by Mark Andrews
He slipped its open end into the new hole and Phil, who was still sobbing after her initial scream had died down, let out another howl of agony as the new wound was hurt all over again.
During this little ceremony, the president had left the dais, taking his seat in the middle of the front row but now, as the good doctor moved down the stairs, his part of the ceremony over, Lord Grey came back up and smiled at me.
“It is now time for your slave’s welcome, Mr Fenwick.”
“Of course, Mr President,” I said. I wondered though, how Phil was going to cope with this last part of her initiation.
I could see she was pretty much exhausted and I could understand it. She had been forcibly stripped stark naked and hung up there by the sheriff to be depilated and ringed, both operations painful enough in their own right and while she was as fit as a sports-loving girl of leisure could be, her body hadn’t been trained for this.
Nonetheless, I still did nothing. She well knew how the initiation ceremony proceeded and she had openly embraced it. For me to step in now and stop it would not only be embarrassing for us both, it would spell an end to our lives on that island, almost before they had begun. No, she would have to just grin and bear it, as the saying goes.
Preston now let her down from the scaffold. I should perhaps describe it for it is a central part of the island’s functioning. It is used for all public punishments - that is all punishments ordered for a slave by the state as well as when an owner or lessee of a slave decides that a public punishment rather than a personal one is required. The sheriff has the duty of administering all such punishments but he can deputise any free resident to assist him when required.
The scaffold consists of two very stout wooden poles, each a good twelve inches in diameter and twelve feet high, that is twelve feet above the floor of the dais although of course they were anchored in the grass below it. They are set at the middle of the two side edges of the dais, about ten feet apart and are topped with a crosspiece of the same size timber. Dangling from the two top corners are heavy duty stainless steel blocks through which ropes had been reeved. One end of each of these had a leather manacle firmly attached while half way down and at the foot of the two poles, more blocks with the same ropes stood ready.
Right now, the sheriff’s assistant was Bill Blake, the hotel keeper and the pair of them now forced her down onto her belly on the floor of the dais and proceeded to attach her ankles to the manacles that had so recently embraced her wrists, hauling her aloft so that she dangled upside down. Her wrists were then locked to the manacles that had previously held her ankles wide apart.
Hanging upside down - and stark naked at that, is perhaps the most shameful pose a human being can be placed in, certainly in my estimation, anyway. Being exposed stark naked is humiliating enough by itself, but then to be strung up ‘by your heels’ to dangle upside down is even more shameful, I think.
They left her there for quite some minutes, we all descending to the grass where I was now introduced to many more of the owners and residents of the island while Phil hung there on the scaffold, high above its floor - it being a good four feet up from the grass. She had been hung so that she faced the seated owners although of course you could walk around the dais and look at her back side easily enough.
Someone had prepared afternoon tea and we now partook of this, the owners mingling freely with the residents and even the slaves, although of course they weren’t offered tea or eats.
I talked to many of the people, thanking them for accepting me (and Phil of course) and asking all manner of questions about the details of how the island worked in practice. Preston promised to take me on a guided tour the next day and told me I would soon fit in with their ways...
But then he moved back to the dais, and taking a large paddle with him, mounted its steps and took up position behind my wife. I stared at the paddle. It was modelled on the instrument of pain used on many antebellum southern American plantations. It had a stout handle of oak while the blade was made of two sheets of eighth of an inch thick leather sewed together with the shiny sides out. The blade was about eight or nine inches wide and twelve long and it was firmly sewed into the handle.
To allow it easy movement through the air and to further exacerbate the pain, inch wide holes had been randomly drilled through the leather.
I stared up at my wife, dangling so forlornly in that very provocative pose and I marvelled at my own emotions. You might have thought I would be feeling sorrow for her predicament but I wasn’t. She had introduced me into this bizarre scene but I had now embraced it totally and as I stared up at her beautiful body I lusted after it and, I have to admit it, after the punishment she was about to endure.
If she had never mentioned this subject, I doubt if I would ever have discovered that I had a sadistic streak in me or that we would have lived anything but a wonderful loving life together. I knew that I still loved her, perhaps even more than I had before, but that love was now intensified by a desire to see her as a slave, to toil naked at back-breaking tasks and to be punished when she erred.
Preston walked all around her, drawing out the moment when she would begin to suffer and I realised he was also a Master showman as well as being a most efficient policeman. Beside me, Lord Grey whispered that these occasions were very popular on the island. “We don’t get new owners all that often although the admission of a new slave is a more common occurrence,” he said.
“I don’t imagine I will have the opportunity to buy slaves for a while though, at least not until my house is built, sir?”
He smiled again. “No, and neither should you. You should concentrate on training your wife for the next few weeks. By the way, my name is Anthony, James. We don’t go much on ceremony here, except on formal occasions like this, anyway.
“Preston will show you what plots of land are available and take you to see them and then you should talk to John Everingham about your house. He can build you anything from a great mansion to a weekend shack, depending on how much time you plan on spending here...
“That leads me to another point, James. If you aren’t going to stay more than a few weeks here on this first visit, I suggest you leave your wife with us when you return to England. She is going to need more than a few lessons in slave deportment, attitude, duties and discipline. Preston will help you while you are here, but if you were to take her with you when you go, she would quickly fall out of her role and back into the lady of the manor, as it were.”
I made as if to protest that I loved her and wanted her with me always. He just smiled and held up his hand.
“I know you do,” he said soothingly, “but she desperately wants to be a slave in the fullest sense of that word. She will not be able to switch back and forth as easily as you can as her Master. Believe me, she will cry and plead with you to take her with you but deep down, she will know she must stay here...”
I thought about it for a while but then there was this almighty “CRACK!” followed by a banshee scream of more pain from Phil.
I jerked my head up to watch her writhing and straining as she tried to recover from the pain of that first wallop.
“Go around to the back, James,” said the president. “Watch as Preston paddles her quite beautiful buttocks.”
I did. I mumbled something to him then rose to my feet and hurried around the dais, aware that Phil was watching my every step. Yes, I did feel some sympathy for her but mostly it was just lust that was coursing through and through my whole being and I was glad of the stout jeans that was keeping my rigid cock locked down my trouser leg for otherwise they would be tenting my flies in a most embarrassing manner.
The paddle is a most painful instrument of correction but it doesn’t cause welts as the cane or whip does. After one stroke, her delightful bottom was only just suffused with pink although it was twitching most alluringly and I felt
a new surge of blood in my penis.
I knew then that this was something I had wanted all my life, even if I hadn’t even been aware of it. I was ashamed that I could be so excited by another’s pain and humiliation, especially that of my wife whom I loved more than anything else in the world but I couldn’t fight it and although she was in awful pain already, I could see the excitement in her eyes, even upside down.
I cringed though as the paddle cracked for the second time against those curvaceous bottom cheeks. That emotion didn’t last for more than a second however, for once more her body writhed and she screamed yet again in more pain while the people around her stared up at her in undisguised lust and pleasure, yes, even the naked slaves.
This love of cruelty in us humans is very strange. We alone, among all the countless animals on the planet, are the only ones who inflict pain for its own sake and I believe it is there in all of us, kept repressed only by the morés of society. Here on this island, it had free rein and while the slaves (mostly) didn’t like the pain, they accepted it as part of their slavery - a state that they craved above all else.
Preston didn’t stint in his administration of her pain. This ‘welcome’ as they called it, had a twofold purpose. First, it underlined to each new slave that he or she was indeed now nothing more than a slave. A thing, an object to be used or abused at their owner’s whim but second, and perhaps more importantly, it also gave them a foretaste of the type of punishment that awaited them if they erred.
Preston had told me that owners and lessees of slaves were enjoined not to punish, at least to this degree, for its own sake. Pure sadists were not welcome on the island. For a start, even if the sadist’s slave was a true masochist and delighted in pain, it could so easily get out of hand and while their island was left in peace by their neighbours, that might well change if it was discovered that slaves were dying here from cruel and sadistic punishments.
That isn’t to say a slave wasn’t to suffer when he or she erred or that pain wasn’t used as sexual foreplay. They expected it! It was a part of their slavery that they feel real pain when they erred, and for those who liked it, as part of their sex. It was a matter of degree, if course and over the next few weeks, Preston and others would be teaching me the difference.
He drew this punishment out, leaving long gaps in between each stroke. There were going to be twenty in all but each would be interspersed with an interval of between two and three minutes so it would last the best part of an hour.
An hour of total shame and degradation for Phil, which she craved, but also one of severe pain, which she didn’t. The one went with the other however and as I now strolled around the grass below the dais, many of the owners and residents greeted me, telling me how beautiful my slave was and how well she was taking her welcome. I replied to all, thanking them for the compliment and inquiring of them all sorts of questions about their own slaves, how long they had lived on the island and so on.
It seemed it had been acquired some ten years earlier and half of the owners as well as most residents had lived here full time from then on. I had no thoughts on the subject for Phil and me. We were crass tyros so far as slavery generally and the customs of the island in particular went and we would just see how things went.
I was also conscious of Cranwell and my other responsibilities to my father but he had told me to work out our fantasies and he would carry on in the interim. What an understanding parent I had, I marvelled.
I continued to revel in Phil’s pain as each slap of the paddle mounted against her now very red bottom. When I say red, I mean it. Her cheeks were crimson, all over, and in parts were quite severely bruised. I asked Anthony if the damage wasn’t going a bit far.
“I know it looks like it, James, but they will quickly heal. The buttocks are the perfect place to discipline a slave. They are pure muscle and while they do indeed bruise as you see on your wife, they heal very quickly indeed. She will be sore of course. Very sore, but then that is what we are aiming for, isn’t it?”
Stroke followed stroke and now I could see Phil was truly exhausted. Preston saw it too and his last two strokes were nothing more than taps and then he and Bill let her down. As they did, she collapsed in a heap on the floor of the dais and Preston gestured to a slave standing at the foot of the steps to come up. He was a stalwart young man and picked her up as if she was a feather, draped her over his naked shoulder and followed Preston and me down off the dais and over to the hotel.
Our bags (or rather mine, for Phil had brought nothing with her) had already been brought there and now I discovered how comfortable I was going to be until my house was built.
The hotel had been built with this in mind and while there were a few casual rooms for guests - people who had been carefully vetted and who paid a small fortune to visit the island, the suite reserved for a new owner and his slave or slaves, was quite luxurious. I suppose it was natural.
Every owner was of course a millionaire many times over - he or she had to be in order to be able to afford to invest a million US dollars in the enterprise and then pay to have his or her house built and, they were used to luxury. My suite was really an apartment complete with kitchenette, sitting and dining room, drawing room and my own bedroom suite. There was even a cupboard for the Master’s slave to sleep in if he didn’t wish her in his bed for a night.
Phillida would not be sleeping with me this night however. Indeed, Preston told me that unless I really couldn’t do without her for a week, she should remain in the hotel’s slave prison each night, alone, cold and naked. Yes, I know we were in the tropics but the nights can be cold, even there.
We all trooped down to the slave quarters in the cellars of the hotel. The island boasted some beautiful stone and a quarry had been established to dig it out while a real mason had been persuaded to join John Everingham when a new building was being built. It seemed this man was gay and was given a handsome male slave as an ‘assistant’ as well as being paid extremely well for his services. John later told me the man, Peter Kibble, was contemplating retiring here, making enough from the odd commission to assist with his pension.
The hotel had been constructed of this lovely stone and the cellar was therefore also made of it. Upstairs, the inside walls were lined with a beautiful timber, also harvested from the island’s forests and milled into planks and sheets and then polished to a wonderful lustre. Down in the ‘dungeon’ however, the stones, while finished, were quite bare. The floor was also flagged with them while the roof was made up of the heavy floor joists and planking. Along one wall were the four cells that made up the slave jail, the bars being made of inch-thick steel, and out in the other part of the big room were items for punishing the slaves when the weather outdoors made it impossible to do so on the dais.
There was a waist-high pillory and a set of stocks but that was it. This wasn’t a torture chamber as such for torture was not used as a public punishment. If an owner and his slave wished to partake of it at home, as long as it didn’t go beyond the bounds of what was acceptable there, that was their concern.
You may be wondering how people knew? In a community as small as this one, everyone knew everything about everyone else. If an owner or lessee of a slave was going beyond the bounds, the rest of us knew almost as soon as it happened. He or she was warned but then they would be asked to leave. It hadn’t happened yet and Preston told me they hoped it never would, but the threat was there.
Phil was lowered to the stone floor by the slave who now left us. She was conscious. Exhausted, yes, but not really damaged. Her vaginal lip was very sore from the piercing and its new ring and her bottom was on fire but apart from that, she was fine. She struggled to her knees and looked up at us, her face now radiant, even through all the pain.
“I am to be left here, Masters?” she asked us.
“You are indeed, slave,” said Preston. “There is some water in the bo
wl on the floor. Be careful to drink from it like a dog. There is also some bread next to it. It may be stale but it is wholesome enough for a slave. Over there, against the back wall is a slop bucket. You will see it has a serrated upper edge, this is to teach you that you now have to squat to pass your wastes. Seating for a slave is prohibited at all times, even on those occasions.”
Preston stared in at her as he locked the door. “There are few creature comforts for a slave here, girl. So you had better get used to sleeping naked on cold stone. If you are a good slave, we may provide some straw for you after a few days but if we hear one word of complaint, that will certainly not be forthcoming.
We left then, turning off the light so she was in total blackness.
We climbed up to the public rooms of the hotel and Preston now joined me in a drink before going home to his slaves. It seemed he was not married, his wife having died a few years ago. Some of the owners were married and their wives (or husbands, depending on who was boss in the house) lived with them as co-master or mistress but many of the owners and residents were single, at least on the island, and their slaves provided the creature comforts they needed. There were a couple of others besides me who had enslaved their spouse: two more males and one lady who had her husband as her male slave.
After he had left, I went up to my rooms to find a slave there, sorting through all my clothes and putting them away in appropriate places. “Good evening, Master,” she said in a tinkling voice and I smiled as I stared at her lithe form. She was of course naked and as athletic as every slave on the island. She was also black, her chocolate-brown skin gleaming as she moved under the lights of the room.
She was tiny. No more than five-feet-three but her body was quite exquisite and my cock gave an almighty lurch as I stared from her wavy black hair down over her pert breasts to her flat, slightly muscly stomach to her pubic gash, on her, merely a slit, and then down her shapely thighs and legs to her naked feet. Oh what a prize, I thought, as I stared at her lovely form.