Sunday, September 30, 2007

BLACK MASTERS
by
Mark Andrews




WARNING! All Olympia books are the subject of international copyright and should not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form - including electronically - without the publisher’s prior written consent. ANY and ALL violations of Olympia copyright will be pursued vigorously through the appropriate courts.
Chapter 1
On our Earth during the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries, the black peoples of Africa were ruthlessly enslaved (often by their own people) and shipped in appalling conditions to plantations in the Americas and the Caribbean. It took decades of efforts by liberal-minded campaigners to correct this dreadful blot on mankind’s history.What is not widely known, however, is that there are many Earths, all existing together in other dimensions of time and space and on these other Earths, while much is often the same, there are sometimes glaring differences. Communication between these dimensions has not, at least until very recently, been possible. Indeed, it is only in the last few years that scientists even suspected the existence of these other worlds, let alone figured out how to get to them.I was fortunate enough to be the scientist who worked out the physics and I was also lucky to be black for the world I landed on was dominated by the African Empire, ruled by a man as imposing as any Roman emperor ever was.
My name is Adam Blair. I am twenty-eight years old and have been a physicist since graduating from the University of Chicago some seven years ago. Ever since watching the TV show “Sliders” I have been intrigued with the possibility of other dimensions in our universe. I was lucky enough to be born to a very, very wealthy father who had long ago set up a trust for me and this enabled me to dabble along in my own laboratory and it was here I discovered the Math involved in moving between one dimension and another.It was not “sliding” as in the TV show or by means of a “gate” as in the other one, “Stargate SG1”. I am not going to detail exactly how it is achieved for indiscriminate travel could be downright dangerous to our Earth. Suffice to say I developed the machine and tried it out myself.I landed on this other Earth, to find myself not in Chicago, USA, but in Zimbabwe, Africa. The reason for this is that I directed my machine to land me at the largest centre of population on the planet and on this world, Zimbabwe was just that. It was a city. A huge city and one that was well ordered and very clean. I would say it was a city that had developed to a level well past that of my own world. They had everything we had in a technological sense – and then some.It was populated by black citizens although there were whites and Asians there too. These, however, were not citizens or even tourists. They were slaves. Real life slaves! I didn’t realise this for some time, of course. It was clear they were not of the same class as us blacks for they were all employed as streets cleaners or other menials, or as personal servants following along behind smartly dressed black ladies whose parcels they carried.The street cleaners were dressed in ultra-brief skirts that came only to the upper thighs and supported very low down on the hips. The personal servants wore smart uniforms whose livery, I discovered, indicated his mistress’s rank. The menials were all working under the whips of their black overseers. There seemed to be as many females as males in this category and they were as subject to the whips as their male counterparts. They worked very hard for when they slacked, down came the whip and they jumped and screamed – and then got right back at it.I prowled around a little, looking into shops and cafés and quietly investigating whether I could survive a few days here. Gold (and of course diamonds) were a medium of exchange and so I thought I might be able to come back with enough resources to last a while. Language could be a problem, however. On my world, English gets you by just about anywhere, at least in the major cities of the world. Not here, though. As I was to discover, England was a backwater, as was Europe itself. Here, Zulu was the language of the people. Again it was fortuitous for me that during my youth, when I had been all fired up about my own origins, I had assiduously studied the languages of Southern Africa and I thought if I brushed up on it, I could probably get by. As it happens, I have a bit of a flair for language and I was able to polish my pretty rusty Bantu well enough.Accordingly, I returned home to prepare myself for a rather longer trip. I acquired diamonds, ordered clothes that would blend in with what I had seen there and then fished out my old Bantu textbooks and, while the bank was arranging the diamonds, I studied it diligently. In a few days I was ready and now armed with clothing and my jewels, went back to that intriguing city.
I booked into a quality hotel, passing myself off as a tourist from up north and then set about discovering what made this place tick. The first thing I discovered was that the blacks were supreme in everything and the Asian and white races were totally subordinate to them. Indeed, there were no free whites or Asians here at all. Discreet conversation with people (all blacks, of course) in bars and cafés made me understand that the business of slavery was big business indeed, with some of the larger entrepreneurs owning fleets of slave ships that plied the shores of Asia and Europe, including what I called the British Isles, undertaking raids on villages or dealing with local warlords who made it their business to enslave people of neighbouring tribes.From all this I gathered that Europe and Asia had not developed with Africa. Indeed, those continents were still just emerging from what we call the middle ages while Africa (the whole continent being one country under the rule of a semi-despotic emperor and run rather like the Roman Empire with regional viceroys and local governors representing the emperor and his government) now led the world in the Industrial Revolution that in my world had been led by Britain, closely followed by Germany, the US and the rest of Europe. I am ashamed to say I felt exultant that on this world, my people, the Negroes of Africa were the dominant people on the planet and that one of my race was the world leader.Having looked around the city of Zimbabwe for a few days, I was ready to explore the rest of the continent and here I was also lucky. One of my new friends, a man I met in the bar of the hotel, informed me he was a large-scale farmer with hundreds of white slaves as his workers. I was intrigued with this – the very idea of a black man owning white slaves was so contrary to everything I was used to and I asked him hundreds of questions about how the institution of slavery worked here.“Why don’t you come home with me and see it first hand, Adam?” he said.I grinned back at him. “I was hoping you might ask me, Dingane,” I replied.And so, a few days later, we boarded the train, travelling first class of course, up to his farm in the northern part of the province. We were met at the station by his wife, Zuella, a lady of beauty and charm and as well-educated as her university-trained husband. Waiting at the car was their chauffeur, a slave named James who was of English origin. Whereas we were all dressed formally in suit and collar and tie, he was dressed as befitted his rank as a slave – in a neat facsimile of the tiny skirts worn by the menials in the city – and nothing else. No shirt or shoes even. He was a very handsome young man and his body was pleasingly athletic. I looked at him but I didn’t comment as he expertly drove us in a vehicle that was ultra-modern by my standards.The roads were wide and in wonderful condition but I was intrigued to see everything on them from our magnificent limousine down to gigs that were small but beautifully crafted. These were not drawn by horses – at least not of the equine variety. No indeed. I was to learn they were being drawn by what were euphemistically described as ‘ponies’. Human ponies – and they were naked. Stark naked. And all three sexes were used to draw them.Three sexes? Indeed! There were male and female slaves harnessed to these vehicles – but there were also geldings. Males who had been castrated – and by that I mean everything! Not only had they lost their testicles – their penile members were absent, too. I stared, of course, but I had to be circumspect. I couldn’t let on I was a slider (the term I used for my movement to this so-different planet) and although my cover as being from ‘up north’ excused some of my ignorance, I still had to be careful.“Some of them are magnificent specimens, Dingane,” I said, nodding to a team of four Asian male slaves drawing a light four-wheel carriage in which sat a beautifully attired black lady and gentleman while a white boy in livery sat on the driver’s box, reins and whip in hand. Both of which he wielded expertly, the whip lashing down on the naked back of the beautifully muscled human ponies.“That’s N’dona, a neighbour of mine. His Asian slaves are second to none, at least in this province.” He paused a moment, his eyes twinkling at me. “Which d’you prefer, white or Asian, Adam?”I was caught but responded valiantly. “I like both, Dingane, as long as they are good-looking and athletic, I don’t much mind … although I think I prefer Asian.”“Many of us do. I too like my slaves to be handsome and athletic although I don’t really have any preference. Ours are all like that, aren’t they my love…?”Zuella smiled at him and then at me. “Oh yes. You will find our slaves are fed well but not too much, Adam, and we make sure they are exercised to the peak of their fitness. We don’t want any overweight slaves on our property …”“What do you actually farm?” I asked then.“Oh, just about everything. We graze cattle and sheep but we also farm wheat and other grains and we also market garden in a fairly big way …”Fairly big way was an understatement and a half. Their property was enormous. Thousands of acres and all of it in tip-top condition. The homestead was a real mansion surrounded by acres of beautiful gardens and beyond them, the farm outbuildings which included the slave quarters. I ached to go down and see them first off but of course I had to be circumspect and appear nonchalant in the face of this mass of really handsome/beautiful humanity who weren’t of course, really considered as human at all. Once a slave, you were less than a person. Not an animal. Not quite, but not far off.One thing I did notice, as we sped up the lane that led from the road to the homestead, was that the slave workers on the property were universally dressed in no more than a tiny cloth that covered, sort of, their sex – and that was all. Female as well as male workers had a thong of leather around their hips. To the front of this was attached a small square of cotton. It was only ten centimetres wide and fifteen deep. It covered their sexual organs, just, but nothing else. The females’ breasts were bare as were the buttocks of both sexes. I think it really accentuated their nakedness rather than covered anything but I didn’t comment, of course. Hell, I was too busy admiring the physiques of the slaves. As Zuella had said, they were all as fit as they could be, their muscles sleek and well-defined without being overly developed. These were the muscles of workers, not body-builders. There was not an ounce of fat on any of them, the females’ breasts being firm and without any evidence of sagging, the males with muscles that were as clean-cut as you could desire.All were working under the supervision of black overseers but I saw no whips. I was to discover all slaves on the property had implants in their bodies and the overseers were expert at fingering the buttons on the controllers attached to the belts of their shorts to single out a particular slave and give him or her a nasty jolt. They were not at all loath to use them either. The slightest sign of laziness or rebellion of any kind and down went the fingers – and then the slave screamed and doubled over in a burst of real agony directed to the most sensitive part of his or her body but of course spreading out all over …But this was later. Right then, as the magnificent limousine sped up the long and very elegant lane to the house, all I could see were the dozens of slaves working in the fields on either side of the roadway.The house was utterly beautiful. It was huge and double storeyed, being built of local sandstone and tiled with bright red terra-cotta tiles. We were met by the butler, one of only two black servants. He and his wife, the housekeeper, ran the household with a rod of iron and every one of the many domestic slaves was careful to perform his or her allotted tasks to the best of their ability.It really was a beautiful house, luxurious in a quiet way but exquisitely tasteful, the polished stone floors carpeted with oriental rugs, the stone walls either panelled or covered with silk tapestries or bookcases; the lighting of the finest chandeliers … I’m sure you get the picture.The slaves were there but were unobtrusive and these didn’t have the tiny cotton square over their genitals. They had on an even briefer covering: a metal pouch, shaped to cover the girls’ pudenda or contain the boys’ cock and balls. It was made of brass and was polished to a lustrous sheen. I was intrigued at what kept them in place for there was no hip-band to hold it there. I later discovered the males’ units had a clip that went over the root of their cocks and kept it close to their groins while the girls’ models had a dildo shaped like a baby’s dummy that went into their vaginas. They were trained to use the internal muscles of their bodies to keep them in place.They were beautiful items. Roughly triangular in shape with the outer surface bearing the heraldic arms of Dingane’s family and thus marking the slave as his property, they were real works of art and I was to find their owners valued them highly, not only for their beauty, but because it marked them as domestic slaves – about as high as you could go if you were a slave.I was introduced to Jambe, the butler and he bowed and then asked if I would care to accompany him to my rooms. They were upstairs and now I found I had not a room – but a suite of them. There was my bedroom, dressing and bathroom and a sitting room, all beautifully decorated.There were also a dozen slaves, six male and six female, all young and handsome or beautiful as the case may be and all wearing only the tiny brass pouch at their loins, revealing bodies that had to be as athletic as the best track and field Olympic athletes on my world.“The master always provides his guests with a valet, sir … If you would care to choose …?”“My personal valet, Jambe?”“Yes, sir. For your exclusive use during your stay with us. He or she will be happy to provide you with every service, sir – and I mean every service …”I smiled. His meaning was clear enough. I strolled along the line of males, admiring their physiques.“They will expect you to test their muscles, sir … Perhaps you would like to see them in their full state …”He didn’t wait to explain what this meant, although I could easily guess, but nodded to the line of slaves, at which each quickly removed the pouch and placed it on the floor behind him or her. Now I really stared for each was one was quite naked. Not even a single hair at their groins to mar the beauty of their now naked genitals.“The master and mistress like their slaves totally naked, sir,” he explained then nodded to the slaves once more. They now began a routine that could only be described as incredible. It wasn’t a dance and it wasn’t a muscle display. Something in between, I would say. It was graceful, though, and showed off their now totally naked bodies to a tee.I went back to the first boy and reached out to feel his skin. Of the six males, three were Asian and three Caucasian. This one was Asian, Japanese I would guess and his body was quite exquisite, every muscle perfect and skin as smooth as velvet. I inspected all six males in like manner, even hefting their balls (at Jambe’s suggestion) but I really wanted to get to the females. I can admire a handsome male and I have even tried out gay lovemaking but I don’t think I’m really bisexual. I wanted to try it out and I found it pleasant enough but females are really my thing and the six that now presented themselves to me were quite divine.I suppose with hundreds of slaves at his disposal, Dingane had only the best in his household and what he was offering me were the best of these. Again there were three Asian and three white girls, all of whom were magnificent creatures. The three whites were fair (Scandinavian), dark (Italian) or redhead (French) and all were possessed of highly athletic bodies that were nevertheless exquisitely beautiful. I didn’t want either of them, though. I have a thing for Asian beauty and the three girls presented to me now were about the most beautiful I had ever seen (and I had downloaded hundreds of pictures of Asian beauties from the Net back home on my own world ). These three outclassed them in every respect.The first in the line was a Japanese girl named Suko and I nearly swooned (well, I felt decidedly weak-kneed) at the sight of her loveliness) as I stood in front of her as she swayed her lovely body this way and that, fluttered her hands up above her head and pulsed her naked vagina at me. I reached out and cupped her full but not too big breast in my hand while the other stroked down her flat belly, admiring the play of the muscles there and then down further over her muscular thigh then back up to cover her mound … Oh God! It was so warm and inviting and her black eyes stared at me in what looked like adoration.I was startled. Why on earth would she be staring at me like this? I later discovered that Jambe was watching them all like hawks and if any one of them had shown anything other than desire to be my personal slave for the duration, his hand would have strayed down to the controller on his belt.I later asked him about the implants. “They are inserted surgically, sir. Down here in their groins,” and he pointed down to a point right near the junction of the slave’s thigh and hip. “They are the shape and size of a coin and contain an atomic battery that is kept charged by the heat of their own bodies. It feeds a tiny unit that responds to these controllers and to programming from the central computer. They can receive one of two signals. The first is a tingle that warns them they are straying out of the envelope in which they are permitted to be, or are perhaps verging on a punishment dose. That is the other signal. You see, wires lead from the units down inside their bodies. In the males, they lead to a testicle whereas on the females they are attached to their clitorises. It takes only a minute current to give them exquisite agony. “Believe me, sir, no whips or other goads are necessary when these units are available. Here is your unit, sir. All you need to do is code in the slave’s number which you will see tattooed here on his or her neck, then either the pink or red button. You will soon learn to operate the unit without even looking at it, I know …”But this conversation was after I had inspected the remaining female slaves. The second Asian was Malayan and she was as good as Suko but the last one was Thai and she just about had me drooling. Her name was Chulakorn and if I had thought Suko was the ant’s pants, now I wanted this girl more than anything in the world. She was everything that the Japanese girl was – and more. Her copper-coloured skin was as smooth as velvet and her muscular definition even better that Suko’s. She was also exquisitely feminine. There was nothing about her lithe athleticism that took away from that. I walked around her, admiring her muscular thighs and buttocks. Therein lay the source of much pleasure, I thought for Jambe’s words had told me my choice of slave was mine to use for my pleasure.I glanced back at the males, wondering what they would think if I chose one of them and then ordered him to my bed. I quickly realised he would obey and would give me as good a time as he could for not to would mean painful correction of the worst kind. Prolonged shocks to his testicles could even emasculate him, I guessed.I pointed to Chulakorn. “She will do,” I said.Jambe smiled. “A good choice, sir. She is well trained in the art of looking after a man…” Again his words had a hidden meaning. A meaning I was now anxious to test. He indulged me. He gestured for the other eleven slaves, who had now reached down to retrieve his or her pouch and replace it, to leave my rooms and then suggested I might need some time to ‘freshen up’ and to allow Chula, as he suggested I call her, to show me where everything was in my rooms. He then bowed and left me with the still naked Chula.But first he gave me a demonstration. He thumbed her number into his controller and then pressed the red button. Her scream of agony was heart-rending and she doubled over, clutching at her groin until the burst of current ceased. “Now you try it, sir,” he said softly. I glanced at him. I knew he was testing my resolve and so I did as he suggested, entering the number and then pressed the red button, watching as she repeated her terrible scream and the contortions of her body.“But we also keep whips and canes in each guest room, sir. Here, beside each door is a small cupboard recessed into the wall. Inside, as you can see is a small array of the instruments of correction …”He took down a thin, leather-coated crop and ordered Chula to present her breasts. I watched in wide-eyed astonishment as, although clearly terrified, she squared her shoulders and thrust her beautiful breasts out at him. He raised the whip and lashed it down across both orbs while she gritted her teeth and stayed silent.“You see, sir, we know they cannot bear the pain of the implant without screaming but the cane is another matter. If she had screamed now, I would have given her another stroke …” He turned to the girl and gestured to her. She bent over, spreading her feet wide and grasped the back of her thighs with her hands. He then lashed her again, very, very hard, across her buttocks, the crop leaving a nasty weal across both cheeks.“Any time this slave is lazy or impertinent, sir, the master will appreciate it if you would correct her …”“I understand,” I said and he nodded, saluted me briefly and left the room.I moved up to her as soon as the door closed behind him and now inspected her even more intimately. Oh God, what a body. If I had been allowed to design my own perfect female I couldn’t have done as good a job as this. Her skin was so soft and yet under it I could feel the warm muscle; muscle that didn’t take away from her loveliness one jot. I cupped both her breasts in my big hands – did I say I am pretty tall and pretty muscular myself and my hands easily covered her lovely orbs.She squared her shoulders, thrusting them more firmly into my hands and despite the awful pain she must have been feeling, smiled up at me. “May I undress you, master?”“You may,” I said, grinning down at her.She performed this task with panache and soon I was as naked as she was. I pulled her into my body and she squealed in delight. “Ooh, master, you have a beautiful body …”Whether she was being kind or not, her words pleased me for although I am a scientist, I had always worked out in the gym at my home for at least a couple of hours every single day. Just as I like others to be athletic rather than muscular, so I had worked on my own body and I think we matched each other pretty well although she had the edge on me, I know.My cock was rigid of course and it seemed to find its way into her without any effort on my part. Everywhere her body touched mine – and that was plenty of places, I felt these wonderful electric thrills. We swayed together for a few minutes, my cock ramming in and out of her extraordinarily adept opening, but then she pulled away from me and led me into the bedroom where, amazingly, the bed was now turned down. It hadn’t been before but someone had anticipated my needs very well.She led me over to it and guided me into lying down on it on my back, whereupon she mounted me … What followed was a hour or more of ecstasy that I couldn’t believe. I am no virgin and had been with a number of girls in my time. (As I said, I tried boys too but they weren’t really my thing). I thought some of them were great but what Chula was doing to me now so far surpassed the best of them as to make those acts disappear into the realms of the totally forgettable.She perched herself on top of me, impaling her lovely body over my now throbbing weapon and then began a series of manoeuvres that had me screaming in lust in what seemed like only seconds. She sort of danced on top of me, twisting her slender body this way and that, creating weird patterns in her breasts and belly, while her hands performed those graceful movements such as may be seen in Balinese dances on my world.And inside her vagina, her muscles were doing incredible things to my cock. My libido was at an all-time high and yet she seemed to know when I was about to climax and she always retreated in time, allowing my ardour time to cool before beginning all over again.I don’t know how much of her skill and apparent eagerness to please was as a result of Jambe’s discipline. I do know she gave me a better time – a far, far better time than I had ever had from sex before – and that’s saying something.Our sex was always wonderful. Always different – but incredibly ecstatic – and I mean that literally. She usually led and I was happy to let her for she knew, at her young age of nineteen, far more than I ever would about sex and the art of pleasuring. Sometimes she laid her body down and I attacked in the more usual position. Other times we knelt facing one another.She showed me the incredible pleasure of anal sex (yes, and she even fucked me with a dildo strapped around her waist on one occasion and it was an intensely pleasurable event) and her mouth was miraculously adept at rousing me to rapturous heights of pleasure. She could use her tongue – just the tip of it, on various parts of my body and not just my cock, either, to bring me to screaming point. Her lips, pursed around my cock, were even more incendiary when it came to setting me on fire.But she was also legitimately my valet and she tended to my rooms, my clothes and my body (in ways other than sexual) with a panache that had me incredulous. How could one so young have learned all this? It seemed she had been captured as a young girl and had then been trained by the slavers who had bought her to be the best there was. That I could certainly attest to.When I finally went downstairs for dinner, a formal affair in tails and white tie, I found we behaved much as an English duke might for dinner at his country seat. There were drinks before dinner and here we were waited on by a male and female pouch-clad slave, carefully supervised by Jambe who hovered in the distance, watching his charges critically. The girl waited on us men while the handsome boy tended the ladies, all of whom were black, of course. Whites and Asians didn’t figure in civilised society on that world. Nor was it strange they didn’t. I was to discover they, the Asians and whites, were not highly developed.Oh they had their own skills of course – the Chinese could weave the most beautiful silks but they were not an advanced civilisation as they had been for thousands of years on my world. The black African Empire led the world and it looked as if they would for the foreseeable future.I was still very new to all this, of course, and I found my eyes constantly straying to the almost totally naked slaves moving through us – and that after more than two hours of magnificent sex with Chula. The boy was ultra-handsome with dark wavy hair, blue eyes and a model’s dream body; the girl, also white, was tall and lithe. I thought of the model Elle on my world as I stared at the perfection of her naked breasts and slender waist and pert buttocks.The dinner was formal but it was also a gourmet’s delight. Small serves of a dozen different courses, each with a small glass of a different wine to accompany it and each of us had our own servant, yes, each in the same golden-coloured pouch. We males were waited on by a female slave; the ladies by a male.They were ignored by my companions and I tried to follow suit but it is very hard when you are not used to a beautiful naked breast hanging over your shoulder as its owner serves you another course. The conversation was bright and ranged over many subjects and during it I discovered one of my neighbours across the table was a slave dealer.But he was no mere itinerant trader, bringing a coffle of slaves to the various farms around and about. Oh no … This man, Jomo, had a fleet of slave ships that plied between the various slave trading centres in Europe and Asia, either picking up new slaves from his own factories on the coasts of those continents, or dealing with local slave traders who went inland, seeking out beautiful young women and handsome boys to capture, bring back to their own slave factories and then await a visit from Jomo or another of his or his competitors ships.“And you still go on these voyages yourself, Jomo?” I asked. “They must be wonderful experiences …?”“Yes. I like to keep my hand in when I have the time. Actually, I will be going on another one in a couple of weeks …” He eyed me speculatively. “Perhaps you might like to join me? The voyage will take about six weeks …?”I grinned. “It won’t matter how long it takes. I would be honoured to accept your invitation …”Dingane smiled down the table at me. “He’ll make you work, Adam. No-one gets a free ride on his slave ships.”“I will be pleased to do whatever I can. But I want to see more of how your farm works, Dingane. You must have many slaves to work such a huge property?”“At last count, we had two hundred and forty-three, but a couple of the wenches were due before we left, we may have a couple more suckers now …”I stared down the table at him. “So you breed your slaves as well as buying them?” I asked.“Of course. All properties as big as this one do. We select the blood lines very carefully, breed the male to the wench and then carefully nurture the sucker in her belly. When it is born, we tend it as carefully as we do our own children for in these little suckers lies our prosperity in the future.”I absorbed all this without turning a hair. Slavery had been extinct on my world (except for a few, largely hidden pockets in Africa and the Middle East) for over a hundred years and I was having some difficulty in coming to grips with its acceptance in such a nonchalant way as these people did. Not that I wasn’t excited by it.As it happened, slavery had been a secret (a very secret) fetish of mine for years, ever since puberty, I think. I had imagined myself as a slave, naked and in chains and had derived a lot of secret sexual pleasure from the idea. Then I had moved on to being an owner myself and the thoughts of ‘fingering’ a naked wench with a view to purchasing her had had me in raptures. Sometimes I put my girl of the moment in the place of a slave but I never ever told her – or anyone else for that matter. I was ashamed of these thoughts – but here, on this other world, I could indulge them to my heart’s content.And I would …
Chapter 2
Dingane lost no time in showing me over his little empire. It resembled one, actually. It was almost entirely self-contained, except for the necessary machinery, anyway, producing all its own food and building materials. It even had its own tiny sawmill and a quarry from which the beautiful stone for the house and outbuildings had been dug and skilfully shaped into building blocks.Many of the slaves had been trained as artisans although all were of course under the control of black supervisors. No slave wore more than the leather thong around his or her hips to which was sewn the tiny bit of cotton cloth. Their bodies were thus on open display and as they moved the flap of cotton fluttered about, revealing what it was supposed to hide. I think its presence accentuated rather than hid their sexual organs, especially with the males for it will be realised ten by fifteen centimetres isn’t much to cover any reasonably sized set of male genitals. With the girls, they acted a bit better in this regard but as the light cotton moved about in the breeze, their so naked mound was often visible.I liked the fact that their buttocks were on permanent display. Small, pert and boyish buttock cheeks really turn me on and with the hard work these slaves were put to, their backsides were almost universally of that ilk. Sharply indented at the sides, muscular in tone and small in size, I derived a distinct thrill as I watched them flexing as the slave walked or ran or worked at his or her trade.Dingane took me for the grand tour in one of the little gigs and, by now knowing of my penchant for Asian slaves, ordered two of the bigger and more muscular Asian females to be our ponies for the day. I drooled (at least figuratively) as I watched their muscular butts and thighs trotting us up and down the paths and lanes that led from one part of the farm to another. It really was a huge place and it included hilly country as well as flat and to watch as these two muscle-girls strained to pull us up the hills was marvellous.He drove the gig skilfully, applying the reins to steer the left hand girl and lashing at both their backs when he thought they were malingering. I watched it all in awe and an incredible excitement and longed to try driving one of the gigs myself.It was here that Dingane told me he knew I wasn’t really of his people. “I don’t know where you come from, Adam, but no African could be as unaware of slavery as you are,” he said softly. He wasn’t being accusatory, simply curious and because I liked him – and trusted him, I told him the truth. “You mean there are hundreds, perhaps thousands of other worlds, all like Earth but not the same, and all existing in another dimension – one our scientists don’t even know exists?”“That’s pretty much it, Dingane. But don’t ask me how it’s done. I’m just the subject …” I lied here, of course but it was a white lie. I didn’t want him to present me to a panel of their scientists for a grilling.From then on, though, he was even more helpful in explaining how everything ran there. He was a great host and a very nice man. We went everywhere and the two girl slaves trotted on, seemingly effortlessly, from field to field and factory to factory. We inspected the grazing paddocks, the wheat fields, the vegetable gardens and the various mills and factories that processed some of the raw materials and turned them into spun wool and cotton, tanned leather, meat and a host of other goods such as tallow candles and even frozen vegetables. Dingane was a superb businessman and he would try anything that would help the farm prosper. In every field, slaves were working under the direction of an overseer, always a black. Slaves were never put in charge of a group, and the overseers were enjoined to be fair – but strict. There was no room for leniency when it came to slaves, Dingane told me and at some locations where slaves were working, we watched as an overseer spoke to a slave and then, as the slave’s face turned to horror, the guard’s fingers went down to the controller and the boy screamed and clutched at his testicles. I don’t know which was worse, a shock to a girl’s clitoris or to a male’s testicle. Both would be absolutely dreadful, I imagined.One part of the farm that really intrigued me though was the Slave Nursery. Here, selected female slavegirls were fertilised by a prime male. Nine months later she would birth her sucker in the delivery room and then be transferred to the small dairy herd while the tiny infant would be nurtured and raised in the various parts of the nursery.“I’m going to have two more wenches put to stud today, Adam,” my host said as we pulled up outside. “Would you like to see them fertilised?”“Would I ever,” I said.“Right then, here we are. Let me first show you our records section and how we select the males to cover the wenches …”He led the way into the nursery and into the breeding office where were housed the computers that maintained the records of every single slave on the property – and many other champion breeding slaves from all over the world, as well. It was really a gigantic family tree programme but one that focussed on creating the finest blood lines in the world. I gulped. No wonder the slaves on this property were all so handsome or beautiful and that their bodies were marvels of perfection in the human species for no matter what Dingane and his people thought, I was well aware the slaves were as human as I was.The records were meticulous and could be accessed very easily once you knew how to use the programme. Dingane called up the record for my valet, the beautiful Chula and there it was. Her dam and sire and their parents, too, going back any number of generations. Her training and skills and even her genomic history were all there. It was all laid out, every one of her genes and chromosomes.“You see how easy it is to match a male to her so that the product will be even better, at least in theory. We sometimes get throwbacks but ninety-nine percent of the time, we get really excellent results,” he explained.He took me into the nurseries then and starting from the infants, we saw half a dozen sets of gurgling, happy little slaves all being watched carefully, their futures mapped out for them in terms of their abilities, and then trained from a very early age to perform them extraordinarily well.I notice some lacked any genitals at all and commented on it.“In certain cases, Adam, where the genome indicates it, we castrate a male shortly after birth. He will then never develop into a real male but will always be an exquisitely dainty eunuch. Many women like such a slave as their personal maid, and …” and now he grinned wryly at me, “some men do too… They train very well as personal maids, actually.”He paused again aware that I was new to the very concept of modern slavery but then went on: “We also castrate older slaves at various stages in their development. You will understand that the way a male develops into adulthood depends on the hormonal changes that take place at and after puberty?”I nodded. “Of course.”“Well if we interrupt that process at any stage by removing the testicles, we can actually arrest the process and therefore keep a boy at a certain level … It’s not precise but we have become pretty good at it.”“You mean if you like a certain boy at say age sixteen, you can then castrate him and hold him at that level of development?”“Yes, pretty well anyway.”I was stunned at this and took particular note of the males after that. I saw some of these half boys/half men a little later and noted how good-looking some of them were. It was easy enough to see them since nursery slaves went naked – totally so and it was therefore very easy to pick the eunuchs … The totally sexless males whose groins were utterly bare of any sexual organs at all.Then we moved into the Insemination Room. Here, with some ceremony, a slavegirl who has been selected for breeding is secured in a frame and the male chosen to be the sire of her progeny will be introduced to her.She is required to get down on her knees and spread them wide, then lower her torso and head down so her neck and wrists may be secured in a sort of pillory. The position of her knees ensures her buttocks are up high and her vagina well exposed. As I watched the first girl brought in, her loincloth removed and then pushed into this position, I felt an enormous boner forming in my pants. It was demeaning for her – or perhaps it wasn’t, for it was customary there, but be that as it may, I felt an incredible surge in my libido as I saw her beautiful and so athletic body now exposed in this manner.Then the male was brought in. His cloth was also removed and his groom (or whatever he was) now fondled the boy’s cock and balls while we sat and watched. The boy didn’t seem to mind. His eyes were on the apparition of beauty secured ready for his attentions and he strained to get to her. It was rather animalistic and I am ashamed to say I felt a thrill at the fact that these two white slaves were behaving as base sexual animals while we sophisticated black men sat in our comfortable chairs and watched.It took but seconds before the white boy’s cock was rigid and then his attendants let him go. He bounded forward and rammed his quivering weapon into the girl’s quim and then began to rut.There is no other way to describe it. He grunted and snorted as his loins drove his manhood in and out of her body, his nostrils were dilated and his eyes wide – almost wild with lust as his magnificent muscles rippled and corded in the throes of a libidinous frenzy.For her part the girl beneath him was just as inflamed. We rose from our seats and went over to watch her face as the male roused her to orgasm after orgasm. He had been trained to hold back his own climax for about fifteen minutes but when it came, he beat his broad muscular chest in triumph and then at last withdrew, rather sheepish now, to be led away.We were served a glass of champagne now as we waited. “It has been demonstrated that this position enhances the possibility of a proper fertilisation but we make sure by keeping her in this position for another fifteen minutes, Adam,” Dingane explained. “That way, with her sex up above her belly, gravity adds to the chances of his seed finding her egg …”I nodded, staring at the girl whose bottom was now waving idly from side to side, no doubt mourning the loss of the magnificent tool of the slave who had just impregnated her. But then she was released from the pillory and taken away and another girl brought in. This one was Asian and was as tall and as well built as the two girls who were our ponies for that day. I stared in undisguised lust as this beauty was secured in the same way as the white girl before her. And then they led in the magnificent stud who was going to service her. He was as anxious as the white boy had been and Dingane explained they treated the girls with artificial pheromones that acted to make the male slaves behave as dogs to a bitch on heat. No wonder my cock was so hard, I thought ruefully.He was very handsome, this Japanese boy: tall and beautifully built with sleek but extraordinarily well-defined muscles that rippled most provocatively with his every movement. His cock was quite enormous and it stood straight up his belly, quivering in obvious lust. Prior to them removing the thong, it had pushed the little square of cotton aside, showing just how useless it was as an item of modesty.He performed even better that the white boy had, his beautiful buttocks clenching wonderfully as he thrust hard into her vagina while she squealed in pleasure and wiggled her bottom at him. Eventually, though, he too ejaculated into her and then withdrew, he too looking sheepish after the magnificence of his climax and was then led away.We went down to the girl and I squatted down beside her, reaching out to fondle her firm breasts under her body and stroke the velvet-smooth skin elsewhere. “What an exquisite creature,” I said to Dingane. “Did you breed her here?”“My father did. I was just twenty when she was born and Father was still running the farm. He’s retired into the city now,” he added by way of explanation.“And the male?”“Oh no. He’s a real acquisition. His blood lines go back hundreds of years. He cost me a fortune. There aren’t too many of his ilk about …”I gulped. It was as if we were talking about breeding racehorses on my planet.We left the nursery and then moved to another bizarre (at least to me) part of the farm. You may recall I mentioned that breeding females were transferred to the dairy herd after dropping a sucker? Well that’s exactly what it was. Those female slaves who had just given birth and were therefore in milk had their produce milked from them twice a day, just as the milking cows on the farm did.They worked during the day with other slaves but in the morning and at night they were brought here and placed on the machines that extracted their milk. “Did you enjoy the milk on your cereal this morning, Adam,” Dingane asked me, grinning broadly at me as we entered the shed.“You mean …?” I stuttered.“Indeed. We use nothing else for our household needs …” He paused and then gestured to two girl-slaves, one Asian, the other white, both of whose udders were full to bursting. “I had these two held back this morning so we could demonstrate the machine to you.”He nodded to the overseer and while we watched, the first slave, the Japanese girl, was pushed up to two movable plastic cups attached to a vertical stainless steel frame. They were roughly at chest height but could be moved up or down to suit the stature of the girl to be milked. The man then strapped her to them so she couldn’t pull back and also cuffed her hands behind her back.“It’s a mite painful,” explained my host. “If we didn’t strap them in, they’d pull back and then we’d have to begin all over again.”The overseer switched on the machine and then I saw what Dingane had meant. The plastic cups were made of clear material and now as I watched I saw how the pressure and suction inside the cup was really mauling the girl’s breast, squeezing it in from the sides while the tiny inner cup that fitted right over her nipple sucked voraciously.“They have to learn to let their milk down, Adam,” Dingane went on. “The longer they hold it back, the longer they have to suffer on the machine.”I nodded. I could see this girl was anxious to have it over and done with for her milk was fairly squirting down the clear plastic tube and into the small clear bottle beside us. In fact, she even seemed to be pressing her body harder against the two cups and I looked inquiringly at my friend.He grinned. “Yes, this slave is a masochist. Watch …”He nodded to the overseer who now took a small whip and began to lash at her back and buttocks. I stared in awe as her face went into raptures and her milk flowed even more copiously.The other girl was definitely not masochistic and clearly hated her twice daily milkings. The man had to force her into the machine and then strapped her very tightly. When the machine was switched on, she screamed and struggled against the pain of the mauling of her breasts and the milk coming out was no more than a trickle.“You want a shock, slut?” said the overseer ominously, openly fingering the controller on his belt.“No, please …!” she said and I could see the indecision in her face – but then she obviously decided it was stupid to resist and relaxed her udders, allowing the milk to flow. I stood and stared at the incredible sight of a female human being milked just like a dairy cow on my world. Her milk would tomorrow grace our table and I have to admit, it certainly tasted sweet.As we left the milking shed, Dingane turned to me and grinned. “After that, I suspect you may have a need to return to your suite. Er, freshen up, somewhat, eh?”I smiled back at him. “Thanks, Dingane, yes. Things are rather urgent in that department.” We headed back to the house now while I continued to stare at the muscular back, buttocks and thighs of the two naked Asian beauties trotting us along the path.Once in my room, Chula was at my side in an instant, had me naked before I could even greet her – and down on my bed where she once again made love to me in yet another wondrous round of sex. I don’t know if it was fear that I might go to the cupboard and bring out a whip to lash her slender body with – or was it a genuine wish to please me – whatever the reason she delighted me every time I was in my room…This time, whether because she knew where I had just been or not, she took up a position on my bed in a close approximation of that adopted by the two girls I had just seen impregnated, spreading her knees wide and then lowering her upper body down so her face was down on the mattress and her bum up high. I attacked her joyfully, my cock again quivering in lust and my hands now down under her body mauling her beautiful breasts while she squealed in delight.She was a virago all right. Her body squirmed and twisted under me and it all added to the pleasure, especially at the moment of orgasm when she somehow worked her inner muscles around the ultra-sensitive head of my cock bringing the pleasure to a new crescendo of orgasmic lust.Afterwards, I collapsed, my body hot and sweaty and she lay beside me, (seemingly) idly caressing my skin until she had me screaming for more. Then she bathed me, soaking me in a hot tub and sitting behind me, massaging my body under the jets of the spa tub before leading me to a cold shower.Then she left me to have a nap until dinner.
Dingane was a gracious host. He never breathed a word of my true identity to anyone, even his wife and he made sure my visit was a most memorable one. We went on picnics down to the river bank; shopping trips to town (not back to the city of Zimbabwe but to the local provincial town); and visits to his neighbours. And on these trips, unless speed was of the essence, we used the beautiful gigs drawn by a pair of slaves. I had my own sometimes, always drawn by a pair of Asian beauties, and it was a real thrill to hold the reins and treat the pair of human females as ponies.One of the visits was to N’dona’s farm. It wasn’t quite as extensive as Dingane’s but not that far short. The biggest difference I noted was that all his slaves were stark naked, including the domestics. Not a stitch was allowed them to cover their nakedness and each was at least as well-built and athletic as those on my host’s property. This made it even more difficult to keep my equanimity through dinner but what came after was even more incredible.N’dona was an aficionado of fights. Slave fights, that is, and he had a special room in his house set up for and devoted to the sport. It had been bad (or good, depending on your point of view) enough seeing his domestic slaves, whites and Asians all, going about their business stark naked, their hairless bodies beautifully developed, exposing their sexual organs magnificently – and particularly at dinner with the lovely Thai girl bending over my shoulder to serve me my next course or fill my wine glass; but now, as we watched two pairs of slaves wrestling, it was even more disturbing – sexually disturbing, that is.There were two wrestling matches: one between a pair of muscular girl slaves, the other between males. And then the finale was a fight of another kind which I will describe in a moment. First though, the wrestling.The ring was merely a raised dais set against one wall. It stood about half a metre above us and gave us, seated in comfortable chairs around the three sides, a perfect view of the action. There were no ropes, the slaves being enjoined under pain of a prolonged punishing shock to their genitals, not to venture off the dais during a bout.The two protagonists were brought in and jumped up onto it and shaped up to one another. The girls were very muscular. They were stark naked and had no boots or boxing gloves even to assist in the fight. They were both very tall and I knew this was going to be one hell of a fight. There were a dozen of us ranged around the ring. N’dona and his wife, Dingane and Zuella, me, and seven other guests, all black of course. I was seated next to Zuella in pride of place and she smiled at me as we sipped our coffee waiting for the bout to begin.N’dona leaned over her and explained the rules. “It’s just one round, Adam,” he said. “Anything goes. It’s not pure wrestling or boxing or even kick-boxing, but a combination of all of them and everything else. Once the whistle blows, they can hit, punch, kick, gouge, bite…”“How do you choose the winner?” I asked curiously.He grinned. “Easy. Whoever is still standing at the end.”“So there is no time limit?”“No. It makes for an exciting fight.”I’ll bet it does, I thought, staring at the two magnificent females now facing up to one another. They really were magnificent. One was a statuesque blond, Scandinavian I suspected and her flowing, fine silver hair wafted every which way as she moved. The other was Japanese and she was just as big and perhaps even more muscular than the Swede. I felt a familiar stirring in my loins as I watched these two face up to each other, arms out, ready to grapple.They had been trained by N’dona’s coach and, apart from gruelling exercise pulling ploughs and the like, spent all their time learning new fighting techniques. N’dona had the resources to maintain a small stable of fighting slaves and Dingane later told me his friend’s fighters were among the best in the land.The Swede feinted with her body, pretending to lunge in towards her opponent, but then, as the Jap leaned her upper body backwards out of the way, the blonde leapt in with a massive kick that came up between the Asian girl’s thighs to land with a resounding thwack on her sex.She screamed, her face paling and her hands flying down to ease the terrible pain in her groin. The Swede then ran forward, fists flying, pummelling the other girl’s face and breasts.But they were strong, these girls. The Asian girl quickly recovered and now she attacked. First she retreated but then, as the Swede tried to decide what she was up to, she leapt forward and up, legs drawn up to her chest and then let fly with a massive double kick to the white girl’s belly.It knocked the stuffing right out of her. She collapsed on the deck of the ring, doubled up in a foetus position, her face white as she struggled to get a breath into her collapsed lungs. The Jap didn’t hesitate, though. A win meant many very nice privileges for the next week; a loss resulted in a ritual flogging tomorrow before the whole squad and it seemed this was carried out in as humiliating way as possible, the girl or boy hung up by his or her heels, their feet stretched impossibly wide open – and then the whip applied to buttocks, belly and down between their legs – five strokes to each location. They were then left to hang there in that demeaning pose for the rest of the day.No, losing was definitely not a preferred option.The Jap got down behind the doubled up Swede and grabbed her by the neck while her powerful thighs went around her waist. She now pulled back with her arms while her thighs squeezed – and squeezed – and squeezed, until the white girl was screaming in agony.Both girls’ muscles stood out in fine relief, rippling and cording wonderfully and my cock was rigid in my pants. What a display of pure animal splendour, I thought. It was too, especially if you were, like me, into female muscles. Not, I hasten to stress, that I liked female bodybuilders any more than the male variety. I think they tend to look gross. These girls were nothing like that. In fact I never once saw a slave who looked like a bodybuilder. Magnificent athletes, yes; bodybuilder – muscles for the sake of muscles, definitely no – in either sex.The Swede wriggled out of the two holds, somehow. Perhaps it was the sweat that now made their bodies look even better. They were both on their feet in an instant, circling the other like predatory animals – which they were. The winner had a wonderful prize awaiting her – free sex for a week with any other slave of her choice – male or female; the loser, the penalty I have already described. Not much of a choice, eh?Both girls were now breathing heavily, their magnificent breasts rising and falling rhythmically, their tits aroused, as were their so naked quims. Fighting must rouse the libido, I thought for these two girls were very definitely aroused, their nostrils flared, their eyes wild as they looked for an opening in the other’s defences.The next ploy came from Inge (the Swede) and it was a classic boxing attack: right hook, left cross and then an uppercut to the jaw. If the last blow had connected squarely, it might have knocked Mitsui right out. As it was, it glanced off and saved my favourite from disaster. Still, it was a telling blow and Mitsui staggered backwards a few steps, fighting to regain her wits. Inge wasn’t giving her any leeway though and leapt forward, bare fists at the ready. She got in another couple of blows, one to Mitsui’s breasts; the other to her face but the Japanese girl had now recovered her wits and feinted with her fists a couple of times before delivering a repeat of her earlier ploy with her feet.The double attack on Inge’s belly now floored her – permanently. She was clearly in a lot of trouble and Mitsui knew it. She didn’t attack this time but retreated to a corner of the ring while a trainer’s assistant (a slave) moved in and scooped up the fallen girl, slinging her over his muscular shoulder and taking her away while N’dona applauded the victor.He then leaned over to me. “You might care to stay over and witness Inge’s punishment, Adam?” He paused and grinned, “and also Mitsui’s choice of partner for her first night of pleasure …?”I smiled back, turned to Dingane and silently asked for his leave – which he gave very willingly. “Thanks, N’dona, I’d love to …”Then the two males scheduled for the next bout entered. They were huge men. Both nearly two metres tall – over six feet six in the Imperial scale – and they had bodies to match their incredible stature. They also had genital equipment to match: penises than hung down halfway to their knees and enormous balls. Their bodies were very muscular – again, not bodybuilder type muscles but those of a perfectly trained athlete. This time both were white, one Nordic: fair and blue-eyed; the other darker, from Eastern Europe, I guessed. Both were very handsome and even though I am not normally turned on by males, even handsome ones, these two certainly had my cock tingling.What followed was a near repeat of the girls’ fight. Not the same, of course. These slaves were male: bigger, stronger and more brutal. Their punches drew blood and their twisting holds had their opponent screaming in even more pain than the girls, but to describe the fight would really be no more than a recap of what I’ve already said.Not that I wasn’t interested. This was a pure fight, so far as I was concerned. Whereas with the girls, there was a sexual interest as well, this one, although I’ve said I found my cock tingling when I first beheld their magnificent bodies, that soon abated as they got into the fight.It went on and on and it was only terminated when the Czech boy seized the blond’s balls – and simply ripped them off. There was a lot of blood of course but the attendant was quickly on the scene, removing him and after applauding the victor, N’dona explained his wounds would quickly be repaired. “Of course he will have to lose his penis as well. I don’t like male slaves to be only partial castrates. They are either whole – or nothing. My veterinary will come tomorrow and remove his penis as well and then he will be an even better fighter.”I wondered at this. “But won’t his lack of testosterone remove his aggressiveness?” I asked.“Of course, but now we will be able to supply this artificially, by suppository into his rectum – and we will be able to control the dose ourselves and not leave it to his own body … A far better method.”I wondered what the slave would think but it was only a passing thought. In this society, no-one cared what slaves thought.The last fight was stupendous. There is simply no other word to describe my reactions to this masterpiece of erotic battle.It was between two females. Two more of the tall, muscular and highly athletic girls who graced N’dona’s stable of fighting slaves. Again, one was Asian, this time from Thailand, the other a magnificent redhead from Ireland. The Thai girl’s name was Timkit and the Irish girl, Megan.As with all slaves, they were quite hairless apart from the tops of their heads, their eyebrows and lashes and their vaginas were totally open and exposed to the spectators. It appeared that this nudity and even the tiny covering Dingane permitted his slaves was designed to keep them aware of their status as slaves compared to us fully clothed blacks. Even in the city where the slaves wore only the brief skirts, they were in stark contrast to the black citizens.They stood there on the stage while I feasted my eyes on their beauty and their sleek muscles. They were very apparent on both of them, their bellies ridged with their abdominal muscles, breasts firm and upstanding, shoulders boulder-like, standing up and out from their necks and arms, thighs corded with rippling muscle …But now two attendants, white slaveboys who were castrates but were nicely athletic and so I assumed they had been allowed to develop before losing their genitals, came onto the stage holding what looked like rapiers in their hands. They were – rapiers I mean, although they had no handles. Instead, there appeared to be a thing that looked for all the world like a dildo with a large ball near where it was joined to the slender blade of the rapier. There was also a small crosspiece just in front of the ball that had me puzzled until I saw the things fitted to the girls.Have you guessed? I didn’t. Not until I saw them actually inserted … The attendants worked the dildos into the girls’ vaginas! Yes, really. They slid them in while the girls stood there quite docilely, accepting the weapons until the large ball was pushed in and then the vertical bar prevented any further intrusion.Now, as I stared in awe at the sight, the girls began to work their internal muscles to erect the rapiers – as if they were cocks on a male so that they poked directly out in front of them. How they did this was a mystery until Zuella explained they were trained to first recognise and then to use and finally to master a set of muscles inside their bodies that enabled them to grip the dildos and manipulate them as I was now witnessing. She added that there was a side effect also. “It makes them very good sex partners, Adam,” she whispered into my ear.I found their frankness when it came to matters sexual a little disconcerting but I soon got used to it and if you think about it, it’s a great deal more honest than our sniggers and innuendos whenever the subject comes up.The girls now faced up to one another and began to feint, jerking their loins back and forth and driving the tips of the ultra-sharp rapier points closer and closer to the other’s body. It was incredible. I doubt if anything more erotic could possibly be devised. Certainly, as far as I was concerned, anyway, it was something I could never have dreamed up in a million years.Two girls facing one another, legs spread, a slender rapier blade protruding from their vaginas, leaning back, belly muscles rippling, hands extended to counter-balance their posture, the rapiers quivering slightly as each eyed the other, looking for an opening. They feinted a couple of times, the other using her body to swing her blade and deflect the other’s, then, Timkit lunged forward, her blade catching Megan on her upper left thigh. The redhead jumped back, staring down at the wound that now oozed blood. Both blades now quivered, their owners very much aroused, partly, no doubt, from the excitement the balls must be exerting on their clits; but also, I suspected, from the bloodlust that comes from a battle.Timkit didn’t rest on her laurels though. She leapt forward again, this time the tip of the blade catching Megan’s belly and drawing more blood. They looked magnificent, both of them. Their firm breasts juddered as they leapt back and forth, their firm, so beautifully defined muscles rippled and contorted as they twisted this way and that, their eyes were wide, watching each other carefully and quite oblivious of us or anything else around them.Then Megan drew her first blood. She had waited for the right moment then lunged forward, her rapier tip catching Timkit on her right buttock. She didn’t wait, though. She pulled it back and then rammed it forward again, this time catching the other girl on the outside of her right thigh. Both wounds told. They made the Thai girl less agile and although Megan had her own two wounds – on her left thigh and her belly, neither was as bad as those on Timkit.The Thai girl wasn’t finished yet, though. Not by a long shot. She set her face, ignored the pain in her backside and leg and watched Megan’s eyes. Then she moved. This time it was again to the Irish girl’s belly but this was a deep wound and it hurt her a lot. It was followed by another stab to the inner groin, where the thigh meets the torso and it was even more debilitating.It was Timkit’s night. She went in for the kill now, figuratively, anyway, lunging hard with her loins (and in the process showing off her beautiful body wonderfully) and achieving a number of nasty stabs to her opponent’s body. So much so, Megan finally dropped to her knees, her head down on her breasts. She was done.The attendants withdrew the rapiers and as they carried the Irish girl out, N’dona congratulated Timkit
Chapter 3
We saw Dingane and his wife and the other guests off soon after that and then N’dona took me along to a wing at the back of his house where the winners of his fights were permitted their pleasure. The first of these, Mitsui, was already at it and she had chosen a magnificent stud animal, a tall and muscular German for her partner this night. Tomorrow, and each successive night she could either choose him again, or a different male. And if she happened to like girls instead of males, she could choose one of her own sex to pleasure her. What the other girl thought about it didn’t matter.There were three pleasure rooms since N’dona always staged only three or less matches, usually weekly but sometimes less often. They contained a bed with a thin mattress and a fitted sheet on it; nothing more. There were also chairs ranged around the bed for N’dona and his guests to sit and watch his slaves as they rutted together.I gulped. I wondered, if the situation was reversed, if I would be able to perform but then as I thought about, I realised I would have to. A slave’s feelings were of no importance whatsoever. He or she was trained to sublimate them to the greater need to please his or her master – and that was that.The pair of them looked magnificent, of course. Both highly athletic and now using every muscle in their bodies to get the utmost pleasure from the sex. They were allowed two hours and they were going to make the most of them.We stayed and watched for around fifteen minutes then N’dona steered us out of this room and into the next. Here, Dubcek, the Czech boy, was making love to a beautiful redhead. Her skin was milk-white which contrasted beautifully with his pale olive colouring but both had beautiful bodies, their muscles, like all of N’dona’s slaves, clean and sharp and yet so fluid in the way they rippled with the slightest movement. Watching the boy’s buttocks clench as he drove his huge pecker into the redhead’s body was quite stunning, but her velvet smooth flesh was also extraordinarily tantalising for she gave as good as she got, her loins slamming up to meet his plunging middle, her legs twined around his thighs, her hands raking all over his muscly back…The last show involved Timkit and she had chosen another female. I didn’t mind this for I had never seen two females making love and the sight was enticing, if a bit strange. They squirmed together, their so naked quims rubbing against the other, breasts mashing together, mouths kissing while hands roved everywhere. We sat and watched them for quite a while and then N’dona led us out. As he explained, “they must perform for us of course, but I like to give them a little privacy, too.”His courtesy towards me wasn’t over yet. In my room there were four girls, all Asian, as Dingane had informed him of my preference, all superb specimens of female athleticism. I must say I found it hard to choose but eventually I decided on a Thai girl, an exquisite creature, not too tall but beautifully put together who gave me a couple of hours of wondrous pleasure before I simply dropped off to sleep.When I woke in the morning, it was to her bringing me in my early morning cup of tea and toast and while I sat up in bed, munching the crisp warm toast and sipping the tea, she danced for me.And what a dance. She was as graceful as anything I have ever seen in my life and she performed the movements with extraordinary skill and poise and I sat there bemused at her loveliness as well as the sight of her naked charms so beautifully displayed for my pleasure.After breakfast, we went outside to watch as two of the losers from last night were strung up for their punishment. They were the two females since the Nordic boy whose balls had been ripped off by the Czech was in no condition to take the whip. Inge and Megan were, however, and they were brought up to the gallows, erected behind the house for this purpose.The rest of the slaves were already assembled and stood watching silently as the first of the two girls was strung up by her heels. It was Inge and she had to lie on her belly on the grass under the gallows while the black overseer fastened the two leather manacles around her ankles. Then two slaves, detailed for the purpose, pulled on the ropes, dragging her up, pulling her ankles wide apart until she dangled with her hands just free of the grass, upside down, stark naked, her beautiful body looking quite forlorn – but also magnificent, in all its athletic glory.The whip used was a rather stiff looking affair. It was fairly solid at the handle but then tapered down to a point at the end. The whole thing was about two metres long and it looked quite vicious.The overseer handed it to a Nordic slave, a tall young man with blond hair and blue eyes – and muscles that were quite magnificent. His skin was a light gold – all over, of course since he was permanently naked and now, as he contemplated his victim, his cock was also hard. So, I noticed ruefully, were those of most of the male slaves standing around the gallows. My own definitely was and I kept my hand in my pocket to hide the fact. The blond didn’t seem to worry about his, though, and it swung proudly from side to side like an upside down pendulum every time he moved.He took up position behind Inge’s body. The buttocks were to be first and since they were meaty, he applied the five strokes hard. She hung there silently, absorbing what must have been terrible pain from each one, her cheeks now violently striped with five red weals.Then he moved around to her front. The strokes to her belly were delivered less severely but they still must have hurt and as I watched her face, dangling down near my knees, I could see how hard she was trying not to scream.I looked questioningly at her owner and he smiled. “If she holds on through all the first ten strokes, we forgive the last five. I like my slaves to show fortitude and it looks as if she is going to win …”She did, too. What a performance, I thought. Her only crime had been to lose her fight but I realised this would be a strong motive to go all out for a win – that and the pleasure you could enjoy for a week afterwards …The Irish girl wasn’t as strong. Not that I blamed her. The pain from that whip, applied with great skill by the giant Swedish boy, must have been appalling and at the eighth stroke, Megan screamed out her distress. Before that, her body had described wonderful contortions as she had twisted about in the aftermath of each terrible stroke and I am ashamed to say I came in my pants as I watched her lovely body punished.The five strokes to her crotch were the worst. I knew she must have been suffering the agonies of the damned as the tip of that stiff weapon found her vagina or her anus or even the perineum, the little fold of skin between each of the two orifices.Dingane had sent a gig around to return me to his farm and, after thanking my host most profusely for the evening and this morning, I mounted it, took up the reins and clicked them against the back of the left hand girl who was my lead pony this morning. They were two Asian girls, of course – Dingane was ever attentive to my hankering for these so exquisitely dainty people. These were a different pair from thoe I had seen previously but they were as perfect in their own way as all the others I had so far seen there and I sat back, the reins loose in my hands as they trotted me back along the roads and lanes to Dingane’s homestead.I stared at their pert buttocks, at the way their muscular thighs tensed and corded, at the rippling muscles of their backs and at the way their pony-tails – their gleaming black hair gathered at the back, flowed out behind them as they sped along the roads.Of course we occasionally met other citizens riding in similar gigs coming our way and then I stared just as openly at the pairs of slaves pulling them along.I don’t think I’ve mentioned the way the slaves were harnessed to the gigs. Each such vehicle had a central pole that came out from under the seat. This divided into two up at the front and then curved up and then forward again so it was at neck height at the end. Attached to the very end of the two poles was a leather collar which was buckled around the slave’s neck. Behind this and poking out either side of the pole was a crosspiece with a rubber handle on each end. The slave gripped these and used the handles to assist in pulling the gig.It also had the effect of displaying their bodies even better for with their hands up and out from their shoulders, their arm and shoulder muscles were nicely presented, as were their back muscles of course.Now, as I watched other slaves coming towards us, I stared at the display of their biceps and shoulder muscles, each straining hard to take the load off their necks. Whoever designed this method of harnessing had certainly hit on a winner – as far as I was concerned, anyway.The pony slaves were universally more muscular than most other classes of slave of course. They had to be strong to pull the gig and their passengers for hours at a time and when the ponies were female, this was even more the case. From what I had seen so far, about half and half were female and each of them was a superb athlete, her body honed to true perfection, stark naked as all ponies were no matter what dress was allowed their owner’s other slaves and in the case of males, many with mandatory boners that swung violently from side to side at each new step.We trotted up the driveway to arrive at the house just before luncheon. In my rooms, Chula was waiting for me, a hot tub already drawn and she had my clothes off in a trice, my body bathed and massaged and dressed again and down to the dining room without me even seeming to know what she was doing.There was no sex for us that time; there simply wasn’t time, no matter that I found her body wonderfully alluring as she danced attendance on me. I think it was then I realised I was becoming a sexual virago myself. On my Earth, I had taken it when it presented itself and had had no especial craving for it. Now though, perhaps because the slaves presented such an erotic spectacle to me all the time, I wanted it every waking minute, it seemed. I couldn’t have it of course and that is probably just as well. Nonetheless, I wanted it and as Chula so expertly soaped and massaged me in the hot tub, I wanted to draw her gleaming wet-slicked body to me and make ardent love to her. That I didn’t was only because I knew Dingane and his wife were waiting for me downstairs.But, perspicacious as ever, after lunch, he observed I would probably be pleased to ‘rest’ for a part of the afternoon for he had planned a special entertainment for me this evening.I grinned. “Thank you, Dingane. Yes, a ‘rest’ would be welcome.”Needless to say, there wasn’t much resting done that afternoon. Chula met me at the door to my suite and with a little grin, had me naked in less time than it takes to say Jack Robinson. We were on my bed in just as short a time and for a couple of hours, on and off, we made wonderful love together. Afterwards, she bathed me again and then let me have a legitimate rest for an hour or so.The entertainment Dingane and Zuella had planned for me involved a show. It was as different from N’dona’s fights as chalk and cheese but it was just as provocative.They had invited some other guests over for dinner and after it we assembled in the drawing room to watch as slaves who had trained for months (at night, after performing their normal duties) put on a ballet for our pleasure.I won’t say they were all skilled dancers. Some were, the naturals, I suppose, but what the others lacked in skill, they made up for in effort. The storyline was simple enough – a tragedy, of course, and it involved the love of a boy for a girl not of his class but whom he was determined to have.It was performed nude and the only way we could tell who was who, was by little tags attached to the left ear lobes. Gold meant upper class; blue was lower class.It was of course utterly prurient. All their entertainments that involved slaves were. I didn’t mind. No way! To watch a half dozen naked slaves dancing with grace and skill, telling the story of the girl and her boyfriend who faced opposition from both sets of parents, was incredible and I sat there, spellbound from start to finish.There was a lot of sex of course. Both parents made love as they ‘discussed’ their children’s perfidy in daring to contemplate marriage outside their class and of course the two lovers did it often throughout the performance, even being caught in the act by their four parents.The sex part of the dance was wonderful. The other parts were too, but whoever choreographed the dance showed a lot of skill in weaving the sex into the rest of the story. And that night, despite two hours of love-making with Chula in the afternoon, we were at it again when I went to bed.My days there were very pleasant. There was always something doing and in between these times, I could wander around the farm, usually on one of the gigs drawn by a variety of ponies, male as well as female, Caucasian as well as Asian, for variety is the spice of life, as they say. I never ceased to tire of looking at the bodies of the white and Asian slaveboys and girls. I think if I had been Dingane I might have followed N’dona’s suit and had my slaves naked always but on the other hand, as he said, “hide a little and the fancy is tickled even more.” He told me I could have any slave stripped right down any time I liked but I didn’t. In any case, it didn’t matter when they were acting as my ponies for they were all totally nude anyway.
The day approached when I was to join Jomo on his ship. I took my leave of Dingane and Zuella, thanking them effusively for their hospitality. Dingane insisted I return to them when the voyage was over and I accepted gratefully. He offered to lend Chula to me for the duration but Jomo had said I wouldn’t need her. “We have a great variety of slaves on the ship, Adam. I’m sure you’ll find someone to suit …”I was astonished at the ship. I don’t know what I had expected since such vessels on my world had all been sailing ships and had been dreadful things. Most people have seen plans of the way the black slaves were forced to lie side on to one another in almost no space, unable to move much for most of the day and night. Disease had been rampant and some voyages lost forty percent of their ‘cargo’.This ship, the Esmerelda, was a model of cleanliness and efficiency. She was big, around twenty-thousand tonnes and could carry a thousand slaves in ultra-clean, if spartan accommodations below decks. The slaves were housed in the slave decks on raised platforms which, while hard, were spotlessly clean. In any given slave cabin (and there were dozens of them on any given slave deck, there were four rows of such platforms, each two metres wide and running the length of the room. Each slave had a metre width for him or herself and at night, when they were locked in for the night, only their ankles were locked to the manacles fixed to the platform. This ensured there was no hanky-panky during the night although a slave could reach over and touch his neighbour if that was their desire. Actual sex was forbidden and made impossible by the ankle manacles, however.During the day, they were exercised in squads on the vast open deck between the stern castle and the forecastle of the ship. Those not being exercised were put to work cleaning and polishing, feeding or being cleaned. Their diet was wholesome if uninteresting and a team of slave veterinaries ensured all were medically fit.All this was explained to me by Jomo as he took me on a tour of the ship. We had flown up to Tangier in Jomo’s private jet. This was a little like a Lear Jet on my world but was even sleeker and much faster. We were going to start with the British Isles (as I called them – he just called it Britain) and then go up to the North Sea and Scandinavian ports then return to the Mediterranean where we would cover the French Riviera, the Balkan Peninsula and Turkey before ending in Alexandria where we would disembark and fly home while the ship continued on down through the Red Sea and Indian Ocean to its home port of Beira where the slaves would be offloaded and transported to Zimbabwe for training and later sale.But I was astounded at my own quarters on the ship. They were as luxurious in a nautical way as my suite on Dingane’s farm had been.The cabin was beautifully panelled in expensive timber, the carpets were thick and luxurious as were the soft furnishings. And then there was my slave. She was another beauty …Knowing my penchant for Asians, Jomo had allotted me a statuesque Japanese girl by the name of Kinto. She was very tall for a Japanese but her body was the very essence of athletic beauty – just how I liked a girl. Her breasts were firm and were perfect half orbs that were exquisitely soft to the touch and yet didn’t sag one iota. They were crowned with delicious little buds of eminently suckable nipples. Her waist was slender and her belly flat and nicely muscled. Her thighs were shapely but also well-muscled denoting years of exercise. Her buttocks were nicely rounded and quite boyish – unusual in a Japanese and I knew I was going to delight in spanking them during our sex… Her face was angelic – but also mischievous. I knew we were going to have some wonderful times together. She was no more than eighteen years old but her sexual skills portrayed a long period of training in the art and I knew she must have been born a slave.She was also branded.I hadn’t seen this on Dingane’s farm. Jomo told me later that many owners didn’t brand their slaves. He didn’t brand those he bought and sold but he certainly did for his personal stable. I was curious, for the brand was not simply a scar in her flesh but was coloured a bright metallic green. He promised to show me how it was done the very next time he took a slave for his own household.I looked at it carefully, having her stand in all her naked glory before me. It had been placed on her belly, exactly half way between her navel and the top of her vaginal slit and it was a perfect replica of Jomo’s personal crest – an eagle holding a whip in its mouth. I grinned at the implication – a bird of prey and the age-old symbol of mastery …The ship was very fast. Much more so than any comparable vessel on my world and Jomo told me they didn’t use propellers but a system that used a force I didn’t know existed to exert a sort of sucking at the bow – and the opposite force at the stern. It was eminently manoeuvrable and could come to a full stop from full speed almost in its own length. This meant we made London in almost no time flat.This London was a far cry from the enormous city I knew. It was no more than a collection of small houses. Of course there was no United Kingdom. Outside of Africa, there were no real national governments, local tribal chiefs being the only form of government. This suited the emperor for it meant there could be no opposition to his hegemony over his own continent. He had no wish to take over Europe, Asia or the Americas. They were far too primitive to bother with.Once having tied up at the company’s wharf we went into its offices to confer with Jomo’s local manager. These black men were the only sophisticates in the land. Jamal, the manager, had a staff of a hundred and in their compound (and in similar ones belonging to other slave traders) were the only decent houses to be seen.The compound was huge and made the mean dwellings of the native Britons around it look like wattle and daub huts. They weren’t, but they were not much better. There were already a hundred or more slaves in residence, ready for Jomo to look over and make a final selection. I accompanied him of course and watched as he so expertly examined each slave and made his decision. This was the master slave dealer at work and I noticed how everyone deferred to him. I knew it wasn’t just because of his position as the boss, either. He clearly knew more than anyone else around about slaves and what made good or bad ones.They were all lined up, naked of course and I could see they were all very ashamed at this. Not surprising, really, I suppose for outside, all the people wore the rough woollen tunics common to British peasants in the middle ages. They were all standing with their hands up behind their heads and overseers armed with whips and electronic gadgets like our cattle prodders ensured they kept them there.They were still in their natural state and were more or less hairy on their bodies. After seeing so many slaves back in Africa who were all totally glabrous and smooth, I now found this display of hairiness quite horrible.The males were on one side of the room and females the other. We went over the males first. “In a male we look for general physique, Adam, then individual muscle development and tone, good looks, and finally genital equipment. I don’t deal in anything but ‘fancies’ as we call them. The general run of labouring slaves does not interest me as I specialise in domestic and pleasure slaves as well as breeders. As you can see from this lot, they are all young and handsome and have fine bodies …” He had stopped at each boy in turn and had then ran his hands over his flesh, expertly gauging his muscle tone. He forced his fingers into each boy’s mouth, checking out his teeth and his tongue (a sure sign of good
health, he told me) then punched him in the belly and hefted his balls and skinned back his foreskin, working the member into an erection.He also made the boy turn around, spread his legs wide, bend over and then grasp his buttocks and spread them wide so he could investigate his anus and rectum. He did this by inserting a glass instrument that looked like a thick test-tube and as he pushed it into the boy’s virginal anus, he could clearly see the surrounding tissue. The thing was on a handle that contained a battery and lighting system so the interior of his rectum was well lit as the glass moved further and further inside.Behind the boy, an overseer stood ready. These were untrained slave recruits and could not be trusted not to rebel at the so indecent and obscene inspection of their bodies. Most were either the product of raids from one village to another, the results of a tribal war, or had come to the factory by way of sale of a family member to extinguish a debt. Fathers often sold their sons and daughters in this manner, it seemed.If the boy even looked like resisting Jomo’s inspection, all the overseer had to do was point his weapon at the slave’s buttocks and press the button on its handle. He didn’t need to actually touch it to his flesh. It worked from about two metres away and was a perfect form of control for pre-implant slaves.We inspected five boys in this manner and then came to one that looked as good as all the others to me. They had been mostly blonds for England on that world was Saxon and the light-haired variety was predominant. This boy was blond, too and I thought he was very handsome but Jomo pushed him back almost immediately.“See his cock, Adam. It’s a good size but it is misshapen. It is crooked and no owner would accept such a boy.”“What will happen to him then?” I asked.“Oh, Jamal will sell him on to another dealer who trades in labourers.”After completing the line of naked boys and rejecting only four of them, we moved across to the girls. Now I was really interested. The boys had all been handsome and nicely muscled youths but it was the girls that were really attractive. I didn’t like the hair under their arms and down at their groins of course and now understood why discerning slave owners had their slaves totally depilated. The ship had one of the units that effected this state and I was looking forward to seeing the slaves stripped of the ugly hair on their bodies in the next few days.Jomo went through exactly the same routine with these girls as he had with the males. Every girl was subjected to the same indecent inspection of her body. A few were rejected but most were not and Jamal sighed with relief. The girls were also mostly blondes and their skin was universally smooth and clear. Their bodies were as athletic and lissom in a feminine way as the boys had been. I swallowed guiltily as I looked them all over. Dozens of newly made slaves: girls who had only days before been free villagers some of whom might even be married.Now though they were nothing more than slaves. Animals almost. Animals of a higher intelligence than say horses or cows, but animals nonetheless. The transition was not yet complete, of course. They didn’t think of themselves in that light yet – but they would – and on this ship that process would be started and carried through to near completion. It would not be a pleasant process – for them anyway. I found it most delightful.Once Jomo had made his selections, the slaves were herded down the wire-covered raceway to the ship where they would be allocated their berths and, for the first time, locked by their ankles onto the sleeping benches. They would be kept there for twenty-four hours to accustom them to the hard benches and their continued nakedness for they would no longer be permitted any covering on their flesh – anywhere. In the factory, they had been allowed to keep their own clothes until Jomo’s inspection. Now, total and complete nudity would be the rule. It all helped in breaking down their view of their former status and made them realise they were now, in truth, nothing more than slaves, chattels – things that could be bought and sold…Having inspected the factory and given Jamal an A1 report, Jomo now took me out into the village of London, to meet the local chief and to discuss a slave gathering safari up north. I was excited at this. We would be riding horses for there were no proper roads that would allow us to use motorised vehicles and we would have our own guards to protect us from raids by bands of outlaws.The chief was all servility to my friend. On Jomo’s continued patronage and support depended his standing. Jomo’s factory was by far the biggest and most splendid of all those dotted along the Thames and the backing of the private army of soldiers who acted as guards to the factory, helped him to maintain his position as chief.I didn’t like the man much. Nor did I like the smell in his house. Hygiene was not yet known to these people – to any Europeans, actually and I don’t think they ever bathed. I grinned as I realised how the slaves were going to be subjected to it on a daily basis from now on. I was even more repelled by him when he offered his younger daughter to Jomo as a slave. How servile could a man get, I wondered. Jomo accepted her, though, winking at me as he gestured to one of his men to take the now screaming girl away to the ship.Having made his duty call, we hastened back to the Esmerelda to wash the stink of the man’s house off us and then have the girl brought before us. Kinto bathed me carefully and then I hastened down to Jomo’s day cabin. The girl, Sandra was her name, was brought in, still struggling and crying fitfully. Clearly she hadn’t known her father was about to make a gift of her to the slaver.“Stand up straight, slavegirl,” Jomo called but it made no difference. The pointing of one of the electronic guns at her loins did, though. She screamed blue murder, stared from the guard to Jomo and then slowly stopped her struggling and stood up although her hands were down at her middle, trying to ease the burning pain from the lightning-like burst of energy that had been directed there.“And now you will strip, slut,” my friend said softly. Of course his words had to be translated. He spoke in Zulu but one of the factors translated them to the girl.She stared at him in fascinated horror. Strip? In front of him? No way! The guard with the gun stepped forward then and pointed it at her groin again. She screamed. Her hands flew back down as if to protect her middle but then she subsided and began to remove the woollen garment. It was her only clothing of course. There were no underclothes for these people and she was now naked, her body dirty but clearly superlative in quality.Jomo beckoned her forward and although showing distaste at the grime on her flesh, expertly assessed her body. “Take her away and clean her,” he said. She may then be branded as my personal slave …”
Chapter 4
Jomo had other things to do but I went along to watch her initiation as a slave. As I’ve said, this world was far in advance of ours but not everything was modern. Certainly not the branding of slaves; but the cleaning and depilation of them was.With thousands of slaves on a fully laden ship, normal bathing would be impossible and so they had devised another method. Any country boy knows of races where sheep are sprayed with various chemicals designed to keep them healthy./ That’s exactly what they did here. Each slave deck had a room in which a dozen rows of slaves were forced into a like number of raceways. In some ways they were a bit like an automatic car washing shed at your local service station.There were sprays – high pressure ones that lathered the slave with hot soapy water. This was followed by revolving drums with strips of cloth attached to them. These acted as washers or flannels and lashed any dirt right off the hapless slave moving past them. They couldn’t rush past the flaying drums. Their speed was regulated by a series of bars on an endless chain that kept each slave two metres apart as they walked through the battering sprays and jets; past the slapping strips of cloth that rubbed their flesh clean as a whistle and then the cold rinsing sprays as they emerged wet and dripping and shivering at the other end. In this way, thousands of slaves could be cleaned very quickly.As they emerged, an overseer stood at the end, eyeing each slave critically. If any showed signs of a hairy regrowth, he or she was earmarked to another door than the one most slaves now went into to feed. Slaves were fed – they didn’t eat as we ‘humans’ did.I watched at Sandra was passed through the cleaning race. As I said, there were a dozen of these in each cleaning machine but at this time of day, she was alone in being cleaned so only one of the races was active.I stared in as I walked alongside her, along number two race which was of course silent and dry. The very hot water scalded her a little and she screamed and tried to shield her breasts and the area between her legs from the spray. She wasn’t successful for the jets came at her from every angle – in front, above, at the sides, from under her (down on the floor between her legs) and at the back. She could not hide from them all. Some were sprays, some jets. The one down between her legs was a powerful jet that battered at her vagina and her anus as she walked; most others were sprays of one kind or another but they all meant she was thoroughly soaked when she met the flying strips of cloth, themselves kept wet with more sprays as they attacked her body from both sides – there was even a small one between her legs which she had to straddle and this cleaned not only the insides of her legs but also her anus and vagina as she walked over it. It revolved in a horizontal position and its strips were not as long as the vertically aligned drums either side of her.She was of course still possessed of her natural body hair and this now had to be removed. We went through the door into the room that contained the equipment to achieve this. This process was normally a one-off event although sometimes a regrowth required a second dose. It did not therefore need to be as extensive as the cleaning races which were used twice a day on every single slave on the ship.Here, there was merely a series of dangling chains with cuffs on the end. The slaves to be depilated were placed under the chains, their wrists cuffed and the chains then clanked up and over the drum around which they were wound until the slave was dangling with his or her feet just off the floor.The technician in charge of the room then took up his depilating gun, a gadget that looked like a gas stove lighter except that the end was a round flat disk of what looked like clear plastic, rather than a pair of electrodes between which a spark arced. It was also attached to a power outlet and its cord snaked along the floor behind the technician.Sandra was placed under the first chain and her wrists snapped into the manacles. The overseer then operated the switch that caused the drum to rotate and the chain to clank up, drawing her hands and arms up until her body was dangling, naked and forlorn a few centimetres above the floor. The tech now nodded and walked up to her.“Don’t even think of kicking, slut, or the guard here will zap you with his prodder …” He nodded again to the guard, who gave her a short dose to her buttocks by way of example. She screamed and her face went pale. But she stayed perfectly still after that.I had to admire their methods. They had it all down pat. One might expect trouble in these places when you had to deal with a hundred new slaves at any one time but not when the guards had these gadgets to help them maintain discipline.The tech now raised his little machine and applied the trigger switch on the handle. A blue glow now emanated from the flat disk on the end and when he brought this up close to her hairy parts, the glow crackled and sparked a little. I don’t think it hurt all that much for Sandra didn’t do much more than wince now and then and give an occasional little scream as the zaps went deeper than usual – perhaps because of a deeper follicle.He passed it over and around her pubic hairs first and they simply fell out. He did her legs and then her armpits and then, while the guard opened her buttocks, zapped away at the few hairs in there.It took only a few minutes and she was totally naked. I was by now used to seeing slaves without their natural body hair and I must say the sight of the new slaves in the factory, all hairy, was not a pleasant sight. Cleaned and totally nude of such hair, they all looked vastly better. When he was finished, they let her down and her unkempt hair was trimmed and combed and then she was done …Sandra was now ready for her branding. As I said earlier, here they didn’t bother with new technology. The brand was inflicted with a red-hot iron which was first coated with the dye that would give her brand its distinctive colouring.Branding was always done in the presence of the Slave Master for the voyage, in this case, Jomo himself. She was returned to his day cabin and of course I followed along, now eager to see how this so barbarous act was inflicted on the soft flesh of a beautiful girl’s belly. I had often fingered Kinto’s brand, marvelling at its bright green colour and the perfection of the image: the eagle with the whip in its mouth. I think she was actually proud of it for it marked her as the personal slave of a very rich and powerful man. But I was sure she could not have enjoyed it being placed on her body. I didn’t ask of course. It wasn’t the sort of thing a master discussed with a slave.She was brought before him and now he came down from his chair and went over her body very carefully. Before, when she had been dirty and unkempt, his inspection had been more than a little cursory. Now, he looked over her body in fine detail and I could see he was pleased with her – as well he might be for now clean and smooth, she was a delectable little creature. That her father could have so easily given her away as a slave to Jomo still astounded me but then men have done like things throughout history, even on my world and so I suppose I shouldn’t have been so astonished.Behind her, one of Jomo’s men was now bringing in the branding bench. This was a long narrow item on which she would be strapped down, very tightly so she couldn’t move even a millimetre and so blur the brand. They also brought in the brazier. This was a smallish cast iron pot on its own legs and with holes around the sides to allow air in and inside it I could see the coals glowing brightly. They set it down and now Sandra was led back to the bench. As she turned around and saw the brazier, she screamed.“No! Please … no.”Jomo smiled. “All my slaves are branded, slave. You should be honoured that I have accepted you as a personal slave-slut …?”She subsided. I had to admire her bravery. She was facing a terrible pain – burns being amongst the worst sort of pain we humans have to endure – and the agony of a branding iron would be total, I thought.She allowed herself to be laid down on the narrow bench and her arms extended above her head. They, and her chest, her waist, upper and lower thighs and her legs were all strapped down as tightly as they could get the belts. The bench itself was heavy and wouldn’t move under her and her body was now immobile on top of it.The overseer who inflicted the brands (and Jomo told me these men were specialists, being trained long and carefully to inflict a perfect brand every time, for any mistakes were irreversible) had previously inserted his iron into the glowing coals. Now he brought over a jar and, using his fingers, proceeded to smear some of its contents over her belly in the location he was going to inflict the brand.As with Kinto, this was the area exactly half way between her navel and the top of her now totally naked slit. Jomo explained this was the other part of the two chemicals which, when mingled and under the influence of the hot iron, formed the bright green, metallic colour of the brand.The man now extracted the iron and examined its tip critically. The temperature had to be just right. It was, apparently, for he blew on the tip, then quickly dipped it into another jar alongside him as he stood at the bench – then positioned the still glowing emblem on the end of the iron – and dropped it down onto her flesh.I was watching both her belly and her face. The one sizzled and smoked while the other assumed an expression of utter horror, then screwed up in agony as the iron sank through her skin and into the muscle of her belly to inflict a permanent brand on her body. She screamed of course, the sound rising in pitch and intensity as the pain got worse and worse.He had exerted exactly the right amount of pressure for the precise length of time required and now he quickly retracted the iron, placing it in a holder to keep its still hot tip clear of anything that might burn then bent over to examine the glaring wound on her stomach.“A good brand, sir,” he said, smiling at his boss.Jomo moved closer and stared down at the now greenish/black mark. “It is,” he agreed. I thought it looked awful but he told me the blackness would quickly go away as the wound healed and then she would end up with a scar as beautiful as that worn by Kinto and all the other of his personal slaves on the ship.
It was now time to prepare for our safari up-country.These were not usual. Normally, Jomo and his other slave-masters relied on the managers of his various factories in the countries of Europe and Asia to acquire the slaves and then he merely collected them at pre-arranged times. This trip was, I think, for my benefit and I was very grateful for the opportunity. I told Jomo so.He grinned. “My pleasure, Adam. Actually, I will enjoy it too. It’s been a long time since I went on a hunt and this will be a pleasurable diversion.”“You actually hunt the slaves, then?”“Yes, although it’s more of a raid actually. We work in with a friendly chief and ally ourselves to him. He takes half the slaves we harvest and the other half are mine …”We were given horses by the London chief and then Jomo and myself, accompanied by fifty of his guard/soldiers rode off up north. We were escorted by a series of friendly chiefs through their territory and we stayed in our own tents overnight although we were offered accommodation in the chiefs’ houses. Jomo politely declined. As he said to me, the stink would be so bad we wouldn’t be able to sleep and the food – hell, it was horrible – all fat and gristle …Also, it didn’t pay to get too close to these chiefs. They might be friends at the moment; tomorrow they might be on the other side and so we kept our distance.We arrived at Cambridge on the third day but it too was nothing like the beautiful town I knew on my world. Again, just a collection of mean houses with the chief occupying a larger one. We were going to raid the village of Bedford and the chief’s men were obviously relishing the prospect of a raid with us for our weapons would make the result a foregone solution. They still used bows and arrows and spears while Jomo’s men were armed with stunner guns, a vastly more powerful variety of the same gadgets the guards used on the slaves. These had a range of up to a thousand metres and had laser accuracy.The raid was exciting. We rode long before first light and were ready to take the village as its inhabitants emerged from their houses. Our allies had merely to stand around while the soldiers aimed one of the weapons at each of the emerging enemy. They fell where they stood, paralysed by the stun-ray and were then easily rounded up and lined up for inspection.We made them strip of course and our allies chortled as they watched their enemy forced to denude their bodies so we might choose those we were going to enslave.Jomo courteously gave the chief first choice after they had both walked along the line of stark naked villagers, examining each one critically. The women were all crying and huddled over, trying to shield their breasts and vaginas from our view while the men were almost as shamed, their hands down covering their genitals – until, as the two leaders reached a potential slave, the guard behind growled at them to raise their hands up behind their heads, enforcing the order with a short, mild blast of the gun to their naked buttocks.By the time they had finished the inspection, all the villagers stood in a straight line, hands up behind the necks in as shameful a pose as it was possible for a person to be while the chief and Jomo selected those villagers they wanted as slaves.Jomo and the chief certainly selected the best among them and there was no shortage of weeping and wailing as loved ones were culled out of the line and chained into two groups for the return journey to the chief’s village and in our case, back to London.The chains were diabolical – or at least the way they were attached to the bodies of the slaves, were. As their former friends and relations watched, the still naked, newly-made slaves had to line up in two rows while two of the soldiers sat on a folding chair in front of each line.The first of these had an instrument in his hand. This was simply a battery pack with a single long slender probe poling out of the handle, like the tine of a carving fork at the end. When the thing was switched on, the slender tip quickly heated to a dull cherry-red. The new slaves had to stand in the line with their hands up behind their heads. If it was a male, the guard grabbed his foreskin, pulled it out and away from the glands of his penis and then simply passed the glowing metal through the end of the little flap of skin. The man screamed once but then had to move sideways to the next guard, sitting beside the first with a box of rings beside him. He picked up one from the box and pushed the hinged ring through the new hole. Now the slaves really screamed but a dose of the prodder directed at their buttocks from another guard standing behind them soon made them see which was worse. The rings were left open – for the moment.If it was a female, the guard grabbed her left vaginal lip between his thumb and forefinger, raising it to allow him to push the red-hot probe through the flesh. She too screamed of course but there was no blood, the hot metal cauterising the wound as it passed through. She too had to step aside and the next guard pushed the open ring through her new hole just as he had with the males.Once all were ringed, the slaves in each group were lined up, one behind the other and the chains were brought out. The first slave in each line had the end link of a chain passed into the ring on his foreskin and then the ring was snapped shut. The rings were ingenious. Once closed, they looked to be an endless circle without hinge or catch. You had to have a tiny key, delicately shaped, that had then to be inserted into a near invisible keyhole and turned a certain way for the ring to open.The chains were a metre long and the rest of the slaves were lined up behind the leader about that distance apart. The girl behind the leader had to stand with her legs wide to allow the guard to squat down and insert the other end of his chain into her open ring, and at the same time the lead link for the chain to the slave behind her. Her ring was then also locked shut. In this manner all of the dozen slaves in each of the two coffles were chained together.The pain each slave was feeling was very obvious. Their faces were screwed up in agony from the piercing with the hot iron and now the weight of the chains on those wounds, and, I suppose, also in shame that they had been so rudely stripped, fingered, selected and then ringed and chained in this so horrible manner, ready to move off on the first leg of what was going to be a most arduous journey.I sat on my horse beside the coffle, admiring their bodies (despite their hairiness, which, of course I now disliked intensely) and watched as they trudged along the path back to London. At night, as we camped beside a stream, they were secured by the simple expedient of forcing them to form a ring around a sturdy tree and then locking the lead boy to the last slave by another chain between their rings.They were kept naked of course. This was partly to begin their indoctrination as slaves but also, as Jomo said, “I like looking at their very pleasing young bodies …”They were all good lookers of course. He wouldn’t have selected them otherwise. There were no children among them but they were certainly youthful, none being over early twenties and all – every single one being nicely athletic and, if male, handsome to a tee; if female, quite beautiful.Jomo explained they didn’t raid the same village more than once in a decade or even longer. “Gives them time to replenish the stocks,” he chuckled.Once back at the ship, they were all treated. Cleaned in the race and then depilated as they hung in the frame. The first six had been strung up just as Sandra had and I stood there, watching avidly as they were prepared for the treatment. Being suspended in this manner shows off both male and female bodies beautifully and I stared in open lust as their young bodies were prepared.Then as the technician applied his wand to the hairy parts of their bodies, I marvelled how much better they looked totally nude of the ugly body hair. The males lost their beards as well of course and so from the eyebrows down, all were quite nude, their muscles now clean and smooth, unhindered by their former hairiness.
We left London that night, now making our way up into the North Sea where we were going to check out Jomo’s factories in Germany, Holland and Scandinavia. I won’t bore you with details of our acquisitions there. They were achieved in much the same way as those we had acquired in London although we didn’t go on any more raiding excursions.After adding a few hundred to the slave decks in this manner, the ship moved back south, passing through the Irish Sea and picking up a hundred or more dark beauties from Ireland on the way through. We then entered the Straits of Gibraltar and into the Mediterranean and now sought the darker Latin-type people from Spain, Southern France, Italy and then on to Eastern Europe and Turkey and the Middle East. At each location where Jomo had a factory – and there were dozens of these for he was perhaps the biggest and the best of all the numerous slave dealers in Africa, we acquired a hundred or so more slaves until the ship was almost literally bursting at the seams.I was astounded at this enormous mass of humanity. Every one of them naked – totally so and every one treated to remove their natural body hair. Every single one of the males thus had his genitals – cock and balls both, totally exposed from an utterly smooth groin; and likewise, the girls (for there was not a one of them over twenty-five) were just as nude down at her vagina.They were housed in spotlessly clean if spartan accommodations and each one of them was exercised for two hard hours every day. They were really expert at managing the slaves. Remember, none had an implant yet and so it was only by means of judicious use of the electronic stunner guns and the short range models that the guards could control the slaves. Of course there were other means.I’ve said before these people were way in advance of us on this Earth. Each slave deck had highly sophisticated surveillance equipment that monitored, both visually and audibly, everything that went on in the rooms on the various slave decks. Officers monitored the equipment but it was largely automatic, the computer programmes that ran it alert for any groups forming or for what might be construed as secret or subversive conversations. When either of these was suspected, an alarm went off and one of the officers honed in on the group or the couple. The microphones were ultra-sensitive and could be made either general or highly directional and a conversation could thus be easily overheard.The slightest hint of rebellion and the culprits were arrested and interrogated. Electrodes attached to the inner lips of a girl’s vagina or a boy’s testicles, soon had them confessing to any plans of rebellion although Jomo only went after the truth. He wasn’t interested in confessions simply to remove the agony of the torture and his men knew exactly how far to take a subject. I watched with interest as a girl was suspended in a tight spreadeagle and the electrodes clipped to the so sensitive inner lips of her nether opening.They then asked her a question. The scanning machine that was trained on her eyes determined if she was answering truthfully or not and if not, she was given a sharp dose of electricity to her vagina.Her body’s reactions to these were quite startling. Every muscle stood out in stark relief, quivering, shuddering and straining against the manacles that held her in a long St Andrew’s cross. Then the current was turned off and she collapsed, sweat forming in beads all over her body. They told her they knew she had been lying and asked the question again. In most cases, she now answered truthfully.If it turned out she was indeed a rebel, she was punished. This was carried out in front of as many of the slaves as could be accommodated on the exercise deck in the middle of the ship. She, and/or he, was suspended upside down with their legs drawn out as wide as they could get them – and then one of the guards, stripped to the waist for the purpose, took up one of the most horrible whips I have ever seen – and began to lash her (or him) between their legs.The whip was one of those things that, on our world, originated in Africa. It is made from rhinoceros hide and has a tough raspy texture. When woven into a whip and lashed over human skin, it is as if the skin was being whipped with sandpaper. The lashes were directed at the slave’s genitals and as I watched, now sickened by the brutality of the punishment, I knew neither the girl nor the boy who had confessed to trying to organise a mutiny, were going to survive – at least as whole humans.The punishment was brutal – and terribly painful. Right from the first lash, both miscreants screamed and screamed – until their voice boxes simply gave out but even then as they hung upside down and the guard continued to apply his lash between their legs, their bodily contortions told the whole story.I was right. The boy’s genitals were so mutilated by the lashes, he had to be castrated and I went along to watch as the surgeon expertly removed his genitals in their entirety.In the girl’s case her vagina was such a mess, the surgeon performed a hysterectomy and then removed her outer lips and closed off the opening entirely, leaving only a tiny aperture out of which she could urinate.Jomo took me aside afterwards. “You are appalled, Adam?” he asked.“It does seem a trifle over the top,” I said, somewhat apologetically. He was, after all, my host.“I agree with you,” he said, surprisingly, “but it is necessary. Every voyage we have one or two who think they can beat us. This is the best way to nip rebellion in the bud,” he said. I nodded my acceptance of his words. He was the expert, after all, but I still wondered if it had to be quite so brutal.I also went along to watch as the surgeon so expertly treated them – first the boy for his wounds were worst. They didn’t use scalpels on that world. Instead they had these electronic gadgets, laser scalpels, I think they called them that cut much more cleanly than the sharpest knife and cauterised as they cut. There was therefore no blood and no chance of infection. When they needed to cut but wanted the flesh kept open for later rejoining, they used a different instrument but it was still electronic.He quickly cut away the boy’s scrotum and what remained of his testicles then cut open the tissue around the penis. He pointed out to me how the organ was actually rooted deep inside the boy’s groin and how he would have to carefully excise the urethra from the penis itself, cut away the root and the external section and then make a small orifice for him to urinate from. All this he achieved in a very short time. He had obviously done it many times before and I marvelled at his deftness and the speed with which he worked.Then he turned to the girl. Both ‘patients’ had been put to sleep although he said this was not to save them pain but to obviate shock which could kill them. He now worked with the same efficiency on her body, removing her internal reproductive organs and then slicing off the pouting outer lips of her vagina and trimming the underlying flesh. He then carefully drew the two sides together, stitching them closed with yet another of his electronic instruments.“In the olden days, we actually sewed the lips shut but this instrument does the job so much better and it leaves no scar at all. When the flesh heals, which it will in only a few days, you would swear she had never ever had a vagina,” he explained.I sought her out a few days later and examined her nether regions carefully. He was right. The furrow down the centre of her belly went on right down to the new little bud out of which she would urinate (and this was identical to the one now worn by the male who had been castrated). I thought she looked stupendous – and for that matter, the male as well.Jomo grinned as I told him so. “You would be surprised how many of our people prize such a slave in their households. They have the appearance of living, breathing store dummies and yet their bodies can be kept in the absolute peak of condition …”“Are they exercised harder than the others?” I asked curiously.“No. It isn’t necessary. They seem to respond better than whole slaves, however. No-one is really clear why, not even the medical professors.From that time on, I watched that pair. They were now absolutely docile. Not a hint of trouble from them but it was more their bodies that astounded me. As Jomo had said, both would quickly become paragons of lithe muscularity and he was right. Every single one of the slaves on that ship had good bodies but this pair now seemed to leap ahead of the others and I can attest they weren’t singled out for any special diet or exercise regime. I asked Jomo why, if they were so popular and responded so well physically to the genital modifications, more slaves weren’t so treated.“It’s a very specialist market, Adam,” he explained. While they are indeed popular, more owners prefer to see the naked and exposed genitals of their slaves when they strip them. I suppose they are what you might call oddities …”
When the ship docked at Alexandria, the northern most extremity of the emperor’s domains, we alighted and boarded Jomo’s jet to fly back to Zimbabwe. The ship would move into the canal, then the Red Sea and Gulf of Aden, into the Indian Ocean and thence to Beira where the slaves would be disembarked and marched to his Headquarters factory.He invited me to stay with him for a couple of weeks, “to see over my whole operation, Adam,” as he put it. I agreed with alacrity after calling Dingane to tell him I was back and relay Jomo’s invitation. He was most gracious and told me to treat his farm as my home while I stayed on their world and that I should come up whenever I was ready.
Chapter 5
In the meantime, I stayed with Jomo.What an establishment! It was enormous. Understandable, I suppose, for a man whose slave empire encompassed a whole fleet of slaving ships and factories that spanned much of the world, outside of the Empire of Africa, anyway.It was situated on the outskirts of the vast city of Zimbabwe and covered more than two hundred hectares. This was necessary of course for he produced a great deal of his own food requirements there. Not all, for he had up to a thousand slaves at any one time and their requirements were vastly greater than a couple of hundred hectares could produce. Still, it was all as clean and efficient as Dingane’s farm although here, of course, the aim was to process vast numbers of European and Asian slaves and then market them to the hundreds of thousands of Africans who could afford the luxury of private slaves for domestic purposes.The emperor didn’t bother with Jomo or any of his colleagues for the requirements of the state. He had his own slave recruiters who harvested slaves and also bred them for use in the public sector but we aren’t concerned with them. Jomo’s slaves were the absolute tops in quality and his clientele numbered the cream of the African nobility and its other higher echelons of society.Jomo only took the best of what was on offer from Europe and Asia – and then he conditioned and trained the new slaves, turning them into the highest perfection of lithe, handsome or beautiful, highly trained personal slaves. He scorned to bother with labourers, menials or even highly trained artisan slaves. No, his stock comprised the fancies: the young males and females who were the best looking, lithe and supple-bodied domestics who were also skilled in sexual pleasure – the giving of it, that is.I walked around the enormous building in awe, admiring the huge dormitories where the slaves were allocated places for the night on long benches just as they had been on the ship, although here they weren’t chained down – it wasn’t necessary, as I will detail in a moment; the vast gymnasia where their bodies were honed to absolute perfection; and the training rooms where they learned the sophistication and skills required of domestic and pleasure slaves. Remember, each one of these slaves had been primitive, not even understanding the basics of hygiene let alone how to tend her master’s household and even more importantly, to give him long and exquisite pleasure.I was also shown the large medical complex. Here the slaves were treated for illnesses, although they were few for these young males and females were the best there was and were inherently fit and healthy. More importantly, here they received their implants: the tiny gadgets that were modelled on the heart pace-makers on my world but were vastly more advanced.I have already detailed how they responded to the controllers clipped to the belt of every supervisor. All he had to do was to tap in the code number for the slave followed by either the red or pink buttons and the slave felt either the tingling warning or a horribly violent, agonising pain to his testicles or her clitoris. But they were also programmable from a central computer: here, by the one in the slave training office; but also, once bought by a customer, by his or her own computer at home.Here at the factory, they were of course programmed to follow its directions and to respond to the set of controllers held by Jomo’s men. Once sold however, special codes were provided with each slave that allowed his or her new owner to transfer control of his implant to their own computer including the master number for his set of controllers.Once programmed, the computer could determine where each slave ought to be at any given period and this could be refined to within a few centimetres. This is why it was no longer necessary to chain them down on the sleeping benches. If they moved into the next slave’s space, they got a warning tingle. If they ignored it, a blinding bolt of pure agony was sent to their genitals organs. Once experiencing such pain, few tried it on again and as I walked down the rows of benches, looking at the sleeping naked slaves, I marvelled at their ingenuity.The pace-makers we use are very similar of course, sending a tiny jolt of electricity to the heart if it falters. The difference was in the amount of current emitted by them and the way these things responded to the extraordinarily accurate GPS (Global Positioning System) technology built into them.I watched with interest as they were inserted into the slaves’ bodies. It was almost like an assembly line. It took but a few minutes for the surgeon to make his tiny cuts into the tightly strapped down body of the slave (while on the next bed, the boy he had just done was released and removed from the table to be replaced by the next slave who was then prepped in readiness for his or her turn under the knife. The operation was so small, he was perfectly able to walk away).He made two incisions. One, in the boy’s right groin, to take the minute camera lens by which he could see what he was doing inside his body; the other on the right side by which he inserted the small, coin-shaped silvery object with the hair-like wires dangling from it. These were led down past the junction of his thighs and into his scrotum. I marvelled at the way the surgeon was able to manoeuvre the wires into the scrotal sac and then cauterise their ends to each testicle.He then withdrew his instruments from the tiny hole and sprayed the incision with a substance that not only disinfected it, but also caused it to heal before my very eyes. The flexible camera lens eye was then removed from the other side and this minute hole also sprayed.He then moved back to the other bed where a beautiful girl-slave was now strapped down awaiting his attentions. The boy had been handsome and his body quite beautiful, its muscles clean and sharp and his face as handsome as a young film star on my planet. But this girl was something else. She was blonde, her golden hair fine and straight and wafting about her head as she lay back on the operating table. Her blue eyes were large and ingenuous, in a face that had to belong to an angel. Her skin was soft and like the proverbial peaches and cream and it was the same all over her lithe, supple body.Her breasts were firm and upstanding from her chest as she lay supine, strapped down over her forehead, chest, belly and thighs and her waist was slim, showing off a wonderful array of nicely defined abdominal muscles. And her thighs were just as perfect. Not a hint of fat or dimpling, the muscles being firm and rippling as she strained in her position on the bed.The surgeon moved up to her and stared down at her beautiful vagina, a small hillock in the otherwise flat lower regions of her belly. Her abdominal muscles were really very apparent – just as I like them and I had to resist the temptation to run my fingers over them. Of course she, like all the slaves to be implanted, had been carefully prepped. They had all passed through the same cleaning races as on the ship but before entering the OR, they had also passed through another race, this one glass, that bathed them in an ionising field that killed not only germs but also viruses. They were thus totally free of any nasties that might have got onto their bodies. For me to touch her would thus have been somewhat irresponsible even though I had also passed through the glass race as I entered the OR before putting on the appropriate gown and gloves.Now he took up his electronic scalpel and, indifferent to her little scream, made the tiny incision to allow the camera lens to be inserted into her lower body. She struggled and I nearly creamed in my pants as I watched her fine muscles rippling under her restraining straps. Then, after his assistant had inserted the tiny lens on the end of its flexible metal tube into her body, he made another hole on the other side of her lower belly. It was fascinating to watch the TV monitor as he manoeuvred the tiny flat disc into her body and once it was in position, to thread the tiny wires down to a point on her vagina tract and thence through it to cauterise their ends to a point either side of her clitoris – perhaps the most sensitive part of her being.But I didn’t just watch the monitor. I found watching her un-anaesthetised body quite fascinating as he worked his instruments inside it. She was in pain but it was not unbearable – certainly not enough to send her into a possibly mortal shock. She couldn’t move her middle because of the straps but her muscular contortions within those bonds was absolutely incredible.The boy I had watched implanted before her had been a youthful Adonis and his muscles had been utterly incredible, rippling and cording as he struggled with the pain as the surgeon worked; but this was a slender young white female and I found her body much more attractive. I decided to stay here all day, watching as the expert doctor quickly inserted one after the other of the tiny devices into each of the new slave’s bodies.My eyes glazed a little as I stared at her writhing belly muscles, then up to her quivering breasts and finally at her face, screwed up in pain. She couldn’t move her head of course. It was held immobile by the strap over her forehead but her big blue eyes were moving around wildly, staring up at me, at the surgeon and trying to see down to what he was doing to her body. It was impossible, of course. Her head was tightly strapped down and no way could she get her eyes down low enough to see what was happening at her groin.What a beautiful organ it was on this girl. Just a slight mound with lips that weren’t too prominent. I find the large fleshy nether lips on some girls to be rather off-putting – at least I did when I had hundreds of them to choose from. If I had my rathers, I would prefer them like on this slave. Just a smallish mound and almost non-existent lips. You actually had to part the lips to see the inner delights and after threading the insulated part of the wire through her vaginal wall, the surgeon now spread them wide so he could cauterise the wires in place.I later wondered to Jomo why, since they could actually get at the wires, they didn’t tear them off. He grinned at me. “First, because it would be an extraordinarily painful operation. The wires are actually welded to their flesh … But also because we would know instantly there was no longer a proper circuit and the girl would face the punishment of having her hands removed. No, it isn’t likely, Adam.”He was done then and the straps were being undone even as he sprayed her two wounds with the wondrous stuff that healed them so quickly. She was up off the table and able to walk away, now without even a twinge of pain. Quite incredible.As I say, I stayed there all day, fascinated by the quick turn-around of the slaves and the expertise of the surgeon. They came in groups of females and then a few males. Seemingly without order but it was all very definitely by design. They knew exactly which one was next and once his implant was inserted and connected, the technicians to whom each implanted slave was delivered, quickly had their units connected to the system and tested for functionality.The surgeon suggested I follow the girl who had so taken my fancy to watch this procedure and I did, only returning to the OR after watching her unit programmed and tested.It wasn’t a pleasant time for the girl.Now that she was up off the table and walking, I saw my first estimation of her had been correct. She really was a beautiful young thing. No more than eighteen years old, her body was utterly lovely. Slender and lithe, she walked with a natural grace that nevertheless showed off her superbly athletic muscles as well. I walked behind her and (figuratively) drooled as I watched her tiny, but beautifully curved buttocks rising and falling with each step and her thighs and calves doing the same.Then, once in the little cubicle with the technician, he read off her number from the metal tag dangling from her slave collar and then began to punch in the data to his keyboard. Later, when she was sold, her new owner would give her a new number that would be tattooed onto her neck and this would then be programmed into his system. If she was subsequently sold to a second owner and that number was already occupied by one of the new owner’s slaves, a further digit could be added on (and her neck tattoo suitably amended by its addition) but this was apparently rarely necessary.The first thing was to have her implant recognise the controllers in Jomo’s system. This took but a few key strokes and then the technician tested first the pink and then the red buttons. He asked me to use mine to test her and I did, smiling at the alarm on her face at the pink button’s message – but even less happy when I activated her number followed by the red button. I am not a wanton sadist and giving this beautiful girl pain just to test the unit was not a pleasure for me.Still it had to be done although as she collapsed on the floor in a foetal ball, screaming out in agony as the little unit sent unbearable electric shocks to her clit, I felt distinctly guilty.Next, after consulting her programme for the next day from the clipboard beside him, he fed in the data as to her authorised geographical envelope for any given time. As long as she stayed inside this during the day and then didn’t stray out of her allotted sleeping space during the night, she would be safe. But err too much and she would get first a tingle and then, if she didn’t quickly correct her location, a real shock.I asked the technician how wide the envelope was. He smiled up at me. “During the day, Mr Blair, they have a quite wide space. They have time to get from one place to another to coincide with their timetable and it is fairly flexible. At night though, they have just the one metre width on the bench. If they move out of it or get too close to another unit, they will both respond.”What about their hands?” I asked. “I mean, it would be possible to lie in the right position but for a hand to stray over to the girl lying next to them, wouldn’t it?”He grinned. “No. Every human body emits a unique aura. It is very subtle but these units are able to pick them up, or at least to recognise one not belonging to their owner and if a foreign hand, say, strays too close to another slave, both units react. Believe me, sir, they soon learn not to try it on …”I grinned back at him. “The technology is certainly effective. I can see why you don’t need whips and the like to control the slaves once the implants are in place …”Jomo didn’t brand his slaves. That was left to the subsequent owner. Indeed many owners preferred their slaves in a pristine condition, without any mark at all to adorn their bodies. I think for my part, before seeing the beautiful brands on his personal stable, I would have preferred them to be left smooth and whole but after seeing Kinto and his other slaves with the quite lovely green mark on their bellies, I think I changed my mind.The next couple of weeks were quite incredible for me. Okay, the voyage and the ship had been great and definitely an eye-opener for me, especially the clockwork-like efficiency with which the thousands-odd slaves were handled and controlled. They were cleaned and fed and exercised by a well-oiled machine that almost never saw a slave stepping out of line, but here at the central factory it was even more smooth and efficient.The slaves were informed of their timetables – where they were expected to be at any given time: in the cleaning races, the feeding troughs, the gymnasium or out working in the fields. The overseers were there but they were largely unnecessary. Each and every slave knew very well that if he or she strayed out of his geographical envelope, a warning tingle, followed by an agonising bolt of pure pain would soon follow.They were quickly tamed by the implants, turned from raw savages into manageable slaves and then trained to perform any number of domestic tasks until they were skilled servants. They were also trained in the sexual arts. At any time I could wander around the vast complex and see hundreds of slaves doing their absolute best to learn the lessons being imparted to them or applying their muscles to their exercises or working in the rows of vegetables out in the fields.I loved to attend the gym and watch as hundred of girl-slaves worked their bodies under the trainer. They were all naked, of course. No slave in Jomo’s care ever wore even a stitch to cover their nakedness. As he told me on the ship, it helped to quickly make them realise they were no longer free people but slaves who did not merit any modesty.The trainer was a real expert and he had each group for a couple of hours. Two hours a day is a long time and he made the most of it. The girls and boys were already fine examples of lithe youthfulness when he acquired them; John, the trainer, took that naturally fine physique and built it into absolute perfection. By dint of a large number of repetitions of largely isotonic exercises, he smoothed and honed their muscles and their cardio-vascular systems until there was not an ounce of fat anywhere on their flesh, their muscles, while not huge, were cut as cleanly as butter with a knife and stood out beautifully from their flesh.And that meant every muscle. You could easily pick out each abdominal muscle, the trapezius muscles down the sides of their bodies, the individual muscles that made up their thighs … Even on the girls, who were not as cut as sharply as the males, you could still see their muscles under the fine skin.It didn’t even take him very long for Jomo had an enormous turnover in slaves. He didn’t have months to develop and train these boys and girls. More were coming in all the time and his emporium in the heart of the central business district of the city was constantly demanding more slaves to put on the pedestals in the main selling room. (More about the city shop later).As I said, I could wander around the gym for hours a day, watching as first a couple of hundred girls worked their bodies under the watchful eyes of the overseers who were not at all averse to fingering their controllers when a girl appeared to be slacking. It is hard to imagine, isn’t it. Two hundred naked girls, every one of them the essence of beauty, either fair with blue eyes or perhaps darker complexioned with brown or black hair and brown eyes, and all of them with a body to die for and now trained to reflect the epitome of Olympic quality athleticism.I could have any of these bodies I liked, Jomo told me but I didn’t. When we had left the ship, I had been invited to bring Kinto with me and I found in her everything I wanted in the sex department. She was so beautiful and her skin so smooth – like brushed velvet. As for her muscles, well they were as good as I imagined any girl could get. She certainly wasn’t a body-builder but every one of her external muscles was easily discerned and I delighted in running my finger between them, marking the division between one and another. On most people, at least on my Earth, this is blurred by at least a small layer of subcutaneous fat. On Jomo’s slaves and in particular on the lovely Kinto, there was no such layer of fat and every muscle was toned to perfection.I stress they weren’t big muscles. I think most people have seen the way the bodybuilder’s muscles eventually become striated … Not these slaves. Their muscles were fluid and as smooth as honey but at the same time as sharp as a knife! And in my view Kinto beat them all.At night, as she shared my bed, no matter how much I had been titivated by the sight of a thousand naked slaves at work or exercise all day, she was always able to bring me to a series of mighty orgasms, each of which seemed to go on for ever. As well, I liked her as a person and she seemed to return the favour. Whereas most white or Asian slaves seemed to be in fear of us blacks – as well they might for we certainly had them under minute and total control, she was different – or so it seemed to me.She always seemed glad to see me when I arrived in my rooms in Jomo’s house at the factory and she also seemed to be able to instantly catch my moods and respond to them. She was a slave; there’s no doubt about that and no black man on that world would even consider marrying a slave or even consider her as his de facto, but I knew I came to love that girl…But that was at night. During the day, after Jomo had given me the grand tour, he invited me to wander anywhere I liked or even to ask his head overseer for a gig and slaves to take me on a tour of the area. I didn’t do this at first for I was overwhelmed at the sleek efficiency of his headquarters factory and delighted in spending the days going from one area to another, simply watching as the slaves were conditioned and then trained to fulfil their future roles as domestics.It didn’t matter whether I chose to prowl around the gymnasium or to stand at the side of a classroom and watch as these barbarians were transformed into handsome and beautiful domestic servants; or even go outside to the fields and watch as rows of naked slaves weeded, planted or harvested their own food. Mostly they ate raw vegetables as being the healthiest diet for them but three times a week, meat was added and cooked into a stew. They were trained to eat it with a spoon out of a plate which was quite a new concept for them but they became quite civilised after a week or so.I found the sex lessons most startling. They were a combination of theory and practice, the teacher of the moment explaining a point and then using two of the slaves to demonstrate its practical use. These sessions were mixed of course which was unusual for most other slave activities were conducted for the girls and males separated. The only exception was when the girls were being trained in lesbian sex and the boys to give another male sexual pleasure for as Jomo explained to me, “We never know who is going to buy the slaves, Adam and they therefore have to be ready for anything …”I watched in a high state of arousal as the girls were trained to make love to each other, rubbing their breasts and their mounds against the other’s in apparent lust. One of the overseers whispered to me that most of them hated these lessons but of course they were conditioned to obey. Even a sign on their faces that they weren’t right into it and one of those horrible shocks might soon emblazon their clits with the worst agony imaginable. It certainly looked good from the point of view of a heterosexual male watching. I wondered if a hetero female might also enjoy watching two males making love. Jomo assured me most did but I didn’t find the sight all that pleasant, even if I could admire their bodies writhing and contorting as one fucked the other.I did find the sight of a male making love to a girl intriguing, though – perhaps because on my world, except for certain sleazy sex shows, it was a near impossibility to see. Not here though. As I’ve already described at Dingane’s farm, the semi-public breeding of slaves together was a quite normal occurrence and in the city, there were almost respectable theatres and cabarets where slaves were forced to make love together for the benefit of patrons around the bar or in the audience.The trainers here were all experts of course. On this world, Indians and Arabs were not the exponents of sexual delights that they were on mine. Here, certain mystics who lived in monasteries up in the dim mountains of central Africa had that honour. They trained men and women to become the teachers and they were at least as good and perhaps better than the Indian mystics on my Earth.They knew all about the erotic zones on the human body and how to use them to inflame a subject to heights of pleasure I could hardly credit. Kinto was one of the best students in this department which was why Jomo had transferred her to his personal stable and I considered myself very lucky she had been offered to me for my stay with him. She could touch me in a certain spot and send shivers of rapture all over my body.Not that this was all they did of course. She could also rub the tips of her lovely breasts against my body – and achieve just about the same result and this is what I saw as I watched the dozens of pairs of male and female slaves learning a particular point.But I did at times ask to borrow a gig, drawn by a pair of Asian female beauties and go for a spin around the district. Zimbabwe was a huge city and it had suburbs the same as any large city on my world. Jomo’s factory lay on the outskirts of these suburbs so I was able to take the girls for a spin along country lanes as well as semi-suburban streets.The girls were naked. I had wondered whether they would be for up in the country, while many slave owners kept their slaves totally naked or only partially covered at home, none that I saw actually used them totally nude out on the streets.Here, however, Jomo had no qualms about it at all. He was known as a slaver, a perfectly respectable profession on that world, and such people never clothed their slaves. The sight of a stark naked slave was therefore not unexpected in these parts. I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind at all. I watched in barely suppressed glee as the two beauties high-stepped it along the roads, bits pulled back hard into their mouths, pony tails swishing erotically from side to side from their buttocks where its base was anchored firmly into their rectums and their other pony tails (which matched those poking gout of their bottoms) flying out behind them as they trotted along the roads.They were harnessed differently from the girls I had used on Dingane’s farm. This was an even more diabolical method and one that placed a terrible strain on their bodies but as Jomo pointed out to me, “we’re in the business of taming, conditioning and training slaves, Adam. This gives them total shame and humiliation; a level of pain that is near intolerable and a public exposure that makes them understand, once and for all, that they really are slaves …”Whereas Dingane’s gigs were attached to collars around his slaves’ necks, these were part of the dildos that went up their anuses and filled their rectums – behind the coupling, the tails swished from side to side). Let me detail them: The gigs had a single pole, as usual and this was divided in two near the front end. At the very end, the dildo with its loosely attached tail waited to be forced up their rectums. This alone wouldn’t have kept them in place, of course. There was therefore another part. In the case of males, this was a metal collar that was tightened, like a single handcuff, around his scrotum and penile root; and with a female, it was another dildo that went into her quim. The base of this unit was moveable up and down the shaft between their legs and once it was inserted and the base slid up the shaft to a point near the base of the rectal dildo, the differing angle of the two dildos kept the pole firmly up under their crutches. The pony tail was attached to the base of the dildo at such an angle that it poked up from their bottoms and this jerked nicely from side to side with every step.Believe me, to sit in that gig holding the reins and looking at the two pert buttocks with the tail poking out and up behind them, and the shaft disappearing between their pounding legs was a sight you could hardly credit.Certainly the people we passed on the roads weren’t put out by the sight although I know the two slavegirls were not at all pleased by it. I suppose it had to be the most shaming thing I had yet seen done to slaves on that planet and I was sure it would certainly achieve its aim of shaming any rather proud girls or boys for those were the ones usually chosen to take Jomo or a guest such as myself for a spin.Pony riding was not a normal pastime at that place. It was only used for this purpose or to give a guest such as me a real treat. I took it as such and I made the most of it, steering the two naked and so beautiful girls all over the district. I was actually disappointed when I knew I had to return them or the two dildos in their nether orifices might do some damage…I stayed nearly a month with Jomo and during that time we visited his emporium in the city a few times. Shortly, I will detail the first of those visits and how magnificent his sales outlet was. First however I want to tell of the punishments he used for recalcitrant slaves.The implants were used for instant retribution for perceived wrongs but if a slave showed signs of inherent rebelliousness or erred often, he or she was earmarked for a ritual punishment. These were carried out in front of the whole body of slaves, assembled in one of the gymnasia for the purpose. The case was always decided by Jomo himself and of course he always attended the punishment.
Chapter 6
The first of these ritual punishments was imposed by Jomo on a girl who failed to show a proper enthusiasm for lesbian sex. She continually refused to get into the spirit of the event and in desperation he ordered her punished.On the appointed day, early in the morning, with the whole body of slave trainees assembled in neat rows and columns on the floor of the gym, the girl was brought in to stand before Jomo. She was a beautiful girl with silky blonde hair, baby blue eyes and a smooth, apricot tinged skin. Her body was as good as all the girls there: slender but athletic and her muscles nicely apparent – just as I liked them. Her owner addressed her sternly. “You have been utterly recalcitrant, slavegirl, and you will now suffer on this machine for the day …”He stepped back to reveal a quite diabolical instrument of pure torture. It was designed only for females and it was a marvel of ingenuity. It was built of gleaming stainless steel and comprised a base of the shiny metal from the sides of which stood up two lengths of five millimetre thick steel. These were ten centimetres wide and came up as high as the girl’s armpits. At the top, the edges had been formed into saw teeth.About ten centimetres below the top of these uprights a bracket formed of the same metal stood out about twenty centimetres towards the front. This was only five centimetres high at the point it joined the upright and narrowed towards its end. Just before the ends, a hole had been drilled and in these was slotted a rectangular frame made from rods formed of the same shiny metal.The rectangular piece had two lugs poking out at the sides and these fitted into the holes allowing the rectangle to be rotated back and forth in a horizontal plane. The rod closest to the rear had a series up upward-pointing, extremely sharp tacks welded to it and I shuddered as I thought of them penetrating my flesh.At the front corners of the rectangle, further curving rods poked upward about ten centimetres and curved in towards the rear and at their ends were small eyelets from which dangled rawhide thongs on the end of which were crocodile clips with large serrated jaws. Under the middle of the front side of the rectangle was another lug and to this was hooked a small stainless steel bucket.The girl was led forward and placed inside the two uprights. Guards secured her ankles to manacles at their base and then raised her arms up and over the serrated tops of the uprights, tying her thumbs to cords which were then drawn out so that her arms were held horizontal and her armpits were resting on the saw teeth at their upper edge. The only way she could now get any relief from the teeth was to stand up on her tiptoes and I could see she was going to be in a lot of pain just from this.But worse – far worse was to come.Her breasts were at the moment pressed up against the rod nearest her, the one that formed the back of the rectangle. The guard now rotated this downwards and placed her two breasts over the nasty little tacks that poked upwards from its upper surface. She screamed as already they began to dig into the soft underside of her beautiful and so smooth breasts.Next, the two guards took up the crocodile clips and snapped them viciously onto her tits. They dug in horribly and I knew they wouldn’t come free until they were properly released. They undid the loose knots by which they were attached to the vertical rods and shortened them so that they exerted a fair pressure on her nipples, dragging them out from her body a little.The weight of the bucket, even empty, exerted a downward pull on the rectangle and this had a twofold counter-effect. It made the long and ultra-sharp tacks dig in painfully into the soft flesh of her breasts; and it tugged at her nipples, pulling them further out from her body.But they now made it worse. Water was poured into the bucket, adding to its weight and thus to the horror of her situation. As the guard had lifted her breasts onto the bar and allowed the tacks to dig into her flesh, she had screamed and her scream had gone on and on, but when they added water, in lots of half a litre at a time, she had really let fly.She was in a dreadful position. Her arms were extended horizontally out from her body, held there by the cords around her thumbs and after a while, this was painful in itself, but added to that was the effect of the saw tooth upper edge of the uprights under her armpits. Now, she also had the points of the long tacks driving deeper and deeper into the underside of her lovely breasts and as more weight was added to the bucket and it dropped lower and lower, pulling down the front of the rectangle and thus forcing the rod at the back up, the tacks drove deeper and deeper into her. And as they did, the cords attached to her tits pulled outwards, dragging her breasts out into elongated cones and this must have hurt horribly.All in all, she was in a dreadful position and I wondered if it was really necessary to go to these lengths to teach her the clearly necessary lesson.Jomo explained it to me. “Yes, I could have her caned or whipped and she would scream during the punishment, but then the marks would fade and she would forget the lesson. This is so diabolical a message, she will never forget it as long as she lives. Mark my words, Adam, after this, she will be eager to make love to any girl I choose and from now on, she will be a paragon of the ideal slave.”I had to bow to his wisdom. I knew he wasn’t a wanton sadist and he was the best slaver in the business.After an hour, the other slaves were herded out to their normal lessons and other activities but I stayed, now with a chair pulled up close in front of her, a cup of tea on a little table by my side.Of course she moved. It is quite impossible for a human being to remain absolutely still for more than a few seconds and every time she moved she made it worse for herself. The tacks welded to the rod at the back of the rectangle were diabolically sharp and were very slender. They thus punctured the soft underside of her breasts very easily and as she moved her torso, so did the bucket move and that made the sharp points dig in even deeper.Then there were the serrated edges of the uprights between which she was secured. To avoid them tearing at her armpits, she had to stand up on tiptoes and this caused more movement of her torso. It might be thought that rising up on to her toes would ease the biting attack of the tacks? No, quite the contrary. As she raised her body a few centimetres,, all that happened was that the angle of the rectangle altered. The bucket dropped even more and so the angle of the points of the tacks changed, scratching against the flesh of her breasts.And then, when her calf muscles became tired and she was forced to drop down again, the serrated teeth pressed against her soft armpits and her breasts pressed even harder against the sharp tacks.She moaned constantly and screamed occasionally as the teeth and the sharp tacks dug in further and further. And the weight of the bucket caused the little thongs to drag her tits out even more, forming them into real cones rather than the soft orbs they were in their natural state.I knew as I sat there, or occasionally got up to walk around her, admiring her body in this so terrible a punishment, that she would never again refuse to obey Jomo or any of his men. It was a lesson hard learned but one she would never forget.
The second time I watched a girl punished it was a quite different style of chastisement. Once more the slaves were assembled, all thousand-odd of them in the gymnasium. For this punishment, two steel rods with a triangular-shaped crosspiece joining them at their top, had been set into slots in the floor of the gym. The crosspiece was also made of gleaming stainless steel and the sharp side of the triangle faced up. It was about a metre and a half up off the floor and was two metres long.Above it, an electric winch was fixed to the ceiling and from this, two stainless steel wires ran out along the ceiling to two pulleys set about three metres either side of the winch. The wires were threaded through these and dangled down below the pulleys. At their ends were tiny thumb cuffs, also made of the same gleaming metal.Directly below the crosspiece was another, smaller hand operated winch and two more wires were wound around its barrel. Each of these also had a small single cuff on the end of the cord. Beside the thing was a tall step ladder.The girl to suffer the treatment today had been impertinent – and not just once. It seemed she was a rebel who needed to be taught a quick lesson. She too was beautiful but was much darker, her hair almost jet black and her eyes brown. Her skin was a definite olive colour and was nicely tanned, all over. But I could see the fire in her eyes as she tossed her fine head of hair defiantly. I smiled to myself. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen here but I knew she wouldn’t be as defiant when the day was over.After being addressed by Jomo, the guards, having set the ladder next to the crosspiece, forced her up it and then made her swing her leg across the thing. They then each knelt down on either side of her and snapped a cuff from the wires below her around her big toes. She was now unable to move her thighs much and as she settled down onto the sharp upper edge of the triangle, she realised how bad this was going to be.But she hadn’t noticed the winch above her head and now reached behind her body with one hand and in front of it with the other, easing the pressure on her vagina and her anus, on which two organs most of her weight now rested.She grinned as she thought she had licked her lord and master. He merely smiled up at her as one of the guards positioned the ladder and went up it for the first of the two wires while his partner operated the winch, lowering them down. The man up the ladder grabbed the little cuff near him and pulled it down then jumped off the ladder and moved over to the girl. She stared at him in consternation as he grabbed her hand and deftly snapped the tiny cuff around her thumb.Meanwhile, the other guard had taken hold of the other wire and was now grasping her other hand to snap its thumb into the like cuff. The two of them retreated now, one to put the ladder away, the other to go back to the wall switch and press the “up” button. She now screamed as she felt her arms being pulled out sideways. When her hands were a few centimetres above the level of her shoulders but were stretched out fairly taut, he desisted and his partner now knelt down at the winch below her, turning the handle so that the drum rotated and the ratchet clacked a few notches over the pawl, ensuring her thighs and legs were pulled down tight and her nether orifices nestled down hard on the triangle of metal between her legs.She screamed again as she realised she couldn’t even use her arms to pull her up off the horrible thing down there. In their outstretched position, she had almost no leverage but even if she had the wires securing her toes to the drum beneath her would have ensured she couldn’t pull herself up off it, even a little.She was there for the duration all right …As with the other girl, the body of slave trainees were kept there for an hour to stand and stare at the girl’s plight. They were quite silent, standing in perfect rows and columns, hands all up behind their heads, girls on one side, males on the other, all staring straight at the girl hanging up on the dreadful triangle of metal.After an hour they were allowed to go about their business and the guards also filed out, leaving Jomo and me alone with the girl.“Impertinence in a slave cannot be tolerated, Adam,” he whispered to me and I nodded. I knew it. He was quite right and despite my misgivings about the degree of these punishments, as I stared at this now very forlorn little rebel, my cock got harder and harder. She looked stupendous, hanging up there, her beautiful breasts pulled up and flattened slightly against her chest, her belly muscles writhing as she tried to keep calm against the terrible pain between her legs and in her arms and shoulders for they must have been aching as much as the metal between her legs was driving into the soft flesh of her vagina and anus.What a beauty, I thought as Jomo saluted me briefly and took his leave. But then whenever I saw any of these girls I thought the same thing. Every one of them was near perfect in physical appearance, and made even better by Jomo’s severe training. Of course the males were too but they didn’t appeal to me as much and for this reason I am not going to detail any of their punishments although I did witness a couple in the time I was there.The girl was strong, there was no doubt about that. After that first scream as her body sank onto the sharp edge of the triangle, she set her face in a determined expression and I smiled as I wondered how long she would be able to last.A slave brought me my cup of tea and set my chair and side table in place then bowed and left me alone with the girl. I wandered up close to her and stared at her nether regions. They were about on a level with my eyes and I marvelled at the classic beauty of her vaginal lips without the hairs that normally grace this portal. Without them, the lips were quite beautiful although now of course the triangle had intruded heavily inside the lips.The metal was formed in the shape of an equilateral triangle whose side were about five centimetres long. This meant that the angle of the edge on which her body rested was sixty degrees – fairly sharp but not enough to actually damager her flesh. It would cause her exquisite pain though before this day was over. That Jomo would beat her, cow her into an obedient slavegirl, I had no doubt. If he had had any doubts, he would have decided on an even more dreadful torture with which to punish her.Her lips pouted at the front as the metal pushed up into them and I wondered if her clit was caught across it. I doubted it but still … I moved closer and while she stared down at me in concern, I pushed open the lips. She screamed as the movement caused her fresh pain but I had already established the answer. No, the slit was resting on my side of the blade.I moved around to investigate her anus and grinned as I saw how the metal neatly bisected the ring of muscle. I ran my hands up and down her back and then came around to do the same to her thighs, her belly and breasts. Oh wonderful! So smooth and yet the muscle tone underneath was superb. If Kinto wasn’t such an expert at arousing me, I thought this girl would be wonderful in bed – at least she would once she was tamed.You might think I would get bored as I stayed and watched both these girls throughout the day? Not a bit of it. I sat there and stared or I got up and moved up close to her. Jomo had asked me not to talk to her and not to respond to her if she spoke to me and I respected his wishes. He said it would shame her more if I was simply there, looking at her constantly, occasionally fondling her naked flesh but otherwise ignoring her as a human being. It certainly seemed to for after trying to call on me to help her at which I simply stared at her, my face quite immobile, almost as if I hadn’t heard her, she eventually desisted.She knew better than to call me names for if she had, I would have shocked her. And so after finding me quite unresponsive, she simply hung there, unable to see down to her nether regions for her breasts hid her vagina from her view but believing she was already cut in two from the feel of the triangle between her legs.The day wore on. They brought me lunch, salmon sandwiches and a half bottle of Chardonnay, which I ate and drank ostentatiously in front of her, knowing she was both hungry and thirsty. It was all part of her punishment.Gradually, the pain wore her down and when Jomo came back, mid afternoon, to see how she was doing, she responded well to his questions.“How are you feeling, slavegirl?” he said softly.“Sore, master.”“Good. But are you sore enough to remember the lesson you are being taught, or shall I order you set up there again tomorrow?”“Oh no, master. I have learned. I will be a good slave …”“Very well. We shall see. But one hint of your recalcitrance and you will be back here in a shot and this time, instead of the wires to your big toes, we may attach heavy weights to them – even see if we can cut you in two …?”She screamed. “No, master. I will be good, really …”He winked at me as he left and shortly after that the other slaves filed back in to watch her final hour.I grinned as, later, after they had let her down, she waddled very uncomfortably out of the gym.
As I said, they also punished males but I was not interested in watching them suffer. I will tell of one last punishment meted out to a girl. This one had been less than scrupulous in cleaning out her bowels before offering her body for sex. Hygiene was a lesson that was instilled in every slave from the very beginning. Many masters liked to rape a slave’s anus and so they were all, male and female alike, taught how to douche themselves with repeated enemas until their bottoms were as clean as a whistle.This girl, Helga, a tall and muscular blonde slave from Germany, had repeatedly failed to do so and was now being ritually punished for her crime. It was designed to fit her offence but I gulped as I watched it carried out. It really was horrible.She was brought into the gymnasium and forced up against the back wall to which were stapled four lockable brackets in a row. They were placed at a height of two metres above the floor and below them a small step had been placed. The girl was made to step up this and stand against the wall with her back to it. Then, first her left arm and then her right were raised to a horizontal position and locked behind the brackets, one over her wrists, the other over her upper arm.The guards then knelt down and affixed manacles around her ankles to which they attached the end of two short chains. It was a simple matter then for them to each hoist her legs up and outwards, slipping a link on the chains over a hook affixed to the outermost brackets – the ones that held her wrists to the wall.She was now exposed in possibly the most obscene position it was possible to place a human being. Her arms were stretched out beside her shoulders while her legs were drawn up and outwards, wide apart so that her smooth vagina and anus were openly exposed to all and sundry. She was attached to the wall high enough so that each of the thousand or so other slaves assembled to watch the first stages of her punishment could see her very plainly indeed.On the floor in front of where she was so indecently shackled to the wall, there was a recessed plumbing fitting; one of those automatic outlets that were both valve and coupling in one. One of the guards now walked over holding a coil of rubber hose with fittings on either end.The first of these was the floor fitting. It comprised a short upright pipe whose base fitted directly into the valve set into the floor. At the top of this was a pedal operated valve and just below this the outlet to which was attached the rubber hose. On the other end of the hose was a large dildo with a solid-looking ball near its base.The girl hanging on the wall looked fearfully at this equipment as the guard plugged the pipe into the floor fitting, then unwound the hose and approached her. He grinned at her as he placed the blunt, rounded end of the dildo against her puckering anal ring and simply pushed it in.She screamed as her anus was rudely stretched open to admit the invader but her screams were even more strident when he came to the ball. The dildo was about three centimetres in diameter but the ball was around six and it stretched her anus horribly as the guard kept pushing it right inside her.And then her anus closed around the very base of the dildo. There was a length of about five centimetres below the ball and this now poked right out of her anus.Jomo moved up to her now and again read the riot act to her, informing her that since she had not learned her hygiene lessons properly, they were enforcing them here and now.He lifted his right leg and pushed the pedal down. Later, he told me this sent a measured dose of exactly two hundred and fifty mils of icy water into her bowels. He patted her belly, which still showed no sign of the dose, of course, and smiled. “Mr Blair here, is going to add to your medicine every fifteen minutes until you have a full three litres swelling your bowels. It will therefore take three hours to fill you up. You will then remain in that position all day … I suspect you will find the punishment more than a little stimulating,” he said finally, turning away and smiling at me as he left the room.I hadn’t known I would be doing this but I now looked at the clock on the wall. It was exactly eight o’clock. By eleven, she would be filled and then have to face six hours of agony as the water churned away inside her body, I thought.I was right. At quarter past eight, I stepped on the pedal once more and her face screwed up as the water jetted into her rectum and forced its way up into her intestines. Then, at each quarter hour I did it again. Jomo’s veterinary was there with me and if he decided she couldn’t take any more he would intervene but he told me that while three litres would give her terrible pains; cramping agonies that would bite and snarl at her, it shouldn’t be any more than she could take.And so it proved. As each of the measured doses squirted into her bottom, her belly started to distend and eventually she looked as if she was carrying triplets, at least. It poked out obscenely between her up and outstretched legs and her vagina also gaped openly at me.By the time she had received each of the twelve doses, her face was a picture of misery. The dildo stayed inside her – it would act as a plug to keep the water from squirting out of her.But it didn’t stop there. Every now and then, the guard who remained with us produced a long, knobbly-shaped dildo and thrust it rudely into her quim, expertly working it so that it roused her libido and brought her to a series of climactic orgasms. These of course made her agony even worse for as her body went into the convulsions of sexual pleasure, they exacerbated the cramping pain in her belly and bowels.Every half hour or so he repeated these ministrations, stroking her fine breasts as he worked the dildo in and out of her vagina while she moaned and screamed in pain and frustration. The pain was there all the time; the frustration came from not being able to stop him exciting her and making it worse.All day she hung there until at four o’clock the slaves filed back in to watch silently as she suffered the final hour of her degradation and pain. She was now near the end of her tether. Her suspension alone, even without the enormous enema inside her body, must have been awful but then she had the exhausting orgasms to contend with as well. It is well known that while a male is capable of only three or four orgasms at the most before he is fully spent, females can experience near continuous climaxes. This isn’t to say however that they are not tiring. Far from it and Helga, strong and all as she no doubt was, was no exception.Her face was haggard and her body gleamed with sweat while her belly poked out obscenely between her widely stretched thighs. The guard, as well as the vet and I had constantly stroked her as we felt like it and this must have been horrible for her too. But of course she was only a slave and had to get used to us masters fondling her body as we felt like it.She was let down at five and, as they lowered her legs to the step, I was appalled at the enormity of her protruding belly. They kept the dildo inside her as they undid the brackets and then led her away for the water to be extruded. I followed along while the vet grinned at me. “It will not be pleasant, Adam,” he said, wrinkling up his nose and I laughed but then sobered up quickly as I watched Helga struggling to waddle along in front of me, holding her gigantic belly in both hands and still moaning and groaning in her agony.The vet set her astride a waste basin in his clinic and then whipped the dildo straight out of her. This had the effect of shocking her anal ring into an uncontrollable spasm that allowed the first of many stinking jets of brownish water to spurt from her body in short-fire bursts. It took quite a few minutes for her belly to shrink and her body to expel all of the three litres of water – that’s over five pints in the old measure or two and a half quarts – an enormous enema by any standards.She was still in a state of shock at the dreadful events of her day but I knew she would be scrupulously clean from now on about preparing her body – inside as well as out, for her master or mistress.In fact, the next morning, I went along to watch as she prepared herself for her sex training session and I grinned as I watched her douche herself repeatedly, examining her wastes carefully after each dose, just to make sure there wasn’t a hint of waste matter in the clear water she now expelled from her bottom.There were many, many other punishment machines available to Jomo. He kept them in an open-fronted part of his factory where the slaves could see them as they trotted out to do their work in the fields.I had inspected them at length during my first week there and had had to be guided as to the use of some of them. There were rods with ghastly looking dildos at the tops – dildos that would stretch and bruise a slave’s anus horribly. I was told the slave was impaled on this thing and his (or her) legs raised and outstretched so they were nearly parallel with his body while his thumbs were attached to cords dangling above his head. As he tried to relieve the awful stretching of his anus by pulling up on his arms, the nasty little blunted spikes on the surface of the dildo grazed the sensitive lining of his anus and caused him dreadful pain.Then there was the frame over which his arms were stretched behind him and his ankles pulled out to the bases. They then brought in a brazier in which glowed lighted coals. When they placed this between his (or her) legs the heat gently roasted his genitals. It didn’t actually cook them but they were sore for many days afterwards.Another, even simpler punishment was to make a girl kneel with her hands outstretched, palms upwards. They placed a heavy book in each one and a dildo in each of her nether orifices, then lashed at her back with a whip. If she faltered, the implant was activated, sending a horrible shock to her clit. Of course she then dropped the books but the punishment was started all over again …Oh yes, he had dozens of punishments, all designed to cow any slave who wasn’t instantly obedient and knuckled down to his or her new life …
Chapter 7
I mentioned earlier that Jomo’s principle selling place was in the heart of the central business district of the city. He took me to see it quite early in my stay with him. It was a quite incredible place: the essence of luxury but also of exquisite good taste. The carpets on the floors in the various showrooms were thick and of the best quality; the panelling on the walls of a lustrous wood with a really beautiful grain; the paintings that hung on the walls above the wood panelling were those of real masters; while the chandeliers that hung from the high ceilings above us were huge and comprised of thousands of pieces that glittered magnificently.There were four main showrooms. These were for Asian and European slaves, divided into male and female. He didn’t mix these four basic classes but there were also smaller rooms where mixed-race slaves and eunuchs were shown and there were also a series of small rooms where his special clients were treated to individual showings of slaves selected by the senior salesman who was looking after them, for their personal inspection.In the main rooms, the slaves were displayed on beautiful, highly polished marble columns, each a metre high and topped with a column of the Corinthian order. It wasn’t necessary of course, but for the sake of form, each slave’s left ankle was manacled to a short chain stapled to the top of the column.Each slave was performing a series of movements to background music that was just loud enough for them to hear but over which Jomo’s clients could still talk to one another without raising their voices. These motions were in the form of an adagio movement that involved the hands up in the air and describing circular motions, the body swaying this way and that and the legs moving in time with the rest of the body. They were designed to show it off to best advantage and every slave in the room was following exactly the same movement.I knew they were taught these movements at the factory just prior to being sent into the city but as I stood there that first time, staring around me at the thronging customers and up at the slaves who were all perched a metre above them, I knew just how skilled my host was at his craft.Nothing could have been better to show the slaves off to their best advantage. Not the luxury and good taste of the surroundings, nor the way the slaves were undulating their bodies slowly and gently, but with such grace and feeling, there wouldn’t have been a soft cock in the room, not even in the male rooms for I found my own to be inflamed by the sight of the males performing the same slow undulations as in the female rooms.Naturally, Jomo didn’t send a slave down here unless he or she was at the absolute peak of fitness; his skin quite perfect and his skills as sharp as the proverbial tack. Every single one of them was quite perfect and as Jomo left me to wander around the huge emporium, I stared up at the various slaves in awe. You are surprised? So was I. For the last few months, I had been surrounded by slaves who started out as youthful examples of prime human flesh and were then conditioned and trained, both physically and mentally until they were paragons of the ideal slave.This was all very true but now inside the splendour of the four main showrooms, they seemed to take on an even more magnificent appearance. Perhaps it was that they were all naked, their bodies smooth and fine, their muscles honed to absolute perfection, while most of the other people in the room, all black of course, were clothed in sober suits or, if female, very smart attire.These people were all from the upper echelons of society of course. If you didn’t have the entrée to his emporium, you simply didn’t get in. And to gain that entrée you had first to establish your credentials. Money, that is. The nouveaux riche had as much access as the nobility and lesser aristocracy but they behaved with as much decorum in the place as anyone else. There was no pushing and shoving in that place; people moved in ones or twos from one column to another, standing under it and staring up at the beautiful boy or girl, consulting the placard in the silver stand beside it from time to time but mostly just staring up at him or her, perhaps working out how he might fit in with his other slaves or whether the huge asking price was really within his means.I won’t mention the actual prices asked, for their currency was quite different from ours. Suffice to say each boy or girl marketed by Jomo would, in American terms at the beginning of the third millennium, be in the order of a quarter of a million dollars so you can see they weren’t cheap. Of course this was the absolute top price. These were the best slaves anywhere in the world. You could pick up a labourer for as little as fifty thousand dollars (equivalent) and a menial female domestic for not much more, but the slaves being offered here were not only the pick of the good-lookers from all over Asia and Europe, they were also trained to be the very best of domestic servants – perhaps like the proverbial English butler who ran a huge household with quiet efficiency and was there but not obtrusive…These slaves were obtrusive all right, if only for their startling beauty, but they had another attribute as well and this one was the principle reason for their incredibly high price. They were also masters at the art of pleasuring a man or a woman. Female and male slaves alike could provide sexual pleasure to their master or mistress or to anyone else he or she might give them to – as both Dingane and Jomo (and N’dona) had to me. And no matter what their own personal sexual leanings had been, they could now give exquisite pleasure to either male or female and their partner would not be able to even guess if they were actually enjoying the service – such was their training.As I say, I wandered around the first room – I had decided to begin with the European males, then the Asian males, then the European females and lastly the Asian females for in ascending order, these were my sexual preferences. Not that the European males were not incredible paragons of beauty and grace; they most certainly were. All young – from eighteen to early twenties; all very handsome with complexions that ranged from the northern blond, blue-eyed hunk to the darker Mediterranean type. But all were magnificent, no matter where they came from and each one was undulating his body to the slow music, each thrusting out his loins, his cock (all hard as they could be, of course) juddering slightly and his balls swinging below its root or tucked up under it, his belly muscles ripping, thighs cording, biceps muscles flexing – and all in exactly the same movement, as in a chorus line, while the hundreds of clients moved quietly around, staring up at the dozens of boys thus displayed.I did the same, taking my time for we would be here all day, staring up at the first boy for quite some minutes before moving on to the second, and so on. Then I moved into the Asian male room and here my interest was quickened even more for just as I prefer Asian females to their European counterparts, so did I like these boys better than the whites. I’m not sure why, perhaps it is their natural physiques that appeals more. They tend to be more slender and yet naturally athletic… Or was it their so fine skin? Whatever the reason, I moved from one boy to the next eyeing off the Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Thai and Malayan types with undisguised lust. Oh yes, I could fuck one of these handsome young studs, I knew that …Then I moved into the white females room and now I spent more time as I moved from column to column, staring up at their lithe slender bodies, their beautifully firm breasts and their so naked vaginas. The females danced a different movement. It was still slow and exquisitely sensuous but it didn’t include the thrusting of the male loins so as to show off their virility. The girls’ loins still moved of course but now it was with a motion that made their nether lips pout and open to show off their inner charms and figuratively to invite entry to the masses of people collected in front of them, all staring up at them quite openly.But I was glad to get to the Asian females showroom. Here were the girls who so intrigued me. Here were the girls from all those countries (well they weren’t countries on that world but you get the picture) I mentioned above and had much the same racial characteristics as they do on my own Earth.Here were the slender bodies, the smallish breasts, the lithe muscles and the sexual organs that so inflamed me. I stared up at each of them in turn and I thought of Kinto back home at the factory and how I was going to pleasure her this evening. I smiled ruefully as I thought that none of these girls, beautiful and all as they were, came within a bull’s roar of my wonderful slavegirl back there.And yet I gloried in these girls, all of whom were performing with exquisite grace to the music. I think Asians (as a group) are more graceful than any other race and of course these girls were trained on top of that. The result was a series of naked, hairless slavegirls who presented a picture of magnificent beauty and grace. To stand at the top of the room and look down it at the dozens of girls, all moving in the exactly the same way to the music (and ignore the hundreds of customer below them), was to witness a ballet as beautiful as anything our ballet companies can put on.
But you want to know what happened to me?Of course I returned to my own planet but once there I began to make preparations. I informed my family and friends that I was leaving America to work in Africa (which was largely true). I never released details of my invention, of course. I didn’t want people to come and find me but in any case, I wasn’t sure of the social and physical implications of ‘sliding’ on a large scale.I liquidated all my remaining assets, which were considerable, and converted them into diamonds and then I returned to Dingane’s farm until I was able to purchase my own property. Jomo made a present of Kinto to me – against my protests, for I wanted to buy her. But he said he enjoyed my company so much he wanted me to have her …I bought Chulakorn from Dingane and these two girls now look after me. They both sleep in my bed and there is no jealousy between them. Of course their implants were transferred to my central computer but I have never needed to use a controller on either of them.I am now considering my future. I don’t want to pursue my career as a physicist. Having discovered the secret of sliding between different dimensions of time and space, I don’t know what new sphere might interest me.Jomo has suggested I might like to set up as a specialist slave dealer and promised to help me if I so choose. Perhaps dealing in exquisite young female Asians might appeal, I don’t know. I don’t really have to do anything and at the moment, it is pleasant going from my own home to Dingane’s farm and back to Jomo’s factory for a few weeks at a time …I just don’t know …

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