The chore filled days continued. Differentiated only by the rising heat of the mornings, to the sticky sultry heat of the afternoons, flowing into kennelling time. And punctuated only by whether or not you were chosen to serve Master, in some small, or hopefully a more intimate, loving manner. The days flowed into weeks and then I suppose months and seasons. & I must confess I was incredibly happy and contented in my domesticity. In everything I did I thought constantly of him and hoped he would be pleased by my loving devoted service, in even the smallest most trivial of matters. I felt so homely and so contentedly servile. I would find myself kissing the floor as I polished it, especially the parts I knew he regularly walked on. And kissing each item of his freshly iron laundry as I folded it perfectly. And squeeze my thighs together hot and wet with need for him. I ached to be in his presence, to serve him in the tiniest & the most intimate of ways. Nothing mattered to me except him & my love for him.
The hours too would swim into each other, I became only vaguely aware of the passage of time through the days so engrossed did I become in my loving chores for Master. Or the lonely hours squirming in my cage, drifting in and out of sleep and intensely sexual dreams, lying there curled up aching for him.
I don’t know if Master loved us, but he desired and owned us totally. & his ownership & desire for us thrilled and kept me blissfully his. After all he was completely our superior, in strength, and intellect and his emotional control. We were his slaves and slaves to our emotions, totally in thrall to them and him. Utterly vulnerable for him, dependant on him.
I loved and craved his fierce desire, his sexual domination of me. Even the whip though I feared and hated the searing agony of the frightful leather blades. Its precursor and aftermath were utterly sexual. Kissing the whip, usually on all fours, carrying it to him in my lips, in fear and vulnerable uncertainty. Was I to be beaten or not, the choice was totally his. Covering its blade in sobbing frightened abject kisses. Then afterwards kneeling before him in pain, distressed humiliated, kissing it sobbing grateful that he had relented and in terror that the relief might only be temporary. But kneeling before him in fear or pain and usually both, I was so hot and soaking wet. I loved and hated it. If he entered me at that moment, and often he did, he would slip into me like a hot knife into butter.
But Master had a few changes in mind, for all of his girls. He seemed quite taken with the slave panties and the girls were all silked in the tiny briefs. We had to prettify ourselves in the evenings and silk ourselves before being caged. So if Master chose us we were ready for him. Wearing the tight slippery panties all night was maddeningly exciting. If the feel of the slave silk veils constantly on your lips, was utterly distracting and sensuous. The feel of the glossy fabric around your soaked hot intimacies was totally so. It would spread the wetness and heat around you, like slippery warm jelly. Every tiny movement caused you to spasm and gasp hotly. Struggling feebly against the bracelets in the tiny dark cages.
The Gorean girls found the imposition of the panties even more humiliating than I and I suppose other Earth girls found being deprived of panties, initially shaming. But now I found them deeply sexually humiliating too.
The steward in the morning when he stripped us for work would have us kneel before him. Holding the panties open in both hands and comment on the wetness the slutty smell. Then he would make us lick them clean. Or sometimes choose one of us to lick the panties of the other slaves all clean. Or gag each and every one of us with them. Often gagging the girl, with the panties of the girl next to her.
At first I had been worried that my constant state of arousal would cause chaffing and painful blemishes down there. But the greasy slave soap seemed to prevent that perfectly. Although I felt slippery and oiled all over from the soap, as it permeated the skin it left it feeling to the touch, dry, lovely and soft, scented sweetly.
The steward often enjoyed one of us either in the mornings or evenings, while he drank respectively a coffee or a cider. The other girls would kneel facing the wall, waiting for his instructions. If he did choose to rape one of us, he frequently didn’t permit us to orgasm. And more often than not if he raped leasha or I, the two girls, he raped us anally, as he enjoyed the deep sense of shame we exhibited. Often referring to us not just as ‘blow job blondes’, but as ‘sweet anal sluts’ too. We were just sex toys, bimbo’s to be enjoyed in any way the men desired. The more shameful and humiliating we found something, the hotter it made us and our submission. & I must confess I loved to be forced to do these things, under male domination.
Sometimes in the morning I would beg prettily to fetch him coffee, in the hope he would put me between his legs, whilst he drank. & then push me down on all fours and take me. The brute knew this too and exploited it. Often letting me fetch him coffee and exciting myself terribly, before being dismissed curtly to my chores.
He was often quick with the whip too. Master only really paid us attention with the whip as foreplay, or more horribly as punishment. But the steward used it liberally to looking fearfully over our shoulders, from all fours. He often chose the punishment whip too. The fearsome shortened, smooth black bullwhip. With its awful crack and burning sting. But once again even though I feared it terribly, being placed under strict male discipline made me so hot and helpless. Which he/they knew well & exploited to the full.
Not quite so lana with the switch. She knew exactly where to land the thin blade to cause it to sting terribly. Just on the backs of the upper thigh, where the thigh joined the buttock and was most tender. Standing over us as we scrubbed the floor, sobbing in tears. She didn’t do so with any malice. But it was her responsibility to see that we performed our chores quickly and perfectly. And she didn’t want to be punished alongside us for any lacking. And Master had told me it pleased him to watch us girls being disciplined by the first girl.
The next big change was the new kennels. Master had, had some workmen in for the day and they had totally transformed the kennels. Instead of the cages, was a number of tiny stone leather lined kennels, only just big & wide enough to kneel, squashed up, belly pressed to your knees, face down and forward. They were horrible and claustrophobic when the heavy wooden door was locked. & we were to closely chained, gagged and hooded in the kennels too. You would squirm all night in the tiny space, frightened and feeling intensely vulnerable. Master had come across the idea in one of the larger taverns. Where in each alcove a number of tiny cages were provided. A girl could be sent to wait confined in the cage for her Master to come. There were several of these cages in the alcoves and a number of girls could be left in the cages waiting for various Masters. The effect of listening to another girl in her Masters arms was said to make the caged girl feel even more hot and vulnerable. And she could be locked in the cage afterwards too, to wait for release, listening to the next Master and his slave. The effect was said to be even more intense if she knew or suspected she might be punished, by her use Master, and another girl was being whipped whilst she listened.
It is common in the taverns for the wrong girl to be taken from the cages. Or used still in the tiny cage. Raped, then pushed back into the cage to wait for the Master who sent her in the first place. Naturally she will be punished. She is more often than not hooded in the cage and will not know, that the wrong Master has enjoyed her, till she is put back into the cage and told to wait for her correct use Master. The men in the taverns know well how to enjoy tavern sluts.
The steward enjoyed the new kennels. He would often rape a girl while she was still in the kennel then leave her sobbing into her gag. Quite often if she was permitted to cum, she would still be in the throes of orgasm as he closed the wooden door locking her inside. And often in the mornings he would stealthily enter the kennel room, open a door and enter a sleeping girl, waking her with his first thrusts.
If Master was away from his house for any length of time we would be left bound in the kennels for days at a time, squirming helplessly. & Master it seemed was away a lot more frequently these days.
The effect of the new kennels was to make you utterly desperate to be released and so hot and desperate to be pleasing, to not be confined in them. I don’t think Master was that pleased with them himself either. Such close confinement was usually for punishment, or the training of new slaves. He had mused to me, that he was leaning towards having just one tiny cage, that we would all be locked in together. But still bound, hooded and gagged, squirming together, as was more common in most taverns.
However that wasn’t to be the biggest change in my life. One evening I had found myself in one of his guest rooms. Locked in the stocks, nearly on tiptoes my head secured below the height of my straining buttocks Clutching a punishment whip clutched between my trembling buttocks. A strange metal disc now attached alongside the bell to my clitoral ring. Waiting for the guest to arrive. I had served that afternoon & been whipped in front of Master & his 3 guests, by one of the guests and then Master. After I had orally pleased the 4 men I had been dismissed to my chores. Sticky & humiliated in pain. Only to be sent to the guests room tonight.
The next morning after I had been whipped then and raped by him several times, but denied permission to cum. The guest had led me in a full upper body hood, behind his horse. Led stumbling, frightened & confused into town. First to the smithies to be freshly branded & then to a tavern.
I had been sold, Master had sold me.
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