Depraved, conclusion by Jennifer Harrison

Depraved
by Jennifer Harrison
Conclusion

Author’s comment: this is result of a collaborative effort between me and mrhungry.
The jetlag ensured Amanda woke up shortly before dawn, but she didn’t have long to wait. A few minutes later, the door opened and a grey light seeped into the hut.
“Wake up, you lazy sluts!” Another British accent, this time a man’s, shouted out as two men in khaki shorts carried in three buckets. Amanda scurried over quickly, wanting to make sure she was first to the food, as she was gnawingly hungry. All three metal pails held the same thick, grey porridge and, as she dipped in her hand and scooped some into her mouth, she found it was cold. It also needed salt, or sugar, or anything to give it any kind of flavour, but she bolted down as much as she could before she was pushed out by the other, more aggressive women. Amanda was shocked, thinking they would bond as ‘sisters in bondage’, but it looked like it was every slave for herself. She was worried – she knew how submissive she was, and feared being relegated to the bottom of this new hierarchy that was developing.
“This is factor 45 sunscreen with insect repellent,” the other man said, as he tossed plastic bottles around the dirt floor, “make sure you cover every inch of your bodies if you don’t want to burn to a crisp!”
Amanda had to wait until one of the Latino woman, 7, had finished with the cream, and she helped her cover her back where she couldn’t reach.
“Could you do my back, please?” she asked shyly.
“Fuck off,” 7 replied, “I’m not your slave!”
Amanda slunk away, and looked around for someone else to help. One of the Indian women, 11, obliged.
“You two, 7 and 8, take those buckets of shit to the latrine!” The two selected women shuffled over to the buckets and picked them up. But, when the Master went out, 7 put the bucket down and grabbed Amanda painfully by the arm.
“Here!” she hissed, indicating the bucket, “you take it, you stupid British cunt!” Rather stunned, but cowed by the woman’s aggression, Amanda picked up the heavy, stinking container, and staggered out of the hut. She and number 8 struggled with the buckets to a slit trench a few yards from the hut, and emptied them into it. As they returned for the final container, the man who had given the order returned.
“7! 13! Get over here!” he shouted, clearly angry, causing the two women to scuttle out in front of him, where Amanda immediately assumed the correct position, the other following her lead a second later.
“7! I gave you an order and you disobeyed me!” he bellowed in the frightened woman’s face.
“Please, Master, she-” 7’s protestations were cut off by a slap so hard she fell to the ground.
“How dare you talk to me, you worthless whore! 13! You do not obey this cunt, you obey your Masters!” Amanda kept quiet – no question, no answer, no talking.
“Both of you, get over to that frame and string yourselves up! 8! Bring me that bucket!”
The frame he had indicated was a metal bar, about seven or eight feet off the ground, hung between two trees. On it were what looked like metal butcher’s hooks, and Amanda realised what she was expected to do. Standing on tiptoe, she was just able to flick the chain between her wrist manacles over the hook, effectively suspending herself. The Latino followed her example. The rest of the slaves were herded out into the clearing and ordered to kneel, so they would be forced to watch.
The Master picked up a stick and dipped it in the bucket of shit, making sure it was well covered and dripping. He then went up to Amanda and 7 in turn, daubing them across the chest, stomach and buttocks.
“Don’t ever fuck with me,” he said as he ‘painted’ stripes on their cheeks and foreheads. “Put your tongue out, 13”
Amanda knew what was coming, but did as she was ordered. Her senses were assaulted, by the smell and then by the taste. She felt herself start to retch and had to fight hard to keep down her breakfast, but she managed it. 7 wasn’t so controlled, and was violently sick on the ground.
The man took the bullwhip from his belt and, as the slaves watched in mounting trepidation, went behind the two suspended figures. There was a loud crack, and 7 screamed at the top of her voice, dissolving instantly into desperate, racking sobs. Another crack sounded, and Amanda felt her back explode as bolts of pain shot through her like electricity. Her scream was as heart-rending as the other woman’s had been.
“Thank you, Master!” she managed to stammer out through her sobs. The beating continued, each slave receiving three lashes of the whip. Their assailant came up to 7 and grabbed her hair, pulling her head up off her chest.
“I can do this all day if you want, cunt!” he shouted into her face. “I’m waiting for you to show a little respect.” 7 managed to stop crying for a few seconds.
“I’m sorry, Master,” she cried, “thank you for punishing me.”
“About fucking time! Okay, get them down, and let’s get you lot to work!”
They were organised into three work gangs of five slaves each, chained together, and assigned to a Master or Mistress. Amanda was in a team with the three Indian women, who were all under twenty years of age, and one of the Asian girls, about the same age as herself. Their overseer for the day was Master Lakshmi, who happened to be the owner of the Indian slaves, although he did not intend to show them any leniency for that. He had become extremely wealthy in the metals industry, and kept a string of young girls as his slaves – he liked to use the annual trip to the plantation as a way of breaking in new slaves and finding out if they had true potential. None of the women were forced into slavery, or even from poor backgrounds, but well-educated women from good families, who asked him, some even begged him, to take them on. He was not particularly attractive, being in his fifties, short, balding and quite obese, but he seemed to ooze authority, and even though he treated his slaves harshly, they were devoted to him.
The slaves were given their tools, in this case field hoes, which were carried by Amanda and the Asian, while the three Indians each had a case of plastic water bottles, and they headed out to the fields. By the time they reached their place of work, a field of cane stubble about half a mile from the house, the sun was already hot and they were sweating.
They lined up at the edge of the field, feet planted as far apart as their chains would allow, backs bent, and tilled the soil in front of them to dig in the cane stalks and to turn over the rich earth. Once they had finished the patch in front of them, they moved backwards a few feet and started again. The field stretched out into the distance behind them.
It was back-breaking work and, as the sun climbed up the sky, the sweat was dripping off them. But there was no opportunity to take a break, or even wipe the sweat from out of their eyes, as any slacking drew an instant response from their overseer. The flogger was the weapon of choice for encouraging the slaves, and Master Lakshmi used it liberally on the row of glistening buttocks and sweaty backs in front of him. He allowed them a drinks break after every fifteen minutes, but Amanda let out a groan of pain as she tried to straighten up and found out just how bad this was for the back. As she looked around at the other women, they were all looking as exhausted as she felt, and they’d only been at this for fifteen minutes!
All too soon, they were back at it, and Lakshmi had to use the flogger even more to keep the work rate of his gang at a level he felt was acceptable. The sight of all that naked, sweat-soaked flesh, and the opportunity to thrash it whenever and however he wanted, was having a very stimulating effect on him.
“12! To me!” he snapped, and the Indian girl next to Amanda dropped her hoe and scuttled behind the others.
“Bend over!” The girl immediately turned around and bent double – she knew what her Master liked and she steeled herself for the expected assault on her anus. Despite her best efforts, she let out a cry of pain as he thrust into her tight hole, struggling to stay on her feet under the swift and consistent pummelling her rectum received. If there was any sexual arousal, she fought it – she knew how bad it would be for her to cum without permission. It didn’t take him long to reach his climax, and once he’d emptied himself into her, he thrust the now-discarded slave away from him, sending her sprawling on the ground.
“13! Clean!” Amanda grimaced as she straightened up and ran back, falling to her knees and flicking her wrist chain behind her expertly, before leaning forward and taking his limp penis into her mouth. She tasted the other woman’s shit on his dick, but had no choice but to lick it off as she sucked out the last of his semen. The cock quickly grew stiff under the ministrations of her tongue, and she started to deliver the blowjob she assumed he wanted. But he pushed her away, leaving her in the dirt.
“I said ‘clean’, imbecile! Get back to work!” He encouraged her swift return to the line with liberal applications of the flogger, until Amanda had picked up her hoe and resumed digging. A couple more swipes for good measure ensured she was working as hard as she could.
The morning wore on, the intensity of the work punctuated by breaks to try and top up the fluids they were losing at an alarming rate. Now, when they took a break, the slaves collapsed onto the ground, not caring how filthy they were getting, just trying to relieve their muscles and ease the agony of their backs. Despite the suncream they had applied, Amanda could feel her skin starting to burn under the Caribbean sun, even though it was still well before midday.
Master Lakshmi finally called a halt to the torture at about 11AM, before leading the exhausted slaves back to the house. The other crews arrived at about the same time, and Amanda saw that they were just as wiped out as her group. They were lined up against a wall behind the house and the three owners who had been overseeing the work appeared with pressure hoses, which they fired at the overheated women. There were squeals and cries as they tried to protect themselves from the powerful jets – the cooling effect of the icy water was very welcome, but the hoses delivered the water so forcefully, several of the slaves were knocked off their feet. By the time the jets were switched off, they were all gasping for breath.
They were all led back to the slave quarters and locked in, to rest during the hottest part of the day. But, as they flopped down on the straw mattresses, utterly spent, they realised that the wooden hut was like an oven, baking hot, quickly drying the water dripping off them, and leaving them once more bathed in sweat. Despite the discomfort, soon the sound of gentle snoring came from all the slaves, Amanda included.
It was a couple of hours later that they were rudely awoken, with the use of the riding crop where necessary, and hustled outside. Amanda was dismayed to find there was to be no midday meal, as she was already starving hungry and wasn’t sure she could make it to the evening meal, but then, she realised, she had no choice.
Thankfully, the afternoon’s work was not to be in the fields under the baking sun, but in the cool of the house. The owners were autocratic and, on occasion, sadistic, but they weren’t actually trying to kill their valuable slaves. Amanda was set to cleaning the tiled floor of the immense hall, and she was left to get on with it, although she was left in no doubt that ‘slacking’ would not be tolerated. Master Lakshmi had stood over her, his long bull whip coiled in his hand, and growled “If you don’t get this floor clean enough for me to eat my dinner off it, I’ll flay the skin off your back.” The opportunity to eat anything, off whatever surface, however dirty, was a dream for the hungry slave.
She found the work, down on her knees with scrubbing brush, cloth and bucket, hard but strangely therapeutic. She allowed her mind to wander to Janes – Master Victor, she realised, was how she should be thinking of him – and wondering just what his attitude to her really was. She detected some reserve, some conflict within him, which was preventing him from committing to taking her as his slave and fulfilling her most fervent wish. All she could do was try to impress him with her performance here, and hope he resolved his issues.
She heard a door open and risked a glance to see who had come in to the hall. What she saw gave her a shock, as the most gorgeous guy, wearing only a tight speedo, padded across the tiles, towelling his hair dry, clearly having been in the pool. Amanda couldn’t afford to look at his face, but what she could see – muscular tanned legs, flat six pack, hairless chest and, most significantly, an impressive bulge in the speedo – made her remember just how long it had been since she had had sex. The man watched her working for a while, watching her breasts swing below her and her tight arse as she crawled along. He strolled over to the wall, where a spare set of punishment tools were hanging, and took down the flogger.
“Kneel,” he ordered, and Amanda quickly got into position with her arms behind her and knees wide apart, feeling the excitement rise within her. The leather strands lashed hard across her breasts and she let out a stifled cry.
“Thank you, Master!” she started to say, but the flogger had struck her again before she could finish. Time and again, he whipped her across her breasts, stomach and thighs, until he was breathing hard and she was crying in pain. More significantly, he was now fully erect, and he dropped the flogger and pulled down his speedo. Amanda just had time to thank him for the flogging before he forced his stiff cock into her mouth and down her throat.
She didn’t panic, as she might have done a few weeks previously, when she was so inexperienced in giving head, and waited for him to withdraw, before fighting the urge to retch and sucking in air. Now she could go to work on him, using her tongue and lips to roll back his foreskin and stimulate the most sensitive area, just under the head of the glans. She was rewarded with a groan of appreciation, and followed up by sliding herself onto the erection until her face was pressed against his groin, and it was once more down her throat, cutting off her air. She held herself there as long as she could, before backing up and sliding her tongue down his length so that she could suck on his testicles. As she came back up and took his head between her lips again, she could tell he was close, and her rapid bobbing motion soon brought him to climax, filling her eager mouth with the sweetest-tasting cum she had ever had, and she drank it down, literally hungrily.
“You’re good, 13,” he said when he’d regained his composure.
“Thank you, Master!” she said, her eyes down, but a broad smile on her face, like the cat that got the cream.
The slaves were returned to their quarters late in the afternoon and locked away to await the arrival of the remnants of the owners’ evening meal. They were starting to realise that being a true slave actually consisted off a lot of hard work, drudgery and boredom, interspersed with brief moments of intense pain and even briefer moments of excitement, although not one of them had achieved an orgasm since they arrived. Now, there was nothing to do but lie around in the semi-darkness, resting and waiting. They didn’t speak to each other – each was isolated in her own world of thoughts, unsure whether they were even allowed to ‘chat’. For Amanda, her thoughts turned once more to food, and how to ensure she got sufficient sustenance to keep her strength up for the forthcoming trials.
When the door was unlocked and the bucket delivered, Amanda could hardly wait until the Master had withdrawn before she moved forward to grab what she could. But 7 had already beaten her to it.
“Back off, bitch!” she hissed into the darkness, and Amanda felt nails scrape down her cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. She fell back, dismayed by the violence of the repulse, hanging back even as the other women moved in. By the time she had recovered herself and plucked up enough courage to go back, the bucket was virtually empty, and she was reduced to scraping the last morsels off the bottom, chewing gristle the others had deemed inedible, and sucking on ribs already picked clean. She crawled back to her bed, still hungry, and cried herself to sleep.
She was woken a few hours later with a hand clamped over her mouth. She felt a woman’s lips against her ear, and fingernails pinching her nipple.
“I am going to make you suffer now, bitch, don’t try to fight me or I’ll kill you!” she heard 7 whisper into her ear. The fingers left her breast and she suddenly felt them between her legs, forcing their way into her dry cunt. She whimpered as they pushed deeper, their motions finally making her juices flow and easing the pain of the violation. But this only encouraged 7 to force a third finger inside her, increasing the speed with which she thrust in and out.
“Please… don’t!” Amanda begged in an urgent whisper, as she felt herself becoming aroused, but there was no let-up, no respite from the cynical manipulation. She fought to resist her own body, but the build-up of sexual frustration was too great, she was being driven inexorably to orgasm. Now, her only thought was to try and keep the noise to a minimum, but she was failing in that as well, moaning and crying out as she reached the most unwanted climax of her life. 7 did not stop there either, driving her fingers in harder, deeper, faster, as Amanda howled out. Several of the other women were now getting very nervous of the racket she was making, and urged her to keep quiet. But Amanda was beyond rational thought, well on the way to a second climax, when all hell broke loose.
The chain rattled and the door flew open, torch beams flashing around the hut at fourteen bodies apparently in a deep, almost catatonic, sleep, and one writhing on her mattress, her back arched, her fingers in her crotch, trying to bring the orgasm promised when 7 snatched her hand away and dived for her own bed on hearing the approaching footsteps.
The two owners grabbed Amanda and threw her to the ground outside, before locking the other slaves in once more. They dragged her, dazed and confused, to the punishment frame and, moments later, had her hanging upside down by her ankle chains, stretched taut with a spike driven between the links of her wrist chains and into the ground. She knew she was in real trouble now, her perceived crime serious enough to warrant ‘severe punishment’. She considered protesting her innocence, but remembered her earlier transgression initiated by 7, and knew it would make no difference. All she could do was suffer in silence.
But suffering in silence was just not possible, because the target of their attack was her wet and swollen sex, the weapons leather floggers, and the power of the attack extreme. She was soon screaming as the leather fronds slapped hard onto her labia, already made hypersensitive by her earlier orgasm, torturing her beyond reason. The other women cowered in the dark as they listened to the hysterical screams outside, terrified that one of their number should be so tortured as to produce that desperate sound. Even 7 felt sorry for the victim of her spite.
By the time she realised the attack was over, Amanda had been left alone, hanging inverted, with no prospect of release before the morning. Her racking sobs were heard only by the forest, and the imprisoned slaves close by. Eventually, silence fell in the clearing as she lost consciousness.

- o O o -
Amanda woke as she hit the ground, released by the Masters as they delivered the morning gruel. She lay there for several minutes, trying to come to terms with the ache in her muscles and the still-searing pain from her tortured sex, until a boot kicked against her buttock, encouraging her to get up.
She struggled to her feet and staggered into the hut, hoping to find some food, but it had already been eaten, and she forlornly licked the metal bucket, before breaking down in sobs. The slaves looked down at her and a general feeling of guilt at not helping her, or even saving her any food, was universal.
“Today, gang 1 will be under the control of me, Master Leonard,” the owner announced, “gang 2 are with Mistress Francoise, gang 3 with Master Victor.”
Amanda looked up in hope and alarm – Master Victor! There he was, standing over her, dressed in tailored shorts and a plain, loose-fitting shirt, the Master’s tools at his belt. She scrambled to her feet and assumed the perfect presentation position, thrusting out her breasts towards her putative Master, desperate to take this opportunity to impress. The other four slaves quickly joined her, and he clipped their collars together to form a small chain gang, before leading them out into the morning sun.
He took them back to the field they had tilled the previous day, but this time they each had a hessian sack full of sugar can shoots ready to be planted. Once again, they lined up over the furrows, bent down and had to push the shoot into the soft dirt, before moving backwards and planting the next stalk.
If the previous day had been back-breaking, planting was orders of magnitude worse. All five women were soon suffering badly, wilting under the tropical sun, and Master Victor was forced to make liberal and forceful use of the flogger to keep them focused on their work. Amanda couldn’t help but cry out as each blow struck her on the back, buttocks or thighs, the leather tails straying onto the flesh already bruised and beaten earlier. Janes found it was becoming more and more difficult to get them back to work after each drinks break, as they sprawled on the fresh earth, aching and exhausted.
The only exception was Amanda – she was just as tired and hurting just as much, if not more, than the others, but she had motivation – she was out to impress. She struggled to her feet at Janes’ first word of command, and somehow the others felt they should follow her lead. Janes had seen how she had suffered the previous night, and was amazed now by her will to fight her way through. It didn’t make him go easy on her – just the opposite, in fact, as he sought to test her endurance to the absolute limits. It was four hours of pure and almost incessant torture for her, reaching levels of pain she had never even imagined, but she struggled on gamely until, at last, they trudged back to the house.
She was so exhausted, she was knocked off her feet by the water jets and couldn’t drag herself upright, until two of the Indian girls from her team helped her up, supporting her as they were herded back into the sweltering slave quarters for their enforced siesta. She was asleep before she hit the sacking.
Amanda’s afternoon work was in the kitchen, washing up and preparing vegetables for the evening meal. She had hoped to smuggle a couple of vegetables for eating later, but Janes was keeping an eagle eye on all the slaves, but on Amanda particularly, making sure nothing was stolen. The afternoon passed without incident, and Amanda was disappointed when Janes returned them to the hut without having made any sexual advance at all – he was cold and efficient, and gave her no clue about his feelings at all.
Her next trial was the arrival of the food that night. She held back, but there was no sound from anyone else. She edged forward cautiously, but found no-one in her way. Nervously, she took her food and moved back.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the darkness as she sat down to eat, and the others moved in. Nothing had been said, but they had all individually come to the same conclusion – ‘13’ had suffered enough.
An hour later, the door opened once again, and the slaves wondered what new torture was to be delivered.
“3, 4, 7, 9, 12 and 15 – come!” The selected slaves made their way fearfully out of the hut, and the remaining slaves were once again locked away.
“What’s going on?” Amanda whispered into the void.
“Our Masters and Mistresses are bored,” came the answer bitterly, from one of the slaves who had been through this before, “they’ve been taken to provide ‘entertainment’. God help them!”
The room fell silent, as each woman considered the implications of that exclamation, and thanked their luck that it had not been them. It was several hours later before the slaves were brought back, and it was clear from the groans, crying and sobbing of those returning that it had been a traumatic experience. From the latrine buckets came the sound of one retching and vomiting. No-one asked for a report of the night’s events and none was offered, the slaves just lay awake, wondering at this new night terror.

- o O o -
Day three of their time on the plantation began as before, but there was a surprise in store for Amanda.
“Okay, gang 1 will be under Master Tom, gang 2 are with Master Lakshmi, gang 3 with Mistress Ingrid.”
Amanda looked up and saw the tall German supermodel looking absolutely stunning in a red bikini and high heels, with large sunglasses covering half her lightly tanned face. The impression of an out-of-place tourist was only spoiled by the belt of punishment tools at her slender waist.
The slaves had to carry not only their tools and water out to the fields, there was also Ingrid’s sun lounger, parasol and cool box. The Mistress led them to a drainage ditch, choked with weeds and brambles, and had the slaves set up her lounger and shade as if she were sunbathing by the pool.
“Okay, get your fat behinds down there and start clearing, you lazy cunts! I want this whole section finished this morning!” Amanda looked in dismay at the ditch, which extended out into the distance.
As the slaves slid down the loose earth and into the ditch, they soon realised how evil this task was. The stagnant water at the bottom stank horribly and was a breeding ground for mosquitos, which bit them incessantly, driving them mad. They had been given sickles which were deliberately blunt, so that the untrained women would not cause themselves serious injury, but this meant that hacking through the tangled mass of weeds was incredibly hard work. That, combined with the lack of even the slightest air movement in the ditch, left them sweating profusely and gasping for breath.
Ingrid stood at the edge of the ditch, looking down on her slaves toiling away, and could tell they were struggling. She uncoiled the bullwhip, and expertly targeted the naked flesh below her, being rewarded with a yelp or squeal each time she caught a back, buttock or breast. Once she had given sufficient ‘encouragement’ to ensure the women were working frantically in the hope of avoiding the whip, she poured herself a long, cool Mint Julep and lay back on the lounger to relax.
“Drinks break!” she called out about twenty minutes later, and the slaves gratefully scrambled out of the hellhole and chugged the warm water from the plastic bottles. Amanda looked over at Ingrid, and saw that she was naked and lying on her back, exposing her perfect breasts and neatly trimmed strip of pubic hair to them.
“13! Come and top up my sun screen!” Amanda scurried over and picked up the bottle of tanning oil, noting the contrast with the thick slimy gunk they were given to use. She wiped her filthy hands on her filthy thighs in a vain attempt to clean them. She knew she couldn’t possibly touch Ingrid’s beautiful flesh with such dirty hands, and she sacrificed what remained in her water bottle to rinse them, before wiping them on a patch of grass. Satisfied, she began to work the oil into the supermodel’s smooth, toned skin.
She carefully massaged it onto her stomach and then her breasts, raising an appreciative purr from the German. When she moved her hand lower, Ingrid opened her thighs, and Amanda saw her pussy lips glistening in the bright sunlight. She knew her efforts, as she rubbed the oil into the soft flesh of her inner thigh, were having an effect on the Mistress, but she was also becoming quite aroused herself.
“Hmm!” Ingrid murmured appreciatively, then shouted, “15! Get over here and sort me out! The rest of you, get back to work!”
Amanda watched as the Asian girl bent down and put her head between the supermodel’s thighs, realising that she was jealous – it should have been her licking out Mistress Ingrid! Crestfallen, she slid back down into the stinking mire with the Indian slaves and resumed work, hacking viciously at the plants. The sounds of the slave owner’s pleasure drifted down to them, accompanied by occasional muffled screams from the Asian, as Ingrid lashed out violently with the riding crop at the defenceless buttocks presented to her.
The morning passed slowly as the women worked almost continuously, always under threat of the lash from above. Finally, Ingrid called them out and had them line up on the bank, hands on head.
“You have failed to complete the task I set you, you lazy bitches!” she shouted as she walked along the line, swishing her cane threateningly. Amanda glanced along the ditch, and was amazed at how much they had achieved, but knew that, however unrealistic the target, they had failed to achieve it. They deserved to be punished.
Ingrid delivered one violent blow to each pair of buttocks, then walked back along the line, doubling the punishment. The slaves, through gritted teeth, thanked her. She now came down the front of the line, swiping the cane across their undefended breasts, reducing all of them to howls of pain and floods of tears, but each stammered out her thanks and continued to present herself for punishment. Ingrid was impressed by the level of training these slaves had achieved and, having satisfied her own sadistic urges, led them back to the house.
Amanda’s afternoon was blissfully uneventful, almost dull, spent in the mindless drudgery of cleaning and polishing the silver. Ingrid stopped by a couple of times, to criticise her work and punish her with the crop for imagined failings, but the rest of the time she was able to spend recovering from her earlier exertions.
The truce over the ‘evening meal’ seemed to be holding too, so Amanda went to sleep content and relatively well fed, although all the women were finding the rations barely adequate to support the amount of energy they were having to expend during the day – the slave diet was proving pretty effective for losing weight, even if they didn’t need to!
“1, 2, 6, 10, 13 and 14 – come!” Amanda realised, with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, that she had been selected to provide ‘entertainment’, whatever that entailed. The women trooped out, eyes wide with fright, and were led up to the house.
It turned out that each woman had been selected by a specific Master or Mistress, and would be subjected to their own particular brand of hell, in private. All the owners had agreed that none of the slaves should be permanently marked or seriously injured during the two week period. They had also decided that none of the slaves should receive any sexual release – as plantation slaves for these two weeks, they would experience the rigours of hard work and harsh treatment that they might not suffer at any other time during the year. Any owner inadvertently allowing a slave to achieve an orgasm would suffer some light-hearted ribbing from their colleagues, and would be expected to make a sizable donation to a local charity.
But between those two extremes, there was plenty of leeway for inventive minds to devise cruel and unusual punishments. These night sessions were opportunities to explore the diverse pleasures (for the owners) of electric shock torture, scatology, or breath play. Each slave was taken to a separate room, and the anonymous sounds of heart-rending screams rose from random parts of the mansion as they were subjected to tortures, humiliations and degradations, which few of them wanted to talk about later – most never wanted think about them again.
Amanda was led to a candle-lit room, in which the main feature seemed to be a large half-barrel laid on its side.
“Hello, 13.” She recognised the voice as that of Ingrid, and she turned to see the German dressed in a very elegant off-the-shoulder evening dress, which was split from hem to hip, revealing her evenly tanned leg to her thigh. Amanda immediately presented herself in the kneeling position, feeling ashamed of how filthy and smelly she was in the presence of such beauty.
“Get up, my pretty little slut,” she said with a smile, “I need to talk to you.”
Amanda stood up, but Ingrid gently pushed her back against the half-barrel, until she was lying back against it. Its purpose now became clear as the owner locked the slave’s wrists and ankles to it, so that she was stretched tight, with her back arched against the curved surface, staring at the ceiling above. She raised her head and watched the beautiful supermodel walk over to the chest of drawers and bring back a three-stick candelabra.
“I believe you have a secret desire to be Master Victor’s slave on a permanent basis. Am I right?”
“Yes, Mistr- AAAAAAAIEEEE!!” Amanda screamed as three streams of burning wax hit her breasts simultaneously, before rapidly cooling and forming solid blobs of wax on both her nipples. Ingrid picked off the wax, but merely so she could repeat the exercise, wrenching another scream from the restrained slave.
“Do you really think you are good enough for him, 13?” As she asked this, she dribbled more hot wax across Amanda’s stomach, making her squirm in exquisite agony.
“I-I don’t know, Mistress,” she wailed in response, “I know I may not be pretty enough, or sexy enough- AAAAAAAIEEEE!!” Amanda screamed at the top of her voice again, as Ingrid poured the hot liquid onto her bare pussy mound, filling up the slight gap between her exposed labia. The slave was pulling desperately at her bonds now, and weeping copiously.
“I told you before, don’t talk that way about yourself! I suppose you think that all this is just another of your requests, don’t you? Something you instigated?” This question was accompanied by a river of molten wax running down her inner thigh, resulting in more cries of anguish.
“I wasn’t sure, Mistress! I thought it might be something different, even though I was paying for it.”
“You dumb fuck! Check when you get home, you’ll find this is all ‘off-the-clock’. Victor brought you here entirely at his own expense. He likes you. He may even love you. But there is a problem.” Ingrid absent-mindedly created trails of wax all across Amanda’s body, relishing her screams and very obvious distress.
“Victor had another slave, one he loved very much, but she died. Now, he doesn’t know if he can stand to leave himself open to that pain again. I tell you this for two reasons. One is so you know what is at stake – if you want to be his slave, you have a hell of a lot to live up to. Secondly, if you EVER cause him pain, you will have me to answer to, and I will not be as nice as I am now. Do you understand, slave?”
She emphasised this last point by parting Amanda’s pussy lips and pouring the burning wax directly on to her exposed clitoris. Amanda screamed until she lost her voice completely, thrashing wildly but uselessly on the barrel. Ingrid replaced the candelabra on the side, and came back, smothering the distraught slave with kisses on her face, neck and breasts. When she had finally calmed down enough to speak, she answered her Mistress’ question.
“Yes, Mistress, I understand, and thank you, both for telling me, and for my punishment.”
“Good. Now, enough of the seriousness, let’s have some fun.” Amanda spent the next two hours pleasuring the German dominatrix with her tongue, and with more of her agonised screams as the torture resumed.

- o O o -
The days started to become a blur for all the slaves, a constant round of gruellingly hard work, moments of extreme pain, and long periods of dread, waiting for the next attack. And all the time, the gnawing hunger. Most of them had thought they would be desperately horny, being deprived of sex for so long, but in reality, they dreamt about food, and what they hoped to eat when they got out of here.
Amanda seemed to have developed a reputation, as a provider of the best blowjobs, to male or female, and also as a pain slut. She enjoyed the former, but feared the latter, as the owners seemed to compete with each other to see who could make her scream longest and loudest. As far as she was concerned, none of them could compete with Mistress Ingrid!
But she hardly saw Janes again. He did not take charge of her work team, and he didn’t once call her up to the house at night. What the hell was going on? Amanda had no clue.
“Wake up, you sleepy heads!” the cry came from the door one morning, “Today is the day you are released from the plantation!” The Master who had spoken came around the room, unlocking the manacles and collars from all the slaves. The doors were thrown open and the women, naked, filthy and carrying the marks of their punishment, emerged blinking into the sunlight, where they were greeted by their smiling owners, to be led up to the plantation house for a hot shower, a square meal, and a damn good fuck!
All except Amanda. She emerged to find that Janes wasn’t there. As she watched the joyous scenes around her, she knew she had failed in her attempt to convince Him to take her as His slave. She was devastated, and could feel the tears trickling down her cheeks.
“Why so sad, little one?” It was Ingrid, with her own slave on her arm.
“He’s gone, hasn’t he, Mistress?” Amanda asked, desolated.
“Like I said before, for an intelligent woman, you’re such a dumb fuck! He’s in the house – he didn’t think it appropriate to meet you here, as you are not officially a slave.”
Ingrid led the bemused woman to the house, and up to the room where He was waiting.
“Good luck, you beautiful little slut! And remember, if he doesn’t want you, I’ve got first call on your depraved ass, okay?” Amanda smiled at her, too nervous to speak, and opened the door.
Janes turned around as she came in. He was standing tall and stiffly, looking almost as nervous as she felt, and she had a sudden vision that they were in a kinky version of Pride and Prejudice, where Mr Darcy is in chinos and Miss Elizabeth Bennett is naked, filthy, and has tan lines around her neck, wrists and ankles. The thought made her giggle, and it seemed to break the spell.
“Hello, Amanda,” Janes started hesitantly into the speech he had rehearsed so many times in his head, “You’re a free woman once more. I hope you enjoyed your time as a slave – if not, I apologise profusely. There are clothes here, a shower, make-up, everything. There’s a suite booked for you in a five star hotel on the other side of the island for the next two weeks. You might not want to ever see me again, or we can continue our business relationship as before, the choice is yours
“However, over these last two weeks, I have seen what a remarkable woman you are, so beautiful, so strong, and so utterly, bewitchingly, delightfully submissive. I love you, Amanda. I desperately want you, as my slave, to own you completely, to look after you, and care for you in every way.”
Victor nodded towards a table against the wall. “On the table over there are legal papers. If you sign them, you sign all your possessions – your money, your investments, your properties – over to me. You would also be granting me power of attorney making you, as close as it is possible to be in the modern world, a legally owned slave. There are also the collar and cuffs I would have you wear.”
Amanda glanced over at the items on the table and nearly broke down in tears with the realisation that Victor had come to the island with all of this already planned out in his head. She had even carried them in for him when they had arrived, totally unaware that everything she had ever wanted was already, literally, in her grasp. She realised that he had brought her to this island as a final test, hoping this would be the outcome.
“The choice is yours,” he continued, cursing his awkward, stiff delivery and realising he was repeating himself.. He could see his words had had an effect on Amanda, but could not, or dare not, interpret it.
“Take as long as you need, I’ll be waiting outside.”
Janes went to leave, but she held up her hand to stop him.
“Victor,” she said, savouring his name finally, “when I came to this island, I was expecting no more than a beach holiday, hopefully with some sex thrown in, hopefully with you. I had fantasised about being your slave, but when I got here, I realised that I had no conception of what that meant. This has been the most intense, the most traumatic experience of my life. Have I enjoyed it? No, I hated it! But if it would please you, I’d do it all again, right now.”
As she said this, she had a sudden urge to really do it all again – she could be so much better! She could please him so much more, make him so proud of her, impress his friends so much more! She yearned for the opportunity.
Trying to keep her emotions in check, Amanda walked over to the table and signed the papers in silence. She took the cuffs, hand-tooled in elegant leather, and locked them on her wrists and ankles. She picked up the collar, noting the monogrammed ‘VJ’, and returned to Janes.
“You had me at ‘Hello’, Victor. Now, as my last act as a free woman, I ask you to put your collar on me and make me your slave.”
For the first time in many, many years, Janes felt his hands shaking as he locked the collar in place. Neither of them could keep the silly grins off their faces. He put his arms around her and they kissed for a long time.
“Now, you filthy little bitch,” he growled, trying to keep a straight face, “get on that bed, I fancy me a piece at that sweet ass!”
Amanda jumped up on the covers, kneeling on all fours, with her arse presented to him. As she looked back at him over her shoulder, he could see the lust suffusing her face.
“Yes, Master!”

The End

Copyright© 2012 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.