by Ian Smith
Around a hundred miles away, a stone’s throw on this vast continent, an equally naked sixteen year-old blonde who had once been known as Samantha Crump watched her fifth customer of the evening leave the seedy brothel room in which she now worked. Just a few weeks ago she had been a virgin, yet now she averaged around ten men a night and knew many tricks to please them. She had to please them, because she would be beaten severely tomorrow if there were any complaints. She spent over half of her days and nights in this room, only being let out under close supervision. The man who had bought her at the auction and then brutally taken her virginity had lost interest soon after and had sold her on to the brothel keeper. The price he got was not, of course, as high as he had been obliged to bid, but he had bought her knowing full well that her value would tumble once her maidenhood was gone, and had accepted the loss on resale as the price for deflowering a pretty sixteen year-old blonde English maiden. Even so, the brothel keeper had paid a fair price for her. At the moment, being English, white skinned and blonde haired and teenaged to boot, she was quite a novelty in this large shanty town, but the keeper calculated that she would remain in demand for a long time to come and, given her youth, he would get many years service out of her before she aged and lost her charms, at which time he would toss her naked out onto the streets, where she would have to take up begging or whatever to eke out an existence any way she could. That, of course, would be a matter of total indifference to him.
Another sixty miles away in another direction, Carina Barrington Smythe sobbed in her cell as she clutched her burning rear. She had just been caned for the third night in a row for refusing the advances of her owner. Whilst Penelope had long since succumbed to obedience and thus only had the worst of times on exceptional nights such as tonight, Carrie, on the other hand, was still holding out, at least partially. She was making compromises, each one forced on her by the growing need to avoid punishment, but some things remained beyond the pale. She’d been forced to accept perpetual nudity, perhaps finding it just a little bit easier after that dreadful auction and again telling herself that she had a good body and she didn’t care who saw it; and when she got groped, well, she could bear that if it didn’t go too far, but sex? Out of the question, especially with her dreadful ebony-skinned owner. (It had been quite a shock when she had seen who had bought her.) And yet, each night that she refused, he simply summoned his servants who held her down whilst he caned her and then locked her in her cell once more. She knew that she was wavering; she couldn’t face more such canings, in fact she was regretting tonight’s show of defiance right now. Perhaps tomorrow night, when it was pretty certain that she would face exactly the same choice once again, she would let him have his way with her. Just once; just one night without that blazing agony in her rear.
But deep down, Carrie knew that sooner or later one night would become two in a row, and then three; she was learning that each step of surrender made the next one that little bit easier to bear. Gradually, too, an absence of resistance would change into co-operation and sooner or later even active working for his pleasure, all in order to convince him to stop punishing her, perhaps even treat her with a little kindness. After all, she was now a slave and it was no longer possible to deny that; and long years of slavery to this man lay ahead of her.
Also Available