Condemned to Slavery
During a trip to a vacation paradise, Lydia’s flight stops briefly in the newly formed, war torn country of Guenerros. The decision to take a few pictures as mementos has her arrested as a possible spy. Stripped, searched, and brutally interrogated, she is sent to a female only prison where male and female leather-clad sadistic guards and naked inmates help themselves to the nubile tourist.
Here the Warden keeps a helplessly rubber-entombed puppy girl and takes delight in punishing prisoners, while in the darkest depths of the place a cruel Mistress dwells in her fiendish dungeon, secretly preparing and viciously training those sent to her for dispatch to lifelong slavery.
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Condemned To Slavery
Copyright © 2012 Bruce McLachlan
ISBN: 978-1-77111-330-4
Cover art by Angela Waters
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Condemned To Slavery
By
Bruce McLachlan
Prologue
The entire room was a merry cacophony of tinkling bell chimes, the levity in the peels of sound negated by the torments that were responsible for creating them.
Six pairs of women were lined by one wall, their identities completely hidden by the meticulously engineered garments of rubber and steel. One of each pair hung in the air, her hopelessly contorted form shivering and wriggling against the suit that held her there.
A complete sheath of skintight latex folded each of the six dangling females into a drastic hoop, their legs bent back to arch their fronts towards the ceiling and connect the sides of their feet to the sides of their hooded head via a plexus of stout straps. Arms were folded high up their backs and locked within a single triangular sleeve, which anchored itself to the comprehensive cat suit by several tight buckles. The featureless bulb that was all that remained of their hands rippled with the fight of fingers as they fought the stringent compression.
A metal hoop was set at the apex of the six arched chests, the dense mooring ring nestling just below their breasts. A stout chain led from this ring up to the ceiling, keeping them elevated at waist height, the six forms shimmering as muscles flicked and struggled to escape the impossible confines in which they were all so hopelessly embroiled.
Their mouths were visibly stretched into silent imploring wails, a vast penis gag having been plunged into their maws to stifle all protest. The plate responsible for the device connected into the same weave of straps that kept their feet pressed to their heads.
From the supporting hoist spat three lengths of slender chain, the silver links snapping to nipples and exposed clitorises with clover clamps, the taut lengths causing any movement to increase the havoc of the implements upon these most vulnerable zones.
From the ceiling drooled a line of insulated cable that swung beneath their vaulted backs and connected to the long dildo sheathed in their rears. The flashes of voltage havoc that rocked their sphincters and tracts was the prime motivation for the slave girls to dance, and it was this dance that brought eerie music to their air.
Every jolt and spasm they unleashed, no matter how subtle, caused the numerous bells of varying size to rattle and release their chaotic tune. Fastened to the septum ring that escaped with their nostrils to grant air, they were also added to toes, crown, knees, hips, arms and flanks, turning each woman into a veritable one-man band devoted solely to this instrument.
The compelling orders of the electrified rod were given new strength because of each woman’s partner. The other women stood between the straining legs of the elevated female, the two of them sealed together by several elasticized straps that ran from hip to hip, the give of the rubber strips allowing them to work but not escape.
These women were condemned within a crushing second skin that held their legs together into a single featureless line, perching them on a single stiletto shoe that held both feet at once and afflicted their balance most severely. None of them could actually fall because a chain ran from the top of their hooded heads to the ceiling, the slightly slack chain hurling down a secondary pair of slender links to snatch their nipples with more of the grievous clamps. Should they even slightly lose their balance, the nipple clamps would encourage them to recover it, and if that failed, the hood chain would finally stop them suffering a complete tumble.
Their arms were again twisted up behind them, sealed within the same awful sleeve that so afflicted their partners. This was not the only similarity between the two, for a cable descended behind them and plunged an identical dildo into their rear, the shocks galvanizing them into motion to ring the bells affixed all over their latex-smothered bodies. They were gagged with the same trespassing artificial length, and their pierced nose jingled with chimes as they swayed and fought their awful and strict containment.
The second female was erect in more ways than one, for a swollen ribbed phallus of opaque jelly had been attached at her crotch, the monster manhood plundering the womb of the suspended female. The beast was of such a length that should the woman fall to the limits of the chain, she would still not be able to pull it out, a demand that was additionally enforced by the hip straps.
Although it could not be seen, a similar length burrowed deep into the pussypussy of the woman responsible for wielding it, every shove and pull serving to manipulate her own shaft. The incentive to ravish her partner was undeniable, for against the oppressive bondage it was their only genuine means of pleasure, the stealing of hampered and simulated coitus helping ease their plight and again assist in ringing their various bells.
The ruler of the chamber stood and watched the show with an iniquitous gleam in his eyes. To see such organized displays of feminine captivity never grew old to his desires, He relished in implementing the new concept stoking his libido to raging levels.
It was a moment of pride and achievement to see twelve of his slaves lost within latex suits, turned from statuesque beauties into whimpering objects that one simply watched to rouse the behemoth of perverse lust. It made his skin quiver with glee to know that each could do nothing to prevent her fate, that she was controlled, her own will and wishes removed, her body commanded completely by the contrivances he had chosen to install.
Dressed solely in his white military trousers and tall leather boots, his robust physique bore his stern albino cap and leather gloves, his gaunt features panning slowly from woman to woman in a never-ending assessment of their harrowing ordeal. His dog tags rattled sedately upon his hairless burly chest, a trophy from his days with the US Special Ops unit that had been sent to assist his rule. The world virulently condemned his overthrow and revolt from the South American mother country, but secretly many powers supported him. Who cared what the media thought anyway? Bloated citizens would mewl from their couch and murmur at the television before switching back to the latest re-run of their favorite show and instantly forget their moral indignation. The real powers behind the governments were on his side and with some of them even visiting his little decadent paradise to freely indulge their most hidden vices, there was little chance of him being deserted.
The slaves before him would be freed eventually and would be all the more appreciative of their more mundane duties, and certainly none would dare repeat the crime that had sentenced them to correction here.
Most of the time he had his various aids and assistants handle such chastisement of recalcitrant serviles. His daughter especially enjoyed handling this task. The lithe beauty found intense enjoyment in taking the post of self-appointed executioner of all chastisement.
Her skill at making her own gender suffer was legendary amongst the slaves and few dared risk irking their owners lest they again taste that which had left other slaves pale and shivering with shock for weeks thereafter. Sometimes he had video taped her tutoring of a slave, and this long running series was highly popular as erotic entertainment for his guests.
As though summoned by his thoughts the door behind him slid aside with a hydraulic purr and the girl entered. His daughter was eighteen now, forming wonderfully into the sumptuous curves of true womanhood. Even though she was adopted, sired accidentally by a slave and one of his guests (he had no clue as to which one), there was a strange uncanny resemblance between them. He suspected she had covert fears that she was not a true heir, but she kept them suppressed and clearly refused to acknowledge her illegitimacy.
Her long sable hair fell about her slender features, her countenance accentuated by subtle applications of dark makeup to give her a more saturnine demeanor. Her smooth dusky skin lay beneath a tight-fitting mesh top, the sleeves vanishing beneath tall opera gloves. Under the fishnet, a satin bra cupped her budding breasts into a delicious cleavage, casting slender straps up over her shoulders.
A studded choker encircled her slim throat and she sauntered into the room within gloss leggings that hugged her long limbs, the merge between knee-high, patent boots and the vinyl almost undetectable. Her stilettos clicked against the tiled floor and she tugged at the leash she held, causing a naked girl to stumble after her, the wide-eyed and choke-chained slave distracted by the mortifying vision she assumed she would be shortly joining.
The slave was young and delicate, her short blonde hair hanging as a bob about her aghast features. With tears in her blue eyes the completely naked woman dropped to her knees before him.
“Oh please, Master, please, I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again, I swear. I’ll be good from now on!” she whimpered, clutching his boots, the feel of her shaking fingers reaching through the polished leather.
“Bad pet!” snarled his daughter and yanked the chain, causing her sobs to croak to an abrupt end as the chain squeezed her neck and jerked her away. Dropping onto her rump, she curled up, fearful of whether she could withstand the physical trials ahead of her.
Stepping forward he lowered into a crouch and lifted her chin with his gloved hand.
“You were aware that you are expected to obey all my guests, weren’t you slave?” he asked softly, almost with consideration. This girl was a little too afraid. He took little joy from genuine suffering. If the girl would enjoy it, even in retrospect it made the events more of a treat for him.
“Yes, Master,” she uttered dejectedly.
“So either you deliberately flaunted the rules, or my daughter failed to enlighten you sufficiently about the rules and the consequences of transgression. Is that it, slave?” he continued.
The humbled woman span her head around and glanced to the girl as the young dominatrix stiffened and glowered viciously back, making it clear that if the slave tried to shift blame to her then she would be more than a little angry.
“No, Master, she taught me well, I…I just couldn’t do it,” she whispered softly, already regretting having refused to submit and serve.
“So what is her crime?” he petitioned of his offspring.
“Volodia demanded a performance of her and another slave. She refused. He was quite furious,” she reported with grave tones.
“Upsetting one of my most powerful Russian backers was very bad of you, slave. You have no clue as to what powers that man represents. Even I only know snippets of his true value in world politics,” he revealed.
“I…I’m sorry, Master,” she said, her eyes wide and glistening with sorrow.
“You didn’t want to perform with another woman? Why?” he asked with gentle tones to coax her into truth.