Four Days of Slavery

I could not remember being quite so excited as I was that particular Monday morning, as I climbed out of bed in my room at university. The week that I had been thinking about for months had finally arrived, even if I did have another five full days to wait before I met my fate.

 In the months after my first meeting with my Pakistani friends, I had drunk more coffee with them than I could remember as we talked about what they wanted from me at our second ‘event.’ We had agreed that they could ‘keep’ me for four days, from Friday night until Tuesday evening, to use me as they wanted within our agreed parameters.

After one of our ‘coffee’ trips, Muhazzim, who had organised my previous encounter, quietly asked if I would be willing to show off my assets to his friends who had accompanied him.

 “None of them,” he told me, “have ever seen a white woman with no clothes. And those with me today were not present on the last occasion that you ‘entertained’ me and my friends.”

 “You mean ‘My friends and me,” I corrected cheekily. In English you always place others before you!”

 “Oh. Do I?” he replied, a little mystified that while we were discussing my gangbang I had suddenly decided to provide him a lesson on English grammar. “Anyway, seeing you naked will help prepare them for when we meet”, he explained.

 I knew of a place not far away where we could park the cars and nip behind a hedge bordering a field where I could provide the requested peep-show.

 Thankfully, for some reason, I had decided not to wear a bra that morning for our meeting. When you have breasts as small as mine, a bra is not always required except, perhaps, to give a better appearance of size. All I needed to do when I parked was slip off my panties and lead the way into the field.

 Once there, the little group excitedly huddled around as I, as provocatively as I could, undid the buttons on my dress one at a time. The small cluster of men leered and lusted after what they saw being revealed before them. I could tell from their looks that most were appreciating what they could see.

“Very nice,” one said.

 “Fuckable alright.”

 “Small tits.”

 “But very sensitive,” Muhazzim answered.

 “Untamed cunt, just like our women,” another noted.

 “Yes indeed,” I told you that for a white whore this woman has class,” Muhazzim interjected again.

 “Do we have to wait?” someone else added, ‘She’s fucking hot. Can’t we just have a little practice with her right now?”

 I did, for a moment, wonder if I’d just be thrown onto the grass and gangbanged right there. I wasn’t, but it was obvious from their comments that I had passed the inspection test with flying colours.

 At some point later on, Muhazzim asked if I wanted to see the warehouse where I would spend my wild and reckless four days. I acquiesced and drove out to the premises at the agreed time. When I arrived, a small group of men met me to guide me round, which they did most animatedly by pulling at my arms as we passed other seemingly confused members of staff, obviously wondering who I was and what was happening.

 As I was led along one aisle, I could see a rope dangling from a pulley on the roof.

 “Would you mind if we tied you to that?’ I was asked, “So that we all get a feeling for how things will go when you come to stay?”

 Almost before I knew what was happening, I had been bound with my hands above my head and raised until I was nearly on tiptoe.

 Muhazzim quickly undid the buttons on my blouse and pulled my bra under my breasts. Someone else came and swiftly undid the button of my denim jeans before pulling them down and then following with my knickers. There was nothing left to anyone’s imagination as my small tits, hairy pussy and pert bum were displayed to anyone who desired a sneak preview, and there were plenty.

 “Quick!” someone shouted, “Quick! We have the white whore bound and exposed. Anyone wishing to see this bitch come and take a look now!”

All work in the warehouse seemed to stop, and suddenly I was surrounded by perhaps twenty Pakistani men and women all glaring at me or, perhaps more correctly, my body.

“Is she a real whore?” someone asked generally.

 “Ask her yourself,” he was told.

 “Do you get paid to fuck?” he enquired, now looking in my direction.

 I went bright red as I replied, “I may do.”

 “What’s that mean?” my questioner retorted. “Are you a real whore. Do you get paid to have sex with strangers?”

 “Sometimes I do,” I answered, feeling my throat go dry at the embarrassment of being displayed in such a compromising way and then being asked such an awkward and intimate question.

“So you’re a sort of part-time hooker?”

 “Um. Yes. I guess so.” I responded almost whispering.

 “A pretty one. How much do you charge?”

 Thankfully, Muhazzim came to my aid. “Rachel works in a strip joint every other Friday; she has appeared in other places around the city and also opens her legs and other areas for selected clients if requested. Her speciality is bondage and submission, and we intend to give her a good try out. We tried her last time, as some of you will recall with pleasure, but this time we are going to give her far more to think about.”

 “How many guys have fucked her?” another enquired.

 Muhazzim looked at me, “You’d be better at answering that one, Rachel.”

 “A few,” I replied rather sheepishly.

 “How many is a few?”

 “Um. Err. I’m not sure,” I stuttered.

 “I can tell you that it’s a good bit over fifty,” Muhazzim interjected.

 “She has been fucked by over fifty men?”

 “Yes. Possibly a lot more. She keeps a diary with all the numbers in it.”

 “You mean she collects men like some people collect stamps and coins?”

 “I guess so,” Muhazzim replied a little nonplussed. “I wouldn’t say she collects men.”

 “No, she just open herlegs for them. I bet that’s not all she has open for them. Come on whore own up. If you keep a diary of all your conquests, how many have fucked your whoreholes? We all know that you know.”

 “Seventy-eight,” I croaked.

 There was a bit of a hubbub at this revelation before my interrogator responded, “Seventy-eight different men have been inside you? You really are a total slut aren’t you?”

“She’s a prostitute,” another shouted out. “How old are you whore?”

 “Twenty-two,” I replied without thinking.

 “And we should get this young lady to three figures when she comes here very soon,” Muhazzim added in a way that suggested, ‘no more questions!’

Boy was I ever embarrassed, strung up and totally exposed. Muhazzim spun me round so that all could have a good look at my breasts and bum as well as my hairy natural pussy.

“Most of you have signed up to fuck this bitch”, Muhazzim said, “But any that still haven’t done so and wish to, she could still fit more into her three holes! We intend to do lots of other things with her when she comes, so now is your great opportunity.”

 “Can we touch her?” someone asked.

 Muhazzim gave me a look that asked if I would be happy for those gathered around to place their hands on me. I gave a small smile and nodded my consent.

 “Okay, go ahead if you want. Just touch, stroke, pat and poke,” he instructed with the air of a school teacher.

 Suddenly there was a clamour of hands around my breasts, bum, belly and between my legs and both men and women tested the naked white woman strung up before them.

 I felt fingers sliding tentatively along my pussy lips before one suddenly pushed inside, and its owner exclaimed in surprise and delight, “Hey, she’s wet!”

 I had felt my juices starting to flow as soon as I had been escorted along the various aisles, and they had become a torrent as I had been strung up.

 “Let me feel?” others said as the majority clamoured for the same damp spot between my parted thighs.

 “Oh. She tastes good,” one said, licking his fingers in front of me.

 I believe that just about everyone there enjoyed not just feeling my body but tasting it too, and no one seemed to complain.

 I remained strung up, being gawked at fonded and explored for about thirty minutes before being released from my wholly unexpected encounter. I was greatly relieved to be able to replace my bra, do up my blouse and pull up my knickers and jeans. How many ‘extras’ joined as a result of that little escapade, I was never told.

 “Make sure that you all wash your hands thoroughly now with the antibacterial soap before you go back to work,” an older man ordered.

 “Yes,” Muhazzim added, smiling, “Remember she is a white whore and you never know what she has been up to. She’s already confessed to having been laid by seventy-eight men and by the smell of her I doubt she has washed for a month!”

 For my forthcoming efforts in providing a large number of their compatriot’s my services, I was offered as much free food as I would use during the remaining two years of my university course. I knew that during those four full days I would certainly have earned my keep.

 We had to wait for a certain weekend because the young men with whom I had been negotiating had wanted to use one of the cold stores usually used to keep food before it went into their shops. This was cleaned and disinfected twice a year, and they thought our little ‘session’ should coincide with that planned maintenance so that one of these stores and freezers could be worked into my stay.

 It was about a month before that one of the premises owners, on hearing of the plans surrounding my visit, suggested that with a little work their old disused cold store and freezer unit could be serviced and started up just for our use. These lay in a neglected and rather dilapidated warehouse on the same site, and using them ensured that we would not contaminate their newer premises with any of our activities. It also gave them access to an old small stone swimming pool-like structure where at one time animals had been dipped or washed. I was told that with a little work this ramshackle place would work well, although it might prove chilly for me at night.

 One of my friends came to see me the night before my encounter.

 “Are you right in the head?” Sarah enquired. “I mean this weekend, with it being a bank holiday, I’m going with friends to the cinema, but that’s far too plain for you. Oh no, Rachel, you have to go with a group of foreign men who intend to use you and abuse you in a multitude of ways for their sexual gratification. I sometimes wonder if you have a screw loose.”

 “I guess I’m just rather unusual,” I responded, slightly embarrassed. “I get such a kick out of seeing men getting very hard when they see my naked body. I also find sex with one man just a little dull.”

 “Well, each to their own Sarah responded with a half smile but I cannot for the life of me see what pleasure you will get by being stripped, fucked, whipped and tortured by these men. Anyway,” she smiled, softening, “I hope you have a great time and will tell me all about it on Wednesday?”

 “Oh, I will,” I cooed. “Are you sure that you don’t want to join me?”

 “Um,” she replied, “I have enough trouble with one boyfriend; how would I manage trying to please five?”

 “They aren’t my boyfriends,” I corrected, “and I hope there are more than five.”

“Five or fifty,” Sarah laughed, “Enjoy yourself and stay safe.”

 The next evening I was collected as arranged by Muhazzim and a female friend named Rahmi, whom I had met on the last occasion. They were driving a people carrier that also contained three other young Pakistani men.

 “This is it,” Muhazzim said as I clambered in. “What do you say here? The hour arrives and so does the man… or in this case, woman?”

 “I think,” I corrected, “that you mean, ‘cometh the hour, cometh the man.”

 “Ah. Yes. I thought I hadn’t got it right. It’s that funny English you sometimes use. Anyway, are you ready?”

 “I guess so,” I replied rather nervously, and I could feel a wee quiver in my voice. “At least, as ready as I’ll ever be.”

 “Now don’t forget,” Rahmi interrupted, “You won’t have a friend among us for the next four days. We will be your captors and tormentors. If you want us to stop anything, use your safe word, and it will stop instantly. Apart from that, you will be on your own from the moment we lead you into the building in a few minutes.”

“Thanks,” I replied, half smiling. “Let’s hope we all have fun,” I added with a touch of sarcasm.

 When the minibus stopped outside the warehouse, even I was surprised at the number of men waiting. They wasted no time in opening the door and pulling me out. I was guided, or perhaps more correctly dragged, into the building.

 Once we were inside, the men wasted no time in grabbing at me and my clothing. Within seconds, my blouse was open, and my bra had been split in two. My denim skirt was pulled and ripped as my knickers were also torn and pulled down my long legs. This group of men could not wait to get to what lay underneath.

I was thrown onto a large dirty looking mattress lying on the ground. Here I was pinned by my arms and shoulders, as my skirt was ripped and torn even more until it resembled more a large belt than a skirt. Suddenly, the men started chanting one word that would have horrified me had I not agreed to being their willing victim.

 “Rape!”

 Again and again that word rang out through the large neglected building that I was to call home for the next four days.

 “Rape, Rape, Rape, Rape,” the men chanted.

 “Rape her!”

 “Rape the white bitch!”

 Rape the whore!”

 Rape the cunt!”

 “Rape her arse!”

 “Rape her, rape her, rape her, rape her,” they called out in unison over and over as the group repeated just what they intended to do with me.

If this had not been all planned before, I know that I would have been terrified at the sound and actions being conducted around me. Thankfully, they had told me they wanted to use such graphic terms and asked if I would be okay with them doing so.

 I did not, and still do not, like the term ‘rape,’ and initially refrained from its use in the few ‘forced fantasy’ encounters in which I had previously participated. I had, it has to be said, somewhat reluctantly agreed on this occasion. However, now as I lay on the mattress surrounded by seemingly hundreds of half-dressed Pakistani men all chanting for my rape, a quiver of fear passed through me, and I took great comfort in knowing that just one word shouted by me or one signal given would stop things dead.

 Several hands roughly pulled me up until I was kneeling in front of the men. Then one of the men pulled my hair and held it tight.

 “You will do exactly as we say and do everything that we want. If you fail to do so, you will get more of this,” they said as they slapped my face several times. The man holding my hair let go, and I fell back to the mattress.

 That was the sign for a free for all my legs were held apart as one man after another pushed his way into my soon-dripping pussy. My mouth was used, and my hands were pulled up to look after other erections either side of me. I was soon a dripping, sticky mess of cum.

 I was forcefully lifted, turned and dumped so that I was on my hands and knees, and able to take one cock up my arse or cunt and another in my mouth. Time and again, large amounts of sticky white cum flowed freely and powerfully past my lips.

There was no letup as one after another fucked me while those not at that moment physically in me continued to cry, seemingly at the top of their voices, “rape the bitch, give the bitch what she deserves!”

Most not only enjoyed the freedom to use my three open orifices but also took the opportunity to redden my body with hard slaps, especially across my bum. When the occasion further presented itself, usually as I was being roughly moved around to provide a better position for their activities, my breasts, face and pussy received a number of solid slaps that brought squeals of pain from my cum filled mouth.

 About an hour into my first sex session, the shock of the chanting having dissipated, I felt the initial twinges of what I know would be the first of many orgasms I would enjoy over the ensuing days. Group sex, pain and humiliation always seem to not only get my juices flowing but also push the right buttons to start a seismic event somewhere in the depths of my body.

 I could feel the excitement building until suddenly it burst like a volcano. I shouted and trembled uncontrollably, causing those inside me at that precise moment to panic and pull out. I wriggled and writhed like some confined lizard as I orgasmed big time.

 Of course, the two who had been fucking me at the time ensured they took the credit for what they witnessed. Meanwhile, I had little time to enjoy my high or the floating feeling after as others wanted to make use of my spread legs, parted bum and open mouth.

 I did not even begin to count the men that entered me that night. I lost all track of time as my mouth cunt, and arse were filled with men’s solid erections. I was shown no mercy as one after another came on and in me. As they did so, the majority took further great pleasure in slapping any part of my body they could reach. It really was a free-for-all as I was lying there, absolutely free for all in what was left of my torn blouse and skirt!

My blouse and ‘mini’ skirt were removed and then replaced depending on the mood of those using me at the time. Some wanted me totally naked, others wanted me wearing my torn clothing, and still others only wanted me in either the remnant of my skirt or the ripped blouse.

After several exhausting hours of doing nothing but being fucked stupid and covered in cum the men seemed to have been satisfied. I was then assisted into a sitting position and offered a glass of something that was yellow. It was obvious what it was, and as I held the glass to steady it, I could feel the contents were warm.

 “Drink it all, you filthy bitch,” I was told as the glass was tipped towards me.

I took a little sip of the vile concoction, retched a little before the glass was tipped more fully toward my mouth. I knew that I had to drink the fresh urine being offered to me, and so I gulped it down as quickly as I possibly could whilst those gathered round cheered and laughed at my great degradation.

 I was told it was then time to clean myself up and I was assisted to kneel on the mattress. Those men who had replaced their trousers then unzipped their flies, pointed their cocks’ in my direction and peed all over me.

As these men covered me in their urine, I was told to wash off the cum covering my sweaty, sticky body and hair. I tried my best and eventually felt a little bit cleaner, albeit much more smelly.

 I then had to remove all my clothes, and others came and took their turns peeing over me. The urine flowed off me and onto the mattress upon which I was kneeling. I knew that this was the mattress I had to sleep on for the next four nights. What a prospect.

 Finally, I was allowed to stand outside while they pointed a hose at me and allowed me to wash in clean water. At first the water was cold, but I was very pleased when eventually it warmed up, and a bar of soap was given to me, allowing me to clean myself as best I could.

 Several men took towels and helped to dry me, with one even using a blow dryer on my hair. I was then given a red baby doll set and told to put it on because some men wanted to see me in it at some time.

 It was now gone midnight, and I was told my choice was simple: lie on the mattress or on the hard stone floor. One hand was manacled with a chain that was about 10 feet long and stretched to a pillar to which it was attached. I had no way of escape.

 I decided that even though the mattress was sodden with pee and sticky with cum, it was a better option than the cold stone floor on a chilly May night. The men threw me a couple of blankets and told me to have a good night’s sleep and be ready for more fun the next day.

 Despite the damp mattress and the draughty and spooky surroundings, I actually slept relatively well. Twice I woke up, once wondering where I was, but I think I was so tired after my escapades with so many men that I just needed to sleep.

 I woke with a start as I was being prodded by someone standing over me. As I opened my eyes, I realised that this man was older and far stouter than any of the men I had been with the night before. I could not recall seeing him previously, and as I came to my senses I realised that three or four other men were with him, all middle-aged and all overweight.

 “Stand up, you fucking bitch,” the man said as he prodded me with a metal bar.

 As I staggered to my feet, I realised that it was raining hard outside, as the rain made a fearful noise on the large tin roof of the warehouse. I was also wondering who these men were and what they wanted to do with me. I did not have long to wait.

One of them undid the manacle on my wrist and immediately tied my arms to some ropes on a pulley above me. Those ropes were used plenty over those torturous days.

 My top was pulled down to reveal my breasts, and without any mercy, the man immediately attached two large wooden clothespins to my nipples. He did not do it gently but just held them over my nipples and let go. The sudden pain was excruciating as I jumped and cried out.

“We have paid good money for you, you dirty whore,” I was told, “and we intend to make good use of you in the time that we have! We have heard that you come from Scotland and we want to hear your Scottish voice screaming for mercy as we torture you. Unfortunately, we only have two hours to do all that we want, but we want to make that time count!”

 They certainly did, because they took those clips off my nipples and replaced them on several occasions, always letting them flip together to catch my nipple between the wooden sides. Occasionally, they took hold of them and pulled and twisted them so that my nipple was elongated and very sore.

 Once they had tired of this game, they lifted my top to cover my breasts before removing my knickers. They then undid my hands from the pulley and retied them behind my back and pulled them up, lifting me onto my tiptoes.

 Almost at the same time, a metal bar was placed against my pussy. I felt a tingling sensation before realising that the bar must be electrical. The tingling suddenly changed into bolts of pain that went through my vagina, down my legs and up into my body. As I endured the fiery sensation, I screamed out in both shock and pain.

The men who were watching kept encouraging the one holding the bar to do it again. He pulled it away from my pussy, touching me at the back of my knees, causing me to dance. He then took great pleasure in placing it back against my pussy, sometimes even slapping it against my pussy lips to create more effect.

 My hands were united and once again connected to the rope and pulled above my head. My top was again pulled low, exposing my breasts. A round metal prong was placed at my arsehole. As with my pussy I realised that this was electrical, as I felt the charge passing into my body; there wasn’t much that I could do other than scream and beg for mercy. All my shouting and pleading did was turn the men on as, through my tears of pain, I could see large bulges in their trousers.

Occasionally they would place the bar against some part of my body, giving me shocks as it touched. I eventually realised that what they were using was some sort of modified cattle prod. The large clothespins were also attached and detached from my nipples, while the round prong remained up my backside, being controlled by one of the men behind me, who seemed to be enjoying using it on me.

 “We all want good blowjobs,” I was told,  “If you don’t do them well enough, we will use these on you far more powerfully than what we have already done. We are going to untie you; you will get on your knees and give us what we want!” There was a slight pause before he added, “And you’ll drink our precious sperm too!”

 I was united and forced to kneel so that I could release their rock-solid erections. I did as I had been told and worked them with my mouth the best that I could. That did not stop some of them from using the prod on me to give me a shock every now and then. Having gone to bed late and being woken early, I was still very tired and perhaps didn’t do the best job that I should have done.

When I had completed all four and drunk their cum they decided it would be good fun just to slap my face and tits. As I sat on the ground, I was too tired to put up any resistance, so I just accepted my fate of being slapped and shocked.

 Eventually their time with me was up, and, having attached my wrist back to the chain,  they left almost as secretly as they had appeared in the early morning light.

 I had just a few minutes’ respite, listening to the rain still hammering on the tin roof, before I heard voices echoing around the building and was surprised to see that some women had joined the men.

 “Oh, the poor girl looks shattered,” one of the ladies said.

“Yes, yes, she does,” I heard a voice that I recognised respond; it was Rahim. “Let’s wake her up! Put those leather straps on her ankles and tie her to the pulley; we can’t have her sleeping on the job!”