Four Days of Slavery (Part 2)

Before I had any time to react, leather straps were placed around my ankles, and I was attached to the pulley above with a rope. My hands were quickly grabbed and bound behind my back, and in no time, they had hauled me so that I was dangling upside down about four feet off the ground.

 “She looks great like that,” someone said.

 One of the men caught the pulley above me with a hook on the end of a long stick and began to pull me along the single rail. For the first time, I noticed the old, large stone, trough-like structure as I approached it, and I saw it was full of water. I had, strangely enough, been so preoccupied when I first arrived that I had not fully taken in all my surroundings.

 I was lifted slightly higher as I passed over the stone wall, and as I did so I spotted lumps of ice perhaps ten inches square floating on the water’s surface. I did not know it then, but this pool was going to become very familiar to me during the coming days.

Once I was hanging over the middle, still inverted, I felt myself being lowered and my hair touching the water first, followed by my head. The water was certainly very cold, and I took a deep breath as my head went below the surface. I felt my shoulders go into the water and then my breasts. Finally, my head hit the bottom, and as soon as it did, I was pulled out and held once more above the water, wet and shivering.

 “Should we do it again?” somebody asked.

 “I think so,” another replied, “Absolutely. I’m sure that she’s enjoying the experience.”

 Once again, I felt myself being lowered, took another deep breath and went under the icy water. As before, when they felt slack on the rope as my head hit the bottom, I was hauled out.

 “Okay slut,” one of the men said, “Are you going to wake up, or do we need to dunk you again?”

 As I was cold, I did not answer straight away. My delay ensured that I received a third dunking.

 “Well,” my inquisitor inquired, “Do you want to go in again, or shall we get on with the day?”

 “No more, please,” I begged. “It is far too cold. I will do whatever you want, but please do not put me in there again.”

 I was pulled back from above the pool, lowered to the ground and released, but immediately grabbed and dragged into the people carrier in which I had arrived the previous evening. I was placed in a rear middle seat, still naked and wet, with one man sitting on either side whose hands seemed to stray very easily.

 The rain was still pouring down as we set off for a short distance down a country lane. The car stopped, and I was escorted out still with nothing on and taken into a small wood where I was tied to a tree with my hands above my head.

“This is where the fun really begins,” one of the men said.

 I decided to try and give one of my defiant looks, almost as if I couldn’t care what they were doing. That being said, I had no idea what they intended to do anyway. My initial guess was that they intended to whip me in some manner whilst I was bound against the tree trunk.

Rahim came up to me and, standing on tiptoes, looked me straight in the eye, saying, “We intend to make you suffer, you dirty slut!”

 I had no choice but to remain standing against the tree as several more vehicles pulled up nearby and more men and women alighted. I guess there must have been at least twenty, but possibly more; all in raincoats and all very interested in me.

 I noticed some of them putting on gloves, and I suddenly knew what they were going to do. I had been asked if I was prepared to be stung by nettle leaves during my time as their sex slave. I had allowed this on a previous occasion, but only a couple of stings on my legs. I knew what these people wanted to do and was aware that it was a whole new ball game that would be very painful for me. In preparation, I had taken an antihistamine tablet just to help control the pain and any shock.

 I was still wet from my dunking in the pool, but the rain falling made me wetter and colder, something that seemed to excite those surrounding me. Suddenly, a girl approached holding several nettle leaves in her gloved hand.

 “Where should I use these?” she asked, looking at me but asking the crowd.

 “Tits!” they all shouted out almost in unison.

 I watched almost spellbound as she slowly and purposefully held the nettle leaves closer to my breasts. Then I felt the sharp sting as she touched the bottom of my right breast. She immediately followed by lightly running one of the leaves along the bottom of my left breast.

 She stepped back smiling, and another girl approached; she too stopped and asked the crowd, “Should I touch her nipples?” The reply was bound to be positive as I held my breath and steeled myself to endure the ensuing pain.

 The girl took one leaf off a stem and lightly touched the end of my nipple. It felt as if someone had pushed a pin into it. She then repeated the process on my other nipple, this time taking a new leaf and also ensuring that the whole of my areola received some painful attention.

 By this time, tears were joining the rain running down my cheeks. I had a feeling that I would have a lot more to endure, and I was not wrong. One and another men and women approached me wearing gloves, holding nettle leaves and stems. These were brushed against my breasts, thighs, tummy and arms. Shafts of heated pain seemed to be attacking me from every angle. I wriggled and squirmed against the tree as my skin turned redder with each touch of the dreadful leaves.

“What about her arse and pussy?” one of my detractors enquired. “No one’s touched them.”

 “Who would ever be able to get through that forest that she has between her legs?” someone replied.

 “We all managed it okay last night,” another answered.

 “We just need to put her in a position where it gapes open, and then, well, let’s wait and see or maybe better listen to what she has to say!”

 The rope holding my arms above my head was lowered, and I was forced into a squatting position with my legs wide open and my cunt gaping wide. The rope was then fastened off so that I was squatting on the balls of my feet with my arms and hands above my head.

“How is the best way to do this?” someone asked.

 “Just take a bunch and pull it up between her legs,” another replied, laughing. “Then we all stand back and watch the results.” After that, I think we could try her armpits; the skin under the arms is very sensitive. Then we’ll turn her around and run a couple of bunches up through her bum crack.”

There was nothing I could do apart from suffer the indignity and pain being heaped upon me. One man came near me, carrying a large bunch of several stems of nettles, placed it on the ground before me and slowly but deliberately pulled it up between my legs. Some of the leaves stung my thighs, but obviously the most painful part was in my gaping pussy. It felt like somebody was using a sanding machine on me. I whimpered, shouted, screamed and cried, realising all the time that these expressions of suffering were causing great delight to those watching.

 I cannot now recall how many people enjoyed placing those leaves on the most sensitive parts of my body. It just felt to me as though somebody was moving a blowtorch around from my pussy to my belly button to my armpits to my breasts. 

I was unable to contain my tears caused by the immense pain. Yes, I did occasionally think of using my safe word, but I had already determined it would only be in an extreme circumstance. I had promised, knowing what I was letting myself in for, that I would be this group’s total submissive, and I wasn’t going to renege on that just because I was in pain.

 After perhaps twenty minutes of squatting, I was allowed to stand, the rope above me being adjusted to allow me to turn around and give access to my bum. The group lost no time in ensuring that it soon turned as red as the rest of me. I squirmed and ran on the spot, still bound to the tree, as the skin on my back, bum and under my armpits was painfully accosted by bunches of stinging nettle plants.

 Eventually, with the rain still beating down, I was untied and forced to walk a little way to the edge of a large field. Those guiding me carried long sticks that they used like poles to push me along, and some had Willow canes. I was sure that they now intended to whip me in some way. I was wrong again.

 When we reached the field, I could see that a small section had been ploughed up. It was very wet and very muddy; the falling rain certainly didn’t help.

 “Okay, you filthy whore,” I was told “Walk through that mud. If we tell you to crawl or to lie down, you will do it, or we will use these on you!” They motioned to the sticks and willows.

 Still cold and very wet, as well as incredibly sore, I commenced walking through the mud. The further I went, the deeper the mud seemed to get until it was soon up to my knees, and I struggled with each step. 

As I stood in the mud breathing heavily, one or two flicked the ground behind me with their pieces of thin willow; one even flicked it against my sore bottom.

 “Keep moving, you pathetic creature,” I was told. I did.

 Each step was an effort as I stumbled and placed my arms out to steady myself. One of the men approached in a pair of waders and placed a pair of agonising weighted clamps on my tits, as well as adding a chain with two weighted balls around my neck.

 “These should help you,” he said as I grunted and grimaced at this further onslaught against my breasts. 

After I had been in the mud about fifteen minutes, I stumbled into a much deeper area of mud that almost reached my navel. I could hardly move. At that time I had no idea that this mud bath had been specially dug and prepared solely for my use. Sometimes folks can be so kind. 

“Lie down, get dirty!” I was instructed. I was, however, so tired that I actually felt if I lay down I would go to sleep despite my discomfort. I pulled one foot out, and as I was pulling the other, I just fell absolutely exhausted onto the mud.

I’m sure that I could not have taken another step if I tried. I know that I dozed off because I only came around when I felt some warm liquid splashing against my body. Of course they had placed an old metal gate across the mud, on top of which they put two pieces of wood so that they could walk out to me and piss over me. 

To be honest, I didn’t really care what they did; some continued to prod me with their sticks, and a couple lightly used their whips against my naked body.

 When you are so tired, you do not always take things in and lying there in the mud, just about as dirty as I could be, I had no idea who or how many used me as their urinal. I even felt warm despite the rain and the pain. I guess that my blood was pumping as a result of all that I had already experienced that day.

 Somebody threw me a rope, which I held as they pulled me across the surface of the mud to the grass. Once there, I was made to lie down and zipped into something that resembled a suit bag. I discovered later that it was actually a body bag, although where they obtained it from, I have no idea. I only hope that it had not been used previously!

 I was placed in a vehicle and driven the short distance back to the warehouse, where I was once again hosed down, thankfully with warm water. A couple of ladies helped to wash my hair using shampoo, and once again it was blown dry.

 When they thought that I was suitably clean, I was taken back inside, and my arms were reattached to the rope and pulley system. Here I was left all on my own for about thirty minutes. During that time, I considered what had already been done to me and also what was likely to happen next. I had no idea, but I would soon find out.

 In a building such as that, warehouse noise echoes through the cavernous space. I therefore heard a door open and several voices chattering eagerly; I didn’t have to look to know that these were women’s voices.

 I could not see them as they seemed to delay coming into the main part where I was strung up. But I could hear them all right. Eventually I heard the door into the cold store where I was, open and turning; I was amazed to see several naked Pakistani women approaching me. I froze in horror! I had been humiliated by some of my female friends at university the previous year, but I had never had a sexual experience with women before. I was then and still am 100% straight.

 It was very obvious what these women had on their minds as they entered the room and excitedly ran towards me. Bound as I was, I had no means of being able to defend myself. Suddenly, their hands were running all over my body, pushing and prodding into every orifice. Someone started kissing my breasts while others sought to kiss my lips, grabbing my head violently and pushing their tongue between my teeth. I felt fingers pushing into my bum hole and up deep into my vagina. 

There was no letup as these women excitedly explored my naked, available body. Eventually I was untied and made to kneel on the ground so that they could reach every part of me.

 “One of our men said her arse hole was far too small,” one of them stated. “He suggested that we work on making it larger, and we intend to do so. We cannot have a white whore like you stopping our men from having fun because your butt is too tight!”

 As I was kneeling, I felt someone push something into my bum. It was not done gently and was designed to cause me maximum pain and embarrassment. Once it was partway in, it was wriggled around so that it stretched my bum hole open.

A woman came round to my face and commenced to kiss my mouth; once she had finished, another took her place. I was then rolled onto my back as one of the ladies squatted on me, demanding that I stick my tongue up her pussy. To ensure I complied, others twerked my nipples with their hands.

 I was unable to do anything to stop being raped by this female group, and my eyes opened wide as I watched one put on a strap-on. I could hardly believe what I was seeing.

 “Hold the bitch against that chair,” the girl wearing it ordered, “While I give her the time of her life.”

“Are you going to fuck her up her cunt?” one of the other girls asked.

 “No, absolutely not. I’m gonna take her up her dirty arse,” the girl replied as she placed the end of her strap-on against my bum. “Just like this!”

 She gave one enormous shove and her fake penis was deep inside my backside. I screamed at this unexpected attack, but the advances of yet another attempting to French kiss me soon silenced my cries.

 After several thrusts, the woman pulled out and moved in front of me, proffering her ‘penis’ with just a simple order: “Clean it with your mouth.”

 I knew that once I had performed that task, there would be few desiring to kiss me on my mouth again. I set to work, sometimes enduring hard slaps across my backside as I did so.

 “Who agrees with me that she now needs to wash her mouth out?” another of the women enquired. There was universal agreement, and I was quickly moved onto my back as one woman straddled my face and started pushing her vagina against my mouth.

 I was expecting her to tell me to stimulate her with my tongue, but suddenly someone took hold of one of my nipples, squeezed and pulled it hard. At the same time, the woman sitting over me released her bladder and a yellow torrent of urine flowed into my mouth and over my face.

 “Next one,” she said, getting up “I’m making way for someone else.” After the third person had squatted and peed over me, they decided my mouth was clean enough to give them what they wanted. I had to work my tongue into every pussy, licking and kissing until I could feel the recipient trembling with pleasure.

 Eventually I was turned back onto my hands and knees, and the strap-on was once again used, but this time entering my pussy. It was thrust as though the person was riding a horse in and out. I was still sore all over from the nettle escapade earlier on and the electric stimulation before that.

 This sudden thrusting, for some unknown reason or perhaps it was just the sheer humiliation of being used by so many women for the first time, started an orgasm. That strange sensation that seemed to commence small and eventually spread to all parts of the body took over. There was nothing I could have done about it, even if I had wanted to. I have always struggled to control my orgasms, and I know that one part of BDSM play is orgasm control.

 This one exploded as I reared up like a horse, shaking and trembling and shivering and shouting as well as sweating profusely. This one seemed to commence around my navel and rapidly spread to my extremities: toes and fingers. I wasn’t sure who was the most surprised, them or me.

 “Good grief,” one of them said, watching me. “She certainly knows how to have an orgasm.”

 “Filthy whores who sleep around and get paid for sex like her usually do!” another replied sarcastically.

 Eventually it seemed that everybody had gained the satisfaction that they wanted from my body, and I collapsed in exhaustion.

“I think our bitch needs a drink,” another suggested. “She kinda looks thirsty.”

 I had no time even to think before I was forced into a kneeling position and a large pint glass containing yellow liquid was tipped toward my lips. I knew what it was and what they would make me do. My nose was pinched, and as I opened my mouth, the lukewarm contents were poured in.

“Swallow,” I was commanded.

 I could, I guess, have spat and spluttered a lot out, but felt that it was perhaps more prudent just to comply, which I did. I swallowed almost all of the glass’s contents.

 “Good girl,” I was commended, “Nothing like a good glassful of quality woman’s piss to quench thirst.”

 This, however, was not the end. I had wondered where Rahim had been, as she was missing from the group. Now she appeared in a very sexy black and red Basque outfit and a large bullwhip in her hand. I knew what was coming next.

 Tie her to that pillar Rahim ordered. I intend to give her a good thrashing. There was real venom in her voice.

 I was grabbed and pulled until I was standing with my back to the pillar where I was tied, facing my would-be tormentor. Stand back, everyone, Rahim said as she took a couple of practice swings with her whip against the floor.

“Have you ever seen the South American version of the story of O?” she asked, smiling sadistically. I had actually been shown various clips from it by others that usually involved O being whipped in some way. I nodded in acknowledgement.

 “Good. Then you might remember this scene!”

 Suddenly she unleashed her whip across my midriff with lightning speed that took me by surprise, even though I was watching her carefully. It felt like someone had sliced me across my tummy with a knife. I let out a scream that must have been heard all the way back at my university.

 “Did you enjoy that?” Rahim asked, “If you did, you had better kiss me and thank me.” She moved closer, grabbed hold of my hair and pulled my head toward hers and forced her tongue into my mouth, giving me a big sloppy French kiss before stepping back.

 Raheem waited just a second before unleashing a second lash that caught my thighs. Once again, there was shooting pain that entered my hips and slid down to my knees. The tears flowed freely once again.

 “Thank me, Bitch,” Rahim said as she came closer and once again sought to kiss me on my mouth.

 She stepped back and slightly to my side this time, unleashing a stroke that caught me across my breasts. My legs gave way as I just hung by my bonds.

 “What do you want to give me for providing you such pleasure?” Rahim asked as she came close yet again.

 I did not answer. Holding both ends of her whip, she flicked it up between my legs, catching my cunt lips. I screamed in pain as she came right up to my face and spat straight in it.

 “Kiss me,” you fucking whore,” she said or I’ll give you six up your cunt hole. I had no choice, as once more she took my head and kissed me passionately.

Thankfully, I was released and told to get down on my hands and knees once again. As I did so, each of the ladies passed me by, and I had to kiss their feet and thank them for giving me such a good time.

 Lastly, Rahim stopped before me and, looking down at me, said, “I need a crap. Catch my shit, or I’ll have you strung up for twenty lashes!”

 She squatted as I tentatively held out my hands, surrounded by the laughing, jeering group of women who had just conducted my only lesbian ‘rape’ to that time.

 “Good girl,” Rahim complimented as I caught her turd directly from its source. “Now you need to wipe my arse,” she paused for effect, “With your tongue.”

Others grabbed my head and pushed my face into Rahim’s smelly bum crack as I dropped her turd on the ground. Lick me up my arse hole as you have done with some guys. Clean me and pleasure me, or else.

 I could hardly breathe as I commemved my sanitising of her backside to her great delight and the cheers of her friends. I could hear Rahim, moaning in appreciation of my revolting efforts, before she commenced trembling as she reached that moment of ecstatic pleasure most women crave.

 “Not bad,” she commented dryly, “For a white, ugly, titless bitch like you.”

 The woman bound me back to the pillar and left after over four hours of me being their Lesbian sex toy. I had another thirty-minute break before my next ‘event’ began that would last much of the night. Thankfully, despite standing bound to a cold pillar, I was able to doze through sheer tiredness before being awoken at the entrance of more people.