Tamarind noted the unhappy look on Irene’s face. “Hey, don’t let me get you down. It’s not so bad. Most of my owners have been good men. I’ve never been sold to the professor, so that’s lucky.”
“The professor?”
“Don’t you know about the professor? I thought everyone knew about him. He’s a sadist. Proud of it. He tortures his slaves. That’s how he amuses himself. Non-stop torture. You don’t ever want to get sold to the professor.” She leaned close and said, in a low voice, “If you make your owner unhappy, if he wants to really punish you, he’ll sell you to the professor. It’s worse than getting sold to a brothel and you don’t want that, either.”
Tamarind leaned back in her chair. “Anyway, I guess my owners liked me well enough. Not well enough to keep me for a long time, but well enough that they never sold me to the professor. Or to a brothel.”
“What’s the longest that an owner has kept you?”
“Almost two years. I was nineteen when Sir Goulfkik bought me and I was twenty-one when he sold me. It was winter when he bought me and winter when he sold me, so I know that it was nearly two years.”
“My first owner only kept me for a short while. I think it was about three months.” Irene wasn’t certain but she had tried to keep a rough count of the weeks. “He didn’t sell me. He traded me to Lord Snow in return for a promise of knighthood.”
“A lot of owners turn over slaves pretty fast. It doesn’t take a gentleman long to get bored with a slave when there are new ones available at auction every month.”
Irene knew that her ex-husband seldom kept a slave for more than a few months. She wondered how long Lord Snow would keep her. “I guess Lord Snow will sell me when I can’t think up any more amusing entertainments.”
“I guess.” Tamarind was quiet for a moment. “I… We… Me and the other slaves… We understand that Lord Snow doesn’t… Doesn’t use you like the rest of us.”
“You mean that he doesn’t use my sexual services?”
She nodded.
“No. He doesn’t. Damn him. I used to be the wife of his best friend and I think that bothers him. He’d feel like he was betraying James if he used me.”
“That must be nice. Not having to service anyone.”
Irene shook her head ruefully. “You think that chastity is nice? It’s awful. I want to get fucked so bad, I can taste it.”
Tamarind looked at her with wide eyes. “You can’t mean that.”
“Of course I mean it. When I was a lady, I didn’t get fucked often enough so I sold myself into slavery. Now, it turns out, I’m the only slave in the world who never gets fucked at all. If I’d known that this would happen, I would have stayed a lady.”
“I’d rather never get fucked than get fucked a dozen times in a night, every couple of nights.”
Irene smiled. “That’s because you’ve never had chastity forced on you. It might not be nice to get fucked too much, but I’d take that over never getting any. What’s the longest that you’ve ever gone without getting fucked?”
Tamarind thought for a minute. “Four or five days, I guess. My owner got the flu once and he didn’t use me or lend me out until he got better.”
“So, since the age of fifteen, you’ve never had to go for longer than five days without sex. Look at me. How long has it been since Lord Snow bought me? A couple of months, at least. That feels like a long drought. The big question is how long is he going to keep me. For all I know, I might not get fucked again for the rest of my life. He might well keep me until I’m too old and then sell me directly into labor. I’m twenty-eight. That’s much too young to be left high and dry for the rest of my life.”
“Well, if you ever want to trade places with me, just let me know.”
“I wish I could. You don’t know how badly I wish I could.”
* * *
Irene set a small box on the kitchen table in front of each of the slaves, Nickel included.
The slaves looked at them but didn’t open them. Slaves seldom took the initiative. They were trained to wait until they received an order.
She stood and addressed them. “You’ve all had sex with a lot of men in a lot of different ways. But I want you to be better at it. It’s not enough that you are more available to gentlemen than their own wives. You should also be much better at sex. Especially when he’s fucking your cunt in the same way that he fucks his wife. The more that your owners value you, the safer you are. And the most valuable thing that you can do for a gentleman is to be the best sex partner that he’s ever had.”
“We’re pretty damned good,” Peach said. “You think you got some trick that all the ladies know that we don’t?”
“No. That’s why you can stand head and shoulders above them.”
“When we’re lying on our backs?”
“Especially then.”
Nickel opened her box. She was not surprised by what she found inside. “Shut up and listen,” she told Peach. Her hand brushed the handle of the strap hanging by her bust.
Peach shut up.
“This is a trick that I learned as a slave. I learned it because I asked a kennelman what I could do to be a better sex partner. You know what he told me?”
The slaves shook their heads in answer to her rhetorical question. Slaves tend to take things literally.
“He told me that I needed to have a stronger cunt. You’ve got muscles down there but you never exercise them. If they’re strong enough and if you have good control over them, then you can do things to a cock that gentlemen and their wives never dreamed possible. Things that will make a man practically faint with delight. Things that will make your owner want to keep you forever.”
Peach snorted in derision, but the rest of the slaves were listening.
“You will find a set of small weights in the boxes that I have given you.”
The slaves looked at her.
“Go ahead, open your boxes and take a look at them.” Irene sometimes found slaves’ compliance to be annoying. She wondered if gentlemen found the same thing. Maybe gentlemen would be amused by slaves who were not automatically compliant. She was still looking for a way to entertain the gentlemen on Saturday night and made a mental note to explore this idea a little.
“Okay, pick up the thing that looks like a little anchor with a double cone on one end. The part that is narrow and gets wide and then narrow again is like a little dildo. The anchor part at the end keeps it from sliding too far inside. If you insert it, you’ll find that you have to squeeze hard to keep it from slipping out because it won’t go in far enough to stay by itself. Stand up, now and try inserting it into your cunts.”
Two of the weights fell to the floor. The other four slaves kept their hands close enough to catch them when they squirted back out.
“Hell,” Apple said, “you can’t keep that thing inside you.”
“You can’t, but I can,” Irene said. “I’ve developed the muscles to do it. It’s made of light plastic. Without any weights attached, it’s an eighth of an ounce. Your box contains weights that screw into each other and into the base of the device. You can increase the weight in eighth-ounce increments until it weighs half a pound. But you won’t be able to hold that much. The most that I’ve ever been able to hold if five ounces and that takes an extraordinary effort.”
“Yeah?” Apple said. “Well, if you’re so keen on this, where’s your weights?”
“Inside me,” Irene said and reached between her legs to let her weights drop into her hand. She held it up. “I have three ounces attached. See?” She turned it to show the brass weights screwed into the bottom. As she unscrewed them, she recited, “An eighth weight added to the original eighth makes a quarter. Plus a quarter makes a half. Plus a half makes one ounce, plus the two ounces makes three.” She reassembled the weights and reinserted them back into herself. She spread her legs slightly to make certain that the others understood that she wasn’t squeezing it with her thighs but was holding it in place with her
cunt muscles alone.
The other slaves stared in amazement.
“Three ounces takes a considerable effort,” Irene said. “I put it in when I left my cell and I’ve had to keep concentrating on my cunt all the time that I’ve been talking to you. I can do this because I’ve been practicing for about a half hour a day every day for months. You won’t be able to do it right away, but if you keep working at it every day, you’ll get strong enough to do the same thing.”
“Why would we want to do that?” Lime asked the question. Irene thought that she was sincerely curious and not trying to heckle her.
“A couple of reasons. First, you can please a man better if your cunt is stronger. You can squeeze his cock when he’s inside you. I can mount a man, both of us can stay motionless, and I can massage him with my cunt until he climaxes. Believe me, men find that really pleasurable.
“More interesting, it will make sex better for you. If you can manipulate the cock when it’s inside you, you can get more stimulation from it. You can come easier and more reliably. And not just when you’re doing the motionless stimulation trick. You can keep working him with your cunt while he’s thrusting away. The feeling can be quite delightful for you.
“Third, you want to do that because I intend to feature it in an entertainment some day. We’re going to have a competition – a kind of cunt Olympics – and you don’t want to be the loser. The penalty will be quite unpleasant. I lost a competition at an entertainment once and I was rewarded with the worst half hour of my life. I shudder at the memory. I really recommend that you work hard because you do not want to be the weakest cunt in the room when the games begin.”
The slaves looked at each other and then began inserting the weights back inside themselves and trying to hold them.
Irene explained about how to tighten their vulvas as though they were trying to hold back urination and was gratified to see that, one-by-one, the slaves figured out how to hold the un-weighted dildo for a minute or two.
Nickel seemed to be doing a little better than the others, but that was to be expected. She had known about cunt weights for more than a month. Likely she had been flexing her muscles once in a while since then, just for amusement.
It was time for Irene to leave them alone to work on their technique.
When she walked back to her cell, all the other slaves watched her with new respect. If they hadn’t seen, with their own eyes, her assemble and insert three ounces, they wouldn’t have believed that she was walking around with it inside her.
It was like a miracle.
* * *
Irene entered the billiard room alone. Her gold lamé catsuit sparkled under the spotlight.
Every eye in the room ogled her with undisguised lust.
Cocks were getting hard in anticipation of a delight that they knew they would never be permitted to enjoy.
Irene wished with all her heart that she would be permitted to fulfill their desires but that pleasure was denied her.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “I have some bad news. I don’t have any slaves here to service you.”
“You’re a slave,” someone blurted.
“Yes, and I would love to relieve you of your heavy load, but as director of entertainment, that I am not permitted that joy.”
There were groans of disappointment. She suspected that, after last week, word had circulated that she was forbidden fruit. But, hope springs eternal in the male libido.
“I was supposed to bring a bunch of eager slaves with me. But I have failed you.” She hung her head in mock shame.
A couple of men booed, but only because it was expected. They didn’t sound angry. They were confident that Lord Snow would provide them with some kind of satisfaction before long.
“As I was bringing nine slaves over here, the tricky devils escaped into the garden. Right now they are all out there hiding somewhere. Will you help me find them?”
There was a round of lusty cheers.
She gestured to the table. “Please, good sirs, help me out. Grab one of these leashes and capture one of those nine mischievous nymphs.”
She opened the door to the garden and stood aside.
The gentlemen wasted no time filing out of the room, each grabbing a leash on their way by.
Lord Snow was the last to leave. He said nothing but grinned and winked at her. He didn’t bother taking a leash. It would be his guests’ pleasure to capture slaves to sate their lust.
Irene stepped out to watch the fun, ready to provide guidance or intervene, should anything unexpected come to pass.
The garden was lit by torches. The dim, flickering light provided plenty of hiding places.
She was relieved that the weather was good. Her backup plan had been to have the slaves hide in the billiard room, under furniture and behind curtains, but that would have been a far less interesting game.
The garden was almost three acres and had a variety of shrubs and trees, as well as a garden shed and a greenhouse.
She had told the slaves that they were not to hide inside any of the buildings. They could climb the trees if they liked but were warned that they were to come down voluntarily if spotted. She didn’t want any slaves to be pushed out of trees. More important, she didn’t want to any aristocrats to climb up after them and risk falling.
The slaves were permitted to flee, but had to stop running if ordered. And they were not to resist or fight under any circumstances. Once they were touched, they were to fall to their knees and wait to be leashed.
They seemed to understand and were in a light mood when they were scattering to find hiding places under bushes and in distant corners.
It didn’t take long before one gentleman shouted to another and Lime squealed as she was flushed out from behind a tree. She ran several steps before one of the gentlemen grabbed her arm.
She immediately dropped to her knees and began begging for mercy.
The gentlemen were laughing as they clipped a chain around her neck.
Irene had imagined that the gentlemen would bring the captured slaves back to the billiard room where they could fuck them in comfort. That was not to be. One gentleman pushed Lime onto her back on the grass and held her down. Two other gentlemen grabbed her ankles and pulled her legs apart while the first gentleman dropped on her and proceeded to rape her.
It wasn’t exactly rape. Lime fully expected to be used by many men tonight. But having her legs forced apart was a surprise. She knew what was expected and began shrieking in mock horror at the gentlemen’s brutality.
Irene had to laugh because she was screaming that she was a virgin and was begging them not to rape her.
The note of wry humor in her tone carried across the garden.
The other slaves, still in hiding, understood the game that Lime had devised and, when they were caught in turn, begged the men not to rape them. Some claimed to be ladies, some faithful to their husbands. One even claimed to be a nun.
Many of them broke into laugher along with the men who were defiling them.
Irene was fascinated by the eagerness of the slaves to participate in their rape. She supposed that it was the first time since being enslaved that any of them had been allowed to tell a man that they did not want to be violated.
Though they knew that their protests were going to be ignored, simply being allowed to express them, even in jest, gave them a feeling of freedom.
The gentlemen were cooperating in groups of two and three to hunt, capture, and rape the slaves, so, once all the slaves had been flushed, there were enough to satisfy everyone.
Irene wandered about and counted heads. Lord Snow noticed and walked with her. He was concerned that the gentlemen, having been incited to rape slaves, might get carried away and grab her, too.
It was a reasonable concern.
Irene counted only eight slaves. She went back and counted again. Same result. One was missing.
She looked at the faces.
The three borrowed slaves were all
in a group under a spreading oak tree. Apparently, they had stayed together when they hid. One was on her hands and knees, being buggered. The other two were on their backs, their hands pinned over their heads by one gentleman while another fucked them enthusiastically.
Peach was entertaining three men behind a huckleberry bush.
Apple was leaning against the side of the tool shed, arms and legs spread wide to admit one man in her cunt while another was sodomizing her asshole. She had dropped any pretense of rape and seemed to be enjoying the double penetration.
Lime was still on her back, being raped by one of the three gentlemen who had first captured her. No one was bothering to hold her legs apart now. The other two were lounging beside her, relaxing in post-orgasmic satisfaction.
Tamarind was bent over the back of a lawn chair while four men were taking turns at her. It seemed that they were all happy with her cunt and were leaving her asshole alone. But there was still plenty of time for that to change.
Cherry was playing at some kind of gang rape loop. She was surrounded by a half-dozen guys in a loose circle. Every time one of them finished raping her, she’d lie there for a minute, then spring up and start running. One of the guys on the perimeter would grab her; drag her, screaming and protesting, to the middle of the circle; lay her on her back; and start raping her anew. Judging by the enthusiasm of her squealing, she seemed to like the game. Irene noticed that she always “accidently” ran toward the guy who had the biggest hard-on.
Nickel was nowhere to be seen.
Irene figured that, being the slave who was the least interested in being used by a gentleman, she’d hidden herself most carefully. Probably, she had climbed high into one of the trees and escaped notice.
That was all right. According to the rules, any slave who managed to hide in the garden for the duration of the evening would be excused from the entertainment. They wouldn’t have to reveal themselves until the gentlemen had retired.
But, as the evening wore on and the gentlemen wore themselves out, Irene’s suspicions began to grow. She kept glancing into the trees as she strolled about, but didn’t see Nickel. The slave had hidden herself very well. Too well.
A Gentlemen's Agreement (Slave of the Aristocracy) Page 7