Angela's Trial and Tribulations

by Mark Andrews

  “Pity. In it, the young Conan had to spend years on an instrument like this, endlessly pushing the capstan bar round and round and round. So will you. By tonight, you will be pleading with me to let you go free and join my other girls as a willing and compliant slave girl.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  The instrument resembled the capstan found on sailing ships of yesteryear. They were used to pull up the anchor and to warp the ship into a wharf. On them, four sailors pushed the four bars and sang sea shanties as they worked. This one’s shaft had been weighted heavily and there was no-one to assist her. It would be hard all right.

  “Whip her, Sun,” her owner grunted, annoyed at her apparent docility. All day she slogged, leaning her naked body into the massive inertia of the machine, sweating heavily, stopping only to drink greedily when Sun brought over a water bottle so that her body fluids might be replaced. Then it was back into it, step after painful step, each one a supreme effort but one she actually enjoyed. Barker sat and watched, pleased at the sight of the naked girl struggling against dreadful odds to keep the bar turning. He delighted in the sight of naked girls toiling at labouring tasks formerly reserved for males.

  He wasn’t quite so happy when the sun went down and she was still slaving away, pushing at the bar with no apparent change of heart. During the day, especially when the sun was high, she had sweated copiously but she still pushed mightily at the bar. Sun didn’t have to whip her after that first stroke. She seemed to be toiling willingly. Well, tomorrow was another day. She submitted almost eagerly to being locked into the bar and then when Sun lashed at her back, she began the day’s toil. Again there was no cause to whip her as every muscle in her beautiful, so naked body was clearly straining to the utmost.

  Day three was the same...

  By the end of the week, he gave up this particular ploy.

  Instead he decided to defeat her at her old game. He bought a gig identical to that she had pulled Mayor Alex Brown around the city in and had Sun harness her to it. She sighed as she beheld the horrible anal plug and neck collar. The waist belt would have been quite enough but of course they wanted to humble mere women with their horrid machines. She submitted to being harnessed into it though then John told her he was going to require her to trot and gallop all day.

  She smiled at him. “Of course, Master.”

  He worked her as hard as he could. He didn’t try to make her gallop all day but he worked her far harder than he thought she could stand. Again she beat him.

  But still he wasn’t angry. She was a puzzle; an enigma he was determined to break - but not by the lash. She was too valuable for that. He would soon have her cowed he thought; but then he wondered why he was bothering. After all she was obedient enough, just not the humble slave girl... Because he had to win, that’s why, he decided. Well, there were plenty of other ways. Sex, for example.

  He would fuck her brutally - she responded as if she delighted in being raped.

  Her body bucked up to meet his plunging tool and far from him beating her into submission, when he called a halt because of exhaustion, she still seemed fresh as the proverbial daisy. Well, Sun was much younger and his tool, unlike John’s (which was long but very thin) was big and knobbly. It would soon have her begging.

  He had Sun fuck her up her ass, down her throat and then her pussy with his great tool. That too didn’t phase her. After all, she had been forced to have sex with others watching ever since her so unfair conviction. Indeed, when he had her ready herself on her wide-spread knees and her torso pushed right down low so her head and breasts were on the bed, forcing her buttocks up high in a quite obscene pose, she actually seemed to relish the idea.

  Her throat had been well trained by Jason and he had made her practice swallowing his beautiful tool as often as he could get her alone, so that was no problem. Of course Sun’s cock was no beauty but she closed her eyes and pretended it was Jason and then she had no problems at all. So far as normal sex was concerned, well, again she closed her eyes and tried to imagine it was her lover and not the hated and sadistic Sun who was fucking her.

  Some of his other attempts weren’t all that pleasant.

  He had her impaled on a huge three foot high dildo set beside his bed. Her hands were locked up to bars emanating from a hinged iron collar he had placed around her neck and she had to stand there with twelve inches of a four inch wide dildo up her rectum all night. But she made herself cope with it as she had everything else. In the morning she asked him if he had slept well. He stared at her in amazement. “How can you be so... so bloody well nice when I hurt you, slave girl?”

  “Nice, Master? I am not being nice. Just civil...”

  He had her put to work. She scrubbed floors on her hands and knees for twelve hours and still served him his dinner with panache afterwards.

  The other slave girls watched in puzzlement. What was he trying to do? She was obedient, like them. She just wasn’t subservient, like them. Did it matter? One of them thought so and tried it out. She was whipped within an inch of her life. The others decided to leave it to Angela.

  He decided that humiliation allied with physical punishment might work better than mere physical abuse by itself. He took her out to the front gate and tethered her to the gatepost by a chain locked around her neck. Beside her was a table with an array of paddles, canes and whips. A sign invited the passing public to administer one stroke, anywhere on her flesh with the weapon of his choice. Not a one missed the chance. Angela was a rare beauty. She was so naked and yet she stood there demurely, hands folded in front of her, waiting for each man to select his weapon and then assumed the pose he demanded. Sun stood by in case she refused but she didn’t so John had the Korean go back to the house while he watched covertly with a pair of field glasses. Still she complied, smiling at each man and bend forward to offer her buttocks, now very red, or her breasts, also severely marked, for the kiss of the whip, cane or paddle. Eventually, while the men continued to stop and look, now when they saw how badly she was marked, they shook their heads and moved on. Again she had won.

  All this time she thought ceaselessly of Jason. She wondered how he was, where he was, and if he thought of her sometimes. Her mind was as clear about him as at the last moment she saw him. His magnificent brown body with its muscles so beautifully defined and toned to perfection, his wonderful smile, his handsome face but most of all, his love for her. She hadn’t seen sight nor sound of him in the six months since Barker had taken her from his master. She hadn’t even been able to say goodbye and her heart ached for him. Did he think of her sometimes? Was he still with the mayor? Had he taken up with another of the girls, or perhaps a new one in her place. She tortured herself worrying about him but she never let on to another soul that she even had a paramour let alone that he was virtually the mayor’s adopted son.

  She found her only solace was to apply herself to the work allocated to her and to keep her body in trim. It was all she had, after all. She hadn’t even a rag to wrap around her loins. Not a stitch, even. Her body permanently depilated quite nude of hair - and that was it. And so she dedicated every spare minute to its care and development.

  They were allowed to exercise; in fact it was encouraged and she did, knowing that the fitter she was, the easier it would be to cope with Barker’s continued depredation of her body and even her soul.

  It responded. She knew a great deal about the human body and the proper ways to exercise it. She had never aimed for muscle bulk; instead aiming for tone and strength. Her muscles were smooth and fluid and they rippled nicely, never appearing masculine or unsightly in her slender body. She was the epitome of ‘trim, taut and terrific’.

  John Barker came to spend much of his time trying to think of ways to break her. It became a game between them but it meant he was spending less time on watching his business and political interests. He was a very powerful
man politically, only because he was very wealthy. He was an entrepreneur and he took risks but up till now they had always been carefully calculated ones. Now he was becoming a mite careless and others, political enemies, were watching, ready to pounce when the opportunity presented itself.

  It came along a year after he had taken her over from the mayor. He decided to back a deal that held out much profit although there was some risk... Alas, he didn’t look deeply enough into the details and the project came to a devastating end, leaving its backers, principally John Barker very deeply in debt. His creditors met in glee and unanimously voted for bankruptcy.

  He was left with nothing and his assets were sold from under him, including his beautiful home and, even more valuable, his collection of quite outstanding slaves.

  One of the city’s most important slave dealers was among came out to inspect the merchandise. When he saw Angela he was determined to have her. She, all by herself, would enhance his reputation so much as to make him Number One. He would be the doyen of slave traders. The first amongst the best. Of course he looked over the others and he even decided a couple of them were worth bidding on as well but it was Angela whom he wanted.

  The auction was held on the premises and it was attended by thousands, all keen to see the house but more, the dozens of slave girls, reputed to be the best collection in the city and now every one of them on display as they had lived, naked, paraded on a catwalk erected for the purpose.

  Thirty-four slaves, ranging in age from eighteen to mid-twenties, all slender, lithe and of course all totally nude of hair on their bodies as were all slave girls. Each was a beauty in her own right and each would bring a small fortune. Collectively, they were worth millions.

  They were sold singly and had to come out and stand on the block; a rough section cut from a sturdy tree trunk, to look down forlornly on the hundreds of bidders for amongst the thousands who came only to gawk, there were a great many serious buyers.

  In each case the bidding was spirited and each girl stood in shameful silence as these sex-crazed men screamed out their bids and mentally fucked her over and over. The vendors had decided against allowing the girls to be fingered. Not that they cared for their sensibilities; more they were concerned that the girls would be bruised and have their value lowered by such ‘inspections’. Nevertheless, as each girl stood there, they felt they had been mauled and pawed. The hundreds of pairs of eyes alone were as bad as their fingers would have been but as the men crowded around the dais, their comments were as bad as anything Angela had to put up with when she had been driving James Swift in his gig.

  The auctioneer was skilled at selling girls. He pointed out each one’s attributes and hinted at her sexual delights. If one had a special skill, such as Imogene, he had her perform it and the crowd was quite ecstatic at her performance. She brought the second- highest figure.

  Angela brought the highest figure though, by a long shot. Through all her trials and tribulations she had managed to keep her air of innocence, her demure bearing, her absolute assurance that she was going to come through this ordeal a better person than when she started. It showed through and whereas many of the other girls had brought whistles and obscene suggestions as she had mounted the block, Angela’s accession to it brought only awed silence.

  She stood there quietly as the auctioneer pointed out her beauty.

  “A real prize, gentlemen.” He stepped up close and ran his hands over her breasts and then down her belly to stop with his palm very suggestively poised over her mound. “You can see it in her body,” he went on. “Slender, firm and supple. Wonderful skin and an excellent musculature. Note the firm breasts, the shapely thighs, the slender waist. Look at these nicely rounded buttocks... You will get a lot of work from this body, gentlemen...

  “But she also has much to offer in other ways...” He leered at his all-male audience and again fingered her sex. “I am sure I don’t have to tell you she is potentially the best there is...”

  But then he brought them back to her as a person. “With this slave, gentlemen, there is however, so much more. You can see it in her bearing. Not proud or haughty but not cringing either. She has just the right demeanour... Now, gentlemen, what am I bid?”

  They were spirited and the slave dealer bided his time. At the end, when there was a distinct lull in the offers, he bid a thousand more than the last offer and she was knocked down to him.

  Chapter 7

  William Morris had had his premises custom built. He had modelled them on what he had discovered from researches he had made about slave barracoons in former times. At the front was the main building. This was two-storeyed and ran across the frontage from one side boundary to the other. On the ground floor of this building were his offices. At the right side, a tunnel-like vehicular entrance barred by a heavy wooden gate ran under the upper storey. Upstairs were his living quarters.

  The pens were zoo-like cages and ranged down both sides at the rear of the front building and along the back boundary. The courtyard thus created in the middle measured thirty yards by sixty and there his slaves were exercised, cleaned, oiled - and punished. On the top of the cages was a gallery where clients could walk to stare down at the slavegirls as they were exercised. Angela was to come to hate those men, strolling around, leering down at her as she worked her body.

  Everything on the premises was sparkling clean and in top shape. There wasn’t a weed to be seen in the courtyard, the concrete buildings gleamed with fresh white paint and the bars were painted a glossy black. Woodwork was newly painted and all mechanical items were clean and oiled. The place oozed prosperity.

  Angela was in a new situation but one that looked to be as bad or worse than any she had so far experienced. Once more she would have to learn to cope with more humiliation for she was not insensible to what would, in all likelihood, be her daily lot in this place. Constantly available for inspection by all and sundry; that inspection involving her being made to pose and then subject herself to an intimate and shameful physical examination of her flesh. No doubt she would be used for sex, yet again. She might even be whipped on that whipping post in the middle of the courtyard. She could see the chains dangling from its top and imagined herself hauled up until she was on tiptoes and then lashed until her back was bloody.

  She was accommodated in a cage by herself.

  There was some straw in the corner for her to sleep in just as at the municipal depot but she wasn’t allowed to use this to hide her body from the stares of the hundreds of men who came during inspection hours to stare in at the dozens of girls ensconced in the cages. No way! During those hours she had to stand just short of the bars and pose and strut her flesh as alluringly as she knew how. Failure to do so merited a session on the whipping post. Few girls failed to show off their charms to the best of their ability.

  Early in the morning, they were taken out of their cages in small groups and cleaned. The group was herded into the small concreted ablution yard at one corner of the courtyard. It was just ten feet square and sloped in towards the drain at its centre. One of Mr Morris’ men hosed them down until they were thoroughly soaked. He used the fire hose and the jet was not only icy-cold, it was also like a battering ram. The girls shivered and ran on the spot to try and keep warm. Once wet, they each took a cake of the rough soap and soaped each other down. There were no towels to dry themselves off but they were allowed to comb their hair before being herded back into their cages.

  They were fed mush from a wheelbarrow then were brought out for the morning exercise session. This started at eight and lasted until ten. They performed callisthenics exercises, ran around the yard at full tilt for a few minutes then went back to other physical jerks. For these they were lined up precisely and had to keep position. During this the visitors were allowed only up in the gallery on the roof of the cages. No buyers were allowed down amongst the girls at this time.

 
The exercises were hard and were performed at full tilt. The girls sweated and strained for there were overseers constantly moving amongst them with cane and prodder to goad those who were slacking. There were always hundreds of men up there on the gallery. This was a favourite pastime these days, if you had any spare time and you had the entrée to one or another of the slave dealerships, you could go and look at the girls as they were worked. Of course you had to have the right. Not everyone was admitted. You had to be known personally to the dealer or be a recognised buyer of slave flesh.

  At ten they were hosed down en masse, dried themselves with their hands and fingers as best they could and were then returned to their cages where they were now available to those, even more privileged men who had the title to come in and walk up and down the cages, stopping to inspect those who caught their fancy, talking over their strengths and weaknesses with friends or just simply peering in at the naked girls, all of whom were now parading their flesh as if they were whores on display.

  They had better, or face the whip to their naked backs.

  At noon, the premises were closed and the girls could rest on their straw but at one they resumed the exercises and performed them until three when they were again hosed down and returned to their cells for a repeat performance of the morning display until five when the place closed for the day.

  There were thus two classes of men who could come and look at the slave girls: the first, who had entrée to come and climb up onto the roof of the pens and look down on them as they were exercised; the second, more privileged, who could come and see them at closer quarters as they posed lewdly in their cages for their viewing pleasure. But there was a third class as well. These were those men whom William Morris knew personally as good buyers. Who spent a great deal on top quality slaves. These were among the second class but they could also see him in his office and request a ‘closer’ inspection. Sometimes they brought along a young man to ‘assist’ them in this inspection.