The Breaking of a Slave

By Andrew Bamber

For as long as I can remember now, I have been reflecting on how I have come to be in this place – this dark, unyielding place. My freedom is but a distant memory, and I have been kept here – yes, kept – devoid of clothing for most of the time, for most of the last, I don’t know how long. Time doesn’t weigh with me – I have no way of measuring it, nor do I really care.

I was, perhaps, a fly – an odious creature; selfish, disease-carrying and ultimately nauseous – and I was caught by a Venus fly-trap whilst attempting to slake my vile designs. I had always been a playboy, a womanizer – always searching lustfully amongst the million glowing young female faces that I saw on my travels, a sensual poker player hunting the look that betrayed a promising spread.

On my last day of freedom, I was no different; clean shaven, meticulously scrubbed and looking dynamically for my next victim. I spied Nikki – the tall, ebony Goddess who sealed my fate – in the arrivals lounge at Heathrow. We had obviously arrived on different flights, for She had already collected Her luggage and was waiting for something – or perhaps someone. We were, therefore, both jetlagged, and maybe it was my tiredness that caused me to misinterpret the glance She cast me. Maybe it was Her tiredness that caused a contemptuous intention to be mis-wired to her face as welcoming. It could perhaps have been a combination of the two; whichever, I made my way over.

She rolled Her eyes as I sat in the seat next to Her. She was obviously tired but my brick-sensitivity ignored – or failed to register – Her disinterest. I talked to – or rather at – Her: I know now, after tasting Her wrath countless times, that had She been more of the world at that moment, She could have disabused me of my foolishness. But She just sat there, bored. After half an hour of bouncing words off this wall of femininity, I placed my hand on Her knee. For the first time, She made eye contact with me and smiled; then She looked past me, over my shoulder.

Before I could register what was happening, I felt a vice crushing my neck. Anxiety tore through me like a shard of ice as I heard the low Aberdonian tones of the vice warn:

"Don’t ye ever take liberties with ma Lady like that, okay sonny? Now, nod yer head if ye agree."

I nodded.

"Good. Now", the vice continued, "I’m going to let go of yer neck, and ye are going to fuck off – got that?"

Again, I nodded. The vice grip left my neck.

At that moment I swung round to hit the vice in the face – but I was not quick enough. I felt a blow at the back of my neck, and immediately lost consciousness.

A stream of urine in my face startled me awake.

"Good. Ye’r awake noo, are ye?" It was the vice. As the only illumination to the scene was focused on me, I couldn’t see the querulant. It gave a mirthless chuckle.

I struggled to get up, aware that my compromising position also involved my having been stripped naked. But I found to my horror that my limbs had been secured to the arms of an "X" shaped bed.

"Och," the vice continued, "a shouldn’t try to move, if I were ye... " Another mirthless chuckle; then a whistle and the sting of a whip across my pelvis.

"Aaaaarghhh – what the... " I began to sob.

"Hushie-bies", my tormentor continued. He was going to continue – but She strode in.

"Ah, good evening, Malcolm – I see our guest has awoken." The Lady spoke in a rich, brown, cut-glass Oxbridge accent – the only aural clue to Her background being the Negroid way She dropped an occasional "g".

"Aye, Mistress Nikki – tho I think he’s a mickle wee scrap o’ nothing."

"Yes." Though it was dark, I saw Her eyes baring down on me. "That’s as may be, but I think we can have fun with him, nevertheless."

"You can’t keep me here", I managed, through the pain, "this is false imprisonment, this is – I know my rights."

The Lady rounded on me, forcing my head back with a riding crop: "and what rights would those be, pray – the same rights that allowed you to molest Me at the airport? Listen, boy – any rights you may have fancied to possess disappeared as soon as you touched My thigh – if not before". She swatted my flaccid penis with Her crop. I winced.

"I’ve still got rights", I complained. "You can’t do this – I’ll have You horsewhipped"

"Oh, so we’re a barrack-room lawyer now, are we? Okay, as you are keen to horsewhip me, that gives me an idea... Malcolm!"

She conferred with Her partner-in-sadism who took a few steps, before returning and handing Her something. Then He took hold of my member and held it back against my stomach. I bucked and protested at this unwelcome homosexual contact, but my rebellion turned to desperate panic as I felt the crack of the flogger between my legs. I screamed – more in the agony of anticipation and the vain hope that someone might hear me, than in pain. I could feel my balls swelling – but it wasn’t just my scrotum that was increasing in size. Instinctively, Malcolm started to masturbate my increasing erection and, apart from the pain engendered by this, I was mortified.

"Maybe this will teach you to be more respectful", the Lady spat between lashes.

By the time She had finished, I was in a stupor. I was unchained, my legs were brought together – my thighs squeezing my balls caused me such pain that I emptied my bladder, most of it arcing over to my face. Then I was hefted and left suspended from a chain.

I was left alone for a good length of time, before Mistress Nikki returned, alone. She put a light on and I saw Her in a new light. Now She was naked, but for a pair of ballet shoes and, whereas before I had merely felt the firmness of Her thighs through Her jodhpurs, now I could see them, the skin glistening wantonly as if made of polished mahogany. My erection stirred and, as my gaze wandered to Her crotch, it became very firm; I noticed that, not only had Her pubic hair been removed, but that Her pussy was wet, Her lips engorged.

She sashayed up to me – I tensed up, not daring to think what delights She now had in store – and took hold of my prick. She said: "Hmmm, very hard – for a minnow", before squeezing my balls. They were still sore from the earlier thrashing, and I winced with revisited pain.

"What’s up, darling? Can’t take the heat? Well, perhaps now you will keep out of the oven, know what I mean?" The Lady gave a chuckle and turned Her attention to the rest of my body. She looked scornfully at my skin of English white, my epicurean paunch, my half-toned muscles and my dangling legs. Then She noticed the natural effect of prolonged suspension and naked fear.

"You disgusting animal", She spat. "Oh well... looks like I’m going to have to clean you up."

Mistress Nikki took a hosepipe from somewhere behind me. Before I knew it, I was being pummelled with a jet of icy water. She paid particular attention to my bum and, while She did so, She took Her riding crop and beat that part with it. Then She sprayed my balls, still hitting my buttocks with the crop. She next turned Her attention to my face, so that the trophy so judiciously awarded by Malcolm could be reclaimed – but this had the effect of causing an icy waterfall down my body. She turned the flow off; I shivered.

"Awwwww", She purred in mock pity. "Darling’s all cold? I’ll have to warm you up, then, won’t I?"

She took a leg and, lifting it, She attempted to attach it to one of another pair of shackles some three feet away from my current restraints. I was resisting, so She picked up the crop again. This time, with Her short, sharp, repetitive taps on my flesh I was aiding Her by pulling away from Her percussions.

Soon I was hanging like a human hammock. I wondered what this ebony angel-fish had in store for me – and my anxiety was plain. I shuddered at Her touch – She was stroking my back, my arse, my thighs – thinking She would exact a higher price for Her, albeit paradoxically welcome, attention.

But the fear She instilled when Her hands left my body was better rewarded. I heard Her strike a match and, dragging a candle so that its wick lay some four feet beneath my suspended bottom, lit it. The flame that danced so merrily beneath me soon engendered a tingling of heat as pleasurable as it was fleeting, for soon the tingling became an ache, and soon after the ache came an agony that had me dancing on my chains. All the while, Mistress sat close by, reading a book of erotic literature and occasionally stealing a glance at my discomfiture. That She was dancing on Her own flame was evident from Her slightly parted legs and the moans She uttered – and, though my agony was great, I could not but respond in kind.

A murmur of complaint from me caused halted Her literary sojourn. She threw the book down in disgust at my weakness and, angry at my weakness forcing Her hand, stepped menacingly towards me. The flame of anger in Her eyes was as hot and painful as any a pyre to which I could have been put at that moment, and I suddenly forgot the pain beneath me as I was seized with the fear of Her wrath.

"Huh," She scoffed, "Malcolm was right – you’re a proper weakling. Well, you’re going to have to toughen up considerably if you are going to stay with me." This was the first time She had indicated Her desires in my direction and, though my heart leapt, it was now anxiety that had the better of me.

"You... want me?"

A fulsome smack on my burning backside was my answer. Then She said: "I might. But that is dependent on you shaping up. I don’t carry passengers."

She loosed one set of shackles, so that I was now suspended by an arm and a leg on the same side. I was now much closer to the flame – or rather, my erection was as it jutted out. I yelped and, with all my might, managed to pull myself clear of its more immediate influence. I cursed – for which my fundament was hit with what felt like a studded paddle.

"Okay, okay," I pleaded. "Sorry. I’ll do anything You want – just take it easy..."

"Hmmm..." It was clear Mistress was too wily for my empty supplications. Instead, She took my free arm and, dragging it behind me, fixed it to another shackle – then She similarly attached my leg to its counterpart. I was now fixed like a bow, my cupid’s arrow pointing downward. I cursed again – this time She squeezed my balls, causing me to wince more with memory of pain than pain itself.

"Too hot for you? Oh dear. Looks like we’re going to have to get away from the flame then... " She pulled my balls upwards – while I used all the sinews at my disposal to pull the rest of my body to meet them. Suddenly, She let go of my balls and, stroking my thighs, said: "My, my – what potential lies in these muscles. We’ll have to train you up, for sure..."

Panting, and with sweat pouring from my forehead, I screamed: "I can’t... hold... on... much longer"

"Okay", She said. "Your sweat has given me an idea." She seized my balls again, and began to masturbate me. "Put the candle flame out and I might let you rest."

It wasn’t long before I was groaning. I was further turned on by the fact that Her other hand was flitting from my balls to Her engorged wetness, then carrying Her nectar back to my scrotum. I was also riding Her fist, my initial weakness forgotten. It wasn’t long before Her ministrations on Her own sweet well of lust made Her scream in orgasm, Her legs almost giving way under Her. As She came, She squeezed my cock involuntarily, whereupon it erupted a thick, creamy shower – more than I had ever cum before. Unfortunately, the stream completely missed the candle. I was crestfallen.

"Oh dear. Looks like we’ll have to try again..."

I looked at Her incredulously. "Mistress? Please, no – I’m exhausted!"

"Nonsense. You can do it." And She knew.

"No", I pleaded, "please no more".

"Wimp!" She swatted my wilting manhood. "Okay then, roast – see if I care. Then I’ll have Malcolm fuck some sense into you." She knew which buttons to press.

"Please – anything but that brute!" I hadn’t quite got the taste of his urine out of my mouth.

"Anything?"

"Yes, Miss. Anything!"

For the first time since my imprisonment I saw Mistress smile; it was a smile that said "check mate". And it was then I realised the profundity of my position. My penis regained its fortitude.

"You will cum again, then. Good!" She set about again, as if over-enthusiastically milking a cow. This time, the fingers of Her other hand never left the very visible nub of Her clit. Seeing Her all-Girl show – and hearing Her lust – meant that I was not long in coming a second time. That time, my juices extinguished the candle, but She didn’t stop, nor did I let myself drop. Indeed, while wanking me for the third time She assumed a position beneath me, where She took the head of my cock into Her sumptuous mouth. This time Her body blocked my vision of Her flowing juices, but Her heavenly bottom was equally attractive as it bobbed and jiggled in Her vigor. I soon exploded again – egged on by Her hot breath and the scrape of Her teeth under the rim of my helmet.

Eventually, She stopped. "Well done", She said. "I knew you could do it! Now," She said loosing the shackles around my feet, so I was again suspended by only my arms, "I’ll be back shortly. Don’t go away!"

Before I could reply, She was gone. But, true to Her word, She was back after a very short time. She undid the remaining shackles and handed me the paper She had evidently gone to collect. I only read the first two words, and, for the first time in our acquaintance, we grinned broadly at each other. The words were:

S L A V E C O N T R A C T

She handed me a pen. I signed without hesitation.

When She put the collar around my neck, I felt a surge of pride that only the truly enlightened can know. And I was enlightened – no longer in the darkness of misogyny; I was a truly new man. We embraced, and for the first time, my – once again erect – cock made contact with Her liquid heat. She pushed me away, then pulled me with Her as She strode in triumph to the bed.

"On your back, slave!" She commanded.

copyright (c) 2003 Andrew Bamber