerking him a little, though she would attest that this black warrior’s cock was unlike any she had seen. It made her jaw come loose and for some reason she couldn’t take her eyes away from it. The black man was still gasping, getting his breath back in order when he turned towards as if some idea just occurred to him. He came off the bed and approached them.

  “You two bitches get over here and wet this dick some more for me now!” he barked at both of them.

  His voice sounded thunderous inside the room. Catherine watched as Shawana wasted not a second crawling forward and taking his cock into her mouth and sucking on it. Shawana turned and pulled Catherine forward as well.

  “Better come take some licks of the master’s dick, bitch,” she said to her, stroking the black man’s cock which dripped cum juice and saliva inches from her face.

  Catherine shook her head in mortal fear. “I ... I can’t ...” her voice seemed to choke on her words. She wanted to say more, that she’d never sucked a cock before and was afraid of what she was being forced to do.

  “Get over here and suck on this, bitch!” Shawana yelled at her.

  “The fuck!” the black man growled furiously.

  He pushed Shawana off his cock, nearly kicking her to the side, and grabbed a handful of Catherine’s hair and pulled her up to her feet. Catherine screamed and tried hitting his hand off but his grip was very hard and he was so strong. She coughed when his other hand grasped her throat and squeezed it. He picked up something that hung off a nail on the wall; Catherine saw with horror that it was a rolled-up horsewhip.