Excerpt from: "Hell in Hollow Earth" by Adriana Arden

 

They reached a big white building with a front a bit like a Greek temple, but with little domes and spires on its roof. The portico over its entrance was supported by a row of caryatids: columns carved in the shape of women. But unlike typical Greek caryatids, these were all naked and tightly bound in chains...

Jenny gulped at the sight, even as she felt her nipples pricking up in anticipation. There was no doubt what went on inside. How did she keep ending up in places like this?

Herman led them up the steps into the cool interior.

Inside was a huge echoing space with a high-vaulted roof, looking like it should belong inside a cathedral, supported by more columns like an indoor forest. Fretted stone screens ran between them, dividing the space up into smaller chambers. All this was illuminated by a clear storey of high windows. Under these running along the walls were rows of small white stone pens. Several had naked women chained to the walls and huddled up inside them.

A burly, dark-haired man stepped forward to greet Herman. At his heels trailed a young fresh-faced blonde lad no older than Jenny who looked nervous and excited. They did not wear military insignia and were instead dressed in light cheesecloth smocks, belted at the waist, over shorts and sandals. Hung on their belts were pain paddles, the blades of which were set on rotating heads, on the other ends of which were black rubber dildos.

'Another batch of little fish for you Burckhardt,' Herman said, handing the leash chain of the coffle over to the other man. He looked his young associate up and down. 'And who's this?'

'Carl Naumoff,' Burckhardt explained. 'One of our younger volunteers. He came down on the Donar a few weeks ago. Very eager to learn about the slave training of lesser species.'

'Certain to be a growing trade in the new Fatherland,' Herman said approvingly. 'What you think of Hollow Earth, Carl?'

'It's incredible, Sergeant,' Carl said brightly.

Jenny blinked. "Hollow Earth"?

'It is just that,' Herman agreed. 'Well, I'll leave them in your care...'

The sergeant left and Burckhardt turned to Carl.

'Now you going to learn how we process a fresh batch of native women, lad,' he said in lecturing tones. 'But before we start breaking them in, we've got to clean them up. They've been living out in the jungle, the filthy creatures. No decent man wants to play with dirty women. As far as slaves are concerned, you don't spare the rod or the soap and water. Luckily whoever built this place provided all the necessary facilities...'

With Carl trotting along at his heels, he led the women between the forests of columns and screens until they came to a narrow plunge bath filled with steaming, slightly sulphurous-smelling water. Burckhardt clipped the ends of the coffle leashes to a heavy loop of chain that had been slung over the bath which was supported by windlasses set between stone pillars at each end.

On command, Carl turned the windlass crank handle and the chain loop circled over the pool, pulling the women down the steps into the hot water.

The water came up to their necks. Carl and Burckhardt took up long handled mops and brushes, rubbed them onto cakes of soap, and then became washing the women off. They squealed as their heads were pushed down under the water so their hair could be cleaned at the same time. The brushes and mops plunged deeper down between their legs, scraping through their groins.

When Burckhardt was satisfied they were clean, they were cranked out of the pool to stand dripping on its side.

'They'll dry off quickly enough in this heat,' Burckhardt said.

'Look, Mr Burckhardt, this one's got a funny mark on her bottom,' Carl said, pointing at Jenny's Oz brand.

Jenny froze. Was it going to give her away? Would they realize she was not native?

Burckhardt inspected the brand briefly and then shrugged. 'It's a new one, but quite a few of them have tattoos. Maybe she's from a different tribe. It doesn't matter so long as she learns to obey orders without question. That's all that matters, Carl, remember that!'

'Yes, I will, Mr Burckhardt,' Carl promised.

'Now I'll show you how we make sure they stay clean inside...' Burckhardt said.

The women were led round another screen to a long white stone trough. It had water constantly running through it and it had a kind of fountain arrangement at one end.

'Of course, they don't understand commands yet, so you have to prod them a lot,' Burckhardt said, doing that very thing to make them straddle the trough. 'Yes, open your legs wide,' he shouted at the confused women, 'this is how civilised people do it...'

Jenny obeyed and the other women copied her. There were muffled sobs and gasps, as they emptied themselves into the stream of water. When they were done, Burckhardt prodded them along to the far end where Carl was swivelling the hinged head of the fountain around to squirt a stream of water up into their groins.

'That's right, give their front and back passageways a good flush out,' Burckhardt said. 'Any man who puts his manhood up inside them wants their holes to be clean and hygienic...'

They might be slaves, but they were going to be clean slaves thanks to a Teutonic obsession with cleanliness, Jenny thought dizzily.

'Now lad,' Burckhardt confided, 'you'll see how we keep them in line...'

With their pussies still dripping, they were led on out of the back of the building. There was a colonnade enclosing a large courtyard that contained many troughs and pots filled with two varieties of exotic plants. Some had rigid phallic stalks with bulbous red and orange heads with rings of spiked-tipped leaves set lower down. Small, inverted glass bowls had been hung over the heads of the plants, as if to collect something. Other rows carried smaller glossy yellow and black cactus-like plants that sprouted in crowns.

At the sight of these crops, the native women wailed in fear.

Burckhardt laughed. 'Yes, they recognise them all right. When the first expedition arrived here, they saw how native women reacted to those big ones when they came on them unexpectedly in the jungle. They couldn't help themselves. They licked their heads and then impaled themselves on them, screwing themselves for hours climax after climax, not caring about the cuts from the leaves. In fact, the pain just seemed to add to their frenzy. The naturalist with the expedition reckoned it was a way for the plants to get blood to fertilise their soil. They called the stuff they exuded nymphoria nectar, but usually we just call it "slave juice".

'But the juice only affects women, not men. The local men had already learned how to extract it and used it to keep their women obedient and passionate. We just took it a bit further. The smaller plants give us the pain venom for whips and paddles and anything else we use on them. Depending on what concentration you use and whether the skin is broken or not, it stings and burns like hell for a while, raising some pretty welts. But they go down again just as quickly.'

Jenny listen to all this while trying to keep her face straight. She wasn't supposed to understand what was being said, but now she realized what the fishing line the Heimdall had used to capture her had been coated with. No wonder the native women had feared it...

'So that's how we can train them to obey us, Mr Burckhardt,' Carl said.

'That's right, lad. And now you'll see how it all works in practice. You've got to get plenty of that if you want to handle these women properly...'

He led the coffle back into the temple and a compartment that held a device consisting of three long horizontal poles of some dark body polished wood, set between two upright stone pillars. It was so solid and massive it had to be part of the original structure of the building. There was a thicker upper pole and two thinner lower ones on either side. Sets of heavy metal cuffs had been fitted to the outer low bar, while dangling chains hung from the inner one. The outward facing bar also had carved wooden dildos, apparently made of the same wood as the poles themselves, set on sturdy adjustable sliding mounts positioned between the sets of cuffs.

Burckhardt patted and stroked the phallic devices and then opened a set of the cuffs. 'All original put here by whoever built this place. I don't know what they're made of, but they were built to last and to do a job. The job we're going to do right now...'

The women were bent over the upper bar. Their legs were spread and cuffed to the lower outward facing one. Burckhardt pulled them further forward and clipped the links of chain on the inner bar to the front rings of their collars, holding them down. Now they formed a line with their legs spread and their vulnerable bottoms facing outward.

From a stone shelf beside the trestle, from under which several canes and lashes dangled, Burckhardt had taken up the jar of milky fluid and a paintbrush and was stirring it. Jenny smelt the aroma of the nymphoria nectar. No, no, not again...

Trying to shut her nostrils against it, Jenny looked about her for some kind distraction. Her eyes fell on some things hung on the wall above the shelf. There was a 24-hour clock and beside it a large business planner calendar chart, looking fresh and new and jarring with its ancient surroundings. She saw the months and days were marked in Spanish, which had German equivalents written in beside them by hand. Almost a third of the days had been carefully crossed out. The next empty square yet to be marked off was April the Nineteenth, 1951. Was that today in this alternate reality?

Burckhardt was painting the fluid onto each of the dildos mounted on the lower trestle bar, which now jutted upwards between the women's legs. The other women could smell it as well and were beginning to moan and squirm about in fear and unwilling arousal.

'This is a thicker mix,' he explained to Carl, 'it works better by contact. Soaks right into their bodies through their pussy tissues.'

When all the dildos were coated, he started extending the shafts. 'Watch how this is done lad. Get them lined up with the lower end of their slots and then slide it neatly in all the way. Don't worry if they squeal a bit, that's natural. They can take it all right. That's what those holes are made for.'

Between them, Burckhardt and Carl slid the dildos up inside the women.

Jenny gasped and helplessly clenched on to the ancient dildo as it filled her. She could feel it burning sweetly inside her. Then she became aware of an irresistible sense of excitement flowing through her. Her face flushed and a burning pulse surged into her dangling breasts, making them feel hot and heavy even as her nipples popped up. The lips of her sex tingled and swelled, flowing with juices.

Burckhardt laughed. 'You see, they can't help it enjoying it. Watch...'

He took down a leather whip from the selection under the shelf and painted the slave juice onto it. Then he walked round the back of the frame and rubbed it across the gagged and stretched lips of each of the women.

Jenny tasted the anointed whip and felt her lips burning at the touch and felt her head swimming. Frantically she tried to kiss and lick it. Please, she wanted more, more...

Burckhardt laughed again and returned to the other side of the trestle. 'See, lad, they can't get enough of it. Now all we have to do is start teaching them to love being beaten while they're helpless...'

And with that, he swung the whip and lashed it across the row of bare bottoms with hiss and a crack.

The women squealed and jerked frantically against their cuffs and chains. This meant of course that they impaled themselves even deeper onto the dildos.

Hiss, crack!

Their churning hips sucked and twisted about the shafts, like lemons on a squeezer. And just like lemons, the juices poured out of them.

Jenny could feel her bottom burning which only seemed to amplify the lustful bubbling inside her loins. As she writhed and jerked about, it was as if the dildo had come alive inside her.

Hiss, crack!

Their hot, dangling breasts were bouncing and slapping against each other as they squirmed about the poles over which they were bound. They were all sobbing by now, their tears dripping to the ground, but they could not stop themselves. They were tears of pain and despair: crying for their lost freedom even as they surrendered to the joy of masochistic suffering.

Then with a rush like a breaking wave, Jenny felt her loins fill and explode. Her juices spurted out around the sides of the shaft as she clenched frantically onto the wonderful device, sucking the pleasure out of it so that it washed through her helpless body until she slumped limply over the bars.