Slavegirl Island 2.1

Chapter Two (Part One) PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF 16 YEAR OLD SLAVEGIRL MARTINE I was lying face down on the uncomfortably hard board of my cell bunk. I wore no restraints. When you are under training they always keep a collar and chain on you and fasten you to the wall. That, of course, emphasises your helplessness and also the fact that you have become a slave. Now that I am trained the collar and chain is left off in the cell. The bunk on the opposite side of the cell was empty. My cell-mate Kathie had been taken away earlier by our Overseer, Malik. She is an 18-year-old American girl, very pretty. I gathered from what Malik said she was going off to be used by some female guest. I did not envy her. The male guests are bad enough but the women can often be worse. I wondered how long it would be before I was required, either for domestic duties or to service some guest or other. Actually I had been on domestic duties all morning so it was unlikely I would have to do that again. I had been acting as a waitress on the main patio. Actually, it’s a pretty cushy number. Far better than having to scrub the patio. Naturally, one is liable to get groped or slapped but not much else usually. I recalled how self-conscious I had been when I had undertaken such duties. It’s not easy for a young girlto walk about stark naked before everyone, seeing the lecherous eyes of the men and the contemptuous eyes of the women. However, it isn’t all that long before you get quite used to it. Actually, after you’ve been kept naked for over a year it seems strange to have any clothes on. (Some guests likeus to dress up.) Then I heard the bolts of my cell door being drawn hack and felt the usual nerve-tingling sensation. Perhaps it was Kathie coming bark. Unlikely; she hadn’t been gone all that long on the other hand perhaps the woman had been displeased with her and was sending her back for punishment. As I must, I knelt erect on my bunk and placed my hands on top of my head. The door swung open. It wasn’t Kathie. Malik came in alone and grinned at me. “Having a nice rest, Baby-doll?” he queried. “Yes, Sir,” I answered meekly. As usual, Malik wore no loin-pouch and his large organ swung free between his thighs. It is one of the largest organs I have seen on a man and I think he is very proud of it. That’s why he doesn’t wear a pouch as often as most Overseers do. I wondered if he had come to fuck me. That would have been nothing unusual for Malik seems to have taken a fancy to me. He tells me he likes them young. Well, I’m certainly that. I came here when I was fifteen (abducted from my boarding school) and it is still three months to my s*******nth birthday. Malik stood there hands on hips, still grinning. Then he idly fondled one of my breasts. Malik is a tall, slim, rather cadaverouslooking Algerian with smooth, dusky skin. Though he might fancy me, that does not stop him punishing me. Severely, if the need should arise. I waited, rather tense, expecting to hear, at any moment, the order, “Get your arse up girl. You’re going to get a nice big cock up you.” But it didn’t come. Instead, Malik took down my collar and chain from where they hung on the wall. The cold iron of the collar went round my neck and was locked on. Automatically I raised my wrists and these were locked to the collar, one on each side. There is no possibility of any slave-girl ever escaping and these collars and chains are more symbols of servitude than anything else. “A nice German gentleman wants two youngsters to play with,” said Malik, grinning again. “Herr Brandt. I’m afraid he’s rather elderly.” I felt the familiar sensation of despair and disgust go through me. But there was nothing I could do about it. I was a slave and there to be used in whatever way was decreed. It must be said that, in earlier days, it is far worse. Then, one might make oneself submit physically but not mentally. The mental submission comes later. When one finally accepts that one is truly a slave. A chattel... a sexobject...to be constantly used and abused. In a way one begins to accept it as something almost natural. Malik gave a gentle pull on the chain and I stepped to the floor. I recalled, in that moment, the first time I had been taken from my cell to service a guest. It was a terrible moment and I panicked. I tried to resist the tug of the collar and chain, hanging on to the door edge, screaming and begging to be left alone. Instead of being taken to the guest (he would have to make do with a substitute), I was taken straight to the punishment room, secured over the Punishment Block and there received 18 strokes of the Martinet. The Martinet is a frightful instrument. It is composed of three thongs of plaited leather, these being tipped with lead shot at the end 18 strokes means 54 stripes all across one’s buttocks... I fainted twice and was revived twice. Malik, as ever, was merciless. Disobedience or resistance were never tolerated. Since that time I have never resisted the tug of a collar and chain and, now, as usual, followed my Overseer meekly from my cell. We went along the stone-floored corridor and Malik unbolted the door of a cell three away from mine. I knew it was occupied by Gina, a delightful Italian girl who was also 16. She was kneeling erect as we entered. “As I’ve just told Martine, an elderly gent wants to play with school-girls.” Gina blinked and the corners of her mouth turned down. She said nothing. Malik put a collar and chain on her and she, too, was led out. With Malik going ahead, we made our way down the corridor we came to a junction. One way, I knew, led to the Training Rooms, the other to the Punishment Room. I heard the sound of sobbing and, coming from the direction of the Punishment Room, was one of the female Overseers, Miss Jena. As usual, she was clad in thin, black leather a bolero with short, pleated skirt. She was leading a tearful slave-girl. I recognised her as Maria, a girl who had not long completed her training. Malik halted. “Someone been naughty?” he asked. “Apparently not too keen on her duties,” replied Miss Jena. “Mrs. Wainwright asked me to smarten her up and then bring her back.” I knew of this Mrs. Wainwright who was the most appalling, middle-aged bunch lesbian who loved young girls to almost eat her alive. She was well-nigh insatiable and, more often than not, sent a girl off for punishment in the middle of a session. She had done so to me. Miss Jena turned and went ahead of us along the corridor. I then saw that Maria had been ‘smartened up’ by receiving a dozen or more cane strokes across her bottom. The fresh, twin-tracked weals were very vivid, criss-crossing the quivering flesh. I guessed a Number 2 rod had been used. Very painful. The weals snaked up and down as Maria’s plump bottom swung from side to side. She was on her way back to the vile Mrs. Wainwright and, hideous though it might be, was sure to tackle her duties with greater seal. Poor girl... We mounted the stairs and entered the upper part of the vast mansion in which the guests were housed. The bleakness of the slave quarters changed at once to warm, scented luxury. Thick carpets, huge sweeping curtains, large pictures and gilt mirrors on the walls, ornate furniture... All very splendid in a Louis Quinze style. Malik led us to a small room on the first floor. This was known as the Changing Room and, if a guest wanted a girl dressed up in some way, this is where she went. Malik began grinning again as he took some items out of a cupboard. “One thing,” he said, “you don’t have to do much acting. After all, you are of schoolgirl age. Even if you have become rather sophisticated schoolgirls.” I tried not to think of my life at my former boarding school. It was a way of life that had vanished utterly. Something bitter to contemplate. It was as if I had been reborn. Reborn as a slave. “Put these on, my pretties,” he said pinching my bottom as he handed me the school clothes. He could maul us and slap us just as he liked. He could fuck us whenever he wanted. That’s what being a slave means. There was a lace trimmed pair of white knickers, a white see-through blouse, a black gym slip, white ankle socks and a pair of black patent shoes with three inch heels. I pulled on the knickers first. As I said earlier, it feels strange to be covered in that way for, from the very outset, a slave-girl is told that she must display herself as nakedly and as provocatively as possible. As she is told repeatedly, her cunt no longer belongs to her. It must be put on show and made available to all who wished to enjoy it. A new slave-girl’s shame and humiliation is well-nigh unimaginable. The blouse went on and, when buttoned, was very tight. My rounded breasts stuck prominently through it. The gym slip was exceedingly short; in fact, some 90% of my thighs were exposed. One could not exactly call it being dressed when one wore such ridiculous things. Finally I put on the socks and shoes. We were ready. I looked at Gina and realised what an appeal she would have for a middle-aged lecher. Doubtless she thought the same about me. Malik removed the collars and chains. “Come along, girls,” smiled Malik. “Your Headmaster awaits.” We trotted behind him along the passageway and were soon facing a pair of double doors. Malik swung them open. “No need to kneel,” he said. “Just curtsy. You’re not slaves now, you’re naughty schoolgirls.” In we went. It was a sitting room. “In here,” called a guttural voice. Obviously Herr Brandt. I smelt cigar smoke. We went into the bedroom side by side. We curtsied demurely. “Your pupils, Herr Brandt,” said Malik. “Thank you, my man,” said Herr Brandt. “I’ll ring for you when I want you.” “Very good, Sir...” Malik withdrew, leaving us to our fate. Herr Brandt, who must have been in his sixties, had short, grizzled hair and slack, heavy features. He wore only a dressing gown. I thought at once we were in for an arduous afternoon... even though any fucking we got would most likely be of a brief nature. Watery blue eyes roamed over us and suddenly seemed to glitter lustfully. Herr Brandt picked up a glass of amber-coloured liquid from a bedside table and drank. I recognised it as the stimulating aphrodisiac that was available to all guests. It was, I had discovered, capable of rousing the near impotent into action. “Names?” he enquired. “And ages?” We told him. “Ahh... both only 16, eh?” “Yes, Sir....” “That’s good. Very good. You’re not pretending to be 16, are you?” “Oh no, Sir,” I replied, “we really are.” As he wanted to play at being a schoolmaster, it seemed best to call him. ‘Sir’. He seemed satisfied. “Been naughty girls, have you?” “Yes, Sir,” chorused Gina and I together. We had to act out this charade to the best of our ability. “And what happens to naughty girls, eh?” “They get punished, Sir,” I answered, just ahead of Gina. “That’s right. They get their young bottoms smacked hard.” “Have you had your bottom smacked before, Gina?” “Yes, Sir.” “And you, Martine?” “Oh yes, Sir.” “Well, you know what to expect. Now, in view of what I have heard of your behaviour, I am going to start by giving you both a sound spanking. I understand that both of you were caught playing with yourselves. Disgusting, isn’t it?” “Yes, Sir,” I agreed. I wished I could make myself blush. Herr Brandt, put out his cigar, took another swig of the amber liquid and rolled off the bed. He was grossly over weight. A real pig of a man. But we all get used to dealing with pigs. “You first, Gina.” He seated himself in a solid upright chair with a cushioned seal. He patted his thighs. Without delay, Gina placed herself across them. Her short skirt rode up high to reveal most of her knickers. Herr Brandt pulled the skirt right up above her waist. His eyes seemed to bulge as he gazed down al the scantily covered hemispheres before him. For a man who was ‘into’ schoolgirls he was getting exactly what he wanted. The horrible old bastard! Slowly, Gina’s white knickers were pulled down to her knees. Herr Brandt’s features were joggling slightly with his emotions; he was getting redder. Gina lay perfectly still, bottom pushing up. Herr Brandt stroked the delicate white flesh... and sighed contentedly. He went on stroking for a long time and I wondered if he was getting an erection yet. If so, Gina would be able to feel it. “Naughty girl... naughty schoolgirl,” murmured Herr Brandt. Then he began to spank Gina’s bottom. He didn’t smack very hard but went at a steady rhythm. Six on one buttock cheek; six on the other, six on both cheeks together. Gina’s firm bottom bounced and quivered jellylike. I am sure he enjoyed that a lot. After the first series of slaps, Herr Brandt paused and ran his hand over the flesh again and again. The flesh was now blotched a pale pink. “Did that hurt, Gina?” “Y-Yes, Sir,” answered Gina in an anguished voice. That was a joke! Gina could never have received a milder punishment in her life. “This time it’s going to hurt more. I’m going to smack your bottom harder.” “Oh Sir... please...” wailed Gina. She was already putting up a good show. Did this German lecher know that or did he really think he was hurting her? The spanking was resumed and now the slaps did fall rather harder. Gina played up, gasping and squirming over Herr Brandt’s lap. I am sure he enjoyed that a lot, too. Six... six... and six again. The pink blotches now had a deeper hue. Thirty six slaps had fallen. Nothing too serious. Even Herr Brandt’s hand was flabby. Gently he caressed Gina’s bottom again. “Another 18,” he announced. “Ohh nooo...oooo, Sir... please no!” There was a beseechingcry in Gina’s voice. Very good. “Oh yes,” said Herr Brandt. “Naughty schoolgirls have to be soundly punished.” Gina actually made herself make sobbing sounds and wriggled violently as if truly in pain as Herr Brandt laid on another 18 slaps. Again I couldn’t help wondering whether he thought he was truly hurling. Did it matter? He was enjoying himself thoroughly just having a 16-year-old bottom before him, to smack as he wished. It is something a lot of men in the outside world like to do I am sure. Here, such things were possible. And many more besides. When the spanking was over, Gina slid to the floor and buried her face in her hands for a few moments. Then those hands clasped urgently at her bottom as if she were truly in pain. “Oh Sir... ooohh... Sir...” she kept wailing, twisting from side to side. “You deserved it, my girl,” said Herr Brandt thickly. He looked up at me. “And now it’s your turn, Martine,” he said. I advanced to his side, trying to look nervous. Close to, I could see the perspiration on his forehead. He was breathing rather fast. Perhaps, I thought in sudden joyous hope, he might have a heart attack. It would be fitting end for this b**st. Over his thighs I went and up came my skirt. Yes, he did seem to have an erection. A partial one anyway. Down came my knickers and my bottom was smoothed with his hand. “You saw what I did to Gina. Now you’re going to get the same.” “Oh please no, Sir... I’m not really a naughty girl... not often anyway...” “That’s enough. You are to be punished.” He began to spank in the same fashion as he had spanked Gina. It was a joke really... and I had to perform the same kind of play-acting as Gina had done. I squirmed, I kicked, I gasped. I begged him to stop. Of course, he didn’t. I could hear his breath rasping above me. Once I almost rolled off and he gripped me by the waist to hold me down. At last it was over and I was sobbing as best I could. His face was now very pink. As pink as my bottom, I reckoned. Also, his fleshy lips were wet and he kept licking them. It was as if he were contemplating some delicious meal which had been set before him. Well, in a way, it had. “Take off your knickers. Both of you. Right off with them.” What now? We took our knickers off. Herr Brandt got on to the bed again. “Kneel on the end of the bed,” he ordered, “and tuck your skirt into the waistband.” We did so and thus were naked from the waist down. “You will now do what you did before. What earned you this punishment.” His voice was thick again. Ah so, that was it. He wanted us to play with ourselves in front of him. Filthy old man. Still, if that’s what he wanted, we’d have to do it. Gina and I looked at each other. “P-Please... Sir...” began Gina. “Just get on with it,” ordered Herr Brandt. He began drinking the amber liquid again. Gina and I each put fingers to clitoris and began to play with ourselves. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. His horrible eyes were bulging more; he was practically drooling. I was getting virtually no sensation at all, and I don’t think Gina was either. There was only one thing to do. Simulate it. I began to gasp and pant, jerking my haunches, twisting about. Gina followed suit. I could see he was loving to watch it all. “Randy little bitches... make yourselves come then... go on... faster... faster...” Gina and I managed to reach a faked orgasm almost simultaneously, then collapsed down on the bed, moaning. We waited. What next? So far things hadn’t been too bad. But I reckoned, shortly, Herr Brandt was going to need a little personal attention. The idea of servicing that flabby old body was revolting. But there was no escaping it. “Kneel up,” he ordered. Yes, I had been right. Herr Brandt had removed his dressing gown and was fondling a partial erection. He had a short organ, but it was thickly girthed. He grinned lustfully. “Who is going to be the lucky girl to suck me first?” he asked. “Oh please let me, Sir!” cried Gina sycophantically. “No, I think I’ll have blondie here.” I have blonde hair which I usually wear in a girlish pony-tail. Like at that moment. I slid up the parted thighs, trying not to look at the gross, wrinkled belly, the greying pubes. He was revolting. However, I took his half swollen prick and began suck it. “You, girl,” I heard him say to Gina, “Come and sit on my face. I want to taste a young cunt.” I heard Gina moving into position. The ape... the ageing ape. I sucked as avidly as I could, wishing to get it over with. But, for a long while, he remained quite soft. Then, gradually, I began to get a reaction. He got hold of my pony-tail and yanked. “Come on... faster... faster, girl” came his half-muffled voice. At once I gave him the full treatment, sucking like crazy and bumping my head up and down. Such was his length, I could get most of his cock into my mouth, but it was certainly thickly rounded. Briefly he got hard. I could hear him making piggish noises of pleasure, which went on for about half a minute. Then, suddenly, he was shuddering and shooting. Getting what he wanted. Release from a 16-year-old ‘schoolgirl’. It didn’t last long... and I was glad. It’s quite different with someone fully virile, like Malik for example. They shoot about ten times as much and you just have to go on sucking and swallowing for as long as it lasts. Herr Brandt slumped, snorting a little, his flabby thighs quivering. I had to stay where I was with his revolting cock in my mouth. It was loathsome. Then he pushed Gina off his face and told us both to kneel on the floor by the bed. “I’ll tell you when I want you again,” he said. He was looking tired but smugly happy. I hated him. How long would we have to kneel there, I wondered, waiting for this b**st to recover his powers? He slept, mouth open. Snoring. It is incredible how disgusting a man can be, yet, no matter how disgusting he is, a slave-girl has to serve him. Over an hour later he came round. Also, in his sl**p, he had acquired a partial erection. This seemed to please him no end and, in no time at all, he had Gina sucking him and me sitting on his face. He mouthed my cunt in a horrible way but there was nothing I could do about it. One has to submit to anything, whatever one’s feelings. It wasn’t long before he pushed me off. “Kneel... hahh... kneel... on the bed...” he panted. “Get your arse right up.” I did so at once, glad that the final stages must be approaching. After all these preliminaries, our ‘playboy’ was at last going to have a fuck. One was definitely all he was going to manage that afternoon, I reckoned. “You too,” he told Gina. She knelt alongside me. The b**st was being offered the choice of two 16-year-old cunts. He took mine, crushing me down with his grossness, rutting bestially. He was moaning with the effort... and, doubtless, the pleasure he was getting. Then, suddenly, to my surprise, he withdrew from me. The next moment I realised he had climbed on to Gina and was fucking her instead. Two for the price of one. Gina got what little load he had before he slumped down exhausted again. He just had about enough strength to lift the receiver of the house-phone and summon Malik. When Malik came into the room, Herr Brandt was snoring again. We were kneeling. “You seem to have made him happy,” he grinned. “That’s good. And lucky for you two, of course.” If there’s ever any complaint from a guest, however minor, punishment is virtually certain to follow. Herr Brandt was in no state to complain. Not that I think he would have done. We followed our Overseer down to the Changing Room, had our uniform taken away and the collars and chains put back on. Then we were led back to our cells. Gina was locked away and then Malik put me in my collar. Kathie was back but asl**p. Probably exhausted. My collar was taken off, a dusky hand fondled my breasts. “Did he fuck you, girl?” he asked. “Yes, Sir... but not for very long. He finished off on Gina.” “The old devil!” laughed Malik. “I shouldn’t have thought he had it in him.” The hand fondled my bottom. “Got a bit of a spanking, I see.” “Yes, Sir” I could see that Malik was thickening and stiffening, so knew what was going to happen. “Well, after being rejected by our fat friend, I think you deserve a proper fucking, my pretty, don’t you?” “Yes, Sir.” What else to say? Nothing would have made any difference. “Let’s have you up, then.” He was coming to full erection fast. That organ was a formidable sight. It made one go weak at the knees. Knowing that Malik preferred to take me from the rear, I got up on to my bunk and pushed my hindquarters high, widening my thighs. My flanks were gripped; I felt him parting my sex-lips with his big, hard knob. I clenched my teeth, tensing for the penetration to come. Zonk. He gave me the lot in one go. Deliberately brutal. He liked doing that. I simply couldn’t check my gasping-wail. It hurt. I was filled; stretched to the limit. I made myself wriggle as he stayed thrust into me, savouring me. He let go of my flanks and cupped my breasts. “I love fucking young girls,” he sighed. Then he went to work on me. Slow, rhythmic strokes. Full strokes, every one of them. Withdrawal until only his knob was in, then a thumping thrust so that his belly pounded to my buttocks. This was Malik’s usual way of fucking. Remorseless, all-conquering. With him, there was never any need for simulation. He made me come every time. Often more than once. There was not only the size of him, there was the strength and endurance of him. He has fucked me for something like half an hour on occasions, reducing me to a sobbing jelly of exhaustion. I am not only his slave on account of fear of punishment from him but also on account of his sexual prowess. He knows and he delights in it. I began to squirm and move my haunches co-operatively as he gradually increased the pace. Very gradually but positively. Malik was indeed an expert. Inexorably, I felt my lust mounting. In early days I had tried to check it but it was never any good. Always, he defeated one. Now I no longer minded. That big prick was going to make me come, so let it. “Hhhaahhh haaaahhh eeeee aaaahh” I gasped. I was fast mounting to an orgasm. “You like it my pretty?” he asked. “Y-Yes... hhhhaaahhh... ooooooo... yes, Sir... I...haaaahhhhh... I love it...” “Better than an old man’s prick, eh?” “Yes... aaaa... hhhhhahhhh... yes... yes... yes... Sir...” I had began to jerk convulsively. He had really got me going... and he would be enjoying that I let my natural lust swell unchecked. I was getting hotter and hotter. Juicier. What he wanted. Then suddenly I was quite out of control. “AAAAAGHHHHE... AGH... AGH... AAAAGHIZ... I... I’M COMING I’M COMING” I screeched. My mouth was agape, my haunches jerking frantically. I was lost in all-consuming lust. My screech was loud enough to wake poor Kathie up. “That’s it... ahhh yes... that’s it... my pretty... let go...” he panted above me. I let go all right, believe me! But Malik didn’t stop fucking me. I knew he was determined to drive me to another climax... and that he would succeed. He thrust even faster and more powerfully. Quite irresistible. It was only two or three minutes before I was rising to a peak again. Then crying out again. Nothing mattered but that massive cock should go on pounding into me. I WANTED it beyond anything else! And it did go on and on. Pounding, pounding, pounding. Faster, faster, faster. The wave broke for him, and for me, simultaneously. He was groaning as he jetted into me powerfully. Again and again and again and again. I was sobbing and whimpering my delight as my mouth slavered on the hard board of my bunk. It illustrates the depths of servitude which I had reached when I state that I felt no shame, no remorse, at my reactions (as I had certainly done in earlier days). I simply felt weakness and contentment at having been so marvellously ravished. I was now a complete slave, both physically and mentally. Accepting everything, submitting to anything. Actually, when you reach that stage in your servitude, things become a little easier. Malik withdrew. I felt a kind of loss. “Have a nice rest, girlie,” he said, giving my bottom a couple of stinging slaps. Then I heard the door slam and the bolls being drawn. I felt no resentment, no anger, against Malik. He had simply done what he was perfectly entitled to do. I closed my eyes. Another day was drawing to its close.