by Mark Andrews
I was relishing my next words to her. They were going to shame her more than anything I had yet said and it was going to be like an aphrodisiac to me.
“Strip naked, slut,” I said, very slowly and very clearly. “You are now a slave and slaves here do not wear clothes ...”
She stared at me in hate - and in horror. I grinned back at her and then drew out the other implement Mary had armed me with (and showed me how to use). I flicked on its switch, waited the two seconds it needed to arm itself, and then jabbed the two sharp prongs at its end through the thin material of her shirt into her left breast.
“Aaagheeeaaaghooowwwghaaagh!” she screamed, dancing around on both feet while her hands came up to press into her now throbbing breast.
I held up the gadget so she could see it. “It’s a cattle prodder,” I explained as if to a small child. “It sends a high-voltage charge into your body when the prongs are pressed into your flesh.” I paused again, my eyes sparkling as I thought about my next words to her: “If it hurts this much at your breast, imagine what it will be like down at your nasty, man-baiting cunt.”
I am not usually prone to using such words and in fact abhor them but Mary had told me to be as brutal and as obscene as I knew how and so I said the word clearly and loudly.
She didn’t say another word but hastily unbuttoned her shirt and ripped it out of her jeans. She had no need of a bra and I knew she never wore one, preferring to flaunt her beautiful breasts in the faces of the men she was with and always wore tight shirts so as to make her nipples show most provocatively. Now her breasts came into view and we all stared at their perfection.
They really were perfect - and I mean that. They could not have been bettered, I was sure. They were perfect half spheres of creamy-smooth, silken flesh capped with smallish pink aureoles and nipples that were just as perfect, not too big and not too small.
I reached out and coldly fingered her left breast while she stared at me in surprise - and then hate. “So, you are a dyke as well as a kidnapper, are you?” she said in sneering tones, forgetting for a second what I had in my hand.
I smiled, raised the prodder and shocked her other breast - for twice as long this time. “Learn, slut, that you are a slave. You do not cast aspersions on your betters - that is, everyone who is not a slave ... Whether I am a lesbian or not is none of your business. If I choose to use you in such a manner, then you will give me as much pleasure as you know how - and after a few weeks here, that will be considerable...”
I paused and smiled at Mary’s admiring glance. I really was getting into the spirit of things here and was enjoying myself hugely.
Amelia just stood there, staring at me in more hate and horror but also in perplexity. She clearly didn’t know what to make of my words and they had been intentionally ambiguous to throw her off.
She wasn’t moving though and I had to correct that fault. I raised the prodder again and made as if to thrust its two sharp tines through her jeans at her sexual organs and she jumped back quickly, hastily unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them down off her slender hips. She really did have a beautiful body. I grinned as I imagined it after a few months here.
She slipped her shoes off and then removed her jeans to reveal thighs and legs as perfect as the rest of her body. No wonder Toby had gone for her, I thought, forgetting that my own body was just about as good (if you’ll pardon my immodesty).
She now wore only the tiny g-string type panties she favoured and my lip curled as I looked at the obscene garment that hid almost nothing, either at front or back. Her mound was clearly obvious through the wisp of silk and so were her rear globes but I had to admire how shapely she was.
I smiled as I saw her watching me and about to pass another sneering comment about my so-called lesbian interest in her body but then her eyes caught the slight movement of my right hand - the one holding the prodder and she quickly subsided.
For the record I am not a lesbian and while I hold nothing against those girls who are, the idea of making love to another woman is quite abhorrent to me. I pretended to a sexual interest in her body because Mary had said she would probably react as she had and I would then have an opportunity of demonstrating the effectiveness of the prodder as an instrument of discipline and correction.
She removed her socks and now wore only the tiny triangle at her loins. “Modest are we, slut?” I said softly, not moving the prodder, waiting to see her reaction. “I’ll bet you stripped quickly enough for Toby, didn’t you, slut?” I used this word all the time to stress to her, her new status. It was effective. She cringed every time I said it.
She gave me another look of sheer venom but then, one eye on the prodder, stripped the filmy thing down off her sex. I stared. I, like most women these days, keep my pubic bush trimmed so as to show no hairs on the beach, but hers was totally naked, the lips of her vagina totally exposed.
“So,” Mary said now, “a real slut who exposes her twat to every man, I’ll be bound.”
Amelia looked at her now, sizing up the imperious woman who was a good three inches taller than her and who had the carriage and authority of a true leader.
“No!” she cried. “I’m not like that! He wanted me,” she added lamely.
I turned on her. “He did not! You worked on him, showing off your sluttish body to him, luring him away from me ...”
Of course she had done just that and now she wilted, aware that her excuses were of no avail.
“Well, slut,” Mary went on, “what are you waiting for? Pose for us. Show us the charms that you used to attract Judy’s fiancé.” Amelia looked terrible. She was standing as any newly
denuded woman would, one knee crossed over the other to hide her sex, her hands up and crossed over each other to shield her lovely breasts from our view.
I held up the prodder and raised my eyebrows at her. She crumpled and then began a parody of a go-go dancer’s display of her erotic charms. It was laughable really and we three stood there in the training room sneering at her efforts.
“Wait,” said Mary. “Clearly she has no idea how to proceed, let’s have Cunt-face in here ...”
Amelia stared at her. ‘Cunt-face’? What a name? Could she be serious? She was. Mary had told me they gave such horrible names to all the girls for their stay at the camp. Amelia was going to be known as Cunt-tease but she didn’t know that yet of course.
The girl called Cunt-face was brought in and as Amelia stared at her she gave a cry of horror. I grinned. This was what she was going to look like in a few short weeks.
“Yes, look well, Cunt-tease,” I said, using her new name for the first time. “You too will look like this slut in a few weeks ...”
“Nooooo!” she cried. You can’t do that to me!” The girl called Cunt-face kept her face neutral as she moved up to us to stand right next to what had once been Amelia Rivers, girl about town and was now Cunt-tease, slave in the making.
I smiled as I looked over the girl. She was a real Amazon. She had muscles that bulged all over her body. Huge muscles. Body- builder muscles bigger than anything I had ever seen on a woman before, even bigger than any competitive female bodybuilder I had seen.
She was also bald. Totally, absolutely and permanently bald from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her head was a shiny pate and she even lacked eyebrows. She looked like a store dummy. A very muscular store dummy but a store dummy nevertheless.
But there was something else, as well. She was also neutered. She had no vagina. Her organs of procreation had been removed by Dr Trudeau and her vagina then modified, its lips removed and the flesh sewn together so that there was no hint she had even been a woman. In the process, her clitoris had also been removed so that she couldn’t experience sexual pleasure, not even by rubbing where that organ had once been.
This remarkable transformation had been achieved b
y two processes. One had been a massive hormone treatment that had turned her (and all the other ex-female slaves) in the camp into half males and prepared their bodies for the muscles that were going to be developed on them by the other process. This was an exercise programme so rigorous it rapidly created muscles no woman would want - not even the most dedicated female bodybuilder.
She was in truth a human labour machine. A machine that was extraordinarily powerful - strong as an ox and with an endurance that could not have been bettered. When she was sold to her buyer, she would be able to work in the quarry or at the mine face or driving an irrigation capstan all day, every day ...
But she had other skills, of course. These girls (we continued to call them that even if, strictly speaking, they were no longer females) were also sex machines. Even without their vaginas, they could use their anuses and their mouths to give a man the most exquisite pleasure. They were also skilled in the art of belly-dancing although their grotesque muscles made their dancing a parody of the real thing.
Right now, Cunt-face was going to demonstrate how to show off her body to the newly named Cunt-tease.
“Show the new slave how to pose, slut,” Mary grated.
The girl jumped to obey. Clearly she was frightened stiff of Mary even though she towered over her and could have broken her into two pieces in her giant hands. She began a routine that had me (and Cunt-tease) goggle-eyed in a second. It was a masterpiece of eroticism and of muscle display. It was a sort of cross between a dance and a bodybuilder’s routine but far, far more graceful. It was more like a high-class strip tease without the stripping.
Her skin was tanned all over. It was a deep tan that bespoke many hours out in the sun and to hell with skin cancer. Mary did have concerns for such considerations and I later found out they were protected while they toiled outside but right then, I thought these girls probably wouldn’t last too long anyway, not where they were going.
Now as she flung her arms and legs in a sometime violent, sometime gentle series of movements that showed off their muscles wonderfully and moved her torso in ways that made her bottom and belly and chest writhe and cord and ripple provocatively, I felt a strange feeling of excitement myself. Perhaps it was because she looked more man than woman although I had never really liked the appearance of male bodybuilders either.
Certainly she lacked breasts. They apparently began to shrink and take on the appearance of a muscular man’s chest after a few weeks of the hormone treatment, but she certainly had skill. The way she made her body dance and leap and twist and turn was absolutely incredible.
She finished at last and Mary sent her back to her exercises whatever they were. She turned to what had once been Amelia Rivers. “And now, Cunt-tease, it’s your turn. Do the same or we take you out and string you up for your first punishment ...”
I grinned. I knew there was no way she would remember even ten percent of what the muscle-girl had just performed and I thought about the scaffold outside. Oh yes, she would almost certainly end up on that in just a few minutes.
She tried. She tried valiantly. She had not seen the scaffold but her imagination had given her some pretty lurid ideas and so she made every attempt to follow the bald muscle-girl’s lead. Of course it was pitiful. It could be nothing else. She would be trained over the next weeks until she was as good as Cunt-face but right now, she was hopeless and we marched her out of the building to the parade ground as Mary called it. The scaffold was in pride of place and around it were the various exercise machines that I will detail a little later on.
From the centre of the crosspiece of the scaffold there dangled a real hangman’s noose. It was only for show but the girls didn’t know that. Amelia stared up at it and cried out in fear but she wasn’t destined for it but in any case, we ignored her cries. Let her imagine the worst.
There were also ropes that dangled from pulleys set at the two top corners and after Amelia was thrown to the ground under the scaffold, Mary and Barbara knelt down and fixed the manacles to her ankles then stood up and began to pull on the other ends of the ropes, dragging my enemy’s feet then her legs and finally her whole body up while spreading her legs out wide. When her hands were just clear of the grass, they tied off the ropes.
“And now you can hang there and contemplate your coming punishment,” Mary said. We turned away and went in to enjoy our lunch, waited on by two of the muscle-slaves.
Chapter 2
Over lunch, Mary explained to me that the so total nudity of the slavegirls was not necessary as part of their induction to slavery; nor did it enhance their value, except to those who had a fetish for such a total nakedness in a slave. But it played a very important role in restoring her clients’ self-esteem.
It certainly had in mine for as I imagined Amelia reduced to such a state, I really chortled. She wouldn’t explain how it was done however, saying that watching it would be an even more rewarding experience for me.
First though, we were going to watch as Amelia was punished for her ‘crime’ of failing in her muscle show.
We all trooped outside to find the ten other slavegirls lined up on three sides of a square surrounding their newest companion in misery. Each was standing rigidly to attention and had clasped her hands up behind her naked pate and was staring fixedly in at Amelia’s inverted body.
Behind them, a number of the Korean guards, big, very muscular men, all dressed in a costume that could only be described as Asian mediaeval - and extremely threatening: it was just a skirt made of heavy leather strips that dangled vertically from inside a belt of the same material. The strips overlapped but under them, the men wore nothing. They also wore nothing else except sandals on their feet. These strange garments were worn very low on their hips and came down only to mid-thigh and thus revealed and underlined the muscularity of their owners.
When they were aroused - as they often were (and this was encouraged by Mary), their hard weapons poked out from between the strips, further shaming the slaves who were well aware the guards could rape them - either in the mouth or anus, any time they liked.
We strolled up to the group and then Mary nodded to one of the guards who moved to the front and then produced a rattan cane which he proceeded to flex in front of my enemy’s eyes before moving around behind her. She stared at him in terror while I gloated at her distress.
He gave her ten strokes. Ten very hard strokes to her naked bottom, each interspersed with an interval of two or three minutes so that the pain of the last stroke could properly sink in.
He raised the cane high above his right shoulder and I marvelled at his superb body as its muscles rippled and writhed in the action. But then he lashed down, as hard as he could ... The cane made a soft whistling noise as it whipped through the air - and then a thwap sound as it landed, indenting the soft flesh of her athletic cheeks before being withdrawn.
I watched with a macabre, almost clinical interest as the olive skin whitened in a line where the cane had landed and then went pink, formed a ridge and then deepened to an ever-darkening red.
Amelia (I will continue to call her that when speaking of her for I don’t much like writing her other name) screamed blue murder of course, her inverted body now describing weird contortions as she struggled to come to grips with the pain - which must have been pretty awful, I had to admit.
To me, however, she looked magnificent. At last she was getting her comeuppance - something I had dreamed about for months as I saw her taking Toby away from me. Now it was becoming a reality and I revelled in it.
The guard prowled around her, feinting at her with his cane, as if to flog her beautiful breasts, or her thighs, or even down between them. She watched him in real terror, her eyes following him at every step. But then he stopped in front of her, taking aim with the cane for real once more while she screamed out, pleading with Mary and me to desist, that she had learned her lesson ... In
between her begging, she hurled invective at us, threatening everything she could think of. Not a wise move on her part for it showed she wasn’t really cowed at all. Mary told me it was a quite normal part of the process, though. They were never cowed by the first stage of their initiation. That would take a few weeks, but it was all a part of the whole ...
And I delighted in it all.
He did indeed lash her breasts with his cane - but not nearly as hard as he had her rear. Quite enough to make her scream out in agony, though, for the breasts are very, very sensitive.
The third stroke was to the meaty part of her muscular thighs and again her body described wonderful contortions as she tried to come to grips with the awful pain - and all simply because she had failed to please Mary. This was a lesson. A lesson that her one aim in life from now on was to please her owner; that her own likes and dislikes counted for nothing and that she could be whipped any time he wished it. A terrible lesson but an important one, Mary assured me.
It took the best part of forty minutes to administer the whole ten strokes, delivered all over her body and yes, one even lashed down between her thighs to land on her upturned vagina and anus and then she was left hanging there for another hour to (at least figuratively) lick her wounds and try to recover from the dreadful agonies she had just suffered.
I stayed and watched her but the others went about their business, the slaves to their physical and sexual training, Mary and Barbara to confer on another girl who had been jilted much as I had and whom they thought they might be able to help, and the guards to their business of watching over the girls as Mary’s female trainers put them through their paces.
I sat in a chair not six feet from Amelia’s upside-down head and she watched me through eyes half glazed with pain but also very wary. She was beginning to learn, it seemed. Only beginning, mind. If we had relented now, she would soon have got back to her arrogant demeanour.
