Four Days of Slavery (Part 3)

“Right,” one of the young men said authoritatively. “Tie her hands above her to the pulley; I think she needs a bath.”

 I was untied from the pillar and my hands were immediately bound above me. In no time I was hoisted off my feet, and once again the long pole and the hook were used to pull me towards the pool. “Lift your feet!” I was ordered.

 I did so and was immediately pulled towards the centre of the pool. I was held suspended above it just by my arms on the rope for maybe a minute as the room seemed to fill with both men and women.

 “Let her down,” the same man commanded.

 I was lowered, or more correctly, I should have said ‘dropped ’, into the pool. The water was around three and a half feet deep, and I just managed to gain my footing and stand in the freezing water.

 “Sit down!” I was ordered roughly, “Or we will whip you where you are!”

 I sat down, and as I did so, several of those watching around the pool lifted large buckets full of ice and had great delight in tripping them into the water.

 A couple of the buckets contained smaller pieces of ice, and these were actually thrown over me.

 “Lift her up,” someone said. I was hoisted out of the water.

 “Drop her in,” another cried. And once more, with an ungainly splash, I was plunged into the pool. It was indeed very cold. “Sit in it!” I was told again, which I did.

As I sat there in the freezing water, surrounded by various-sized lumps of ice and a group of laughing, jeering people, I began to shiver profusely. I’m not sure if this was caused by the cold or that strange sensation once more building up inside me that often seemed to happen when I was in humiliating circumstances.

 For some reason, I have always enjoyed being humiliated and degraded. I think I traced this back to my last year at school, when boys being boys, some of my male peers held me after school as I was walking home. Once they had me tight, two of them pulled the top of my skirt and my knickers open and poured a large tin of custard into them. Another pulled at the back of my skirt and repeated the process down my backside.

Once they had emptied their two cartons of custard, they opened up a large bag of ground coffee and tipped that in as well, just for good measure. I was not at all frightened, but I was highly embarrassed at what they did. I had to walk all the way home and get into the house without anyone knowing what had occurred, which was no easy task with custard running down my legs!

 That night, lying in bed and thinking about what had been done to me, I became very moist between my legs. I wanted the boys to do it again.

 Four days later, one of the group came to apologise. I think he was quite surprised when I actually confessed to him that I had enjoyed the experience; after a little chit-chat about this and that, he stopped and asked me if I would allow them to do it again.

 He was pretty shocked when I acquiesced, but I added a proviso that next time the substance needed to be far thicker and stickier.

 “Whatever do you mean?” he asked inquisitively.

 “I mean that I would prefer something like golden syrup or even better, treacle,” I replied unabashed.

 “Whatever was wrong with custard? he asked, “We thought the coffee would be very coarse and add some discomfort.”

“Which it certainly did,” I responded with a sardonic laugh. “It took me ages to wash it out of my pubic hair.”

 It looked like the poor guy had been hit by a sledgehammer at my confession. I have always been a bit blunt and have found that, in organising group sexual events, I needed to be so that everyone knows with certainty what is permitted.

A week later we arranged to meet up after school in a little copse of trees. I knew that afternoon that neither of my parents would be in when I returned home, so I had no fear of arriving home in a bit of a mess. The boys had certainly gone to town as they had purchased two giant catering-size tins of black treacle.

 “Are you sure we can pour this down your knickers?” they enquired.

 I was so excited at the prospect I babbled my answer. “Isn’t that why we are here?”

 I was wearing trousers that particular day, knowing what was to be done. I did not want people to wonder what the black stuff was running down my legs as I made my way home.

 I have recorded the custard incident in my previous accounts, but I have never yet digressed and written about this event.

I held my hands wide and open, inviting the boys to undo my trousers, which they excitedly did. As they were about to pour the treacle into the top of my knickers, I suddenly became very bold.

“Don’t you want to take a proper look first?” I asked cheekily.

 I wasn’t a forward or presumptuous girl, and although some may think otherwise, I’m still not. I much prefer others to take the initiative. I believe my bluntness shook them a little as they stepped back and looked at me in surprise.

 “What do you mean?” they asked incredulously.

 “I mean,” I responded coyly, “That if you wanted to, you could have a proper look before you fill my knickers with that treacle.

 “You mean pull your trousers and knickers down so that we can look between your legs and at your arse?”

 “Yes, exactly, but only if you want to,” I replied.

 I was fairly sure that this was an offer that would not be declined. It wasn’t.

 I’m not too sure what the boys expected to find down there, but the way they went about it, you would have thought I had a coiled rattlesnake waiting to pounce. They slowly and carefully pulled my trousers down to my knees with such caution you’d have thought that I was an unexploded bomb.

 They did not quite know what to do with my panties. One reached, and almost at an arm’s distance, looped a finger in at one side and commenced to lower them.

 I was aware that two of these lads had a crush on me, although why I never knew. I was, to my mind, just a ‘plain Jane’ girl. I felt that my breasts were well underdeveloped, certainly compared to other girls in my form. ‘Titless,’ I had been nicknamed and had often been asked why I did not possess a pair of ‘melons’ as did other luckier girls. I had often watched as some of my female classmates had allowed some of the boys to feel and bounce their assets on top of their clothing, actions that could have serious repercussions today.

 I was told, though, that I had a smile to die for, so that was one positive. I guess that additionally being slim and tall were other traits that might have attracted interest in me; my tits, however, were not my greatest assets by a country mile.

 That day I felt would be better giving them just a snatch of my lower body; otherwise they might just have fallen over laughing uproariously, chanting ‘Titless’ as they did so.

 When they finally saw my natural muff, pert bum and long slender legs, I think I impressed them. At first they just stood staring as I pirouetted for them, allowing them to take in all three hundred and sixty degrees of my lower body.

 “Whoa,” one said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

 “Wow,” another added with a smile.

 “Flippin heck,” another stuttered with a fixed smile set upon my beaver.

 “Something else,” the fourth breathed almost reverently.

 “Will you put your hands on your head for us and allow us to look closer?” they asked politely. I complied as they squatted, seeking the best view.

I knew that they would want to do more than look eventually, but that wasn’t for this occasion.

 Once they seemed satisfied, they pulled up my trousers and knickers and poured the treacle over my pussy and bum.

 A month later we met, at their request because they wanted to feel me. I wanted them to do so too but had no idea what it would be like having male hands feeling my naked flesh.

 On that occasion, after I had allowed them to drop my skirt and pull down my underwear, I was asked to lift my top and bra to let them see my tits. They wanted the full monty. I was certainly reluctant to fulfil that request for fear of ridicule.

 “Go on, please”, they begged.

“Okay,” I responded, As long as I can look at one of you with your trousers pulled down.”

 That shocked them, and eventually they played a little game, at my suggestion, to see who would have to show me their equipment.

 Eventually I lifted my top and was surprised not to see them collapse into paroxysms of laughter but stand like statues looking at my almost naked body displayed before them. I confess that I blushed like a crimson rose as they admired what I allowed them to see.

Then, for the first time, I felt male hands touch and fondle my breasts and explore my pussy and bum crack. Naturally enough, I became wet very quickly, which did not go unnoticed.

 When the loser of the game allowed me to remove his trousers and briefs, I was met with my first erect penis. I was, of course, at that time, unaware that I would eventually handle hundreds as my life and sexuality progressed. Then, though, I looked at and was allowed to feel my first hard-on, being surprised to get a stick secretion of pre-cum onto my hands.

 The treacle followed and was also smeared across my breasts, before we parted.

 I’m sure, looking back, that those experiences led me to the enjoyment of future real-life messy and humiliating adventures. Apologies for my digression.

 As I froze in that large stone, cold bath once again surrounded by ice and laughing, mocking people, all enjoying my discomfort, I knew what was going to happen, and by jings it did!

 Although I was sitting in the bath, I screamed and jumped up as best I could, with my hands still bound above me, and stood in the frigid water shivering, shaking and moaning in ecstatic pleasure. The intense cold and shame of being nothing but fuckmeat to these people set the cogs in motion within me that once again kickstarted my orgasmic juices. I am sure that those watching from the sides received quite a shock at seeing me acting in such a way.

 I cannot speak for other women and what fires their organic metabolism, but I often find that it is the shame, humiliation and degradation that get me more excited than the sex itself.

 Those around just stood back with a sense of awe as I appeared to fit before them.

 I’m not sure if it was as a result of my sexual pleasure or not, but I was quickly hauled out and helped to dry off so that I could take part in their next escapade as their willing slut.

 While I had been assisted to dry, and to a small degree warm up, others had been manoeuvring in a small blue hardshell paddling pool. I could smell the contents even before I saw them sitting in the bottom of the pool.

 As I looked about twelve feet across the floor, I saw the pool for the first time and realised that this was to be my toilet training session, if that is the correct description. There was about six inches of sloppy human waste sitting in the bottom.

 “Get in,” I was instructed forcefully, “Or  we whip you with these.”

 I looked and saw the thin willow stems that had been carried during my lunchtime walk through the mud. I knew from experience just how painful they could be. I climbed into the pool, feeling the smelly substance below my feet ooze through my toes.

 “Sit,” Someone ordered in just one word.

 Just in case I did not comply, several men wearing rubber gloves ‘assisted’ me in the unpleasant task. Once I was in place, a couple of women appeared with saucepans, which they placed into the mixture around me and commenced pouring on my head and over my body until I was covered and caked in human faeces.

“She looks fuckin hot like that”, I heard a voice say.

 “Bet you wouldn’t fuck her like that, though?” another answered.

 “Rub some shit in her face,” a different voice ordered, “I can still see some white of her skin.”

 One of the men with gloved hands thrust it into the bottom of the pool and lifted the contents directly into my face. As readers can imagine, it was rather grotesque. As I sat in my shitty mess, now and again a gloved hand would dip a pan into the bottom and drop another load onto me.

 “Right,” a voice piped up from behind me. “Time for bed.”

 “What are we going to do with our whore?” someone enquired.

 “Put the cuffs on one wrist, attach her to that pillar and leave her as we did last night,” he replied.

 “Leave her like that,” the other answered, clearly a little surprised.

 “Why not? We can clean her up in the morning.”

 So I was carefully dragged to the mattress in my vile, dirty, degraded condition where gloved hands again attached the manacle to my wrist that bound me with ten feet of chain to the pillar.

 I could not escape the repugnant smell because the smell was me! If I could have untied myself and jumped back into the icy lake of a swimming pool, I would gladly have done so, but I could not.

 I lay down on the hard ground next to the mattress as I had no intention of dirtying it anymore. The stone floor, however, was too hard and cold for this naked deranged lady to sleep on. I was just about to give in and move onto the mattress when the door sprang open, a light turned on, and Muhazzim and two friends thundered in.

The first sounds of noise made me jump out of my skin, which I would love to have done, after which I was filled with trepidation as to what I’d be forced into doing next.

 “You didn’t think we’d leave you there in that filth all night, did you bitch?” Muhazzim enquired, undoing my manicle.

 “Well,” I started to reply.

 “Good grief, girl, we are not savages. I confess that I could hardly believe what you have endured already today. My cock has been hard as steel from last night. It’s almost burst my trousers on several occasions. Now, we are going to clean you up outside, I’m afraid, but we will use the warm tap. Tomorrow we will be here before the rest, and they will think you have been like this all night. Okay?”

 “Thank you,” I replied simply, “I appreciate that.”

 So after I had been hosed down in the dark, gone midnight, I was allowed to dry and finally, in a slightly better state of cleanliness, get some much-needed sleep.

 Morning came too quickly, and I was woken about seven thirty by the rattle, grinding, and creaking of the door into my cavernous room being opened as Muhazzim and his friends let themselves in.

 Muhazzim carried a large piece of cardboard with something on it written in black marker. What was written, I could not see.

 “Make a good impression, and you might be able to leave this place for a morning,” he said, adding a smile. “It will do you good to get away for a while.”

 I soon discovered what the board said as it was handed to me to hold when the rest of Muhazzim’s friends arrived.

 I read it several times: ‘Cheap Whore for Your Use – Any Bids Welcome.’

 I guessed that someone was going to somehow pay for my services.

 “Stand here and hold this in front of you,” I was told. “If you don’t, we will whip you hard. Understand?” With several of the men holding whips of varying types, I decided to be wise and comply.

As I stood there, like a lemon holding my ‘services for sale’ sign, the door at the end of the room opened and six older men entered, clearly in pairs.

 “Is this the cheap whore?” one group asked. “What’s she like at fucking? Any Good?”

 All six men walked around me, taking careful note of what they saw.

 “Tit’s are virtually nonexistent,” one remarked. “Mine are bigger. What happened, Tart, did they not appear? No wonder you have to beg to sleep around; what boyfriend would want those?”

 “Slim enough, though,” another added.

 “Fiesty too,” one of Muhazzim’s friends added as if he were a salesman. “She is twenty-two and has loads of experience.”

“Um,” one of the men thought out loud. “How about twenty-five?”

 “Thirty-five,” another pair called out.

 “Forty-five,”

 “Fifty!”

 The bidding went up in fives until it reached a hundred and then went up quickly in tens. I was torn between wondering how much these men thought I was worth, where all that money paid would go and what these older men might do to me once they had purchased me.

 “One thousand and we are out,” one said.

 “We are out, we’re afraid,” the second group said.

 “Us too. Pity, she looks like she could be fun.” The third group added.

 “Sold for one thousand,” Muhazzim said, smiling like the cat that got the cream. “If you pay me, you can take her right away. If she causes you any trouble, hit her hard with this,” he added, handing a leather paddle to one of the men.”

 “One thousand pence makes about ten pounds, I believe,” the one handing over the money said.

 “Ten pounds,” I blurted out unintentionally.

 “Did I hear someone speak?” Muhazzim enquired.

 “It was this cunt here,” Rahim answered from behind me. I had not seen her enter the building.

 “Yes, ten quid, as you say,” she answered, looking at me. “Ten pounds to fuck you and more all morning. I think they have been done! How much did you think you were worth? Twenty, perhaps, or twenty-five!”

 I rolled my eyes at my being conned so easily as the two ‘winners’ or perhaps ‘buyers’ led me, still naked, to the door where I was provided with a dressing gown to nip out and into the car.

 It was not too far to the place I was to be their plaything for the morning. It was basically like a one-room apartment with a bathroom off to one side. I was told to go and shower properly in the bathroom and come out in the clothes that had been provided.

 I enjoyed the warm shower and lavender-scented shower gel that the men had clearly provided for my use. There was a lacy red and black bra and panty set, as well as a cross between a baby doll and a scanty cape, all in red. It was not unlike what I had been wearing the previous morning when I had been tortured and used by the four overweight men.

 There I was again, about, I presumed, to be made a sex slave for two more older men aged around fifty. When I walked out to meet my fate, I stopped dead as all six of the men who had been bidding in pairs to have me were waiting for me in the main room.

 I obviously looked a little shocked as I entered.

 “Well, slut,” I was told, “We have paid one pound sixty-six each to do as we want with you, or your body, so you had better not disappoint!”

 “Now show us those pathetic pimples you call tits.”

 “I lowered my bra so that they could get a good look at my small assets.”

 “Um. Bigger than I thought after hearing the description.” One commented, “Get on your hands and knees on that bed and do everything we tell you. We don’t want to waste our money.”

 I complied and was soon being once again fucked hard in all my available holes, seemingly, from the gasps, grunts and groans, to their entire satisfaction. What a life it was being a university slut. As I lay on my back giving hand jobs and being taken hard up my pussy by one and another, my mind drifted to what my friend Sarah was probably doing that morning. I was sure she was not, as I was almost naked and being mercilessly used as a fuck toy for middle-aged men.

 On one occasion, as my mind wandered, I did not pay the attention to one cock in my mouth that its owner believed I should have done. I was quickly laid flat on the bed, my backside reddened from ‘six of the best’ provided by the leather paddle.

 I’ll be honest that there was nothing in any of the six men that attracted me to them, and I knew that I was being a proper whore just for their sexual gratification, of which they seemed to be receiving plenty.

 I was hiked, pushed, pulled, slapped, and spanked as the six men placed me in just the position they wanted that best suited their desires.

 I lost track of time, but with a sore bum, pussy and hands, not to mention a very sticky mouth, I was allowed to put my new underwear back on, followed by the dressing gown so that I could be returned to the warehouse. I had another four added to my list of ‘visitors’, although today it is called body count.

 When I arrived back, I quickly discovered that I was to be washed again in the stone bath. Those waiting for my return wasted no time in fastening my ankles into the leather cuffs so that I could be inverted over the water.

I watched from my elevated position as more ice, which was prepared in the large freezers of the adjoining building, was added to the water. Then I was lowered, and I took a deep breath before my head was submerged. As on the previous occasion, as soon as they felt my head hit the bottom, I was raised. After three dunkings, I was released but immediately resuspended this time with my ankles held apart by a spacer bar. Once again, I was pushed along the pulley system until I was above the water but not quite central, as they kept me closer to one end.

 “I hope you have guessed what we intend to do next?” one of the women said, looking up at me. “It will be great fun for us watching, but…” she hesitated, “A little painful for you!”

 I did not require a degree in physics or even underwater exploration to work out what they intended to do next. I was lowered back into the water, and as my head gently touched the bottom, I felt a shooting pain across my pussy. I was expecting it, so I intended to keep my mouth tightly closed but failed.

 Up I came coughing and spluttering.

 “Enjoying yourself slut?” I was asked as I felt myself being lowered again. I had no time to respond as I took a quick breath, went under and felt another thwack between my legs as I reached the bottom.

 I was held this time above the water while someone attached two painful metal clips to my nipples. I could see that they had string tied to them.

 “These clips,” I was told, “Have elastic straps attached to these two weights, which we are going to place at the bottom of the pool. The lower you are, the less they will pull and dig into your nipples. The higher you come, the more painful it will be as the elastic stretches and the clips bite. Your choice will be to be in the water, well, actually, under it, for relief or above it for pain and to breathe.”

 “You should thank us for thinking up such a delightful activity for you,” someone piped up.

 I was lowered until my forehead was in the water, and then the weights were dropped in. I went down, felt a thwack and was raised. As I was, the clips tightened, and I was gasping not just for air but in pain.

 “Lower away,” I heard someone command, and down I went. This time I felt the distinctive sensation of a vibrator touching my pussy. I gasped, swallowed some water, and was lifted. I emerged gasping and squealing in pain.

 Even when I was expecting it, the vibrator was still a shock; however, on this occasion I was able, unusually, to keep my mouth shut!

 As I surfaced each time, shivering with cold and quivering in pain, the vibrator was held close against my exposed pussy.

 “Lift her a fraction higher,” the guy holding the vibrator requested.

 “Nooooo!” I screamed out as the clips on my nipples tightened, and I felt the hot lava inside begin to flow until it erupted in an explosive, uncontained shaking and swinging of my body on the rope as once again my predicament facilitated a full-blown orgasm that all could see.

 “Up a tad higher,” my detractor ordered and as the pain surged through my nipples, into my breasts, and across my chest, a second powerful orgasmic surge flowed through my cold, pained, well-used and sore body.