‘Bianca’s
Slaves’ was written as a sequel to the two earlier quite magnificent Bruno
novels, ‘Bianca’s Island I and II’, and is a tribute to this great writer, who
I quite honestly consider to be the best in the genre.
Although
reading the earlier titles is not a pre-requisite to enjoying this book,
readers familiar with them may get an additional level of enjoyment out of it.
Here, I
have tried to stay true to Victor Bruno’s depiction, borrowing the vignette
structure used by Victor Bruno in the earlier titles and telling the story from
the varying viewpoints of the characters themselves; first of the slave, then
Mistress, Guests and Overseers etc.
In this
book, I have tried to address the internal battle that the slave must fight
with herself as she readjusts to her new reality. The story, meanwhile, re-acquaints us with
many familiar characters like Mistress Bianca herself and Mr. Belmont, plus
several new ones, hopefully bringing to life the real story of an arrogant
English aristocrat’s downfall and brutal induction into slave life.
In
conclusion, I hope that you will enjoy reading the story as much as I did
writing it.
The
narrative of slave Victoria
“Aaaarrrgggghhh!” I scream in agony and jerk violently against
my chains as the whip lashes my back. My
black overseer hangs the oiled, single strand whip casually around my neck,
grabs a handful of my sweat soaked blonde hair in his fist and twists my head
painfully back to gaze grimly into my eyes.
“Remember
this whipping, slut, and try harder in future not to displease the guests!” he
growls irritably. “I leave you to think
about the error of your ways.” He scowls and I drop my gaze in shame. “Think on this, too, slave,” he says grimly,
“when I return I intend to fuck you hard!
It will be better for you not to disappoint me with your
performance! Understand?”
My back
and buttocks are burning as though on fire.
The pain is excruciating, and I am convinced the skin is split and
bleeding in many places. I continue to
gasp and groan, fighting for breath and trying desperately to formulate some
kind of answer. I can give myself no
relief because I am chained, my wrists linked together above my head to metal
cuffs hanging from the ceiling. My
ankles, too, are chained to floor-based cuffs, adjusted to stretch my legs wide
apart, leaving me hanging with all my weight on my wrists and arms. My agony seems to last forever. Yet I must answer my black Master or risk yet
further punishment. “Y … yes … s … sir,”
I finally manage to stutter, “I … I … understand, sir.”
He gives a
satisfied nod and, without a further backward glance at his tortured slave,
leaves the punishment chamber, the heavy metal door slamming shut solidly
behind him.
Gradually
the biting pain in my back and buttocks begins to ease and my groans subside
into little whimpering moans. My breath
continues to come in short sharp gasps, my breasts heaving and wobbling
indecently as I try to take in as much oxygen as possible.
Slowly,
very slowly, I get my senses back, taking stock of the dreadful room I am
in. I have of course, been here many
times before and every time has been a very painful experience. It is one of the many private punishment
rooms on Bianca’s Island, sometimes used for training new slaves, or by the
Mistresses and overseers for fun or entertainment. A punishment such as I have just experienced
is an unusual event in this room. Severe
whippings are usually carried out in public at the end of the day’s work
schedule; giving the guests a spectacle to watch which Mistress Bianca has
named her ‘Sundowner Entertainment’.
The room
itself is not very large, perhaps twenty feet by fifteen. The front and sides of the room are
full-length mirrors, the back is a wall with a heavy, metal-studded door which
leads out into a corridor.
The
central features of the room are the wrist cuffs that hang from the pulley
fixed in the ceiling and which can be adjusted for both width and height. Likewise there are ankle cuffs which can be
similarly adjusted. The mirrors exist so
that the hapless slave can see herself being whipped, fucked or otherwise
tortured, and abused.
I look at
myself in the mirror, seeing the reflection of a proverbial English rose
looking back at me. My humiliation is
complete. The former Lady Victoria
Chester – now just ‘slave Victoria’ - is quite tall, five foot
eight in height, with ivory white skin that even daily exposure to the
Caribbean sun has only managed to tint to a light golden tan. My eyes are pale ice blue and my features are
pleasantly even. I have been told many
times that I am beautiful. I also have a
smile that I used to be told was electric, though I don’t think I smile very
much anymore. My naturally blonde,
nearly waist length hair is bleached to a pleasing corn-like colour by the
strong Caribbean sun. I have a tall,
slim, athletic figure, shaped earlier by countless hours in the top health
clubs of London and more recently by a regime of hard manual labour on the
island. My breasts are perhaps a trifle
overfull, yet still reasonably firm, crowned by large nipples. I’ve always been very proud of my beautiful
tits, delighting in the many compliments paid to me by my many admirers in the
past.
Now, of
course, my stomach is taut and one can see the hint of
muscles beneath my previously feminine curves.
Slave training on Bianca’s Island has seen to it. My hips are wide as if made for child-bearing
and my mons and vaginal entrance, if not depilated, would boast the same corn
coloured blonde hair as that on my head. My buttocks are tight yet shapely, as are my
long, long legs and, on my eighteenth birthday, Tatler voted me ‘debutante of
the year’ and named me as one of the ten most beautiful women in the England.
Now,
though, I can appraise myself more critically, in the manner that has become
quite customary for others to do since my enslavement. I am, in the estimation of Mistress Bianca’s
‘guests’, no longer really human; but more like a domestic animal or pet
offered for view in a market – good for fucking, torturing or hard, manual
labour, but little else.
Strangely,
I think that – could my previous friends and acquaintances see me now- I might
even be considered to be more beautiful and pleasing to them than I was when
free. In the first place I know I am much
fitter than I ever was, a consequence of the basic, balanced ‘slave-gruel’ diet
and the hard labour to which all the island’s slaves are subjected. My muscle tone and suntan are certainly far
improved and then there are the other subtle differences. The sight of my depilated pussy and total
absence of other body hair pleases the majority of the ‘guests’; as do my
nipple and labial rings, which glint most becomingly in the light. Yes, as well as my pussy lips and clitoris,
my much-admired breasts have been pierced and set with a pair of golden rings
that keep my sensitive nipples constantly erect. More importantly, of course, they proclaim me
slave, both to any free person who sets eyes on me as well as to me myself.
For the
past two years of my captivity, I have been denied all clothing. Instead, I have worn the rings. They were placed on me at the command of my
Mistress, Bianca, as a symbol of my slavery.
Every time I look at myself in a mirror, they are the first things to
catch my eye. I have tugged at them,
twisted them through their holes, on rare occasions tried to pull them out or
break them; but they are permanent, inviolable, proclaiming me slave to
all. They are the most potent symbol of
my slavery. I have often wished that the
Tatler people might see me thus, but I fear that, at least in their eyes,
Victoria the helpless slavegirl could never compare with the arrogant, former
debutante.
What a
world I now live in, indeed! I look at
myself closely in the mirror. Rivulets
of sweat trickle down my body, a consequence of my thrashing. My sweaty hair hangs in matted rat-tails down
my back and my body twitches involuntarily within the confines of my
chains. Helplessly, I await the return
of my Negro overseer, the brute who has just thrashed me and who intends to
fuck me brutally again in what I believe is an act of revenge for what my
ancestors allegedly did to his, centuries ago.
Time
passes slowly when you are a slave, giving me time to reflect. I have no watch, in fact I have no possessions
at all. I just have to wait in bondage
for my black man’s pleasure, if he bothers to return at all. Strange as it may seem, as the pain from my
whipping slowly subsides, I feel a treacherously warm feeling stirring inside
my loins. One surprising thing that I
have learnt as a slave is that, amazingly, being whipped or caned tends to
arouse me sexually.
Of course,
the pain is always intolerable when applied, but afterwards my libido always
becomes enhanced to the point that I secretly look forward to being fucked or
otherwise used by the Master, Mistress, Overseer or whoever else is punishing
me.
It is
quite astounding that being punished or otherwise humiliated sexually by a
black or coloured person arouses me similarly, though I am careful not to let
this become too obvious. I am afraid
that, if my captors knew, they would deny me even this pleasure.
Yes, I
have changed. Gone is the arrogance of
the English aristocrat, gone is my feeling of contempt for the black and
coloured races; gone are the airs and graces in which I once delighted. Yes, it is fair to say that I have had those
superficial ‘airs’ whipped right out of me.
Two years of being a slave on Bianca’s Island have taught me a lot. Two years of being permanently naked and
chained, being humiliated and punished, being made to serve many a client of
differing hues and genders in every possible sexual way with every fibre of my
body have taught me exactly where I stand within the context of the society
here. The last surviving member of my
illustrious clan is nothing more than a used and abused slave girl on this
Island State, the exclusive property of Mistress Bianca.
It is as
though God deliberately brought me up as a super snob so that my fall from
power would be further and harder and give more pleasure to my owner and her
guests. The truth is that the last of
our line must now use her body to satisfy the most venal
of the Mistress’s servants and guests, throwing every sinew of her body into
the pleasuring of her superiors.
If only my
racist ancestors could see how their last female descendant has to twist and
writhe to accommodate her coloured ravisher’s sperm and to lick him or her
clean thereafter. They might also cringe
to see how often she is brought easily to orgasm by the descendants of former
slaves who now oversee her and often spurn her contemptuously once they have
taken pleasure with her body.
I can
admit it now to myself, at least.
Secretly, in the very core of my being, I am forced to confess that the
endless abuse has become to arouse me in the most bizarre way. In this regard I am also forced to include
the whippings, canings and other punishments that I am forced to bear. It is so, and I am unable to dispute the fact
that my ravishments, no matter how brutal, never fail to bring me to massive
orgasms, the like of which I might never have known as a free woman. My captors, of course, are very much aware of
my body’s helpless betrayal and my inevitable descent into animal-like
acceptance of my lot. They are expert in
training a girl slave. The fact is
stamped deep into my psyche now. My
slavery is absolute.
I hear a
key in the lock. The door swings open
and my overseer, Hakim, enters. He is a
mountain of a man – six foot four in height, jet-black
skin with tribal scars on his scary looking face. He is enormous in every way; his huge chest
ripples with muscles, his biceps and thighs bulge but most of all he is the
most gigantically hung man on the island.
He claims that his cock is eleven inches long, but having felt it
before, I believe it to be bigger and it is so thick that my hand barely goes
around it. Hakim has been my overseer
since the day I was enslaved. He has the reputation of being very cruel and, as
I have just experienced, he enjoys brutally abusing the many high born while
girls in his charge.
The huge
black monster stands right in front of me and I turn to jelly in front of his
raw power. Thank God the manacles are
still holding me up. From previous
experience, I am extremely nervous at what he is about to do to me now.
Calmly, he
reaches out to grab my ringed nipples and, looking deep into my eyes, twists
them hard.
“Aaarrgghhh!”
I gasp in pain.
“I am
going to fuck you now, milady,” he growls, stripping off his skimpy loincloth
to expose his giant black nudity to me.
“Are you ready to serve?”
“Y … yes … Sir,” I stammer, intimidated, as usual,
by his almost unbelievable size and knowing that my sex channel will inevitably
be painfully stretched to accommodate him.
‘Sir’ is the usual mode of address to an overseer. Guests, of course, are always addressed as
‘Master’ or ‘Mistress’.
He presses
a switch on a control panel in the wall and my chains start to drop, allowing
my feet to touch the floor and my naked body to assume a more natural pose. My legs feel like jelly and I am shaking with
both fear and anticipation. Releasing my
wrists, he twists them behind me and attaches them to one another by a single
link. Another press of a button raises
my pinioned arms behind me, forcing me to bend forward painfully, my cuffed
wrists being pulled higher and higher until I fear that my arms will be
wrenched from their shoulder sockets. In
the mirror, I see myself forced to bend over double. Hakim kicks my already spread legs further
apart until I am standing on tip-toe, arms pulled straight up and my head
somewhere round about my smooth, depilated vagina.
Grinning,
he stands in front of me and, grabbing me by the hair to bring my head up in
order to exhibit his giant, already semi-erect black equipment to me. Not waiting for his command, I open my mouth
as wide as it will go, taking him straight down my throat as he lunges
forward. Big as he is, it is not so
difficult as it might seem. Much
practice, of course, can make anything possible and I am now able to
deep-throat even the giant-sized Hakim without nearly choking to death!
Hakim
always treats me in this extra rough way.
Remembering my previous position – and my perceived betrayal of Mistress
Bianca – I am now considered to be the lowest of the low; just a treacherous,
contemptible white slave to be used and abused at anyone’s whim. I’ve seen Hakim sometime with animals; with
them he can be quite gentle, but not with me.
I begin to
suck assiduously as he moves smoothly up and down my throat. My mind is racing. I am just a poor slave. How can I convince him of my new-found
humility and acceptance of my lot? How
can I persuade him to treat me more gently?
Avidly, I administer to him orally and, within what seem like only
moments, he is ready for the next stage of my rape.
He walks
around me and positions the head of his formidable penis against my oh-so
vulnerable pussy. I feel his throbbing
head against my labia and actually feel a little relieved, despite the
inescapable fact that I know from experience that this is going to hurt – a
lot! In my jack-knifed position he could
easily take me in my ‘rear’ channel, which would be much more painful, probably
leaving me ‘hors-de-combat’ for a week or so.
I feel two
gigantic hands position themselves on my flanks to give the giant Negro
leverage. There is no finesse about what
happens next and, despite any anticipation on my part, it is just as painful as
I expected.
“Aaarrrrghhhhh!”
I scream loudly as I am brutally impaled on the massive member of my
ravisher. The pain is overwhelming
and I cannot help it. My screams
reverberate around the stone cell as my overstretched and fear-dried love
channel is forced to accept the huge invader.
Instinctively, I arch my upper body as I am penetrated deeper and
deeper. Firm hands on my nipples pull me
back with incredible power, forcing my captive body to take in the full length
of his weapon. He penetrates me to the
hilt with this first, savage thrust and I shudder as
my body tries desperately to accommodate him.
He grabs
my hair again and forces me upwards, my body bending backwards like a bow as I
am forced to look into the mirror. I am breathless and my screams die away into a kind of choking
groan as the unavoidable fire begins to build in my shaking loins. Already, my natural juices are beginning to
lubricate my channel as he moves restlessly inside me.
Hakim
reads the signals correctly and, grinning contemptuously, begins to slap my
hanging, pendulous tits as I remain standing, bent over, totally helpless and
skewered on his gigantic cock. As usual,
any pleasure I might feel will be tempered by a matching amount of pain mixed
with a sense of extreme humiliation at my body’s betrayal of my self-will.
Gasping
and groaning, I feel my arousal unavoidably mounting, my cunt muscles already
beginning to undulate helplessly along the length of his cock. I am totally in his power, no longer in any
way in command of my body. I am
defeated; a total slave to my ravisher – as he wills it..
He makes
as if to withdraw and I tense, wishing to hold him there, deep inside me
despite my discomfort, for a just little while longer. It is useless, of course. He will not be stayed. He pulls out until only the swollen head of
his cock is held just within my love portal – then rams into me hard again.
“Aaarrrrghhhhh!”
I scream once more as once more he penetrates deep within me! Still I am forced to look into the mirror by
his hand forcing my head up by the hair.
This time the shock is deeper and, incredibly to my shocked mind, not so
painful. My slave body is already
beginning to accommodate itself to his giant size. I shudder as a previously forbidden lust
takes unassailable hold of me. The pain
is suddenly secondary, my helpless ascent to slave orgasm all that concerns me.
The giant
brute begins to increase his pace, my violated pussy eagerly absorbing every
thrust of the rampant male member within it.
Soon I begin to succumb at the altar of the male again. The thrusts grow more urgent, my breathless
screams and whimperings louder while Hakim’s breath comes in rasps. I am responding helplessly to the brutal fuck
and he slams into me harder and yet more savagely until - in the same instant -
slave and overseer buck into orgasm together.
I am
exhausted and slaked yet, despite my body’s pain, try to enjoy the moment,
still cozening Hakim’s cock deep inside me.
It is not to be, of course. As
soon as he recovers from his monstrous ejaculation, Hakim slips out of me with
a disgusting ‘squelch’ and feel a mixture of his jism and my own juices running
down the insides of my thighs.
Walking
around to stand spread-legged front of me, he waits without speaking for me to
clean him. Submissively, I lean forward
as far as I can to take the still erect and leaking cock gently in my
mouth. I have been well trained to do
this for my Masters and Mistresses, of course, and no longer see it as anything
less than my slave duty. He then unhooks
my arms, collars and re-cuffs me and then leads me back to my cell on very
unsteady feet.
And so, on
this beautiful Caribbean island, a black overseer leads his well-fucked slave,
once the darling of English society, through the Spartan corridors of the slave
quarters. I follow him meekly,
well-thrashed, used and filled with his seed, to be locked away for the
night. He has not said a word to me
since the beginning of my ravishing.
We reach
my cell, Hakim locks the end of my chain to the ringbolt in the wall and
squeezes my tits hard just for fun before un-cuffing my hands.
“Sleep well,
slut!” he growls, crudely fingering my well used and weeping slit. “Mistress Bianca inspects you tomorrow.” With this, he leaves, slamming the door
behind him.
My name is
Victoria and I am a slave for life on Bianca’s Island. My full name and rank before my enslavement
was Lady Victoria Chester. Mistress
Bianca has instructed me to write down my story, though I’m not quite sure why
she has done so. Perhaps it is to humiliate me further, perhaps it is a form of
advertisement for her island, or perhaps even to deter other former guests from
contemplating doing what I did.
Whichever is the case, I suspect she gets a sadistic pleasure by making
me re-live my degradation through my own words.
I have
just completed my twenty-third birthday and this is my
second year of captivity on Bianca’s Island.
What follows is my story. …