A Gentlemen's Agreement (Slave of the Aristocracy)

by Ashley Zacharias

  “She refused to provide service. That is the most critical function of any pleasure slave. To provide service as required.”

  “Service to you?”

  “Service to anyone who requires it.”

  “Service to any person. Property cannot require service.”

  “Slaves can be required to practice giving service so that they are prepared for whatever is needed.”

  “I’m not arguing with a piece of property. Get to your cell.” He turned to Tamarind who had followed him into the kennel. “Lock her door.”

  The other slaves released Irene and backed away, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Irene crossed her arms to hold herself and closed her legs as much as possible without putting pressure on her brutalized cunt. She whimpered piteously.

  Before Nickel left the room, Lord Snow said, “Wait. Leave your strap and corset here. You’ll not wear them again.”

  Nickel let her bloodstained strap and spattered corset drop to the floor and left the room naked. She was no longer whiphand.

  Lord Snow looked again at Irene who was quivering in agony. “Don’t try to move her,” he told the other slaves. “I’ll be back.”

  He left the kennel.

  He returned a few minutes later and sat at Irene’s head and dabbed at her face with a cool, damp cloth. “You’re going to be all right,” he said. “We can all be grateful to Tamarind for fetching me in time.”

  Shortly afterward, a kennelman arrived with a medical kit. He sat between Irene’s still spread thighs and began probing delicately. “There’s considerable damage,” he said to Lord Snow. “But it’ll heal. I don’t think there’ll be too much scarring.”

  “Nerve damage?” Lord Snow asked.

  “We won’t know until it heals, but I think she’ll still be able to provide service.”

  “Will she enjoy it?”

  The kennelman tried to hide his contempt when he looked at Lord Snow. “I don’t know if a slave ever enjoys it.”

  Irene forced out the tear-drenched words: “I do.”

  The kennelman shrugged.

  “Give her something for the pain,” Lord Snow said.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have anything. Kennelmen are prohibited from ever bringing pain relievers into a kennel.”

  When he finished stitching a tear in one of Irene’s outer labia and bandaging her vulva, the other slaves helped her get off the table. It was too painful for her to close her legs so she had to waddle.

  Lord Snow told them to take her to the bed in the pleasure room and then left her in their care.

  An hour later he came back with a bottle of pills and ordered Irene to take two.

  She fell into an insensible sleep.

  She never knew that he remained by her side until dinnertime.

  * * *

  Two days later, Irene was sitting in the kitchen alone after breakfast. The other slaves were in their cells, cleaning up and preparing for the day.

  Tamarind finished first. She came in and sat down.

  “I never had a chance to thank you for saving me,” Irene said. “If you hadn’t told Lord Snow how badly I was being beaten, I think Nickel might have kept strapping me until my cunt was completely destroyed.”

  Tamarind shrugged. “We have to watch out for each other. There’s nobody else who cares what happens to us.” She smiled a little. “Of course, mostly, I was helping Lord Snow protect his property. If I’d let Nickel continue, you would have lost your value.”

  “We have to do what we can to ensure that our owners get a good return on their investment,” Irene said. “Anyway, I want you to know how grateful I am.”

  “You know that Lord Snow doesn’t think of you as property like the rest of us.”

  “I know. He remembers when I was a lady inviting him to our manor for dinner parties. It’s a damn shame that he won’t let me service him. I really need to feel a man inside me. This celibacy thing is horrible.”

  Tamarind laughed. “Poor you.”

  Irene laughed with her. “I know. I want to have my cock and eat it, too. A girl’s got to dream.”

  “You’re better off not being used while your pussy is still sore.”

  “I’d tolerate the pain with good cheer if I were getting laid.”

  “You must be desperate.”

  Irene nodded. “Desperate is the word.”

  “We’re all desperate for something,” Cherry said, coming back from her cell.

  “I’m desperate for ice cream,” Lime said, following her. “I haven’t tasted ice cream since I was pressed into slavery. I love ice cream.”

  “I never tasted ice cream – we couldn’t afford it – so I don’t miss it. I guess I’m lucky that way.” Cherry said.

  Irene said nothing, but she made a mental note to provide ice cream as a reward in an upcoming entertainment.

  Peach and Apple joined them and they discussed mundane matters until Lord Snow escorted two hard-looking men into the kennel. They were dressed in rough work clothes – cheap and serviceable.

  The slaves watched as Lord Snow showed the men to Nickel’s cell.

  Peach whispered, “Brothel owners.”

  They could hear the discussion. There was no negotiation. One of the men said, “Ten thousand plaqs,” and Lord Snow said, “Done.”

  Nickel was taken from the kennel naked, leashed with her hands cuffed behind her back. The heavy chain about her neck was not merely symbolic. It was strong enough to restrain a tiger if necessary.

  Nickel was no tiger. She hung her head so that her lank, greasy hair curtained her face but it wasn’t enough to conceal her defeat. Everyone could see that her pallor was chalk white between her matted locks.

  She looked like a person on her way to the gallows.

  “The function of a pleasure slave is to provide service to any man who wants it,” Peach called to her.

  She flinched.

  “Keep count,” Tamarind said to her. “I bet you service more than ten thousand cocks before you get sold to labor.”

  Irene could swear that she saw a tear trickle from Nickel’s eye before she turned away.

  She would never see or hear of Nickel again. Probably her new owners changed her name to something more alluring before they put her to work.

  When the slaves were alone again, Peach said, “I’ve seen them before. They own the Lucky Rooster brothel down on the Seawall. Strictly a quick in-and-out for sailors off the freighters. She’ll consider it an easy day if she has to suck only two-dozen cocks.”

  Cherry smiled. “They’ll get their money’s worth out of her many times over, and then they’ll sell her on the labor market.”

  Lime nodded. “A pleasure slave never returns to a manor after brothel service. Never.”

  Irene would have felt pity for Nickel if her crotch weren’t still throbbing in pain. Lord Snow’s pills helped but they couldn’t make the most sensitive part of her anatomy completely numb. She still didn’t know if there would be enough scarring to interfere with her pleasure, or worse, if she had sustained permanent nerve damage.

  Later in the day, Lord Snow came back to the kennel and spoke with the slaves. “Do I have to buy another whiphand or will you maintain order on your own?”

  He was looking at Peach. It wasn’t difficult for Irene to figure out why he had brought Nickel into the kennel.

  “I’m sure that you’ll be happy with our behavior,” Peach said. “There won’t be any fighting here.”

  “Any hint of a problem and my next whiphand will make Nickel seem like Florence Nightingale in comparison.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He left.

  Cherry looked at Peach. “You leave us alone and we’ll leave you alone and no one will every have to get pussy whipped again.”

  “You just stay out of my way,” Peach replied.

  “Everyone is going to stay out of everyone’s way,” Irene said, “or I’ll make you the centerpiece in an entertainment designed around unusua
l punishments. When I asked Lord Snow to borrow the crucifixion frame from the professor, he told me that the prof has a whole collection of exotic punishment devices to choose from. If the crucifixion frame is any indication, those devices are no joke. Lord Snow’s guests might be well amused by a demonstration of all the different ways that slaves can be made to suffer for a few hours.”

  None of the slaves had any reply to that.

  It wasn’t an idle threat.

  * * *

  After a few days, the kennelman removed the stitches from Irene’s labium. Her entire vulva was still sore to the touch, but it wasn’t giving her constant pain any longer. She couldn’t see it, but she assumed that it was still mottled with bruises.

  Lord Snow hadn’t asked her to organize any more entertainments, but that wasn’t unusual. He and Lady Snow had an abundance of reciprocal invitations and might not need to host another major event for a month.

  In the meantime, Irene amused herself thinking of various ideas. She had staged a couple of games but had not yet experimented with scripts or role-playing. A number of fun possibilities came to mind. She would be ready when he asked for another event.

  He frequently brought the other slaves up to the manor for informal entertainments after small dinners. When he had only one or two gentlemen to entertain, they retired to the billiard room after dinner and he had a slave or two in attendance to provide service as desired.

  Irene wished that she were included in those casual affairs. She wanted to feel a man inside her again. Since coming to Lord Snow’s manor, she had only been fucked the one time that she had deceived Lord Snow in the dark. It had been wonderful, but her ass had paid a heavy price for her deception.

  She would give almost anything for a chance to sport with him freely and openly, but she had decided that she would no longer try to nag or tease him into losing control. Mostly because it had never worked.

  About two weeks after Nickel was taken away, Tamarind came to Irene’s cell and told her that Lord Snow wanted her in the pleasure room.

  Irene hoped that he was going to order her to design another entertainment. She was eager for something to do.

  He was standing in the center of the room when she entered. “How are you feeling?”

  “A lot better. I don’t feel any pain now.”

  “Do you think you suffered any permanent damage?”

  “I don’t know. It feels all right, but I can’t be sure until I actually try to service a man.”

  Lord Snow was breathing deeply when he said, “Maybe we should find out, then.”

  Irene looked at him with hopeful eyes. He seemed to be saying what she wanted to hear, but she was afraid that her desire was making her misinterpret his words.

  But he wasn’t just teasing her. “What position would be most comfortable for you. I mean, considering that we aren’t sure how it’s going to work.”

  “The usual way. Me on my back and you on top.” The missionary position was, in fact, not the best first position. Better would have been her on top so that she could control the speed and depth of penetration and avoid pressure on her vulva if she began to feel pain. But she didn’t want that. She wanted to be fucked in the most intimate way – face to face with Lord Snow while he drove himself as deeply into her as possible.

  He gestured to the bed.

  She flung herself on her back and spread her legs wide, grinning like the devil, silently inviting him to have at her.

  Have at her, he did. He stripped his clothes off to reveal his rigid cock, ready for action.

  Positioning himself between her thighs, he began to press slowly and carefully into her.

  To hell with that! She grabbed his butt and pulled him deep into her cunt in one motion, raising her hips to meet his.

  It felt wonderful to be filled with a thick, strong cock. If there was a slight twinge from the scar on her labium, she didn’t notice. She was too busy trying to get him deep enough that his pubic bone was pressing on her clit.

  As soon as he was nestled far inside, she began working her cunt muscles. She hadn’t tried to exercise with the weights since her pussy had been whipped – it would have been ridiculously painful – but she found that she hadn’t lost much tone. When she clamped down on his cock and began to massage it, Lord Snow moaned in pleasure. His moan rose and fell in syncopation with her pulsating cunt.

  He began thrusting slowly and gently.

  Her cunt was infused with waves of pleasure. She had never felt anything so wonderful. This was even better than when she had serviced him anonymously in the dark.

  She came with all the power of a primeval goddess. Then, when he came two minutes later, she came again, just as powerfully as the first time.

  She clutched him tight and hugged him close while he subsided and melted into her arms.

  “It works,” she whispered in his ear. “At least this time. We should make sure that it works every time. We’ll have to do this again, maybe a hundred times or more before we can be really sure.”

  “I think it’s my duty to ensure that you’re okay,” he said. “Over and over again.”

  “I want that so badly, you wouldn’t believe it. I hope that you don’t mind trying a lot of different positions, just to make sure that they all work.”

  “We definitely have to run a full diagnostic sequence.”

  “Whenever you like, as often as you like.”

  He rolled off of her and they rested for a long while. Then he began to stir and she gently rubbed his cock until it was ready for a second test run.

  That worked just as well as the first.

  As did a third test run an hour after that.

  * * *

  “Lord Snow wants you to come to the manor tonight for after-dinner service.”

  Irene was astounded. Now that the floodgates had opened – or more accurately, the gates to her sex had opened – Lord Snow had been using her every day. To Irene’s delight.

  But he had never given any indication that he intended to share her with his guests.

  She didn’t mind. If it was all right with Lord Snow, she would be happy to service a variety of cocks. That was what a slave should expect from life. And it was pleasant enough. Each shape and size of cock created its own kind of wonderful.

  Then Tamarind clarified her situation.

  “All five of us will be there. He’s going to be playing games with the professor. That sick old sadist never wants service from the slaves, he just likes to ogle us between hands. It’s as creepy as hell. You know that he’s imagining what you’d look like when he has you mounted in one of his torture devices. You can see it in his eyes.”

  Irene was disappointed. She wanted to be used, not ogled. But getting out of the kennel for the evening was better than nothing.

  Most likely Lord Snow wanted her there so that she could listen to the professor talk about torturing slaves and get some ideas for new punishments that she could use in future entertainments.

  She had little interest in that. She had only arranged to borrow his crucifixion frame because she had expected Nickel to lose the sex games. In fact, she’d been prepared to fudge the scores if one of the other slaves had failed to beat Nickel.

  Now that Nickel was gone, she had no intention of arranging any more brutal punishments.

  Unless Peach or one of the other slaves started causing trouble in the kennel. Then she was quite prepared to take all the joy out of someone’s life for an evening.

  She followed the other slaves through the tunnel to the billiard room.

  There was a games table with two chairs in the middle of the room and a variety of chaise lounges arranged around the perimeter. Each slave selected one of the chaise lounges and arranged herself decoratively on it. Apple explained to Irene that they weren’t confined to the furniture, but could stand, stretch and walk about a little. They were, however, prohibited from making sudden movements that would distract the players and, above all, were not to speak, even at
a whisper. They were visual decoration only. If they caused a distraction, Lord Snow might turn them over to the professor for chastisement.

  None of them wanted that.

  After a bit, Lord Snow and the professor came into the room and sat at the table. They joked and chatted as they distributed chips and shuffled cards.

  Poker was the game for the night. Five-card draw. The gentlemen had no interest in fancy foo-foo games. They were happy to face off against each other in the most basic showdown – bet, draw, bet, and lay down.

  The play proceeded at a break-neck pace and the piles of chips rose and fell as one of them gained advantage and then lost it. Neither man was able to bankrupt the other.

  Irene inferred that the smallest chip was worth thirty-two-plaqs and the largest was five hundred and twelve.

  The typical pot was more than a thousand plaqs. Lord Snow could afford to lose that easily enough, but Irene wondered about the professor. If he were truly a university professor then we was unlikely to be wealthy. Professors’ salary scales tended to be modest.

  Nonetheless, he didn’t seem to worry about it. He laughed and joked with Lord Snow and happily ogled the naked slaves that lounged around the room.

  They reacted by subtly posing in the provocative positions that he seemed to enjoy most. He watched most avidly when a slave clasped her hands behind her back and thrust her breasts out, or stretched her arms high over her head, or held her hands protectively over her pudendum.

  The significance of the poses was obvious and Irene was willing to participate in the exhibition. Posing like a slave who was being tortured was a long way from suffering the torture and, if it made Lord Snow’s guest happy, then she was obligated to accommodate him.

  For the most part, Irene found the evening boring and her boredom grew worse as the hour grew late.

  She stretched by putting her hands over the nape of her neck and arching her back to thrust her breasts out.

  The professor was watching and his smile grew wide.

  “My dear friend,” he said to Lord Snow. “The hour grows late. I propose that we make this the last hand.”