CHAPTER 1

 

The Slave Wars and The Insanity produced no clear winner among the Five Powers. Rather, the decades of struggle left the Powers too weak to fight, too weak to do more than harass their enemies with pointless slave raids and covert action of questionable value. In truth, their only real goal was to hold on to what they had won, including their workforce of slaves and their precious Erotics. This caused a period of savage repression which ironically had the opposite effect.

 

Regan struggled to keep pace with the two soldiers at her side. They had an iron grip on her thin arms as they moved her quickly along the passageway, her bare feet barely touching the stone floor. She glanced anxiously at one then the other, frightened by their fierce look. They were Bedouin fighters, the cruelest and most feared of the prison's guards.

Where were they taking her? She wondered frantically. This was unbelievable! A week ago, she had been a promising dance student studying at the prestigious CAD (Czechoslovak Academy of Dance) school in Paris. Her scholarship had allowed her to live a privileged life in a city built for love and the celebration of life. Now she was naked and in chains.

She had gone to sleep one night in the dormitory and awoken with an iron collar around her neck, chained in a dark cell with 20 other girls. Incredibly, that was all she knew about her abduction. In the days that followed she tried to rationalize her captivity, but there was no answer. Most often she imagined that she was still asleep, in a horrifyingly realistic dream, a nightmare, a terrifyingly inversion of her idyllic life.

And it had been idyllic...living the life of a beautiful young dancer in Paris was itself a dream. Men literally drooled over her; she had her choice eligible beaus, her pick of escorts. Sex was something she dispensed on rare occasions only to those she favored...and never graciously but only with an almost regal distain as if it was an extraordinary favor.

The other collared girls in her cell had similar stories of privileged lives abruptly ended. They spent endless hours speculating, whispered in the dark, reviewing in surreal voices the few clues they had--the guards all spoke Arabic, the air was hot and dry, they were kept naked and collared...in darkness, chained to the walls.

Most, Regan included, refused to accept the obvious--that they had been drugged by slavers and quietly transported to the Islamic Caliphate. It was a kind a collective stupidity; the denial of a truth too terrible to accept. What was easier to believe was that this horror was a dream. Regan had clung to that hope until now, until the moment they had come for her.

This had happened to others. Every so often the door would open to a blinding light and the guards would remove a girl from the cell. No one was never returned to explain their captivity to provide answers to their desperate questions. Instead, her empty collar would soon be circling the long neck of another victim, a girl who like them knew nothing and asked the same unanswerable questions.

Regan turned again to one of her guards; he was staring down at her long pale body as they walked, a look of barely suppressed desire in his eyes. His obvious lust didn't surprise her--she had been living with such looks all her life. She had a dancer's hard body--long, strong, thin, curved in all the right places in all the right ways--and a shocking mane of chestnut hair streaked with red that contrast seductively against her white skin. Nothing was hidden from his gaze. She knew that being naked and bound made her even more desirable.

What kept these two from mauling her naked body in this dark corridor? She asked herself with terrifying candor. What authority was strong enough to keep their libidos in check? In Paris, it was the fear of legal consequences that held her men at bay, their desire to remain a welcome part of a civilized society, but what kept the hands of these monsters off her in this dark place?

They stopped suddenly in front of a heavy door and one of the men knocked with surprising politeness. "Come." One of them opened the door and they stepped inside. A man in a white shirt and tie was seated behind a massive desk. Regan had a fleeting moment of hope--a civilized man...his tie suggested rules, order...civilization. Could this be the end of her nightmare? Could he be her salvation from this nightmare?

The man glanced up from his reading and pointed casually to a thick wooden pole in the center of the room. The guards each grabbed an ankle, continuing to hold her arms, and pushed her face down onto the floor then lifted and moved her roughly against the pole. She could feel the smooth wood rubbing against her ass, her mound, her clit... She tried to twist away from the wood between her legs, but it was impossible.

One of the men, still holding an ankle, moved behind the pole and tinkered with something metal. Frantically she glanced back; it was a long metal bar shaped like a "T" hinged to the pole at its base with manacles at the top ends. He lowered it carefully to the ground and strapped her ankles into its shackles.

The bar spread her bare legs apart, opening them to their limits to kiss the pole more fervently with her wet cunt lips. The man ran his hands over the back of her thighs then pulled up on the hinged bar, forcing her legs up, mashing her labia even harder into the wood. The T-bar also arched her back, pushing out her ass cheeks out for....

"NO...NO, please!" she cried, knowing that her bare ass was now perfectly positioned and solidly braced for a spanking or worse. Was that what they had in mind...a spanking? She had been spanked before and found the experience...confusing. But this was different; she wasn't in control here. There was no safe-word here, no fawning man acquiescing to her orders.

The second guard unhooked her manacled wrists from behind her back and locked them to a D-clip bolted into the floor just under her chin. She put her head down in her arms and closed her eyes, trying desperately to wake from this new nightmare. Despite her dancer's training, the terrible arc in her back was beginning to hurt.

It was nothing compared to what was to come.

The second guard looked back towards the man at the desk who was continuing to read. After a moment he looked up again and nodded. The man pushed her upright by her shoulders, doubling her body's arc. She could feel the pole against her bare skin. Suddenly, the other guard slipped a rope over her head, looped it once around her neck, and then tied it off to the pole. There was just enough slack so that she could balance herself on her outstretched arms. With her hands secured to the floor and her legs held in the air by the T-bar, she was forced to maintain the terrible backward bend of her body or strangle.

Both men stood up and took a step back as Regan struggled to hold her body in place with her arms. She could feel the rope tighten around her neck as she tried to relax her muscles. The panic on her face became more pronounced as she realized that it was only the strength in her arms that kept her from being hanged.

"Lovely," the man at the desk said in an accented English. He made a brief note. "A real beauty...amazing musculature."

He repositioned the light on his desk so that it pointed at her shapely body, casting a shadow of her agony on the wall. There was a long dark line running the length of her thigh as her well-developed muscles tried to cope with the strain of her raised legs. He stared at her dispassionately for a long moment.

"Perhaps...," the man said to himself, thinking. "Let me see how she responds to a steady pain."

He reached into his desk draw and handed something to one of the guards. Regan strained to see what it was, but the light was in her eyes. All she could see was the movement of ghostly figures.

The guard knelt in front of her and cupped her pointed tit in his hand, squeezing gently then he took her nipple and ran it between his fingers making it hard. He was smiling, his face inches from hers. She struggled to look down, but the neck rope kept her head high. Suddenly, she felt something bite into her nipples and she screamed, a moment later her other nipple was hardened and bitten in the same way.

She couldn't breathe for the pain. Her arms were shaking violently with the urgent need to raise her hands to her tits and pull off the horrible monsters biting at her nipples. She felt herself fading from the pain then rallied; if she fainted now, she would die...and she didn't want to die.

It was impossible to stop the pain with her hands were manacled to the floor. Slowly, she realized that this was the point--her bondage was designed to inflict maximum agony. The pain was not going to go away; they wanted to see how she suffered; they wanted to see...

There was a sound from the man at the desk and her tormentor walked away only to return with...weights which he hooked onto the nipple clamps. He was surprisingly gentle this time, trying not to jerk anything. The pull of the weights increased the pain steadily. Regan was astonished--she didn't think the pain could have gotten any worse.

She glanced desperately at the man at the desk with a look of absolute surrender. Whatever he wanted, he could have; her only plea was that he take what he wanted from her and end her pain. It was all in her frantic eyes.

"Now we can talk more truthfully, Regan," he said smiling, lifting his pen.

"Your name...?" She opened her mouth but no sound came out...the pain... "Your name...?" he repeated more loudly. Nothing. "I need to get through these questions, Regan," he said reasonably. "Hopefully I do that before the strength in your arms is depleted. If not, well, things will get very bad for you very quickly and I...well, you understand."

He left the sentence unfinished.

Would he really let her die? Why did he want her name if he already knew it? A questionnaire...he was reading from a standard-form questionnaire. A wave of anger swept over her. By what right...

"Re...Re...Regan," she managed through the heart-stopping agony.

"Age...?"

"Ah, eight...eighteen."

"Occupation...?"

"Stu...student. I...I am studying...dance at the...a scholarship..."

"Have you ever had intercourse?"

Silence. He waited patiently.

"Yes."

"Vaginal, oral, anal...all of the above?"

"I, ah...," the pain had turned into a terrible throbbing and her arms were beginning to burn. She looked up at him with a pitiful blank expression. She had forgotten the question.

"Vaginal, oral, anal...all?" he asked again, with infuriatingly patient understanding.

"All...ALL!" she yelled, beginning to understand the need for fast and truthful answers. This was not the time to be embarrassed or hesitant. Like all the other girls in her Paris circle, she had conducted all kinds of sexual experimentation.

"You have a wonderfully erotic shape, Regan and breasts that beg to be touched. I think we will order nipple rings for you...and a tongue stud of course. Men love the feel of an enthusiastic stud on their cocks. They love to stare into an expressive face like yours as you suck them off."

The way he said it was terrifying as if sex from her was nothing, an ordinary fact of life.

Beads of sweat appeared on her face and began to drip down onto her breasts. She was deathly afraid of needles; just the idea of a piercing made her shake. It didn't matter...her fears didn't matter anymore, she realized with awful certainty. No one would care. She was property now, a slave, totally submissive to the will of those who held her.

The man began to shuffle the papers on his desk. "I have a special request in here somewhere. Ah yes, here it is." He held up a piece of paper. "It's a government requisition for unusually beautiful companions for a new resort in the Murovdag Mountains. I think you would be suitable for such a place. It's lovely there, Regan...a wonderful climate...not at all hot as many of our postings are. Yes, I think you would be a very suitable candidate. Your face, especially in pain...it is irresistible. Just one more thing I need to establish."

He gestured for the guards to come closer and handed each a long crop.

"Her ass and thighs, please, with vigor...and don't forget the soft skin of her inner thighs. You can continue until I say to stop."

The two walked over slowly then began to lay the leather flashing at the end of the crops on her skin. She began to scream, her body trembling, her mound grinding itself into the pole with each terrible stroke. It seemed to go on forever.

At some point, she forgot about the pain in her nipples, forgot about the burning leather on her skin, the ache in her back, the rope at her throat. Nothing mattered for her except the growing tightness in her crotch. She began to bang her cunt against the pole in time to the pain. In a few seconds, she began one long scream, moving violently against the pole, shaking her head in animal-like protest sending her mane of hair flying in all directions. The three men were transfixed. She simply needed to move harder, faster; she needed to...

Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming wave of release like a dam bursting. She shuddered unconsciously, convulsing, as wave after wave of an incredibly strong orgasm swept through her body. The light in her eyes contracted to a tiny point and her arms collapsed. The rope at her neck tightened hard, holding her jerking torso in a terrible death grip.

"Grab her, you idiots!" the man shouted, suddenly shocked out of his numb gaze. The guards rushed forward to support her shaking body.

He had never seen such a response. He smiled and made a frantic note in his binder then signaled absently for the guards to take her off the pole. She would be an excellent candidate for The Ranch. His discovery of her and his insight would certainly be acknowledged by his superiors. It wasn't often that an Erotic demonstrated such a natural predisposition to the whip and the collar.