“You say that, but how do you know…?” Arabella began, then she stopped and her face reddened as she realised that there could only be one way that Belinda could know. “You mean…You and..and..Razak,” she said slowly and turned to face her friend.
The embarrassed blonde flushed and nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” she admitted miserably. “I’m ashamed to say he d..d..did. Twice.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Arabella was appalled. “He’s a brute, and I hate him for what he’s done to you. I’m so sorry, darling.”
“Th…Thank you,” Belinda gave a tremulous smile of gratitude. “He had me t..tied up in the whipping frame, you see, and I couldn’t..couldn’t resist him.”
Arabella shivered and hesitated, then asked shyly, “I hate to ask, Belinda, but..but..well..what was it like?”
Belinda’s throat worked as she gulped. “I thought at first that I would die of shame,” she replied sadly. “Then I was frightened that I would choke. But you get…used to it very quickly and then it’s b..b..better. It’s still frightening and horribly embarrassing, but there’s nothing you can do and if you don’t pl…please him, he has his wh…whip. And then, when he’s r…ready, he c..c..comes in your mouth…” her voice trailed off into silence, and Arabella stared at her distraught friend as she struggled to compose herself.
With a visible effort, the blonde forced herself to continue. “But that’s not the worst part, Arabella. The worst part of it is that I couldn’t stop myself getting excited. I tried, really tried, but I couldn’t, and he made me c…climax even though I didn’t want to. Please don’t think badly of me, darling. I know what I did was wrong and awful, but he made me. I didn’t have any choice.”
Arabella smiled in sorrowful understanding, her brown eyes filled with compassion for her friend’s anguish. “I don’t think badly of you, Belinda. How could I? I don’t have any choice either; and, when Ranee comes back, I’ll have to please the Masters, too. It wasn’t your fault and it won’t be mine. We’re slaves and the men can force us to do what they want, no matter how much we try to fight them. You saw how Ranee made me submit to her. How can we resist when we’re chained and helpless? We don’t want to please the Masters, and we don’t want to climax as slaves, but we both know that we will, don’t we? Until we’re ransomed, we are slaves. We have to hold on, darling. Do what we must, but just hold on and pray that my husband and your fiancée come to rescue us before it’s too late.”
Comforted by Arabella’s words, Belinda managed a weak smile; but, before she could reply, both women saw Ranee hurrying back…and she was not alone.
Chapter Seven
Chained on their knees with their naked bodies beautifully displayed and a chain running through between their spread thighs and buried deep in the wet recesses of their sexes, Belinda and Arabella trembled in fear as Ranee hurried to their side and fell to her knees as the two warrior Masters that she had fetched walked over to what had become, with Ranee’s addition, a trio of slaves.
When the two men gazed down at her displayed nudity, Belinda recognised that one of them was Amal, the man who had bound her in the whipping frame on the day she had been taken by Razak. He recognised her, too, and grinned broadly as his hot eyes surveyed her presented breasts and the chain disappearing between her straddled thighs.
“So, we meet again, slave,” he greeted her cheerfully. “Ranee tells me that you are now trained and ready to serve.”
Belinda gulped but had been addressed by a Master and knew she must reply.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered. “C..Command me, and I will..will obey, Master.”
“That is a good answer, slave,” he chuckled, toying with the whip at his belt. “But I am not yet certain that you are not still cold and frigid as I told Prince Razak after your companion was enslaved. Prove to me that you are not, slave. Prove to me that you have slave passion in your belly and are worthy of the slave collar you wear about your pretty throat.”
His hands went to his groin; and, as Belinda gasped, he freed his semi-erect maleness and ordered, “Pleasure me, slave, and if I am not satisfied, you will regret your failure.”
The warning was crystal clear, and Belinda dared not hesitate or show the slightest sign of unwillingness. Crushing back her horror and shame, she inched forward on her knees and began to kiss and lick delicately at his flesh, her eyes widening as he responded immediately to the touch of her lips and his shaft thickened and stiffened as he became aroused.
His hands knotted in her hair, pulling her to his belly, and her lips opened into a stretched “O” as his rigid erection sank deep into her mouth, gagging her and bulging her cheeks as she drew in air through flaring nostrils and sucked at his hardened shaft.
The other warrior…unknown to either of the chained Englishwomen…gave a harsh laugh as Belinda began to serve Amal and seized Arabella’s hair in his strong hand, arching her backwards until her spine formed a deep curve, and she squealed in fear as his other hand captured each of her breasts in turn, rolling and pinching her tender nipples between his coarse, work-hardened fingers.
Wincing to his rough caresses and frighteningly aware that her nipples were rapidly stiffening to the unwanted arousal, Arabella gasped, “Mercy, Master. Please, Master, I beg you.”
The warrior scowled down into her upturned face, and Arabella shuddered as he retorted, “Mercy? For a slave? I think not, slut. Be silent and still, woman, or my whip will taste the flesh of a British Memsahib.” And then his thin lips twisted into an evil grin.
Ordered to silence and immobility by a Master she knew would not hesitate to punish her, Arabella was helpless prey to his fingers; and, as her breasts and nipples grew painfully hard and swollen, she could only whimper softly and fight to hold her pose as near-unbearable arousal poured through her trembling body and her shamefully submissive excitement zoomed to new heights.
“Serve me well,” he sneered at last, “Memsahib.” As his rampant erection forced its way past her lips, Arabella coughed and spluttered as, for the very first time, her mouth was filled to capacity by the hard, thick shaft of a fully aroused Master.
For a few, terrifying seconds, she could not breathe; but, even as her eyes bulged in panic, natural instinct took over and air hissed through her dilated nostrils.
“Begin, slave,” her Master snapped, reinforcing the order with a cruel stroke of his whip across her naked buttocks; and, as Arabella flinched and gasped to the stinging fire in her bottom, she forced her lips to clamp around his maleness and began to suck nervously at his rigid flesh. To her intense relief, she found that it was by no means as difficult or awful as she had feared….but then the shocking reality of what she was doing sank into her brain. She was pleasuring a man…a total stranger…in the most intimate way possible.
Appalled by her own actions, she tried to pull back and take her lips from his body, but the warrior was an experienced and totally dominant Master, and his response to her attempted disobedience was both instantaneous and decisive.
His hand knotted in her hair, jerking her head back down to his belly; and, as his whip hissed down across her buttocks to paint stripe after stripe of searing heat and he snarled, “You disobedient white bitch! I’ll teach you not to defy your Master!”
Arabella gave a muffled shriek of abject submission and her lips and tongue squeezed and licked and sucked desperately at his thick shaft in her frantic efforts to appease his anger and save her painfully stinging bottom from further punishment.
She no longer cared that he was a stranger or that her service to him was shameful and embarrassing. He was a Master and that was all that mattered; and, as Arabella was forced to accept that unalterable fact, she discarded all thoughts of her past and what she had once been and concentrated totally on being a pleasing slave, satisfying him…and avoiding his whip. Discovering as she did so that Belinda had told her the truth, for her belly seethed and churned with ferocious slave heat as she devoted all of her efforts to pleasuring her M
aster.
It was an anxious moment for Ranee when the two men ordered Belinda and Arabella to pleasure them; for, although she was sure in her mind that the pair were well trained and submissive enough not to dare to disobey, she was the one who would be held responsible and punished if they tried to resist or were not considered suitably pleasing. For a worrying few seconds, she thought that Arabella was going to cause trouble, but as her Master, Bohar, sent his whip cracking across her buttocks, the English brunette gave in to the inevitable.
Ranee let out the breath she had been holding and began to relax and enjoy the erotic spectacle of her trainees kneeling in their chains at the feet of their Masters, their lips working busily at the bellies of the two muscular warriors. A shadow fell across her and she looked up into the calm features of Razak.
“Good afternoon, Ranee.”
“Good afternoon, my Master.”
“How goes the training of my slaves?”
“Very well, Master. I asked Master Amal and Master Bohar to assist me, as you see, Master.”
“Yes. You seem to have done well, Ranee. The slaves both seem to understand what is required of them.”
“Thank you, Master. Yes, they have felt the whip and know they must obey and serve fully and without question, my Master.”
“It would appear so. Tell me, Ranee, about the brunette. How does she respond to the whip?”
The Indian girl smiled cruelly, “She likes it as much as she fears it, Master,” she replied. “She dare not admit it to herself, but she is a natural slave.”
Razak nodded, “I agree. Who but a natural slave would have offered her body to me in return for a meaningless promise not to chain her?”
“None but a slave, Master,” Ranee grinned up at him. “She just did not understand what she already was.”
The tall slaver Prince gazed at Arabella’s firm breasts and sweetly rounded buttocks then smiled down into Ranee’s eyes. “You, too, enjoy and fear the whip, do you not, slave?” he asked calmly.
Ranee licked her suddenly dry lips, understanding instantly that this was no longer simply a casual discussion between equals, but a Master questioning his slave.
“Y..Yes, Master,” she admitted softly.
“Then are you not also a natural slave?”
“Yes, my Master.”
“A slave who must obey and serve, fully and without question?”
Ranee was trapped by the same words she had used to describe the English slaves and knew that there could only be one reply. She straightened her spine and pulled back her shoulders to display her body as beautifully as possible. Then she answered him clearly, “I am your slave, my Master, and will obey and serve you in any way you command me.”
“I never doubted you would, slave,” Razak told her. “Then you had best serve me as your trainees serve my warriors.”
It was not the reward that Ranee had hoped for, and she would much rather not have been made to serve alongside slaves she considered to be greatly inferior to herself, but it was not her place to decide how and where she would obey a Master.
Reaching forward, she carefully released Razak’s maleness, then bent and took him into the moist heat of her soft mouth, sliding her lips up and down the full length of his hard shaft, her tongue licking delicately to bring him the exquisite pleasure that only a willingly submissive, fully trained slave could provide.
“Wrists,” he ordered; and, as Ranee placed her arms behind her, he locked her cuffs together and chuckled. “Now all of my slaves are equal and must serve equally.”
Ranee did not agree; she knew that her skills were far greater. As she set out to prove it, Razak sighed with overwhelming pleasure as he benefited from Ranee’s determination to show him that she was a more pleasing slave than either of the British women.
Amal was the first of the three Masters to reach his climax, but only by a few seconds. And as Belinda gulped down the hot jets of seed that filled her mouth and throat as he came, she heard Arabella’s Master give a hoarse grunt of release and was relieved that her friend had succeeded in her task of pleasuring him.
Surprisingly, Amal had been quite easy on her, guiding and instructing her with low orders rather than his whip, and she was grateful, for she had heard Arabella being punished and knew that it could easily have been her if Amal had so wished. When he slipped from her lips, she arched her body and gazed humbly up at him.
“You serve quite well for a new slave.”
“Thank you, Master,” she replied softly. Then, greatly daring, she added, “May a slave know whether her Master still thinks she is frigid?”
Amal stared at her then gave a brief snort of laughter. “Slut!” he smiled. “You could be whipped for such insolence.”
Belinda thrust her head down, frightened that he might carry out the threat, but he only chuckled and said, “You show spirit, slave. That is good. I am satisfied that you are not frigid and will expect much from you when next you serve me.”
She lifted her eyes to his and whispered, “I will serve you well, Master.”
“Indeed you will, slave,” he promised her firmly. “Now be silent, or you will meet my whip even before our next meeting.”
As Bohar’s massive, iron-hard shaft pulsed in climax and hosed powerful jets of his spend into her mouth, Arabella squealed through her nose and fought not to swallow, struggling vainly to pull her lips from his groin. Powerless against her implacable bondage and his strong hands, it was a battle she could never win; and, as her throat filled with hot seed, she had no alternative but to submit or choke. She gulped convulsively, her eyes filled with tears of misery and shame as she was forced to swallow every last drop.
Distraught, she fell to her belly as Bohar pushed her away, frowning down at her as he snapped, “Display position, you white bitch! I have not finished with you.”
Terrified, but somehow still intensely aroused, Arabella fought her way onto her knees and presented her trembling body to his gaze, fearing his ruthless cruelty, yet knowing that she would welcome his touch or even being taken by him. She wanted him; and, even though she knew he would use her without mercy and force her to submit as the lowliest of slaves, she had to fight not to beg him to have her there and then.
In his pitiless subjugation of her, Bohar had, unknowingly, pushed Arabella’s submission to a still higher level; and, as he turned to watch his Prince and Ranee, the ignored brunette stared with shocked eyes at his broad back, wondering if she would ever again be able to control her ever-growing desire to be dominated…and wondering if she really wanted to control it…?
Engrossed in her pleasuring of Razak, Ranee was unaware that she was now the centre of attention of the other Masters and their slaves. It was only when her skilful tongue had brought Razak to his peak and she had dutifully swallowed his copious spend and resumed the graceful pose of a displayed slave that she saw Arabella and Belinda watching her, trying without success to hide their delight at seeing their all-powerful trainer forced to serve her Master in exactly the same manner as they had been made to serve. Her dark eyes glittered with frustrated anger at the unfairness of her treatment by Razak, and she glared at the two Englishwomen, planning revenge for when her cuffs were released and she resumed their training and disciplining. Unfortunately for her plans, though, Razak had other ideas.
“You were correct, Ranee,” he said casually. “These slaves are quite clearly trained sufficiently. You may now return to your normal duties and share them equally between the three of you until they are ransomed by the British.”
All Ranee could say was, “Yes, Master.” As she lost her power over Arabella and Belinda, she was again nothing more than they were, a humble slave in the camp of her Masters.
Razak turned to Amal and Bohar and pointed to Arabella. “This slave will serve me tonight and is not be used fully. Have her brought to my tent after the evening meal.”
The two warriors nodded then Bohar asked, “And the others, my Prince?”
Razak shrugged, “Use them as you wish, my friends. They are only slaves.” He turned from them and strode away.
A cruel grin spread over Bohar’s face, and all three girls trembled as his hot gaze drank in their nudity and helplessness. His eyes fixed on Arabella, and she shuddered in horror as he told her, “It is a great pity that I cannot use you tonight, slave. I would have taught you much. But have no fear, slut, for tomorrow you will still be a slave and there will be many nights when you will kneel before me and serve me as I desire.”
Quick as a striking snake, his hand shot out and pushed Arabella to her belly in the dust. She froze as he snapped, “Be still, slave!” and turned back to Amal. “The Prince has ordered that this slave may not be used fully, but I see no reason why she should not be made to submit, do you?”
Amal laughed and shook his head. “Any slave may be made to submit,” he agreed. “She will submit fully to the Prince anyway and it will be good practise for her.”
Bohar chuckled. “Then submit she will, Amal. Will you join me?”
“No, my friend. I will take the other English slave to my quarters. I have never had a white woman before……”
“Nor I,” Bohar replied slowly. “Not yet, but soon that pleasure will be mine.”
Amal bent to release Belinda’s cuffs then re-secured her wrists behind her and hauled her to her feet.
“Walk ahead of me, slave,” he ordered.
As she obeyed and the chain between her legs began its insidious work of arousing her at every step, Belinda’s last view of Arabella was of her frightened eyes staring up at her as Bohar bent over her naked body, his fingers tweaking the chain that glittered between the shadowed cleft of the brunette’s whip-striped buttocks.
Chapter Eight
April 10, 1876 – Five weeks later.
Submissives of the Colonel Page 6