Prologue One

 

The young woman once known as Svetlana and now known as Slutlana stopped outside the heavy oak door and hesitated.

Her heart was already beating fast with terror. Inside the room, she knew only too well, was a variety of devices and instruments which all had just one purpose: to bring pain to her. Every Wednesday evening at this time, she was required by her master to come to the room to receive her "treatment". On Wednesday mornings, she would wake up, realise what day it was, and trepidation would immediately set in. As the day wore on, that dread anticipation would steadily grow. And now, as the time came, she was physically shaking, as if she was freezing cold, except that the warmth of the evening and the faint sheen of fear-induced sweat on her naked body said otherwise.

And yet ...

But it didn't matter. She had her orders. Report to the dungeon at seven o'clock in the evening. And it was that time now. Timorously, she knocked on the door, and heard his voice telling her to enter.

She went in, closing the door behind her. The subdued lighting in the room was certainly atmospheric, adding to her fear. He was sat on the throne which oversaw the entire room. She hurried to it and knelt in the required manner, shoulders back, breasts thrust out, legs apart.

Slutlana indeed, she reflected. But it was a position which was required of her and in which she had been trained.

When he bought her, her owner had immediately changed her name from Svetlana to Slutlana. Her official designation was Slave Slutlana, L012, property of Michael Harris. She had quickly and painfully learnt that it was best to think of herself by that name, to avoid making mistakes by accidentally using her old name. Besides, she told herself, it fitted what she now was. Since he had bought her, he had loaned her out to nearly a dozen of his friends, as well as making copious use of her himself. And she had to be honest with herself and admit that not once had she not come, and on most occasions had come more than once. And she knew she would come tonight, many times, often when the pain hit a peak.

He reached down and casually fondled her breast. It began the stirrings deep inside her.

"Well, slave, are you ready for your weekly treatment?"

Oh God, this would hurt!

"Yes, master."

"We will start, I think, with number three cane."

"Yes, master."

Staying on her knees, she crawled over to the rack of canes. They were numbered one to five: one was light and whippy, it stung like blazes but left only a red mark, whilst five was heavy and almost cut her in two. Number three would give the worst of all worlds. Slutlana carefully turned her head and took the cane in her mouth. If she dropped it, she would be in dire trouble, but equally if she left teeth marks on the cane she would be for it to, so she had to judge it just right. She was, of course, not allowed to use her hands. Carefully, she unhooked it and carried it back to her tormentor. He took it from her, examined it for teeth marks and made no comment, to her intense relief.

"Present."

She had been trained in what this single command required of her. Slutlana shuffled around so that her bottom faced him. She spread her knees wider apart, and then dipped her back as far as her spine would allow. Now her bottom thrust up. And with her legs wide, her sex was displayed to a degree of intimacy that made her blush. She waited in fear. It would be six: it was always six.

Slasshhh!

Whhappp!

She cried out as her bottom exploded in pain.

Slasshhh!

Whhappp!

"Oh! Oh my God! Oh, God, oh God!" She was not really religious, but the trappings of her childhood had never fully left her.

Slasshhh!

Whhappp!

"Aaiieee! Oh God!"

Slasshhh!

Whhappp!

"Oh God, please! Please! Pleeasseee!" But she did not know what she was pleading for. Fire was raging through her, but it was not just the fire of pain.

Slasshhh!

Whhappp!

She screamed, but nothing intelligible. She was no longer capable of coherent speech. The crescendo rose in her body, completely beyond her control, overwhelming her.

Slasshhh!

Whhappp!

Her body exploded in a massive orgasm. She collapsed to the ground, her body jerking in convulsions, feeling as if it was short-circuiting, as if a million volts was coursing through her. She twitched and jerked as the aftershocks, themselves far more intense that anything else she had ever known before she came to New Island, washed over her, twisting her body helplessly. At long last they subsided and she lay there, quivering and shuddering. She was trying to remember if she had taken all six. If she had broken position before the sixth, she would be in even greater trouble. But these thoughts were only on a vague, primitive level. Her mind was still reliving the orgasm, still feeling the incredible high.

He tossed the cane on the floor beside her. Dimly it percolated through her mind that it must indeed have been six. She picked it up with her mouth and, remaining on her hands and knees, shuffled back to the rack and, not without difficulty as she could not use her hands, managed to get it back into the rack.

"Crop."

Just for a moment, Slutlana closed her eyes in dismay. She already had enough experience to know that, in the hands of an expert, and he was most certainly an expert, the riding crop could be worse than a cane. She made herself shuffle over to where it hung, unhooked it, again with her mouth, and then carried it in her mouth back to him, again careful not to leave any slightest impression from her teeth on it.

"Kneel."

It was to be on her thighs or boobs, then. Both were sensitive targets. It would be agony. Boobs would be the worst, but thighs would still be very bad. She knelt before him, thighs spread, hands palm down on them, back arched so that her tits thrust forwards towards him.

"High."

Oh God, it was to be her boobs, then. She raised her hands and placed them behind the back of her head, her slim fingers interlaced. The position, especially with her back still arched, made her boobs jut out forwards even more. She had been well trained in each of what he called the basic postures. She pulled her elbows back as far as she could, so that her boobs stuck out vulnerably.

"Count."

"Yes, master." He was not indicating how many, but it would probably be six. The significance of the count was that, each time she counted, she was acknowledging that she was ready for the next stroke. She waited, almost physically shaking.

Thwappp!

"Aaiiieeee!"

The pain was indescribable, and yet she had her orders. Slutlana fought to compose herself, to get her breathing under control. She was not expected to snivel when she spoke, she knew. He required better than that of her.

"One, thank you master," she managed. "May I have another, please?" Wirth her own words, she condemned herself to more anguish, and yet it was required, so she had no choice.

Thwappp!

"Aaiiieeee!"

More struggling for breath and composure. Eventually, she managed to speak again.

"Two, thank you master. May I have another, please?"

He lined up his next shot, but at that moment his mobile phone rang. With a little annoyance, he answered it. It was a business call, one he had clearly been expecting, otherwise he would not have brought the phone into the "treatment room". Ignoring her, he began to talk business in detail.

Slutlana waited. When he had finished the call, she knew he would continue to beat her breasts, and possibly after that other parts of her young body. She was dreading it. And yet, the fires in her bottom and her tits were not the only ones raging in her body. Between her legs, she was throbbing too, but it was a different blaze, one of desire, a more intense desire than she had ever known before coming to this island. Once he had finished whipping her, he would fuck her almost senseless, and orgasm after orgasm would wash over her like a tidal wave until she lay limp and exhausted on the floor. Wednesday nights were agony, but also ecstasy.

Somewhere else on this Caribbean island was her younger sister Hannah. Like herself, Hannah was a sex slave. The sisters had signed away their freedom for a year, because it was the only way to pay for the medical treatments that had cured Hannah's condition and allowed her to live a normal life, or at least normal once this year was over. Neither of them had any regrets: they would endure this year and then return home and pick up their lives. Not that they would ever be quite the same again. And 'endure', yes, but it wasn't all bad by any means.

Not even Wednesday nights ...

Prologue Two

 

New Island Council

Slave Registration Department

Council House, New Island.

 

To: Storm Robinson, 3, Orange Grove, New Island.

Date: as email date

 

Dear Storm

Congratulations on your purchase of the property known as Slave Cara. Her full name is now Slave Cara, L014, Property of Storm Robinson. We confirm that all of the documentation relating to the sale of this item to you has been completed by the vendor, Thomas Jefferson.

You are respectfully reminded that ownership of this property is on a leasehold basis and the ownership will terminate on the date on the attached certificate of ownership. The property may be sold on to another owner during this time if you so choose, but the leasehold surrender date must be made known to the buyer before a price is agreed, as it will clearly affect that price.

On the date of termination, arrangements will be made to return the property to her country of origin and release her back into the wild. These arrangements are the responsibility of New Island Council and you do not have to do anything other than surrender the property to the authorities at the appropriate time. Details of when and where to deliver the property will be sent to you closer to the date.

You are also respectfully reminded that you are required under New Island bye-laws to keep the property in good condition with no lasting or long-term damage. Regular physical and mental health checks are obligatory. The Council's medical department will contact you periodically to arrange check-ups. At the same time, the Council and all departments are available to assist you in any way, should the need arise.

We trust that the slave will bring you many hours of pleasure and enjoyment. Thank you for your continuing support of New Island.

Regards,

 

Stephen Phelps.

Slave Registrar.

Chapter One - New Island

 

Sophie Summers sat naked but for her slave collar on a chair outside the room she dreaded, waiting nervously.

No, she told herself, she was not Sophie Summers anymore. She was Slave Sophie L013, property of Kelvin Hope. Sophie Summers would not be naked. Sophie Summers would not be wearing a slave collar. Sophie Summers would not be waiting in dread for the inevitable, she would be running away, or fighting to defend herself.

And Sophie Summers would still be a virgin.

She was just eighteen and very pretty, with longish dark blonde hair tied back and currently platted into a single braid. Her body shape was fabulous, lithe and athletic, the product of a life filled with sport and physical activity. Even now, she got up early every morning to go running, when there was nobody about, because she was not allowed any clothes to go running in, only trainers. She also often went running at other times with her best friend, Cara, who had come to New Island to be enslaved for a year at the same time she had, and the other two slaves in Cara's household, Ellie and Leah. Cara had recently been sold to a new owner, however, and Sophie had yet to see her since then, although it had been less than a week. Kelvin Hope also had a small gym room with rowers, treadmills, cross-trainers and bikes, and she used those, though sitting naked on the bike saddle was not the nicest. He was around thirty and also in good shape, and he played some sports with her: table tennis in the house and tennis down the local courts were his favourites. Although she was competitive anyway, he had his ways of encouraging her: she would get the table tennis bat sharp on her behind if she lost at either, though on the other hand she would get a treat if she won, such as an ice cream sundae. Naturally, she always had to play in the nude, though she was again allowed trainers for tennis. Fortunately, the courts were on the edge of the small town and rarely was there anybody else about. The forfeits did spur her on, because that table tennis bat stung, but the treats were nice too. It was hot on the island, and they would finish a game of tennis with his t-shirt soaked with sweat, if he hadn't removed it anyway, whilst her whole body would gleam with perspiration. An ice cream sundae, bought for her by him from the kiosk on the corner (she had no money and was not allowed any, by the law of the island), was bliss. The table tennis bat ... well, next time she would try harder.

Advised by Ellie and Leah, she also spent time doing breast exercises to make her already firm breasts even firmer. As none of the girls were allowed to wear bras on New Island, they all did the exercises, though Sophie probably needed them less than most but did them more than most. When running, she was allowed a rope bra - a piece of cord wrapped several times around her chest and tied fairly tightly - but was not great, because when she was breathing really hard, as her chest expanded, her flesh squeezed out between the strands of cord and, as it deflated again, that flesh would then get pinched between the strands. Needless to say, as well, that the rope bra hid nothing at all of her feminine charms. She had been trying to use the rope bra less and less often, and was now not using it at all. None of her three colleagues used one either. They were all fit, athletic girls, but Sophie could outpace Ellie or Cara on a long run. Leah was a different matter. That girl's fitness was on another level, and Sophie could barely keep up with her. Leah was strong, too: she and Sophie had once had an arm-wrestle, and Sophie had been wiped out with ease, though she was no weakling. But they were allowed to use Kelvin's gym regularly (though still naked), where they would go on rowers, side by side, and here Sophie came into her own and - just - had the edge. She had been in a rowing club before coming here, and her technique just edged it over Leah's raw power.

Her sports, as has been said, gave her an excellent body shape, which she was secretly proud of, although she still struggled with being naked in public. Leah's body was better, without doubt, but she was still happy enough with herself. She had also raised the highest price of the four girls at auction, something else that, though she wouldn't admit it openly, had pleased her, for all that the auction itself, the first time she had stripped completely in public (and the last time she had worn any clothing, for that matter) had been a terrible ordeal. Sophie didn't realise that she was also facially the best-looking of the four girls, all of whom were very pretty. She had a natural unawareness of her own charms: it had quite surprised her when her auction price had ended at thirty-six thousand, a full six thousand ahead of any of the other three girls, all of whom (not that she had any tendencies that way) were very hot. That included her best friend Cara: although Cara was a little short and stocky and thought of herself as a toad, she was in fact very sexy in a cute, unconscious way and Sophie had been pleased, after a fashion, that her best friend had fetched the joint second-highest price at thirty thousand.

Sophie's own price was made even more significant because, although her owner was not short of a bob or two, he was by no means one of the richer men on the island. The house where the two of them lived was certainly not a hovel, but it didn't compare to some of the palaces around the island. It did not have the magnificent sea views that Cara's former owner's mansion had. Kelvin Hope had, she suspected, gone to his limit to buy her, and she was only his for a year, after which she was free to return home. Perhaps by then his funds would have recovered and he could buy another girl. His income, as far as she could tell, came from a generous trust fund from his parents, well invested.

Kelvin Hope: her owner, she mused. It was still a very strange concept to get her head around. Even though she had now been his for just over two months - it was the end of the tenth week this weekend, which was something she kept careful track of - she still couldn't work out what she thought of him. He was strict with her, for sure: she had a couple of hours of housework to do every day, including getting his meals, and she would get the strap if there was any slightest sloppiness in her work. But Sophie had never shirked housework, having looked after her father's house from a young age after her mother died young. Besides, she was conscious of the price he had paid for her and determined, at least in the domestic stakes, to give him full value for his money. But that, of course, was the least of her slavery.

On that first day when she had been sold to him, he took her home and barely got her through the front door before he bent her over a settee and fucked her, long and hard and brutally. Sophie, a virgin whose only experience was the occasional wet dream back home when she thought about one or two nice boys at school, boys she otherwise had never had any contact with, had never felt anything remotely like it. After the brief pain of the tearing of her hymen, she had been swept along in a tidal wave of sensations the like of which she had never imagined. Completely helpless, both physically and mentally, she had orgasmed again and again, though barely knowing what an orgasm was and certainly never having had one before. When it was all over, she lay on the floor, completely shattered. He left her lying there for a couple of hours and then came back and did it again. She was like a rag doll in a hurricane.

Since then, he'd taken her more times that she could remember. Sometimes he would just decide to have her, and that would be that. When he beat her at tennis, he'd often have her there and then - in public! The first time, she had been mortified beyond measure. After that, well, it was always embarrassing, although of course everybody knew that she was his slave and what that meant. Fortunately there was not often many people, if any at all, around the tennis courts at that time of day. It had also taken her a while to come to terms with the fact that sex in public on the island was not illegal, quite the opposite in fact. But most times, it would be like now. She was waiting outside his "fun room", which was more like a torture chamber. He would torment her, but at the same time make her come, again and again. Then, finally, he would fuck her, and even more orgasms would be wrenched out of her helpless body.

Sophie and Cara had both signed up to come to New Island and be slaves for a year. Sophie's dad had desperately needed money to pay off some very nasty loan sharks over a business deal. He had been totally against her coming, even though he had no other way of raising the money, but she had always been able to have the last word - a very different situation from that she found herself in now. Cara had insisted on coming with her as well: Sophie's own self-sacrifice would not quite raise all the money needed, but with Cara as well, their combined money more than covered it. Sophie's dad would make the money when the contract he had been working on came to fruition, and Cara would get all of the money due her then - her family was a lot less well-off and could really use it - but Sophie felt that she could never repay her best friend's loyalty in accompanying her here. Happily, Cara seemed to have adjusted to the bizarre life here, better than Sophie in some ways.

Sophie heard footsteps. He was coming down the steps from the first floor of the house to the "fun room", which was on the ground floor. He turned the corner and saw her. Sophie slipped off the wooden chair and knelt, her knees apart, hands on her open thighs, palms up, back arched but head down, not looking at him. It was all required behaviour: sit on the chair until he arrived and then kneel.

Kelvin Hope was a man of few words, at least to her. He opened the door to the room and gestured for her to go inside. Sophie brought her hands forward so that she was on hands and knees, back still arched, legs apart, which meant her vulva was fully on view. She preceded him inside, still on hands and knees, which meant he had a good view. It would shortly be, she knew, the least of her worries.