The Slave Girl (Chapter 3) free porn video

Chapter 3

Burdett sighed. Casually, he walked to a bush and cut a withe. Corey watched, shivering, while he trimmed it down to an instrument of punishment. "I´m sorry." She said nervously. "I´ll shut up and keep quiet."
He did not answer. When the supple wand was to his liking, he said pleasantly: "Hold your hand out, Miss Corey Gibson."
She put both hands behind her back in shocked mortification. "You can´t!" She exclaimed incredulously. "You wouldn´t...?"
"Why?" There was a wealth of caustic in the one word.
"Because... I´m an adult woman!"
"So...?"

They stared at each other in confrontation. Lamely, Corey sought defense. "I don´t want my hands whipped. I´ve already told you I´ll behave."
"Hold your hand out, way out."
"But that´s for c***dren! It´s... it´s humiliating!"
"The way I hit ain´t for k**s, Corey."
"But even so...!"
"It´ll hurt enough you don´t have to feel short changed."
"But it´s so... unnecessary!"
"That´s what you think." The steel of his eyes sought her´s. "It´s necessary alright. Using your hands makes it simple. If I have to unlock you from the coffle and tie you to a tree you´ll get a flogging."

Corey was annoyed with herself for finding logic in what he said. But to be punished like that in front of eight girls...! She had no faith in her ability to carry off such a punishment with panache. She would probably disgrace herself. She eyed the limber horror with distaste. "Please give me another chance?" She begged humbly.

Seth Burdett held up a key. "Want me to unlock you?"
Miss Corey Gibson held out her hand.

Even as a c***d, neither her hands or any other part of her had been corporally corrected. To the daughter of the Planet Corporation such personal punishments had been abstract, figments of fiction. But there was nothing abstract about what was now taking place. The act, the intent, the witnesses, were etching themselves upon her consciousness with indelible force. The line of chained girls were straining for a better view of her shame, Audrey Cotswold´s eyes were wide in comiseration. Amrah contemplated the pulsing tableau with a grin of approval. This was something she understood, a sure and certain guide to feminine behavior. But it was her own outstretched hand on which Corey most intently focused. That hand which was a part of her was about to be whipped, it had become a medium by which she was to receive agony. Delinquent eyes rose to lock with the grey amusement of her new co-owner. Seth Burdett was studying her hard, enjoying every moment, curious about a girl named Corey Gibson.

It was a flash of motion. Swift, positive, deadly. The peeled withe cut Corey´s taut palm with scorching venom. For a moment only she stood in shock. Then, as her hurt hand sent its messages of fire to every crevice of her being, she moaned in a desolation of pain and clapped her injured flesh beneath a comforting armpit. Her instinctive effort to bend double was thwarted by the chain to the neck on either side.

Seth Burdett contemplated his work with satisfaction. His eyes followed every curve and twist of the enslaved girl as she sought to allay agony. His voice was mockingly helpful. "That doesn´t do any good, y´know. It hurts the same wherever you hold it."
"It does so!" She flung her agony at him between gasps.
"Try another one. Hold it out again."
Corey stiffened, horrified, her response desolate. "I can´t... I can´t possibly. It hurts too much."
"Try."
"It´s impossible. You´ve no right to do any of these things to any of us."
"Hold out your hand, Miss Corey Gibson."

She sensed the steel in his command. The weight of chain on her neck dictated obedience. There was no escape. Bleakly, she raised her head, her demand incredulous: "The same hand...?"
"Yes. And don´t tuck it back under that arm again."
"I cant! I´m sorry... I just cant do it."
"You will either do it or each girl in de coffle gets one for you. It´s not the best way to make friends."

Corey Gibson longed to stamp her foot in fury at the complacement Male. He had her! Owned her! Every girl on the long chain was his and would have to do his bidding. they were slaves. Girls k**napped from their former lives by a male and diverted to Male use. Aware of eight pairs of female eyes upon her anxiously, she held out her already wounded hand.

It was an explosion of the unbearable, the firey cut, the screaming nerves, and then the throbbing horror of compelling her whipped hand to hang loosely at her side as though in unconcern. Corey´s anguished eyes sought Seth Burdett´s pity.
"You see, you do have it in you."
Did she detect faint admiration? Perhaps! Brokenly, she gasped: "I can´t let you hurt the others... You mustn´t...!"
"S´right, love." The Aussie drawl approved. "That´s why you´re going to hold out your other one."
Corey looked at him askance. "I... I... Oh, please! How many?"
"You don´t ask. Hold it out."

Corey held out her left hand. It was the same over again. Two cuts, numbing her fingers, throbbing with fearful pulsations of pain as she allowed her arms to hang limp. Suddenly Burdett was gone. The whipped girl buried her face in her agonized hands and wept bitterly. Her feminine companions on the chain pretended not to see. Audrey´s sympathetic hand, tender on a bent shoulder, was the only human solace the coffle would permit. The nine girls slept in a chained line throughout the day. There was much snubbing and jerking of collared necks until they learned to huddle close to utilise the slack between chained necks. After they had been fed at evening they were subjected to one more slave indignity. Their right wrist was locked in a communal shackle.

It was the coffle principle, the same as their neck. The same length of chain, and at the same intervals a metal wristlet, padlocked. If the wristlet was tight, they must not complain. Audrey received one stroke on each hand for her initial reaction:
"But this is so unnecessary! The chains on our necks stop us escaping!"
"And another on your right hand stops you being awkward, love. C´mon, stick it out. It doesn´t hurt."
"But why make it more difficult for us to march the way you want us to... all fastened together?"
It was then Seth Burdett used his peeled strip once more. Audrey Cotswold held out her hands for them in resigned misery. While she was still twisting with their pain, Seth inquired affably: "Think that will help you watch your tongue?"
"Yes, it will. I´m sorry. Here´s my hand."

The English beauty watched the metal circle her wrist, watched the padlock snap it tightly secure. For a moment she held up her new ornament to view, but it was snatched away by the chain´s need to accommodate the next in line. She shared a resigned shrug and rueful grin with Corey. They were learning their lessons.

There were four donkeys. Two for the men, two for gear. The slavegirls walked in single file, conscious always of Mustafa with a whip and of each other. With practice they learned a rhythm for their shackled arm and a cautious maintenance of slack chain between their collars. The white girls made the rueful admission that if nine naked slaves must traverse a wilderness their coffle was a most efficient instrument by which to keep them controlled. The chains irked but actually inhibited nothing except escape. With the addition of the fetter on their wrist escape was doubly impossible.

The path was faint but it was there. Corey wondered how many other naked girls had trudged the single track to maintain its identity. It snaked its way through thickets and rock that would defeat a jeep. They were nine lost girls, trekking each night farther and farther from their homes or previous owners. Pursuit seemed improbable. Rescue or recapture would not even release them from their chains.

With each step Corey knew herself more implacably enslaved. Each morning when it came to sleep through the sunlight hours Amrah and her counterpart at the other end of the chain were released to do the chores. When their tasks were done they passively presented their neck and wrist to be locked back into the coffle. Corey wondered if, given the chance, she would be equally amenable. Amrah summed it up.

"No sense get whip. Where a girl run in this place?"
"Why do they keep us chained then?" Corey asked irritably.
"Girls very foolish. ´Specially white girls. White girl always make fuss and get herself whipped. Best when chained."

African logic! Corey recognized it as a prison without bars for attractive females. She never tired of examining the metal band round her right wrist and the padlock which kept it there. It beautifully symbolised a girl´s status in this Male dominion. She thought back to the girl friends of her former life. Woefully, she longed for some of them to be locked with her on the chain. Hate it as she might she was seeing it as a dimension of femaleness she could never otherwise have known. Apathetically, she asked: "But, Amrah, don´t you want to be free?"
The lead slavegirl sniffed disdainfully. "Girls ain´t never free. Much best we be bought by rich man."
"Who´ll probably whip you every day!"
"Mebbee he whip me. But I make nice for him in bed. Amrah like that too. He buy me presents."
"And chain you up every night."
"O.K. So he chain Amrah. Is not so bad." Amrah held up her shackled wrist and giggled. "Is nice bracelet. Pretty lock."
Corey envied her.

There was Seth Burdett. To Corey Gibson he was very much a presence in a way his partner Mustafa was not. Mustafa spelt bad temper and a whip but Burdett was hope, a small tenuous hope because he was white and because his sardonic regard held hunger for her nakedness. He had whipped her hands but he had liked her. She was sure he liked her. Corey Gibson was pragmatist enough to know she would give him her body willingly for the key to her chains. That he could take her body easily at any time without her consent did not diminish the feminine wisdom by which she knew the power of affection or her gentleness of female fingers and female lips upon a love starved man. Seth was rough and he was tough but he desired her. Risking the whip, she tested him.

"Mr. Burdett, why can´t we be covered?"
He cocked an enquiring eye at her pubic hair. "Can you tell me, Miss Gibson, why you should be?"
"Even slaves have clothes. And being always naked... it´s so messy."
"You´re not messy. We find a bit of water to dunk you in every day, don´t we?"
"I didn´t mean that." Corey swept her gaze up and down the line of chained femininity. "But look at us... all breasts and pubic hair and hips... We´re... too much!"
"Can´t have too much of a good thing, love. And we´re careful not to get you sunburned."
"You mean you like looking at naked girls?"
"Yes. Especially when they´re chained and well behaved."
Corey swallowed anger. "Couldn´t you at least cover our sex?" She looked him squarely in the eye. "Put our pubic hair out of sight?"
He grinned at her earnestness. "Tell you what I could do since it bothers you that bad. I´ll shave it off!"
She fell back on hauteur. "I´m sorry I asked. I should have known..."
"Known what?"
"That I´m only a slave." Corey swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. "I´m trying hard to be a good one but it isn´t easy. Being naked all the time is one of the most difficult things." Her tone placated. I won´t be a nuisance about it. I honestly don´t want to be whipped."
Seth laughed at her dolor. "You can´t be a nuisance, love, not chained the way you are. But you do have a gift for petulance. It will likely earn you a few stripes here and there on the trek."

Petulant! Like a disappointed c***d! Angry at herself and at Burdett Corey held out her hand, retorting in stiff resentment: "My apologies, Mr. Burdett. Perhaps you´d like to cut my fingers up with a few strokes?"
He pushed down her proffered arm. "In my own time." He said soberly. Before he turned away he chucked her under a sulky chin, and laughed at her obvious chagrin. "And remember this, young lady, from now on you address me as ´Master´. Understand?"
"Yes, Master." She made the title drip venom.
"You´re really asking for it, y´know." Audrey cautioned after their co-owner had departed. "You sure you´re not in love with the son-of-a-bitch?"
Obeying the tug of their chain they lay down to sleep.

It was late afternoon close to the end of their sleeping when the turning of the keys wakened Corey from the last of sleep. Dazed, she allowed Burdett to raise her to her feet and lead her out into the trees. Her heart beat painfully at sight of the whip and cord he carried in his other hand. Out of sight and earshot of the camp, he positioned her, standing, whilst he sat upon a fallen tree. Toying with the whip, he examined her heaving breasts and allowed a silence to lengthen until the naked slavegirl could bear it no longer.
"Do you realise I´m not fastened or... or anything?" She asked coldly.
"S´right. Now´s your chance."
Corey sniffed disdainfully. "You know damn well I´m too frightened."
"You forgetting something?"

"I´m too frightened... Master!" "That´s better. Feel nice to be out of the coffle?"

Miss Corey Gibson was loath to admit how good it actually did feel. Without sight of the whip she would have been ecstatic. As it was she managed a polite: "Yes... Thank you." Then asked, plaintively: "Would you mind if I just moved a bit? I promise I won´t run."
"Go ahead."

Corey did not care how silly she might look. She rubbed her wrist, she massaged her neck. She walked gleefully in a small circle. She was free, free, free! It was absurdly miraculous to be rid of chain. "I really am grateful." She admitted ingenuously, then hurriedly added: "... Master."
"You do learn." He sounded pleased. "But d´you remember what I said happened to a girl if she got herself unlocked from the coffle?"
Corey remembered. Once more her heart began to pound. She longed for clothes, for a weapon, for help. Unhappily, she confronted fear. "Yes, I remember, Master. The girl gets flogged." She looked at the whip and then at him. "You´re going to flog me, aren´t you?"
"S´right."
"What have I done?"
"Nothing." He laughed at her chagrin. "Look on it as medicinal."
"That´s unfair."
"Get used to it, Miss Gibson. Whoever buys you will probably have his servants whip you regularly. There´s nothing fair about slavery and being a pretty girl."

It was useless to argue. In pulse leaping curiosity, Corey erased the tremors from her quiet acceptance. "Very well. So I get whipped! Is there some way you want me to position myself?"
"Damn cool about it, aren´t you? What goes, bravado?"
"Yes." She wiped tears of self pity from her eyes. "I´ve never been whipped the way you want to whip me. I´m scared to death."
"Good! It won´t hurt you to wait a minute. What d´you know about Assef Aslam?"
Corey looked at her owner with a glimmering of hope. "He´s prisoner of Abdul Nour´s the way Audrey and I were."
"Abdul screw you?"
"No. But he was going to."
"He´ll be hopping mad." Seth chuckled. "He can console himself with making a good deal on Aslam´s ransom."
She clutched at a straw. "If he does, you could make a good deal on Audrey and me. There´d be millions...?"
"Huh, maybe." His glance was sharp. "Look, Corey, I like you. I´ll whip you and I´ll sell you into slavery but I like you. I´m going to pass the word around where and how you were sold. If Aslam or your Dad want you bad enough maybe something will come of it." He looked at her quizically. "What the hell do´you want Aslam to ransom you for? The way I heard it he was going to whip the ass off you?"

Corey sniffed unhappily. "Well, he wouldn´t have put me in a chain gang and made me walk naked across half a continent. You´ve done that, and now you´re going to whip me as well." She shrugged disdainfully. "And then you´re going to sell me to some rich Arab for his harem. That´s not much of a future for a girl, is it?"
"Hell, if I pass on the info´ like I´ve promised, you could be back in the U.S.A. inside six months. Your ass won´t get skinned in that time... and the other thing don´t wear out."
"Alright, I´m grateful." Corey eyed her owner dubiously. "I honestly will be grateful if you´ll do that for me... and I believe you will." She sought expression. "It´s just that... that... Oh, damnit! I just don´t want to be a slave, and be whipped, and chained, and have my body ravished... Master."
"Understood, love. But none of it´s lethal. If I tell you to position yourself and to ask me to screw you, would you obey?"
"Yes, I would obey. I´ve already been broken in, y´know. My jailor at Amphala fucked me every evening. He tied my hands behind my back for it, said it was better that way." Defiantly, she added: "I hope you approve my use of the word ´fuck´... Master?"
"Do things right, don´t you?" Burdett sardonically approved. "O.K. Start the act."

With her limbs totally free it was doubly shaming. Corey suspected he was well aware of the fact. Without pause to think or shrink, she positioned herself nakedly upon the ground, spread wide her legs, bent up her knees, looked up between them and demurely asked: "Please fuck your slavegirl, Master." Impulsively she crossed her unbound

wrists beneath the small of her back to invitingly arch her loins.
Achmed´s trick was habit forming. "I´m the victim of protocol." Seth Burdett admitted langourously from beside her on the ground. "You were damn good. Good enough I´d let you off the whipping. But I can´t put you back on the coffle with unmarked skin. Sorry ´bout that, love."
Corey did not care. For the moment she was in that blissful content which ignores tomorrow. Seth Burdett had given her happiness. As a lover he was highly skilled. For sunburst after sunburst he had made her forget her slavery. She was grateful. In silent but tactile eloquence her fingers caressed his skin.
"Wish I could afford to keep you for myself." Seth admitted pensively. "But there´s Mustafa´s half share in you, and I don´t know where in hell I could put you to keep you safe."
"What, no cage?" Corey would happily prolong the idyll.
"It´s not just a case of keeping you from escaping, love."
Seth pondered slowly. "But I´d have too damn many people chasing us. There´s your dad, there´s Aslam, and there´s Abdul Nour. D´you realise you´re the most wanted woman in the world?"
"On that coffle I´d never guess."
"Hell, it´s true. Me and Mustafa will be damn lucky to get you safely sold before one of ´em comes galloping over the hill."
"Fat lot of good that´ll do me, chained in some old coot´s seraglio and safely out of sight."
"I´ll make certain you´ve never out of sight."

Corey raised herself on an elbow and gazed serenely down at her Master. "Don´t sell me. Keep me. You can make a deal with Mustafa. Trade him two girls for me. Every girl you´ve got on that chain´s a beauty. They´ll fetch just a big price as me."
Seth nodded. "That part I can do. It´s the hiding afterwards I don´t want. It wouldn´t be good for you. I´d have to keep you tied or chained in some dismal little hole... I wouldn´t dare let you be seen by anyone."
"Master... Seth?" In her present mood the slavegirl was greatly daring. "You don´t need to tie or chain me at all. I´ll come with you willingly. I´ll be an obedient slave..."
Seeing his disbelief, she became vehement. "Can´t you understand how much I´d prefer you to some ancient Arab with a hundred oil wells and twenty wives?"
"Damn flattering, love. But you´ll have to trust my judgement. I know what we´d be up against, you don´t. Drop it."

Corey mourned in silence. Something good had seemed so close. Whether Seth was being prudent or perverse she could not tell. For her the result was going to be the same. In bitter disappointment she reproached: "So now you have to whip me?"
"´Fraid so."
"Well, don´t shed tears. Leave them to me. I´m bound to be whipped sooner or later by someone. This is cracy, but I´d just as soon it was done to me now... and by you. Then I´ll know what it´s like."
"You won´t enjoy it, love. I´ll have to lace you hard to leave you with the right marks."
"Of course I won´t enjoy it. But it´s a case of standing up to the dragon and getting rid of him. This whipping business has been bugging me long enough."
"You´re too good to be true, love."
"I´m not. Can you gag me some way, so the others won´t hear me scream?"
"Mmmmmmmm, if you want."
"I want it terribly. I don´t want to go back to the chain looking ashamed of myself."
They lay together in silence, busy with their thoughts. It was Corey who, in the end, insisted. "Do it to me please. I can´t stand the suspense."
"Do what, love?"
"Whip me." Corey pinched him playfully. "You only asked that to hear me say it again. You like hearing me ask to be whipped?"
"´Fraid so. It´s the horniest request I ever heard from a girl."
"We´re both damn honest about it.... Master."

Seth Burdett sat up and surveyed the naked girl at his side with enigmatic eyes. Idly, he played with her nipples, enjoying the response she did not try to hide. Quietly, he mocked: "You hate calling me that, don´t you?"
"Yes. But I can make myself get used to it. Since I have to be whipped and locked back on the coffle I think it´s best I use it. It puts us both in our place."
She smiled up at him. "I´ve asked you nicely to whip me, but the way we´re doing I think you´re going to fuck me against instead? Do I have to beg?"
"It´s a nice idea." He shook his head irritably. "But you´re right. We´ve been out here long enough. Mustafa and I respect each other and don´t impose. The poor chap thinks you need a whipping in the worst way. He thinks you´re haughty."
"I am. You can whip it out of me. How do we go about this?"
"Simple, love. I just hang you up by your wrists. C´mon. Over under the tree."

Miss Corey Gibson, one of the world´s loveliest and most wealthy women, considered the absurdity of what she was doing, reflected on the outrageous requests she had made, pondered her intense sensual pleasure in what a Slave Trader had done to her. Back on the coffle she would feel ashamed, but not now! She knew not from whence her euphoria stemmed, but it possessed her utterly. She was heatedly and sexually aroused to the point where she longed to be whipped by this immensely masculine creature who had set her passions aflame in a way Achmed had failed to do. Achmed´s ravishings had given her comfort, but Seth Burdett´s had fired her loins into a demanding female lust to feel the cut of his lash upon her flesh in an endless prolongation of orgasm. It was a naked slavegirl who walked to the tree and smiled back over a bare shoulder.

"If I was young and foolish I´d be talking about love right now." Seth was tugging the heavy cord testingly between muscular hands.
Corey was femininely wise. She raised her forearms and watched her wrists tied with band after band of the soft ligature. "It´s going to hurt." Seth counselled. "But with enough rope to make the strain..."

Corey watched her hands rise, up before her face and beyond. Her wrists were crossed and tightly bound. She was sure her owner knew what he was doing with his slave. She gasped under the pressure of Seth´s male strength. Her heels left the soil. When the pressure stopped she was on her toes. In the manner of a spectator she watched him snub the rope far from her reach. "Gosh, I´m... I´m all... sort of available, aren´t I?" She said dazedly from out of a maze of erotic sensation.

Seth Burdett ran his hands lovingly up and down her taut flanks, patted her taut tummy, her quivering buttocks. His query was tender.

"Excited, Corey girl?"
"Intensely. Oh, Seth, I don´t understand...!"
"You don´t have to, love. What I´m wondering about is that gag."
Corey giggled. "I´m not wearing anything, so I can´t help. Use anything. I won´t mind."
He was still naked from their coupling. He selected the obvious, Corey´s heart leaping at sight of his choice. "Any last words, love?"
"No, Master. Just whip me properly the way you´d do it to any other girl."

Corey had guessed she would get the crotch of his shorts. She opened her mouth wide to receive his male scent and taste. He pushed until her cheeks bulged, then folded the residue into a neat patch which he bound across her lips with rope. Their eyes met and conceded the propriety of what was being done.
"It won´t hurt, Corey."
She nodded, relieved.

"And I´ll miss your breasts."
This time her nod was even more emphatic. The suspended girl had never felt more naked. This was the most utter bareness slavery had imposed. The pain in her wrists told her how exquisitely she was exposed to her owner´s whip. She quivered, she trembled. She tried to speak but was mute. She had stepped beyond the point of no return. Soon, her curiosity would be appeased.

Corey burst into orgasm instantly. The cut of the thong across her shoulders triggered the pent up force generated by erotic banter. She kicked, she lunged, she gasped and moaned into her owner´s shorts, her wrists screamed...! She was aware of nothing.
The slave Trader watched, amazed. He had whipped many girls. The job was implicit to his calling. But he had never whipped a girl like this. He saw the scarlet weal form and rise on the virgin skin. Carefully he took aim to create its twin.

She felt the pain. Orgasm could not protect her forever. Corey knew she should scream in agony, but did no more than flail her legs and thrust her cheek hard against one raised bare arm. A firely burn was etching itself across her back, but all she could think of was to hope it left a satisfying mark for the other girls to see. The third stroke found her more sentinent to its cut. In shock at a new dimension of agony she lifted herself by her bound wrists, contorting to proclaim her hurt, to tell her owner not to hit so hard. She had forgotten her gag and wondered why she could not hear her voice. There came a pause. Hot breath was on her neck, a male hand was between her thighs. She was ashamed that it would become wet from her secretions.

Corey Gibson shook her head in a futile effort to rid her mouth of the hampering flavor of male. In compensation she spread wide her thighs. It hurt her wrists more but she did not care.
"Anaesthesia, Corey." Seth´s whisper was close to her ear. "I´m going to whip you good. But nod if this helps."

The nude and suspended girl nodded vigorously, delivering herself to the wise fingers and their oblivion of sensation. It seemed a very little while before the whip sang again... But this time it was better. No less hard, but across the twin curves of her buttocks. A girl´s bottom was the proper place for her to be whipped. She comforted herself with this assurance as the pain spread. Corey let her feet do as they pleased. Corey would be amused by their gyrations.
"Three more, slavegirl, before you have to open wide and ask me to whip up inside your crotch."

It was not possible! It could not be! What girl had ever been whipped there... in that place? Corey absorbed three brands of agony while she thought of what was required of her. Then, as she opened wide the softness of her thighs, she laughed into the gag that denied her whipper the pleasure of her voice. The thong sped up into the inviting cleft, splatted across her wet vulva, and bit viciously at her belly. Miss Corey Gibson amazed herself by the v******e of her writhings. Even her taut breasts...!
"Dammit, girl, you´re beautiful!" Seth´s voice was reverent. "Here´s recess."

Corey´s thighs leaped apart. She moaned in gratitude. When the next whipstroke etched a circle of scarlet round her waist she climaxed once again. The slave Trader whipped her with twenty strokes, each clearly defined as proof of punishment. Corey´s back and bottom became a frid of puffed scarlet lines. He was content. Thoughtfully, he drew her sweat bedewed and panting nakedness against his thrusting flesh and impaled her as she hung suspended from the tree. Her legs encircled him as would a pair of loving arms. They clung and clung long after their loins had given and received. When she was lowered from the branch Corey protested against the untying of her wrists. "Leave them tied, Master. Lead me back in style. Are my marks vivid on my skin?"

"More scarlet than an oil painting, love." "Good! It´s crazy but I´m proud."
"And so you should be!" Seth took the rope from her wrist bindings and tugged. He was dressed again, even to his shorts. His slavegirl followed in sweet docility.
Corey´s head was high.

"I´ve been whipped, so I know what it´s like." Audrey Cotswold´s one free hand reached awkwardly to trace its fingers softly across Corey´s ridged back. "You poor darling, the bastard really let you have it."
"He´s not a poor bastard. He´s nice."
"That mean he fuck you good." It was Amrah´s wisdom from the other side. "You sure get whipped pretty. You most lucky girl."
Back on the coffle! Chained at neck and wrist. Her wounded skin the only evidence of being, for a little while, free of its weight of metal. Corey Gibson soaked up comiseration gratefully and wished herself back hanging from the tree. She could not help it, that´s the way it was. "He only did what he thought was right." She explained lamely. "Don´t try and understand. I´m back here on the coffle with you, that´s what counts."
"I helped put you here, Corey. I´ll never forgive myself." The English girl´s self condemnation was infinitely forlorn. "It doesn´t matter so much about me. I was a slave anyway. I expect this is my just desserts."
"Don´t fret, darling. I´m alright."
"She better whan alright." Amrah opined. "She been fucked and whipped and loved. Amrah knows."

It was nice to be chained once more to girls. Corey knew she would long for something that was now past and done. But Audrey and Amrah were known quantities. When she had stood to have her neck and wrist once more chained there had been an element of coming home. It had been Mustafa who had, approvingly, examined her back and bottom and returned her securely to stock.
"Assef will get us out of this, Corey. I know he will." Audrey´s assurance was vehement. "We´ll have a bad time first... this trek isn´t exactly fun. But he´ll find us... and there´s your dad..."
"You not ever get free. You two wear chains always. Have fine life. Get whip. Good food. Plenty fuck." Amrah sighed happily at the end of the chain and reproved their discontent. "You not know when well off."

Talking was not encouraged. Too many whispers or too long a converse was likely to bring Mustafa and his whip. If it was in sleeping time the guilty girls were already flat on the ground and had only to turn on their tummies to present their bare back for the stripe or two it might please him to inflict. They could then cry themselves to sleep. At night, as they trudged steadily along the tiny path behind Seth Burdett´s donkey it was not easy to talk at all. They hissed their whispers sparingly. The double chain defeated everything except their plodding feet.

Corey told the English girl of Seth´s promise. She herself found hope in it. As her toughening feet traversed the miles she lived over and over again her painful but ecstatic hour with the most masculine male she had ever known. Seth Burdett was a force. Corey felt guilty of a girlish teen-age excitement in the knowledge of his ownership. She belonged to him by right of conquest. He could do as he pleased with her. Perhaps it was a silly romantic fantasy born of the coffle, but she wished he would take her for his own. The sensible part of Miss Corey Gibson clearly saw the handicaps in such an enslavement, but the passion in her loins swept them aside. As he rode at the head of the cavalcade his broad back was in constant view. But when they camped he paid her scant attention, and that usually to reprimand. But at such times their eyes would lock in a communion all their own which the slavegirl found deeply satisfying. But, if it held a message, it was one she could not decipher. As the days passed Corey´s whip weals healed and faded in a manner she and Audrey found miraculous.

None of the nine slaves was a virgin. Thus they could be used by their temporary owners without loss of marketability. Mustafa possessed one of the other of them daily, working his way through the coffle from back to front as though keeping the three white girls for dessert with an impatient Amrah as the liqueur. When he unlocked them, each girl reacted in her own way. They returned from their sojourn in the trees with skins variously marked. For Mustafa, the whip was an essential part of dallience. When he came to Josie she yielded herself without complaint. After her enforced whoredom at Amphala he was just another wog.

Audrey was different. She had been a slave long time, but never to such as this redolent bristly lecher of the trade. Mustafa had early detected her distaste and cherished it. For him, the English girl would have a flavour all her own, a spicy combination of the patina of wealth and power plus her membership in a race whose Empire had so recently crumbled before his eyes. To humble the pride of such a girl was obviously the duty of any burnoosed bandit. Surveying his naked prey he opened his conversational gambit.

"You are white English sow."
"Yes, Master."
Audrey Cotswold had played the game before, and was determined to minimise her losses. But her previous conquerors had possessed finesse. She was quakingly unsure of her ability to cope with Mustafa. Hoping for the best, she embraced humility. "I am an obedient slave, Master."
"Yet your eyes sneer at me?"
"I will make them smile for you, Master."
"You have the English cunning."
"If I had it, Master, it would be powerless against your chain."
"And when I unlock you?"
"I will follow you into the trees and do your bidding."
Mustafa was piqued. Compliance was insipid. He suspected guile. "Kneel!" He flung the order as a challenge.
Audrey twisted in frustration. "I cannot, Master, I am chained."
"On your knees!"

Girls on either side moved close, donating slack chain. Without enthusiasm, Audrey sank to her knees, chains taut to her neck, her right arm awkwardly fettered. He avowal lacked warmth. "I kneel, Master. I am yours."
"Take out my cock. Service it."

The coffle was hushed. Corey´s anxious scan for Seth found found him not. No doubt he was rendering unto Caesar.....! He would not infringe on Mustafa´s perquisite. She longed to protest, but had neither the conviction or the courage. She tugged at Amrah to yield all the slack chain possible for the kneeling girl.
Audrey was stricken. This was it! If not one goad then another. Piteously, she quavered: "Please, Master, not in front of the girls... Not here."
"You have a free hand. Use it."
Slowly, in total abnegation, Audrey Cotswold´s left hand fumbled. It was rewarded by the springing into being of a rampant and ugly penis, the odor of which caused her to gag, and was strong enough for Corey to inhale with disgust. The kneeling girl looked at the obscene object in loathing as she accepted defeat. "I can´t...! I´m sorry, I just can´t do it!"
Mustafa was pleased. He had gauged the white girl´s reaction to perfection. His next command gave no clue. "Replace it."

It was difficult. Corey watched but dared not help. After thrustings and tugs the Arabian weapon was returned to its odorous home by the fingers of a bereft English maiden who was wondering how severe her flogging would now be.
But Mustafa possessed an unesuspected subtlety. He had whipped many girls. Bruised flesh was commonplace. The English girl would be made to pay her penitence in different coin. Rummaging into his gear, he produced an object every girl recognized. It was a short stumpy dildo and a strap. Mustafa spit lavishly upon its chunky head and handed it to the first girl on the chain. None were naive. Receiving the increasingly lubricated phallus, each girl spread her loins and manipulated the massive horror within her sheath until she was totally impaled. Having donated her secretions to the rest, she passed it on. Even Josie complied. For a girl on the coffle there was no escape from anything. She handed it back to Mustafa who held it before the stricken eyes of the kneeling girl.
"On your feet."
Audrey obeyed. She saw nothing but the thing prepared for her shame. She looked at Mustafa in silent appeal but found no pity, only a command. Dejectedly, she opened her mouth.

Corey shared it all. It was as though she was tasting the secretions of six girls, choking against the monster thing, not too long but cruelly wide within her mouth. She watched Mustafa finger Audrey´s lips into place and adjust the straps across the full cheeks and over silken hair to buckle tighter, and more tight, at the nape of a bowed neck.

The turning of a padlock key. The fall of a shackle from a female wrist. The brusque command: "Turn!" Audrey´s hands placed palm to palm, their wrists bound tight with cord, and then the camelhide strips round soft elbows to draw them tight until flesh met flesh and was knotted there to stay. Corey cringed at sight of the indented skin, the wracked shoulders and the extended breasts. This was punishment!
But Mustafa was not done!

With intent purpose, the slave trader gathered the recent droppings of one of the donkeys. It was moist and still warm from its expulsion from the bowel. Carefully, he rubbed the odure well into the bound nakedness from which he had found offence. Audrey braced herself for the annointing. She was helpless. She looked up and away as the wet and smelly waste was massaged into her breasts and within her thighs. From the excreat of an ass Mustafa achieved equality with a hated Race. Next time the girl would accept his cock with the hunger of wisdom.

Audrey would have preferred the whip. She had braced and prepared herself for a flogging. But now this...! She conceded Mustafa´s ingenuity. She was being most adequately and potently punished. An exquisite blend of pain and shame. Bitterly, she now wished she had taken Mustafa´s stinking maleness within her lips. She could have been done with it in minutes. But now...! Her distended jaws, the taste of female sex, the bite of straps...! She had made a poor bargain. With the odor of manure heavy upon herself and her neighbors she tried to join them in sleep. But bound elbows are an unkind infliction on a girl. It was not easy.

Dusk brought her no reprieve beyond water. When the phallus was taken from her mouth to enable her to drink she did so gratefully. But the humble pleadings ready on her tongue died unborn under the returning thrust of the hated symbol of the Male. Her heart sank as it was strapped tight. She was given no food. Her elbows were a torment but she could not complain. All night she walked her captive way between the female necks and wrists whose chain she shared upon her collar. When they camped in daylight she was faint from hunger and exhaustion, her arms afire, her open jaws an agony. Her only relief was from the stench of manure. It had fallen away from her skin and dissipated itself under the rigours of the march.

It was Seth Burdett who brought her punishment to its end. He examined her condition with his usual sardonic amusement and passed an exchange of comments in Mustafa´s own dialect. He must have said the right thing, the Arab partner nodded and laughed and surveyed his punished property with a forgiving eye.

"How´d you like to get rid of that cock in your mouth, love?"
The question was redundant. Audrey nodded joyously. When the strap was loosened the condition of her mouth made her fervid thanks hard to enunciate. Seth gave her water, watching with interest while she drank.
"Don´t need your arms untied, do you?"

Her spirits sank. How utterly she was at the mercy of the Male! Her heart was in her fervent plea: "Oh, please, please, untie me!"
He chuckled at her response to his tease. Then peeled away the cords and the strips of hide. She moaned and was shocked by the deep purple wounds within her skin. She massaged them gratefully while he stood by.
"Would you obey my partner now, love?"
"Yes, I will obey. Must I kneel now?"
Both traders laughed delightedly at the ready words Audrey had known she must utter. They had made their point. The slave was humbled. The chained female admitted the superiority of te Male. It was all they asked. In a great thankfulness the punished slave held out her right wrist for its shackle and padlock. With the snap of its prisoning she was back to normal, a slavegirl on her way to be auctioned. The loving touch of Corey´s hand completed her felicity.

The trek continued. They were not the only users of the path. But there was no help for the nine girls. The fellow travellers regarded them and their chain with an indulgent eye, passed a friendly word with Mustafa and went their way. Their lack of interest in breasts and pubes told all too plainly she was in a land where female nakedness was not remarkable. When a woman was among those who passed, Corey detected no sympathy in theit knowing eyes. Clothed or naked, a girl was the property of The Male.

There were incidents. The rear girl who shared the chores with Amrah saw herself as privileged with a status above the rest. With a naive confidence in her undoubted charms she offer her person to the partners in return for absolution from the chain and release on reaching their destination. When her offer met laughter and the explanation that what she sought to barter had not been her´s for some considerable time, she wept and at the first opportunity ran fleetly into the trees. Dragged back by an amused Mustafa, she screamed, she fought, she bit. In the chagrin of wounded pride she abandoned all docility.

Both men enjoyed the occasion and made the most of it. The delinquent maiden was made to stand facing her sisters in captivity. Her hands were tied behind her back. She was adjured not to move. By this time she was too frightened to do aught but obey. Using her as an example of a naughty girl, Mustafa delivered a lecture in voluble volleys of his native tongue illustrated by a pointing finger. When he was done, Seth Burdett carried on in English. He cocked a sardonic eye at his chained stock-in-trade, and pinpointed the obvious:
"Fact is, girls, you ain´t got nothing to sell. You just palin ain´t got nothing at all. You don´t belong to yourselves any more." He paused for effect. "What you got to understand ´bout this running-away-business is that there´s more to it than just taking a powder. What you´re doing is stealing. You´re stealing a perfectly good girl from her owner. It don´t make no difference that the girl happens to be you." He guffawed cheerfully. "You ain´t no different from any other slave. When you do a bunk you´re guilty of theft. In these parts such a theft ain´t a bit popular. It gets stepped on... hard!" He winked and let it go at that.

Then the construction. A simple pedestal driven in the ground. A short crosspiece. Two stakes. Nine watching girls began to comprehend the fate of one. When a pair of phallus were strapped in place little doubt remained. Amrah was chosen to grease, to insert, and to guide. She accepted her responsibility with obvious delight.

The slim loveliness kicked wildly as she was lifted and held above her impending impalement. The runaway´s slender beauty was powerless in the hands of the male giants who held her bound arms. Amrah´s head ducked back and forth while her fingers busily ensured the safety of costly merchandise. Her expert pronouncement throbbed with pride.
"Is now in. Is much safe to lower."

The failing legs became still. Instinctively, they opened wide. For the moment the unhappy delinquent was as anxious to avoid torn membranes as were her owners. All four participants shared concern for a successful adjustment. Seth and Mustafa lowered their petrified prize slowly and with infinite care upon her punishment. The girl herself was wide eyed and stiff with apprehension. Amrah was busy with rope on captive ankles. Obviously she had done this job before. When she and the men stepped away, a sad but shapely feminine figure sat astride the crossbar, impalde deeply within both orifices of her loins, her feet roped out to either side by taut tethers to the stakes. Her weight rested on her indented crotch. Hands bound behind her back left her helpless to sit and hurt, hurt, hurt. Any motion would increase her pain. She sat very still and quietly wept.

Corey was given the honor of being the replacement to help Amrah with the chores. It was Seth Burdett who unlocked her chains. Reading his unspoken thought as he turned the key to her collar, she wrinkled her nose at him and said, flatly: "No. I refuse to run. I´m not going to sit on that damn thing to amuse Mustafa."
"It hurts a bit too, love."
"It´s a rotten way to treat a girl. Why dont you whip her and be done with it?"
"saving that for you, Corey."
Seth had led her away from the coffle. Out of earshot, Corey asked: "Mustafa didn´t take me after Audrey, he took Amrah?"
"´sright, love. Gentleman´s agreement."
"That means I belong to you, Seth?" She could not keep the excitement from her voice.
He twinkled down at her. "In a manner of speaking. And drop the Seth, I´m your Master."
Corey twinkled back. "Why don´t you take me every day, Master?"
"You´d like that, wouldn´t you?"
"Yes, I would! More than anything."
"And a whipping along with it?"
"Yes, that too!"

He smiled at her vehemence. Seth Burdett supposed himself half in love with Corey. But he was a Slaver, and it was all too easy to fall for some pitiful maiden on a coffle. They looked so damn sweet and helpless in their chains it was easy to become romantic. In a slvegirl´s anxiety for freedom he was always a prime target for wide beseeching eyes. Laughing, he shook his head. "Protocol, Miss Gibson. Bad for morale."
"Damn morale! I want you to want me. You do want me, I know you do."
"Hell, yes! But you don´t notice Mustafa taking one girl only. It´s our code. It works."
"If I do something unforgivable you´ll have to whip me. You can take me out in the trees like last time...? Master, please...!"
Seth placed an admonitory finger on pouting lips. "You´re bored with the coffle, love."
"Of course I´m tired of it. We must have walked over half Africa." Corey Gibson looked up at her Master defiantly. "I want to be your slavegirl. I´ll pay whatever the price is."
He could not forbear to tease. "How about sitting out there like that girl´s doing?"
Corey´s pause was momentary. From it, her voice sprang eagerly: "Yes! Of course! Is that a deal?"
Seth Burdett patted her bottom and pushed her toward the fire.
"You come help gather wood... ´bout time!" Amrah greeted indignantly.
"See what I mean?" The slave trader laughed as he left them to their chores.
"You two want to fuck so bad it hurts." Amrah complained wisely. "Wish it was me."

It was good to bee free of restraints. Chores might demean, but Corey revelled in the unhindered movement of her limbs and neck. She was pleasantly excited about Seth Burdett. She knew herself wanton but refused to compare herself today to the girl she once had been. From time to time she spared a comiserating glance for the impaled runaway, asking herself if she would truly change places with the girl for a price! If Seth Burdett was the price she would do so gladly. Miss Corey Gibson was irritated by such self abnegation... But there it was!

In the sleeptime of the following day Corey was awakened by a knowledge of something wrong. She lay tense, listening, but heard nothing. The girls had made their own code. None would start up or attempt to rise so that the chain attaching her to the others would spring taut. They needed their sleep, and could achieve it only by a constant consideration for those to whom they were linked. Corey twisted cautiously.
She was free!

It was not a dream. Her slight motion caused her collar to fall open, as did the shackle on her wrist. In shock she pushed herself up to rest on one hip and look down stupidly at the metal circlets that no longer held her captive. She surveyed the coffle. The girls were all asleep, their chain neat between collared necks, their shackled hands resting carelessly above their heads. They were perfectly adjusted to the coffle, and slept peacefully. Strangely, she felt no exhilaration. Instead, she was conscious of fear. Mustafa might be trying to trap her into delinquency justifying some hateful punishment. But he seemed deep in slumber, his back turned upon his female inventory. Of Seth she could not be sure. If he was watching her from one sardonic eye he gave no sign. Cautiously, she got to her feet. The eight shackled beauties looked pitiful in their nakedness. Without keys she could not aid them. Silently, she stepped away from where the soil was still warm from her flesh, and tip-toed to the centre of the camp.

The free, but naked, Miss Corey Gibson had never felt at such a loss. In this eerie freedom she was a pale ghost without purpose. Whatever she did seemed likely to land her in some terrifying restriction. To steal a donkey seemed the most practical course. But she had never handled one, there would be noise. Besides, she knew not which direction she should take. She was restricted to the path. To leave it for the tangled wilderness would be folly. Naked! Unarmed! Unskilled! Corey Gibson had never been so lonely. She saw herself alone on a sterile planet for which there were no maps. Suddenly, the coffle beckoned enticingly. In its slavery lay the only comfort or safety of which she could be sure. Corey wished she had clasped the metal bands back upon herself and clicked their locks. Was it possible to do so now without discovery? Was it?

In swift decision she sped to where her Master slept. Deliberately she slid down and snuggled close, a bare arm across his shoulders. Without surprise, she heard his chuckle. "Congratulations, love. You´ve made your point." Lazily, he turned and gathered her close, her head gratefully buried against his cheek. Corey Gibson had never been so happy.

The town of Ben Sirah lay between desert and scrub, an ancient ghost of a place progress had ignored. For Slavers it was ideal. If the powers above knew its function they closed a blind eye. No matter how enlightened an official might be, it was comforting to know where a slavegirl could still be purchased. It was one of Africa´s surviving institutions of which most men, black or white or in between, secretly approved. From its auction block the wealthy of the world had gathered to itself some of the most desirable female flesh extant.

As the current consignment of feminine pulch tritute from the stable of Mustafa and Burdett clinked its coffle through empty moonlit streets and shuffled its female feet in sand still warm from daylight sun, Corey Gibson could believe herself transported back a thousand years. No sign of modernity was to be seen. For she and those like her it offered no hope. For slavegirls it would be a place of sadness and last good-byes. As they filed through its central square the sight of stocks and whipping post, stark and empty in the pale light, was far from welcome. Conscious of the metal she bore upon her nudity, she wondered how many other white girls had marched as she marched now!

"Soon we all be fucked real good." Whispered Amrah ecstatically. "This fine place to be sold. Much best." Her stride was confident.

It may have been a warehouse. Or perhaps it had known no other function than the housing of slaves. A huge square place of stone and thatch, it´s roof supported by pillars. Within each quarter of its dimension there was a cage of metal bars and sandy floor, large enough to tell of a considerable trade in times past. Ventilation was adequate from unglazed apertures high in the stone. The whole place spelt Slavery with a capital ´S´. Corey shivered. They were well received by the Management. The partners were treated with much respect. The nine naked girls were examined with voluble approval. Help was provided in their placement within a chosen cage. Amrah was first in line. Freed from the coffle, her wrists were crossed behind her back and tied with a strip of supple hide. An authorative hand thrust her within the confines of the bars. Corey was next. The tying of her hands at the small of her back was competent. She wpuld not get loose. In dismal distaste for what was happening she joined Amrah in the cage. Soon all nine girls stood nakedly with hands bound behind their backs and surveyed their new home. The door clanged shut with a ceremony of locks. The omnipotent Males departed. Unhappily, Corey gazed through the bars at her Master´s disappearing back.

Life within the Slave Cage was simple. The girls agreed they preferred the coffle but made the best of what they could not change. Their new confinement allowed them all to talk in an intimacy the coffle had never permitted. Two troughs against the bars provided food and water. They had to kneel to eat or to drink from the communal containers set a couple of feet above the sand for their convenience. Their bound hands were lost to them. Amrah blandly explained away the imposition.
"Hands tie so we know we slaves. No hands, no trouble. Is no use try untie."

She was probably right. Certainly no amount of twisting and striving untied a knot. Back to back, questing fingers were still defeated. The hide had been wet and its knots doubly sutured. No doubt it was much cheaper than handcuffs and imposed a more personal discipline. After the first day the girls no longer bothered. Amrah was appointed to tend their needs. Her hands were untied but her feet were shackled. She clinked about her new duties with considerable elan. She saw it as a promotion. The chain joining her ankles bothered her not at all, for her it was a visible symbol of authority. "You be polite or Amrah pinch your tits." She warned amiably. "You girls can´t do nothing the way you´s tied. But Amrah do what she like." She kicked her leg irons to make them swirl. "These here don´t bother me none."

They were not alone. The far cage held four female captives, another imprisoned two. One single girl was chained to the stone wall by her collar. She sat in apathetic boredom, awaiting a fate on which Amrah was soon informed.
"She been sold. But owner busy. He pick up later." She tittered. "He be pay her room and board."

Corey missed Burdett. His masculinity was a needed foil for the redundancy of breasts, pubic triangles and unruly hair. The cage reeked of female. Some of the captives paired and unashamedly made love. Their bound hands were a handicap they managed to overcome, they had plenty of time. Boredom engulfed them as did the cage. The three white girls discussed the feminine relief their tongues could bestow. But the case defeated them. It was worse than being in public. They were specimens in a zoo to be peered at between bars. Corey shrank from a vision of Seth Burdett walking in to find her with her face buried between Audrey´s thighs.
Ennui ended on the fourth day. They were shepherded through a narrow doorway into a second chamber much like the first. It held no cages, but the auction block stood, starkly obvious, facing a few rows of chains which were no doubt a modern concession to the wealth of those who would bid. In contrast to the place they had left they now were surrounded by luxury. The walls were d****d with rugs, the block itself was shrouded in black velvet. Against the far wall stood a bar. Seth Burdett did the honours.
"This is where you´ll be sold." His eye roved the line of breasts. The girls stood expectantly, their hands and arms still secured behind their backs. "Now, just so´s there´s no fuck-ups on the Great Day. I´ll give you the drill."

Amrah stood proudly forward. She had been briefed.



To be continued...
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Geri
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