Chapter One

 

The television programme went out to a potential audience of around two hundred thousand people, the population of Corvalle and the surrounding district. That wasn't counting the slaves, of course. It was peak time, Saturday night, and 'Match Of The Day' was certainly the most popular programme aired by the small TV company. It relied mainly on local news and imported shows, so the viewing figures were invariably well into five digits. However, this had nothing to do with football, although it was quite intentionally set up on similar lines.

On the screen, the viewers could see a rather bizarre arena. It seated around five hundred people and was about two-thirds full. The attention of the audience and the cameras was focused on a race. There were two lightweight carts hurtling around a running track on the outside of the arena stage. Each was pulled by two very attractive but currently highly distressed girls, naked but for the harnesses that bound them to the carts. Both drivers were urging their human ponies on with whips that were flailing their bare backs. One team, however, had a clear lead.

The commentator's voice could be heard emerging from TV sets around the city and outlying districts. Needless to say, the transmission could not be picked up beyond the mountains that separated this rather unique place from the rest of Chile and indeed the world.

"... And as they round the corner into the final straight, The Booby Girls look beaten! I can't see any way they can come back now! This could be the end of their run of wins as Thornton's Fillies race towards the finishing line. This defeat could see the end of The Booby Girls' aspirations for the League title! And there it is, the Fillies cross the line first, the Booby Girls are well behind in second place. The overall score in today's match is 5-4 to Thornton's Fillies and the home crowd celebrates! Just look at the crestfallen look on the Booby Girls' faces and not only because they're going to get fifty strokes of the cane each! They gave it all in that race, but they know they've probably blown their chances of the title. The Fillies are all hurting but they've won and they'll get just eight strokes each now. Well, we'll be back for the caning and then it's into the rape racks for the whole Booby Girls squad, but first back to the studio for views and analysis on this shock defeat for the Booby Girls!"

The arena faded from the screen, to be replaced by a television studio. Three men and one young woman sat around a coffee table. The men were smartly dressed and fairly handsome, but it was the young woman you noticed, partly because she was extremely pretty and partly because she was stark naked. The coffee table was low enough to leave no doubt that she wore not a stitch. She seemed relaxed and uncaring about her exposure and in fact you noticed after a while that her hands and arms were always kept in such a way that she did not cover any of her supposedly private charms. She had curvy, very dark cherry-red hair framing a face which was both dazzlingly lovely and also full of character, which enriched it. Her firm, round young breasts were each tipped with a silver nipple ring which, when one thought about it, was the same as those sported by the four girls seen recently pulling the carts around the arena track. They were also seen on the third girl of each team who stood at the trackside urging her team-mates on and on the other two girls in each squad sat in the dugouts, although as they were (currently) dressed it was a matter of knowledge rather than observation that they were also ringed. Every arena girl, past and present, had nipple rings and labia rings too. Some of the girls in the arena had shaven crotches, in which case the labia rings stood out, in other cases they were partially or completely obscured by pubic hair. The girl in the studio, who was a former arena girl, had a thick-ish covering of curly cherry-red follicles through which only the very occasional gleam of her lower rings could be seen as they winked under the studio lights. However, what could be seen was that the rings were held together by a small golden padlock nestling comfortably between her shapely thighs.

The man on the left of the screen, the programme anchor-man, spoke. "Well, I certainly don't think we expected that result today. The Booby Girls were riding high while Thorntons are engaged in their annual battle at the foot of the table, trying to avoid the penalties of last place in the final league table. Alan, did you think the Fillies would win?"

"I'm no' so surprised," came the reply in a Scottish accent. "I thought the Booby Girls looked complacent from the start of the match, an' you canna afford that. The Fillies sensed it an' took advantage. Have a look at this clip from the third round." The scene faded into a flashback from the contest. Six nude girls stood in a line each in front of three silver poles, two of which came level with each girl's firm breasts and one with her crotch. Every time a girl leaned too close to a pole, there was a blue spark which arced across from the pole to the girl's rings, causing an anguished squeal. The girl would usually pull away, then steel herself and lean forwards again. The camera went into close-up on one blonde, unquestionably a teenager, as the Scot's voice went on. "This is Belinda Bum from the Boobs. You can see that her heart's not in it." This was perhaps unfair to some extent, as the girl was leaning forwards from time to time and causing the agonising electric shocks to leap across the gap and into her boobs. However, the camera then panned over to another blonde, slightly stockier but still very pretty. She was almost wrapping herself around the poles, screaming continually at the pain but still staying in close. "In contrast, this is Sarah from the Fillies," the Scot informed the audience. "Ye can see that she senses her team can win this round and that feeling quickly spread to her team-mates. It was one-one at this stage, they won this to go two-one up and then won the next two. The Booby Girls were four-one down when they really got going. Sure, they pulled it back to four-four, but the pony race is about more than just taking pain and the Fillies had the two stronger, heavier girls. They got the lead and the Boobs' cart ended at the back of the race."

The scene switched back to the studio. The other male analyst spoke, his voice rich and languid but perceptive. "What you've got to remember is that with the rule change this season, the winning team gets just two cane strokes per round lost, whilst the losers get ten. So the Fillies saved themselves forty-two strokes each by winning. That's a big incentive to win a match."

The anchor-man turned to the naked girl. "What do you think, Nicky? Has that rule change made all the difference?"

"It's certainly had an impact," she said, her voice soft and sensual and yet firm and decisive at the same time. "But having said that, most of the time when you're out there you tend to focus on one event at a time and you concentrate on coping with that. But if you're too confident, you think, 'well, we can afford to lose this round, it's only two strokes, we'll still win overall.' I agree with Alan: once the Booby Girls realised they were in danger of losing, it was too late."

"Of course," the anchor man observed, "you were a Fillies girl yourself when you made your arena debut, before being sold to Sutton's Slags for a then record transfer fee."

Nicky nodded. "I only did a few matches, though. The team has changed now, but their approach is still similar: Master Thornton sends them out as lambs to the slaughter. It's what their home crowd likes.

"For example, the new girl they had today in the team, Jenny: this was her first time nude in the arena."

"And it shows," said the Scot. The screen changed to show a lovely brown-haired teenager vainly trying to cover her breasts and crotch with her hands. "Still, she forgot it when the chips were down." The screen changed to a shot of Jenny, oblivious of her nudity, bouncing up and down on a plastic phallus, the whip scything her bottom every time she went fully down or came fully up, her breasts jigging like crazy.

"You do tend to forget being naked in the heat of the moment," agreed Nicky and then wished she hadn't used the word 'heat' in quite this situation. The screen changed back to the studio again.

"In fact, the other Thornton Filly in their team today," the anchor-man pointed out, "Slave Gemma, was in the team when you made your debut."

"That's true," said Nicky. "We were on the same team for two or three matches before I was transferred. I think it's sad that she's still being used for matches now. I admire her for sticking at it, but I think she's earned a rest." Unfortunately, Nicky could do nothing about this, of course: she herself was still a slave, her own retirement from the league coming purely at the whim of her owner, who could still in theory return her to his team.

"In fairness, she's still working well for the team," the other expert, Mark, observed. "She's a crowd favourite, too."

"Fifty strokes of the cane and the rape racks if you lose a match makes sure everybody tries to win," Nicky pointed out.

"Talking of which," said the anchor-man, "let's go back to the Fillies' arena for coverage of the caning, with your commentator John Matson." The screen switched back to the arena.

"Thank you, Gary," came the commentator's voice. "Opinion here in Thornton Stadium is the same as in the studio, that Belinda Bum was probably the weakest link in the Booby Girls team and she's been the one selected for shaving." The screen switched briefly to show the miserable blonde sitting with her legs apart and her crotch covered in shaving foam whilst a man from the audience carefully applied a razor to her sparse blonde pubic hair. The view switched back to the present and the three Booby Girls, including a now bare-crotched Belinda, were all bent over a waist-high bench and chained securely to it. All were trembling as three beaters measured their swings ready for the caning. Behind them, the other two girls in the Booby squad had been stripped and were in the rape racks, with a queue already forming of those from the audience who wanted to beat the later rush once the three other unfortunates had also been transferred to the racks.

"One!" came the call from a supervisor.

Three canes swished down and simultaneously buried themselves in three curvaceous and trembling posteriors. Three victims screamed as one.

 

Back in the studio, they watched the action on a monitor. Mark noted that Nicky twitched slightly every time the rattan came down on the victims' defenceless bottoms. He ran a hand down her smooth, bare thigh.

"You still feel the suffering of the other girls, don't you?" he said gently.

Nicky nodded. "I've got very vivid memories," she replied quietly.

"It must be very tough out there," he said.

"You couldn't possibly imagine," Nicky replied very shortly; but then, because at the end of the day she was still a slave and he was still a free man and just because she did not have to call each of them 'master' while the cameras were on, because it took up too much airtime, that did not mean she was not still far below them, she added, "sorry, master, but trust me, it is like nothing you could ever have experienced."

"I'm sure you're right," he said amiably and Nicky was relieved. "After all, you're the real expert on this show. We can't know what it's like out there."

"It's hard," said Nicky soberly, "it's very hard."

The stroking of her thigh continued. "It affects you, I know. Maybe we should unwind together after the show. How do you fancy dinner with me this evening?"

"You'd have to ask my owner about loaning me," Nicky replied. Her elegant fingers briefly touched the golden padlock nestling between her thighs. "I'm not sure if he will give you the key to my lock; sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn't."

Mark admired her verbal skill. She had quite neatly told him that she acknowledged her status as a slave and that if he wanted her and her owner allowed it, he could have her and she would not resist; but that it was what he wanted, not what she wanted. Still, he was a master and what he wanted was important; she was a slave and although he did admire her record in the arena and respected her courage and quite liked her, what she wanted was not important. Like many professionals, Mark had a personal rule about 'playing around' with those he worked with; but she was a slave, so it wasn't the same. After the show, he would give John Sutton a ring. He only knew the man slightly, but Mark had influence through his television position and smart men like John Sutton were always keen to have such men owing them a favour. Nicky knew the political rules as well and was fairly certain her owner would give his consent; after all, it wouldn't cost him anything. The conversation over, Nicky stood up to speak to a technician about something. Her golden padlock fell gently down and her sex lips stretched slightly as they took the small weight, although Mark noted that she instinctively stood up in a way which ensured the weight went down gradually to avoid a painful jerk. Well, he thought, all being well I should be able to relieve you of that weight, at least for a few hours.

 

Chapter Two By John Sutton

 

"I'm home, master!"

I looked up from my newspaper to see Nicky enter the room. She had clearly had a shower after getting back before coming to see me - that was acceptable - and her lovely body almost pulsated with freshness. In places she was still slightly damp, which made her seem even more sexy. I could tell, of course, because she was naked. Too naked, in fact, even for Nicky. I reached languidly for the thing she had come to have replaced: her chastity lock. The little golden padlock was on a table by the side of my armchair. Nicky came up to me, putting her crotch comfortably within my reach. I sought out the two silver labia rings from within her forest of curly cherry red pubic hair and pulled them together. There was the slightest of clicks as the padlock snapped shut, locking the rings together and very effectively preventing Nicky from any further sexual intercourse this evening. Her sex lips stretched out ever so slightly with the weight of the golden lock. There was no complaint or even resignation from Nicky at the loss of her potential of choice, nor any ruefulness about the fact that the lock had only been removed for an assignation she didn't really want anyway. Nicky is a slave and she accepts such things. She is not a slave by choice, but she knows she cannot change that, so she makes the best she can of it.

I love Nicky very dearly. I own a total of nine female slaves: the five in my current league squad, one being trained up for it, two domestics, and Nicky. She's the only one whose chastity lock I take off and put on personally. Commercially, I should have sold her some time ago, but I have no intention of doing so. She doesn't fit into any of my business operations: she does a bit of commercial work, like 'Match Of The Day', a bit of escort work, a few modelling jobs, but it doesn't bring in that much. It doesn't matter. Nicky is mine and she will stay that way. Although I occasionally talk about selling her, even getting her valued and measured up, I'm sure she knows I won't do it. She's happy with that: it gives her a sense of security that few slaves have. She's also, in her way, fond of me. Considering that I, in effect, keep her in captivity against her will, this is rather surprising. I believe that she rationalises it by the argument that if I wasn't her owner, someone else would be, which is true enough. She also knows that she can't change things and therefore might just as well make the best of it all, which she does: I don't think she is actually unhappy in her life. Considering some of the things she has to endure, tonight's 'date' being a very mild example, her state of mind is as great an achievement as anything else she has forged out of her enforced slavery.

"I've got something for you to watch," I told her. "Come and sit down."

She doesn't, of course, sit on the settee with me. Nicky is far too well trained. She comes and sits at my feet, almost snuggling up to my legs like an affectionate cat. Using the remote, I switch on the television and video. An eighteen certificate is the first thing that appears on the screen. Nicky stifles a giggle.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Sorry, master: it's just that this is my first x-rated movie," replies the amused twenty-four year-old. She was abducted and enslaved shortly after her eighteenth birthday.

"So I'm guilty of corrupting you and leading you into sin, am I?" I asked lightly, reaching down to fondle the naked girl's breast.

"Yes, master," she said sweetly, ignoring the groping of her luscious body. At that point both of our attention was drawn to the TV screen.

A series of panoramic shots of a beautiful island came onto the screen. A male narrator explained that the island was off the Florida coast, close to America but a sovereign state with its own unique laws and a king who ruled over perfectly happy subjects.

"Those of you who believe in equality of the sexes should switch off now to avoid being offended," the voice said. Then, after a pause: "still with us? Then we will explain. On the island, there is a very definite inequality of the sexes. All men are masters. All women are slaves."

One by one, a succession of lovely, scantily clad women strolled across the screen. Each wore only skimpy underwear, often tight stretched across lithe brown bodies, and a brown collar.

"The women on the island, all of whom we must stress are there by their own choice, fall into three categories, all of them slaves. Only two of these are possible for new arrivals. The majority of girls are private slaves. Each girl of this type, shortly after arrival on the island, is sold to the highest bidder. He becomes her owner, a man she can love, cherish and serve."

The picture on the screen changed to a young girl affectionately cuddling a young man as they gazed out over a beautiful blue sea from a hilltop.

"The thought of having no choice over who your owner will be is daunting to many young women," the voice went on smoothly. "However, it is not as bad as it might seem. Firstly, arranged marriages have been common in many cultures for centuries and are actually surprisingly successful. Secondly, the man in question will certainly like you, for he has chosen you when he could have had plenty of others. So, ladies, you know he loves you. Thirdly, the men on the island may be strict, but they love women; if they did not, we would not allow them to live here. And finally, if the man feels the relationship is not working, he can easily end it, simply by selling you or swapping you for another.

"You see, it is not an equal partnership. He owns you. Surrendering yourself to such an arrangement takes great courage, but the rewards are wonderful."

I gave Nicky's breast a little squeeze. "Is that right, my slave?" I asked.

"I didn't surrender voluntarily, master," she pointed out with just enough impishness to get away with it.

"Don't take our word for it," the narrator went on. "Let's hear from the girls themselves."

A succession of girls, the more well-endowed almost bursting out of their thin tops and even the comparatively less busty having their assets jutting out of very tight tops, came on to describe their owners in glowing, cooing terms. Several said they had been owned by many men, each as wonderful as the last, but the latest being the best. Clearly a slave girl here was expected to and generally did exchange loyalty from one owner to her next.

"But of course," the narrator continued, "the surrender must be total, otherwise it will not work. There must be discipline, as in all successful things in life."

One by one, the girls interviewed before returned to the screen. Whereas the previous camera shots had been head and shoulders, just going low enough to reveal cleavage and occasionally a sun-bronzed navel, now the camera panned back far enough to allow each girl to turn around and display a marked bottom. All of them wore either thongs or very high cut knickers, so in each case their bottom cheeks were fully exposed and in each case they showed clear evidence of recent chastisement. I recognised the work of all the usual implements: flogger, martinet, paddle, whip, cane and, of course, hand. In each case, the marks were substantial enough for an expert like myself to know they would have hurt. Each girl now explained, without a hint of ruefulness, what she had done to warrant her punishment. Most of the misdemeanours were trivial and many were just simply 'to keep me in my place.'

A female narrator took over. "Many girls desperately want the security that the island brings. Years ago, women sought that security by becoming nuns. Now, with the island you can get that security without giving up the joys of sex. And even though you will be dressed in very little, you don't get men hassling you for sex. The reason is simple: your owner must consent before you can have sex, so anybody who wants you will have to ask him, not bother you. And if he agrees, well, you're in for a fun, guilt-free - because your consent isn't required - evening, or day, or whenever else it might be!

"Mind you, that isn't to say you'll be ignored in the street. Any man can stop you and spank you. Believe me, it makes walking down to the shops an electrifying experience!"

The camera panned back so that we could see the female narrator: an elegant, lovely blonde in her late twenties, barely dressed like the rest of the girls. She was walking along a leafy country lane. A man sat on a bench spoke to her as she passed. "Girl! You need a spanking! Come here!" The blonde went over to him and draped herself over his lap, still facing the camera. He began to spank her lustily.

"I'm afraid - oof! - that this happens - ah! - quite a bit," she said breathily between the spanks. "But you - ooh! - get used to it after a while. Well, sort of - ooh! - anyway." The spanking finished and she got to her feet. "Thank you, master," she said politely.

"My pleasure," he said meaningfully. "Let's have a look at your tits before you go."

With a watery smile at the camera, the blonde pulled her bra up to expose a very firm, round pair of orbs. "Don't worry if you're shy, girls," she said to the camera as she stood there, breasts exposed. "You'll be made to do it and that will be that." The man signalled dismissal and the blonde replaced her top and walked off. The camera zoomed in on her freshly reddened bottom as she went.

"That girl caused quite a stir a while ago," I informed Nicky. "She was a highly paid up-and-coming American TV presenter. She came over to do a documentary on the island, just after its existence was made public. It was very brave of her, because the only way she could come onto the island was as a slave, so she had to genuinely do everything, but it was a massive scoop. She would have been able to go back and forge a major career in the media on the back of it, but instead she decided to stay and become a permanent slave. Talk about perfect publicity for the island!"