Just before I started to wet myself in agony & fright. I woke from a night of capture, after capture & rape after rape, over and over, but none to my climax, just the men’s pleasure thickly sticky on me as I run away in a futile to evade their nets and ropes, and forced ravishment, coming over & over, submitting helplessly in their bonds but never experiencing the orgasm, just dissolving into another frightened chase, or the moment of humiliation when you realise you have been tricked & sold into bondage. The pathetic sob of the impotent female seething, at her fate, before she is cuffed or worse into servile obedience. The men’s amusement at your stymied pique as you are pushed to the hard floor & raped, or whipped or usually both. Then finally the smithies & the hot irons. Watching in terror as girls are branded, screaming and sobbing in pain. Then in the branding rack, strapped on all fours to the frame. Gagged chocking on your fear as much as the gag, waiting. The hot iron brandished in your face before he goes behind you. Then the heat on your skin crisping & evaporating.
For a split second I am relieved, but it was just a dream, just a dream. Then I feel the bracelets holding my wrists behind me. Also on my ankles, hobbling me. I feel my Masters sticky pleasure. Still wet between my legs, around my tender anus. On my face & breasts. In my hair & sticky on my veil. Cold from him now, but tepidly warm & still sticky on my own body heat. Mingling with my own rape soil. The veil warm & moist from my breath, perfumed & tasting of his fellatio. The same dreams every night. I wake to feel my healed brand still smarting & my flesh remembering the day it was burnt so cruelly to mark me as property. The traumatic humiliation still acutely painful.
My urethra swollen & throbbing with the need to pee, still remembering the dream where I nearly wet myself on the rack. My own real branding like all women before me. I wet myself helpless in agony. Afterwards I was made to lick my mess from the floor. The last time I was permitted to toilet & drink anything apart from Masters semen. Slavegirls aren’t permitted to eat or toilet here. There is no need for us to do so. The swelling sensation, as if I had not been permitted to urinate for days, quite deliberate, making me more compliant & fearful. A slap or the whip down there is deliciously excruciating. Men it seems enjoy the pretty squeals of a slavegirl slapped on her way past, as much as we find it excruciatingly piercing.
I softly lift the sheet from him with my lips. Softly in reverence I kiss his chest and belly, lovingly, but so tenderly as not to wake him yet. He is asleep & flaccid, but not for long as I begin to kiss & suck him till he becomes firm between my glossy lips. At peace in his satisfied sleep, and will be woken in pleasure, usually just before he comes in my mouth. Me so lost in his pleasure not realising he is awake till he seizes a fistful of my blonde hair to hold my mouth firmly in place. Despite the panicked choking sensation I love that moment of firmness. In the alcove it is still sensuously dark in the glowing half light. I am so wet with need now. The sounds of my wet lips on him & my soaked thighs as I squirm helplessly. Outside I can hear bare feet scurrying back & forth. Slaves preparing breakfast & the bathing rooms. Hurrying back & forth but in near silence only bare feet & slave bells belying the frenzied activity. Pretty faces, anxious to please. Eyes startled & helplessly fearful at the merest hint of male displeasure. A natural feminine submission where men are so naturally dominant.
I took my Master deeply in to my mouth kneeling over him. Squirming & squidging with my own helpless need. I was however unlikely to be used this morning. My own needs ignored & unimportant I was merely a tavern slave. Behind me I heard the bells of another girl enter the alcove. She would be carrying a small tray containing a glass of chilled fruit juice & small cup of coffee. Also a small bowl of warm water & soft towels to clean him. She or I might clean him. Sometimes if another girl cleans him he enjoys her mouth too, or sometimes rapes her while you kneel there your face covered in his use & your tears. Mostly though we would both be dismissed, she back to her chores in the kitchen. Me to kneel facing the wall outside the alcoves, with the other dismissed slaves waiting to put to our chores.
If I am very fortunate I might be permitted to polish his sandals while he eats breakfast. Usually though I am left with my wrists chained behind me & put to scrubbing the hard stone tavern floor with a shaving brush sized brush, with a long thick phallic handle stuffed into my mouth. Once the floor is scrubbed it must be polished with my slave panties in my mouth. Not that as a slave I am permitted to wear panties, but they are always there stinking & wet with my juices, so I can be pantie gagged tasting my own rape soil, for punishment or rape. Or so they can be used for performing my numerous chores. Not that any of this is necessary. The tavern could be immaculate in an instant. Men found it pleasing to see us diligently toiling at our menial chores. Ever fearful of punishment attentive to our tasks, all done whilst keeping our appearance sexually alluring & pleasing. While the men enjoyed a beer or food, or a slaves lips. Our chores performed in submissive fervour, foreplay.
Rather the chores were performed because men found it pleasing to see us at them. Like my tiny silk apron. It is not there to clad my nakedness, or protect my skin, or any other reason except that men found my belled nipples straining at the pink fabric pleasurable. The sheer diaphanous fabric, except where it clung to my curves and looked glossy like burned metal. A mockery of the utilitarian, modest nature, revealing the demeaning nature of the garment. Utterly sexual & for male pleasure.
In a few moments my day would begin but for now I revelled in his taste in my mouth. My bodies remembrance of my submission in ecstasy to him. The sting of his whip. The passion of my obedience to him. I would never know his name or be permitted to look above his waist & see his face. Never be his equal, or considered to be anything more than trivial, a petty sexual plaything for Masters. But nonetheless I was lost in total love & devotion to him and any & all the men who could enjoy me freely as a compliment to the taverns wares.
Outside the tavern I heard the crack of the whip in soft flesh. A squeal of pain. A terse order, and its whimpered fearful reply. I kissed him more lovingly, sucking him more tenderly. Suddenly I felt his fist tighten in my hair. He pressed me down despite the involuntary protestations of my mouth.
“Continue slut!” he told me quietly but firmly.
Yes Master, yes, yes Master I wanted to shout in helpless rapture. But I let my perfect kiss say that for me. As I heard the bells of another slave enter the alcove behind us.
