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Slave Girls in Bondage
Chapter 87
“That new delivery is here.”
Canjac came to his feet. He had expected it for several days. Conditions had to be perfect for the delivery to occur.
“Did they get the ones I wanted?”
“Yep.”
By the time he reached the high bay area, they had the gate down on the wagon. The ponygirls had led the wagon into the area and around in a circle so they were ready to go out again. The captives in the back of the wagon were obviously not happy as they continued to struggle.
Of course, we all know they were females, but that was not evident from where Canjac stood. Black leather slave hoods covered their heads. Their bodies were encased in black leather slave sacks. The leather flexed in and out as they struggled in vain with their bondage.
These slave hoods were in reality discipline helmets as they had no eyeholes. Three straps encircled the wearer’s head, one about her neck, one level with her mouth, and a final at her eyes. The last strap also pressed pads against the captive’s ears so she could hear nothing.
Black leather slave hoods, black leather slave sacks – the emergence of a pattern. Whom have we seen who always wears black leather? Could it be that a couple more Amazons have not so mysteriously disappeared?
The slave hoods jerked rapidly in one direction then back in the other. The movement was not much, as neither had much room to move. The slave sacks bulged in one direction then the other. Yes, the occupants were not happy.
“Get them in heels and single gloves.”
The men removed one slave sack from in back and set it on the floor. Removing the locks and unfastening the belt about the neck, they freed the captive from the confines of the leather bondage device.
That was about all the freedom she had as she still wore handcuffs.
The men pushed her to her knees. They then raised her arms in the air, forcing her to place her leather-covered head against the floor. One man removed the cuffs while two others held their captive’s arms. Once her wrists were free, the two twisted her arms more as they pulled her hands toward the ceiling. Another man moved up so he stood straddling the captive’s head, one ankle on either side. No matter how hard she tried she would not be able to raise her head more than a few centimeters, and she could not move it to either side at all.
All they had to do was wait until the captive’s arms grew numb. Canjac had saw no need to pummel a slave girl to get her to obey. He simply gave her no choice. Once they thought her arms were numb, they began pulling the black, satin gloves up each arm. Sure, she tried to keep them from getting her fingers in the proper places of the gloves, but she accomplished little besides delaying the inevitable a minute or two.
Once they had the gloves on, her arms were ready for bondage. A cord went about her wrists first. They cinched the first six loops before tying a knot. Both ends of the cord rose toward her head. Near the elbows, a man tied the ends together. The working ends passed around both upper arms at the elbows. By pulling on the ends, he drew her elbows together.
With arms bound at both the wrist and the elbow, the captive had little mobility and could not get free.
The man then released the captive’s head so she could raise it. They did not allow her to straighten up. Instead, they pulled her head and shoulders forward to keep her off balance. Her weight still rested on her knees, but if they let go of her upper body, she would fall on her front.
Distracted by this precarious position, she made no effort to resist as they put the sandals with 15-centimeter stiletto heels on her feet. One strap across the top of her foot and another around her leg at the ankle insured that she could not kick them off. The only way to get out of the shoes was to unbuckle the straps, and with her hands bound, that was impossible.
They dragged her to her feet, securing her bound wrists to an overhead rope. With her wrists pulled in the air behind her, she had to remain bent over.
The men turned their attention to the second captive. In a few minutes they had her in high heels, standing beside her friend. The two twisted their nubile bodies back and forth, all to no avail.
“Training Room 3.”
Each training room had a special purpose. The men had a general idea what would happened to the captives in Training Room 3 even without hearing his plans.
“How strong a spring?”
“Make it a number 6. I want these two to feel very frustrated.” He paused to grin at the man. “Frustration will make them appreciate the real thing more.”
They marched the captives forward by holding their bound arms in the air, forcing them to walked bent over. Yes, they did try to resist by kicking blindly in one direction, then the other, but the men stopped that recalcitrant behavior by pulling the captive’s arms further in the air until bound hands were in front of their slender waists. As they staggered forward, their knees struck their heads repeatedly.
With each step they learned their lesson about obeying.
The stinging touch of a switch to the bottom convinced them of the error of their actions. Before they reach their destination, the two changed their tactic to a more passive form of resistance. They forced the men to drag them, an action which they did. The closer the captives came to Training Room 3, the closer they came to wanting to use their bodies to please men.
Passive resistance was no more successful than more active resistance.
Canjac gestured toward the floor. Two men grabbed the legs of the taller captive, pulling them apart. Once they had them spread, the men knelt on one knee. The one knee pressed outwards while the thigh on the other side pressed the captive’s leg against his. This made it impossible for her to move either leg. Another man fastened a leather cuff about one ankle, then the other. Each leather cuff had a steel ring attached, and to each ring the man attached a chain running to another ring in the floor.
The men let go. The woman tried to pull her legs together but failed. The men were not done yet. They attached ceiling chains to rings on the leather slave hood.
No the captive could not fall over.
She thrashed about in her bondage while they bound her companion in an identical manner.
The men turned their attention to the first woman, shortening her chains so she could not move her body at all beyond swinging her arms wildly from side to side.
The next step, the most diabolical, was to mount a vertical pipe beneath each woman’s spread legs. On top they mounted a dildo, connected to the pipe by a spring, a number 6.
This was perhaps the most insidious spring of the group. They adjusted the height of the pole so the tip of the dildo touched the captive’s pussy.
“Let them get used to it. I have a date tonight.”
The captives knew they had been kidnapped and what their intended fate was. Other than that, they knew nothing.
They could feel something pushing against their pussies. The first reaction was to try to pull their bodies up away for the object. Bound as they were, they could not. All they accomplished was to rub the tenderest parts of their bodies across the rounded tip of the dildo.
It was inevitable. It happened to all captive bound such as this. They tried to get the dildo into their pussies to maximize the pleasure. That was where the spring took over. They could try to wiggle their pussies over it, but the spring would give. The higher the number of the spring, the more tension it had. If it was a “10,” it felt like a hard rubber dildo. If it was a “1” it would give completely. A “6” had just enough tension to frustrate the captive.
In a few minutes, a captive would want to scream. A gag kept her from doing that. At the end of half an hour she would have no thought other than getting an orgasm.
In a few hours, a woman would be most pliable.
“I’ll be back.” Giving the traditional slaver’s farewell, he added, “Don’t let them run off.”
He picked her up in a carriage drawn by sixteen pony girls. They had dinner at an expensive restaurant.
They took a stroll along the bay. They held hands as they sat on a bench, watching stevedores unload a cargo of slave girls from a ship.
They ended up at his place.
“So show me where you do it?” Peggy asked, her eyes big with feigned innocence.
Canjac was not certain how to respond to that statement.
“Do…what?”
“Make women into slave girls. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”
He moved his arm in a wide arc.
“This whole place is dedicated to that.”
“Show me what you would do to me if you grabbed me off the street.”
“I normally don’t do that but I have a copy of specimens I rescued…”
He took her to the room where the two captives squirmed continuously in their bondage. They could not get free. They could not achieve an orgasm. They did little more than exist. Canjac would bring to them meaning for their lives.
Peggy could hear the excited mewing from within the leather slave hoods.
“Look at those nipples!’
The two captives were aroused; there was no doubt about that.
“How long do you keep them like this?”
“As long as I want. Many women come out of this device wanting to wear a collar. I suspect it will take a little more effort with these two.”
Peggy stood between the two so she could fondle one tittie of each woman.
“Mustn’t touch. For that you get punished.”
The punishment consisted of a simple silver spandex singleglove. When Peggy realized what it was, she turned about with her hands together behind her back. He quickly slipped it up her arms. The straps ran across her shoulders, crossing in front under her chin. The straps snapped to the singleglove. He ran a zipper from her wrists to the top. A simple snap locked the zipper in place. There was sufficient flex in the material that no matter how hard she pulled, she would never be able to undo any snap.
Peggy swung her arms about, but could not get free. The spandex held her captive without chaffing her flesh.
“I guess I’m helpless. You can do anything to me you want.”
“I know.”
With that, he pulled her top up so her bra was exposed. Most free women wore simple white, cotton bras. Peggy wore a flimsy black lace bra, one you would expect to see on a slave girl. He then pulled the cups down so her titties were exposed.
“Do you have any complaints?”
“No.”
Immediately after saying that, an impish grin appeared on the beautiful brunette’s lips. Slowly her tongue made a circle about her lips, moistening them.
Using her hands on the captive’s tits had gotten then bound so…
She narrowed her eyes in a look that dared Canjac to stop her as she moved closer to the first captive. She planted her mouth on the right tittie and rubbed her tongue across the nipple. The captive responded by squirming about.
His left arm around her upper body pulled her upright. As her head came back he raised the ballgag toward her mouth. She took it without resisting.
“You don’t learn, do you?”
He buckled the ends of the strap behind her head. Peggy still had her hair pinned up.
Canjac spun her about so she faced him.
“Or do you?”
The merriment in her eyes told him the answer to that.
“Come along.”
He kept his left arm around her shoulders to guide her.
As they turned a corridor, a French Maid approached. She stepped aside for her master and executed a delicate curtsey. The short hem would have allowed him to see her pubic hair, if she had any. To him she was just another beautiful slave girl until he saw the stubble at her crotch.
“Here, Peggy, there is someone I want you to meet. Peggy, this is Lori. Lori, show her your pubic hair.”
The brunette leaned back, a movement that raised the hem in front.
Canjac rubbed his hand across it.
“You are getting some nice stubble there.” Turning to his luscious companion, he added, “Lori was bad little slave girl. As a result, I had to shave off her pussy hair. It’s growing back now and she is going to be a perfect slave girl, are you Lori?”
The former Amazon nodded enthusiastically. She would be good.
“It won’t be long before that hair has grown back. Now, off with you.”
He sent her on her way by playfully slapping her on her bottom.
Canjac led Peggy into a darkened room. Despite the lack of light, she sensed there were others here, others all around her. There was light also, reflective light from the open door. There were mirrors on the walls all about them.
“Kneel.”
The brunette dropped to her knees with as much gracefulness as she could. She wore an ankle length skirt that was just a little too tight for a free woman. While certainly much more demure than the scandalous outfits worn by slave girls, frumpy free women would certainly turn up their collective noses at a free woman wearing an outfit that hide her physical charms, and at the same time showed them off.
When the beautiful brunette finally got down on her knees, Canjac produced a cord that he used to lash her ankles together. Pushing her down so she sat on her thighs, he looped the ends of the cord about Peggy’s wrists. The nice thing about spandex (as opposed to leather) was that it allowed him to tie her hands as though they were unencumbered by another bondage device. Another knot insured that his date did not move from that position.
Without a word, he disappeared through the open door behind her. As Peggy’s eyes became accustomed to the dark, she saw there were others in the room. She counted the figures on the floor. Three lie to her right, her left and before her. She listened carefully, and once she was certain Canjac was not behind her, she looked to her left. Another figure lay on the floor in that direction. Turning her head back, she saw that another lie on her right. Only the presence of the door immediately behind her kept there from being three on that side also.
Eleven slave girls in the room.
Well, twelve, if you wanted to count Peggy.
As we have already seen, Peggy had no problem performing before an audience, but slave girls hardly constituted an audience. She wondered why he had them there.
Canjac announced his return by dropping a canvas bag on the floor before her. He then squatted to free her. The cord came off her wrists and then her ankles. The singleglove was next.
She wondered what new bondage delights he had in that bag.
From the canvas bag he pulled a paper one. He handed it to her.
“While I hoist them up, you put the candles in the candle holders.”
He offered no better explanation than that. Since she still wore the gag, she could not ask for one.
Canjac had reentered the small room carrying a lantern that he set on the floor. The little bit of light it through out allowed him to close the door. Peggy saw that the backside of the door also had a mirror.
Peggy immediately saw the purpose of all the mirrors. Just a little light was reflected many times over, illuminating the entire room.
Canjac moved to a lever on the wall next to the door. The open door had hidden it from sight initially.
Using both hands, he pulled down on lever. It clicked several times as chains ran over pulleys in the ceiling. Peggy had been watching him as she wondered what he meant by “candle holders.” When she heard the chains clinking overhead, she had to look up. From the corner of her eyes she saw movement. The chains running down the walls from the ceiling wobbled back and forth as they grew shorter.
Canjac shortened the chains by pulling down on the lever. As they grew shorter, eleven other chains grew shorter. Each chain was attached to a ring. Two more chains were attached to each ring and they ran down to the ends of eleven spreader bars.
The ankles of the eleven naked captives were secured to these spreader bars by more chains and leather cuffs.
Each time Canjac pulled down the lever, the chains became shorter. The spreader bars rose in the air, drawing the naked women’s feet a little in the air with them. As their feet rose higher, their bodies slide across the floor.
Peggy still wasn’t sure about the “candle holders.”
She pulled a candle from the bag. It was about seven centimeters in diameter and twenty centimeters long. From the blackened wick and the formation of wax on the top she knew the candle had been used before.
She counted the candles in her hand and in the bag.
Eleven.
Eleven candles, eleven naked women.
Her eyebrows shot up as a look of glee appeared on her face.
Of course, “candle holders!”
Moving to the naked woman next to Canjac, she waited until the lever was down before inserting the candle into the woman’s pussy. To insure it was in all way, she twisted it back and forth a few times.
The captive muttered a groan through her ballgag. She did not want this inserted into her pussy, but she had to admit that it felt good, the waxen objected sliding back and forth.
This was the first time for each captive in this room. Most captives only came once (though Canjac suspected he might be using it more often if Peggy’s desires were as insatiable as he thought). Whatever self-respect they had would be gone within minutes.
Peggy moved to the next woman She had had to bend over to reach the pussy of the first woman. At the second she did not have to bend as much. By the time she reached number six, the woman’s pussy was at waist-level.
She actually had to reach up to get the shaft into the pussy of the final captive. For the last three, she held the candle tightly with both hands, pushing down as she twisted it back and forth.
Canjac had finished by then. He locked the level in the “down” position so there was no chance the chains would come loose. The captives were too valuable for him to run the risk of them being damaged through a careless accident.
Peggy turned toward Canjac when she finished. Stepping back to captive number seven, she bent to point at the woman’s neck.
Most of the naked captives in that room wore the leather collar of a slave girl. Two did not.
“She hasn’t decided yet that she would rather be a slave girl.”
Peggy smiled as best she could with a rubber ball filling her mouth. As being treated in such a manner, she doubted the two would want to be free.
Canjac stepped forward to grab the candle of captive number eleven with his left hand. He twisted it back and forth, getting the reaction for the naked captive he expected. She wiggled her hands, feet and head, the only parts of her body that could move. He stopped before she had an orgasm.
“Maybe she has decided she wants to be a slave girl and I’m just testing to see if she means it.
“Look at it,” he said as he pulled a lip from contact with the candle. “A woman’s most prized possession. I bet that as a free woman she was very stingy about who she let play there. Now it is nothing more than a candle holder, a piece of furniture.”
Peggy squinted at him when he alluded to the woman’s pussy as a “piece.”
“Not like yours,” Canjac said as he drew her nearer. His left arm encircled her body so he could grab her left tit with it. His right hand went to her crotch.
“Let’s get these candles lit, and then we can get down to business.”
Canjac produced a box of friction matches. He started on the wall behind the door, while Peggy began next to the door. One-by-one, they lit each candle as they worked their way toward each other around the room.
“Those are not dripless candles so they had better not struggle too much.”
Peggy was pretty certain he said that for their benefit and not hers.
Canjac moved to the center of the room.
“Come over here. Now turn around and face the door.”
She stood there passively as he removed all her clothes.
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