Beware, here be pregnant men.

 

 

Shemale

 

 

My whole world changed when Brant came into the scene. I was all set to take over from father in the Jann Troika, something I’d been trained for since birth, and doing anything else just never entered my mind.

 

Then I met Brant Tor, a Killian soldier. I’d met Killians before, and like most other Janns, I tried to steer clear of them. Brant, however, had no intention of being avoided by me.

 

“Hello.”

 

I looked up, and up. Glittering black eyes caught me, and that was the truth. I was caught. From the first look, Brant had me and I remember feeling cold, shivering.

 

“You feel cold?” He asked, frowning, taking my hands and rubbing them gently. I nodded. He took off his cloak and settled it around me. It smelled of him, I felt surrounded. And warm. “Better?”

 

I nodded.

 

He grinned, settled his arm around my shoulders as easily as if he’d been doing it for years. “I’m Brant Tor, you’re Sai a’LaiJann. Walk with me?”

 

We were already walking, but I nodded anyway. That was how it began.

 

The next day, Brant asked my father for my hand in marriage. It was refused. By the end of the week, we were married and I was heading back home with Brant, back to Killian.

 

~

 

I was supposed to be part of the Troika when I was 21, get a wife around 25, and have two children. I was supposed to be a wise and respected leader, a vital part of the community.

 

Instead, I got a husband at 16, and a Killian man at that. And gave birth to a girl a few days before my 17^th birthday. I’m 21 now, and heavy with my seventh child.

 

Considering I’d only ever dated girls, three in total, my attraction to another man came as a total surprise. And I was the submissive, or sima as the Killians call the submissive spouse. I was confident, educated, taught to rule, one of the most privileged in Jann society – and yet, after meeting Brant, none of that mattered and I fell into being a sima easily. Naturally, Brant says, as this is how it’s meant to be. It’s hard to disagree with him, and I don’t, because being a sima is tough and yet I don’t have a problem with it.

 

I’m with Brant and I’m in love and it’s all that matters.

 

~

 

When we got married, I found out Killians were more different from Janns than I’d ever suspected. I knew they were bigger, taller - I’m tall for a Jann, but Killians tower over me still. And Brant is tall for a Killian too. When he hugs me, my forehead rests just below his chest.

 

And they were hairy, but it was only after being with Brant that I realised the extent. Janns only had hair on the head, but Killians had it on their face, their arms, legs. My first time with Brant – two hours after meeting him for the first time – I found out they were covered in it. Their whole body – the back, the chest, their crotch. It could be just Brant, but he’d laughed at my amazement and said he was just as shocked to see how smooth I was. So I assume most Killians are so.

 

Culturally as well, they were so much more alien. I’d known sima were to be covered in public, but as I’d never actually seen one, I didn’t really understand. I understood when I became one. I’d known sima had limited rights, but again, I didn’t realise how limited.

 

By the time of the marriage ceremony, I had some fair idea as the Killian chaplain had educated me. And it had frightened me a fair bit. My life was going to change drastically, and Brant was going to have absolute control over it. He would be, for all intents and purposes, my master. But despite the fear, I never even considered backing out. My fear was about how I was going to adjust, and never, not once, did it occur to me to reconsider marrying him.

 

No one from my family, or Jann, was at the ceremony. And I must admit I was relieved by that. They would have been shocked and humiliated.

 

One part involved kneeling in front of Brant, kissing his feet, promising faithfulness and obedience. Then the branding on the back of my neck to signify Brant’s acceptance of his sima. This was actually the tame part. Then the chaplain pulled a sheer curtain to separate me, Brant and himself from the rest. Then I stripped completely and threw everything into the fire, signifying the end of one life to begin another. It also meant receiving a new name, or more accurately, a number. I was Brant’s third sima, and so the chaplain tattooed on three black dots below the brand.

 

Then it was time for Brant to dress his sima. I’d do it myself in future, or other sima would, but Brant doing it this first time was tradition, symbolism, to show that a sima’s life belongs to the husband.

 

Blindfold – because sight was a privilege that a husband grants his sima. As a result, I never saw Killian except for what I could from the shuttered windows of a house. Even when travelling inside a carriage, as leaving the sima quarters was seen as going in public, I was blindfolded.

 

Earplugs – because hearing was a privilege that a husband grants his sima. Even in private with friends, the plugs were usually left in so that the men could talk freely, so sima learnt to lip read a bit, just enough to understand simple commands.

 

Gag – because speech is a privilege that a husband grants his sima. It is an offence to speak without permission, or to make too much noise. In the sima quarters though, Brant lets us talk freely. He is so good like that, and I do feel sorry for the majority of sima whose husbands are not so liberal.

 

Nose clip – because scent is a privilege that a husband grants his sima. With the nostrils clamped shut, the only air comes through the gag, and comfort all depends on what gag is used. There’s a little round ball gag used if Brant is just going to meet with close friends, where he intends to remove the gag or trusts that I won’t make a sound and embarrass him. Breathing is no problem with that one. But the most used one, a thick penis gag that goes down some way in my throat, is hard to breathe through, but it does cut out sound almost completely, even during punishment. And really, I’d rather have that discomfort than embarrass Brant in any way, so I do prefer it to others.

 

Hands cuffed behind, ankles hobbled together with a short chain – because movement is a privilege that a husband grants his sima. And of course, it’s harder for a sima to run off. I never considered it, not even at the worst of times, but I heard stories of some sima that tried to escape their life. It’s betrayal of the highest order, usually resulting in public torture and execution – and Brant did take me to see one. I never wanted to escape and leave Brant, but after seeing what was done to that sima, I was totally convinced to never try even if my love for Brant diminished.

 

Chastity belt complete with cock cage and a dildo – because sexuality is a privilege that a husband grants his sima. And even without going out in public, this is worn as a matter of course and the better part of a day is usually spent in it. Mine has a wire-mesh cage, made of gold, which holds my cock and balls, with a steel band that holds the balls tightly together. And five steel rings that constrict the length of my cock. There’s also a big gold ring pierced through the cockhead which is hooked permanently to another ring pierced through my perineum – so even without the chastity belt, I am quite effectively restrained. The dildo comes in varying sizes, going from small to huge – huge being the choice when I’m being punished or if Brant wants to have some serious play with me later that day, like fisting. The first time he fisted me, I passed out five times, and it’s not something I enjoy. He’s a giant of a man, and the size of his arm is similar to the size of my thigh. But he likes it, likes seeing me in the mirror with his arm elbow-deep in me, and so he uses the big dildo to ready me for it when he’s in the mood.

 

Then slippers and the black simarobe was thrown over me – because a sima is only for a husband’s eyes. No flesh can be seen, and no outlines either to give any hint as to the shape of the sima. The husband can allow others to see, but they tend to be just close friends or important ones.

 

And I felt the leash go round my neck and when he tugged, I moved – because where the husband goes, the sima follow. Brant is considerate, and I feel only the slightest of discomfort when he holds the leash, but others can be less kind. Some guardians he leaves me with, they can snap the leash harshly, choking me at every turning we have to make, and walk too fast meaning my hobbled feet have a hard time keeping up, which inevitably leads to stumbles and thus punishment for my clumsiness with the whip. It comes out as we walk, making me feel like a herded animal, which is fitting as to most Killian, sima are not much more than animals who are at best, loved pets.

 

Sometimes the guardians use a short leash, which is terrible as I’m walking bent over, my head near their waist, and this could last for the whole trip. It’s painful for my back, not to mention more than a little humiliating and the only saving grace being that as I’m covered, can’t see or hear, I have some anonymity.

 

This was the normal public life of a sima. If we were out of the majority eye, among friends, husbands could allow greater freedoms. Sometimes I wear proper clothes under the robe, and then discard the robe, but more often than not, I just poke my head out of the robe. There’s an opening at the back, at the shoulders, usually zipped shut, intended for when the identity of the sima is required. The brand and the tattoos do that, and all without the face of the sima ever being seen. But it is a wide enough opening that it can be used for revealing the face if allowed.

 

And sometimes that is all that is allowed, and I kneel at his feet or wherever he places me with only the sima covering off my face, and every other part of the sima dress left on. Sometimes he lets me see, but leaves the gag on, and on those occasions there are usually other sima kneeling at their husband’s feet, similarly attired. But again, looking at them or meeting the eye of the men, is a privilege. The first time I looked without permission, Brant had immediately pressed me to the ground with his foot on my face, and whipped my ass viciously in punishment. He’d then offered the whip to the man I’d insulted, but thankfully the Killian had refused, saying that Brant had dealt with me effectively and besides, I was not doing badly for a new foreigner sima.

 

“You are beautiful, Three,” he’d said, once Brant had let me kneel upright again. “Welcome to Killian.”

I’d lowered my head to the floor again, just before his feet, in thanks.

“You’re a lucky man, Tor,” he’d said then, patting my head. “I think I’ll get myself a Jann too.”

 

Inside our own homes, the husbands are free to impose whatever they want. Brant is very good to me and I have a lot of freedom compared to most sima, sometimes even allowed to be free of the chastity belt, but even so, it is still very restrictive. I stay in the sima quarters, and I’ve never seen the rest of Brant’s home as leaving the company of other sima mean being in public and so I’m in the simarobe. But our quarters have its own gardens and facilities, a self-contained house within the main house.

 

~

 

Brant got promoted, and he came back from a short mission with another sima. Now there’s four of us, and he’s talking of selling the house and moving out into the south country. It is pretty crowded in our quarters now, and he says he’ll look for bigger gardens, maybe an orchard, and I like the sound of that.

 

~

 

“You feel good,” murmured Brant, and squeezed me hard enough to make me squeak. “Nice and tight.”

 

I sat in his lap, his cock deep inside me. I didn’t speak, I rarely did, as the ability to speak or think was one that left me every time we fucked. He was so big, long and thick, and taking him inside always hurt but I loved it. I loved him.

 

He thrust up hard, and I grunted, holding on to his muscled biceps. There was a scar there, a new one, and it made me worry again. Hopelessly, of course. He was a soldier, a renowned one, and he led from the front. Scars were nothing new.

 

Jolise tweaked his nipples, and he moaned, turning his head to kiss her. We were in the gardens, celebrating his safe return home from a long tour in the Western regions. He was a Vanguard Commander now, one of the Seven, the only Killian higher in rank than him being the Emperor. I am so proud.

 

Suddenly I was on my back, ankles by my ears, and Brant was thundering in, grunting and cursing, sweat dripping from every pore. He was always like this, voracious, after a long time away from us, even though he had slaves tending to his needs whilst on the field. It made me happy knowing we were missed.

 

He came, and I knew I’d be pregnant again by the end of the week. Most of us would be, maybe even all eight of us which had happened once before. And that had been after a long tour too.

 

He flopped onto his back, breathing hard, looking sated and relaxed, smoothing most of the wrinkles from his face. Siana licked him clean, gently, tongue flickering lightly over his sensitive cock.

 

“Towel, my Lord?”

 

He nodded, eyes still closed, and Kellen stroked him with a cool, wet towel. Kellen was the only other male sima besides myself, and Jann too. Brant didn’t see the point of having a male sima who couldn’t bear children, and as only Jann males could, that was that.

 

“Sai?”

 

“My Lord?” I rolled back into his arms, and he hugged me, kissing my nose.

 

“There is a Jann delegation coming to Kelos. Some of your family will be part of it - they wish to see you.”

 

That was unexpected. There had been no contact for over ten years, since the night I left them to marry Brant. We had been a close family, and I did miss them, but even though I loved my life with Brant, no matter how difficult it was at times, I must admit I didn’t want my family to know. If they would have been shocked at the wedding, they would be absolutely horrified by sima life.

 

“It will be good for you to see them,” Brant said, after my silence had gone on for too long.

 

“Then I will,” I said, laying my misgivings to rest. I didn’t want to hurt my family, but it was all a matter of pride and pride, mine or my family’s, was not important. Pride had no place in a sima. My husband was everything, and if he wished me to see my family, then that is what I will do.

 

~

 

It was summer when I met my family – my brother Jerro and my sister Farsa. Farsa had taken my place on the Troika, and it was a surprise to see her so strong and poised. She’d only been ten, a child, when I’d last seen her.

 

They looked shocked at the sight of me, and there were a lot of uncomfortable silences throughout the one hour long meeting.

 

It was embarrassing, humiliating, even if nothing was explicitly said, and I couldn’t wait for it to be over. I did understand their shock, I had changed a great deal – especially with my huge pregnant belly sticking out of my simarobe.

 

I was four months pregnant, with twins. Just carrying one Killian baby was hard, because they were bigger than Jann, and carrying two was a struggle. The upside was that pregnancy only lasted six months, as compared to nine for Jann.

 

I looked huge, even covered as I was by the simarobe. And the robe was surely a big hint to my life. They had been in Kelos for a few weeks and couldn’t have failed to see the black robed sima being led through the streets on their leashes. Some normal clothes would have lessened the shock, but sima showing signs of pregnancy weren’t allowed to be seen outside a simarobe, even away from the majority eye. I didn’t understand why sima life was so restricted by the Killian society, but I followed them nonetheless. I would have followed them even if I had a choice, because Brant was Killian to the core and one of its leading figures and I have no desire to make life difficult for him.

 

And then there were the other changes. My hair was gone, as were my eyebrows. The only hair left were my eyelashes, which were heavy with black mascara. Kellen was the same, as Brant liked our natural Jann smoothness and wanted us smooth all over. I wore make-up, which was not something Jann men did – and neither did Killian men. But sima were different, and male sima weren’t men in Killian society. They were simply sima, and usually referred to by our numbers – I was Three Brant Tor, Three for short. Only husbands knew the names of their sima, and used them if they wished like Brant did. Most husbands didn’t.

 

I wore make-up because Brant liked it. Heavy black kohl around my eyes, rouge on my cheeks, and glossy pink lipstick and pink nail polish.

 

I also wore jewellery. A big gold ring in my septum, resting over my top lip, was probably the most shocking to them. The small gold ring on my bottom lip. Then there were the three earrings in each earlobe, a mix of big hoops and dangling, glittering jewels. A pink pearl choker was around my throat, just a single strand, and if I turned my back to them, it wouldn’t hide the brand and tattoo. I didn’t turn my back, but they weren’t stupid. They must know enough by now to know that basic requirement of sima.

 

I had bracelets and anklets too, but even though I wasn’t handcuffed or hobbled anymore, there were no openings in the robe for my arms, and so they didn’t see the many gold bracelets Brant had gifted me with. And the robe was too long for sight of my feet. They could hear them though, tinkling as my arms moved, and my anklets had tiny bells in them which made themselves heard with any slight movement of mine.

 

And when I spoke, they could hear the effect of the jewellery inside my mouth. My tongue was pierced seven times with platinum balls, and they interfered with my speech, especially the big ring at the tip which made me lisp quite badly.

 

All in all, their shock was understandable.

 

“Is it a boy or a girl?” asked Jerro politely, trying to look at my eyes and nowhere else. It was ten minutes in, and as yet Farsa hadn’t spoken after her initial hello.

 

“Both,” I said, shifting in my seat as one of my twins kicked. “My first time with twins and hopefully my last time.”

 

“Oh? How many children do you have?”

 

If sima were allowed to lie, I would have done. “These two would make it sixteen.”

 

Jerro’s mouth dropped open. Farsa was looking out the window so I couldn’t see her expression, but I could see the sudden stiffening of her posture.

 

Finally, Jerro let out a small laugh and shook his head. “I’d ask their names but I don’t have a pen or paper.”

 

I couldn’t have told him anyway. Children weren’t raised by sima, and were taken away as soon as they were birthed. We weren’t told their names or anything else, or allowed any further contact.

 

“Is it the norm to have so many children here?” Jerro asked, curious despite the shock and undoubtedly, horror. Two was the norm in Jann, and three got raised eyebrows. I’d never heard of anyone having more than three.

 

“Yes,” I replied, refraining form telling them that Brant had eighty-nine children at last count. Jann didn’t have polygamy, and I was fast learning that telling the truth didn’t have to involve telling the whole truth.

 

Jerro nodded, looking down at his drink and taking a big sip.

 

I looked at the clock and wished Brant would pick me up early, but I knew he wouldn’t. He’d said an hour, and an hour it would be.

 

The meeting finally ended. Farsa nodded goodbye, the only thing she had said to me being hello. Jerro smiled, told me to take care. I wished them a safe journey home.

 

As soon as they were gone, I put back on everything, gag etc, and pulled the simarobe to cover my head again. I knelt down, hooked the chain from one anklet to the other, and then the chain from one bracelet to the other. Only then, properly dressed, as I knelt there waiting for my husband to get me, did I start to relax. It was over, and now my husband would take me home.

 

When I felt the leash go round my neck, I moaned in relief. Brant patted my head, tugged me up and hugged me. Then we were walking and the horror of the past hour started to fade.

 

~~

 

The birth of the twins was difficult, and resulted in the end of my ability to give Brant any more children. I knew Brant thought a barren sima was useless, so I waited fearfully for him to return home from the capital. Once he heard the news, he might decide to divorce me and a divorced sima had a hard life. The others tried to console me, saying Brant would never do such a thing, but he had divorced Delina some years ago. Brant could do such a thing.

 

And two years later, he did.

 

My brand and tattoo were removed by simply branding over them. I was blindfolded and taken outside the city gates, clothed only in a simple grey robe, and I was given ten silver coins. I had nothing else, not even slippers. The strange man who took me out there, told me to count slowly to ten, and then remove the blindfold. Then I was to leave and keep going until I reached the border towns – that was my husband’s last demand of me, and it wasn’t in me to deny him now when I had obeyed him from the moment we met.

 

So I did as I had been bid, and found out that this was what happened to divorced sima. I knew they were discarded, but I’d never known the details. The border towns were where we all ended up.

 

After only a week in the town of Memele, trying to find work and failing repeatedly, I gave in to the inevitable and became a prostitute. It was what most ex-sima became, because like my pimp says, sex was the only thing most sima knew how to do better than normal citizens. And whores were in great demand at the borders more than anywhere else, the rough conditions not an environment that tempted any but the miners, the soldiers on campaigns beyond and mercenaries from everywhere. And that, my pimp says, is the reason why ex-sima are sent to the border – to tend to the Killians far away from the comforts of home, to keep up morale.

 

It makes sense.

 

I was 30, the age where I should have been firmly established in the Troika, leading the Jann community. Instead, I was barely eking out a living as a whore in a strange country I had never really seen until I had to make my way to the border. After almost fifteen years of living in isolation, having limited contact with the few my husband allowed, I was completely unprepared for facing the outside world again.

 

~~

 

“Ready?” Hesak asked, looking me up and down.

 

I nodded, tugging at my skirt. It was short and clingy, and rose up at the slightest movement, but clients liked it and hopefully this one Hesak was taking me to would also like it. It would mean three months as a live-in, and that was three months of security, being fed and housed and ten gold coins at the end. And, possibly best of all, only having one man for three whole months – if he didn’t share me with others. He was a recluse, so I was hoping that wouldn’t happen.

 

It’s been a year since Brant divorced me, and I’ve tried to kill myself once. Hesak found me in time, punished me thoroughly and made me more afraid of him than ever before. Too afraid to try again. Besides, I’ve become used to the life now, and being under Hesak’s control is somewhat similar to being under Brant’s control. He tells me what to do and I do it. And that is why Hesak has only sima in his stable, because we know how to obey and rarely talk back.

 

“Stop fidgeting, trouble,” he chided, grinning and pulling me into his arms. “You look gorgeous. It’s a sure thing, as long as you don’t do anything stupid. So what don’t you do?”

 

“Anything stupid, sir,” I replied obediently, kissing his neck.

 

“Good girl.” He slapped my butt and rang the doorbell.

 

Since the beginning, he treated me as a girl. He knew I was a Jann man, but I looked and behaved like a girl and so a girl is what I’ve been for nearly a year now. And I’m used to that too, even thinking of myself as one sometimes. It amazes me now how I ever thought I could hold a position of authority, sit on the Troika.

 

~~

 

Nashan liked me and kept me. He was indeed a recluse and no one came to the house, and apart from his housekeeper, I never met anyone else.

 

He was a retired soldier, and as big and tall as Brant, but that was where the resemblance ended. Where Brant was all hard muscle, Nashan’s muscles had gone to fat. He limped due to the war injury that retired him in his thirties, and the most exercise he ever did was when he tended to the garden.

 

“What happened to your cock?” He asked, stroking himself lazily as he watched me dance for him. My genitals were small, shrivelled and scarred and useless.

 

“Lots of things,” I replied. He’d asked me this before, many times, and he knew everything, but it turned him on to hear about it all.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“While I was married, there was a potion that kept it limp.”

 

“You were limp for fifteen years?”

 

I nodded, turned around, spread my legs and bent over. Nashan grunted, stroked himself harder. Brant had liked it too, but he’d had the others tending to him while he was watching.

 

“And you never came.”

 

I nodded. Sometimes a few drops of clear liquid dribbled out of my cock, and there was some pleasure, but it was nothing like before, not even a shadow.

 

“Were you allowed to touch yourself, or find relief another way?”

 

“No. Sima are gifted with sexual pleasure by their husbands.” And I turned around and touched mysef then, because I wasn’t a sima anymore. But now, it didn’t really matter. Like I’d told Nashen, a lot of things had happened and my cock was permanently soft.

 

“What else happened?”

 

I went down on all fours, humped the air and spanked myself. “There was a big gold ring pierced through my cock, and hooked to another ring in my perineum. And my cock and testicles were squeezed into a cock cage.” All in all, maybe the hours spent with my genitals crushed numbered about ten years. So of course it didn’t do them any good. “Then after the divorce, Hesak hammered nails through them.”

 

“How many? Describe everything.” He was panting hard now, and close to coming. He wouldn’t, he’d stop himself, it was my job to do it for him.

 

“He sat me on the floor, back against the railings at the foot of the bed. Tied my wrists to the railings, then my ankles, until only my cock and balls were touching the floor. I was gagged. He got three nails, and hammered them through my dick into the floor. Then two into each testicle. He left me like that until morning.”

 

“More.”

 

“I have ten steel rings pierced through my cock now, and it is permanently hooked to my perinium. Ten rings in each ball. They are all linked to each other by a chain pulled tight, and a bell hangs off the chain.”

 

I faced him, thrusting my crotch forward. He grunted, squeezing his dick tight, eyes fixed on my punished crotch, at the bell tinkling softly as I humped air.

 

“All the time?”

 

I nodded. Hesak thought me a girl, and he didn’t like seeing them, so he’d made them almost invisible, made them decorative, shiny and musical.

 

“More.”

 

“Some clients like to hurt them – punching, kicking, hitting them with belts and whips.” I pinched my nipples, watching him intently. He was very close now, and he’d be signalling me over soon. “Burning them with matches, cigars, hot pokers. Piercing them with pins, needles -.”

 

He nodded sharply, and I rushed over and straddled him. I held his big dick steady, and sat down as quickly and as hard as I could. It hurt, but if I didn’t get him all the way in me before he came, he would not be happy.

 

Nashen watched me bounce on him a few times before he lost patience and grabbed my shoulders, pulling me down hard as he thrust up. I squealed, tears coming to my eyes, but it was cut short as he fell on me, crushing me to the bed. A few frantic thrusts later, it was all over, his cum starting to leak out of my hole. He was already snoring, and I wiped his dick clean with a warm, wet towel before going to my bed in the adjoining room. Sometimes he liked me to stay, but unless he explicitly said so, I didn’t do it. I’d found out that most clients got more enraged at finding you in their bed when they didn’t want it, than finding you out of it but within reach nonetheless.

 

~~

 

I was 33 when Hesak sold me to Nashan, and just like that, with the exchange of some money and a written, witnessed receipt, I became a slave. Nashan had offered to buy me before, but Hesak had always refused as I was still a good earner. But there were a few incidents with rough clients, and my nose got broken twice, I lost some teeth, and there were some whip scars all over my body. I was getting used up, worn, and I wasn’t bringing in as much money anymore. Soon, I wouldn’t bring in any – I’d disappear, like so many whores before me. Accidentally killed by a client who got too rough, or purposefully, it didn’t matter. I’d end up dead, forgotten.

 

And the final straw, I was pregnant. I wasn’t supposed to be able to get pregnant anymore, but against all odds, one of my customers had managed to get me pregnant and even though there were some who enjoyed fucking a pregnant whore, the lure of it didn’t bring enough money in the long run.

 

Nashan took me down to the Sheriff’s office and got me registered as his slave. My details were entered into the Slave Registry, as were pictures – I stripped and they took full length pictures, front and back, and close-ups of my face, my crotch, and my branded neck which showed my ex-sima status. I was given a number, too long for me to remember, which was tattooed on the back of my neck. A steel collar went round my neck, permanently soldered shut. Then my forehead was branded, a simple cross in a circle, worn by all slaves.

 

My hands were cuffed behind me, my ankles shackled, and Nashen leashed me and we went back to his house. It was in the outskirts of Memele, a good thirty minute walk, and he rode a horse while I walked alongside, hitched to his saddle and naked with a big pregnant belly. It was humiliating, but I was used to humiliation and simply followed my master, my eyes on the ground and thinking of anything but what I was going through.

 

And it struck me how similar the treatment was to how I’d been treated as a sima, the only big difference being the insistence on no part of the sima being visible in public. And strangely, that made me feel better, and I started to think about pleasing my master instead of sinking into shame and despair.

 

~~

 

“I’m going to kill you, pig.”

 

“Yes, master.”

 

He said this every time he had fun with me, and fun for him was torturing me in every way possible. He hadn’t done it so far, and it had been nearly two years since I’d become his slave, but I knew he meant it. He’d torture me to death one day, and I’d learnt to accept that. It hadn’t been easy, even for someone so used to obeying and pleasing, but I’d managed it and now I’d reached a point where I was happy to see that end, because my master wanted it so much. I lived only for my master, I lived only because my master allowed me to live.

 

I looked up at my master worshipfully. I was upside down, legs spread and hanging from the ceiling by my ankles.  My arms were outstretched, palms nailed down to the floor, the little stumps that had once been fingers and thumbs twitching now and then uselessly.

 

My head was on the floor, bald permanently now as my master enjoyed branding, and he’d covered my whole head in brands. It looked hideous, but he liked it. My crotch was just as hideoulsy branded, but I didn’t mind it so much there, as the scarred skin meant I felt the pain less under torture.

 

“Maybe today,” he muttered, taking hold of his cock. He kicked my head, and I opened my mouth quickly. The piss hit my face before settling on my mouth, and I let the piss pool and overflow, blinking up at him through the sting to watch out for the nod that told me to swallow. It didn’t come, and I lay there, piss cooling in my toilet mouth, waiting. Maybe today.

 

~the end~

 

 

Again, this was supposed to be longer, and it’s just a rough draft. If you want to write more, I’d love it – I’m done. That goes for all of my playgrounds too. J

 

(yahoo IM me : y_dee_x  codotuk)