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......
The night before his breaking in Mmmmmm... Such delicious orgasm can come in the privacy of personal space. Her body was alive beneath her caressing hands as she soaped and refreshed in the powerful warmth of her shower. Reliving the night before and the day since the memories flashed through her. Of him, after his time of waiting and wanting, coming to her at her invite, dining on the simple meal with her in the kitchen. Of their first hungry kiss, her desire matching his. Ravenous mouths intense in their craving. Of him, stripping away his clothes, to reveal a hard proud body, forged of his craft. Full balls; a cock of proportions that she made her flood to see that her intuition had been correct. There would be many types and sizes in the future, many that would satisfy her in countless ways, but this one she had picked and lured to her, unknown to him, from pure instinct. She had known, almost without doubt, when she had first seen him at his craft in the town and seen his arrogant manner with those that he engaged. Then seen the dark need that even he hadn't fathomed, blazing in his eyes as he displayed his proud cool compliance to her when she entered his place and with dominant grace ordered from him her first item. The silver handled whip with the hard leather tails, the livid lashed memory on his flesh in his taking. Soon after that he had come to her, entered into her employ, living at her estate, compelled there by his need, not knowing yet what that need was, or why he had followed it. Her mind wandered back to the night before, mirrored by fingertips that wandered between her labia once more playing her lust through the remembered vision of him, stood there, transfixed, almost nervous. Urgent and eager at the sight of her removing her dress to reveal the naked voluptuousness of her body beneath, hardly bearing to think he could touch her. And then reaching out to touch. She remembered his mouth so urgent and eager, feeding his lusts from her breast and her body. His hands, his legs, his chest, his tongue and teeth all concurring to have his pleasure. His whispering of her name into the thick night and her arousal. His pleasure, bringing her hers a hundred fold, in ways he would never imagine. And of the satisfaction of his penetration, as she allowed him to enter and enjoy her, she dancing to his rhythm, almost imperceptibly controlling his responses. So subtle, that movement, he barely knew it was happening, but even as he fucked and rode, he was growing as hers hers, deep in his sex and soul. Their storming orgasm as each came, together and alone in the same moment - strangers but held in that space and mutual storm. His breath as he lay there, sleeping in the after lust of his animal passions. The memory of that moment filled her with a rush of knowing and pleasure - the peace after the pure wild sex, before she tamed the beast. She had no intention of losing the animal in him, only of taming it to her. When the Smith had woken, deep in the night, there in her bed, it was to her caress, her kiss - and the throbbing insurgency in his cock. And to a realisation that there was a rope around his neck, attached to the wrought iron bed head he had crafted for he the week before. Not holding him in one place, just constraining him lightly. Like a stallion, lightly haltered. He had groaned, surged, and needed - a single rope opening up a chasm of being that he had hidden form his reality all his life. And then. She had taken him. For the first time she had shown him what this could, and would be. She had altered the press of her palms on his chest to a squeezing, powerful pummel, she had held his testicles and squeezed so excruciatingly firm and gentle he had thought they would explode. She had turned him on the pivot of his lightly tethering collar, raised him up and explored his buttocks and the cleft between, before sinking a single finger sudden and deep inside him, pressing her pelvis to his left buttock as he screamed and yelled in pure sensation. Then, turning him once more, she had ridden him. Hard and long, there in the indigo darkness of the jungle night. No moon tonight, only the unadulterated knowing of her physicality consuming his. As she had mounted his splayed-back body, holding his hands above his head, positioning himself he had felt the heat and wet of her arousal at his cock tip. Her large, full nippled breast had sought its pleasure at his mouth as she had circled his glans with her cunt entrance. Slowly, at first, letting him feel her. God, he had never felt a woman like this before, had never stopped to know , always plunging in and having his fuck, because that was what he knew. Until then. The slow pulse of her inner sex taking his shaft in inches, to the root, taking his soul to the core. Then up, off and plunged back down so hard he thought his body would break. Except it didn't...it all but exploded as she started to gallop her body against her human steed. Until once more, and once more and once more she had come, and finally he had erupted, as a tiger released, deep into her vagina. And then she had tied him - binding him taut, he puppy like in the soft compliance of his satiation. He had slept in fitful profundity, there in her huge, deep bed, bound to her now in more than his body. In the morning dawn there had been more. She had woken him, left his bound ankles tied and loosened his wrists. She had moved him with her hands navigating him to pleasure her body, whispering her wants in the silence of the room, until they were his only focus. His balls filling, cock straining, he wanted, and didn't want. Now all that he knew was her, and her desires. She had cum and cum, and he had watched and felt her pleasure in the half light. Then she had pushed him to the floor, the long leash at his throat still tied to the bed, told him he had woken her well, and had left him there, while she went to urinate. He lay on the boarded ground, dazed by the truth of this, his ears filled with the stream of her being, and slowly fought back into the truth of the day. As the reality hit him he found himself yelling to the room that he could not, would not be possessed. Fighting the bonds, screaming his resistance, confronting the power of her possession in the individuality of himself. How could this woman, with half his physical strength have got him here, and made him feel this way. His body lashed against the floor as his roared defiance broke the day into some kind of madness. In a flashing moment the whip had lashed down against his half curled body, stilling him instantly into silence. She had pressed one foot against his head, pinning it, without pain, to the floor, and moved her other foot to his cock, oppressing that, too, down to the floor, toying with it, not hurting yet, but with the threat of anguish at a fraction more pressure. Leaning down, she had reached for his wrists and bound them tight behind his back - hog tying them to his ankles, taking his rope leashed neck she had loosened, then re-bound it to the bed leg, and she walked away, leaving him in his turmoil. Her words "We both know what you are, what you will be. What you have always been, deep inside. Your resistance is most enjoyable, but wasted" had rung firm to his ears and echoed in his brain as she had moved from the room and left him sobbing. Hearing her move, humming to herself as she readied herself for the day, he had lain there for countless time, eyes closed in instinctive, agonised denial of his state. He had pictured her as her sounds enveloped his senses...tall, powerful, her straight brown hair hanging soft against her face, the flash of her hazel eyes imprinted in his existence. And then, deep in his painless agony he had felt the blindfold, cool in its leather newness over his eyes and almost cried out with the comfort of it. She had released his coupled wrists from his ankles, untied his feet, unleashed his throat from the bed and guided him to standing. Holding both leash and his left arm she had guided him, quietly talking words he could not fathom, out into the courtyard, and the whipping post that stood there. To break him in and take his final resistance. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As the naked Mistress found her solitary pleasure in waterfall stream of her sensual shower, revelling in the touch of her hands and the memories of the hours before, the denuded Smith prepared his forge, his mind and body filled too, with the essence of what he was becoming. What he was. Lighting the brazier from the coals of the forge, a tear fell slow on his cheek. The leather he was so skilled at crafting hung ready in the next room, in this were the tools, iron and means by which he had begun to fashion some of the first essentials of her domain. He knew now why a Smith was so important to her, and why she valued and desired his metal and leather craft skills in equal measure. He knew too that he was here, in this place because it was his place to be Hers. In her time, when the shower was done and she was refreshed, re-dressed and ready, her footsteps fell once more across the courtyard. He felt dog-like in his perception of her, alert to her movement, wanting her to come to him, obedient in staying where he had been sent. Already devoted. He could not even look up to see her, her presence was too great in his soul. Instead, instinctively, he knelt, head bowed, his flesh gleaming against the light of the forge. Offering himself willingly now into her being. Nothing had been said, but he knew now that the item he had made yesterday, was not only for the purpose he had first thought. He knew now that there were to be more cattle in this place than conventional beasts. He knew that he was one of them. It was written in his soul. Is it ready? She asked... His eyes lifted and crossed to the brazier in the back of his hut The iron, a simply ornate 'K, settled in its coals, burned orange. Burned for him. For Her.
Come to the Plantation. A secluded, semi-tropical place cooled by breeze from the nearby seas, surrounded by deep jungle on three sides, a small lake and fields to the south. The high compound walls that lie around the fields surrounding the lake are more to keep intruders out as occupants in. Mountainous cloud forest to the north produces copious fresh water and this fertile land produces all its inhabitants need. The only access is a well made dust track from the town, 20 miles away up a long peninsula across a steep, bridged gorge which isolates it from the mainland. A large wooden house stands at the centre of the grounds; simple yet opulent in its decor. To the north of the house a driveway gives access to steps to a heavy, little used mahogany door, then leads around to the south side where a large courtyard is surrounded by slave huts, cells, workshops, stables and stock sheds, with a path leading to the fields. A dark basement lies beneath the house. On the ground floor, facing south, is a wide wooden veranda, looking out over the courtyard. A great entrance hall stretches between the front and back of the house, off this lie a sitting room a library, a study, kitchen, dining room and 3 or 4 more. Up wide curving stairs are, among others, Mistress's personal rooms. This is a place to share BDSM fantasy. It will be what we make it: each member a character in the scenario we build, woven together by story and however else we create it. Colour, creed and sexual preference are unimportant. Come as you are and be what you have always felt. Express your deepest desires. This is a place where slaves are treated without mercy and sexual pleasure is the driving force. Come by choice or by force, stay because this is your destiny and purpose. The Plantation is run by Kiva, a dominant woman who will relish your enslavement, possess your soul and use you to her will. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Branding the Smith As he knelt he felt her hand lightly brush against his scalp. It set him alight. Instinctively he prostrated to kiss her feet, worshiping the uncovered toes that peeped freshly polished thought her silletoed sandals. There was no escaping it now, no desire to escape it either. He was devoted, bound to her in more than just his body. This woman was fundamental. Powerful presence in his existence now, and his existence was to serve, to pleasure, to work, to protect her. She pulled her toes from his suckling, caressing tongue, in an effort of control on her part. She wanted him again, and his mouth worked so exquisitely there that she had felt the tingle in her groin rising rapidly. But sexual satisfaction was not on her agenda. For now, at least. She moved, and he stayed, knelt forward, head to the floor, transfixed by his enslavement. He hear her stir the iron in the coals, heard her admiring words as she lifted it to see the 'K' he had formed. She had ordered this for the small herd of cattle that would arrive in the next hour or so...but now she saw another propose. Whilst he was infinitely more precious to her, in terms of purpose, intelligence and devotion than the animals she would have here, he was no more than a bull, horse, ram or dog in his rights or absolute value in here eyes. And so, he would be branded, just as would the rest of her slaves. Marked by his own iron, the first of her herd. She would test the form of her cipher on his flesh, and only then, if it was perfect, would she use it to mark the rest of her stock. She prodded him with the toe of her red leathered right foot. "Bring me the book, Smith." The book. A huge ancient tome of hand made paper, clothed in deep burgundy leather with gold leaf adornments to edges and corners. As soon as she had seen it in the old shop in the town she had known it was perfect for the job. He stood, almost hesitating with the enormity of the movement in the depth of his subjugation, and moved slowly through the small archway between forge and workshop, to lift from its casket the book that he had so lovingly tended, oiled and bought back to perfection. Watching his naked back and firm buttocks, contemplating the crude rope collar still around his throat like a remnant of his resistance, she remembered and looked forward. This place, this moment. They were like a pivot in her existence. As a girl, she had known this place so intimately, and it had changed little since, bar some cosmetic alterations. They had moved from there when she was a teenager, her Father having decided to take up a post in the company in town, and the plantation, for a few years had been in the possession of an old family friend. Her family were long gone now. Parents dead, her first grieving for then softened to quiet smiling memory and the knowing that life moved on. The boy - her brother by birth, if not by blood - the one on whom she had first found and honed her dominance, long gone to his own fortunes. Her early born child, cradled in her fate, had passed too, but she felt no sadness now. Bearing her, and the after effects of that had left her free from concern, ripe in her sexuality and the fullness of her body and breasts. She revelled in the strength and purpose in her life, and had lived it well. Having her relationships, relishing them, always knowing what she wanted. Always determined to bring this place back into her family, to be the place that she had always known it could be. Now she was back. Where she had always wanted to be, where her spirit belonged. The cattle were ordered, the horses, chickens, goats dogs and pigs. The seed grain would come, and the tools could be made, the jungle would offer up its own secrets to enrich the life she would form. The smith shuffled back into the forge, and fell to his knees once more at her feet, offering her the heavy book on outstretched forearms looking up at her, breathing her in, needing her possession. Knowing he was Hers. Taking the book, she placed it on his bench. Taking his rope bound neck she pulled him to stand, then bent him forward across the bench, to lie torso to wood, beside the book. Taking his sharpest knife she cut the rope from his neck and wrists, the flame glistening steel half shocking him with the intensity of its presence against his flesh. "It's your choice now, Smith. You leave or you stay. If you stay it is as my slave. Forever" She stood back. Offering him his moment, giving him his time to stand and leave. His mind no longer fought, his emotions were at one in his spirit. He could no more lift his body from that bench than he could cut a limb from his body. This was his existence, this was his universe. There was nowhere else in his being now, except to serve Her. "Mistress, please" Smith's words were quiet, but clear. She touched his left shoulder in silent acceptance, brushed her thigh against his arm as she turned to the corner of the room. He heard the clatter of the coals as she lifted the iron from then, stayed motionless as she walked towards him. His closed eyes filled his need, his nostrils filled with the smell of her and the heat. And his body and lungs screamed out in pain as the brand bit and burned clean and clear into the flesh of his left buttock, and again, turned rapidly round, into the skin of his right fore shoulder. Crying in pain and absolute completeness, he called her name over and over while she kissed her possession into his soul. She stood, now, separating her body from his. Leaving him bereft but whole. Moving back to the brazier once more, she plunged the iron back in to the white-orange coals. Waiting just long enough she moved back to the bench, Smith's body tensing with disbelieving anguish. The iron plunged down once more. In a moment of terror he almost screamed in the potential agony of it,., instead yelling in relief when it struck instead on the flesh of the Book. Burning her mark into the place she would record all the details of her stock. In pure pent up emotion he collapsed to her feet, worshipping at them once more. Lifting the book and clasping it to her body, Kiva pushed his face from her with a firm kick. She walked from the hut, leaving Smith collapsed and gasping on the earth floor. "You will make your collar tomorrow, slave" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Walking back across the courtyard, Kiva reflected on the hours to come. They would bring her first shipment of stock: human and beast. As she walked, deep in anticipation and simmering arousal from the residual desire for the Smith, she became aware of an unexpectedly early engine heading towards the house along the track. She climbed the step to the veranda, entered the house to the study and placed the hefty book on her leather topped desk. The knocker of the main house door boomed its note across the hall; Kiva straightened her dress and hair and walked to answer its call. It took a moment to register the features of the man now at her door. So familiar, and yet so changed. Do sure of himself these days, with an upright gait and dominant air about him. It took a moment to coolly recompose herself from the shock of recognition without him perceiving her response. "Blair. I'm glad you came" She beckoned him in, opened her arms to him, and welcomed him home. This was someone she had called to her, yet only half hoped would come so soon. Separated only by bloodline, the two had been bought up as brother and sister, and it was with him she had exercised her earliest instincts to Dominate and use. When he had left home it was at her insistence, she seen the need in him and known he needed freedom to become the man he was made to be. She had known, too, that one day he would return to her. A bystander would have felt the electricity that sparked between them, would have been consumed by the passion that flowed without words. Their connection was instant, their physical reaction spontaneous. Held tight in fiercely familiar arms, mouths instantly knowing their territory, bodies both matured since they had last touched, but still fitting to their mutual wanting. Almost lost for a moment in the aftermath of her desires left burning from her Smith, and fanned to a furnace by the surprise of Blair's arrival, Kiva almost dragged the man in her arms to the floor and had him there and then. But something else stirred in her sense and purpose. Pressing her thigh firmly into his groin to find his hardness, she suddenly pulled back from him. "Mmmm...you are as luscious as ever, my dear brother, I am so glad you are here. Come, let me show you to your room". She picked up his old leather bag and gave it to him, striding across the hall to the foot of the stairs. Following her, he knew he was home. And in the distance, stock trucks rumbled along the track...
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