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Description

Whack! He was abruptly awakened by a painful sting to his right cheek. He instinctively tried to move away, but the heavy steel collar and shackles firmly held him in place.

Whack! Whack! His exposed and defenseless head received two more blows with a leather paddle. A dozen little metal spikes penetrated his skin, leaving a dozen little wounds that burned like fire.

His body shivered and trembled from the pain, but he remained silent. He was an object. A tool actually, meant to serve women as an instrument of pleasure.

For the ladies using him, he was certainly nothing more than a piece of furniture. His head was protruding through the seat of a lavish throne-like armchair, with the rest of his body hidden from the view in a tiny concrete pit bellow the chair. He was locked in a painful kneeling position with numerous shackles attached to his limbs, making even slightest moves almost impossible.

He didn’t have a name. As most other slaves in this facility he had a number and a bar-code, digitally burned into the back of his head. The State of New Amazonia kept detailed records of its slaves. Though they were replaceable and often almost indistinguishable from one another, they were still carefully monitored. State slave E-4523164-C-73451 was no exception. The bar-code on his head contained a link to his file in the Central Registry of Slaves, containing details about his enslavement, his physical condition and capabilities, past uses and past owners, bodily modifications and punishments.

Mistress Fumiko already knew everything that was to know about slave E-4523164-C-73451. She scanned his barcode the first day he was brought into the prison and spent an entire hour reading through his file.

He used to be a drug dealer years ago, before he was arrested and sold to the New Amazonia. Female state was always in the need for additional slaves and buying criminals abroad was a convenient way to satisfy the ever growing demand. The practice of selling criminals to the Female State was widespread in some parts of the world. It helped reduce the prison population and the prospect of ending up as a slave in New Amazonia turned out to be a strong deterrent as well.

Slave E-4523164-C-73451 definitely payed the full price for his past transgressions. Since his first day in New Amazonia he knew nothing but toil and suffering. As a convicted felon, he spent the first six months in the slave training center, where he underwent just about every kind of torment and humiliation one could think of. When deemed sufficiently broken, he was sold to a rich socialite to serve her as a heavy labor slave and he spent the next four years toiling long hours in one of her factories. When a severe work accident left him crippled and unusable, he was sent to the notorious Facility 14.

Facility 14, commonly known as The Pit, was every slave’s ultimate fear. It was a large punitive compound, where the lowest categories of slaves spent the rest of their days with no hope of ever be released again. Most of the newcomers went straight to the underground dungeons, where they were locked up in tiny cells and largely forgotten.

But slave E-4523164-C-73451 met a different lot. Even though the prisoners in the facility were officially a property of the state, prison mistresses were given entirely free hands with them to use them as they pleased. And they took the full liberty of it. Guarding a mass of slaves, all safely locked up in their pits, would be a pretty dull job if it didn’t come with certain perks. And since idle slaves were in abundance, ladies casually picked them from their holes to use them for their entertainment.

These living toys endured just about every torment their mistresses decided to inflict upon them. Many of them ended up as a sort of living furniture. Doormats to step on. Chairs to sit upon. Even a boot-polisher, whose head was conveniently protruding through the wall at the floor level and whose sole purpose was to lick the dirt from his mistresses boots.

Among these pitiful wretches, slave E-4523164-C-73451 had a somewhat privileged position. He was Mistress Fumiko’s personal project. She was the one who noticed his exceptionally long tongue and came up with an idea to use it to her own benefit. Now she expected him to service her.

He couldn’t see her at the moment, but he could hear the clicking of her high heeled boots as she was walking around the room somewhere behind his back. He remained still and kept staring at the corridor in front of him. He could see the trapdoors in the floor that lead to the dreaded oubliettes, deep bellow the corridor. He could hear faint voices of those trapped bellow. They were a constant reminder of where he could end up, should he fail to serve his mistresses to the utmost of his abilities.

The clicking of Mistress Fumiko’s heels were getting closer again.

Whack! She hit him again with her cruel spiked paddle. He heard the delicate sound of her undressing and a moment later her pink panties landed on the arms of the chair. She sat down on the throne above him, spread her legs and raised her left foot on the base of the throne. She allowed him a quick glimpse at her. She looked gorgeous as always. She was a pretty Asian lady in her mid-twenties with porcelain skin and coal black hair.

She looked down at him and raised her paddle. A smiled crossed her face as she noticed fear in his eyes. “You better make me moan with pleasure, cunnilinguer!” she whispered at him. “Should you fail to satisfy me, this paddle will be the least of your problems. The oubliettes are waiting. Now get to work, slave tongue!”

Description

Whack! He was abruptly awakened by a painful sting to his right cheek. He instinctively tried to move away, but the heavy steel collar and shackles firmly held him in place.

Whack! Whack! His exposed and defenseless head received two more blows with a leather paddle. A dozen little metal spikes penetrated his skin, leaving a dozen little wounds that burned like fire.

His body shivered and trembled from the pain, but he remained silent. He was an object. A tool actually, meant to serve women as an instrument of pleasure.

For the ladies using him, he was certainly nothing more than a piece of furniture. His head was protruding through the seat of a lavish throne-like armchair, with the rest of his body hidden from the view in a tiny concrete pit bellow the chair. He was locked in a painful kneeling position with numerous shackles attached to his limbs, making even slightest moves almost impossible.

He didn’t have a name. As most other slaves in this facility he had a number and a bar-code, digitally burned into the back of his head. The State of New Amazonia kept detailed records of its slaves. Though they were replaceable and often almost indistinguishable from one another, they were still carefully monitored. State slave E-4523164-C-73451 was no exception. The bar-code on his head contained a link to his file in the Central Registry of Slaves, containing details about his enslavement, his physical condition and capabilities, past uses and past owners, bodily modifications and punishments.

Mistress Fumiko already knew everything that was to know about slave E-4523164-C-73451. She scanned his barcode the first day he was brought into the prison and spent an entire hour reading through his file.

He used to be a drug dealer years ago, before he was arrested and sold to the New Amazonia. Female state was always in the need for additional slaves and buying criminals abroad was a convenient way to satisfy the ever growing demand. The practice of selling criminals to the Female State was widespread in some parts of the world. It helped reduce the prison population and the prospect of ending up as a slave in New Amazonia turned out to be a strong deterrent as well.

Slave E-4523164-C-73451 definitely payed the full price for his past transgressions. Since his first day in New Amazonia he knew nothing but toil and suffering. As a convicted felon, he spent the first six months in the slave training center, where he underwent just about every kind of torment and humiliation one could think of. When deemed sufficiently broken, he was sold to a rich socialite to serve her as a heavy labor slave and he spent the next four years toiling long hours in one of her factories. When a severe work accident left him crippled and unusable, he was sent to the notorious Facility 14.

Facility 14, commonly known as The Pit, was every slave’s ultimate fear. It was a large punitive compound, where the lowest categories of slaves spent the rest of their days with no hope of ever be released again. Most of the newcomers went straight to the underground dungeons, where they were locked up in tiny cells and largely forgotten.

But slave E-4523164-C-73451 met a different lot. Even though the prisoners in the facility were officially a property of the state, prison mistresses were given entirely free hands with them to use them as they pleased. And they took the full liberty of it. Guarding a mass of slaves, all safely locked up in their pits, would be a pretty dull job if it didn’t come with certain perks. And since idle slaves were in abundance, ladies casually picked them from their holes to use them for their entertainment.

These living toys endured just about every torment their mistresses decided to inflict upon them. Many of them ended up as a sort of living furniture. Doormats to step on. Chairs to sit upon. Even a boot-polisher, whose head was conveniently protruding through the wall at the floor level and whose sole purpose was to lick the dirt from his mistresses boots.

Among these pitiful wretches, slave E-4523164-C-73451 had a somewhat privileged position. He was Mistress Fumiko’s personal project. She was the one who noticed his exceptionally long tongue and came up with an idea to use it to her own benefit. Now she expected him to service her.

He couldn’t see her at the moment, but he could hear the clicking of her high heeled boots as she was walking around the room somewhere behind his back. He remained still and kept staring at the corridor in front of him. He could see the trapdoors in the floor that lead to the dreaded oubliettes, deep bellow the corridor. He could hear faint voices of those trapped bellow. They were a constant reminder of where he could end up, should he fail to serve his mistresses to the utmost of his abilities.

The clicking of Mistress Fumiko’s heels were getting closer again.

Whack! She hit him again with her cruel spiked paddle. He heard the delicate sound of her undressing and a moment later her pink panties landed on the arms of the chair. She sat down on the throne above him, spread her legs and raised her left foot on the base of the throne. She allowed him a quick glimpse at her. She looked gorgeous as always. She was a pretty Asian lady in her mid-twenties with porcelain skin and coal black hair.

She looked down at him and raised her paddle. A smiled crossed her face as she noticed fear in his eyes. “You better make me moan with pleasure, cunnilinguer!” she whispered at him. “Should you fail to satisfy me, this paddle will be the least of your problems. The oubliettes are waiting. Now get to work, slave tongue!”