Submissives of the Colonel

by Charles Graham

  All hope was gone; and, as Belinda understood that she was utterly alone, her body shuddered in the grip of her captors.

  Razak’s teeth gleamed in a mirthless grin. “The Captain would make a successful slaver, I think. He holds your friend’s future in the palm of his hand; and, if he is the man I believe him to be, she may find that her freedom does not last as long as she might wish and that she has merely exchanged one Master for another.”

  Belinda’s moan of anguish turned to gasps as the tall slaver seized her breasts in his fingers and rolled her sensitive nipples, his men holding her easily as arousal raced through her pinioned body.

  “Bring this slave,” he ordered coldly, releasing her breasts and striding from the tent, “The iron is already hot and waiting, and I shall brand her myself.”

  His men reacted instantly; and, as the appalled blonde screamed in terror and panic, her struggling, kicking body was dragged from the tent. Fighting every inch of the way, muffled screams leaking past the gag in her mouth, Belinda shuddered in terror as she saw Razak walk over to a small portable forge that stood in the centre of a small clearing in the trees and pull out a long iron rod, its tip glowing red with heat.

  He examined it carefully and then thrust it back into the fire. “Tie her there,” he gestured towards a nearby tree. “Secure her well. I want her brand to be clear and sharp.”

  Overpowered by the warriors despite her furious resistance, Belinda was forced over to the tree, her wrist- and ankle cuffs pulled back and around to encircle the thick trunk, her thighs spread wide, and her spine against the wood. Coarse rope squeezed her elbows together, more bound her thighs and calves, and as loops tightened at her waist and above her out-thrust breasts to lash her immovably to the tree, she stared wildly at Razak, knowing that she was utterly helpless and utterly vulnerable to the merciless slaver Prince.

  Without a word, he walked to the forge, picked up the iron rod, and strode back to her side; and, as she felt the wave of heat that radiated from the iron, Belinda whimpered in dreadful fear.

  “This is the mark of a Prince of Gadoor,” he said proudly. “And you are a slave.”

  He thrust the iron against her left thigh, high up near her hip; and, as it sank into Belinda’s flesh to burn his permanent mark into her body, she shrieked in pain and terror, her eyes rolled up, and the English blonde slumped forward in a dead faint.

  For two seconds, Razak held the iron to her thigh then withdrew it and bent to examine the brand, nodding in satisfaction at the perfection of his work. The slave would wear his mark for the rest of her life, and all who saw it would know that here was the property of Razak, Prince of Gadoor.

  “The slave has fainted, my Prince. Shall I revive her?”

  Razak smiled, “Not quite yet, my loyal warrior. I have one more adornment that this slave will wear, and I am merciful. Let her sleep. She will have time enough to repay me for my kindness when she awakens as a branded slave.”

  Belinda moaned and her blue eyes slowly opened as she awoke from a nightmare in which she had dreamed that she had been betrayed by Philip and branded as a slave by Razak. For an instant, confused and disorientated, she couldn’t understand where she was or why her limbs would not move, but then memory flooded back, and she screamed into the wadded cloth packing her mouth as she saw and felt the painful throbbing of a livid mark etched deep into the smooth flesh of her left thigh.

  A cold chill of terror set her breasts and belly trembling, and she shook her head from side to side in a futile refusal to believe the evidence of her own eyes…but as she did so, Belinda discovered the second “adornment” that her harsh Master had decreed that she must wear.

  A sharp twinge of pain at her nose set her eyes watering; and, as she blinked away the tears and squinted downwards, the stunned blonde gaped in disbelief at a heavy golden hoop dangling from her nose almost to her upper lip…and realised that she had been pierced and ringed while she was unconscious.

  Before she could even begin to recover from the twin shocks, Razak’s hard voice broke through her stupor. He stated flatly, “You bear my mark in your flesh and my gold at your nose. Now and forever, you are my slave.” Belinda shuddered helplessly as a white-hot flame of incandescent slave heat raged through her belly.

  She was a branded slave, the mark of her Master burned into her flesh, her nose pierced to display his gold and his ownership of her; and, as Belinda understood that the symbols of her subjugation could never be erased or hidden and that even the most cursory glance would reveal the truth of her enslavement, her gaping sex pulsed to release sprays of glistening love juices to spatter her thighs and her nipples quivered and stiffened to full erection.

  It was the unmistakable response of a truly submissive and fiercely hot slave; and, as Razak saw her need and the unbearable longing in her soft blue eyes, he tore off his clothing and buried his long, hard maleness in the seething maelstrom of her belly. Penetrated in one brutal, irresistible thrust, Belinda screamed and a gigantic orgasm erupted through her immobilised body, her internal muscles squeezing and sucking him deeper as her scalding juices poured into her belly and sex and over his rigid shaft as she surrendered instantly to the Master whose brand she wore and to whom her submission was absolute.

  He grunted with pleasure as her belly convulsed around him, and then he began to use her as a full slave. As Belinda squealed and gasped in terrible fear, he built her to a second peak of frenzied passion, her juices exploding from her like molten lava as his ruthless power extracted a second shattering climax from her pulsing, sweating, wildly responsive body.

  Almost at his own release, he sent his arms around her to grasp the tree at her back and pulled himself tighter to her body, crushing her between his muscular torso and the unforgiving wood, bringing a wavering shriek of despairing ecstasy from the helpless blonde as his throbbing shaft plunged still deeper, to the very core of her spinning, whirling belly, impaling her mercilessly and hosing boiling jets of his seed into her to trigger her third immense orgasm and her third total, abject submission as renewed waves of bubbling, foaming juices thundered down over his pulsing flesh.

  Screaming in the throes of her sexual passion, Belinda strained against her bondage, her eyes wet with tears as she fought vainly to give herself still more fully to her Master, offering herself completely to be used as he wished, her only desire, to please him and be pleased by him as the hot, willing, obedient slave he had made her and which she longed to be with every fibre of her being.

  She had no way of knowing that her Master, widely experienced in the subjugation and training of captive females, saw the intensity of her enforced need and the awesome depth of her surrenders as nothing more than his natural right and the inevitable, expected, and quite unremarkable culmination of her enslavement.

  To him, Belinda was only the latest of a long line of women who had served and pleasured him to the limits of their ability and then been sold to swell the coffers of his treasury; and, as he slipped from her pounding belly and heard her soft moan of loss, he smiled in satisfaction.

  A pretty, blonde white woman…a Memsahib…collared, branded, and fully trained to serve as a sex slave, was a rare prize. Rich men would pay a huge price to possess such a slave; and, as Razak gazed down into her pleading blue eyes, he knew that her sale would bring him gold enough to feed and pay his band of warriors for many months.

  Unaware that her display of sexual heat had made her even more desirable and valuable in the eyes of her Master, Belinda was stunned as he invited his men to share the delights of her body, cautioning only that her pale skin was not to be permanently marked, and then he walked away towards his quarters.

  The two warriors grinned evilly, their hot eyes drinking in the sweet curves and hollows of Belinda’s tightly bound nudity. As they moved to her and began to take full advantage of their Prince’s generosity, the hapless blonde screamed in anguished misery as she learned that it was not only Razak who knew how to impose total, uncondit
ional submission on a slave.

  Rough hands captured her swollen breasts, hungry lips feasted on her quivering nipples, skilled fingers probed and explored the hidden recesses of her belly and sex and anal passage; and, as intolerable arousal stormed through her entire body and her quaking belly melted into one giant inferno of maddened lust and slave heat, Belinda shrieked and wept and pleaded into her gag as climax after climax ripped through her and rivers of scalding love juices burst from her palpitating sex to trickle down her vainly flexing thighs and drip to the earth beneath her tormented body.

  Taken by both men in quick succession, her submissions were immediate, intense, and complete; and, as she came and came again to the brutal thrusts of their rigid, iron hard shafts, Belinda’s orgasms were those of a fully subjugated sex slave, her body convulsing in enormous spasms of incredible power as she was used without mercy and towering waves of juices erupted into her belly to blend and mix with the fountaining spend of her utterly dominant Masters.

  Left to recover as best she could from the ruthless plundering of her body, Belinda hung limply in her bonds, trembling as the waning pulses of her orgasms rippled the flesh of her belly, while her Masters reclined on the ground, resting comfortably and watching her as they quenched the thirst of their exertions with wine from a leather bottle and laughingly discussed her in a language she could not understand. Until one of them rose to his feet and plucked a long coil of braided leather from his belt…

  That, Belinda understood only too well; and, as he uncoiled the whip and sent it singing through the air above her head, the terrified English slave gabbled wordless pleas for mercy, her eyes fixed on the leather she feared for its power to bring her both searing pain and soaring pleasure, as her Master chose.

  Urged on by the calls and laughter of his companion, the warrior demonstrated his skill with the whip; and, as the thin tip of the lash bit and snapped at her unprotected belly and thighs and breasts, each cruelly accurate blow preceded by a flat statement of where it would land and followed by an ironic cheer from his friend, Belinda whimpered and gasped as stripe after stripe of stinging red heat blossomed across her flinching skin.

  Helpless in her bonds, naked before her Masters and subject to their merciless game, she could neither escape nor resist the torment they imposed upon her or hold back the masochistic excitement it sent raging through her body. A full slave, she had been trained and conditioned to respond to all forms of physical stimulation, her body disciplined to submit instinctively to a Master’s lips and fingers and whip….and Belinda had been trained well.

  She had done nothing wrong and did not deserve to be punished; but, as she was whipped simply because her Masters willed it and had the power to enforce their will, re-awakened slave heat blazed through her belly and her whimpers of pain and horror quickly changed to soft moans of submissive passion.

  Recognising the change in her, the first Master coiled his whip and thrust the leather loops between her straddled thighs while the second jumped to his feet and used his whip to toy with her breasts, rubbing the braided leather over her nipples and causing the erect knobs to jiggle and bounce.

  After the unwarranted and intensely thrilling discipline she had been forced to endure, there was not the slightest chance of Belinda being able to resist such deliciously cruel arousal; and, as her brain and body gave up the hopeless battle to retain even minimal self-control, she hurtled into a devastating climax. Helplessly and willingly obedient to the demanding leather in, and on, her body, the newly branded blonde surrendered to the whips of her Masters. As a flood of juices soaked the braided coils at her belly, Belinda pulsed and spasmed in the awesome whip-orgasm of a fully subjugated slave. Remembering, through the storm of passionate ecstasy engulfing her, that Razak had once told her that only slaves submitted to the whip.

  How true that was, Belinda now understood and, in understanding, knew that she was, forever, a slave.

  In the days and nights that followed her branding, Belinda served many more Masters and suffered many more punishments; and, as she writhed in her chains or screamed as whips bit into her pale flesh, her sexual subjugation grew ever deeper and her desire ever stronger as she struggled to please the Masters whose demands upon her belly and mouth forced her to learn and perfect skills of arousal and pleasure far beyond anything she could have dreamed of in her wildest fantasies.

  Spinning down and down into a limbo of total submission and servitude, Belinda wept and sobbed in anguish and despair as her previous life of freedom and privilege was swept away in the incandescent fury of her enslavement, its existence becoming less real to her with every day that passed, replaced by her new reality of chains and whips and shattering, unbearable ecstasy as she was used and aroused and taken by Masters who revelled in the task of reducing a once proud and haughty Memsahib to the level of a gasping, pleading sex-slave, her body leaping and shuddering beneath their fingers and lips and bodies as she fought to satisfy their every desire and avoid the merciless punishment they could, and frequently did, so easily inflict upon her.

  Beyond hope of rescue and at the mercy of pitiless Masters, no woman…however strong willed or determined…could have resisted the training and conditioning that overwhelmed Belinda and, all too soon, the English blonde’s final defences crumbled away…….

  In seven weeks as a branded, nose-pierced slave in the camp of Razak and his warriors, Belinda learned to please her Masters perfectly, in any way demanded of her, her obedience unquestioning and her responses to their touch both intense and instant.

  She was permitted nothing less, for her value to Razak lay in the depth of her submission to the slave passion which burned in her belly and in her inability to control the need which he and his men imposed upon her and nurtured, until the graceful, sensual undulations of her body as she walked or displayed her beauty for men’s pleasure and the helpless longing that shone from her eyes as men gazed upon her, betrayed her as the true slave she had become.

  It was not her fault…but that could not save her from the fate to which her former lover had condemned her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Late June, 1876 – The Marketplace of Peshlara

  The coarse black material of the chador that Belinda wore covered her from head to foot, the all-enveloping garment leaving only a narrow, inch wide slit at her eyes to enable her to see her surroundings. In the crowded, bustling throng of the Market, her garb was completely unremarkable, identical to that of many of the women engaged in buying and selling food from the dozens of stalls in the large square, their shapeless robes, like hers, giving no hint of the face, body, or even age of the women concealed within. Such secrets were only for the eyes of husbands, lovers, or owners; and, as Belinda followed Razak, her Master, across the large square, she could not tell which, if any, of the black robed women were slaves like herself.

  Beneath her chador, she was naked and heavily bound, wrists and elbows clamped immovably behind her back, ankles and knees hobbled by short leather straps, a massive leather ball-gag bulging her cheeks to silence any protest or cry for help she might try to make.

  Two miles from the town, Razak had bound her personally, checking each strap and chain; and, only when he was completely satisfied, had he informed her that he was taking her into Peshlara to be displayed to four potential buyers and then auctioned.

  Frozen with terror and shock, Belinda had not believed what she was hearing; but, as the unsmiling slaver-Prince showed her the chador and told her that she had better put on a good show for the buyers or he would whip her in front of them, the blonde trembled in helpless anguish to the dreadful knowledge that she really was going to be exhibited as a naked, chained sex slave before four complete strangers…..and then sold to the highest bidder.

  “What did you expect, slave?” Razak asked coldly. “My men and I are slavers, and you are worth a great deal of money to us. Did you think that because you were once a Memsahib, you were different from any other slave? In chains and
a collar, a slave is just a slave, and you would do well to remember that and serve your new Master as fully as you have served me. You will have cost a fortune, and it is not difficult for a Master to discipline a slave who is not pleasing. Do not make your new Master teach you that again, slave, or you will live to regret such foolishness.”

  She stared up at him, knowing that he spoke the truth and that it was wise advice and as he placed the black robe over her head and let it conceal her naked body, she whimpered softly into her gag as irresistible slave heat surged through her belly.

  Under the hot Indian sun, forced to adjust her steps to the length of the hobbles between her ankles and knees, Belinda followed her Master into the town where she had once hoped to be re-united with her former lover and live a life of ease and comfort as a wealthy, pampered Memsahib……but now entered as a gagged, tightly bound bondage slave on her way to be sold into endless captivity. Every restricted step reinforcing her absolute obedience and adding the to ever growing turmoil in her belly as she submitted to her fate and her mind and body prepared themselves for the ordeal she must soon face…

  Colonel Randolph Mayhew was a very unhappy and very angry man. For almost two months, he had tried everything he could think of to try to break down the wall of reserve and mistrust that had sprung up between himself and his wife since Arabella’s rescue from Razak’s camp, but nothing had worked and the rift had grown wider and wider until he had begun to doubt that it could ever be fully repaired.

  He still loved her and wanted her, but she seemed unable to return his affection, clearly upset by any show of tenderness on his part. Physically, things were no better; and, despite his best efforts, she steadfastly refused to share his bed, her tears and apologies leaving him baffled and frustrated, for he was a fit, active man and her proximity aroused and excited him but left him with no outlet for his desire. He could not understand it, and Arabella either could not..or would not explain…and the effort to hold his temper in check had taken its toll on his patience and forbearance.