Chapter 1

 

Several strokes of the Master's cane were required to bring Shann back to her senses when the helicopter touched down in a field, close to a high white mansion. She had never before been aboard a flying machine and had been strapped down for the twenty minute flight from Parlamon's eastern heliport to her Master's ranch. Once unstrapped from her seat and thrown out onto the grass, the whip had been necessary to snap her out of her hysteria.

"Stupid slummie," her Master growled, wrenching on her leash. "You behaved like a frightened little girl. You're lucky I don't flog the skin from your arse."

"I'm sorry Master," Shann whimpered, still trembling violently from her ordeal.

He continued to grumble as he led her towards the house, where his arrival was greeted by a foursome of perfectly sculpted young blondes, wearing semi-transparent white skirts barely covering the hips. They were bare breasted and their slender torsos glistened with perfumed oil.

"Welcome home, Master," they chorused.

"Where is my wastrel son?" he barked. "I have a present for him."

"Master Brondley is in the stables," one of the girls replied. "Shall I take the slave to him?"

"I'll do it myself," he replied. "If he's been tormenting Goldie, I'll whip him as though he were a slave himself."

Shann stumbled and panted, struggling to keep pace with her Master's determined strides. He was tugging her leash with such force that the collar bit into her neck. As they neared the stables at the rear of the house, the air was pierced by the high pitched shriek of a girl in pain. The Master's pace grew even more frantic.

Inside the stable, Master Brondley was engaged in one of his favourite activities. Hanging by a chain from the rafters was an iron cartwheel. Hanging from the wheel, by ropes around her wrists and ankles, was a naked girl with cropped brown hair. She was suspended face down, five feet above the ground, but it was not the prospect of a nasty fall which was causing her to cry out. Brondley had turned her breasts into two large pincushions. Both globes bristled with dozens of tiny gold pins. But even that was child's play compared to the torture he was now inflicting upon his helpless victim.

A total of eight small steel hooks were embedded in her labia, steel balls dangling from the attached chains. Her vagina was stuffed with one fist sized end of an enormous black latex dildo. The other end was rammed into her anus. Brondley was now rubbing her buttocks with coarse sandpaper. The louder she screamed, the harder he rubbed. He would not have stopped until he drew blood, had his father not interrupted the fun.

"Leave her alone, Brondley!" he said sharply. "Must you torment my best girls every time I turn my back?"

"This isn't one of your best," the young man protested. "She works in the kitchen. I caught her slacking, so I thought I'd teach her a lesson. Did you pick up a new girl in town?"

The Master whipped off Shann's hood. Her face was red and sheened with perspiration. She tried to avoid looking at the sobbing girl on the wheel as she offered her sweetest smile to the man she understood now owned her.

"I thought it was time you had a slave of your own," his father told him. "You did say you were interested in training a girl for competition, didn't you?"

"Uh, yeah," Brondley replied. "But you know I'm not over keen on blondes."

"You can dye her hair any colour you like," he rasped. "Shave it off, for all I care. You wanted your own slave, now you have her. It's up to you to see that she fulfils her potential. Don't waste her on the kind of silly perversions you subject the domestics to. This girl has the look of something special. Might even win a race or two, if you train her properly."

"Might," Brondley murmured, with scant enthusiasm, slapping the buttocks of the girl on the wheel with sandpaper. He was unwilling to give Shann his full attention until he had finished toying with this one.

"Release her, damn it!" his father barked. "You and I have work to do!"

Brondley pouted, as he first untied the slave's ankles, then her wrists. She collapsed onto the straw at his feet, rolled onto all fours and began kissing his boots.

He kicked her away. "Get back to the kitchen, you slut. Leave the pins in your tits and the hooks in your cunt. I haven't finished with you yet."

"Where's my Goldie?" his father demanded, as the whimpering slave scurried away.

"I put her on the treadmill, like you said," Brondley replied. "She should have covered a good ten miles by now."

"Let's check on her," said the older man. "I don't want her overdoing it. She has a full day on the assault course tomorrow, then two days to rest before the big race."

They walked towards the house, Brondley taking Shann's leash, yet remaining only vaguely interested in her. It was a reaction unfamiliar to her and she was not sure how she ought to feel.

"I knew you wouldn't even thank me," his father grumbled. "I find you a lovely young slave, with trophy winning potential, and you show more interest in sandpapering the skin off the arse of a domestic. It's high time you did some growing up, son. Otherwise, domestics are all you'll ever have."

"Dad, I like the slave," Brondley protested. "But she's not competition winning material. She's a pet - something to fuck and maybe pass around at parties. She wouldn't win a trophy in a million years."

"I've been a quarter of a century in the slave business," his father reminded him. "That's three years more than you've been alive, so don't try telling me I don't know a thing or two about slaves. I've given you this girl as a challenge. I'm beginning to think you don't have what it takes to master anything more challenging than a cheap domestic. Use her to prove me wrong."

They were inside the house now and entering a huge gymnasium, purpose built for the training of competition slaves. One such girl, an ash blonde, with a nearly flat chest and well developed muscles, was pounding a fast moving treadmill. All she wore was a white sweatband on her brow. She was drenched in sweat and obviously close to exhaustion. But her feet continued to robotically rise and fall, her tired arms pumping in rhythm. To stop for breath, or even slow down a fraction, would mean being carried backwards on the treadmill to the strands of electrified wire at her back. The low voltage sting would be as invigorating as a few well aimed whiplashes.

Goldie was her Master's pride and joy. Her beauty alone would have accumulated riches for him on the pet show circuit, but Earl Lavine had no time for purely decorative slaves. His stables produced top class slummie athletes, of which nineteen year old Goldie was a perfect example. In her first year of competition, she had won nine major trophies for her Master. This year, he was confident she would win even more, including a gold crown of thorns at the most prestigious event of all in the Outworld sporting calendar - the Sadolympics - where slaves battled to the very edge of endurance for the glory of their Masters. The games were still more than six months' distant, but the slaves were already in training and hunts in the Slumniplex were being stepped up in the search for the cream of its girls.

In the gymnasium, several domestics stood by, alert for a command from either of their Masters. None of the girls Shann had seen so far appeared to be over twenty one and even the domestics were strikingly attractive. But her young Master was the most pleasant surprise of the day. With his dark, brooding good looks, she thought he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. She was already forgetting both his indifference to her and the way he had so callously abused the girl in the stable.

Checking the meter, Earl saw that his running girl had covered over eleven miles on the treadmill. He switched off the machine and ordered two domestics to carry the exhausted girl to the showers. There, she was revived by five minutes under the jets of icy water, followed by an all over massage from the two domestics. Earl then instructed them to carry her to the stables and allow her a two hour rest.

Shann was confused. This Goldie was a slave, yet she was being treated almost like a mistress. Slaves attended to her. Her Master appeared to regard her as a precious possession, to be pampered rather than punished. Surely a slave, no matter how beautiful or obedient, was unworthy of such treatment.

"The girl has never looked fitter," Earl proudly declared. "Come the Sadolympics, she will humiliate all before her."

"Unless I achieve miracles with this one," Brondley replied, using Shann's leash to whack her bottom. "What's her name anyway?"

His father shrugged. "I found her on the black market, so I shall have to have some papers made up for her. As for her name, I shall leave that to your fertile imagination. Everything to do with this slave is in your hands from now on. You can stable her with the others, but expect no practical assistance from me." He planted a hand on Brondley's shoulder. "This is a pedigree girl, son. Don't let her go to waste."

Brondley smiled. "Maybe I'll stable her tomorrow night. Tonight, I intend to see how she performs in the sack."

His father shook his head and turned away. Maybe there was no hope for the lad. He was beginning to regret wasting a good slave on him.

"Dad seems quite taken with you," Brondley told Shann, once they were alone in the gym. "Surprised he didn't keep you for himself, if you're that special. Do you have a name?"

"Yes, Master."

He wrenched violently on her leash, forcing her to her knees. "Well what is it, shitbrain?"

"Shann," she grunted.

He grinned. "Shann. I like the sound of that. I'll let you keep that name. Saves me the trouble of thinking up a new one. Look at me, slummie. You think you're something really special, don't you?"

"No Master. I am no more than a worthless piece of shit."

"You don't really believe that, even if it is true," he sneered. "I saw the way you smiled when my father sang your praises, like you thought I was the privileged one, because I'd been given you. Perhaps I'm not worthy of you, huh? Perhaps you're accustomed to a better class of Master? Maybe I don't deserve one so fine as you?"

"No Master," Shann protested. "I mean, that isn't true. You ..."

"Shut up!" he snarled, wrenching her back to her feet. "Don't you dare argue with me! I've flogged the skin from the arses of better slummies than you. Come here! If my father is so keen to see you trained, we'll get started right now. Let's see how good you really are."