INTRODUCTION BY THE AUTHOR

 

In over thirty years of Ian Smith books, I've written about many lovely female slaves, some voluntary, most not so, at least initially. In this book, we shall meet many of them, along with a few new faces, in (comparatively) short stories and scenes. For those of you new to my books, this may be a useful introduction to you; to those of you who have read them for many years (thank you!), hopefully it might spark a few memories and even the odd fresh insight.

 

Writing about girls being coerced into slave acts makes for good dramatic tension, but it is pure fantasy. In reality, it is much more fun with a girl who actually wants to do it and enjoys it, and there are more such girls than you might think. Even in my writing, I like to finish with the girls being happy slaves: see the very last chapter of this book for an example. If you are lucky enough to have a slave, make sure she is a happy slave.

 

Ian Smith.

 

CONTENTS

 

Chapter One - Ali

Chapter Two - Selina

Chapter Three - Nicky

Chapter Four - Barbara and Charleen

Chapter Five - Cassie

Chapter Six - Leah and Ellie

Chapter Seven - Rosie

Chapter Eight - Leah and Ellie revisited

 

CHAPTER ONE - ALI

 

Most of Ian Smith's early books were in the 'Ali series'. Ali was a nineteen year-old who, having gained a taste for BDSM (see "The Wench Whackers Ball"), went for a slave weekend and was subsequently not allowed to leave. Recently, however, Ian has re-written the Ali story "Animal Farm" as "The Volunteer", with a different back story to WWB as well. This time, Ali is allowed to leave at the end of the dreadful first slave weekend, but has been invited back for future weekends. Of course, after that first weekend, there is no way she would want to go back there again ...

 

Ali parked her car in a gateway on the deserted country lane. The rolling Sussex hills were beautiful in the brilliant August sun and the tranquillity of the scene was augmented by the total absence of anybody else around, but her mind was very much elsewhere.

Another half a mile or so, and she would come to that place. And then, as they had six weeks ago, events would spiral completely out of her control.

She must be mad, she told herself, to agree to come here for another weekend after what happened last time. The nightmare had been extreme in every way, and once it had started, they would not let her leave until the weekend was over, by which time ... Ali shuddered at the memories of what she had endured. So, when the email had arrived, inviting her back this weekend for another ... experience, she should have replied with a string of expletives and a very clear and graphic explanation of what they could do with their weekend.

Instead of which, she had meekly replied, accepting the invitation.

Mad, she told herself; or maybe under some sort of post-hypnotic suggestion. Or maybe afraid that they would reveal to the world what she had done that previous weekend if she didn't agree to return.

No, she told herself, she knew she was not mad; stupid, maybe, but not insane. And hypnosis was in the realms of science fiction. And actually, oddly enough, she trusted them to keep what had happened secret. They had never, in fairness, lied to her.

So why was she here? Why had she felt a shiver of excitement as she saw that email in her inbox, even if accompanied by cold waves of fear? Ali didn't know, but she knew that she was here, and that in a few minutes she would drive on, the last half mile to her destination, and take her car inside the high gates which would close behind her, and hand over her car keys and her phone to the butler. After that she might change her mind, probably would in fact, but it would be too late.

Chances were that within half an hour or so she would be stark naked in front of the butler and anybody else who might happen to be around. Nudity in front of men was not something Ali found easy, and indeed she had not been in that situation since her last time here; in fact, she had done nothing sexual since then. She had no boy friend and, as she was somewhat shy and introverted, nothing like that loomed on her horizon.

If the weekend followed a similar pattern to last time, then later this evening she could expect to get...

Impulsively, Ali started up her battered old mini and drove on. She didn't really want to think about what was going to happen to her. She just had to get on with it. In fact, she tried to keep her mind completely blank as she drove up to the gates. Those gates ... she pushed the memories aside. The butler, as she thought of him, must have been watching on CCTV, because they immediately opened. She drove in, parked in the car park as she had six weeks before, got out of the car and locked it. Then, on legs which were suddenly trembling, she walked back the few yards to the gatehouse and up the two steps to the door. It had been left ajar for her. The fruity voice she remembered amongst a host of other terrible memories rang out to her.

"Ah, Miss Balcombe! Come in, please! I trust you are well?"

Ali reluctantly shuffled into the reception room. Oh god, he was there. But of course he was, what else did she expect? She couldn't look at him. "Hello," she managed to mutter, and then, with an effort: "I'm fine, thank you, and you?" Even this most basic of pleasantries sounded unbearably intimate to her, but she had been brought up to be polite.

"Very well indeed, thank you. It is most pleasing to see you again."

Ali couldn't think of a reply. Instead, again on impulse, she held out her cars keys. Smiling, he took them and slipped them into his pocket. Then, before she could stop herself, she produced her mobile phone, switched it off, and handed that over too. Like the keys, the phone disappeared from view. She knew that she would see neither again now until Sunday evening.

Ali went hot and cold. She was now committed, with no way out. Waves of fear washed over her, but at the same time she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. There would be no more wondering now if she was doing the right thing: it was too late for that.

"Is ... is there a waiver or anything for me to sign?" she asked timorously.

"No," he replied benignly. "We only do that with girls on their first time."

Ali blushed a little at the reference to the fact that she had been here before, and still some back. He probably thought she was mad. Come to that, she probably was. But at least it was out in the open now. "Will it be ... like it was last time?" she asked nervously.

"Some things will be similar, some different. One change is that this weekend you are allowed to speak, though only when directly spoken to, and you should restrict yourself to yes, no, please and thank you. The guests should each be referred to as 'master' and the servants, me included, as 'sir'. Of course," he added, "you should not use 'no' or 'please' to plead for any mercy."

Ali managed a very watery smile. "Of course," she agreed, though not very enthusiastically. "How many ... people are coming?"

"It's rather busier than last time, we have a full house. That means twelve men, plus myself and the odd job boy and another servant - a male servant this time, rather than the maid who was here last time." He smiled. "Male servants are rather cheaper for these weekends, as they seem to be happy to work for free. They like the fringe benefits."

Ali swallowed. Fifteen men! "How many girls?" she asked quietly.

"A full complement of six. Aside from yourself, there are two others who were here on your last weekend; I think you know them as Floppy and Egg. Forest is on holiday and so unavailable this weekend. Of the other three, two are new and one has been here before." He smiled again. "The two newcomers are already chained to the railings outside the house; always good to let new girls simmer for a while."

Ali remembered being in the same situation last time. She said nothing. What was there she could say? She could hardly feel superior, given her own imminent fate.

"Well," he said briskly, "time's getting on. It's about time you were getting changed into your uniform."

"My uniform?" asked Ali, puzzled, and then realised what he meant. "Oh," she said very quietly. He was telling her to strip.

It was a hot summer's day, even more so than it had been six weeks ago. Ali was wearing a short denim skirt that showed off her fine legs, plus a sleeveless vest top and sandals. During their brief chat, she had sat down on a settee. Now she stood up.

This was the moment - just like last time, more or less - when things changed. She would be going from a poised, if nervous, young lady to a naked, vulnerable slave. Ali had dreaded this: she found being nude in front of men to be embarrassing and humiliating, and had almost never put herself in that situation in her "normal" life, even when being intimate with a boy. As she had not had any sort of intimacy since her last visit here six weeks ago, the last time had been the last time she was here. And it had been dreadful.

But, however casually, she had been given an order.

Ali stepped out of her sandals and took her watch off. Her hands went to her hip and unzipped the short skirt. It unzipped all the way, so she could just unwrap it from her hips and cast it aside. Then she grasped the hem of her vest top and pulled it right the way up over her head and dropped it onto the settee along with the skirt. Just the bra and panties left now, a light sky blue combination. Ali reached behind her back and unclipped the bra. Shrugging the straps off her shoulders she let the cups fall away and felt her firm young breasts come free of the slight restriction. Then she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pushed them down until they fluttered to her ankles. She stepped out of them, naked, her face beetroot red with embarrassment.

"Excellent," he said amiably, and Ali felt her face burn even more crimson as she saw his eyes roving over her. With a considerable effort, she kept her hands by her sides. "I'm pleased to see that you are hirsute once more," he added, looking at the junction between her thighs.

Ali's blush deepened still further. She had been shaved there six weeks ago on her previous weekend here. It had taken about three weeks for stubble to reappear, and after a further three weeks her pubic hair had re-grown to the point of showing a few beginnings of curls. She had not done anything to it apart from trimming it into a neat bikini triangle. "Will they ..." she managed hoarsely.

"Oh yes, I'm sure you will be scalped again," he said easily. "It's sort of a tradition on these weekends, and besides, some of the masters quite enjoy doing it. In fact, I meant to say to you before that the regular girls are expected to have a bit of a thatch when they come."

Ali could not imagine ever coming here and putting herself through all this again - but then, she had felt that way last time. She still had no coherent idea why she had come here again today. But she was here, and that was that now. All she could do from this point on was to try to endure it as best she could.

"It looks as if you spend quite a bit of time in the gym," he observed further.

"Y-yes, I do," she managed. She felt right now as if all her gym work was just so that these men could ogle her!

He passed her a cardboard box, and she folded her clothes and put them and her sandals into it. He took it away, and returned moments later. With her clothes now out of sight, Ali felt even more bare and vulnerable. He produced a collar, which looked identical to the one she had worn on her previous weekend here, and she held her shoulder-length brown hair up whilst he put it around her neck and locked it into place.

"You should now consider yourself under slave discipline," he told her mildly. Ali nodded: she knew that she could have responded with a "yes, sir," but she didn't want to speak if she could help it. Silence was her only shield, the tiniest sliver of anonymity. "Off you go to the railings, chain yourself up and wait." He smiled, genuinely, and added, "have a good weekend."

That, Ali reflected grimly as she turned to go, feeling his eyes on her trim young bottom, was not likely. As she stepped down onto the drive, she felt the heat of the sun on her bare back and it's warmth on the tarmac beneath her toes. All of this she remembered from last time, but, as then, it just reminded her of her nudity. She walked up the long driveway, grateful for the solitude in her vulnerable state, but knowing it would not last.

She rounded the corner and the manor came in sight. More horrible memories came flooding back, but Ali pushed them down. To the left side of the main entrance, two naked girls stood facing the wall, their backs to Ali. Both had excellent figures: the one was tall and slim, with dark blonde hair, shortish but curly; the other was a lighter blonde with a fuller figure, but no trace of fat, just nice curves. These were evidently the two new girls. Clearly they knew each other; as she approached, they exchanged silent glances with each other, each seeking support from the other. Ali came to stand next to them, reached for one of the short lengths of chain hanging from the wall rail and connected it to her collar, clicking shut the small clasp lock. She could not free herself now; she was chained just as the other two were. All she could do was wait. She glanced at the two girls on her right. Both were carefully studying the brick wall in front of them, not looking in her direction. Both, now that she could see their faces, were very pretty. The taller one, though nervous, seemed slightly less concerned about her nudity, whilst the shorter blonde one was obviously very self-conscious, more so even than Ali herself. You wait, she thought grimly. Her eyes flickered down to the junctures of the girls' thighs; both had a light smattering of pubic hair. Say goodbye to that sometime over the weekend, Ali thought, but of course she said nothing. She turned her own eyes to the wall and tried without much success to control her own nerves.

 

***

 

Perhaps five or so hours later, Ali lay in her kennel, waiting for sleep to come. She lay on her front on the lumpy mattress, because it was too painful to lie on her back. Her bottom throbbed incessantly, due to the six cane marks which decorated it. At least she hadn't received one from each of the twelve men: instead, each man gave three strokes to one girl, so that each girl had received two sets of three. Not one of the men had gone easy. It had hurt. A lot.

But in a strange sort of way, it was necessary. Before the caning, she had been obeying their orders consciously, with reluctance and hesitation. After the caning, she was broken down into a complete slave. Obedience became automatic, unthinking, unconscious. Nothing now mattered except for serving the men. It wasn't even fear of more cane. It was submission, complete and utter surrender. Her feelings, her pride, her privacy, were now totally irrelevant. Her only desire was to please all of these men. That was what her body was for, that was what she was for.

They had certainly made plenty of use of her. After the humiliating games, pass-the-parcel spanking and so on tonight, she had endured no less than four "dates". That is, she had been taken to four of the men's bedrooms - three of the guests and finally the butler - for an assignation which started with foreplay, spanking and groping and ended up with her being solidly fucked. On her left breast in marker pen were four small but visible vertical tally marks with a fifth going diagonally through them - she had also been had once during the evening's earlier activities. Each time had been awful, and yet each time an orgasm had been wrung from her like water from a sponge; the caning, amongst its other effects, had eradicated any sexual inhibitions in her. Sexually, she was now completely helpless, unable to resist.

On her right breast was her new name, Apples. This was an embarrassing reference to her small but firm breasts, but it was much better than the name she had been given on the previous weekend, which had been Cocksucker. It wasn't that they were being any kinder to her this time, it was just that the man who had pushed that name last time was not here this weekend, so the one who had wanted her christened Apples last time got his way this time. She had still been introduced as "being good with her mouth", a skill she had already been required to use twice, much to her humiliation; she had had to swallow down two loads of salty cum. That didn't count towards the tally marks, the man in charge of that pointed out to all the men. He had also pointed out that when each girl got to ten, the tally marks were to be wiped off and replaced with the title "slut". They wouldn't bother keeping count after then, he had cheerfully said. Ali had noted glumly that he had said "when" and not "if" each girl reached ten. Floppy was on six already ...

Ali thought fleetingly of the other girls. Floppy and Egg had been allowed to keep their bitch names from last time. Egg had arrived already shaven, for which she had been punished by having her pussy whipped. Ali was now shaven there too: her thatch had been removed during the "fun and games" session, in front of everybody; she blushed at the shameful memory. The other girls' pubic hair, so far, all remained intact. The tall new girl had been christened "Legs", not too originally, whilst the more timid blonde had been named "Pussy". They had considered "Mouse" due to her shyness, but decided it was not personal or humiliating enough, and just to make sure the meaning of "Pussy" was clear, the name was followed by a short arrow pointing down to between her legs. But Pussy had, in fairness, endured it all, albeit with head permanently lowered and eyes never looking anywhere but down at the floor.

The sixth girl, who had been here before but not on the previous weekend when Ali came, was short, shorter than even the elfin Egg, but sensuously curvy, with large but firm breasts that earned her the name "Booby". She looked the most comfortable of all the girls with her nakedness, and almost enthusiastic about her sexual tasks, but had yelped loudly during her caning. Like most of the other girls this weekend, she was blonde; Ali had brown hair and Legs was darkish blonde, but the others were all real blondes. At least, Egg aside, their collars matched their cuffs, as they say.

Ali closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She needed to. Tomorrow, she knew, would be hard, humiliating and painful.

 

***

 

The butler settled into his comfortable bed and turned the light out. It had been a most satisfactory evening. The guests - the male guests - were all settled into their rooms, which were all well stocked with everything they needed, not least of which was Viagra and other aids to performance that they would most certainly need in order to see the weekend out. The girls were all locked securely in the cellar, chained in their kennels, no doubt nursing quite a few bruises and sore places in general and in each case a very sore bottom in particular.

They were a good bunch of girls, he reflected in an almost avuncular way. Floppy was a regular, of course, and Booby now becoming one too. He was pleased to see Egg and Apples return for a second weekend; pleased, too, that the guests had dropped the crude name "Cocksucker" for Ali and gone with the much more subtle "Apples". They were nice breasts, he reflected, having just had the pleasure of the girl in his bed less than an hour ago. In fact, she had a fine body all over: her breasts were a bit small, it was true, but those legs and that bum were something else. He also liked her attitude, her determination to do well, which meant, to serve whatever the cost to herself. That alone made her quite effective in bed, along with her natural abilities with her mouth. Despite her comparative inexperience and obvious reluctance, she sucked cock as if she was born to it.

The two new girls, Heidi and Elaine, were promising, too. They were lifelong friends - if being eighteen counted as a whole life - which was something the masters could exploit nicely this weekend. More interesting still, Elaine - the shorter, more blonde one - was a virgin. At least, she had been up to an hour or so ago. Both girls had come to the weekend for the sex, they had said when he interviewed them on arrival. More accurately, Heidi had said that: she had done all of the talking, with the much more shy Elaine being monosyllabic at best. Not that Heidi wasn't nervous as well, of course: you could tell that by the way she talked constantly, almost gabbling, whilst almost always avoiding the actual subject. Still, when the crunch came, both of them had stripped when ordered, and Elaine only had to be told sharply once not to cover herself with her hands. Both had pretty good bodies, too.

Immediately after the girls' ritual caning, Elaine had been, in front of everybody and to her great personal embarrassment, locked into a chastity belt. Only then, to her even greater humiliation, had her virginal status been announced to the men. Naturally, just about all of them had clamoured for the right to break her in, but the main organiser insisted that the "draw" had been done at random and would stand. Actually, in fact the draw had been arranged so that Phillip, probably the most highly skilled of the men in bed (though naturally several other men would dispute that), would have her first and settle her in; in fact, he was to have double time with her. The main organiser, not unreasonably, had claimed second place. It was, after all, his mansion, or rather his father's ...