Rachel and Julia were serving Brock, their black slaver owner, as he lazed on a low couch under the shady canopy over the veranda of his great stone house. Julia licked his cock with slow, practised swoops of her head, while Rachel kept him cool by wafting a large fan of white ostrich feathers. To Brock the large exotic fans were more valuable than the bare-breasted beauties who wafted them. Ostrich feathers were his insignia - and he went nowhere without them.

The American women were but two of a dozen or more personal slaves Brock maintained for his pleasure. Six of them served him on the veranda of the grand colonial house that day, their svelte bodies naked and oiled. They were prime stock but considered nothing special. Gleaming gold rings pierced their nipples and matching bangles adorned their wrists and ankles, attesting to Brock’s great wealth and status.

So these slaves might have been premium, for such an important personage to select them from those available to him. Some of them slithered around the Dark Slaver on silk cushions, licking and caressing his ebony flesh, while Rachel and another woman stood by and wafted the large fans of ostrich feathers to keen him cool. It was hot… near 40 degrees. In the jungle, being forever naked had positive benefits.

Rachel saw Julia steal a glance out at the stockade as she licked the cock. A coffle of a dozen new female slaves had just arrived, all of them white and comely. Brock was only interested in white females. The new-arrivals lined up in front of the veranda for inspection. Their breasts were tagged by crude fish-hooks - the mark of new slaves. There was a predominance of blondes, but three pretty brunettes, and a stunning girl with midnight-black hair that hung to her buttocks. Rachel felt the women’s eyes upon her as she continued to waft the ostrich feathers over her Master. She gave a faint smile. If they regarded her as an alien apparition, little did they know...

The women looked weary and terrified. Rachel knew they had endured a horrific sea voyage to the Dark Continent, and then a long trek into the jungle. Even from the veranda, she could see perspiration gleaming on their naked bodies, along with scratches from the undergrowth, and marks from the guards’ whips.

These women had reason to be terrified. People the world over feared the infamous Dark Slavers, who were renowned for their harsh skills in turning out prime stock for the markets. A white slave woman moulded by a Dark Slaver always brought a good price on the block. Brock's men had turned Rachel and Julia into abject slaves. After a few of months in the jungle hell, they had become panting sluts with the wiles of whores. That, from their beginnings as modern and liberated American career women.

The naked creatures who lined up for Brock’s inspection had grown up with the knowledge of slavery as an institution on their world. Many might have once had slave maids of their own. Rachel couldn’t even guess whether that made it easier for them or not, now that their own tits had tags.

The cameo on the veranda must have presented a pretty sight for the new arrivals. It was a frightening taste of their life to come. A few of the women tried to shield their bodies. Surely they had grown accustomed to enforced nudity by then? A slave soon lost her modesty. But even now, an overseer strode along the line, cuffing hands away from breasts and pudenda, and slapping bellies with a short-blade whip as reminder to tighten their flesh.

That’s when the plane roared overhead. Julia was deeply sucking the Slaver’s prodigious cock, and she lifted her mouth from the black shaft in surprise. The other women on the cushions ceased their ministrations too, shocked by the loud noise. Spooked women in the line on new arrivals gasped and squealed. The Slaver appeared unperturbed and gestured for his slaves to continue their work, and he eyed the newcomers as if nothing had happened.

Rachel dares not move from her station under the canopy, but she caught a glimpse of a large blue and white jetliner as it dropped beyond the tree line. While it wasn’t a normal landing, the plane’s descent appeared to be controlled. She glanced at Julia and raised her eyebrows in astonishment. Julia returned the glance with a small smile on her moist lips, but she squealed when the black slaver clouted her ear.

‘Back to work, white slut. Suck my cock.’

‘Yes, Maas, mercy,’ Julia said, taking the shaft deep into her mouth again.

‘Four marks on this one’s slate,’ he said, placing his hand in Julia’s blonde hair and pulling her head further onto his cock.

A girl lurking in the shade of towards the compound gate the house called, ‘Yes Maas. Four marks for Julia. I’ll mark the record.’

Rachel sighed, wondering how many demerits Julia had accumulated since her last flogging. Few of them completed a week with a clean slate, and each mark earned a stripe of the cane on the following Sabbath. Few of the girls on Brock’s personal chain sat on Sundays.

A mile or more away from Brock’s mansion and compound, gangs of naked field slaves were tilling the land under the lashes of brutal overseers.

“What’s that?” a man said, pausing from his work and shielding his eyes against the searing sun as a huge white object swooped from the sky, leaving a trail of vapour in its wake as it disappeared behind trees in the mid-distance.

“Ye Gods!” another cried, making as if to turn and run.

A whip cracked, and the wretch fell to his knees with a screech.

The manacled male slaves worked in strings of twelve. Their 30 ft central chain culminated at either end with stout eye-bolts embedded in large granite blocks. Now, under the lash, they returned to their labours, striking the soil with heavy steel pick-axes.

The Dark Continent wasn’t the best place on that world for a white person to be enslaved. The land mass bore its name as much for its brutality as for the ebony hue of its natives. Slaves here, though, were always white-skinned. Black indigents regarded the white races as natural slaves and fair game for capture. Dark Slavers bred few slaves - it was easier to snatch new stock from far off lands.

The skins of many of the chain gang chattels had weathered to a dark even tan, but that didn’t mean the overseer’s vicious whips stung or striped any the less. Nearly all male slaves ended up on chain gangs. Not so the women. Slavers rarely put the more attractive and valuable females in the fields. Even so some burlier women were working on another chain, 100 feet behind the men. They, too, saw the strange object fall from the sky. Their cries of awe and fear rang across the large clearing.

“Work, you lazy bitches!” the handler screeched, laying his lash on naked flesh.

The chain that held the women was less substantial than the heavy links that restrained the men. It held a dozen or more female slaves, strung together like a necklace. Their work was lighter too. They followed behind the men, raking and smoothing the broken soil. Two girls even worked unchained, carrying water back and forth to the different lines. A few women, though, wore stout chains and manacles like the men. They merited harsher treatment, for whatever reason. One, a trim but sturdy woman, worked on the men’s line, and required to swing a heavy mattock with the rest of them. The mere sight of her provided an incentive for the other women to work hard. They remained shackled to the same chain, day and night. So a woman on a male chain was always at the mercy of the men.

“Something dropped from the sky, Maas,” one of the women called.

“It’s no concern of yours,” the overseer snarled. “Back to work, or I’ll flay the skin off your back.”