The New World

Date: sun 11th November 2008 07:01:36 -0700 (PDT)

From: Sharon Pinder                     pin121@yahoo.com

Subject: THE NEW WORLD

Warning: This story is a work of fiction and contains

descriptions of explicit sexual acts between

women.  If this type of content offends you or you are under the age of 18

do not read it.

Author's Note: This story is the property of the author. It can be

downloaded for personal reading pleasure or sending

to a friend, but if you wish to re-post them at your

own site, please contact the author for permission.

Copyright 2008 Sept, All Rights Reserved.

To Sissy boy and his wife, thank you for your emails, your input and ideas you have given me for my next chapter. I hope you enjoy. Miss Sharon

The New World

Part 11

Cynthia aching and abused body lay on the straw that littered the floor of her holding cell. She was cold and also ached in places that she did not know could ache. How to sit when your arse was so sore? Even the straw felt like sandpaper on her abused skin, and no matter what she did, the pain didn’t ease. A small dog bowl with the word ‘Slut’ on its front, sat in one corner of the cell, filled with some form of brown paste, that she suspected was to be her sole source of nourishment. The bowl was, she had discovered, fixed to the floor, so the only way to eat the contents was to kneel and lap at it, as a dog would. The water bowl demanded the same method of use and in another corner of the cell was a hole, from which foul odours drifted. This and she had yet to surrender to the humiliation, was for her toilet.

She had been led to that cell after her abuse at the party. She’d suffered, during that evenings, invasions of all her orifices. She’d tasted her first pussy and found she could not stop herself replaying that moment over and over again in her mind. How had she come to have been led by lead and choke collar back into that packed ball room? As she was led in, still naked, the party goers looked at her, and the chatter that had filled the room dropped to almost total silence. Heads turned and despite her mental surrender, she felt her humiliation increase and with it a wetness returning to her abused pussy. She must have hesitated, as she was jerked along by a tug on her lead and collar. The tug forced the collar to contract and further pain shot through her. Her pace quickened and the collar was able to relax back to its original size.

The 'tugger' was a stunning blonde with long straight hair that reached down to the small of her back. Her figure was pure hour class and she wore thigh length boots that were jet black and shinny PVC. Her breasts were heightened by a black PVC bra. Her nipples that were clearly aroused stood proud through two holes in the bra’s cup. Her pussy was left bare, and her mound was covered in a close cropped mass of soft blonde hair. One hand she held the lead and in the other a leather riding crop.

Cynthia was led through the party goers, a passage clearing like in the red sea.  Cynthia watched the blondes perfect shaped buttocks walk in front of her as she scurried to keep up and avoid the collar inflicting yet more pain.

She passed men in formal tuxedos, women dressed in the most stunning evening dresses, and all of them clearly fully paid up members of the beautiful set. She was the only person naked in the entire room, and she felt as if she was the entertainment. Her own beautiful and so expensive party dress had been lost to her, and her make up that had been so perfectly applied, was ruined. Her breasts were tattooed with her sub number, and across her buttocks were the words ‘Slut’ and ‘whore’.

A waitress, looked at her, sheer contempt in her eyes, as she passed by bearing a silver tray of champagne filled glasses. Where ever Cynthia furtively looked, she saw only contempt and loathing.

Her attention had wandered, but she was brought back to her servitude with the sting of a riding crop on her tender buttocks. A red welt was left on the pure smooth pink skin, a mark she knew would scar. The first she suspected of many scars. As the ridding crop hissed across her skin, the blonde goddess commanded her to knell. Without the merest of hesitation, Cynthia dropped to her knees; the response seemed so natural to the main part of her mind. But deep down, in a tiny part of her where the old Cynthia had been locked away by the drugged cocktails, her mind reeled. That sense of humiliation and horror at her predicament only seemed to excite her limbs that sought so eagerly to betray her.

She knelt there, her knees on the wooden floor, her eyes cast down.  Silence now filled the room, as a single voice spoke out. “Ladies, I give you lot nine”. Cynthia raised her eyes and caught a brief glimpse of a lectern stood on a raised stage. A tall woman, beautifully dressed woman stood at the lectern. She was dressed in a below the knee length blue satin dress, which only served to show her hour glass shape off, as did to the plunging neck line. They left no doubt as to how magnificent her cleavage was and hinted at the perfection that lingered under the silk. The front of the dress was split to high above her knees, one of which was visible through the narrow gap. Her hair was long and hung straight down her shoulder blades and was of the purest blonde. She stood at the lectern, gavel in her hand. “This is new stock, only broken this very evening, descended from impeccable and ancient linage. She is offered by her husband for service or submission and comes with the House of Bondage’s usual pledge of quality. Should she fail to satisfy or prove to be not capable of house training, a full refund, less our commission will be made, and she will be deposed of in the Brothel Camps”. The free part of Cynthia’s mind reeled in the horror. She had been taught slavery was history, dead and gone. Yet here she was, being offered for sale. But no matter what that part of her mind thought, it no longer had any control on her limbs or body. Those parts just savoured the humiliation and merely wanted to serve.

The crowd closed round Cynthia, and her immediate vision seemed to be filled with impeccably dressed women, all clearly fully paid up members of the beautiful sect. The auctioneer stepped away from the lectern and walked from the stage towards lot nine. As she walked, the split in her dress showed long stocking clad legs, which seemed to hold Cynthia’s entire attention. The crowd parted and she saw that the approaching Amazon was flanked by two mistresses, dressed in the merest of leather lingerie. Between them the two leather beauties carried a high backed chair that seemed more related to a throne than a mere chair.

The Amazon stood in front of Cynthia and ran her finger tips through the slut’s hair. The throne was placed behind the beauty, and the two mistresses took up position behind the slut, hands clasped behind their backs. Her nervousness increased as she looked up at the Amazon in front of her. Cynthia ran her eyes along the glimpse of leg and then to the plunging neck line that only came to a halt once the cleavage had been fully exposed. A sharp crack stung across Cynthia’s raw skin and her back was marked a fresh by a mistresses riding crop. “Eyes front” was the barked command. Winching but savouring the pain, Cynthia looked forward, her eyes level with the Amazons waistline.

She watched as the vision before her lowered herself into the throne, the split becoming more visible and her long stocking thighs exposed. As she watched the knees parted and those thighs were raked by the slut’s eyes, as they travelled up the length of exposure. As she stared, her mind screamed that she as not gay and that this was not happening to her. But the betrayal of her body was something she could not prevent, all control having been lost, a wetness returning to her, and a sense of arousal she could not switch off.

The legs before her parted further exposing more of what lay hidden. Prim, proper Cynthia’s eyes feasted on the vision that was revealed before her eyes. She all but dribbled when the neat and well trimmed mound gave away the secret that the auctioneer’s blonde was natural. She found herself licking her lips, like a dog on heat. Her wetness became a torrent, but this barely registered as she took in the sight before her. As much as her mind begged her limbs to obey, her body just wanted to dive into the pool of sexuality that filled her vision. The auctioneer slid slightly down in the throne so her legs could part fully and so her own arousal was exposed to the rabid slut before her.

Cynthia winched as a ridding crop scared her soft skin again and she was commanded to serve. The eldest daughter of one of England’s oldest families, the product of the finest finishing schools, the epitome of society and blue stock breeding, lusted for the sight before her. Like any cheap lesbian whore, like a dog on heat!

She placed both of her sweaty palms on the floor and leant in towards the sight before her. The blonder hair and stocking thighs filling her vision. She could see the traces of moisture on exposed lips, she could see their arousal. As she drew closer the scent of that arousal filled her nostrils and she inhaled. Deep with in her rebellious body her mind screamed to stop, but her tongue wanted to drink of that wetness.

Her tongue tip snaked out eager to sample the nectar. The tongue that had never even tasted cock, that would have never dreamed of participating in anything as dirty as oral sex, the tongue that now wanted to serve more than anything it had before. She inhaled the scent of the Amazons arousal as she closed that tongues tip to with in millimetres of the haven before her. All the time the part of her mind that was free screamed “no”, and tears coursed down her cheeks.        But these were the only free parts that remained of her, and neither had any power to stop what was happening.

The tongues tip felt the skin of those lips, and she knew what pure nectar was. Natural instinct took over, and she sucked a wet lip into her mouth, as if it was that small cock of her husband. As if she was permitting oral sex on his sad member, but this felt right. This fantasy was not of the cock, but of the wet pussy before her.  She sucked the wet aroused flesh into her mouth, and her being was filled with the taste, the scent of the auctioneer.

“Who will start the bidding?” a voice she barley registered said behind her, as a Mistress started the sale. But she ignored the humiliation as she eagerly dined on the wet lips before her. The auctioneer’s wetness filled her mouth, and her nostrils, but she did not pause in her servitude. She just wanted those lips so much. She raised one hand off the floor, to touch and explore. But a sharp pain from the ridding crop brought the hand back to its support role on the floor. “One hundred Quadi Denni” a voice placed the first bid. As this sank into the recesses of Cynthia’s mind, the tears continued to flow but the tongue did not pause in its worship.

“One hundred I am bid” was the next words to enter her mind “Come on ladies, this slut is pure blue blood, rumoured to be of royal decent. Have you ever seen more eagerness to serve, those breasts, come on they must be the desire of any mistress. That arse...” A second interrupted the sales pitch with a fresh bid, “One hundred and fifty”. Cynthia sensed a riding crops tip being run along the gap between her buttocks. She inwardly flinched, dreading at what would happen next. But as much as she flinched, her tongue never paused, turning the auctioneer’s wetness into a tidal wave. She heard a moan as the Amazon’s hands sought the slut’s hair. She felt it being twisted and her mouth being pulled in closer to create almost a vacuum seal between Cynthiana lips and the auctioneer’s pussy. “Two hundred” as fresh hands sought a grip of her hair, pulling her face away from the meal it had been dining on. She looked up at the crowd around her, as they looked on at the wetness that covered her face. The auctioneer’s pussy juices covered her face and she could still smell the scent. Her tongue ran its tip round her mouth, trying to drink in the juices that remained on her skin.

The bidding increased in hundred’s and the thousand marks was passed. Hands reached round seeking her nipples. She felt the mistress pinch them hard, making her winch and moan in ecstasy. The bidding had paused as it had come down to two Mistresses. One was pure Amazon, so beautiful it hurt the eyes and the soul to look upon her. The other far older, her body was fat and she was far from beautiful She had long blemished legs that were covered in stockings, but small black hairs showed through the mesh. She wore an expensive dress, but that failed to hide the fact, that her breasts hung down to her waist. Her face was similarly fat and ugly, but sheer lust and cruelty filled her eyes. She was one of the founding families of Quadi and she wanted this beauty for her own. Or maybe better for her daughter, yes maybe that would be better. What do you give a fourteen year old girl for her birthday? A girl who had everything, including a nasty viciousness that even her mother found repugnant.

“One thousand one hundred” the beauty bid. Cynthia looked at her, seeing what could almost be taken for gentleness in this god forsaken land. She mentally pleaded for her to win, but “one thousand five hundred” dashed that hope. The Mistress overseeing the auction said “the bid is in your hands Mistress” The beauty looked at Cynthia, smiled a kind smile then looking sad, shook her head as she stepped back to disappear in the crowd. “One thousand five hundred I am bid” The smile that filled that fat face made Cynthia’s broken heart break further, “going once, twice”. The mistress looked round seeing if anyone showed any sign of bidding, but they all knew that to out bid the fat woman would be such a costly mistake within Quadi's society. “Sold” and a ridding cane racked across Cynthia’s skin.

Now a few hours later she was in locked away in her holding cell, awaiting collection. She dreaded what lay ahead of her and what further humiliation would be heaped on her? But as much as her mind thought this, her fingers betrayed her by seeking to toyed with herself. Her wrists had been manacled but in such a way that her fingers could just tease herself. They could tease, but were restrained from giving satisfaction, just frustration. But as much as she knew this, as much as her mind denied her bodies actions, she could not prevent herself heaping further frustration on herself.

The cell door opened, and the entrance was filled by the sight of her new purchaser.  “Is she ready to travel?” the sneering woman asked as she stepped aside to allow her daughter a view of her new pet.. She looked less than her years, and was every bit the product of her mothers genes. She would clearly grow to inherit her mother’s sheer ugliness, cruel streak as well as her body shape. “Oh she is so cute” the voice squealed. “Thank you mummsy” How had Cynthia come to this? How had her husband planned all this? How had she become a submissive pain loving lesbian whore?

Cynthia was led down the corridor between the auction houses holding cells, wearing a new collar, bearing her owners name. The new mistress led her pet by a lead, or more to the case dragged her, choke collar biting into the sub’s neck. Cynthia wore nipple and lip clamps, but the pain they caused to scream through her just further aroused the whore in her. She stumbled causing the collar to bite once more, but the young mistress just laughed as she tugged her to catch up. “Can we have her branded and cropped before I return to school with her?” she pleaded with her mummsy, who she knew could never deny her anything. That what ever she inflicted on her new pet, mummsy would just watch and savour. She had tried to teach her daughter so much and now was the time to see if she had paid attention. So much lay ahead as Cynthia, the once crown of her Home Counties society, envy of the gossip magazines, epitome of pure breeding, she was led away into a life of pain, servitude, submissiveness and blissful happiness.

As ever comments welcome, and all emails replied to. Don’t be shy.

Miss Sharon