Submissives of the Colonel

by Charles Graham

  Arabella gaped at him, “But…But…You told me…You said I wouldn’t be ch..chained if I submitted to you.”

  “I lied,” he responded flatly and grinned an evil grin as the brunette’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

  “I am not one of your British gentlemen,” he sneered harshly. “I am Razak the slaver, and you wear one of my collars on your throat.”

  Suiting his actions to his words, he closed the heavy iron about Arabella’s slender neck and screwed closed the lock. “You are my slave,” he told her, “and you will serve me well.”

  Arabella sucked in a deep breath; but, before she could give vent to the terrified anguish rising up in her throat, he seized her jaw in a vice like grip, cutting off her scream, and making her wince with pain.

  “You have not been given permission to speak, slave,” he snapped. “If you make a sound, I shall whip you.”

  The brunette stared up at her Master, her eyes wide as she searched his cruel face for any trace of pity. She found none; and, as she realised that he meant every word, she fought down her desire to scream a protest, her shoulders slumping and great hot tears welling from her brown eyes as she understood that she was truly his slave and subject to any punishment he cared to impose upon her.

  “It is good that you begin to understand what you have become, slave,” he said as he released her jaw. “Now, you will display your body and your submission to your Master.”

  For a moment, Arabella froze, but as Razak’s forehead creased in a frown and he reached for the whip proffered by one of his men, she whimpered in terror and forced her spine erect, thrusting out her breasts in the way she had seen the Indian slave, Ranee, offer herself.

  Razak grunted then reached out and used the coiled whip to tilt her chin upwards so that she stared up at the cloudless sky and her breasts tautened still further.

  “Do not break the pose, slave,” he commanded, “or you will be whipped.”

  Arabella shuddered in her pose as commanded by her Master and clenched her teeth, fighting not to move as the whip trailed slowly down her stretched throat to the twin firm globes of her presented breasts. Once again, as braided leather caressed her flesh and slid over her nipples, Arabella was unable to prevent the instinctive reaction of her body; and, as her twin buds stiffened and grew hard, she moaned in shame as unwanted heat spread downwards, setting her belly flesh quivering helplessly as the remorseless arousal sent moist warmth seeping into her groin.

  To a Master of slaves as skilled and experienced as Razak, the signals of her growing passion were unmistakable; and, as the tremors of her need grew more powerful, he sent his right hand to the joint of her trembling thighs, forcing her legs apart, and sending his extended fingers spearing into the slippery channel of her sex.

  Arabella’s scream of surrender coincided with the frantic jerking of her pelvis as she orgasmed instantly and her torso doubled forward and down over his deeply buried hand as she climaxed to his ruthless mastery of her, her love juices soaking his fingers and her bowed head and back juddering to the explosive spasms of her submission.

  “Position, slave,” he snapped sharply, but Arabella could not obey, too far gone in her climax to heed the command. It was a mistake instantly punished; for, at a nod from him, one of his men jumped forward and sent his whip hissing down across her unprotected buttocks, etching a thin burning stripe of red into her tender flesh. The stinging heat of the blow and the knowledge that her Master would accept nothing less than her complete and immediate obedience to his every order sent an intense thrill of submissive excitement racing through Arabella’s body and brain, and she squealed in pain and jerked her spine erect, hardly able to believe that such brutality was possible.

  Never before had anybody ever treated her with such total arrogance, such callous authority, and her belly convulsed with frightening power around his hand as she was taught the absolute dominance of a strong and totally determined Master.

  Wide with fright, her eyes stared up at the sky; and, as she heard his low chuckle of pleasure and the cruel laughter of the warriors who had witnessed her ruthless subjugation to his will, she trembled to the knowledge that she was, indeed, a slave.

  Casually, Razak pulled his hand from her spasming belly, and she flushed as he displayed the glistening juices of her surrender to his men.

  Then, helpless in her bonds, she dared not even protest as she was dragged to the wagon and the chain at her collar padlocked to a low ringbolt, the length of the chain such that she could not rise from her knees but had to remain uncomfortably crouched at the feet of Belinda.

  Kneeling in the dust, her body stained with the sweat and juices of her humiliation, Arabella wept despairingly for her lost freedom, understanding from the way she had been secured, that her status as a slave in the camp was far lower than that of her friend, even though Belinda herself was also a captive. Far too late, she realised that she should never have made her offer to serve Razak, but the deed was done, and she trembled with horror, fearing the consequences of her rash action…

  Chapter Four

  From the moment she had tried to dissuade Arabella from submitting to Razak, Belinda had had to watch her friend’s enslavement and sexual torment at his hands without being able to interfere in any way. With a warrior’s hard brawny arm pinning hers, the blonde could only watch in growing horror as Razak had lured Arabella into declaring herself to be his slave and then reneged on his promise not to chain and collar her.

  The sustained intensity of the arousal to which Arabella was then subjected, the absolute, whip-enforced obedience demanded of her, and the shattering orgasm she had been forced to endure, set Belinda trembling in fear because she remembered all too well her own frenzied responses when Razak and his men aroused her and took her and knew that, if she were to be treated in the same way as her friend, then she, too, would be just as incapable of resisting the men’s demands.

  Only when Arabella was dragged to the wagon and chained by her side did Belinda’s captor released his iron grip on her, only to thrust a gag deep between her jaws, snake his arms around her, and cup her full breasts in his palms, fingers rolling and tweaking her prominent nipples.

  She gasped, wriggling vainly as arousal shot through her breasts, but could not evade his touch; and, as she tried and failed, a hot fire of need ignited in her belly as she had to face the fact that it was shamefully exciting…and even pleasurable...to be quite unable to control what was done to her. Bound as she was, she told herself, she could do nothing to prevent the man caressing and toying with her body. If she couldn’t stop him, then what happened could not be her fault.

  With the gag between her jaws, she had no way to reason with him, and she certainly couldn’t fight him. Not even if her arms and legs had been free…which they weren’t.

  Absolved, in her own mind, of any guilt, Belinda gave in to the delicious sensations rippling through her body, and her struggles changed to a sensual swaying against the man’s muscular chest as she closed her eyes and allowed herself to surrender to his erotic domination.

  “The white bitch seems to like your touch, Amal. Perhaps you should permit her to kneel and beg to be a slave like her friend.”

  Belinda’s eyes jerked open, and she stared wildly into the hard face of Razak, her gagged cheeks flushing a vivid scarlet as the slaver Prince gazed at the full globes of her breasts and the engorged knobs of her rigid nipples.

  “Not me, my Prince,” Amal replied cheerfully, “I prefer a slave to be fully trained in the arts of pleasuring a man before she kneels at my feet. This one is quite responsive for a white woman, but why should I waste time and effort on her when fully trained slaves are plentiful and cheap? And who can know whether she might not turn out to be cold and frigid even after she is trained?”

  Razak gave a mirthless laugh then bent forward to stare deep into Belinda’s frightened eyes. And, for a long moment, the blonde tried to meet his gaze, then she gave a low moan, and her eyes slid away
from his face.

  He nodded slowly. “As you say, Amal,” he agreed calmly. “Trained slaves are cheap and easy to find. But I do not think this one will be cold or frigid when she is trained, and I am quite confident that she will repay the time and effort spent in training her a thousand times over, my friend. And even if she does not, even a frigid white woman will still bring us a good price as a trophy to serve in the chains of a rich merchant.”

  Amal chuckled softly. “I wish you luck, my Prince,” he said. As he spoke, his fingers gave a cunning tweak to each of Belinda’s stiffened buds. A stifled yelp of impassioned anguish leaked past her gag, and her body quivered in helpless need as a jolt of pained pleasure shot through her breasts.

  Razak watched her instinctive response then gave a cruel smile. “Take her to my tent,” he ordered. “Bind her in the whipping frame, blindfold her, and leave her there. I shall begin her training after I have dealt with her friend.”

  Shamed by her submission to Amal’s skilful touch and appalled by the casual way in which the two men discussed her body and its potential for their profit, Belinda shrieked in terror as the muscular warrior unlocked her ankle cuffs and the chain tethering her to the wagon and dragged her through the camp to the large tent where she was to be bound into the whipping frame to await Razak’s pleasure.

  When her muffled screams faded, Razak turned to the chained brunette kneeling at his feet. Forbidden to speak and horribly conscious that the smallest disobedience on her part would be instantly and ruthlessly punished, Arabella trembled in fear, not daring to lift her head to look up at the man whose slave she had become. The memory of his hands and whip on her body, arousing her and forcing her to climax to his will, sent a confusing mixture of humiliation and excitement through her belly; and, before she could come to terms with her conflicting feelings, she heard hurrying footsteps and Ranee’s voice.

  “Your knife, my Master, and this is the switch you ordered me to cut.”

  The switch whistled through the air as Razak tested its suitability then slashed down across Arabella’s naked buttocks. The smooth, thin sapling etched a red line of scorching heat into her flesh. She screamed in pain as she was struck but was ignored.

  Her slaver said, “Yes, Ranee, that will do very well. This slave has already submitted to me of her own free will, so you may whip her as often as you wish while you are teaching her her duties. Here is the key to her padlock. Train her well, slave, or you will answer to me for her failures.” He walked away without another word.

  Immediately, Razak left her alone with the Indian slave. Arabella saw her chance to escape and stole a glance around, her spirits rising as she saw that the compound was deserted.

  She twisted her neck to look up at the girl and spoke in low, urgent tones. “Quickly, Ranee,” she ordered, “untie me. Don’t just stand there, girl. Get this chain off my neck at once.”

  Ranee gazed down at the kneeling brunette then raised the switch in her hand and sent it slashing across Arabella’s rounded bottom, applying several hard cuts as the brunette squealed and writhed in vain efforts to avoid the stinging lashes, her eyes wide with shock and pain as the younger woman beat her.

  “Aaahh. No, stop, oh please, stop. Owww. Ooohh.”

  Ranee laughed softly. “Why should I?” she asked cruelly. “You have submitted as a slave, and your Master has ordered me to train you as I was trained by him. He whipped me, so why should I not whip you?”

  Arabella whimpered to the heat of her reddened bottom and shook her head in denial and confusion. “But…But I am British,” she protested. “A Memsahib. You are only a native and a slave. You cannot do this to me. I…I forbid it.”

  The switch hissed down again and then again and, as the helpless brunette screamed, Ranee’s eyes glittered angrily. “You are nothing,” she snapped. “A slave, like me, and you will be whipped as often as I wish. There are no British Memsahibs here, only slaves, and there are no soldiers in red coats to help you. You will be trained to serve men as a slave, you white bitch, and I hope they will whip you often and make you pleasure them just like any cheap whore in the streets of Delhi. Now, be silent, or I will call a warrior to whip you.”

  Arabella shuddered and clamped her lips together, terrified by the girl’s cruelty and her threat to call a warrior, understanding that a whipping administered by a man would be far more painful that anything Ranee could do to her.

  “Good. You begin to obey like a slave,” the girl sneered. “Now you will learn to present your body as a slave.” She unlocked the padlock securing Arabella to the wagon.

  “Kneel up straight, slave. Head up and pull your shoulders back. Spread your knees. Wider. Shoulders back, you bitch.”

  The switch seared across the brunette’s rounded belly then bit at her flanks as she bent forward, instinctively, to protect herself. She sobbed as her merciless tutor and the stinging switch enforced an obedience she did not want to give. Not that her wishes made the slightest difference, for Ranee forced her to display her body again and again; and, as Arabella obeyed, she learned that her preconceived ideas that no mere native girl could ever make an English Memsahib do anything against her will, were disastrously wrong. Chains and a whip made for an irresistible argument. As the brunette struggled to satisfy the ruthless Indian slave, her safe, ordered world of comfort and security evaporated like the sweat that rolled down her naked breasts and belly.

  “Forehead on the ground, slave, and keep your knees spread. Raise your bottom. Higher. Now do not move unless you want to be whipped.”

  Helpless in the pose and totally vulnerable, Arabella shuddered as Ranee chuckled that this was a favourite with many of the warriors. In it, a slave was shamefully offered, her buttocks displayed for a whipping, her sex held open for the Master’s pleasure, and her breasts perfectly placed for his fingers.

  Despite herself, Arabella felt her nipples stiffen and her sex moisten as she imagined a warrior taking advantage of her defencelessness. She could not stop the rapid growth of a shameful excitement that swirled in her belly to the idea of being made to submit and serve a strong Master in such a way. With her arms bound behind her back, a man need only keep her head pressed down into the dust to hold her in place, and she would be totally unable to rise from her knees or resist the plundering of her belly. There would be nothing she could do to save herself, and her arousal burned as hot as her face as she responded humiliatingly to the vision her brain conjured up.

  How easily she could be made to submit became horrifyingly clear as Ranee knelt behind her and slapped her upraised buttocks with the switch. “Do not make a sound or try to close your legs, slave,” she warned. “You know how to present your body to a Master, and now you will learn how to respond to one.”

  Arabella tensed, as if to resist, but the switch found her buttocks again, not hard enough to hurt, but carrying an unmistakable message.

  Gulping in fearful excitement, the brunette took a deep breath and surrendered to the inevitable, forcing her muscles to relax, and trying to persuade herself that she did not want to be aroused and made to respond to the girl, but that she had no choice. It was not a very convincing attempt, for every inch of her skin tingled with delicious anticipation; and, although she knew she should be strong and should resist, no matter how painful it might be, Arabella felt a shameful thrill at the thought of submitting to Ranee.

  Slowly, the girl slid her fingers up the soft curve of Arabella’s inner thigh, her touch bringing a gasp from the brunette as ripples of arousal spread upwards into her belly to ignite a slow fire of desire in her. Patiently, and without hurry, Ranee stoked the flame of her captive’s need, her fingers approaching, but never quite reaching, the delicate and exquisitely sensitive folds of Arabella’s labia, tormenting the hapless brunette until she moaned in frustration and her buttocks weaved lasciviously from side to side, her need far outweighing any lingering shame she felt.

  Desperate to be given the climax she could feel rising ever upwards i
n her belly and acutely conscious of the switch which still threatened her, Arabella nibbled at her lower lip, fighting not to break her silence and plead to be made to come as Ranee’s fingers rose higher, stroking with feather-light caresses at the slick, engorged lips of her sex, each touch sending a jolt of white-hot lust spearing into her quaking belly and reinforcing her helpless submission to the Indian girl.

  Trained in the arts of love by Masters who demanded complete surrender from their slaves, Ranee knew exactly how to impose her will on Arabella and drove her into a frenzy of sexual desire. The blonde’s body trembled with unsatisfied passion and her sex wet with the juices of her enforced arousal as she was made to respond far more deeply than ever before.

  Gasping and whimpering to the inferno raging through her body, Arabella hurtled into a climax of stupendous power as Ranee sent her slim fingers burrowing into her sex, massive contractions releasing towering floods of juices to churn and boil and seethe through her convulsing belly as she screamed in the humiliating ecstasy of unconditional submission.

  Never in her whole life, not even in her husband’s bed, had Arabella ever dreamed of such intense pleasure and, as her body melted into a whirlpool of soaring rapture, her brain reeled to the shocking knowledge that she had surrendered as a slave. Not as a wife, or even as a lover, but as a collared, chained slave. To a woman who was a slave herself.

  She dared not even think about what Randolph would say if he ever discovered her disgrace.

  Luckily, perhaps, she was given little time to dwell on that nightmare scene, for as her spasms eased, Ranee ordered her back to her knees, following the order with a sharp lash of the switch across her bottom, and her training continued as if nothing had happened.

  Struggling to satisfy her demanding teacher and the even more demanding whip in her hand, Arabella was, by turns, angry and resentful and ashamed; but, as she was forced to obey and display her body as Ranee commanded, her feelings slowly turned to a frightening realisation of just how defenceless and vulnerable she truly was.