Hans Meijer - The slave girl

"For now." He bestowed his sardonic grin. "But let's put the housekeeping in order. First, I'm my own man. I'll take you as a slave, and I'll keep you as a slave. What's more I'll make my own money…"

"But, Seth, I don't mind…!"

"Hold on! Try that again."

"I'm sorry, Master. I… I forgot."

"See what I mean! For a moment there you thought you were free. That's going to keep happening… Never been broken, have you, Corey?"

"No… I suppose not." The thought thrilled her outrageously. "Are you going to make me crawl, darling?"

"Put those tied hands at the back of your neck, Miss Corey Gibson. And hold still. That 'darling' is going to cost you."

Unrepentant but quivering. Corey obeyed. Her breasts jutted in response. She guessed instantly what he was about to do to her. "I'm not sorry I said that, Master." Deliberately, she arched her back and added an inch or two to the prominence of her nipples.

A lash across the curve of each breast. One only! Corey had retired behind closed eyes and clenched teeth, and accepted this new and dreadful pain with a fortitude she knew would not have lasted if the blows continued to fall. She swayed, her nostrils flared, her sex flamed. She had given and received in a love play designed for a slave. Opening her eyes, she looked down at the scarlet bars enhancing the loveliness ofher most feminine flesh.

"Thank you, Master."

"Humph, you make me feel a bastard, love." He grinned confidingly. "Doesn't change a thing. I'm going to make you scream before I take you back to the coffle."

"My breasts hurt terribly, Master, but I did not scream."

"You will, love. Underneath those palpitating glands you're a sensible girl. You're not a kid. You'll scream rather than be whipped to death."

Corey's heart fluttered. Would he? She did not think he would. But still…! She fell back on mischief: "Will you fuck me first, Master?"

"…And last, you outrageous female! They had a word for you in the States… Sexpot!"

"I'm not really. I used to be considered cold. I was cold. I'm what I am now because of you."

Seth held up a hand. "We're starting to argue. Keep quiet while I tell you about the housekeeping money… and don't think those pretty tits can't get another stripe or two."

"I'll behave, Master. I'm honestly not a bit keen on getting my breasts whipped, even by you."

Burdett draped his whip prominently across one knee.

"First off, you'd better understand about the slave trade. When someone pays a million dollars for you up there on the auction block I'm lucky to end up with ten percent. There's the Auction boys to pay, there's a couple of political factions, there's the lousy police, and there's some damn heavy bribery to find the girls, get them kidnapped and delivered to where the coffle starts it's trek." He grinned, admiring her taut loveliness in its tiring kneel. "The Trek doesn't cost, and it gets us out of sight. Its best function is to tell the girls what they are. I've seen many a randy little bitch start out fighting her chains all the way but end up smooth as silk. Nice thing about the coffle is the girls have to pay attention to each other. If one of them acts up so the girls on either side get chafed skin they damn soon lean on her hard. A coffle's the best leveller I know."

"Can I sit back now, Master?"

"No, you can't! Erect and attentive's the drill."

"Well, can I lower my hands from behind my neck, please?"

"No. Stay as you are. Your breasts are nicely positioned for a couple more stripes… you're hovering on the edge of getting them."

"Master… about the Auctions? All that money for Audrey and I…? I thought you'd be rich?"

"Hah, so did I! You three white girls stolen out of Amphala were the first real bonanza Mustafa and I ever ran into. White girls are hard to come by without an organization behind you. We'd mostly had to deal in coffee colours. If it hadn't been for those bastards, Abdul and Mustafa, I'd have made enough out of you to turn respectable." Seth grimaced in disgust. "If I sold you again now I could make enough to feel I was talking to you on half way equal terms… that is, if you were around… which you wouldn't be. So now I've promised not to sell you, and that leaves me about where I've been for a long time." He bestowed a rueful grin. "How'd it be if I sold you anyway and kidnapped you back afterwards?"

"Darling, collect ransom on me. Daddy will gladly give you a couple of millions and then we can get married…"

Corey's breasts cringed under the two cuts, one across each. She whimpered under the searing impacts, fighting hard not to move, protruding her second feminine curvature defiantly while still screaming inwardly with the agony of the first. But her emotions were overcharged. With a cry of anguish, she slumped back on her heels, her bound hands flashed up and over her head to awkwardly and pathetically caress her wounds. Piteously, she wept.

"I was only… t-t-trying… to h-h-help." She sobbed.

"I am a slaver, not an extortionist."

"I'm… I'm sorry… I… I keep making the mistake." "And my wife doesn't by me! I'm not at all sure I want a wife. I told you I'd take you as a slave, and I still will. If that's not good enough, just say so. I'll sell you instead."

"It's good enough!" Corey couldn't get the words out faster.

Seth Burdett eyed the disorganized bundle of feminity with affectionate amusement. "This is where the script says I take you in my arms and offer you my shirt and pants if you'll stop crying…" He gave a contemptuous grunt. "Piss on that! Here's the proper way."

Once more, Miss Corey Gibson knew herself betrayed by her own libido. One should have dissolved in grief to either disgust this man or earn his pity as he dragged her to the tree. Instead, her tears ceased and her loins flared in a sudden intense desire for the cleansing scourge of his lash. As her bound hands were tied to the trunk above her head, she muttered savagely: "Alright, whip me! Whip me into an orgasm. Whip me into a hundred orgasms… damn you, Master!"

Seth whipped her joyously, aware of each of her tremors, the flexing of her muscles, the growing heat within. Amused, he noted her bound wrists and their agony as she tugged and heaved, turned and twisted. But, as a boy controls the whipping of a top, so he carefully kept Corey facing the trunk, the whip across a twisting hip or exposed flank kept her back and bottom properly available. When, in her beginnings of orgasm, her legs parted and one raised invitingly, he swept the thong in a snapping uppercut into her crotch so that her climax flowered in a ullation of delicious agony. Her wailing cry was neither of triumph or defeat. It was the tribute of a slave whose Master knew her all too well.

"Don't stop! Whip me! Whip me…!"

"What are you?"

"A slave! You idiot, I know I'm a slave, a slave, a slave…! I'm never going to be anything else but a slave, so I may as well get used to it. Whip me… you complacent bastard. Whip me good."

Corey thrust her breasts hard against the tree while her Mster spaced his strokes across her back. Probably he would half kill her for the epithets she had hurled at him. Her tear-stained cheek joined her breasts in seeking the comfort of the bark. Inspired, she added to her declaration: "I want to be… Oh, can't you understand! I want to be your slave, I want to be… I want…"

The whip acknowledged her surrender. It did not stop. When she began to scream she terminated each cry of pain with a curt demand: "Whip me, damn you, Master, whip me…!"Then screamed again.

When he dragged her back to the coffle he locked only her neck, leaving her hands tied as they had been. Corey did not know whether he had forgotten or had a purpose, but she hurt too much and was too tired to try and bite at his knots. Besides, what did it matter! Even freed entirely of all restraints she would still be a slave. She would always be a slave. Her mind would no longer search beyond that knowlegde. Unconcerned and undismayed she went to sleep.