Submissives of the Colonel

by Charles Graham

  Arabella, Belinda, and Ranee hurried into the tent where Prince Razak and his men waited to be served with the vast dishes of food and cool wine-skins that each of the three slaves carried. It was a feast day, and all three slaves had been hard at work for hours, preparing the meal that they were about to serve to their Masters…and preparing themselves for the service they were certain to be required to give when the meal was over.

  Conscious that hot, cruel eyes followed every movement of their naked bodies, the slaves knew that they must be perfect; and, as each sank to her knees before a small group of warriors and offered the food and wine, she kept her spine hollowed, her knees spread, and her eyes lowered, displaying her beauty to the men in the full knowledge that, if she served poorly, she would be whipped, while if she served well, her obedient submission would only inflame the men’s desire. There was no third option for a slave and none wished to be whipped for displeasing a Master.

  Belinda flinched and squealed as a rough hand cracked across her naked bottom but dared not protest. A warrior called, “Give her another one. The white slut likes it. I know she does because I had her over my knee last week and she squealed like a stuck pig when she came.” Her face reddened in humiliation as a roar of laughter greeted the revelation of her shame.

  “Oh, so that was her, was it?” the man who had struck her replied. “You should have gagged the bitch. Her screams kept me awake all night.”

  “She was gagged,” the first warrior retorted cheerfully. “But I could still hear you snoring even over her screams.”

  Another shout of laughter rose at the barbed reply; but, to Belinda’s horror, the second man sent one hand to her belly and gave her bottom two cruelly hard smacks with the other.

  Wincing, she jerked forward…and his extended finger slid into her sex.

  She tried to pull back, but he growled, “Keep still, bitch.” As she froze, his finger explored her arrogantly, her eyes wide with anguish as his touch ignited slave heat in her belly and her sex grew wet with the conditioned responses of a true slave.

  “Ho, Turam!” he shouted, taking his hand from her belly and holding it up so that everyone could see her glistening juices coating his finger. “You were right.”

  “I told you,” Turam shouted back. “She loves it. Why not have her later on and prove it yourself.”

  “I will. And she’d better be as good as you say she is.”

  Belinda shuddered at the exchange then straightened her spine as the warrior ordered, “Find me when the feast is over, slave. I am Shamir, and you will serve me well.”

  “Yes, Mas….” she began to say; but, as the words left her mouth, there was a metallic crash from behind her and, she and Shamir whirled around.

  Arabella knelt on all fours amid the wreckage of the tray she had dropped, her face a picture of horror as she stared at the chaotic mess of food and drink staining the earth all around her and the clothing of two stocky, bearded warriors reclining on cushions to her left.

  “I..I was t..tripped, Masters,” she stammered as their hard, cold eyes bored into hers. “Some..Someone deliberately made me f..fall. It wasn’t my f..fault, Masters, truly it wasn’t.”

  “We are not interested in your excuses, slave,” one said. “Be silent.”

  Arabella clamped her lips together, trembling as the other nodded and toyed with the whip at his belt. She groaned and her eyes bulged as he pointed to a spot near his feet. “Punishment position, slave. You will pay for your clumsiness.”

  Angry protests rose to the brunette’s lips…and there they remained, unspoken…for she was a slave and had learned that it was both unwise and painful to dispute a Master’s order.

  She shuffled on her knees to the feet of the warrior and pressed her forehead to the earth, her thighs widely parted, wrists clasped behind her neck and buttocks raised, fuming silently at the injustice and indignity of her situation. She was absolutely certain that somebody had tripped her; but, as usual, she was in no position to explain or argue; and, now, she was going to be punished. It just wasn’t fair, but that was something else she had learned….life for a slave had nothing whatever to do with fairness.

  Strong hands locked her wrist cuffs to her collar then slid down her naked spine to fondle her buttocks, and she felt herself blush as she imagined Razak and all his men watching and enjoying her shame. A hard finger explored the crack between her bottom cheeks, probing at the tight ring of her anal passage, and she gasped, clenching her buttocks to bar its entry into her body.

  “Clumsy and disobedient!” a harsh voice snapped, and Arabella squealed in pain and shock as two whips hissed through the air to crack across her upraised bottom and bite into the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Furious heat blazed through her body and her fingers clawed at the air, but she knew that if she broke her pose, her punishment would be increased. Slaves were never, ever permitted to defy their Masters over anything. An obedient slave would have forced herself to relax and allowed her Master’s finger to penetrate her, but Arabella had not…and was whipped for it.

  Sobbing in pain and despair, a web of bright scarlet stripes decorated her pale skin. Arabella shuddered and spread her thighs as wide as she possibly could, humbling herself before her Masters as the finger returned and drove into her bottom, reinforcing the message of her absolute subjugation. She dared not resist a second time; and, as the warriors laughed mockingly at her obedience and the helpless quivering of her body as the finger slid back and forth in her bottom, Arabella struggled in vain to hold back the tide of arousal surging through her belly.

  “We shall take you later, slave,” one of the men informed her, removing his finger. “You show promise…for a white woman.”

  Arabella shuddered at the thought of having to serve two such ruthless Masters then shuddered again as they omitted to release her wrists or grant her permission to rise from the ground. To her horrified dismay, she was left on her knees in the punishment position, her whip-striped bottom raised high and her thighs hugely spread to display her sex and anus to any who cared to look.

  Surrounded by slave-Masters, all of whom understood what she was and that she was undergoing punishment for failing to be pleasing, she could not hope to escape their attentions. Nor did she; for, as the feast went on and Ranee and Belinda scurried from one group of warriors to another, carrying food and wine, Arabella’s naked body became a convenient and irresistible stopping place and target for the hands and whips of Masters passing from one side of the tent to the other or simply meeting to chat with friends.

  Plundered by many hands, aroused unmercifully and disciplined by the whips of Masters she could not even see, the terrified English brunette wept in misery as she was forced to submit again and again, sweat glistening on her body and silver trails of love juices staining her belly and thighs to mark the intensity of her enforced passion. She had made an error then compounded it with a second…and the price she paid for her mistakes was cruelly high…

  Each time Ranee hurried past with wine for the Masters, she glanced down at Arabella and her eyes glittered with malicious pleasure.

  Until the two English captives had been brought to the camp, she had been Prince Razak’s personal slave and the recipient of the undivided attentions of him and his men, her body the focus of their lusts and the sole source of their pleasures. Then Arabella and Belinda had arrived and been enslaved…and when Ranee had seen the way men looked at the two white women, she had known, at once, that her position was under threat.

  Entrusted with their slave training, she had no choice but to enforce their obedience and hasten their inevitable submission to the power of the Masters, well aware as she did so, that the ever increasing responsiveness of their bodies and the accelerating speed of their descent into helpless sexual subjugation, only increased their desirability in the eyes of the Masters and brought closer the moment when she would lose her unique position.

  That moment had come when Razak had ordered her to kneel before him, b
ound her wrists behind her, and made her pleasure him with her mouth then given her to Bohar to use as he wished, reserving Arabella for himself. Ranee had understood, then, that she was no longer the slaver-Prince’s privileged favourite but was nothing more than a lowly slave, one of three owned by him, any of whom might be punished, taken, or even sold, if he chose.

  She blamed her change of circumstances entirely on Belinda and Arabella, even though she knew that they were not really at fault.

  Any slave’s Fate was entirely in the hands of her Master, but she had cherished the slim hope that Razak had feelings for her and might, eventually, have kept her for himself. That dream was now over, and Ranee could only take what pleasure she could in seeing her rivals suffer the humiliation and punishments she felt they richly deserved.

  “To my feet, slave, and serve me wine.” Razak clicked his fingers commandingly, and Ranee hurried over and fell to her knees, pressing her lips to his glass as she poured then bowing her head in submission to her Master.

  He took a long drink then gazed down at her lowered head. “You have served us well tonight, Ranee,” he said. “Better than my other slaves. You deserve a small reward. Kneel beside me.”

  As she obeyed, wondering what her Master had in mind, Razak ordered Belinda and Arabella to be brought before him, their ankles cuffed and Belinda’s wrists to be secured to the rear of her collar to match Arabella’s.

  “Gag the slaves,” he said; and, as strands of leather wedged between their teeth and stretched the corners of their soft mouths, the two silenced English slaves gazed up at him, eyes wide with a growing anxiety. Anxiety that turned to horror as each was bent backwards and down until her head touched the ground behind her and her spine curved in a graceful, strained arch that forced her thighs to spread wide and displayed her entire body to his eyes. With their wrists locked behind their necks, neither could gain sufficient leverage to straighten up and the unrelenting tension of the pose prevented any possibility of them closing their gaping thighs; and, as the slaves tried and failed to reduce their merciless exposure, each whimpered and gasped in shame and fear to the knowledge of her helplessness and utter vulnerability.

  “Behold the rulers of India, my warriors,” Razak chuckled coldly as his men gathered in a circle around the terrified captives. “The English Memsahibs who came to plunder our land and steal our gold but found, instead, only the iron and leather of slaves. Look on them well, my friends. The husband of that one is a Colonel of the British Army, the other is the lover of one of his officers. Those are powerful enemies, my warriors, determined men who would hunt us down and hang us for taking their women if they could.”

  An angry growl rose from the men surrounding him until he held up his hand for silence. “What say you, my friends? Shall I release these sluts and return them to their men? Aye…or no?”

  “No!” the answer came in a great roar of defiance and his white teeth flashed in a cruel grin. “Then you wish me to keep them as slaves until they are ransomed?”

  “Aye!” again the roar shook the tent.

  “To serve as full bondage slaves?”

  “Aye!”

  “Then I bow to your wisdom, my friends.”

  A storm of cheers and applause drowned Arabella and Belinda’s muffled screams, and they trembled wildly as Razak quieted his excited men and turned to Ranee.

  “You taught these sluts to submit to the lips of men, did you not, slave?”

  “Yes, my Master.”

  He reached down and fastened her cuffs behind her back. “Very well, slave. Now you will teach them how to submit to the lips of a woman.”

  A gasp of surprise greeted his words, for women, whether free or enslaved, existed to serve and bring pleasure to men, not each other; and, although not unknown, it was extremely rare for women to indulge in such lewd practices. Should they be discovered, public humiliation was certain to follow for both parties and their standing would inevitably fall to lowest of the low, below even beggars and harlots. To inflict such indignity on the two English women was the greatest humiliation of all; and, as Razak’s warriors recovered from their astonishment, cruel laughter filled the tent as plans were made to spread the tale of how the two white slaves were taken and made to submit to an Indian girl who was nothing but a slave herself.

  Razak rose to his feet and stared down with a cold smile at the pleading eyes of his appalled captives. “My men have spoken, and you will now submit fully to Ranee,” he said firmly. “Begin with the blonde, Ranee, and use her well, or you will take her place.”

  The Indian girl bit her lip as shame and excitement battled within her at the thought of wreaking such a deliciously humiliating revenge on her rivals, and then she whispered, “I will obey, my Master.” She shuffled forward on her knees and pressed her lips to the gaping cleft of Belinda’s offered sex.

  The blonde gave a terrible shriek of anguish as Ranee’s mouth fastened on her sex and her fingers curled into claws as unbearable stimulation crashed through her body as the girl’s lips nibbled and tugged gently at her labia and her tongue flicked the agonisingly sensitive button of her clitoris to send huge jolts of shattering arousal straight to the churning core of her belly. There was no possible defence against Ranee’s assault; and, as Belinda screamed into her gag and stared frantically up at the twenty or more Masters whose glittering eyes feasted on the frenzied responses of her shuddering body, her blue eyes filled with hot tears of despair and shame as she felt a gigantic orgasm begin to well upwards from the pit of her roiling belly. Helpless against Ranee’s skilled and knowing tongue, Belinda knew that she was going to be made to come, no matter how hard she tried to hold back. As the towering fury of her inevitable, ruthlessly enforced submission raced towards its peak, her body arched up in abject surrender to meet the lips of her tormentor. Uncaring that she was displaying the awesome need of a truly passionate slave before an audience of dominant Masters, Belinda squealed and begged to be taken as a full slave, her belly kicking and rippling to the intensity of her overwhelming desire and her sex vibrating wildly against Ranee’s lips.

  The Indian girl raised her head for an instant. “Submit, slut!” she hissed; and, as Belinda whimpered in terrible humiliation, Ranee sent her tongue spearing deep into the molten depths of her victim’s dripping sex.

  Belinda’s shrill wail of instant and total surrender coincided with the explosive convulsions of her belly as she hurtled into a stupendous climax; and, as her whole body locked into a straining, jerking bow, a boiling flood of scalding hot love juices gushed into her belly and sex to mark her very first submission to the sexual ecstasy imposed on her by another woman. Pulsing to an orgasm equally as powerful as any she had received at the hands of her Masters, Belinda moaned as she felt Ranee lap at the juices which flowed from her body. As renewed spasms shook her belly, the hapless blonde trembled to the knowledge that Razak and his warriors had witnessed her uncontrollable slave heat and would not be content until they had extracted just as much..or even more..from her.

  To her horror, her eyes met those of the man named Shamir; and, as he grinned and nodded, she remembered that she must find him and serve him when the feast was over…and that he was well aware of her no-longer-secret enjoyment of spanking and discipline.

  “Enough, Ranee. It is clear that the white bitch now understands her place, but there is a second slave who requires your..ah.. special training.”

  Ranee lifted her stained mouth from Belinda’s oozing belly and shuffled between Arabella’s doubled thighs, her eyes glittering with malicious anticipation as the brunette squealed and her muscles corded under her smooth skin in her efforts to avoid the same awful humiliation as her friend. With the same lack of success.

  Already cruelly used by numerous Masters, her buttocks and thighs criss-crossed with whip stripes, and her sex glistening wetly from her enforced submissions, Arabella was easy prey for Ranee. As the slim Indian girl kissed and licked and sucked at the delicate tissues of her engorged
labia and clitoris, the screaming brunette exploded into a succession of immense orgasms, each crashing through her juddering body to release showers of hot juices into her pounding belly before the previous climax had even begun to wane.

  Revelling in Arabella’s total subjugation, Ranee forced the screaming brunette to come again and again until her belly convulsed in huge, racking spasms and juices poured from her sex like lava from a volcano to spatter her flexing thighs and Ranee’s own mouth and face as unmistakable evidence of Arabella’s white-hot passion and devastating submission.

  Ordered to desist by Razak, Ranee sat back on her heels and hollowed her spine to display her body, her eyes filled with cruel pleasure at the havoc she had created in the bodies of the two English slaves.

  She smiled up at her Master as he congratulated her. “Most impressive, slave. You used them well.”

  “Thank you, my Master,” she replied happily then asked, “May your slave asked to be used as fully by her Master?”

  He chuckled then took his whip from his belt and thrust the coiled leather between her soft lips. “It seems to me that there are three hot sluts in this tent,” he told her. “Go to my tent and await my return. Do not rise from your knees. As with my other slaves, you are now under discipline and will present yourself in punishment position to any Master you happen to meet. Now go, slave.” He turned away to resume his wine.

  Ranee stared numbly at his broad back, not wanting to accept his casual dismissal of her but knowing that she must. With a choking sob, she began to make her slow, laborious way across the earth floor towards the door of the tent, but less than half way there, a short, powerfully built warrior planted himself in front of her; and, as Ranee instantly bent forward to press her forehead to the earth, she trembled in fear and recognition.

  It was Bohar and of all the warriors in Razak’s band, he was, perhaps, the cruellest…especially to a slave under discipline.