Strange Days

Rachel’s story, continued

Five days after the Christmas break we returned to the Commune. Just two of the girls from my hut were missing: Caitlyn and Sarah. I suspected that the latter’s health had worsened. Caitlyn, on the other hand, seemed to have problems with Daniel being our hut Master. It didn’t surprise me since they had been in a relationship before they joined the Empyreal Society. They were replaced by Katrina and Selena, reassigned from the other huts.

We were promised that our second term would be more play and less work, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. In any case, we got our first taste of the new regime as we exited the bus on the small hill where we had first been introduced to our summer of slavery, five weeks before. This time, everyone, not just the trainees, travelled together. However, the full return took all day because the bus had to make three trips. The last ended just before sunset.

The residents of Huts D and F were the first to arrive. The ritual was basically the same as before. We girls stripped before disembarking, were then bound, gagged and blindfolded. We were also hobbled with ankle chains. But instead of being tethered in a column, we were lined up shoulder-to-shoulder. Our Masters moved along the line putting us into pairs. I was partnered with Stephanie. My right elbow, ankle and boob were bound to her left ones. Being tethered breast-to-breast was especially degrading, but it wasn’t very tight. If either of us were to fall, it would come away without causing injury. But then came the crotch rope. It actually consisted of three strands, the outside ones nestled snugly on either side of the fleshy folds while the fiendishly braided middle one burrowed into my crease. Even before I began moving, the stimulating effect on my clitoris had me gasping.

I had a good inkling of what was coming next.

“The race is on,” yelled one of the males. “First to the compound wins the prize.”

I dared not contemplate what the prize might be. For as much as we were motivated to please our Masters, winning always meant comeuppance.

“Go!”

We started down the hillside and onto the meadow. Sightless, hobbled and trussed together, unable to speak except through grunts and gurgles to coordinate our motions, Steph and I shuffled and stumbled through knee-high grass. The stubble under our bare feet made the going tougher. We could only take short steps, and still each caused the crotch rope to work its way in and out of me, methodically fulfilling its diabolical purpose, abetted by the outside ropes which squeezed my labia inwards for enhanced stimulation. The best way to minimise its effect was to keep my knees apart, but they could only spread so far within our restraints, and anyway that just make walking all the more difficult. I tried to stifle my moans by clenching my jaws hard on the silicone rubber ball filling my mouth. I could hear the other girls above the lowing of cows ruminating languidly in the meadow and the raucous calls of crows taunting us from the trees. I didn’t want to give the males the enjoyment of our humiliation; but before long I gave up and joined in the chorus.

As we reached level ground, my breast tether slackened. Steph’s must have come off. I felt a Master’s cane prodding my backside. We stopped just long enough for the rope to be reattached. We had by now fallen into a discordant rhythm. It was impossible to keep together for more than a few dozen paces, so we had to keep reducing our tempo to realign our bodies, but not so much as to earn a whack. The ground was more uneven. As well as the grass stubble, sticks and sharp stones gouged our feet, and spiky blades scratched our legs. On occasion the ankle rope snagged on a protruding root or branch. Fortunately we were moving too slowly, our steps too small, to be in danger of tripping. If either of us had fallen, she would take down the other, and with our arms bound behind our backs we had no way of protecting ourselves. Indeed, further along the line I heard every so often one of the other couples take a tumble.

In urging us to pick up the pace, the Masters were generally positive, using words of encouragement instead of haranguing us; and they applied their canes for just the occasional poke and stroke. There were no fences or similar obstacles to surmount or avoid, which was a blessing, but several times we had to be steered around a tree or a shrub. But it was harder going than that first time, five weeks before. My gag was giving me a raging thirst. It made me salivate heavily, which temporarily moistened my mouth and throat but soon became dehydrating. Meanwhile the crotch rope was starting to drive me crazy. It not only gave me an orgasm; I desperately needed to pee, and eventually I lost control. As the stream ran down the insides of my thighs, I was mortified. (Yet proud that I could endure the indignity as well as the physical torment.)

The land began to rise once more. Steph and I were getting tired but also more confident. And when the ground levelled and the grass gave way to bare dirt, I knew we were back in the compound. Released from our bonds (except for the blindfolds), we collapsed to our knees lathered in perspiration and groaning from the effect of our crotch ropes. After giving us just a minute to catch our breath, one of the Masters ordered us to line up again.

There had been no race. I wasn’t shocked.

“Spreads legs and pussies!”

Hoping I was doing the right thing, I used my fingers to part my labia. I heard the swish of a cane somewhere down the row and the Master barked “Do it properly! Wider!”

I guessed that I had to present my inner lips and vagina for viewing. It was one of my “What the hell am I doing here?” moments. We stood like this for ages, and it was incredibly demeaning, to be exposing my most intimate parts in front of the males. Then I felt slender, feminine fingers probing the flesh. The woman moved on to Stephanie and said “Some chafing.” It was Olivia’s voice.

We were told to remove our blindfolds and give them to one of the Masters. Daniel took mine and lingered in front of me. I think he was hoping I would raise my head so our eyes could connect; but I kept my gaze lowered. The only males present were the five apprentice Masters (no longer complete novices) and two or three others. Nine of us were directed to follow Olivia and Master Andrew to the infirmary while the rest of the girls went to their huts. Olivia and I treated the eight other girls for minor injuries, just scrapes and scratches, incurred during our trek or (as in Stephanie’s case) for abrasion from the crotch rope.

It was still mid-morning. Soon after we discharged the last of our patients I heard, outside, the slaves being mustered for their first assignment. No time was being lost.

Olivia spent the next hour filling out treatment reports. While she was busy, Master Andrew wandered off; but before he left he made me stand to attention facing a wall, not moving or speaking until he returned. This was a new Andrew, or at least a more forceful, less indulgent version. It surprised me that I liked it. While he was gone, Olivia ignored me; and when she finished her task she joined me facing the wall.

When Master Andrew came back in, almost apologetically he instructed Olivia to go into the treatment room and lie on the bed. The door remained open and I listened to him ravishing her. I wondered if it bothered him that she never made a sound.

Afterwards we went back to work. Like nothing had happened, the three of us undertook a thorough inventory of the infirmary which kept us busy for hours. The only reminder of the interlude was the sight of Olivia’s labia rings sitting on the cabinet next to the bed.

Just before lunchtime, Hannah came in with a gash above her left breast. It wasn’t deep and the bleeding had stopped, but it was jagged and there was some dirt. Olivia cleaned, sutured and bandaged the wound and wanted her to stay; but the girl insisted on leaving. Olivia whispered something to Master Andrew. He told Master Raymond, who’d escorted Hannah, that she shouldn’t be put back to work that day.

Andrew went for lunch, and one of the girls brought Olivia and me sandwiches. When he returned the Master, without a word, beckoned me to go with him into the treatment room. He bound my hands behind my back. I glanced up and saw his face. He looked tense and his eyes seemed focused on the doorway. Master Robert was standing there, watching us. If either of them caught me peeking they didn’t let on.

When Andrew blindfolded me and told me to kneel, I had a good idea what was now expected of me. From his manner I was sure that he’d never received a blowjob. I don’t think he knew that I’d never given one.

While I don’t judge others’ likes and preferences, for me the rightful place for a penis is inside my vagina. But funnily enough I welcomed this moment, having the decision taken out of my hands. If I liked it, I’d found a new sensation and once more broadened my horizons. I was travelling down an open road, and every stop brought something new. And if it turned out badly… well, that was the price of the ticket.

Other thoughts rolled about inside my head like clothes in a tumble dryer. “How do I do this? Should I lick? Do I suck? Must I swallow? What if I gag or puke… or bite?”

I felt the tip of Master Andrew’s penis brushing over my lips. It was big; and I felt shame for my assumption that it might be otherwise. It was moist, and something dripped onto my chest. I thought that maybe he’d already ejaculated, but then said to myself “So this is what precum tastes like.” But salty, bitter, oily, I couldn’t tell, so perhaps the flavour was my imagination. I put out my tongue to caress him. I salivated to lubricate my mouth just as he pushed himself into it. He then began stroking my head and I thought he was being affectionate; but he grasped a handful of my hair (lightly, since his manhood was between my teeth) and began to slowly move my head back and forth. So he stood bolt upright (as far as I could tell) while I moved my body to and fro. When I was as far forward as I could go, my breasts came up against his legs. He hadn’t lowered his trousers even as far as his knees.

All the way in, his penis penetrated the back of my throat, and I held it there until I was about to choke. Then I pulled back with a gasp, and saliva seeped down my chin and boobs and belly. I tried to keep the shaft inside my mouth, and just once I had to free myself for a few seconds of coughing and spluttering. This did not feel at all romantic or even sexy, yet it was powerfully erotic in a way that I hadn’t experienced before. I tingled all over and tickled below my belly.

So far I had done the work. Now he took control and inclined forward, pushing hard. My face was pressed into his groin until I couldn’t breathe. My nose was blocked and my mouth was stuffed. When I felt his sperm spurting, I had no choice but to swallow as it oozed into my throat. For a brief moment I fought back nausea. But it went down without difficulty. After he withdrew, I cleaned his penis with my lips and tongue. It was weird, like I was licking melted ice-cream off a cone. His cum wasn’t slimy, it was sticky, but with no discernible taste or smell. What felt yucky were the pubic hairs stuck to my tongue and teeth. I tried to blow them off but didn’t want to spit. His dick went soft. I kissed it and leaned back.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I said to myself. “Not gross at all.” Then I remembered Master Robert standing in the doorway. However, when Master Andrew removed my blindfold, told me to stand up and untied my hands, I found that we were alone, but for Olivia, who had been watching us the whole time. She flashed me a “First time, sweetie?” smile. She was very perceptive, or I was very obvious.

Now I’ve been told that I’m a “cold fish” after sex. I don’t like to talk and have no need for afterplay or a cuddle. So there was something very satisfying about the way Andrew and I ended what was so new for both of us. It was nice to be left alone with my thoughts, not having to share my feelings. (I guess that was part of the appeal of being a slavegirl. Raw sensation but controlled passion, without the effusion.)

By nightfall everyone who was returning had arrived in the Commune. Olivia and I stayed in the infirmary until well after dark, and Justine brought us our dinner. Much later, Master Andrew dismissed us to go to our huts.

In mine, all the other girls were there, awaiting Master Daniel’s entrance. Instead of our customary pose, they were down on the floor, braced on their toes, knees, elbows and hands. I copied them, kowtowing at the foot of my bed with my arms stretched out in front. I rested my forehead on the floor but saw that Katrina to my left and Francine to the right had each tilted her head upwards so that her nose and lips touched the boards. As soon as I tried it, I realized that I couldn’t rest any of my weight on my head and so my neck was stressed, if only a little. With my knees apart and backside raised up, presented for whipping or penetration, this was a posture of not just discomfort and discipline but submission and abasement. It felt good. Twenty-eight days in the Commune had taught me that humiliation can be a powerful aphrodisiac.

It was a while before Master Daniel came in.

Daniel’s story, continued

When I returned to the hut a couple of hours after dinner, I found all fifteen of my slavegirls waiting at the ends of their bunks. They had a new pose, instead of standing to attention facing the wall. They were on their knees and bent forward until they could kiss the floorboards. Their knees were spread wide apart and their arms were stretched out in front of them. It was a position not just of submission but of worship. None moved, didn’t twitch nor utter a sound. They had likely been this way since they’d departed the mess hall at least an hour before me. Four weeks of self-discipline had instilled an extraordinary degree of control over their bodies and minds. Yet I could not help but be baffled at what end all this strength of will was being channelled towards. I could only wonder what they were thinking. Each one of us, master and slave, had our own reason for being here; but the girls’ experience was so incomprehensibly different from mine. My privileges as a male, otherwise unearned, derived solely from their service and obedience… and suffering.

I studied them, still wracked with indecision. The all-over tans from twenty-eight days of hard labour under the sun had not faded during the Christmas recess. Muscles were still taut. Four of the bodies were marked by ugly purple stripes. Stephanie and Abigail, Kat and her sister Layla were the most spirited of the girls. I hated that it had become my duty to administer their punishment. But they had not flinched, and I knew it would not be their last flogging. That was another thing I couldn’t understand, why they embraced adversity. Of course, it was their recalcitrance that was to blame for my dilemma, my conflict of duty and conscience. This made me resent them and so whip them harder, which made them more defiant and more wanton. It was a vicious circle, and somehow their psyches fed on it.

I went up to Laura and asked her to get to her feet. I hooked two fingers under her collar. She didn’t raise her head. I wanted to tell her “Look me in the eyes,” but was apprehensive of what she’d see. I had already betrayed my nerves. My hand trembled at her throat. But I wasn’t worried about how I was about to perform. It didn’t matter. I knew that, however much our relationship had changed since I’d joined the Empyreal Society, this was a turning point. Whatever happened now, whichever way we went, there was no going back to where we had once been.

I led her to my room. Without instruction she crawled onto the bed and lay on her back. She spread her legs and placed her hands beside her head on the pillow. Irrationally, I didn’t like her taking the initiative. At the same time I was grateful. This was the confusion of thoughts swimming through my brain. I studied her, running my gaze from her pretty hazel eyes that stared unblinking towards the ceiling, across her flushed cheeks, down her breasts heaving to her quickening breath, over her belly quivering with anticipation. The pink folds between her thighs glistened with her vaginal juices and also the tiny silver rings that pierced and joined her labia. I grazed my fingers across her lips, pressing them into her mouth. She licked and sucked them. As I moved them to her crotch she closed her eyes and began to pant and gasp. She was preparing her body for me, and for the first time I realized what total control I had over my beloved Laura. Nothing I’d done with or to her up until now had evoked a response like this.

I could have leapt and whooped and shouted out my joy. I contained myself, steadied my hands and unfastened the rings that barred her entrance. They pierced her inner labia, so my fingers brushed her clitoris and went inside her. The tissue was soft and warm and moist, and slightly red and tender-looking as if the healing hadn’t quite finished. She remained perfectly still as I groped about; but I could feel the growing tension in the skin and muscles of her pelvis. The rings were held in place with a tiny ball and socket. I slid them out of their holes and placed them on the bedside stand.

I hesitated, feeling a little queasy, even dizzy. Laura’s eyes hadn’t opened, but she was smiling. I desperately hoped she wouldn’t say anything. Words of encouragement at that moment would have been demoralizing. But what made me pause was not a sudden fear of failure. What was coming I wanted more than ever, had fantasized about for years, had rehearsed in my mind countless times. But that was the point. Laura had always been inaccessible, unobtainable. Yet now she lay before me, naked and compliant. That was the problem. Would we have been here, doing this, if she were not a slavegirl and I not her master?

I shook these notions out of my head. If she didn’t want to be here, she wouldn’t be. So perhaps I was just her instrument for pleasure and fulfillment. Well, that was it had always been between us. Laura, as usual, was getting what she wanted, and I was still her minion.

“Okay, then,” I said, not meaning for the words to be spoken aloud.

She nodded and smiled again. But she braced her body instead of relaxing. I had no idea what that meant.

I took off my trousers and lay on top of her. The first touch of our naked loins was like an electric charge — not a physical shock but a mental tremor. My penis was nestled in her crease but not inside her. I could feel her clit against the head of my shaft. I tried to keep still because I was afraid I would cum before entering her. I regretted, in a way, that I wasn’t wearing a condom. I wanted nothing between us, and wanted to leave part of me inside her; but if I had lost my load before time, at least with a rubber it wouldn’t be onto her belly. I couldn’t have dealt with that embarrassment… Damn! Laura had always messed with my mind… but I was doing a good enough job of that now on my own.

I lifted myself up and then went down again, sliding into her. I didn’t try to get creative. I started off slow, so she could relax again, and fully open up, in both senses. I raised myself on my arms for maximum leverage, then rested my weight on her for whole body contact. As my chest pressed against hers, I wished I had taken off my shirt; but she slid her hands under it to stroke my back. Her fingernails dug into my skin. I changed angles, rocked and swivelled my hips, just a little, to fill her fully, pushing deeper and harder. She began to moan and thrust. She opened her legs as far as she could to give me room to manoeuvre; but she clenched the walls of her vagina as if to hold me in there, making me a part of her. She was not going to remain passive. That was never Laura’s style, even though, as a slavegirl, she might have.