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Collected by Djian

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Slave Girl
by anon

A girl waits in a room empty except for a fire and a low couch. She waits
expectant, both hoping for and fearing the approach of her Master.

She is full bodied, proud and, prior to her enslavement, was used to men obeying
her every whim with deference and speed. Now, she is clad in dishevelled blue
silk, collared with a belt and secured at ankle, waist and wrist and thigh. Her
collar, attached to a heavy piece of furniture – or a ring in the wall at floor
level, for she cannot see which, is attached to a leash that is secured by a
simple release knot. She does not reach for it. Her hands, bound at her sides at
elbow and wrist and her collar leashed to her anklets leaving her resting on
shoulders and knees prevent her from this simple action. She waits, head down,
wondering what will happen to her and considering whether, if she had the
inclination, she could truly escape from her physical predicament and what would
happen should she so do.

Only a short time before this moment she had wondered what it would be like to
have a strong man dictate her actions, her life, her body's responses. And she
had craved for the fantasy. Now she was beginning to understand what it meant to
be a slave. To be owned. And it both exhilarated and afeared her.

There was no doubt that she WAS physically a slave. On her right buttock was the
mark of the brand. A simple straight line placed there by the will, strength and
power of another, despite her protests. Her left breast bore HIS mark - but
that had been acquiesced to, its placing an ‘agreement’. She was HIS by mutual
choice, but the brand. The brand was THE mark of slavery, of humiliation, of
powerlessness in grip of another's hand. Though the skin had healed and no
longer chafed at every move it constantly burned deep in her mind and soul. The
brand marked her 'slave' - the tattoo dictated whose slave she currently was.

Her cunt grew wet at the thought. Her mind rebelled at the thought. Her soul
burned like the white hot metal that had burned her flesh. Constantly screaming
and sobbing in a way that she had attempted to refuse her body permission to sob
with helplessness and hopelessness at the time: pretending that this was with
her consent; pretending that the brand did not sear through her whole being;
pretending that it could be passed off as an accident borne by her own hand.

She’s heard herself whimper and wondered at the femininity that surfaced despite
her best efforts and self-discipline. Only the second time or third time in her
life that she had ever heard herself sound like a woman in total pain and
despair. She hoped HE did not know how devastating it was to lose control in
such a manner- to simply react in sound to the sensations assailing her mind,
soul and body - without any control on her part. In her whole life she had
never screamed in terror, never uttered a sound that did not reflect her
considered opinion of a situation and the reactions of those around. All sounds
vocalised before others, of her passion; even of extreme pain had been
contrived; considered. But HE had, over their time together, altered that. Her
sounds of pleasure, when pleasure had been given, were genuine and only once
before had HE truly heard the sound of her pained soul – when HE had offered
her freedom and the rejection of the last thing she had offered HIM. Her collar.

True, HE had heard the sound of her physical pain when HE had taken the belt to
her; raising welts on her ripe buttocks when HE had lifted his hand in righteous
anger. But, she argued, no one could bear that without even a sharp intake of
breath. She attempted to bury the remembrance of other occasions when the sounds
of her soul may have been heard, elicited even. Preferring to think of herself
as still proud, still haughty, still in control, while knowing deep inside that
control was probably the last thing she genuinely held. And the last thing she
wanted with HIM.

She wondered if her Master knew of the tiny transgressions - of the rebellions
that sprouted and sometimes died - and sometimes occurred to be savoured in
times of so-called privacy. He MUST know. Surely that was the reason for her
current position? A case of ‘cause and effect’. She was obviously about to be
punished for some misdemeanour - she thought about which one it might be and,
running through each scenario, how HE had found out and what she might do to
placate HIM. Settling into the position - HE might be hours yet, she moved to
calm her mind and ease the pain in her screaming shoulder, hip and knee joints
content in the thought that should she really wish it she was sure that she
could escape from her bonds. And this brought other considerations.

Her mind reeled. Was she truly a slave – or merely pretending to be so? Was she
a submissive or a slave; her Master truly a Master or simply, through his
professed love for her hiding HIS distaste and catering to her fantasy of a
strong man who could – and would – take what HE wanted from her? And if the
latter…. if the latter?

She fought with the notions. An internal battle to which she knew she had no
definitive answers. If HE is her Master her concerns were none of HIS. If not,
then her pride would be shredded beyond repair. If Mastery was HIS, then love
may be lost as her will and being be subsumed and control the only issue. She
knew that she wanted to continue to love HIM. She knew that she wanted to
continue to fear HIM. She knew that her need to please HIM was as great as her
fear of genuine pain. She knew that she could never accept or seek pain as
something to be welcomed for its own sake unless it was from HIS hand or by HIS
will, with HIM looking on. She knew – or believed that HE would never willingly
jeopardise her/their life-style. Though this latter had been under consideration
because of the beltings and whippings that she had had to hide the evidence of
before others empowered to irrevocably change, to her detriment, her life-style
and conditions.

Her heart pounded at this thought and her cunt grew even moister. The juices
dribbling down her thighs. HE had acted on HIS will at those times. Knowing the
possible repercussions HE had enacted HIS will. She grew content in that. The
fact that at moments HE decided: HE acted according to HIS will, not her
sensibilities or requirements. She relaxed into her bonds even more. Secure in
one immediate discovery. She was not a masochist. She did not seek pain for
pain’s sake or through anonymous means. She sought her pleasure through HIS. If
HE wished to inflict pain – then so be it, HE would consider the wider results
and act accordingly to the result HE desired. If HE wished to give what HE
considered should be pleasure, then so be it. HE knew her body could not respond
to anything other than the given stimulus. HE had, through recent events,
ensured that this was actually the case.

She, in experiment, explored the range of movement her bonds gave her; not
really caring what it revealed. They were secure. She twisted and turned
attempting to find her release. There was none, not even for someone who truly
wished freedom. Her stomach, heart and soul flipped. This was no fantasy. This
was no play-acting in the name of love. This was real. She was genuinely
trapped, her actions doing nothing but re-chafing the many bruises from HIS grip
and occasional blows as HE had forced her into the cuffs and leash. She was
actually captive. The renewed sensation from the bruised areas flooded her being
as she recalled the recent struggle. HIS unexpected hand on the back of her
neck to freeze her into startled and involuntary semi-immobility before bending
her to the floor as HE, kneeling on her body to pin her in the desired
positions, drew each of her arms behind her before securing the cuffs to
anklets. The sensation of being dragged the short distance across the cold floor
to where HE secured her to the ring and other adjusted bonds before pulling her
hair and head back to a painful angle and stating, in that cold and heart
chilling voice. "I shall use you when I’m ready, bitch. And you will do as I
say."

Now, she was kneeling where he had left her minutes, hours before. Circulation
had been slowed in her limbs in the cool air as she waited on HIS pleasure. Her
back exposed where HE had thrown the flimsy garment over her head and partially
thrust it into her protesting mouth before securing it as a gag. Her buttocks
and private parts bare, awaiting inspection or use. Her eyes wild as she sees
the whip thongs casually draped over her shoulder easily accessible.

Silence. Except for the thumping of her heart and the sounds of her Master
moving around the other rooms.

A breeze as the door is opened and closed. A click as a machine is switched on
and the unmistakable sound of a woman being pleasured is played by her ear. The
sounds of another woman. HIS voice. Her moans and muted whispers. It seems to go
on forever. The girl squirms in a growing frenzy, she too wants, needs to feel
those sensations. But not like this. Her buttocks arch in invitation with
involuntary motion and HE laughs. "Whore!" The sounds of man and woman in sexual
pleasure drive her crazy – they always have. HE waits as the first couple of
orgasms rip through her, the sound muffled by the gag. "Shut up and listen!" The
whip is drawn back and bites into her back and shoulders – another orgasm. The
sounds go on. Each recorded sigh and moan heightening her own need and fall into
desperate oblivion as her hips gyrate demanding their own attention as she tries
desperately to beg for assuagement of the fire. "Still!" comes the barked order.
"Listen as I use her!" The sounds on the tape are accompanied by the slave's
gentle pitiful whimpering.

A hand between her legs releases the wrists from ankles and turns her abruptly
onto her back, hands by her sides. A foot or knees part her thighs as she falls
into position. It’s now immaterial what is happening on the tape. All that
exists is the frantic offering of arse, tits and cunt in the uncontrollable need
to be used and to hear those sounds of male pleasure over HER body. Her back and
torso arches in offering of her nipples and throat to HIS attentions. HIS cock
slams into her dripping cunt and drives the sound to that of fanatical sobbing.
Her sounds are not only those of physical pain now but that of animal
desperation. "Shut the fuck up! That was for her. THIS is for me!" Recorded
sounds of pleasure are complimented by the slave’s sounds of pain bitten back.
Teeth and nails tears at flesh, the orgasms rip through her body as she is
utterly helpless to do anything but rise to HIS need. Totally vulnerable, her
breasts are exposed and enticing to biting and claws and her throat to HIS hand.

As HIS need rises HE now wants meat and she needs the kind of use only a Master
will take. "I’m going to ream you, and whether you like it or not – you’ll love
it." Again she is roughly turned. Her face and shoulders hard into the floor
giving a choking falling sensation as a hand grips the back of the neck hard
leaving the rump high in the air begging for penetration. Movement ceases. A
searing satisfying pain as a cock is thrust deep into the totally dripping arse
driving it to the ground. The resulting screams are cut off before they’re
uttered. "Say ‘Please’", the words are chilling as the gag is torn one handed
from her mouth. A despair and hope flood her body along with pain and pleasure.
She summons all her energy to protest.To curse and berate - a hand is raised
within her view, ready to strike. What is heard is quiet but firm. "Please,
Master. Please!"

For the next few moments all that is heard is the sound of flesh against flesh,
the last few recorded sounds of pleasure, the groaning and growling of a Master
fucking compliant meat and the soul exultation of a slave in orgasmic ecstasy.

Slave Girl

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