by Mark Andrews
Not that I wasn’t horrified at what they were doing to him. They hadn’t asked him if he would like his body and facial hair removed but then you didn’t ask slaves for permission to modify them and if I had only known what they were going to do to me, I wouldn’t have been at all worried about this minor modification to Andy’s body.
I suppose it took a couple of hours and then it was my turn. We were exchanged, Andy now standing against the far wall while I was spreadeagled in the frame with my hands up high above my head in the same long ‘X’ position that so revealed all of my nakedness to the doctor, the two guards and Zanda.
I found the zaps as the laser machine worked on my shaven armpits and my groin to be no more than a minor irritation. Of more concern was the permanent nature of the treatment. Even if I wanted to, I would now be naked down there for the rest of my days - however long that was going to be for I thought my future was most uncertain, to say the least.
At that time, we had no idea what that future might be. Really, we didn’t even understand we were now slaves - slaves of a rather special nature, who were going to be trained to be the very best.
When we were indeed totally naked and finally smooth of all body and facial hair and had been let down, Zanda now explained it to us:
“You are now slaves,” he began. “Slaves to His Excellency Sheikh Ali bin Mustapha whom you will address as ‘Lord’. This island is in a very remote part of the Pacific Ocean. It is owned by a consortium of slave owners and steps have been taken to ensure it is never visited by anyone, least of all the free world’s navies.
“His Excellency, in partnership with a dozen or so other very rich men from all parts of the world collects slaves such as you to crew his galley, which you may have seen alongside the pier in the harbour ...
“Each week, in the season, you will be seated at an oar and made to row as hard as you know how - and you will be well trained to do this for long, long hours. If you please our master by winning your race, you may escape punishment. If not, you may expect a very painful ritualistic punishment that will be enjoyed by our master and his friends. Indeed, watching as the losing slave crews are punished for their failure is as pleasing to them as celebrating a win.”
He paused, staring at the two of us in pleasure and I realised he really enjoyed his work.
“Shortly, the good doctor here will insert your implants into your groins. These are simple little devices, powered by batteries that are long-lasting and are kept fully charged by the heat from your own bodies. You will also be ringed - and then branded!”
We stared at him in more horror. Every new revelation stunned us in its brutality; no, its sheer savagery. Electronic implants; rings inserted into the skin of our flesh; and branded? This last really had us stunned. Did he really mean it? Branded like cattle? With a red-hot iron?
We were soon enough to find out he did indeed mean it and the act was as savage as we could have thought.
But first, the implants.
In these days of keyhole surgery and micro-electronic devices, the operations were relatively simple but they weren’t painless. Zanda explained: “You are slaves. You must be trained to work as few human beings have ever worked. You must also be trained to take pain - the pain of relentless and backbreaking work for longer and longer periods without breaking. You will be conditioned to pain and to hard work over the next weeks and it will start now. You will therefore have the implants inserted into your bodies while you are fully conscious and indeed, with the mirror situated above the table, will be able to watch everything the surgeon does ...”
He leered at us as he spoke these words and my hatred for him increased tenfold as I realised he was gloating over our distress.
They did Andy first so I could anticipate my own agony as Dr Musad cut into my own flesh. I was again secured to the ring on the wall while Andy was forced down onto the operating table and secured very tightly. This was a curious device having a two foot long section that was about eighteen inches wide and supported only our torsos, then from the top corners of this, there were extensions that could be moved sideways into any position and also extended or retracted. They had restraints on the ends to take our wrists and ankles and so our bodies could be positioned any way they wanted for a particular procedure.
This time, Andy was laid down face up and after his wrists and ankles were locked into the manacles and the sections extended so he was taut and well secured, they rotated the leg extensions so that he was almost doing the splits - his thighs as wide open as they could safely get them while his arms were at a more normal forty-five degree angle from his shoulders. A metal strap over his belly prevented him moving his body.
I stood there, not four feet from his feet, staring down at his nakedness as the doctor and his assistant bustled around, preparing his tools - and the tiny implant that he was about to insert into Andy’s groin. He showed it to us - first to Andy and then to me. It really was small. About the size of a small coin, only half an inch or so in diameter and about a quarter of an inch thick. Hair-like wires emanated from either side of it.
I could see Andy’s face clearly. He was obviously frightened. Who wouldn’t be? A quite unnecessary device was about to be implanted into his body; a device that was going to make him perfectly docile. The operation was to be performed without anaesthetic of any kind. No wonder he was terrified. Hell! I was myself for I was to be done immediately after Andy.
The doctor made a tiny cut into my husband’s groin and slipped the device and its wires into the incision then poked the wires downwards, towards the point where his penis was attached to his body. I couldn’t see everything clearly but it didn’t take long and it appeared he was joining the ends of those wires to points either side of the root of Andy’s cock. No wonder the boy out on the dusty street had leapt into the air if that was the case with him!
It seemed only like minutes after he began and he was closing the tiny wound and they were putting a bandage over it. Then it was my turn.
Andy was released from the weird table and helped up, to be placed on a recovery table nearby. His wrists were now manacled beside him to the sides of the bed, while his feet were similarly secured to its foot. He wouldn’t be able to touch the wound and perhaps try to remove the tiny gadget inside his body.
They came for me and in a few seconds I was lying in his place on the table. They secured me as they had Andy with my legs wide open and my arms up above my head - and then the doctor moved up between my open legs and leered down at my now so naked groin.
“First, Christine, we must modify your vagina ... Your new master does not like the way you Western women display your womanly gash and he has ordered that you, like all his female slaves, have the opening modified to suit his tastes.
“You will be aware that there are two sets of lips in a woman’s vaginal opening?” I nodded up at him but didn’t say anything. What could I say?
He went on: “The outer lips, termed the labia majora, are quite beautiful and will be retained - at least at the moment. Later on, well, it is possible he may wish to have you quite sexless down there and they too may be removed and the opening joined up - sealed permanently ...”
I stared at him in renewed horror. Was such a thing possible? No opening at all down there? I raised my head and stared down my belly at my groin, trying to imagine it without a vagina at all. I couldn’t. But then, as I thought about it, I remembered reading somewhere about fundamental Muslims doing such a thing to their women.
The doctor smiled. “But that is not yet - and perhaps may never be - if you please your owner. Right now, we are going to remove the inner lips so that they can never protrude out of your sexual orifice. We may then proceed to insert your implant. In your case, its terminals will be surgically attached to points either side of your clitoris, your female pleasure bud so that, as with your husband’s device, everythin
g from intense pleasure to absolutely agonising pain may be delivered to your body in their most sensitive areas.”
I lay there in a sweat of fearful anticipation while he readied his tools. For the first part of the operation, the removal of my inner vaginal lips, he used an electronic laser scalpel that cauterised the flesh as it cut. That didn’t lessen the pain however. He was effectively burning the flesh away and it hurt like hell.
He used a retracting device to open my vagina and expose the inner lips and then he began with his horrible tool to cut and sear the delicate folds of flesh inside my female orifice...
Imagine if someone was cutting off your finger by using a red-hot knife. Well, that is what this felt like. Fortunately, perhaps, the inner lips are not that extensive and this part of the operation was quick. The pain didn’t go away after he had finished but at least now it wasn’t quite as bad as while he was actually cutting the flesh.
These two wounds didn’t need dressing. The cauterising effect of the laser scalpel made them quite unnecessary and so he now moved to the second part of the operation: the insertion of my implant. It went in right above the top of my slit and as I watched in the mirror above my body, I saw how he threaded the so-fine wires down to points either side of my clit (but inside my body, not outside where it showed and where I might have torn them off) and then, again using the laser machine (but now set at a lower level), actually welded the ends of the wires to the flesh there.
Did it hurt? You better believe it! I’m sure everyone knows how much a deep cut hurts. Not immediately, but shortly after the wound opens, the pain begins and then grows. That’s what happened here. The first incision didn’t hurt all that much but then, as he opened my body and pushed the implant in, then fed the wires to their proper locations and then cauterised them to the inner parts of my clitoris, the pain mounted until I was sweating in my pain and struggling as much as the manacles and the belt over my belly allowed. That wasn’t much of course for the doctor required me to be still for his procedure. But yes, the pain grew to be agonising as he worked on.
But then it was all over and he was closing the tiny wound and soon enough I was on a bed next to Andy, secured in exactly the same way as he was and the rest of them had left us to commiserate with one another.
“How is it, Chris?” he asked softly.
“Bearable, Andy. Sore, but I’ll survive; how about you?”
“The same. I wonder how bad these devices are going to be?” he said then, staring over at me as I lay naked beside him, only the tiny bandage over my groin revealing I had just had a foreign device inserted into my body.
“Very bad, I think, if the antics of that boy we saw on the road are anything to go by ...”
He paused then and then looked at me again. “What was he doing to you before he put the thing inside?”
I looked at him soberly. “He cut away the inner lips of my vagina, Andy. It seems they don’t like that part of our female anatomies here. It will mean I will always look like a little girl down there, my vaginal opening always no more than a slit with no inner lips to protrude outside of it.”
“Oh.” He reflected on this news for a few moments then asked another question: “And what was that he was saying about closing it permanently? It sounded dreadful.”
“I think he was just trying to frighten me but now that I come to think about it, I have heard that certain Arab people have done this to some of their women. I think it’s called a full circumcision where the skin of the lips is removed and the flesh stitched so that it grows together. If done skilfully, there is then no sign she had ever had a vaginal opening. And if they perform a full hysterectomy beforehand, of course she is then totally sexless - except for her breasts, of course ...”
“Good God in Heaven! Can any people be so cruel to women?” he said in awe.
“I understand Muslims think of women as lesser creatures, put on Earth only to serve men with their bodies and their labour and if adapting their bodies in this way pleases them, then who is to gainsay them? Certainly not the law, for where fundamental Sharia law is in place in any Muslim state, we women are certainly lesser mortals and totally under the will of our men.”
We slept then. Although the operations were relatively minor, still they had been intrusions into our bodies and they needed time and the benefit of sleep to allow them to recover. Anyway, we were still facing rings to be placed somewhere in our bodies and then a ritual branding. We didn’t want to think about them, let alone talk about them ...
Chapter 2
Because we were already so fit and healthy, and also because with the new technique of keyhole surgery the wounds were so tiny, we recovered very quickly and in a day or so we were, in their eyes, ready to have the devices tested.
We were brought back to the clinic, now a place to be feared in our eyes and after being manacled with our hands behind our backs by a short chain to rings on a wall, Dr Musad first examined the now nicely healing wounds then nodded to Zanda, who seemed to be the boss in this place.
“They’re ready,” he said and backed away from us.
Zanda grinned, his black eyes gleaming in a mixture of lust and gloating pleasure at his dominance over us whites. “Good.” He turned to us and the evil grin widened. “I am now going to demonstrate to you just how effective the implants in your bodies are ...”
He held up one of the small controllers, pointed it at me and pressed down on a sliding button. As soon as he had pointed the thing at me I had braced myself for some terrible pain. Instead, I felt a wash of pure pleasure pass all over me; emanating from my love bud but soon enveloping my whole body. I shivered in delight and I think I actually gurgled, my eyes rapidly becoming unfocused as I descended into the depths of ecstasy. I could feel Andy’s eyes on me in astonishment but it only just registered, I was so enraptured by the waves of pleasure that had me in their thrall.
Zanda turned it off after a few minutes and I mourned the sudden absence of that wondrous pleasure. Then it was Andy’s turn and as I now watched (with my eyes again in focus), his big and beautiful and now so prominent cock, fully exposed by the total absence of hair around it, began to jerk up into a full erection while I stared at it in amazement.
Of course I had seen it erect before, on many occasions and I had delighted in feeling it, fondling its long smooth length and gripping its large girth before guiding it into me, but now it was bigger, harder and actually throbbing before my eyes.
Andy too was staring down at it in astonishment but his eyes also revealed the same lustful pleasure I had just experienced.
Zanda’s lecherous grin became even more evil. “On your knees, slut-slave. Take it into your mouth and suck ...”
I paled. I loved Andy’s cock - especially when it was inside me tickling my love bud and the inner deeper nerves to wondrous pleasures but I had never been into fellatio and found the thought of it more than a little disgusting. But when I hesitated, my distress no doubt apparent on my face, a new sensation attacked my clit: a horrible, shocking, burning, griping pain that drove the blood from my face, had my whole body rigid and shaking in terrible shudders that really knocked me around. This was what we had seen with the boy in the street.
He only kept it up for a few seconds but when he released the button that had sent such awful pain to my most sensitive nerves, I stood there, still shaking, my knees knocking and my face haggard.
“Still going to refuse, slut?” Zanda asked gleefully.
For answer, I dropped to my knees in front of Andy, stretching the chain that attached me to the wall behind me, and scooped his rigid and again trembling cock into my mouth. Surprisingly, it wasn’t at all distasteful and I wondered as I worked my lips over and around the heavily lipped crown, why I had felt so appalled at performing this delightful act.
But Zanda wasn’t having any of that. This wasn’t supposed to b
e a pleasure session for Andy and me. He ordered me up to stand next to Andy while releasing the button that was giving my husband his so incredible erection and in a few moments it began to wilt, his cock returning to its normal flaccid state.
But then he tried out the pain mode on his cock and now it was Andy’s turn to go into a sort of tremens as every muscle in his beautiful body went rigid, his face assumed a horrible grimace and his eyes just about popped out of their sockets. This was how I knew what I must have looked like.
“So, you see I can operate the devices inside you simply by pointing this controller at you. It is also possible to actually dial in your coded number and activate any of the sensations from a mild tingling pleasure to a pain so bad it would kill you if kept up for more than a few seconds. So be warned. We have no need of whips and canes here although we use them still, for caning and whipping you slaves is a pleasure we indulge in often. Mostly however, your implants will help us to train you to be compliant and very willing and eager galley slaves ...
“All right, enough talk. Now that you are aware of how well I and my men can so easily control you, we shall go upstairs to the gymnasium. I wish to see just how strong the pair of you are and how much stamina you possess ...”
For the next hour he put us both through a series of gruelling exercises on weight and other machines that told him how strong we were, after which we were chained by our left wrists to the chest-high bar of two opposing spokes of a capstan designed to work we slaves and to test our endurance and for the next four hours, the pair of us had to push against a diabolical weight. It was actually the pressure of a braking device that Zanda had screwed down to make our workload just below what we were capable of so that each step was a huge effort and we really had to lean against those two bars to even move the huge round vertical shaft of the machine.
He stayed with us the whole time, walking beside one or the other of us, using a cane to our backsides rather than the shocks of the implants to ‘encourage’ us to further effort when we wilted - as we did often, for it really was a harder work than I could have dreamed possible.
