Blood Slave

by Syra Bond

  On the first a young blonde girl, naked and with a large red ball gag pulled tightly into her mouth was tied tightly by her wrists and ankles to a pipe running from a large boiler. The temperature gauge on the boiler showed that it was very hot. A length of rope around the girl’s waist was being pulled forward by someone unseen. The tension inclined her hips outwards, curling her body back so that the slit of her naked cunt - precise, pink and glistening - was clearly visible. A stream of water was being directed at this delectable slit. Her face was contorted in pain as she fought to avoid the pressure of the flow and keep away from the heat of the boiler.

  Another picture showed a shivering woman on her knees having a bucket of water thrown over her. She was already wet from a previous dousing and was holding her hands up to try and defend herself against the weight of the sloshing water. It looked as if she would be knocked over at any moment.

  Another showed several women on their hands and knees in a line. They were all naked with their wrists bound. A man in a white lab coat was directing a powerful hose onto them. They were already soaked, their long hair hanging down to their breasts, their pale skin reddened by the force of the obviously cold water spurting powerfully from the spray. One of them had larger breasts than the others and they hung down heavily as if dragged down by the weight of the hard extended nipples at their ends. I could see from the hopeless expression on her face that she would not be able to stand the punishment for much longer.

  I picked up a picture of a young woman being dunked in a bath. Her face was reddened. Her expression was one of unrestrained fear and horror. Powerful hands were on her shoulders, water was splashing around her mouth.

  There was a series of pictures of the same woman. The first ones showed her fully dressed. She looked as if she was arriving for an interview; she wore a smart suit, stockings, a white shirt and dark tie. Her black hair was cut short with a square fringe high on her forehead. Her skin was like ivory; she was very beautiful. The pictures captured the sadness on her face as she stood in an empty office and was instructed to undress. She looked so unhappy - fearful perhaps, or disappointed - as, in separate photographs, she was shown undoing the buttons of her jacket, dropping it on the floor, slipping off her tie, unbuttoning her shirt and removing it. As she dropped her skirt to the floor, a hand was shown at the corner of the picture holding a shower spray and directing it threateningly at the woman’s horrified face. She looked terrified. Somehow, I could see how the threat would bring disorder to her neat and orderly world. In the next picture the hose was turned on, directing a powerful spray against her flinching cheeks. In the next picture her panties were pulled down around her knees. She had lost her poise - struggling to keep her balance and carry out instructions. She still had her suspender belt on and her white stockings were still attached to the clips that hung from them. In the final picture she was lying on the floor, writhing helplessly beneath several powerful sprays of water, her suspender belt and stockings glistening in the showers of water as she thrashed her legs and tried to shield her face from the powerful drenching that engulfed her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her - the fear in her face, the confusion, the obvious pain of the harsh dousing sprays, the hopelessness of a world shattered by threat and disorder. I wondered how she had come to find herself in this position - humiliated and tortured by unseen hands. And I wondered why she was dressed as if for an interview, or a day’s work at the office, but most of all, I felt sad for her plight and the loss of her dignity and assurance.

  Suddenly, I shivered. I looked around to see if a window was open - it was as if an icy wind was blowing into the room. As far as I could tell the windows were all tightly shut. I couldn’t understand it. I shivered again. I felt my arms - they were freezing! The picture of the beautiful girl fell from my hand and fluttered back onto the top of the desk. It landed on a thick file. It was as if the image was pointing it out to me. I picked the file up and read the heading on the front: Report and Statement of Subject 991, Nomi Tzip (deceased). I shivered again as I looked at the small portrait photograph on the bottom right hand corner of the file - the straight cut fringe, the hopeless look. It was the beautiful dark haired girl in the suit.

  I started reading - I felt compelled to find out what had happened to this frightened creature in the photographs. To start with there were some straightforward details: name, age, height, weight. There were some addresses and what looked like a medical record showing different injections and medications given at different times. There were some details under the heading ‘Date of infection’, and more under the title ‘First victim’. There was a date in red under the heading ‘Antidote no longer possible’. Behind these details was a long report seemingly written in Nomi’s own handwriting. There were several ink blotches and crossings out and, as it went on, the writing became increasingly spidery and difficult to read. As soon as I started to read I couldn’t stop - everything else passed out of my mind.

  Nomi Tzip: My own statement

  I went with him willingly. He did not compel me. I was not forced, though if I had been I would have enjoyed it. Even when I was that young, I already revelled in being compelled. I don’t know when it had begun for me - being like that - but the shivers I received whenever I was ordered to do something, or whenever I was handcuffed, or tied up, or restrained, or held fast for spanking, were enough to let me know it was deeply part of my psyche. Now, I go wet at the thought of what he might have done to me but did not. Imagine! It does that to me! Just thinking what might have been and never was is enough to set it off. Yes, even then, I had a taste for being treated badly. Well, that doesn’t describe it. It was more than just a taste, it was a gnawing hunger. I can think of many occasions when I went out at night, to the rougher areas of the city, hoping to come across a wayward gang, or some drunks, or some men celebrating their release from prison. Yes, it was a desperate gnawing hunger.

  Anyway, he offered me a job on his yacht - cleaning, cooking, looking after the crew - and I went in a flash. How could I refuse? It was summer, hot and everything held the promise of excitement. It was a beautiful boat - Monica - twenty metres long, broad with a tall mast and dark blue sails. I joined it at Cagliari in Sardinia - he had me picked up at the airport. A man in a black suit and string thin tie was holding up a board at the arrivals gate - ‘Nomi’. I felt like some sort of celebrity. I know everyone was looking at me. I felt my cunt tingling with the heat of excitement.

  He took my arm and led me to a big black Mercedes parked immediately outside the entrance in the no parking zone. A policeman nodded to him as he opened the door and let me in. I slid my bare legs across the leather seats. It was delectable - feeling the smooth white hide against the backs of my thighs, squeezing the soft flesh of my cunt down against it, feeling my wetness sticking to it. Yes, I hardly ever wore panties and, on this day as much as any, I was glad this was my rule.

  The driver got in and adjusted the mirror. I could see he was looking between my legs. I opened my knees slightly so that he could see my cunt. He couldn’t keep his eyes off it, so I opened my legs more and slid my fingers into the crack. I played with my clitoris for a few minutes then, when my fingers were really wet, I lifted myself off the seat and pushed two of them into my anus. I leant forward and gripped the back of his seat between my teeth as I finished heavily, slobbering onto the white leather, jerking as the ecstasy passed through me, groaning as I fought to stay conscious as it threatened to engulf me in darkness.

  The first day, we sailed across to the island of Carloforte. It was so warm, the sea was crystal clear - everything looked perfect. I sat on the side of the boat watching some divers as the crew tied the Monica up to the quay.

  I took a shower on the short trip from Cagliari. It was good to stand under the flow of water, rubbing my body, feeling my cunt and breasts, remembering the journey from the airport. I put on a thin short dress, nothing else.

  That evenin
g we went into the town. It was filled with people - walking, sitting, talking, eating, and drinking. We sat outside a small cafe in a backstreet. It was already past midnight but still hot. The occasional car wound its way slowly past us as we sat on the spindly chrome and plastic chairs that spilled out into the narrow cobbled street. As we had walked from the quay into the town, he told me that he wanted to find someone who would be “interested” in me. It was as vague as that. When he raised his eyebrows to test my response, I just giggled, grabbed his arm and pulled him along. It sounded good to me!

  He had checked that I was not wearing any panties by lifting my dress and exposing me as we walked through the main square. It was exciting as people turned and stared, women scowled, children sniggered. He said he was pleased that my dress was light and didn’t cover me up too much. He said he didn’t think it would take too long to find someone.

  It was a strange feeling knowing that he wanted to use me like this. It was exciting, of course, but because he was so casual about it all, it was even more thrilling. Because he didn’t have any concern for me, and I felt so much more like an object, it made me feel so used, and because of this, so exhilarated. Yes, it was elating. It made me tremble with joy - the idea that I was getting ready to be taken out like an item for sale. To be displayed as though I was on a stall, perhaps bargained for, then taken away somewhere to be used in a way that had been agreed by others completely ignoring my wishes or fears.

  I dropped my napkin onto my lap so that when I retrieved it I could poke my finger down between the tops of my thighs and feel the wet crack of my cunt - it was so needy and wet. For a moment, I worried that my dress would be marked with a damp patch at the front then, as I felt the strong ache between my hips I realised that this thought itself only increased my excitement.

  I saw that he had found a swarthy man in a dark suit. I’d seen him resting against the bar since we arrived. I heard him say he was from Naples. The owner of the cafe looked up from his labours behind the bar and smiled at me. He was dressed entirely in black, including a black cap. He had a small “skull and crossbones” badge pinned to the chest of his shirt. His smile became a broad open grin. His canine teeth were prominent, sharp and glistening.

  I turned and saw a woman walking out of the darkness of a nearby alley. She emerged into the pool of light that issued from the doorway to the bar. She was spectacular - a tousle of curled henna coloured hair, a loose orange scarf, loose-fitting ochre coloured satin trousers made of thin filmy material, a white low-cut shirt. Her skin was smooth - satiny, dark and cool. Her deportment was easy and relaxed. Her dark brown eyes were penetrating. She smiled at me and rested her hands on the rickety back of the empty chair opposite my table. Her fingernails were painted alternately orange and yellow to match her clothes.

  ‘May I?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  She pushed her open linen bag under the table - its surface laden down with bottles, plates and uneaten food. She reached forward and took a shiny black olive from a dish.

  ‘You don’t mind do you?’

  I shrugged and took a quick glance over to the bar. He was pointing towards me and the swarthy man was nodding. I didn’t know whether I should be talking to this woman or not. I felt a shiver of fear just in case I was breaking some unknown rule

  She lifted her right foot up and rested it on the inside of the top of her left thigh. She dropped her right knee wide - she looked so free, so emancipated, so energetic.

  I drew in breath. A quiver of excitement passed through me. I shivered again. I felt my heart beating faster. I pulled my shoulders together so that she wouldn’t see my chest pounding.

  She reached forward and took another olive. She sucked at it before slipping it between her lips and into her mouth. I could see she was not wearing any panties. Another thrill passed through me - another shudder of delightful anticipation. I squeezed my shoulders up again but I could not prevent my heart visibly thumping in my chest.

  Bending at the hips, she leant forward and stretched out her hand. I took it. I could not resist. It was cool and smooth. I stroked her sharp alternately coloured fingernails.

  ‘Do you want to do something exciting?’ she asked. ‘Something really exciting?’

  I swallowed hard. My throat was dry. I think I nodded.

  She took my hand, got up and led me down the narrow alley next to the cafe from which she had emerged. Spare chairs were piled up in stacks. A few tables were pushed up against the stone wall. Dustbins and buckets of slop from the cafe were lined up in a rank and a flickering lamp - hardly enough to cast a dim yellow glow - hung beneath the half broken cafe sign at the alley’s entrance.

  She punched me in the back and pushed me forwards against a stack of chairs. I didn’t know what had happened. I gasped for breath, trying to work it out. I scrambled to get to my feet. She pushed me again. I went sprawling onto my knees, clutching at the chairs as they fell in a tangle around me. I thought I might get speared by one of the thin steel legs.

  I heard men’s voices behind me. I tried to turn around but my head was grabbed from behind and forced to face forward. A hand was wrapped beneath my hips and my bottom was lifted. My flimsy dress was pulled up, my bare buttocks exposed. I struggled, kicking my legs backwards, thrashing my arms, trying to free myself. The arm around my hips tightened as I was twisted sideways. I felt a smack against my bottom - a hard flat handed smack. It stung. I clasped my buttocks together. Another smack made me tighten all over. I kicked out my legs with a fresh vigour born of renewed fear.

  The arm around my hips tightened even more. Another smack came down - and another. My bottom was stinging. My hair was grabbed and my head pulled back. It strained my throat. I choked. Another smack landed heavily on my bottom. I shrieked and choked again as my head was pulled back even more. Another smack. I yelled out loudly. Another. I screamed. Another. I twisted and contorted as the burning pain went deep. Another. I wriggled as hard as I could but I could feel only two things: the burning on the cheeks of my bottom, and now the rapidly building heat in my cunt. I couldn’t stop it - it was irrepressible. Another smack and it got hotter. Another and the pain started to release my wetness. I wriggled and all I could feel were the edges of my cunt, squeezing together - slippery with moisture, silky with heat, burning with desire.

  I was thrown down, still face forward. I clawed at the ground, struggling to get up. My dress was grabbed and torn down the back. It fell from one of my shoulders but stayed hanging like a rag to the other. I felt helpless and fearful. Again I tried to turn, again I was forced back. I felt heat between my buttocks. I knew what it was - a cock! It pressed hard against my cunt, slipping along the slit, saturating its throbbing end with my moisture. I couldn’t stop myself lifting my bottom, opening myself to it, exposing myself, welcoming it in. It pressed harder then suddenly it was pulled out and I felt it pushing hard against my anus. It did not rest at the entrance but drove straight in.

  I gasped loudly as the pressure of the heavy beating cock filled me full. I felt it deep inside my rectum - pulsating, hot, and veinous. Hands held my hips. I was lifted from the ground as the hot cock thrust at me as deeply as it could go. I was twisting on it, pinioned by it, heated by its penetrating fire. I felt weighty testicles banging against my wet cunt - slapping against it, smacking its edges, saturated by its sloppiness.

  Even as his semen exploded inside me, he lifted me off the pulsating cock and dropped me back to the ground. As I tried to get to my feet I felt another coming into me, another cock - even hotter even harder, even longer. It rode in on the dribbling semen that was still streaming from my anus. I coughed and choked - as if it was filling me up to my throat. I sprawled forward as, spraying his hot semen into my cunt, he pulled it out. I was turned on my back and he straddled my chest so that he could direct the flow into my mouth. I drank it all, licking at the end of his cock to get every
last drop.

  The next thing I knew I found myself lying on my back, my legs widespread, my face wet and doused with sticky semen. I lifted my hand to wipe it away, but my hand was knocked down. I heard some dustbins being moved. I heard the sloshing sound of slop inside the plastic containers that had been filled from the cafe’s waste. I looked up. For a moment, I saw the beautiful woman standing over me. She was taking money from two men. She smiled at me graciously and turned away. One of the men picked up a slop bucket and threw it over me. It stank. I choked and heaved. It was filled with fat and gravy and waste water. The other man threw another over me. It sloshed on my face. I felt vomit burning in my throat. They both looked down at me in disgust. I felt ashamed and sickened.

  Vomit wretched from my mouth in a heavy gush and ran in a gummy stream down my naked breasts. I looked down in shame and saw it dripping from my hard nipples. I looked at my naked cunt. I was enveloped by shame yet, at the same time, I was filled with a quickly growing sense of pleasure. I had to use it - enjoy it. I felt the heat growing in the soft wet flesh of my cunt. I could not resist it. I drove my fingers deeply inside. It was so hot and wet.

  There was no build up to my ecstasy. I lifted my hips in a sudden onslaught of joy as an orgasm ripped through my body. As I plunged my fingers up and down the darkness within my cunt, and another two buckets of slops were thrown over me, I felt as if I was being saturated and consumed by the very essence of pure pleasure.

  Then I saw him again, and the man from the cafe with the black cap and pirate badge. The other two men ran off down the alley.

  ‘Repulsive!’ he said. ‘She needs washing!’

  I hardly remember how they got me back to the boat. I remember some people shouting in the street - calling out names, being abusive, making gestures of disgust. I remember having the last rags of my dress pulled off. I remember seeing it being thrown into the sea. I remember being tied up to the mast and I remember the hose being levelled at me. After that there is nothing I have been able to forget - it is burned into my mind forever.