When Prince Samuel was stranded on
Earth by his enemies, he was not entirely helpless. His assets included a
female slave, two loyal men and examples of advanced technology. It took him
only a year to become a rich man, cautiously patenting and selling advanced
technology under the assumed identity of an American citizen, a Mr Crown.
Prudently not wishing to advertise his presence or the fact that travel between
worlds in parallel universes was possible, and having been raised in a slave owning
society, once he had established himself, the solution to the problem of
returning to his home universe seemed obvious.
He needed scientists, but more, he
needed secrecy. Young female science graduates - screened by psychological
profile for the sexually submissive, to ensure both an easily controlled
workforce, and to provide him with all the comforts of home - would be
kidnapped and put to work building an inter-dimensional Gate in the secret lab
he'd built in Britain. Suitable candidates could be screened under the guise of
a job interview.
On his travels the prince had
developed a taste for lingerie, Kentucky bourbon and poker. Kathy Jane, wearing
just heels, a cream satin teddy and the matching stockings her captor had
chosen for her, slipped into her place at the poker table. She was also wearing
a collar, manacles and her wrists were in handcuffs at her sides, attached to a
locked belt with short lengths of chain, which to her surprise she sometimes
forgot. The prince allowed his captives to roam the estate's house and walled
garden freely provided they put themselves in restraints, and sitting in a cell
all day was deathly boring. Once a girl had put herself in restraints once, it
was surprisingly easy for her to get used to the straps and chains.
She had quickly realised that the
prince did not just want poker partners. A stranger in a hostile foreign land,
his men loyal but contented underlings, he was lonely; his beautiful young
captive scientists providing him with intelligent, animated, unguarded
conversation for the first time in a long stressful exile. As his prisoners,
but not yet his sex-slaves, they were still people to him. He'd candidly told
Kathy Jane that originally he'd planned to start breaking in the six of them at
once, two British girls and four Americans, in two day intervals.
Now he lovingly hoarded the four
'free' women that remained from his original collection of six, teasing
himself, putting off for just one more day, then another, the moment when
another one of them would be chained to his bed. And also, she suspected,
probably very much enjoying the obvious anxiety that his remaining unbroken
captives experienced, with the threat of real sexual slavery hanging over them
daily. Breathless, excited, fearful anticipation, and an unspoken, never
acknowledged, shameful hunger for domination
Maria, a deliciously plump
Spanish/American girl had been broken in first, practically throwing herself at
the prince on the first day, while the other five of them were still in denial.
Kathy Jane had even been allowed to watch the dark eyed girl's first
humiliating, sadistic, sexual torture. Sydney, a slender delicate blonde had
stolen the march on the rest of them by simply and boldly asking if she could
be next. Prince Samuel had kept her waiting on tenterhooks, teasing her,
pretending indecision for a fortnight before he finally acquiesced. Her cries
of agony and ecstasy had echoed around the prince's bedchamber for the past
three nights; and now she was no longer a novelty his goons were free to enjoy
her too.
Kathy Jane looked up as Sam and Gemma
appeared in the doorway. Samantha was a curvy fun-loving English blonde, Gemma
a more rangy, athletic girl, one of Kathy Jane's fellow Americans. Both girls
wore heels and stockings, Sam a suspender belt, Gemma a waspie corset with
suspender straps, and both were otherwise naked. Shabnam was already kneeling
beside the table beside Kathy Jane. All three were only allowed out of their
cells with their wrists handcuffed behind their backs now, and were fitted with
balls and chains, punishment for escape attempts. Sam was dragging her ball and
chain along behind her, hands tight around the chain, the heavy metal ball
rolling from side to side and leaving a visible trail on the carpet. Gemma was
carrying hers, again with wrists cuffed behind her. She tottered a few manacled
steps forward then paused, letting the heavy metal ball hit the floor with a
thud. Panting, she paused a few seconds, then lifted again, managing to reach
the table.
Like Shabnam the two girls then sank
to their knees, sitting on their heels with the metal ball nestled between
spread thighs. Kathy Jane wasn't surprised. The ends of all three chains were
padlocked to rings set through each girl’s clitoris, and even just standing,
the weight of the chain hanging off the sensitive nub could torment a girl to
distraction.
Gemma had kept her escape attempt
simple. She'd thrown a thick quilt out of a top window into the enclosed garden
- only the ground floor windows were locked closed - and tied on the manacles
they were allowed to roam the house in with string, not clicked the cuffs
locked around her ankles. Outside, throwing the quilt on top of the wall which
was set with broken glass, she'd vaulted over and taken off like a hare. An
alarm had immediately gone off, and she'd been brought back tied spreadeagled
over the bonnet of a Land Rover.
Sam had been more subtle. She'd rubbed
herself up against the Prince like a cat, the only one of them to voluntarily
wear the shiny latex catsuit with its built-in dildo that the prince had
provided along with satin and lace lingerie, hanging onto his every word. She'd
wanted to know all about him and his home, the Slaveworld, even when his
birthday was, apparently fascinated. The pretty blonde had had the prince's
safe open and was trying to get a signal on his locked away mobile phone when
one of his men had caught her. The safe's combination had been his date of
birth backwards.
Shabnam had kept it really simple. The
beautiful British Asian girl had set a fire in the attic, but unfortunately
she'd given herself away, checking to see that everyone was safely downstairs.
Like Sam, her effort had been discovered too quickly, before the fire could
take hold. Serge had no difficulty controlling the flames with a fire
extinguisher. No fire crews breaking down the door!
Kathy Jane was aware it was her turn
to attempt escape, very aware of the expectant looks in the eyes of her fellow
captives who had already tried. She kept telling herself she would. Soon!
Enjoying submission was one thing, but
she was going to be a real slave, a sex-toy to be bought and sold, if the
Prince ever got her to his world! Besides, and without wishing to sound
melodramatic, he was an alien, his people up to who knew what on this world.
She had a clear duty to all mankind to expose him to the authorities if she
could. As yet, she just honestly couldn't see a way.
Prince Samuel arrived with jolly a “Hello,"
for everyone. He was flanked by two top-heavy French-maid slaves, one the
semi-literate peasant girl he'd brought with him from the Slaveworld, the other
an English bio-chemist he'd obedience trained before the arrival of his six
picked Gate scientists, both of them now interchangeable sex-slaves. One girl
released her fellow captive scientists from their balls and chains and
handcuffed their wrists in front of them, the other settling herself into the
dealer’s chair.
"Real stakes today; no more
practice. I've prepared currency," the prince told them jovially.
He dropped a sheaf of papers onto the
table, separating and signing the top one before passing it to the dealer
slave. On it was written FREEDOM - $5000. The blonde passed over 5000 in chips.
High stakes. Kathy Jane took a deep
breath and then snagged the pen and papers, sorting through the I.O.Us. Pierced
nipples and wearing a butt-plug permanently were worth $2000 each. A
permanently worn dildo was worth $3000, oral sex on demand $1,500, $2000 if she
swallowed, and a single whipping, $500. After thinking a moment, her pen
hovering over the I.O.U. she signed for bigger breasts at $4000 - surely a big
enough stake - and the other three girls made their choices. They cut cards for
the Button and the dealer slave dealt out the first hand.
Her heart fluttering in her chest,
Kathy Jane reached for her cards, wondering not for the first time what Prince
Samuel's Slaveworld was really like. He'd described his home in detail to Sam,
but if he'd been suspicious of her from the start, could they trust what he'd
told her. She found it hard to imagine a world where commonplace sexual slavery
existed quite openly. Surely the prince's lurid depictions were exaggerated.
She brushed the thought away, knowing
she needed to concentrate fully on the game. In the very real sense of the
world, she had a lot at stake. Despite her best intentions, a little corner in
the back of her mind just couldn't stop wondering how the Slaveworld would
really treat a girl from her version of Earth.
***
The family steam-limousine, hand built
over 170 years ago and still both magnificent and reliable, chrome and dark
blue paint polished bright, sighed to a stop beside the curb. Robbie almost
climbed over his sister in his eagerness to get out. She paused, a hand on the
door-latch, deliberately holding him back.
"Calm down. You're going to wet
yourself in a minute," she teased.
"I'm perfectly composed, thank
you," he replied with frayed dignity, forcing himself to wait with gritted
teeth until the chauffeur opened the door.
He loved his little sister dearly,
sometimes, but she could be a brat when she wanted to. He knew full well that
rising to the bait would only ensure escalation, and further delay. He knew the
real cause of her frustration was that she was still seventeen, eleven months
his junior, while he was legally an adult now, eighteen today!
"Do try to behave like an
adult," he couldn't resist advising her as he stepped out of the car,
their parents following. "Children are not allowed in pet shops."
Mother serenely ignored their familiar
sibling bickering, but Father frowned. "Yes, do remember, this is Robert's
day, Jessica," he cautioned.
Seeing that frown, and with it the
possibility she might be excluded, Jessica bit down whatever retort had been on
her lips and nodded brightly. "Sure. Okay!"
She wanted to see his birthday present
without delay too. Ever since she'd got to pet and stroke a latex-coated poodle
when she was younger, Prince Samuel and his then Lady visiting her college on a
state visit, she'd had this thing for curvy, top-heavy, slave-girls.
The pet shop was small, exclusive, not
even a display-slave in the window. Inside, the price of merchandise kept going
up, with not one slave on display, just a pair of comfortable chairs facing a
desk. The proprietor was waiting, bowing deeply and murmuring respectful
pleasantries as he ushered them through a door into a brightly lit viewing
room.
The slave-girl in the centre of the
room was naked, a tight latex hood clinging to her face, the hood secured in
place with a padlocked collar. There were nostril holes and an opening at the
back through which was pulled a thick blonde pony-tail. A hanging chain clipped
to a ring on the top of her hood kept the girl upright.
The naked slave had a broad polished
black leather belt tight around her waist, nipping it down to a cruel but
spectacular eighteen inches. A pair of handcuffs secured to the back of the
padlocked belt locked the hooded girl’s hands behind her back, a second pair
around her ankles keeping her feet together. She stood in four inch stiletto
heeled sandals with a padlocked ankle-strap. A one-size-fits-all key for his
birthday present's various restraints hung swinging between firm thighs on a
short length of chain, clipped to the blonde's ring-pierced clitoris.
Robbie hugged himself in delight. He'd
never dared imagine he might actually own one of the superb, expensive and very
rare British slaves one day.
He only realised he'd unconsciously
clenched his hands into fists when his fingernails dug into his palms. His
birthday present had enormous breasts, gently rising and falling with each
breath, tipped with beautiful pale pink nipples set with steel rings. The
ring-decorated melons were delightfully firm - as firm as such big heavy mounds
could be; a lovely deep teardrop shape - touching lightly together.
That morning, along with his presents,
he'd been presented with his Bill of Sale, a birthday copy printed on
parchment. Then his birthday present's pedigree had been transferred to his
personal computer. Eagerly poring over her history and vital statistics, he
discovered the Crown Court had sentenced her to twenty-five years’ service and
she had several surgical implants. A locator tag, about the size of a pea was
implanted in the right breast so that her position could be satellite tracked
anywhere in the world. Coin shaped sensors attached to the skull at the temples
monitored brain-waves, and at request, his personal computer would list any and
every orgasm. She'd also been implanted with two drugs, both slowly dissolving
into her bloodstream; an aphrodisiac/contraceptive mix and a drug to physically
addict her to semen.
"I must thank you again for
putting her to one side for us, Mr Khan," his Father said.
"Not at all necessary, My Lord.
My family has a long and proud tradition of loyalty to your House. I'm honoured
to have been able to offer you first refusal on such a lovely animal."
Khan and his father before him had
both served in the family's household regiment, Robbie remembered, the
slave-dealer's son and brother presently on the rolls.
"But where did you manage to find
a British girl, Mr Khan," his Mother asked. "My husband and I looked
everywhere."
The proprietor explained he'd
discovered the blonde at a minor State auction and snapped her up, no one else
realising the hissing, spitting, fireball was a British girl. The information
had not been on her pedigree or the auction-house program at the time, the
breed not then officially recognised by the Kennel Club. He'd had her
body-sculpted first - waist trimmed, breasts substantially enlarged, some minor
skin blemishes removed and a little facial work done, after first transforming
her into a genuine blonde - and had then efficiently broken her spirit by
hiring the now totally sex-starved plaything out as one half of a taxi-pony
team. Any noble could hop into the seat of the two-girl pony trap, a credit
card inserted into the correct slot releasing the brakes on the taxi-trap's
wheels.
"Would the young Sir care to
inspect the merchandise?" the proprietor concluded.
Would he! Like any other teenager he'd
surreptitiously groped slaves secured on public hitching rails, he and his
friends had once tried to buy a slave-girl at a gypsy auction with a fake ID
and until caught, he had sneaked into his father's stable block many a
wonderful night; reaching through the bars of their cages to molest helplessly
bound, big-titted, show ponies. But he'd never had a girl of his own before,
legally his property, to use, abuse and enjoy as he wished. The wait to get his
hands on a bound woman had been interminable, especially the last few months.
Making the moment last, and trying to
work up his courage, he reached down for the key swinging between the hooded
blonde's thighs, and gave her a little tug with the ring set through her
clitoris. His birthday present let out a loud, gag-distorted, gasp, her hips
jerking. Robbie gave the pet-shop proprietor a questioning look.
"Gagged of course," he
explained. "She can't see or hear you either. Padding over the ears."
Emboldened, Robbie reached out and
grasped a velvet buttock, soft warm silky flesh under his hand; stroking down a
firm thigh. The hooded sex-object flinched at his first touch - just surprise -
because she made no move to pull away after. He stroked her belly, squeezed
into a taut swell by the tight belt, fingers trailing through golden pubic
curls trimmed and waxed into a neat vertical tuft. His birthday present gave a
little gag-muffled whimper when his inexpert fingers stroked down between plump
sex-lips, and up inside her. Penetrating!