Alice Sinclair Gorean style BDSM fiction

Emma Jensen snapped awake as ice-cold water splashed over her.

The twenty-year-old journalism student from the Copenhagen cried out, the iron ‘bird cage’ she was in swinging on its chain as she jerked. She was crammed into it: her knees pressed up against her breasts, her arms clutching her legs for warmth. She shivered, water dripping down her bare body. The iron collar around her throat pressing down on her shoulders was an uncomfortable weight. Reminded of it, she gritted her teeth as she tried to tug it free.

She was in a large, open yard. Her cage was in one corner of it, hanging from a wooden post. There were more posts around her; they were arranged in a block of seven rows, each row was ten posts long. From each post hung a small, black, iron birdcage just like the one she was held in. Squeezed inside them were naked girls. Men walked up and down the rows, some throwing ice water or banging pots to wake any that fell asleep. Emma had been up for two nights running. This was the start of her third day without food or sleep.

In the cage to her left was a tanned, brown-eyed girl with long, shining, dark hair. Her build was delicate and small. She had the clear skin and soft features of an 18-year-old. She stared across the yard with dark, intelligent eyes. Had she been able, or still cared, she would have told Emma she was a Natufian from 15,000 BC, in the region that would one day be known as Israel. The Natufian leaned against the bars of her cage, her wrists tied behind her back as a reward for attempted self-harm. Her face was as blank as a corpse’s. Three red marks had been finger-painted on her thigh.

Two men were standing in front of the Natufian girl’s cage. One held the bucket that he’d just used to drench Emma. The other carried a small pot of red paint. Both had whips at their sides.  

"So," said Bucket looking at the dazed Natufian, "what to make of this one?"

Paint Pot stepped up to the cage and lowered his head towards the girl. Her eyes met his, but there was no other reaction. He reached in and cupped her cheek, then lifted her lip aside with his thumb and studied her teeth, like a vet with an animal.

"This one has forgotten how to feel. She will have to be retaught how."

He unlocked the Natufian girl’s cage and pulled her out to lie on the sand. The fine, clean river sand stuck to her legs. He drew a small knife and cut the rope that bound her wrists. Then, he bunched her hair in one hand and made her sit up straight, pulling at the roots.

"Collar," he said.

Bucket pulled out a heavy, iron collar from a sack at his side. Its pieces were thick, the casting crude. He handed it to Paint Pot.

Paint Pot placed the collar around the Natufian's throat. Her eyes watched as it was done, but her hands took no action. The collar clicked as the two halves shut. The slaver locked it with a key.

"Ground," he pushed her to the sand. The slave put her hands out to catch herself. She turned her head back and looked at the man who had collared her.

"The ground," he pointed to the dirt.

The Natufian lowered herself onto her hands and elbows, her long hair dragging on the sand.

"Say "yes, Master.""

"Yes, Master," she said.

Yes, Master. They had all learned what those words meant back on the galley.

“Enslave me, Master!” cried a girl.  

She was in the cage just past Emma’s, on her right. She was another dark-haired beauty, an Eurasian. She, too was petite, though taller and longer limbed than the Natufian girl. Her build was gently toned, graceful. Her hair was silky, straight, black ink that fell to the small of her back. The eyes were large, the full lips accustomed to pouting. Emma thought she looked about 21. The Eurasian was from the jungle continent Australia would become in the year 31,000 AD. It was named Ansaru then, as were her people. The Ansaru girl squatted, her breasts and face pressed between the bars, her hands gripping them.

“Enslave me, Master!” she called out in Low Hyperborean words they’d all been carefully taught, three days previous. She tugged at the cage bars.

“Ha!” Bucket Man stepped past Emma’s cage and went to the Ansaru girl, instead. “This pretty little bitch seems keen to get my cock in her mouth!”

“She would have to find your cock, first,” said Paint Pot Man. He stepped past Emma’s cage and beheld the Ansaru girl. Her eyes implored him,. He gave in, reached into her cage with both hands. One gripped her by the hair, forcing her head back. The girl bared her throat for him. His other hand fondled her breasts and flat belly.

“Look at that! Pretty Little One is tame as a kitten,” Bucket smiled.

“Let’s see just how tame,” Paint Pot’s hand slipped between her thighs.

The girl whimpered but did not try to draw back.

The two men smiled. Paint Pot dipped a finger one into his paint pot and made a third, red stripe on Ansaru girl’s thigh. She watched his hand on her, keeping still.

Then, he opened her cage.

"Out," he pointed to the sand.

The Ansaru girl, her third stripe still drying on her thigh, quickly climbed out of the cage and knelt on her hands and knees in the sand. She threw her head back, baring her pale throat.

"Sweet, little bitch," Bucket man pulled out a collar and stepped to her. "Ground, Slave!"

The Ansaru lowered herself down to her elbows in the sand. The slaver stood over her, pushing her thick, dark, shiny hair aside and bearing her neck.

"Sweet, little bitch," he said again, running his hand down her neck, along her spine between her shoulder blades, all the way to her buttocks. He gave them a squeeze, then fitted the collar around her throat. He locked it with a key.

"What do you say?" He said to her.

"Thank you, Master," she said in perfect Low Hyperborean.

"Dagon’s Tits!” Paint Pot clapped his hands. “Who taught her that?"

"I did," said Bucket. "I told you, she wants to suck my cock. Go," he pointed to the sand beside the Natufian girl.

"Yes, Master," she replied, crawling on her hands and knees to crouch beside the other slave.

"Don't forget Legs," Paint Pot pointed back to Emma.

Emma had no red marks painted on her thigh.

Bucket and Paint Pot returned to Emma.

"This can't be right," Bucket stared at both of Emma's thighs. Repulsion rose in her at his frank examination. "Has she scraped off her lines?"

"Oi!" Paint Pot cupped his hands and yelled across the yard. "Arad, what did you shit slurpers get up to last shift? You've not done your work!"

"Set’s Burning Piss! You take that back," a large, hairy man with a unibrow yelled back. He and another man were tying a struggling, pale-skinned girl by her wrists between two poles. He pulled on the rope so tight the girl cried out. He finished his knot and then handed a thick, heavy-flailed whip to the other man. He strode over to the bird cages, bushy unibrow frowning, as the other man drew back the whip and struck the slave across her back.

"What are you two cum stains on about?" He stopped in front of them, arms folded.

"How," Bucket began, "Did Second Shift miss this one?"

"We didn't." Said Unibrow.

"Yes you did! She's got no begging marks!" Said Point Pot.

"That's because Legs didn't beg."

"What?" Bucket raised his eyebrows. "Three days caged, and she hasn't begged?”

“Not even once," said Unibrow. "I took it up with First Shift. They said the same. This one just doesn't want to be enslaved."

"Maybe she doesn't understand?" Said Paint Pot.

"No, we checked on that as well." He regarded Emma. "Willst du ein slave sein?"

"Nein," said Emma, her eyes narrowing. The words stuck to her try mouth. Her lips were cracked. Unibrow's shift had given her no water. She had refused their offer of a cup of urine, instead. Other girls had not.

"What did you say to her?" Asked Bucket.

"What the scribe told me to."

"What did she say?"

"Well, it wasn't ‘yes, Master,’ was it, Moron?" said Unibrow.

"Real shame, beauty like this,” said Bucket, looking Emma up and down. “Good skin, though; she’ll make some fine leather."

"No,” Unibrow shook his head. “We can’t give her to the cullers. Just take her out, and put her with those two."

"But she hasn't begged," said Bucket.

"Not once,” said Paint Pot. “She’s for the culling.”

Unibrow leaned in, his voice becoming quiet. "Do you want to tell Gerard that you couldn't break the girl who came from his own time? She was presented to him! They spoke! His Fucking Swordship doesn’t give audiences to fresh meat, does he?”

"Well, it's not our fault!" Bucket cried.

"So? Nobody cares, Friend. Third is last, so it falls on you."

"Well, First and Second should've done something!" Said Paint Pot. “You can roast in the fire along with us!”

"Fine. If that’s how you want to do this,” said Unibrow. He regarded Emma, his lip curling in contempt. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not getting in trouble because of this haughty bitch and her endless legs.”

Across the yard, two men opened a wooden gate and an open cart drawn by a pair of brown oxen clattered in. Riding at the front were three men wearing black hoods with eye-holes. The cart pulled to the side, and they got down. All three wore heavy, stained aprons like a farmyard butcher’s. The first was a small-made man with a gleaming knife at his side. The second was gangly man with a hunch, more like a giant, loping, ape. He carried a club made from a sawn-off, human, thigh bone. A stone club head had been tied to one end. Its other had been sharpened into a stabbing point.

It was the third man who most stood out. He was a giant of a man with arms like tree trunks. Slung over his back was a double-headed battle axe.

The three men leaned against their cart, heads jerking as they spoke. Nearby slavers stared at them. The giant turned and stared back, and the slavers looked away.

“They’re early,” said Paint Pot. “And who’s the big bastard? I’ve never seen him before.”

“Me neither,” said Bucket. “What do we do?”  

Unibrow turned and clapped his hands and waved to his partner, who was still whipping the girl between the posts. Whipper stopped, leaving his subject hanging against her ropes, and came over. He still held the heavy whip in his hand.

“Here’s what we do," Unibrow turned to Bucket and Paint Pot. “You two, get her out of the cage and chain her with those two,” he motioned to the Natufian and the Ansaru, crouching naked in the sand. “With any luck, she'll learn from them."

All three men regarded Emma.

"Do it now, before Bukra starts counting the One and Two Stripes.”

Bucket opened the cage. Emma tried to shrink back, but he grabbed her by her ankles and yanked her long legs out. She cried out and clutched at the bars, but they wrenched her out and threw her to the sand.

"Hold her down," said Paint Pot.

Emma thrashed as the four men pinned her belly down on the sand holding her arms and legs. She felt a wet finger making marks over her left thigh, then Paint Pot’s breath as he blew to dry it.

"Raise her for the collar," he said.

A man holding each arm, another holding her ankles, they pulled Emma to her knees. Paint Pot stood in front of her and opened collar in his hands.

"No!" She cried, jerking and struggling, "no!" She tried to bite Unibrow's hand.

Her face exploded and she saw stars. Her cheek and mouth were stinging. She tasted iron from the blood from her lip. Emma was stunned: she had never been struck before.

Paint Pot acted: he placed the cold, heavy iron around her throat. The metal was rough against her skin, the weight pushing down on her collarbones. There was a loud clack! just beneath her ear as it snapped shut. Through the metal she felt the grinding of the key and the tumblers slotting into place.

"Look at that!" Said Unibrow, smiling. "So beautiful, and now, more so, with just a bit of iron!” He licked his lips.

Emma became very aware of their eyes, feasting on her. Their hands on her skin felt as heavy as any chain.

“She’s as raw as the day we caught her,” said Paint Pot. “We’ll catch it, for this.”

“No, we won’t,” said Unibrow. "Look, all the bitch needs is a good, hard whipping. Then she’ll do as she’s told, sweet as any bed-chained meat."

The other men assented.

"Let's whip her then," said Paint Pot.

They dragged Emma across the yard to the whipping posts.

There were five sets of whipping posts arranged in a line. Each set was two wooden poles about 7 feet high, spaced as many apart. A tall, dark-skinned beauty was bound at one set; her wrists and ankles secured in an "X", the ropes pulled taut. A man holding a whip in each hand struck her buttocks with them. She jerked and screamed, throwing her head back. Red marks had formed on the backs of her thighs, right up to her shoulders.

At another, a pale, blonde girl hung against her wrist bindings, face red, weeping. Her trainer stepped behind her and groped her breasts and pelvis. He nuzzled her cheek and licked her tears. She turned her head to his and they kissed. Then, he stepped back, drew his whip, and struck her across the back.

The men pulled Emma between two poles. Rough, corded rope went around her wrists and ankles. She tried to tug herself loose, but it was useless.

"Raise her up," said Unibrow.

Two men yanked on the ropes that held her wrists, and they went taut. A second yank jerked her into place, exactly between the poles. Pain burned along her outstretched arms. She cried out as the third yank lifted her up, off her feet. She kicked her legs, struggling. Then, the men pulled the ropes holding her ankles as well, till she couldn’t move her feet even an inch. She hung there, suspended in an "X", her arms and legs on fire.

"I'm going first," said Unibrow. “Move!”

Hyperborean men enjoy many things. One pleasure they value over most, however, was to take a feisty, stubborn girl brand new to slavery and giving her a long, hard whipping she would remember for the rest of her life. 

Unibrow stepped back, picked out a large, leather whip with three flails, and studied Emma's back. She could feel his eyes on her, all their eyes. What were they doing? She thought. What were they waiting for? What-

With the grace of hours of practice, Unibrow lashed her behind.

Emma screamed, her whole body jerking forward, the ropes biting into her skin. Her buttocks quivered from the blow, and the men laughed.

“Did you like that, Legs?” said Unibrow. “Sounds like you did. What do you think, boys?”

“I need to hear it again,” said Whipper.   

Unibrow brought another stroke down on her back. The pain was excruciating: she felt like she'd been stung by a whole nest of wasps. Unibrow knew his trade. A third stroke favored her thighs and calves. She threw her head back and shouted: it was a raging, primal, animal scream. It surprised even her.

"Good sound on that one," said Whipper. "Good sound" meant a slave wasn't expressing in words. Instead, she had gone deeper into primal reactions. In both pain and in pleasure, Emma would be tuned for it. It encouraged slaves to be uninhibited and animalistic - and to be handled so, in kind.

Unibrow gave her six good strokes. Whipper, not to be outdone, gave her seven. There was debate whether she had had enough at that point. It was decided no, but that Bucket and Paint Pot could only give her three strokes, each. It was deemed acceptable for them to change to a heavier whip, though. In this way, Emma of Copenhagen, who had never been struck in her life, received 19 heavy lashes.

When they finished, they untied her and let her fall to the ground. Emma lay there, staring at the sand, her beaten body throbbing with pain. She had not been bruised - the slavers knew their craft.

"Now, the bitch is ready," said Unibrow. “Second has done Third’s work. Again.” He turned and left with Whipper.

Paint Pot got down on one knee in front of Emma. She whimpered and brought her hands up to protect herself, her body going into a fetal position. Paint Pot pushed her hands aside and grabbed her by her collar. She clutched at his arms as he fixed a chain to her collar, leashing her.

"Go," Paint Pot stood and pointed to where the Natufian and the Ansaru girl lay, back at the bird cages.

Emma's body burned; she wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

"Go, Slave," said Paint Pot again. His hand went to his whip.

Emma cried out and sprang to her hands and knees. She started crawling, the leash chain dragging in the sand beside her. Paint Pot grabbed its end; Emma felt her collar dig into her shoulders as the chain went taut. She stopped and looked down at the sand.

Bucket whistled.

"Look at that! Such a beauty! Imagine having her begging for your cock every night!"

“Legs is a long, long way from that,” said Paint Pot, looking down at Emma. “But she just might get there.”

She looked up at him and saw he was smiling. She turned and looked back down at the dirt. Paint Pot tugged at her chain and began walking back to the bird cages. Emma followed after him on her hands and knees.

All along the birdcages, slave girls had been pulled out and now lay crouching on the sand, in threes. They looked up as men walked up and down along the cages, whips in their hands. All the girls lying in the sand had been collared.

Three girls remained caged. Men had gathered around them, shaking their heads and crossing their arms. One man poked a stick through the bars at a tall, blonde Amazon with green eyes. The blonde snarled and grabbed it. The man pulled it free and whacked the side of the cage. She snarled again and lunged for him, hand clawing the air. She had two stripes painted on her thigh.

In another cage, a dark-haired girl with Middle Eastern skin tone sat with her knees drawn up, eyeing the men around her. One holding a small paint pot held it up for her to see and then pointed to the hooded men at the ox cart. She looked towards the cart, then back at the man, then turned her head away. She had only one begging stripe on her thigh.

In a third cage was a tall, athletic, redhead with long hair falling to the small of her back. She squatted and gripped the bars of her cage, shrinking back when any men peered at her. She had blue tattoos of simple, geometric shapes on her arms and back - Marsh Tribe markings. The tribal girl’s breasts were large and jiggled as she fidgeted. She had one stripe on her thigh.

The three hooded men began walking to the bird cages.  

“Do you think he knows this happens?” said Bucket.

“Course he knows. He’s not stupid,” said Paint Pot.

“Then why doesn’t he stop it?”

“Because he wants his slaves, doesn’t he? The powerful always know, Friend. They just like to pretend they don’t.”

The two slavers walked back, leading Emma. They lined her up alonside the Natufian and the Ansaru. The other two slaves looked at her, their eyes uncertain.

Bucket produced a short chain. He went to the delicate Natufian beauty, grabbed her by her collar, and chained her. He then seized the Ansaru by her hair and positioned her beside the Natufian; shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. The Ansaru looked up at him as he attached the other end of the short chain to her collar. Bucket looked to Emma and snapped his fingers.

"Come here, Legs," he said.

All eyes were on Emma. She looked to Bucket and the two slave girls, then back at Paint Pot and his whip.

She crawled to Bucket.

She felt his rough fingers digging into her throat as he grabbed her collar and yanked her up by it to kneel facing him. Her beaten body cried out, still stinging. He took the free end of Emma’s her chain and attached it to the Ansaru girl’s collar. All three girls were now chained together. They would be trained, punished, and, if need be sold, as a set.

The hooded men reached the bird cages, stopping first at the green-eyed blonde. Her cage was opened. The slavers hauled the blonde, screaming and kicking, to the dirt. Two slavers held her down while a third crossed her wrists and ankles and bound them. Secured, they stepped back from the girl.

The hooded men stepped forward.

They crouched beside the girl, peering up at her. The Small One ran his hand down her back, pulled out a marked length of twine, and held it to her legs to measure their length. The Gangly One ran his fingers through her hair, studying it, ignoring her red, glaring face. The Giant One squeezed her arms as if checking her muscle tone.

An older slaver walked up to them, Unibrow at his side. Small One pulled a silver coin from a pouch, and placed it on the blonde girl’s back, and regarded the old slaver.

The slaver folded his arms and frowned.

Unibrow and the Small One began talking. Their voices began to rise. The Gangly One put his hand on his club. Then, the Giant One said something, and the Small One added a bronze coin to the silver one.

The older slaver nodded, and Unibrow picked up the coins. The blonde had been sold. The three hooded men went on to the next caged girl. The old slaver and Unibrow followed them, and the examination and haggling began anew. Meanwhile, a slaver took the sold blonde by her bound feet and dragged her, bumping along the sand, to lie in front of all the crouching, chained girls. She squirmed in the sand, his foot on her back, pinning her.

The sale of the three girls who didn’t break brought their captors five silver and four bronze - less than half what just one of their collared sisters had become worth. Soon, all three were bound and lined up in the sand. The hooded men’s ox cart was brought alongside them.

“You will watch this,” Paint Pot grabbed Emma by the hair and under her jaw, forced her head up. Beside her, Bucket had both her chain sisters by their hair, making them look forwards. Emma looked about; slavers were doing the same with the other collared girls. “You will watch, Legs, and be grateful for what we’ve just saved you from, by Set!”

The Small One went first. He paced up and down behind three girls, studying each. The red-headed Marsh tribe girl stared at him; her head turned back. He returned the gaze and stopped before her. For a few moments, all they did was stare at each other.

Then, he drew a blade, squatted by her side, and slit her throat.

Screaming broke out among the slaves.

"Oh, Christ!" Emma cried. "Oh God!"

The redhead thrashed once, twice, and lay still. Blood expanded in the sand around the body. Blood sprayed on the dark-haired girl, bound beside her. She tried to roll away.

The Gangly One caught her by her ankles. She screamed and tried to kick herself free. He held her feet up, letting her kick. His grip on her was firm. Then, he drew his club and smashed it down on her face. The sound of the skull cracking rang out through the yard like a clay pot smashing. The body went still.

There was a second wave of screams. The Natufian closed her eyes tight and began chanting, again and again. The Ansaru began to whimper, looking this way and that. She tried to rise, but Bucket planted his boot on her back and shoved her back down in the sand.

“Watch,” he said. “Remember what you see here.”

Weeping and babbling, the green-eyed girl was wriggling away on the sand. The Giant One watched her, taking short steps to keep pace. She looked up, saw him looming, and howled. As she tried to squirm away, he stepped on her throat. Gasping and choking, she pleaded with him.

He stepped off, drew his axe, and chopped off her head.

There was a third round of screaming and weeping as the girl’s head rolled in the sand. Emma looked away. Paint Pot glared and pointed to the whipping posts.

“You bastard!” she turned and looked back at the butchers.

“Alright,” said the old slaver, “Let’s get these beasts in their cages.”

“We’re not done, Old Man,” said the Giant.

“Yes, you are,” said Unibrow.

“No. We’re not,” the Giant pulled off his hood. Revealed was a dark-haired, bearded man with a wolf’s eyes. “You want them to learn? We’re going to show them.”

“You’re not skinning them, here,” said Unibrow.

“Maybe you need to learn,” the giant wolf smiled.  

Some of the slavers exchanged glances. A pair of guards came forward, hands on their clubs. The Small One and the Gangly One turned to face them. Their blades dripped.

“Another time, then,” said the wolf, still smiling. “A shame. Your leader was keen to learn.”

“What do you know of him, Butcher?” spat Unibrow.

“Come closer, and I’ll tell you.”

Unibrow did not.

“Just let Gerard know,” The wolf grabbed the body by its leg, “that his old friend Gudea from Red River is here. Tell him I’m ready to pay him back.”