Chapter One - A Party At The Palace

 

Barbara adjusted her stance slightly, and heard the chains which connected her wrists rattle quietly.

She was stood at a lamp-post. To be more precise, she was chained to it, her hands behind her back also being behind the post against which she leaned. It was her bare back, for she was naked.

Actually, she was not quite fully naked. For one thing, she wore her collar, the black leather collar with the royal crest of which she was so proud. It proclaimed her as a palace slave, a member of the royal harem. Such a position was not bestowed lightly: Barbara had spent many long hours having her obedience, her endurance of pain and her beauty thoroughly tested. Most slaves drop out well before the end of the tests: Barbara had not. At the age of nineteen, she now belonged to the king of this sun-drenched island off the Florida coast.

She also wore, if that word can be used, one other item. It was a placard which hung in front of her. This hurt, because it was hung from her full young breasts, by clips attached to her nipples. They throbbed with the pain of the pinching and her breasts ached from the weight of the placard. It reached down to just below her navel, leaving her delta bare and exposed save for its covering of black curly fur. The placard announced a party at the palace in two days' time, to which everybody was invited. Barbara herself, of course, would be there whether she wanted to be or not.

She was unable to communicate this, or indeed anything else, because of the large ball gag which filled her mouth. She had to swallow frequently, otherwise saliva might escape between her lips and the gag and form an undignified dribble down her cheek. With her hands secured, she would be unable to wipe it away.

Perhaps because of the considerable heat, there were not many people around. Those that were showed no sign of surprise at the sight of a beautiful, naked nineteen year-old brunette chained to a post with a placard so cruelly attached to her. Slavery was a way of life on this island. Indeed, the only way any woman could come onto the island was as a slave.

A man passed by, stopped and read the placard. Barbara tensed, knowing she was at his mercy. He reached out and ran his hand down her flank. She shivered with degradation. He looked at her face. "You're Slave Barbara, aren't you?"

She nodded, blushing. He said no more, but his other hand reached between her legs. Barbara felt the electric sensation of her pubic hairs being brushed aside as he sought her sex lips. Her hands clenched into fists as she stiffened. She felt a finger push inside her, into her most private place. Already hot from the powerful sun, she broke out in a fresh sweat, but the finger did not stay long before casually making its exit from her body. He smiled at her. "Well done," he said, "well done," and continued on his way.

Barbara relaxed. She didn't like being a celebrity. It was not because of her slave status: there were well over a hundred slave girls on the island, and at least a dozen like her in the royal harem. She was nothing special. However, purely by accident she had been one of the two harem slaves chosen for the king's recent visit to America where, the island's activities having been exposed, the king had gone onto the chat show circuit to defend the way of life here. Barbara and her companion in chains, a bubbly Russian redhead called Sasha, had gone onto a major televised chat show and verbally completely defeated a harpy of a senator who had tried to mobilise public opinion to support an invasion of the island. She and Sasha had then, on air, been publicly thrashed. They had won the debate and the island's independence was now secure.

Sasha revelled in her new fame. Barbara hated it. All she wanted was to be an anonymous, helpless slave.

Another man came by, read the placard, run his hands down her lithe frame and moved on.

Barbara was very hot. Sweat pored from her shapely body. Her impressive all-over tan contrasted with the clear drops of perspiration which glinted as they caught the sunlight. Her bare feet felt the heat of the pavement, her back felt the warmth of the metal lamppost.

A female slave hurried by on the other side of the road, glancing sympathetically at Barbara as she went. She was a common slave, the sort Barbara had become on her arrival on the island. That meant she belonged to one man, who had probably bought her at the auction. She wore a collar and an incredibly small bikini, as was customary for such slaves. The bikini could be removed by any man who felt like it, but she could not be ravished without her owner's permission. Her own consent was totally irrelevant: she could not give herself without a consent form from her owner, and if that consent form was signed then she had no right to prevent herself being taken. Her body was not her own: it belonged to her master.

There were no such restrictions on Barbara. As a palace harem slave, she could be taken, right now in the street, by any man who happened by. She was absolutely, totally and utterly defenceless. In this tiny island state, rape was not a crime. Even unauthorised sex with a common slave was not rape: it came under property violations. However, the consent form laws, for all the humiliation they meant for a slave who could not have sex without getting the consent of her owner, in practice actually protected the common slaves a little. Barbara had no such protection.

As she watched the girl hurry along, Barbara saw another man not far from the girl raise his arm and gesture to her. "Hey! You!" he called ungraciously.

The girl stopped and approached him nervously. "Me, master?" All girls were required to address all men on the island as "master", except for the king, who was "your majesty" to most slaves. Barbara, as one of the Royal Harem, had the privilege of calling the king "master".

"Yeah, you. Get your ass over here."

The girl hurried over to him. As she now had her back to Barbara, Barbara could see her trim young bottom, almost entirely uncovered by the cut-away bikini. It was quite red, indicating that the girl had already been spanked today. It was likely that she was about to get a second dose. The man had sat down on a low wall, and as soon as the girl was within reach he pulled her over his lap and started assaulting her rear vigorously.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

"Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!"

Her breathy gasps were ignored as he went about his task. Her bikini bottoms afforded her absolutely no protection at all; if they had, he would probably have taken them down. When he finally stopped and the girl was allowed to get back up, her bottom glowed a much brighter red. He gestured for her to leave and she hurried away, hands rubbing her smarting rear. He had offered no explanation, nor was he required to. As for her, she was just grateful to get away without any further indignities. Barbara, of course, could not get away. Fortunately, her current position did not make spanking easy. However, she was still relieved to see him go.

Time passed. Men passed, Barbara got groped by some of them. She hated being groped. She hated being naked, although it was a permanent state of affairs for her. The throbbing pain in her nipples was getting worse and Barbara did not like pain. All of those things, however, she regularly received in abundance.

And yet, like every girl on the island, she was a voluntary slave.