Slavegirl in Training
by John Savage
Smashword Edition
Copyright 2009 John Savage
Published by Strict Publishing International
Smashwords Edition Licence Notes
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Chapter One
Rude Awakening
Tanya awoke when she felt the cords biting viciously into her wrists. Sleep fell away immediately and her eyes popped open to find her bedroom illuminated by flickering light from the fireplace in the main room. Waking with the speed of youth, she realized that she was lying on her stomach on her bed, and that someone was binding her wrists together behind her back. She twisted her head around, enough to see that the man was her own father.
“Daddy, what are you doing?” she cried. “You’re hurting me.”
Her father made no response save to jerk the knots tight. Then Tanya felt his knee pressing down on the back of her legs, followed by his strong hands gathering her ankles together. And then the bite of more cord around them.
“Daddy, why are you tying me up?” she pleaded.
She twisted her wrists and found that the cords were very tight and it was impossible to tug her hands free. With her ankles bound, she felt the weight of his knee lift from her. She rolled onto her side to stare up at him. She was afraid, for she smelt the wine on his breath and she knew he was drunk again. More than once he had tried to crawl into her bed while drunk. Luckily, she had been able to avoid his advances. Even in the primitive culture of her small village, a father did not have sex with his daughter. And she had made sure that he did not.
But this was different. Tanya was very aware that the cords binding her made her totally helpless. If he were to touch her now, there was nothing she could do. Their humble home was half a mile from the nearest neighbor and her screams would be heard only by the two of them. Her blanket was on the floor, leaving Tanya clad only in her nightshirt, which had ridden up during the brief, one-sided struggle to reveal most of her long legs. She wanted to pull it back down but with her wrists crossed and corded behind her, she could not. She curled her legs up and lay there, breathing hard and fearful of what would come next.
The dark silhouette of her father was swaying slightly. More fully awake now, she could smell the almost overpowering odor of cheap wine mixed with brandy. Had he drunk a whole bottle again?
“Daddy, please untie me. Please ...?”
The farmer turned and went back into the main room of the small house. Tanya struggled to swing her feet over the edge and sit up on the bed. When her father came back, a bottle of wine was held in his hand. He stood leaning against the door frame.
“Daddy, what are you doing?” Tanya begged.
“Sorry...” The word came out slurred. “Have to do it...”
“Do what, Daddy?” asked Tanya, afraid for her virginity.
“They’ll be here soon,” he said.
“Who?” his daughter pleaded. He did not reply, instead taking drink from the bottle. “Please. Who will be here?” She was puzzled and still afraid. Who was coming and why was she tied up?
“His men. Come for you. Midnight.”
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Her father staggered off to answer it. A few seconds later two men came into view in the firelight. They were wearing the dreaded black uniforms of the Secret Police. Tanya felt a cold knot of fear form in her stomach. This was something much more than her father pawing her body when he was drunk.
One of them came into her room, carrying a candle from the kitchen. He looked her over and Tanya wanted to shrink back from his lecherous gaze. She could do nothing about her bare legs and felt uncomfortable as his gaze roved over her body. For a few seconds he stared at the bulges in the front of her nightshirt, and then suddenly reached out to grab one breast. Tanya pulled back but he had felt her breast enough to know that they were both large and nicely formed. And firm in the way that only an eighteen year old youth can be. The legs on display before him were very fine, as was the face framed by long black hair. Tanya was obviously a very nice looking young woman. The officer leered evilly in the candlelight.
“Daddy!” Tanya called. “Help...” she added, weakly.
The officer calmly reached down and grabbed a handful of her long hair. Tanya cried out as he pulled her to her feet. Then he bent over, put his shoulder into her stomach and picked her up. In the front room he deposited her in a chair. Tanya looked frantically around for help but was greeted by the sight of the other officer counting out money into her father’s hand. The glow in her father’s eyes as he looked at the pile of currency told Tanya the complete story.
Theirs was an old country and a poor one, and the custom of selling a child, while technically illegal, was still practiced. With her mother passing away a year before, Tanya was the only thing left to her father, who had taken to drinking. Now he had liquidated his last major asset in return for enough money to keep him drunk for a long, long time. Tanya wanted to spit on that foul money. And to wish him a quick death with his insides rotted out by cheap wine and brandy.
They had never been close, and his action that night killed whatever kindly feelings towards him left in the beautiful teenager. She was glad to be getting out of there. But to what kind of future? The ropes hinted it would not be pleasant.
The money having been paid out, the other officer turned his attentions to Tanya. Just then a third officer came into the room, pushing a dolly with a wooden box on it. He set it down on the floor with a thud. The lid was opened on hinges and Tanya had a sinking feeling as she realized that the box would hold her - if she were curled up into a ball. And there were holes cut in the sides; small holes but enough to admit air.
She was pulled to her feet again, and one man began untying the rope on her wrists. Tanya felt a surge of hope. If they were taking the ropes off, maybe she could make a run for it...
But hope was short lived. As soon as her wrists were separated, the man took the edge of her shift and lifted it over her head. The move had surprised her, and it was a second before she could resist, which only earned her a slap that sounded surprisingly loud in the small room. Then the nightshirt was off and tossed aside, leaving Tanya standing naked before these strangers, holding her stinging cheek.
She moved one hand to cover her shiny black pubic patch, and the other arm across her breasts. At the slap, her father had started forward, a protest forming on his lips. But the officer who had given him the money turned and placed a hand on his chest. With a shove, her father was pushed backwards to hit the wall, and then to sink down to the floor. The money fell from his hand and scattered around his feet.
“It is out of your hands now, old man,” sneered the officer. “Stay out of our way. She is ours now.”
Her father hung his head and stayed on the floor. He would not meet the frantic eyes of his only daughter.
Meantime her arms were grabbed by the two men and forced behind her. She was a young, healthy girl but her strength was no match for two men. The arms were pulled behind her and twisted up until her wrists were crossed up between her shoulder blades. Then she felt rope being wrapped around those wrists, tightly and without regard for how much it hurt her. The wrists were lashed both directions and then rope was passed up and around her neck. It made that journey several times before being knotted tightly. When the man’s hands left her arms, she found that she could not pull her hands down for to do so would be to strangle herself.
Then he sat her back down on the chair and began binding her legs. Again, they were inconsiderate of her comfort and wrapped the ropes deeply into her young flesh, cinching each binding down and knotting the ropes with vicious jerks. Tanya began to cry softly. She had never felt so helpless in her life. Never had she been tied up, and the tight ropes both hurt and made her feel strange. And being naked before strange men was a new and horrible feeling.
Ignoring her tears, she was picked up and placed into the box, pushed down until she was sitting on the bottom with her legs doubled up and her knees under her chin. Before the lid came down, a wad of rolled up cloth was shoved into her mouth then secured in place with a wide band of leather that buckled behind her head and had a strap that went under her chin. It was jerked very tight before the buckles were closed. Tanya tried to cry out but the noise was muffled by the gag. Then the lid came down, forcing her to bend her head forward and pushing her chin into her knees. She could hear the padlock clicking on the hasp and knew she was locked in. It was the strangest thing that had ever happened to her, and the most frightening. A little light trickled into her wooden prison, but her view was limited to her knees and wooden walls only a couple of inches away.
The crate jerked as the dolly lifted it, then creaked as she was rolled out of the only home she had known in her life. The crate was loaded into some kind of vehicle, none too gently. She bumped into the sides several times before settling down. Then she felt a swaying motion along with bumps that told her they were driving off. But to what kind of future?
Tanya cried in the darkness.
Had the beautiful young woman been able to see outside her crate, she would have seen the inside of a truck, and beyond that the countryside she knew and loved sliding past. Eventually, after several hours of despair and discomfort, she would have seen the truck approaching a sinister castle. This was an old land that had seen many kings, invaders, and hardships. A stone castle was not at all out of place nestled in the mountains of that ancient landscape. There was even a drawbridge that the truck bounced over.
Eventually her crate was taken out of the truck and hauled a long distance before again coming to a rest. More time passed. Her shoulders, arms and neck ached. Several times during the trip she had violently fought the ropes. It had only gained her sore wrists and ankles, and left her frustrated and angry. And very scared. It was no fun to be so very helpless, but it was whatever might be ahead that scared her the most.
A faint sound came to her ears, the distant booming of thunder, not at all uncommon this time of year. But no one came to release her from discomfort that had long since edged its way into outright pain.
The rumble of an angry storm became louder and more frequent. Then there came the sound of metal upon metal as the key was inserted in the lock and turned. The lid opened, and bright light blinded her as strong hands gripped her naked body and lifted her from the box. Blinking, she could just make out that she was standing in a hallway of some kind. One wall was of stone blocks, the other of paneled wood. She had been placed on her feet facing a door. Behind her, the box was closed and hauled away, leaving her in the firm grip of two Black Shirts. Their grip was needed because her legs trembled from the long confinement and the fear that coursed through her.
One opened the door, then both of them lifted on either side and she was carried into the room. Immediately she saw a large fireplace, thick carpets, and some furniture, then she was being set down on a bear skin rug before the fireplace, and forced down to her knees. “Stay,” one guard ordered, and then the hands were gone and the guards walked out.
The fire beamed warmth at her, a welcome change from the night cold that had penetrated her wooden prison during the long drive. For a moment, Tanya wondered if she could shuffle over closer to the crackly flames to warm herself. But the guard had told her to stay, and she was afraid to disobey. She had not been told to not look around, so she slowly took in her surroundings. The only light was from the fire, its radiance making her bare skin glow golden in contrast with the white ropes and black fur patch just showing between her legs. There were some hunting trophies on the wall where enough light fell for her to see, and wooden paneling all around. Through two windows she could see flashes of lightning, accompanied a few seconds later by cracking and rumblings.
It was only now that she saw the man. He was sitting behind her and had not spoken at all. Tanya twisted round to look at him, trying to guess what game this was. He was middle aged with patches of gray streaking his otherwise black hair. He was slender, bore a neatly trimmed van Dyke beard, and was dressed in a robe of blue velvet. In his hand was a large brandy snifter. But it was his eyes that caught her attention and held it. They were dark black, and even in the glow of the firelight, seemed to have no color at all. It almost looked as if he had no eyes at all, just deep holes, windows into a soul as black as the night.
“What is your name?” He spoke with a deep voice, one used to giving orders.
“I am Tanya,” replied the naked and bound woman hesitantly. She went on to give her last name and the village where she was born, but he waved it off.
“You no longer have a last name. Citizens have last names and villages. Slaves do not. From this night forth, you will be called ‘Slave Tanya’. Repeat that.”
Tanya’s beautiful face twisted in puzzlement. What kind of game was this, indeed?
“Repeat your name,” he said calmly. But the menace in those eyes was unmistakable. It scared her more than if he had shouted.
“Slave Tanya,” she stuttered. She did not like the sound of it.
He rose from his chair and calmly walked in a half circle, his eyes taking in all of her lovely young body. He stopped near the fireplace and she turned back to face him. Tanya wished her arms where not bound behind her so she could cover herself from his gaze. It was a look that made her flesh crawl, and made her feel dirty.
“Just to set matters straight,” he began, “you are now my property. I have bought and paid for you.” Again he waved off her words as she began to protest. “I know what you are going to say. Slavery is illegal in our country. True. It has been so for over a hundred years. But slavery still exists. Most of our land is poor. Sometimes a pretty daughter is all that a family has. And there are men, such as myself, with power and money. The money buys the girl; the power assures that the laws of the land are ignored. This is the way it is.”
“Please ...” Tanya began. “I do not understand. And my arms hurt. My hands are numb. Could you please untie me?”
“First lesson, slavegirls do not talk unless told to. After this first transgression, you will be punished if you speak without permission.” He paused to sip brandy. “And your situation is quite simple. You are now my property. I own you. I can do anything to you that I wish: use your body for sex, have you whipped, even kill you if I wish, and no one will object.”
Tanya felt a lump in her throat and a cold feeling in her stomach. This could not be happening!
“Over the next few months, 1 will slowly train you to be a good, obedient, submissive slavegirl whose only thought is to please her Master. That, by the way, is how you will address me. I am ‘Master’, nothing else. Do you understand?”
Tanya tried to lick her lips but found her mouth was dry. “Yes,” she weakly forced out.
With a sudden step forward, the man reached down and slapped her face. The noise was loud in the room, and Tanya cried out in surprise and pain.
“Do you understand?”
Tanya was not educated, but she was smart. His meaning came through. “Yes, Master,” she said, hating the words. A loud crash of thunder accentuated her feelings.
“Better. Your training will proceed slowly because I enjoy breaking young women and training them to be slave-girls. I could do it quickly; there are ways. Severe pain, sleep deprivation, even drugs. But I prefer the ancient ways, the ways our people used hundreds of years ago when our land was strong and thousands of slaves were dragged back in chains by our soldiers.”
He tossed off the last of the brandy. “And now,” he said grandly, “your first lesson in pain. Guards!” Two Black Shirts came in. “Take her to the dungeon. You know what to do with her.”
Tanya’s face reflected the suddenly intense fear within. “But...” she began to say as the guards picked her up by the bound arms. Whatever else she had planned to say was lost as they dragged her out of the room and down the hallway.
The dungeon was down a long flight of stairs carved out of stone. Visions of the horror stories told to little children flashed into her mind. There were vampires and ghouls in the mountains, and innocent victims were tortured in the deep dungeons of the castles where no one would hear their screams.
It was everything Tanya feared it would be. Dark stone walls surrounded an area filled with instruments of torture. Fires danced in braziers, and shackles hung from the walls, empty but awaiting prisoners. And there was a man dressed in black. Not the uniform of the Secret Police, but black leather, tight about his slender body, including a mask and hood over his head, transforming him into something more than human, or perhaps less, but certainly something evil.
He pointed silently and the guards took her to where he indicated. One went to the nearby wall and used a pulley to lower something out of the shadows and into the light above Tanya’s head. It was a hangman’s noose. She almost fainted at the sight of it. Had not that man told her that he could have her killed?
But, even now, she was still capable of thinking rationally. The man would not have paid good money for something he planned to kill immediately.
Or would he?
The noose was fitted over her neck and snugged down. The bulk of the noose was behind her head, and she felt it tighten down as the pulley clicked and creaked behind her, pulling her upward. When she was almost standing on her toes, the noise stopped and the two guards left her.
The man in black came forward to stand before her. For a few seconds, he looked her body over, from the long, lovely raven tresses, to the fine breasts and flat tummy, and down the long, shapely legs. “I am going to whip you,” he said with a voice that might have come from a snake. It hissed in the damp air of the dungeon.
“What?! Oh, no ...” uttered Tanya, her mind rushing to comprehend what was happening to her. “You can’t mean that.”
He laughed, a cold, evil laugh that sent shivers down her spine. Then he went to a wall to select a whip. Tanya’s eyes followed him in disbelief. She was aware of how helpless she was, naked and still tightly bound, and with that noose half strangling her. He returned with the whip. It was about three feet long and of black, braided leather. It was the most horrible thing Tanya had ever seen.
He gave no warming of the first stroke. It simply lashed out as if the whip had a life of its own, to strike her bare bottom and place a thin line across both cheeks, a line that immediately began turning red.
Tanya gasped loudly with unexpected and intense pain. When her body jerked in instinctive reaction, her toes slide along the bare stone and for a brief second she was hanging by her neck. The thick, rough rope of the noose closed around her throat like clutching hands, squeezing until no air could pass. She gagged and immediately sought to get her feet beneath her. Fortunately, when she again was supporting most of her weight on the balls of her feet, the noose loosened enough for her to suck in air.
“Please, I’ll die!” she begged.
“Not if you keep your feet under you.”
“But it hurts so much!”
His reply was a laugh.
Tanya’s eyes were wide with fear. Her bottom burned where the whip had kissed it, and she instinctively knew that there would be more. And there was. Again the whip lashed out to touch her smooth and firm rear, marking the tender skin with a vicious line of pain. This time, Tanya screamed. Never had she felt such pain.
He took his time between strokes, giving her ample chance to recover from the last stroke before delivering another dose of agony. Tanya’s hands would have flown down to cover her injured bottom, but the ropes holding them high up on her back were still tightly in place. Her jerking at the bound wrists made the rope that passed around her neck press hard against her, but not as tightly as the noose. She made an effort to force herself to cease pulling on her hands.
It was taking all her concentration to keep her feet under her with each impact of the leather against her bottom. Her body wanted to react, wanted to dance around, to flee that horrible whip. But she dared not move her feet, not even a few inches. As soon as she was not high on her toes, the noose tightened down and air became impossible to suck in.
Tanya did not count the burning lines of pain being drawn on her bare flesh. If she had, as her tormentor did, she would have found the whipping lasted exactly twenty strokes. Both globes of her bottom were crisscrossed in an even pattern of discolored flesh in swollen ridges. Sobs racked her naked body between the screams, and tears flooded down her lovely face to fall upon her breasts.
It was a while before she realized that a long time had passed since the last flash of pain. Was it over? She opened eyes blurry with tears. No, he was still standing there, the whip in his hand. But this time he was standing in front of her. Tanya whined in fear as she realized that her breasts were an available target. No woman wants to be whipped on her breasts, it is almost as much a psychological torture as a physical one.
But he had his orders not to mark up those lovely breasts as he had the round bottom. He switched to a strap, one inch wide and also of leather, but designed to deliver a sting without damaging the flesh. The whip would have done more damage than was desired – at least for the moment.
Tanya screamed as she saw the blow coming, even before it landed across her left breast. Then her scream was renewed as pain shot into her body from the abused breast. Her legs lifted as her body tried to curl into a ball to protect the injured parts and her full weight taken by the noose around her neck, choking and strangling her. Quickly she fought her automatic impulses, and managed to get her feet under her. It had been close. She had felt a great pressure in her head, heard a roaring in her ears, and the dungeon had started to fade into black. Rapidly she sucked air into her lungs.
“Please...” she whined. “No more. No, no, no ...”
He smiled under his mask and there was more. Only four strokes across the breasts, followed by another four across the front of her hips. The impact was felt by her sex, but since the blow did not land directly there, the pain was not as severe as it might have been.
* * * * *
When he put the instrument of pain away, Tanya was weak-kneed, moaning, and trembling all over. The man came over and took the noose off her neck. Gratefully, she sank to the cold and tear-stained floor. Then he was working at the knots of the bindings on her legs. Once those ropes were removed, he unknotted and removed the ropes on her wrists. Her arms had to be gently pulled down from their crossed position high on her back. They hung limply while Tanya cried softly in response to the pins and needles of returning circulation adding more pain to her suffering.
The man in black picked her up and carried her over to a cell set in one wall. There he placed her on a short wooden bench. She cried out as her abused bottom came in contact with the hard wood, but remained seated because she did not think her legs would support her.
The man turned her body and pulled her hands behind her back then locked them into a pair of heavy handcuffs. Turning her around, he knelt down and locked a similar pair on her ankles, shackling her feet only a few inches apart. Reaching up to the wall behind her, he brought down a metal collar like the handcuffs, only larger. When he fitted it around her neck, the hinged half circle closed perfectly into the other half, securing her neck with only a very little space between the skin and metal.
He backed out and closed the door. It was locked but Tanya paid little attention to what he was doing. Her whole world was filled with relief that the whipping had stopped and the pain would not get worse. She was so happy that she almost cried with joy - even as she was crying with the pain of a battered and injured bottom and breasts.
After many long minutes, her tears slowed and she began to become aware of things other than the pain in her tender parts. She looked around her cage. The neck collar, she quickly found out, was attached to the wall by a short length of stout chain. She could not stand, nor could she lie down. Sitting on the bench was her only choice, unless she wanted to stand with bent legs.
The man was back, watching her. Was he just gloating over her agony? Or was he planning something more? Finally he picked up the ropes that had been taken from her limbs, coiled them up and placed them on a hook. When it appeared that he was about to leave, Tanya called out. “Please...” He turned and came back to the cell. “Please,” she repeated.
“Please?” He snickered in amusement. “We always whip a new slavegirl as soon as she gets here. It’s a lesson. It shows you that we can hurt you any time we want. And just how painful it can be.”
“But I did nothing wrong.”
“You’ll have to get over this idea that punishment is only for misdeeds. You will be punished whenever your Master wishes to see you in pain. Or sometimes you will be punished just to remind you that you’re a slavegirl. And, please believe me, there are punishments far worse than this simple whipping.”
The look on her face was so sweet, innocent, fearful, and struggling to understand, that he laughed all the way to the door.
An hour later the last torch died, leaving Tanya to suffer in darkness. It was a long night.
Chapter II
First Morning’s Torture
There was no warm and comforting sunlight to welcome Tanya to a new day. She slowly became aware of sounds coming faintly through the stones of the wall she was leaning against. A shiver made her whole body tremble as she felt the relentless steel shackles on her wrists, ankles and neck, and remembered where she was and what had happened. Shivering from the cold as well as depression, she moved on the bench and was rewarded with a fresh stab of pain from her battered bottom. There was a very faint hint of light over in the direction of the door. Tanya moaned, the damp, dreary and totally uncomfortable night filled with far too little sleep and terrible dreams, had left her feeling miserable.
Someone came into the room and hope, however baseless, flared within her heart. Electric lights sprang into life, blinding her for a few moments. She had not seen the electric lights in the shadows of the ceiling.
“Surprised? You didn’t think that we lit the dungeon with torches only?” This man was dressed in a gray uniform, but with no rank, name tag or other indications that it belonged to any military unit. “Gunther likes to make a dramatic first impression on our new slavegirls,” he continued in a cheerful tone. “Bet you were scared.”
Tanya said nothing. She wanted to ask what was going to happen to her, but feared to hear the answer.
“Suppose you’re wondering what’s going to happen to you,” he said as he approached the cell wherein she sat. “That’s usually the first question. Well, I can tell this: it will hurt.”
“The man last night,” she began. “He said I was a ... a slave.” The word did not come easily. “Please tell me he was just... Being dramatic. Like that Gunther.”
“You mean the Minister? Sweetie, that was the Minister of the Secret Police. And he was telling you the truth. You are a slavegirl now. And will be the rest of your life.”
“I do not understand.”
“Sweetie, them that has the money can have any kind of toys they want. Eric’s little hobby of having naked and chained slavegirls in his dungeon is well known, but no one dares say a word against him. Might find the Secret Police knocking on their doors in the middle of the night. I’m sure you get my drift.”
She did. The Secret Police were greatly feared throughout the land, even in the farming areas where they seldom came.
“What will happen to me?”
The man sat on the edge of a rack and pursed his lips. “Well, sweetie, you know that men like to screw girls. And they like to whip them and hurt them. It’s only natural. And they like their women to be submissive and obedient and sexy. So you’ll be trained to be all those things for the Master.”
“I’ll be good. I’ll obey,” Tanya said sincerely. Anything to avoid the pain like last night.
“I’m afraid it won’t be that easy. Being a proper slavegirl is more than just doing as you’re told. It’s a state of mind. But you’ll find out more about that as you go. Right now, it’s time for your breakfast.”
The thought of food and an easement of her restraints sounded very good to the naked woman. She was glad when he opened the door to her cell and unlocked the collar chain from the wall. Then he knelt down and unlocked her ankles. But he did nothing about the handcuffs joining her wrists behind her.
Using the chain to her collar as a leash, he led her out of the dungeon and to another room on the same level. It was windowless and cold and bare, a cheerless room of stone equipped with a small table and a bench. Tanya was told to sit down, then her chain was locked to a ring set in the end of the table. The man left.
Tanya looked at the walls, all of dull gray, rough cut stone and depressing, then tested the table. It was either bolted or the legs set in the floor for it was quite solid. Her bottom was very sore as it pressed against the cold metal seat, but she did not try to stand. After a few minutes, the man in gray came back to set before her a bowl of some tan substance. It looked like gruel and probably was. Next to that he set a bowl of water.
“Breakfast, sweetie. Better eat up. Got to keep your strength up.”
“How am I suppose to eat with my hands behind me?” she asked.
His grunt told her that it was her problem. Then he walked out.
The pasty stuff was almost tasteless as she licked it up with her tongue. But she was hungry and finished the whole bowl, making her face rather messy in the progress. She also sucked up the water.
When the man came back, he brought a rag that he used to wipe her face clean. Then he surprised her by pulling out a comb and beginning to work the tangles out of her long hair. With a gentleness she found strange for that place, he combed out her long tresses until her hair no longer reflected the unpleasant abuse she had undergone.
“What is your name?” she asked him.
“You can call me Randle, because it’s my name. But if the Master is around, you’d best call me ‘Sir’.” When he was finished, she thanked him. “You shouldn’t do that,” he advised. “Because very soon I’ll be causing you more pain than you would believe.”