Alice Sinclair Gorean style BDSM fiction

"Tell me, Slave, why does Gerard scorn you so?"

Flames flickered in four copper braziers, one in each corner. A scent like sweetened mint rose from a smoking incense burner. The burner floated in a stone basin by a shut window. Freshwater plants climbed their way out the basin’s sides and hung down like creepers. The water rippled as tiny blue fish darted at the surface.

Hanging chained to ceiling hooks were three girls. Iron loop shackles were fitted around their wrists and ankles. Each loop was fastened to a chain. Each set of chains that held a girl hung from a single, large ceiling hook.  

One girl was tall and pale. Silver bands were closed around her ankles, wrists, and throat. She had long, gently curling black hair that hung down almost 3 feet. Her legs were long and graceful, and they ended in the most perfect-looking feet the man had ever seen.

Silver rings pierced the upper corners of her ears. They were anchor points for her veil. This was the thinnest silver chain, hanging between them; and resting over her nose. Silver threads hung from the chain, each threaded with polished, white beads. As she swung slowly on her chains, the beaded threads rippled back and forth.

Her nipples were dark brown. Each had been pierced, though their studs had been removed and now lay on the large bed below. Instead, little hooks had been pushed through each nipple. Hanging from the hooks were little wire cages weighted with coins. The dark-haired girl's breasts were stretched, the weights tugging them downwards.

Two more hooks had replaced studs that had been in her labia. These vaginal lips hung stretched as well, their weighted cages heavier than those pulling at her nipples.

The tall, dark man added another coin to one of the weighted breasts. The girl moaned and gritted her teeth. Her expression seemed strained - sweat was forming on her brow. The man waited a moment, studying her. Then, he added coins to each of the other weights.

The second girl was also tall and dark-haired, but her skin was like rich, dark chocolate. Her hair had been pulled back and forced through a gold tube four inches long, at the back of her head. The hair fell over her shoulder in a glossy, black wave. A golden ring - like one a cow would wear - had been fitted to her nose.

Tight-fitting bands of black leather circled her wrists, ankles, and her throat. They had no locks: each was sewn shut. Each had a fringe of gold coins. The girl turned her head to look upon the man. Her collar’s coins danced as her neck moved. Over her left breast was the mark of Tsathoggua, the Elder God. It had been made with thin, neat, raised lines of scar tissue: the work of several sessions, staked to the ground, a man sitting over her belly as he used a branding wire.

Beside this dark-skinned girl was a small table with large, burning candles on it. She watched the man as he stepped towards her. The dark man picked up three large candles. Her eyes grew wide. He held the candle’s over her back and tilted them down.

The hot wax struck, and she cried out. It turned white as it cooled on her back. She glared at the man, teeth gritted, and swore at him in Mazgar. The man smiled as if amused at the outrage of a kitten and kissed her cheek. This made her tug at her chains and snarl. The man laughed.

The third girl was a tall, pale, brunette. Her long, silk-like hair was disheveled, falling across her face. Her breasts were well formed - and quite large. They jiggled with her small movements. The Hyperborean constellations had been tattooed going around them, in green and black ink, Northern hemisphere on one, Southern on the other.

On her thigh was a simple "X" brand any common slave girl gets. It had been adorned; the four main phases of the moon had been tattooed around it.

Around her throat was a crude iron collar. The green-blue of corroding bronze showed inside its locking mechanism. It was a fused collar; only the heat of a furnace would remove that bronze, now. She would wear her collar till she was culled. Then, like every other part of her, the collar would be reused.

The brunette’s wrists and ankles were held by heavy cuffs of black iron. They were larger than normal, though designed for the slender bone structure of a young woman. They were punitive irons of the sort used for misbehaving girls or by cruel masters. Bronze showed in their locks as well; the slave would never again take a step or raise her hands to a man's cock, without feeling their heavy weight.

She watched the dark man with blue, wary eyes. Her eyes looked down as he stepped towards her as if that would give her protection. Below the girl was a Baghdad Battery - a clay pot with a bimetallic rod of iron and copper. Alongside it was a pitcher of dark grape juice for powering the acid battery reaction. On the floor, alongside the table, were five more clay pot batteries.

Out of the pot, at the end of a gleaming chain, was the electrode. It was a smooth, copper casting shaped like a finger. Beside the electrode was a piece of linen. The dark man used it to pick up the electrode, insulating his own.

The brunette slave girl shuddered, swinging on her chains.

The man poured some of the grape juice into the battery. Then, with the exposed end of the electrode, he brushed the girl’s labia.

She jerked and cried out, eyes wide, mouth open. She tried to bring her thighs together.

The man grabbed her knee to steady her, then stroked her labia again, going up, down, then up again.

The brunette moaned like a wounded animal, throwing her head back. The man laughed and grabbed her by her chin, forcing her head to face him. He kissed her, then spat in her face. She winced as he gave her a spin. The slave girl turned one way, then another, as her chains wrapped and unwrapped themselves. The man lowered the electrode.

"Master Fogrim would have to ask master Gerard sat," said the slave.

This was the fourth and last slave girl in the man's bedroom. She knelt beside the bed, sitting back on her heels, her thighs parted. Her wrists were crossed in front of her, should the man - or any man - wish to bind them. She was a tall blonde. Her build was slender, toned. The hair was long, gently curling, falling to the small of her back. Her irons were simple: just a common collar at her throat and an anklet to take a chain. They had received no special attention as the brunette’s irons had. The only other thing she wore was a linen rag tied around her waist, like a common serving slave’s. She looked down at the floor.

"Oh, I asked your Master," said Fogrim, reaching under the electrocuted brunette to fondle her breasts. "He did not seem to give me an answer."

The man stepped in front of the kneeling blonde. She remained staring down at his feet. Moments passed: for her, they felt like years.

"Is something wrong with you, slave?"

"No, Master. Not that I know of."

"Let us see, then. Onto the bed."

"Yes, Master."

The blonde crawled onto the bed, her hands and knees sinking into the white sheets. On all fours, she turned her back towards Fogrim, then looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Ha! You present a fine ass, Bitch!" He smacked her buttocks and squeezed one. "How many times have I seen these and wish them in my tent at night! You offer yourself, Haley?"

"Yes, Master," her voice was a monotone. "Every girl in my Master's house is yours. Use us however you will."

"Turn and face me, Slave."

She turned around, head tilted back to look up at him.

Fogrim leaned forward, frowning, peering into her eyes. He grabbed her chin and shoved her face this way and that, studying her face. Then, he shoved a finger into her mouth, forcing her to open it. He looked inside, studying her teeth, pushing her cheek and lips aside as he would any other livestock.

"Kneel, Slave. Hands behind your head."

The slave obeyed, rising up on her knees.

Fogrim cupped her breasts: they were large, perky. He gave them a squeeze, fondling her nipples with his thumb.

"There is nothing wrong with your body," he frowned.

"Yes, Mas- oh!"

Her head was thrown to the side as he slapped her. She winced and kept her wrists behind her head. He grabbed the tips of her nipples and gave them both a hard twist. She cried out, jerking back.

"Your reactions are good. Do you fuck like an animal or like a log?"

She did not answer.

Fogrim pushed Haley back down on her hands and knees. He grabbed her buttocks and spread them aside, peering in. His eyebrows rose.

"What's this?"

"I have been wired, Master."

"What does that mean?"

"It is easier to show you, Master. May I?"

Fogrim released her buttocks.

Haley turned and lay on her back. She bent her knees, planting the soles of her feet against the bedsheet. She bared her vagina.

"It is beautiful," said Fogrim.

A row of piercings ran up along both the outer folds. A thin wire of electrum alloy had been passed between them, lacing up her vagina. At both ends, the wire ended in a small knob that could not slip through the piercings.

"Thank you, Master," for the first time in a long while, Haley smiled.

Fogrim's eyes went to the elegant, statuesque lines of her cheekbones and jawline. Then, the wonder of what he just discovered drew his eyes back.

"Is it a punishment?"

"No - I do not think so, Master. Master Gerard learned it from a Hataduri slaver. He told him that in their harems, this is how they keep their women. Even if they are free."

"They keep free women in their harems? Such degenerates!"

"Master like the idea. He had me pierced and laced."

Fogrim reached between her thighs, gripping them. He studied the lacing.

"This is not torture," he muttered. "When did Gerard use you last?"

"A few days ago, Master."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, Master."

"How many days ago, Slave?"

Haley paused.

"Three days, Master."

"What was he wearing?"

"He was - he was wearing blue."

"Did he chain you by your ankle or by your throat, Slave?"

"My throat - I mean, my ankle, Master."

"What room did he use you in?"

"This room, Master."

"This is a guestroom."

He let go of Haley and went to the girl with the perfect feet. Below her on the bed was a small heap of bronze coins. Fogrim picked up five and added them to the weight pulling her right breast.

"Oh no! Please!" Perfect Feet cried out; her expression was one stricken with pain. Her nipple was pulled even lower.

"Master Gerard does not add more than five coins, Master," said Haley, getting to her knees. “To protect the nipples.”

"When did your master use you last?" Fogrim repeated, picking up more coins.

"Two days ago."

"You said three days ago - so which is it, Slave?"

He added the coins to Perfect Feet's other nipple. The girl howled, tears forming. She looked towards Haley. Haley returned her look.

"What was he wearing, Slave?" Fogrim went to the Mazgar slave. She eyed him, her expression now one of uncertainty. Something had changed.

"Well? What was he wearing, Slave?"

Fogrim picked up a candle and ran its flame up and down the Mazgar’s belly. She gasped and winced, flailing in her chains.

"Master, I do not think master Gerard would be happy if you burned his slaves."

"When did he use you?" Fogrim snapped. "What was he wearing?"

"Three days ago, Master! He was wearing blue!"

Fogrim put down the candle and went to the brunette in the fused irons.

“Sister, please!” she whimpered at Haley.

Folded in a pile at the edge of the bed were Fogrim's clothes. He reached into them and drew a small knife. Holding it up, he went to the brunette and grabbed her by her hair. He jerked her head back and held the knife near her face.

"When did Gerard use you last, Slave?"

“Sister!”

"A year ago!” Haley's jaw trembled. Her eyes began to fail, and she began blinking away the tears. “A year and three months ago.”

Fogrim put the knife down.

"Is that when he changed?" He asked. "The Gerard I remembered would not keep candles and weights to use on women."

"Yes, Master," Haley wiped a tear from her eyes. Her face was red. "That is when he changed."

Fogrim stopped and went over to Haley. The girl shrank back, but he caught her by the arm. Fogrim pulled out his penis; it was erect. Haley stared at it like a mouse staring at the snake.

"Do you remember what it looks like?" Asked Fogrim, looking down. "How it feels in your hand."

"Yes," said Haley.

"How can you be sure? Has it not been over a year?"

Haley raised her hand, fingers outstretched, not taking her eyes off his penis. Her fingertips brushed the side of it. Then she touched it again, but this time did not lift them away. She gripped his penis and made the smallest of smiles. Her fingers stroked the tip.

"Do you remember its taste?"

Haley leaned forward, her lips parted. She took his penis in her mouth, opening her jaw wide as she pressed her head forward.

The penis slid against the roof of her mouth and against her tonsils. She closed her eyes. Her head began to rock back and forth.

Fogrim pulled himself away from her. She clutched at the sheets, staring up to him, her expression stunned.

He grabbed her by her wrists. She stared up at him for an instant - and then cried out as he forced her from the bed, to the ground.

She tried to rise up on her hands and knees: Fogrim was upon her in an instant. He yanked her hair back and slapped her. The sound ran through the room like a thunderclap. He shoved her back down, pinning her against the floor.

Haley felt her wrists pulled behind her back and crossed. Fogrim tore the linen from around her waist and bound her wrists with it, instead.

He sat over her back and gripped her throat, squeezing. The slave girl began to choke. He choked her several times, interrupting her breathing. Only once she was gasping for breath did he stop.

Then, he picked her up and threw her across the room.

The tall girl rolled twice, ending up on her back. She got to her knees and tried to crawl away.

Fogrim went to her, grabbed a slender ankle, and yanked her back. She cried out as she pitched forward, back on her belly.

With a chain and fetter attached to an iron floor ring, he cuffed her ankle. Then, he climbed onto her and pushed her legs apart.

"Ah!" Haley’s eyes went wide as Fogrim entered her through her anus.

Just ten hard thrusts, and he was done. A few moments later, he made her kneel and turn to him, her forehead to the stone floor. She felt his hands in her hair as he wiped himself clean with it.

"Is this how he uses his slaves now?" Fogrim pulled her head up to look at his, his hand in her hair. It smeared semen on her forehead. "Like they are meat?"

"Yes, Master," she managed to find the words. Her skin was flushed, her lips parted. Her eyes ran over his body, taking him in. She pressed her knee against his, and pushed out her breasts.

"This is why he will not use you," he ran his fingers over her cheek, brushing over her lips. "This is why you are hidden away. Why he has laced you. Meat is meat, Slave. That is all he wants now. He does not want you."

Haley said nothing.

"I will talk to him," he let go of her hair. "If you won't use you, then he can sell you to me."

"Master! Please, no," she held his hand with both of hers. "Please, let me stay with him!"

"You are too good an animal to be wasted like this. I will take you back to Darfur. I will put you to the plow. Already there, the air grows clear." He put his hand between her thighs and squeezed her crotch. "Before the year is up, you will breed."

He stood.

"My Master will not sell me," she crawled after him across the floor. Behind her, the chain at her ankle went taut.

"He cannot refuse me. I gave him an excellent girl. One he has wanted for a very long time. He is as a brother: he will not deny me the same." He began to dress. "Do not look so glad! Do you no longer wish to feel a cock inside you? Foolish girl. You will be happy in my slave pen. I will do more than just feed you. "These girls know the taste of Gerard's seed so well they can tell what he has eaten in the morning. Soon, you will know the taste of mine, just as well."

He finished dressing and left.

The only sound was the tinkling of chains of the suspended slave girls. Haley remained on her hands and knees on the floor, the weight of her own back suddenly far greater than all the chains in the world.

A bead of semen hung on a lock of her hair just over her eyes. She sat there, staring at it, for a very long time.