Galley Slaves

by Mark Andrews

  He had grinned down at me. “Very few, Christine. Some have tried but most failed. You are, you see, somewhat unique among them ...”

  When I reported this fact to Andy, he was as surprised as I had been. “But it wasn’t that hard, Chris, was it?”

  “Yes it was!” I said hotly. “It was terrible. Don’t you remember?” I asked curiously as my finger grazed the bright green design on his lower belly.

  “It was painful, yes, but once I set my mind to keeping still and ignoring the pain, it wasn’t an impossible task ...”

  “No it wasn’t but perhaps the others just didn’t think they could manage it and of those who tried and failed, perhaps their strength of mind just wasn’t up to it.”

  “Anyway we did it and now we’re out here, enjoying our freedom for a week - and at last I can have your body close to me again ...”

  “Yes, but when the week is over, we will be forced into celibacy once more ...”

  “Yes we will, but Zanda said good work might mean a night together now and then and so we will just have to try that little bit harder and so achieve another little holiday such as this one.”

  “All right,” I said, grinning across at him, “we’ve only got two more days so let’s make the most of them ...”

  Chapter 5

  We did indeed make the most of them but then it was back to the old grind. Now, though, after enjoying the wonderful week of freedom, we were invigorated and felt almost benign towards our master and his men. No, we shouldn’t have, but we did. Now, I can appreciate how much their conditioning affected us; then, so close to the events as they unfolded, it all seemed quite normal.

  Of course our master lost no time in trying us out for himself. By that I mean sexually. Back home, wherever that was, he had his wives and no doubt his harem. Here, we were it and the males were as much in demand as us girls! Many Arabs are bisexual. Hell, many people are that way and if the truth be known, probably most of us are. It is only the mores of a particular society that constrain us into a heterosexual style of life and then, only the more strongly homosexual members break away from the rules and live openly either as bi- or gay.

  The Arabs are much more open about it although not to us Westerners and if a particular male pleases them, then they go for it. Not us women of course. We are much more strictly controlled and only if such an act was desired by a girl’s master would she be permitted to indulge such fantasies.

  Anyway, Andy and I were carefully bathed and groomed one night and then escorted up to our master’s suite. We were still naked of course. We were never ever allowed to cover our bodies at all, anywhere, any time on that island.

  He was waiting for us, lying back on his bed with only a short silk robe around his body. He gestured the escort away and then patted the bed beside him, indicating we were to climb up and lie either side of him.

  “You enjoyed your little holiday, slaves?” he asked softly.

  “Yes, lord,” we chorused dutifully.

  “Good. If you please me, there may be more of them. Not for a week perhaps but for a day here and there. But only if you continue to please me ...” We nodded and made the appropriate responses and then he went on. “Tonight I wish to enjoy your bodies myself ... Do you object?”

  “Oh no, lord,” we again chorused. By now our conditioning by Zanda and his men was just about total. We were well aware of the tiny implant in our groins but they used whips and canes and prodders as well to reinforce their demand for instant, smiling and total obedience.

  “Excellent. Very well, let me see how good you are with your fingertips. Explore my body ...”

  We were well aware of the stick and carrot being offered us. If we failed to please now, we would suffer punishment - the stick; but if we made him happy, there just might be the possibility of another day to ourselves in a few weeks time. Accordingly, we went at it to the very best of our abilities.

  Not that we knew much about it. No-one had ever explained the erogenous zones of the human body to us and so it was largely instinct. Instinct and a close watch on how he reacted to our fingertips just grazing over his flesh.

  Andy opened his robe and we both gasped at his body. Far from being the fat, old man we had expected before we had seen him, it was in really superb condition. Of course we had seen him that time in the gym, but stark naked, he was something else. Not as good as us slaves, of course. No human beings on Earth - anywhere on the planet, could have been as good as we were but then no-one was exercised as hard or as scientifically as we were either.

  He was slim and well defined and unlike many Arabs, was largely hairless and what he had, at least at his groin, he kept neatly trimmed. Andy began at his feet, gently caressing them and working up his calves and shapely thighs while I softly touched his neck, then his cheeks, down to his shoulders and arms, back up to his chest and down his belly, all the time varying the direction, location and intensity of the tiny touches, using only my fingertips and clearly inflaming him from the little shivers in his skin, the sparkle in his eyes and the jumps as I or Andy touched a soft spot. These we noted and came back to a little later.

  I have to say I delighted in this action, lying next to his beautifully body while Andy, on the other side seemed just as enamoured of him as I was. It wasn’t feigned. I really did enjoy caressing his body but after around fifteen minutes, he called a halt.

  “Nicely done, slaves. I understand this is your first time at the erotic massage?”

  “Yes, lord.”

  “Well you learn fast. It is good and I am pleased. Now, boy, I wish you to fuck me. Have you ever fucked a man before?”

  “No, lord.”

  “Well we shall see how quickly you learn this art ...”

  I wondered what he meant. Fucking (as he so crudely put it) was fucking. What was to learn? How little I knew. Really, how little we in the West know about the art of loving for it is an art - almost a science and we have hardly begun to scratch the surface of that art in our morally bigoted world.

  Ali actually guided Andy in what he wanted. First he drew his knees up to his chest while Andy knelt below him. Andy had been hard from the moment we entered the room, rightly guessing it would be required and these days of course, he was easily able to control his member and keep it hard during our practice runs on the galley.

  And what did I think as my husband made love to our master while I lay beside the pair of them? I delighted in it - that’s what! By now, our minds and our attitudes to all sorts of things were vastly changed from what they had been. We were slaves! Our bodies had been modified, by permanent depilation and implants that controlled almost our very thoughts; we had been trained as no Olympic athlete ever had been to race the galley of our owner against those of his fellow slave owners. We had trained in the gym, by pulling gigs or carts on the training track, as well as on the galley itself so that we were as fit as a human being could be. We had seen girl slaves in our stable swell with a child not of her husband or partner and drop it, usually during a race and then have it taken away from her.

  Such things are so far removed from everything that would be considered normal in Australia as to change our attitude to many things, not the least among them sex. It had been denied us ruthlessly for months - and then given to us freely for a whole week. Now we were being asked - no, not asked but expected to perform for our master. If we did it well, he would be pleased but would probably not comment; if we showed even the slightest sign of distaste for what was demanded of us, we would be punished - and very, very hard.

  Accordingly, it didn’t even occur to me to resent my husband making love to Ali but there was another side to it as well: Ali was a wonderful lover, as many Arabs are. Those who follow the ancient teachings of their people and learn the art of sex well can have no peers in this world, and Ali was an arch-exponent of the art.

  A
nd so while my beautiful husband poised his body up over Ali’s now well exposed anus ready to drive in his quivering cock, Ali not only reached up to caress his velvet-smooth chest and even kissed him on the mouth, he also reached out to me, lying beside him, fondled my breast and stroked my belly; and as he performed these little caresses I knew that here was a man who, for all his youth, knew things I could only guess at about sex ...

  Andy made love to him for a few minutes and I knew my eyes were as bright as a button as I watched his body in all its athletic glory performing the act. But then Ali dropped his legs, pushing Andy out of his bottom, and turned towards me.

  I knew instinctively what to do, opened my legs to admit him and then, as he entered me, I watched as Andy now mounted him from behind. The three of us were now connected as one and what followed became an orgy of lust and pleasure I do not have the words to describe.

  It went on and on and on. It seemed like all night. We kissed and caressed. We made love. We felt and fondled and then kissed and even bit each other in our love-frenzy. Our legs were entwined and our hands groped. The men’s cocks found their way into all three of my orifices and the both of theirs. There was no master and his slaves now. We were three lovers and it didn’t seem to matter who was male and who female. As the only girl amongst us, I came in for a lot of fucking but it wasn’t only in my sex tunnel. My anus and mouth got their share too - and it was all wonderful. Absolutely terrific.

  Without our now quite incredible fitness, we wouldn’t have lasted an hour at this so frenetic love-making; as it was, it went on for ever, seemingly. And, strange as it may seem, I didn’t care if I was being made love to by Andy or Ali or both at the same time. In fact, without my love for Andy being one whit diminished, I can say that that first love-making with our master was the best sex trip I had ever had - and later ones were even better. Andy agreed with me.

  “It’s no reflection on us, Chris, that we enjoyed it so much with him. He knows so much and let’s face it, last night was an eye-opener for both of us ...”

  “Was it ever, Andy. I couldn’t believe how those little twists he gives gave me double the pleasure - really, it was double - and you battened on to it straight away!”

  He grinned. “I watched everything he did and copied as much as I could remember, but you know, the male to male sex was good, too. I couldn’t believe that I as a heterosexual male could possibly enjoy sex with another man - but I did.”

  I grinned at him. “I could see you were and I was glad for you for if you hadn’t, no doubt you would be strung up on the scaffold out the back right now and awaiting a walloping at noon.”

  He looked at me speculatively. “How will you go with another girl, if he calls on you to do it with them?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. In fact, I don’t even know what girls do together. Pet and kiss, I suppose ... If that’s all it is, I imagine I will quite like it for these girls are real lookers, aren’t they?”

  “Are they ever!” And then he remembered himself. “I mean, not a patch on you, Chris, but not bad in the looks department.”

  “Oh go on, Andy. I know they are top model types and you and I are now slaves. It’s all we have so go ahead and look. Hell, soon enough they are going to use you to sire a sucker on one of them - and one of the males with me, no doubt ...”

  We went back to practising on the galley the next day. We had had a week off and Zanda and Ali wanted to ensure we hadn’t lost any of our skill, strength and stamina in that time and so we were coffled with the other twenty-two slaves selected to be the crew for the coming races and now had to perform with the master as well as Zanda on the poop.

  I said earlier that as Andy and I had jointly resolved to put everything we had into our training and to accept our positions as galley slaves, less and less did Zanda and his men have reason to use their whips and canes on our bodies or resort to activating the punishment mode of the electronic implants in our bodies, and this is quite true - for us.

  But it wasn’t for all of the slaves. Not all had accepted their positions and one or two of them were downright rebellious. For them, the overseers were constantly using their whips on their backs and after a while, activating the controller, sending jolts of fiery agony to their genitals.

  I thought them utterly stupid. No way was their resistance helping them. There was no escape from the island and so why oppose a force that was irresistible? It seemed quite illogical to me. But as a result, it was necessary still for the overseers to patrol up and down the central passage, alert for slackness and with their whips at the ready.

  Every now and then, the whip would lash against a muscular back and there would be a scream. Very occasionally, the overseer would deem it necessary to give a more painful reminder to his victim. One of these was a very handsome Asian boy from Thailand.

  He really was one of the most handsome of all the males amongst us (after Andy, of course) and his body, like most Thais, was something else. But he was one of the recalcitrants and the guards were always reminding him to buck up and lift his game.

  His position was one in front of me and on the other side of the ship and I thus got a perfect view of his body. When the guard pressed the red button on his controller, the boy really reacted, his body lifting up off the bench in a parody of the royal salute, every one of the eight muscles that made up his abdominal pack standing up sharply out of his belly and quivering as they didn’t when he was in fact offering his homage to his master.

  He looked superb and I felt a distinct wetness down there as my eyes wavered in his direction (carefully, for I was supposed to look at nothing but the head of the girl in front of me).

  Our practices were much harder now for the races were just about upon us. Zanda and Ali kept us at racing speed for much longer periods and the rest breaks gradually got shorter and shorter until we could row like mad, seemingly for hours at a time. It wasn’t. No human, no matter how well trained and how fit, can keep up hard exercise for such periods, but I am sure we were fitter than any human beings had ever been, even the famed Zulu warriors of Shaka Zulu, or the marathon runners of ancient Greece.

  We also stayed out for a whole day and night. This was necessary for the final race in each season is the marathon and this involved a double circumnavigation of the island, an event that took all of twenty-four hours.

  The course, twice around the island was about a hundred miles and since, on average, we made only about four miles an hour, it will be seen it would take all of the twenty-four hours to complete the circuit.

  For our practice, Ali had us perform this circuit and during it, he instituted an apparently new ploy to the usual regime of work, with longish rest periods in between. While he was away he had discussed the matter with some physical educationalists (in appropriately oblique terms, no doubt) and they had suggested the rest periods might be shortened if they were given more often.

  He tried this out now and so we were worked at this new regime: flat out for fifteen minutes followed by a slower period of five minutes to let our muscles come back to normal without cramping, followed by a short two minute total rest. Then another hard slog but for a shorter time, say ten minutes, and so on. He had it all worked out, at least in theory and apart from a few adjustments, as to the times involved and the need for a five minute nap each hour, we were able to keep it up for the whole twenty-four circuit of the island.

  Ali was pleased. We could see it in his face as he discussed our efforts with Zanda. It seemed we were well on the way to being champions this year, especially if we did as well with the shorter races leading up to the finale.

  We were now as ready as we would ever be for the start of the season.

  The first race was held outside the harbour and involved racing along five legs, rounding markers at each corner. This was where the skill of the captain came in. He had to judge our stamina and to place
his vessel at the best position to get around first. The rules were strict about fouling the buoy or another boat and the International Rules for the Prevention of Collision at Sea were used as the basis for them. If you were ahead, you had right of way but if not, you had to give way.

  With Zanda’s efforts to make us the strongest, fastest and most endurable rowing team on the island; and with Ali’s skill as a strategist and ship-handler, we hoped to win through but the vagaries of wind and current could always see us undone.

  On the first day, the judges (owners who were not competing this race) stood near the entrance to the piers and gave us points for bodily beauty, muscular perfection and grace as we pranced in perfect formation from our master’s house down to the pier.

  Andy and I, alongside one another as usual, made sure we attended to our demeanour as we kept our elbows well back, our bodies perfectly erect and raised our knees so that our thighs were perfectly horizontal at each step. Our eyes were fixed on the back of the head of the slave in front of us and I never wavered for a second, not even to glance out of the corner of my eye at any of the judges. If we were the best, good and well, if not, we would try harder next time...

  We came to a halt in perfect time (we were not chained together now), then made our way in perfect step along the dual gangplank to take our places on the bench while the judges stood on the wharf, watching each slave sit down, place his or her feet on the rest and their hands on the loom of the oar.

  Then, as the drum roll began, we each leaned backwards and at the stroke of the drum, raised our middles up off the bench in the so humiliating royal salute to our master, the males’ cocks all rigid and quivering and girls’ breasts and vulvas showing our adoration of him.

  I had watched as other crews had performed this act of submission and while I had cringed at the inherent humiliation involved, I had also thrilled as I had watched the twenty-four perfect bodies, twelve male and twelve female, showing off their lithe athletic muscularity in such a manner. It really was a magnificent spectacle - if you were watching and not performing it.