Alice Sinclair Gorean style BDSM fiction

Alternate Scene: Book 1 Chapter 1: The Peace I Ended, The War I Started

I stepped back and removed my belt.  I set down the sword and picked up the whip.

“Undress me, Slaves.”

“Yes, Master!” they chorused.

I stood as they pulled my clothes off.  They were quick; I had taught them to do it with haste.  I would count to ten; on ten, I would whip them.  They were done by the count of seven.  They giggled, breathless, folding and setting my clothes aside.  Each kept eyeing my erect cock.

I turned to face my new, dark-haired captive.

She stared at me, suddenly aware she had all my attention.

"On the pleasure fur," I pointed to the thick, black fur.

She shook her head.

The other slaves looked as if they'd been slapped.  They regarded each other.  The giggles ended.

"On the pleasure fur, Slave,"  I said again, my tone stern.  "Or do you want to be dragged?"

“No!” she shook her head and took a step back.

***

Most slave girls are well-behaved.  They come when you call, kneel as ordered, and lie on their backs sweetly at the snap of your fingers.  They have been well disciplined by men, and their world has taught them how to behave.  They are well used and better off for it.

Some girls, however, will resist.  City-captured girls often wish for richer masters than fishermen and farmers.  Others want a man who already has several women at his feet.  Those see other girls as 'use proof' of the master’s worthiness.  Or, it can even be that they'd just expected a more handsome owner.

There is another layer.  That is one of the strange games that the Hyperborean culture plays with its women.  In our own world, women are penalized for sexuality yet fetishized for it.  They must act within the bounds of one but are enticed to ignore them.  Either way, they are punished.  Hyperborean culture is similar.  Slaves are told to obey - but free women are told to resist.  To keep their freedom.  To not shame their people by becoming shameless, cock-licking, pets.  One behavior doesn't simply turn off when it's time for the other.  It lingers, often for years.

What's worse is that among slaves, the reason for resistance has evolved.  The idiot idea swapped between cages is that the master must be 'strong' enough to keep the slave.  Slaves who believed this and were then taught their place in no uncertain terms were the biggest spreaders of the idea.  They wish other slaves to be punished to validate their own poor choice to resist.  

There are many ways to deal with a resistant slave girl.  You can starve her.  Deny her sleep.  Keep her in a confining cage so she can barely move.  She can be tied to a post and given a whipping she will never forget.  Most often, though, none of these things happen.  Instead, the Hyperborean male - larger, stronger, and heavier - will simply teach the slave female her place.

***

I stepped up to her.

The dark-haired slave turned to run, but there was nowhere to go.  She tried to dart to the side.  I saw the lunge coming, and moved to grab her.  She screamed as my arms went around her waist.

I picked her up; her long legs kicked in the air.  She grabbed at my arms, trying to pull them off.  I turned and threw her upon the black fur.

It wasn't one fur but several—all thick, stacked one atop the other.  She cried out as she struck, landing on her belly.  She rolled on her back, knees bent, staring at me.  Her leash chain lay stretched on the fur.

I stepped towards her.  She scrambled back, but it wasn't her I wanted.  She saw, too late, as I went for the leash chain.

"Oh!" the chain went taut in my hand.  She gripped it with both hands and yanked.

I held the chain steady.  She glared at me and yanked again.

"Come," I ordered, getting down on one knee.  "Crawl to me, like a pet."

"No!" she snarled.  She got to her feet and tried to brace them on the fur.  She pulled again at the chain with both hands.  Unbraced, she instead slipped and fell backwards.  It was good that the stacked furs were deep.

There was a chaining post at the foot of the furs.  As she tugged and groaned, I fastened her leash chain to it.

"Go on," I gestured to it.  "Exhaust yourself.  I will wait."

She stopped and glared at me again.  Suddenly, I saw her lips curl in contempt; defiance had given her courage.

"You will not keep me!" her eyes flashed.  "You will not have me!  I will escape again!"

"And what?" I took hold of her chain with both hands.  "And be free?"

Slow and steady, I pulled the leash chain towards me.  She gritted her teeth but could do nothing.  Even as she pulled, I drew her towards me.

"Whatever would you do with freedom?" I pulled again.  "Do you even know what that is?  Can you survive, free?" Another pull.  "You're like a songbird!  Out of the cage, you'll just fly away and die!"

She lay on the furs, just a foot from me.  She sat with her knees bent, feet planted on the furs.  Both hands held her leash chain by her throat.  Her hair had fallen across her face.

"No!" she cried out, baring her teeth.  She tried to stand and pull herself away.  I held the chain, not giving an inch.  Her face turned red.  Her knuckles whitened around the chain.

It was time, I decided, to put her on her back.  Using my leg, I swept hers.

“Oh!” she cried out as she fell.

I rushed and got on top of her.  I pinned her legs with mine.  I grabbed her wrists and held them down against the furs.

"Get off me!" She screamed, eyes shut as if expecting a strike.  She threw her head from side to side.  Her legs squirmed beneath me, but I kept control.  Her hands clenched into fists.  I enjoyed the feel of her soft skin, the warmth, her smell.  Both breasts jiggled as she struggled; they were large and well-shaped.  The aureoles were a warm brown.  The nipples, erect.

She paused to glare at me, panting.  Her eyes were red.

It was time.  What happened next, I did with speed.  For her, it was the first time.  For me, I had lost count.

"Know your place, Slave," I said.  Then, I raised one leg, grabbed her by her shoulder, and rolled her onto her back.

"Ah!" she screamed in surprise.  She lay on her belly.  I had let go of her hands; they were pressed to the furs beneath her.

I then locked one arm around her throat.  I felt the warm metal of her collar pressed to my forearm.  Pushing it under her chin, I forced her head up and back.

At the same time, I pushed my legs between hers.  I parted my knees, thrusting her legs apart.  They tried to close, but she had no chance.  I parted wider, spreading her wide.

"You won't have me!" she screamed.  With one hand, she reached behind and clawed at my head.

I lay on top of her like a ton of bricks.  She whined as her face was pressed to the furs.  With my free hand, I slapped her hard.  She yelped.

"Don't!" I barked in her ear.  "If you demand a beating, you will get one, understand?" I slapped her again, just as hard.

I had set the terms.  

She kept her head down, her cheek turning bright red.  She did not claw at me again.  Instead, she became still, limp.  She had given up, at least for the moment.

"Good Slave," I said.  I would make the moment the rest of her life.

I entered her.

She whimpered as I began.  She was tight, warm, wet.  I pushed in, deep.  It was slow motion; I wanted her to think about it as I pushed it.  I pulled out, then slowly forward again.

I gave her several strokes, a dozen.  I could feel her lower lips gripping my cock, squeezing it.  It was a wonderful feeling.

Her hips began to move, syncing with me.  Rising up to receive, giving her a deeper, harder thrust.

The slave whimpered again and bit her lip.  Her body's will was not her own.

The whimper gave way to a moan.  The moan grew louder and was followed by another.

I wanted to play with her.  Playing with a slave is its own reward.  There is no right or wrong way.  A master enjoys his slave meat any way he likes.  The effect of playing, however, is significant.  It is the nature of the slave's sexual relationship.  She learns what is expected.  To give it.  To be happy with what she receives.

I started by grabbing her by the hair.  She cried out as I yanked her head up and back.  Her torso rose, hands pressed to the fur.  I pulled till her back was fully arched, her chest thrust out.

Such a lovely chest!  Her breasts were perfect.  They hung large, full, and well-shaped with dark pink aureoles.  I wondered how they would look filled with milk.  Breaking the armlock, I squeezed her left breast.  It was warm and yielding.  I pinched the nipple.

"Ai!  Master," she breathed, eyes closed.  "please stop, Master!"

"No," I pinched harder.  This drew another scream.  "This is a master's handling.  See how your slave body craves it?  How does this feel," I gave her a deep thrust.  "How does it feel?" Another thrust.  "Your body speaks the truth, Slave.  Here, now, I am making you listen."

If a slave is unwilling, put her on her back, anyway.  Use fear and firm play to arouse her.  Once she is hungry, use that to gaslight her.  Tell her she wishes to be submitted as your slave but doesn't know it yet.  She will become confused -- that is all you need.    Reinforce her doubt as often as it takes.  Doubt in herself will become a certainty in you.  Resistance becomes yielding, becomes enthusiasm, becomes craving.

There was a long, drawn-out moan as she came.  Her thighs quivered.  Around my cock, her vaginal walls pulsed.  Her mouth hung open, saliva ran down one side.

I found her orgasm were so delicious, I almost came myself.  But I resisted, holding back.  I would force at least another two orgasms out of her.  Orgasms released oxytocin - she would adore me.

I kept on thrusting.  Her buttocks were warm - slap!  slap!  slap!  The impacts went.

"Oh, Master!" she wailed, voice cracking.  "Please, please, enough!  Mercy, Master!"

I slapped her buttocks hard.  She squealed, and her legs jerked.

"Please, no!" her voice cracked.  "I can't, Master!"

I spanked her again, harder.  My palm burned, but the pain felt good.

"Aiii!" she squealed.

I did not give her what she asked for.  A slave begs.  A master refuses.  A slave accepts - and endures.

"You will have more," I spanked her.  "Even more!" another strike.

Next, I put my hand over her mouth.  I pinched her nostrils shut.  My other arm locked around her throat.  She was pinned, head locked, and unable to breathe.  From behind, I kept thrusting.

Her eyes opened wide.  She made a muffled cry; it sounded pitiful.  Beneath me, she bucked her hips and tried to squirm.  Her legs kicked, flailing the air.

"Mmmpphhh!" her screams were useless.

"You may breathe, Slave," I withdrew my hand from her mouth.

She inhaled, gasping.

I slapped her.  Then, I covered her face and pinched her nose shut again.  Behind her, I pushed hard, trying to pin her to the furs.  

"Mmpph!" her scream was muffled.

"You are coming," I said.

Her eyes became half-lidded, dreamy.

"You're going to cum again," I spanked her.  "Right on your master's cock!"

She moaned through my hand.

"Now," I said, letting her breathe.

She gasped for air and cried out.  Her back was arched, and her legs tensed.  I felt her shudder as orgasms ran through her.  Her lower lips squeezed my cock, as if trying to milking it.

"There, Slave," I said.  "That is what your body was waiting for.  You have had two.  Now,"

"No!" her voice was hoarse.

"Yes," I tweaked her nipples.  "This will be three."

"Master!" her eyes were red.  Tears formed.  "Master, please!"

"I will stop," I said.  I took her by her arms, locking them behind her.  I used them as handles to pull her towards me.

"But first, I must finish," I said.

"Oh Great Old One, Cthulhu!"

Her eyes rolled back, and her mouth opened.  She made a sound that was part groan and part sigh.

"Good Slave," I said.

With quick movements, I started ramming her.  There was no play.  I slammed inside her as hard as I could.

"Oh!" she cried out.  "Please, Master!"

She did not resist.  She was too far gone.  Her hips were up, meeting me.  Her arms lay on the furs, unmoving.

She moaned, and I knew she was going to cum.  I had her exactly where I wanted her.

"Here it comes, Slave," I said, gritting my teeth.

"Great Old One, Cthulhu," she sighed.

She came again.  This time, however, I did as well.  I had a big load I'd saved for her.  I forced her face down against the furs.  She cried out, but the sound was muffled.

I held her down and kept her there.  She suffered what she must.  She endured as best she could.

I finished, my whole body relaxing.  I felt a wave of accomplishment and deep satisfaction come over me.

The slave was shaking, her legs trembling.  She was breathing hard, and her mouth hanging open.

"Good Slave," I said.  I slapped her.

She did not respond.  Her head was turned to the side.

I lowered my head to hers.  Her eyes looked up and focused on me.  The slave raised her head, and we kissed.  Even through the kiss, I felt her trembling.

"Good Slave," I said again, stroking her hair and forcing her head back down.  I had taught her her place.

 I sat.  Taking her face in my hands, I pulled her towards me.  On her hands and knees, she crawled.  Her fingers disappeared inside the thick, black fur.  She crouched between my legs, her head over my cock.  Gently, very gently, slowly, very slowly, she licked me clean.  It was done with great tenderness.

I stroked her hair.  It flowed through my fingers like cool water between river stones.  I scratched the pet's head and stroked her back.

I looked about the room at my other chained women.  Ninga had brought up her knees and wrapped her arms around them protectively.  She had survived the whore cages of a rough dockyard brothel.  What she had seen seemed to have taken her back there.  Her head was raised, watching me with the female.  Her expression seemed one of disbelief.  It was, I imagined, at seeming me stroke the girl.

Zana, my East Asian-featured Shang beauty, knelt with her back straight.  Her thighs were closed, and she sat back on her heels.  She had crossed her wrists behind her head.  This was the 'present' stance, except that in that, the thighs are parted and the cunt bared.

“Present, Slave,” I ordered.

Zana parted her thighs wide.  Her labia were wet.  The fur beneath her was matted with her drippings.  Zana blushed and looked down.

"Ha!  Horny little bitch!  Good Slave.  Not like these two.”

On the other two mats were Little Slut and Layla.  Each had a hand between their legs.  Little Slut sat with her legs bent, feet parted.  There was a Slick!  Slick!  sound as her hand worked as fast as it could.  Her expression was strained, her mouth open as her blue eyes fixed on me.  Milk, white and translucent, ran down her breasts and belly.  When aroused, a full girl will drip.  It was a nice side effect of keeping a girl in milk.

Layla, however, stopped masturbating.  Smiling, she held up her fingers, splaying them in front of her face.  Then, staring at me from between the splayed fingers, the pregnant slave began licking them clean.

“Come here,” I beckoned to Little Slut.

"Yes, Master!" she rushed forward on her hands and knees.  The chain at her throat rattled as it was stretched across the floor.  She crawled to me and knelt, her hands on her knees.  Her chest rose and well with heavy breaths.  Her left knee gleamed with wetness from her fingers.

"Ah!" she cried out as the slap connected.  Her face was thrown to the side.  Her hands went to her cheek.  "Oh!" another strike.

“Did I permit you to please yourself, Slave?”

I could see the realization hitting her stunned face.

“N-no, Master!”

I slapped her again.  She cried out and put her forehead down to the furs.

"I am sorry!  Please forgive me, Master!"

“Silence.”

She made no sound.  Her head remained down.

"And you," I pointed to Layla.  Come here."

Layla's eyes seemed more surprised than concerned.  Slowly, she crawled to me.  She put one hand around her belly as if to remind me that she was - till the birth - untouchable.

"Yes, Master," she knelt before me.  She crossed one foot over the other.  Her thighs were parted.  She pushed her long, leash chain over her back.  Then, she put her hands on her knees.

"Do you think you are above discipline now?" I stroked her belly.  An electricity ran up my fingertips as I touched the warm skin.

“No, Master.”

"Good, because you are not." I grabbed her by her wrists and yanked her towards me.  Her eyes became wide with sudden fear, and her jaw dropped.  I kept holding her by her wrists.

Down between my legs, the conquered slave girl kept on licking.

Over in a corner of the room was a pile of chains.

“Little Slut, fetch manacles.”

"Yes, Master!" She crawled to the chains as fast as she could.  She picked out a pair of manacles.  The chain connecting them was short, barely six inches.  She put the chain between her teeth and crawled back to me.  Like a dog presenting a ball for play, and put it down before me.

“Fetch another.”

“Yes, Master!” as she was off again.

I took the pair of manacles.  They were old, dark iron.  Orange corrosion stained the chainlinks.  I opened the cuffs, one-handed.  They were stiff but worked well enough.  I pressed one open cuff to Layla's right wrist and snapped it shut.

“Please, Master!” she begged.

I pulled her right arm behind her back - and towards her left ankle.  This made her stretch and kneel with her back straight.  I fitted the other manacle to the left ankle and locked it shut.

"Master, no!  I am sorry!"

Little Slut returned with the second pair of manacles.  Her red-brown hair fell over her face as she waited on her hands and knees.  I took the manacles from between her teeth.

"Good Slave," I said to her and waved her back.

She returned to her mat.

Then, I shackled Layla's left wrist to her right ankle.  The two sets of manacles crossed over each other, forming an "X".  I pushed her onto her side.  She lay there on the black pleasure fur, hogtied by the chains.  She tugged against them and cried out.

“You can lie like this for a day.”

Her eyes flashed.  Her face contorted and she became the same angry girl she used to be.  The slave who threw tantrums and ran away when she didn't get what she wanted.

“Alright, two days.”

She checked her expression and stared down at the pleasure fur.

"Good," I lowered my head to hers.  I stuck my tongue out and licked her throat.  I enjoyed the taste of salt.  My tongue moved up to her cheek, her eyes, her forehead.  I had not licked her in affection but to dominate.

Always discipline the meat.

Between my legs, the dark-haired slave was done.  She lifted up her head to look at me.  Her large, brown eyes were filled with adoration.  Tears still marked her face.  She laughed, releasing emotion.

"Thank you, Master," her tone dreamy.  "I - I didn't know."

"What didn't you know, Slave?" I stroked her cheek.  She turned her head slightly to kiss my hand.  I allowed it.

“I - it is hard to say.”

"I know, pretty one.  You were not running away to be free.  You were running away to be a slave.  You wanted a man who would treat you like what you are."

I had no idea why she'd run away.  I was still gaslighting her.

“Yes, yes, I think so, Master!”

"Do not worry," I kissed her forehead and held her face with my hands.  "I will keep you at my feet.  Where you belong."

I stood and looked around the room at my women.

“Slaves,” I beckoned.

Ninga, Little Slut, and Zana crawled forward.  They put their lips to my feet and began kissing and licking.  The dark-haired slave got to her hands and knees and did the same.  Even Layla wriggled closer and put her lips to work.

I stood over them; five naked, beautiful slave girls.  I was their god.  They, my pets.  Mine to thrash, fuck, and breed as I liked.  Yet, I would be leaving them.

I was going to fight the war I had started.