This is the first instalment of many - one in which you can take part. Mail me,
or visit my group, tell me about yourself - or your alter ego. Each person a
character in the scenario we build, woven together by story and however else we
create it. Colour and creed are unimportant - come as you are and be what you
have always felt, express your deepest desires. This is a place where slaves and
submissives are taken and treated without mercy, and sexual pleasure is the
driving force.
It is run by Mistress, a powerful dominant woman who will treat each applicant
for membership as if they were a slave at market, or a potential peer. Become
part of the story.... and enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Breaking him in
In the morning he had been defiant still. Still standing his ground, despite
the truth of what he was...what She was. As she pressed him to his knees, his
twine cuffed wrists bound to the rope collar at his neck, he had bellowed his
resistance to the forests. His strength belied his subjugated being, tore him
apart inside. This man, this powerful blacksmith, could no more resist her
possession than he could hold his thirst at a pool of fresh water.
Her voice, firm and soft in his ear as she bent forward, her breasts scented at
his nostrils as she half cradled, half stifling him there. Her nipple, full and
ripe at his mouth as she told him to suckle; and he in his need unable to do
otherwise. His mouth filling with her desiring her, taking comfort in her
through the churning turmoil of his struggling psyche. Her voice, holding him
there, bringing him to her, making him want her, enslaving him. He wanted,
needed, had to be hers; yet he couldn't. How could he? He was man, he had the
power.
Except he didn't. Not in any form he had felt it before.
Tearing his mouth from her breast she lifted him, her strength as much in her
presence and being as in her physicality. He stood, leant, pressed forward by
her body against the tall wooden stake that he had erected at her command the
day before. Then it had been some kind of tall tethering post, now, as she
unbound one wrist and then the other, securing each in turn to the steel hoop he
had fashioned and fixed high in the post, he knew what for.
As he hung there, feet parted by a jerk of her booted foot against naked one
his, he felt her voice and her heat once more. The blindfold smothered his
lightness and gasped his fight aloud once more.
Silence, a brief, full moment when her body detached from his.
Then, fire. Raining down over his taut fleshed back. Down and down. Lash and
slash and flash against his skin. Making him twitch and yell and scream into
the emptiness of the day. Making him call to all his angels to save him from
this place he craved to be. Making him fly to her even as he fought to flee.
All his life there had been a need, something unfathomable to his soul. Now he
knew he had found Her.
Then calm. The fierce, so precise cutting flog of the long leather whip
stilled. His body lowered by her touch to kneeling, the movement almost
imperceptible to his altered consciousness, his wrists recoupled at a second,
lower tethering hoop. For a brief tide of seconds his balls, clasped and
twisted in her leather gloved hand, wrought tight to uncontained screaming
point.
As the echoes of his screams died in the silence, her footsteps steadily
retreating across the creak of a wooden verandah, into nothingness.
Silence.
Silence crashing through his being, deafening his soul.
Silence screaming though his need, taking him.
No touch, no sound.
No Her.
Only the dry, desperate pain in him to feel her.
For long, wrenching minutes, hours perhaps. There was no time in his world now.
Only need.
And Her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The dry dust caked beneath his knees as he knelt there, in the humid air of the
midday waiting. Leaning, gasping deep heaving sobs into the hollow air, his
chest pressed against the thick wooden pole, to which his wrists remained tied,
together and high. His long body stretched, whip lashed back angry in the
blazing sun.
The sweat dripped, mixed with the salt of his tears as he hung his head in the
exhaustion of flogged submission. He keened in his profound silence, his sprit
begging for release, his mind screaming in final exertion of challenge, yet
yelling that he could fight no more. Above him, vultures flew in useless hope,
sensing his growing destruction.
Footsteps, behind him again. To his left. From the direction of the big wooden
house that lay at one end of the courtyard in which he was centred. He strained
to hear through the crashing rush of the blood that pumped in his ears to the
beat of his heart.
The tall woman, ample in her stature, confident in her manner walked slowly to
the kneeling, naked form. He had been there long enough, she had decided; but
he was almost there now. Virtually broken. His defiance had stimulated her,
his sense of self and his sprit and her sense that it was there for the taking.
That she could see her possession of him growing bought her a rush of liquid
pleasure. This, her first slave, was proving to her that she had been right in
her decision. Last night, as she had taken him to her bed a free and proud man,
urgent in his lusts, she had known her instincts were right. Not for nothing
had she taken him to work for her.
Almost at his side now, she inspected the wheals in his flesh. Ran her
fingertips along one, seeing him shudder, hearing his breath heave in his chest,
and the gasp of his anguish. Mmmm...she had flogged him well. Looking down she
enjoyed the contrasting shades of their skin, as she pressed her semi naked
thigh to his flanks. For the briefest of moments she felt him press against
her, seeking some kind of comfort, even in his final feeble throes of
resistance. Reaching her hand to his head, she grasped his thick dark hair
through her fingertips, the fist she formed there holding him tight, the
sensation like fire through his body.
She yanked his head up and back, exposing his face to the sun and her mouth.
Pulling his body up to her height, leaving him almost hanging by the hair from
her hand she penetrated his mouth with hers, and feasted. Hungry for him now.
Ripping the blindfold from him he blinked into her light and she took his sprit
with her eyes.
At that moment he felt as if his entire soul had been wrenched from him; as if
she had consumed it, spat it out and formed him as something new. His cock
raised to her, the slave in him burst into her possession, and he was hers.
Cutting the ropes at his wrists she let him fall hard to the ground. Kicking
him, she ordered him to his hands and knees. Flicking the leather crop she had
detached from her belt smartly against at his raw arse flesh she quietly told
him to crawl. And he did. Passively beside her, dog like, broken to her,
devoted to her. This tall strong man enslaved, he followed her into the
plantation house, knelt between her knees as she lounged back on the big sofa in
the entrance hall. His cock straining, aching now, he paid homage to his
Mistress, lapping at her sex, tasting her approval for the first time. Burying
his tongue deep between her hairless folds and into her sex, he knew. He had
come home at last.
As she felt him surge in his serving of her she smiled. This man, now no more
than intelligent livestock to add to the cattle, horses and other animals that
would keep this place self sufficient, had been well chosen. His previous life
as a blacksmith and leather crafter would ensure her wider more practical needs
were met. His physique, strength and fitness would ensure that her more
personal needs were satisfied. Holding his head tight into her crotch she
started to ride against his face, humping at him as her orgasm flooded through
her and into his mouth and over his face. Marking him.
First lust satisfied for a few moments, she lay back against the body hugging
fabric of the huge chair, revelling in the rippling pulses of her indulgence as
he lapped gently at her lips like a devoted pet. She smiled, her cunt still
twitching small pulses of pleasure through her body. Ah yes, truly the right
decision. Buying this house, its buildings, its grounds, filling it with slaves
for her satisfaction, to work the plantation, to serve her needs was the best
thing she could have done.
She pressed her shin against his slick headed turgid cock, enjoying his gasped
response against her clitoris. Pushing him back and down to the flagstoned
floor she stood, quietly telling him to go to the forge, prepare the irons he
had been making and light the brazier.
Instinctively now, he kissed at her feet, almost worshipping Her in the
overwhelming rightness of his sense of being. He stayed there, head to the
floor, knees bent beneath him, as she turned and left the room.
The door closed, and he heard her move to her room. Sure that She had gone, he
moved and stood, walking, naked still, across the courtyard to his hut.
Lighting the coals and preparing his tools, he feared and yearned what he felt
certain now was to come.
And in her subtly opulent room she peeled away her clothes, and stepped into the
refreshing stream of her shower. Smoothing the scented soap over her body he
face at once softened and enlivened. Ah yes, with her first slave tamed and
ready for shackling and branding- her first piece of stock broken in, she was
ready to move on...
...to populate her plantation......
