THE STORY SO FAR

 

On her eighteenth birthday Angel is visited by slavers from the future, loses her virginity and is taken by time machine to Earth's distant past when life only existed in the sea and where slave-girls have been forced to work and serve Masters and Mistresses for almost a thousand years. She is injected with a drug which makes her immortal, never to grow old or lose her beauty and so begins her new life as a slave. Broken and trained as a pleasure slave, she is sold at auction to a cruel Mistress who sends her on a thousand day forced march across the desert, to spend two years in a steel slave box under the desert sun and then work in a dockside slave brothel. After forty seven years service her Mistress sends an order to sell her.

 

NOTE: On this Earth the days are broken into twenty hours and the year is four hundred days long, due to the globe spinning faster then, than it does in the twenty-first century. The sun is also slightly cooler and most free people live in the tropics with their slaves.

 

Chapter One: GALLEY SLAVE

 

After serving forty two years in the slave brothel, Angel received a new brand on her thigh, indicating that she had served over a million Masters and more than twenty thousand Mistresses. When her sentence was completed, a letter was despatched to her Mistress, asking what her plans were for Angel's 'disposal.'

It took five years for the reply to come back, five long years in which Angel was kept at work, earning money for the brothel, half of which was sent to her Mistress. Slave-girls worked without pay and were cheap to feed, the nutritious but unpalatable cereal and vegetable paste was grown by slave-girls who also toiled without pay. Any abducted girl addicted to tobacco, alcohol or drugs suffered 'cold turkey'; the Masters did not permit slave-girls such luxuries.

When the Mistress's reply finally arrived, Angel was two hours into her sixty hour 'day'. Slave-girls were worked hard by the sailors and townspeople and often served as many as three hundred men in a sixty hour period, often in groups up to fifteen or more.

The Brothel Master posted a notice on his front door that the slave-girl 555, 'Imp', would be leaving at the end of her current 'day' of service. Angel was not informed of this but she noticed that suddenly her number, 888, was appearing on the blackboard more often than usual, the Masters summoning her to serve their tables and then attend to their lusts. She was in such demand that she served without a break for over a hundred hours. By the end of eighty hours she was completely exhausted and the men were passing her round like a rag doll, penetrating her in the most convenient orifice available as she moaned and begged for rest.

She was finally returned to her bed and permitted to sleep for ten hours, the longest rest she had taken in forty-seven years.

When she awoke, the Brothel Master, an ugly, callous man, informed her that her Mistress had ordered her to be sold. He took a small gold ring out of his pocket and with a punch made a hole in her left ear. Every year he had placed a new earring in her and now almost fifty rings sparkled in her lobes and all around the circumference of both ears. He washed the wound with spirit, drawing a scream from Angel.

"Now, now, Angel," he said, "don't make a fuss."

Clipping a chain to her clitoral ring he led her to the dockside where a slave dealer traded in a small square close to the harbour wall.

The Slaver took charge of Angel. "What's her name?" he enquired.

"Her Mistress calls her Angel, but we have been calling her Imp."

"I will call her Angel, then, a pretty name will increase her value."

The Brothel Master departed and the Slaver brushed Angel's long, auburn hair straight and plaited it into a long braid. Angel's hair had not been cut since her abduction, it had been trimmed occasionally to tidy the ends and her hair fell to the backs of her knees. He tied her hands high up her back, fastening her elbows together below her hands. Angel moaned from the pain and her eyes filled with tears. She was led to the front of the slave shop where several girls were already on display under the bright sun, her ankles were fastened wide apart to rings set into the hot concrete floor and her braided hair was tied to a beam above her head so tightly that she was obliged to stand upright and almost on her toes.

Standing there, naked, the sun glinting on her golden collar and the rings in her ears, nipples, labia and clitoris, Angel was displayed to the passing crowds. She still wore the collar of her Mistress, it would only be replaced by the person who purchased her. The Mistress's name was on her collar, but even if Angel could have seen it she could not read it - slave-girls were kept illiterate on this world, where even the language was unlike any twenty-first century language - so she would never know the name of the woman who had bought her. This woman had been responsible for Angel's breasts being tattooed with black haloes and vermilion nipples, for the hummingbird tattoo on her thigh, its long beak seeming to sip nectar from the flower of her sex and who had ordered a long string of gold beads to be inserted under the flesh of her vagina and anus, running from her cervix to deep in her bottom. It had caused a certain amount of irritation but gave great pleasure to Masters, as did the three gold studs in her tongue. This unusual 'necklace' had made Angel very popular in the slave brothel, despite the fact that she was not as beautiful as most of the slave-girls.

There had been a number of passion slaves serving in the brothel, they were expensive creatures but some Masters liked to see their passion slaves work in a common brothel where they could be used by any Master who bought a drink or a meal. Passion slaves had been specially trained, sometimes for years, and had a certain aura about them that Angel had tried to emulate without success.

The Mistress had spoken only sixteen words to Angel, before sending her away on 'The March to Hell', having witnessed Angel's party dress, her beloved teddy bear, favourite clothes and books, love letters and even her eighteenth birthday cards, including one from her true love Steve, to whom she had intended to surrender her virginity after her birthday party, thrown into a bowl of red hot charcoal, the last vestiges of her former, comfortable life gone forever. She had never seen her original Master or knew his name, slave-girls were really kept in ignorance on this harsh world.

As Angel stood on display a Master approached her and inserted two thick fingers knuckle deep into her vagina. This was done to slave-girls in order to humiliate them. She was well used to men handling every part of her body but she still felt humiliated when she was penetrated by a stranger, a Master who could, in a moment, own her. He continued to fondle her for a few minutes, inspecting the bruises on her body, marks that she wore almost constantly, thanks to the rough handling she had suffered in the slave brothel, then moved on to another of the Slaver's wares. The Slaver remained sitting in the shadows until the Master spent more than five minutes with a very petite Oriental girl.

"Do you find this slave of interest?" asked the Slaver, approaching the man.

"Just browsing, if you don't mind," the Master replied.

"Not at all, you won't wear her out."

The Master walked on after a while, the Slaver had retreated to the shade again; it was now quite hot in the sun. Opposite the Slaver's establishment was a cafe with tables in the open, shaded with large umbrellas. Angel's eyes strayed across to the people who were drinking small cups of strong coffee. She stiffened when she realised that a woman was looking at her with a sardonic expression. Angel recognised the woman; Mistress Celia, the owner of the school where she had been trained so long ago. At her feet a naked slave-girl knelt, head down. Mistress Celia continued drinking her coffee and eyeing Angel up and down. Angel dared not move her eyes from the woman. When she had finished her drink she spoke to the nude slave-girl serving the tables and a wooden bowl filled with water was placed between her slave's knees. Mistress Celia waited for a few minutes then clicked her fingers and the slave-girl bent down and greedily lapped the water up. After paying for the coffee the Mistress clipped a chain lead to her slave's clitoris ring and walked across to Angel. The slave-girl walked at the heel of the Mistress, the lead pulled tight, stretching her clitoris, which was added to by a brass weight attached to the clit ring. Her ankles were separated by a steel hobble bar, six inches long which permitted her a shuffle of a few inches at a time and she had to move quickly to keep up with her Mistress's long stride.

Angel recognised the slave-girl, it was Chloe, the girl who had taught Angel the language of this world. Chloe was the first slave she had made love to and Angel had cared deeply for her when at the school. The tiny scrap of silk, transparent and barely covering her sex, that Chloe had proudly worn so long ago had gone, probably as punishment for some trivial fault.

"Well, well, if it isn't little Angel," Mistress Celia said, "how nice to see you." She stroked Angel's face and looked into her deep green eyes, "What have you been up to?"

She bent down to look at Angel's thigh. A slave-girl's history could be read from the brands and tattoos placed on the inner side of her right thigh. At the top was her personal number, with the prefix which indicated whether she was a virgin when abducted or a slave bred on this world. Angel's number was V48,673,981, indicating the number of slave-girls living in this world at the time of her arrival, the V confirming that she had been a virgin when enslaved. Below this was a tattoo indicating the year when she arrived, 932F - nine hundred and thirty two years since the Founding, when the first Masters entered this time zone - and Angel's age when she was made immortal, 18.

Below this were the marks, in one inch squares, three squares in a line leading down her thigh, of her first Master, the Master who had taken her virginity, the Master who had delivered her first flogging, the Bullie's Institute mark - the men who had broken her to slavery - the mark of Mistress Celia's school, her Mistress's mark, those which testified that she had made 'The March to Hell', and had spent time in a slave box. Finally there was her brothel girl mark with the one million men marker, the first and last marks branded on her thigh, the others were tattoos. Many of these marks had first been put on her flesh with a branding iron, but when they had faded, after two years or so - even brands and tattoos faded in a thousand days, due to the immortality drugs - they were replaced with tattoos which were less damaging to her flesh. Even so her personal number and first and last Master's marks were still branded into her flesh and re-marked every two years.

"You have been a busy girl," Mistress Celia said. She handled Angel intimately for a little while, remarking that she was improved now that her body hair had been permanently removed, then gave her slave-girl permission to kiss Angel. Chloe kissed Angel's pudenda then thrust her tongue deep into her vagina. Angel quickly became aroused.

"That's enough," said Mistress Celia, kicking Chloe away. "Goodbye Angel." She kissed her nipple then led her cruelly hobbled slave away, leaving an aroused Angel helpless and unable to gain her pleasure.

As Angel stood displayed, being examined by Masters and Mistresses, her milk white skin, which had not been exposed to sunlight for nearly fifty years started to go pink and then red under the summer sun. Her vulgar audience prodded and probed and penetrated her helplessly bound body and her bound arms screamed with pain. Her tormentors made rude and ribald remarks about her exposed charms, her humming bird tattoo and the beads inside her vagina and anus. Angel blushed at these remarks which made the crowds laugh loudly and encouraged them to further humiliate her. By the time the sunset Angel's body was lobster red, particularly her nose, shoulders and the upper slopes of her breasts. The day was not over, however, lights were switched on, illuminating the displayed slave-girls for a further three hours. The Master who had first examined Angel that day returned to fondle the Oriental girl again, before calling the Slaver over.

"What do you want for this little slave-girl?" he enquired.

"She is twenty thousand pounds, sir," the Slaver replied.

"Preposterous!" scoffed the customer, "I'll give you five thousand."

"Do you want me to starve, sir? She is a very well trained passion slave and worth every penny of eighteen thousand pounds."

"I see she has had several Masters despite being a slave for less than a hundred years, she must have something wrong with her."

"No sir, it's just that her earlier Masters wanted to improve her by experiencing a wide range of Owners."

"I will give you seven thousand."

"I cannot accept less than twelve."

"I'll give you ten."

"Sold!" said the Slaver, spitting into his hand.

The customer copied him and they shook hands and then dried themselves on the tiny girl's body. They retired to the Slaver's office, the customer paid for the girl and enjoyed a glass of wine proffered by the Slaver. The Slaver released the girl's ankles and her hair from the beam.

"Would you leave the rope on her arms, please," the slave's new owner asked.

"Of course, if you wish, rope is cheap enough."

"I don't want her to think her life is going to be any easier with me."

"I am sure she will give you much pleasure."

"She had better, I have no patience for recalcitrant sluts."

The customer took hold of the slave's braid close to her neck and forced her head down to the side of his thigh. He bade farewell to the Slaver and strode off. Angel thought 'if that beautiful passion slave can be sold for ten thousand pounds, how much would I fetch?' She knew she had gone to her Mistress for twenty seven thousand at her first sale, at auction, at these prices her Mistress would make a considerable loss on her investment.

'Oh Lord!' thought Angel, 'I'm starting to think of myself as an investment.' This was exactly what she was, an item of property, a commodity, an animal, an item to sell and buy, to rent out or give as a gift to a friend or as a sweetener to a business deal. Tears trickled down her cheeks. 'And I want nothing of this,' she thought, and sniffed. The Slaver heard her sniff and came to investigate.

"Don't cry little one, it will reduce your value."

Angel burst out crying at this and the Slaver did what was necessary to stop her crying, which was to slap her face, very hard! It did the trick, Angel's knees sagged, putting weight on her hair. She quickly straightened her legs to relieve the pain and tasted blood in her mouth. With his callused thumbs he brushed the tears off her face and the blood from her lip.

When the girls were taken down for the night they were placed in a cell with their backs to the wall, sitting with their legs straight and widely spread, each girls' ankle tied to the ankles of the girls on either side, their hair fastened above their heads to rings set in the walls. One girl who had very short blond hair was fastened by a chain connected to the ring at the front of her collar, as she had been displayed all day. The Slaver did not take the trouble to remove the girls' arm bondage. After being fed and watered they were left in the darkness until morning.

Angel found it impossible to sleep, the combination of the painful bondage, the headache brought on by sunstroke and fear of the unknown future that lay ahead kept her wide awake. Her thoughts returned to her previous life and she calculated how long she had been on this world. 'My Lord,' thought Angel, 'I'm seventy-five years old, my parents must be dead and many of my friends, maybe even my younger sister Shirley. Poor Shirley, so gentle and shy, she must have missed me terribly when I disappeared without trace. Let's see, it was about six weeks before I came here I saw her last. Steve paid her train fare and she stayed a week. Steve took us out to dinner one night and Shirley was tongue-tied all night.' She knew that her old boyfriend, Steve, was alive, she had seen him several years previously when he had witnessed her being flogged in the brothel. He had not aged, so must have received the immortality drug and become a Master. He could have purchased her and set her free, but had left her in the brothel and never returned. 'Maybe he simply had not recognised me,' thought Angel, 'he knew me as a free-spirited, well-dressed and sophisticated woman, not the naked, sultry slave-girl I have become, tied to a whipping post for an undeserved punishment.'

After three days Angel's skin had started to peel, her body was beginning to turn brown and the Slaver pulled all her loose skin free before displaying her each morning. Each day at least one girl was vended, the blonde girl went to a Master whom Angel recognised as a brothel regular, he had used her most brutally and she felt pity for the poor blonde. Several new girls were delivered to the market, including a superb nude and completely hairless black girl, tall and regal looking with her head held high on a long slender neck. She wore no jewellery except a high gold collar which the Slaver used to chain her to the overhead beam. Cicatrix marred her smooth black skin, even her large sensitive breasts, the scars of a savage beating. She had been the daughter of a rich African chief, now she was nothing, just another slave-girl.