The Slave Scrolls Ch. 02

I am whipped; I learn of my fate; I am raped

I do not know how much time passed since that night and our delivery to Gor, for I was asleep for the duration of the interplanetary trip. I awoke to the prodding of sandaled feet, in a dank and dark cell of stone. It wasn't very small, but was horrendous nonetheless, the walls and floor of rough, irregular rock, a gate of iron bars to my left, from where I lay, face down, on the floor.

As I opened my eyes, I was unsure if the last images which I had seen before my long sleep were nightmares, or reality. As I shifted, I heard a rattle of chain, and I saw I had been shackled, wrists and ankles, to two rings on the floor, one in front of me and another one behind me. My wrist chain passed through the ring, as did the ankle chain, thus preventing me from rising any higher than into a kneeling position.

I began to tug at my restraints, desperately, a cold sweat breaking on my back, my heart racing in my chest, as I realized it hadn't been a bad dream.

I had a collar around my neck, thick and heavy, as were my shackles. There was a man in the room, thin but muscular, wearing a sleeveless tunic, it going down to his knees. He wore high strung sandals, like those I had known from movies and history books. I couldn't see his face, it was so dark, but he held a lamp in his left hand, so he could look upon me.

"Please! Please!" was all I could manage to stutter, shocked as I was.

Without a word he swung his arm. I heard a whoosh, and then my back flared in pain, intense and localized, with the crack of leather. I cried out, struck again and again, pulling at my shackles. He lashed me over fifteen times, how many I do not exactly recall, for I lost count. The pain was sharp, and my back felt as if on fire as I twisted and grovelled at his feet. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I begged for mercy.

I received none,

After what felt like an eternity, he left, as silently as he had come, locking the gate behind him, for what reason I can only guess, for I was still miserably chained. I laid on my belly, crying, my back stinging. I had no idea where I was, or what would happen to me, and a myriad of horrific scenarios went through my mind.

After a few minutes, I remembered my mother had been abducted too. I looked up, still on the floor, but I could see nothing due to the heavy darkness which surrounded me. My mysterious torturer had taken the lamp with him. I wondered where my mother was, and if she was still alive. It seemed likely she would be in similar conditions as I, at least for the moment. I shuddered to think that she had probably endured a whipping like mine. I did not yet know, at least consciously, that I was a slave, and that such things were done to slaves. A voice in the back of my head whispered the possibility that I had become like thousands of humans throughout history, now the property of another, but I quickly dismissed the idea, terrified of it.

Slavery had been outlawed on Earth for almost two hundred years, officially if nothing else, and I had never given the concept much thought. I wondered if I would be prostituted, having no idea my services would have to much, much more than just sexual.

Exhausted, I fell asleep on the cold, damp floor. After what couldn't have been long, I woke to a metallic pan place in front of me. I looked around, frightened, but there was no one in sight. I lapped water from the pan, like a dog, shamed but grateful at both the water and the fact that there was no one to see me drink in such a way. The rest of that day went without further events, and again I feel asleep.

Again, I was woken by unkind prodding on my side. There was a figure there, similar to the one who had first whipped me, but I did not know if it was the same man. It wouldn't matter.

"Please don't hurt me anymore, I beg you! What do you want from me?"

Without responding to my pleas, he whipped me. Again, it was over fifteen lashes, possibly around twenty. I was puzzled and dismayed. Why would he punish me so? He hadn't even talked to me. Little did I know it was being made to acclimate me, to instill deep into my mind my place now, that I could be whipped at a whim, that I was now nothing to him, and to men, but a lowly Earth slave. In effect, they had begun to train me.

I would have two other whipping sections, nearly identical in their intensity. Every time, whoever held the whip would come and go without a word. I was not fed during those four days, but I was watered. Still, I was feeling weak by the fifth, as can be imagined. My stomach ached, grumbling seemingly by the minute. Thankfully, it only lasted four days, though I much feared for my survival during them. In retrospect, it was not reasonable to think they would starve me to death, for it had little purpose, but I was afraid and in shock at the time.

The fifth day, I was again visited, and whimpered in my chains, anticipating further lashings. I was cramped, terrified and hungry. This time the man stopped in front of me, not behind me, as had been happening. I rose to a kneeling position, arms stretched in front of me and sloping down, my ass resting on my heels. I sobbed as my eyes watered.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked pitifully, trembling "Where is my mother?"

"Be quiet slave," he barked, showing me his whip, the five-stranded Gorean slave whip. I cried out at the mere sight of the leather instrument with a rattle of chains as I futilely tried to escape it.

"Quiet," he said, unfurling the strands, and I immediately obeyed, not wishing to endure the pain again. He spoke English, though in an accent I could not place, one clearly not American.

He crouched in front of me, the lamp close to his face, and I finally saw it. He was handsome, which surprised me. It was foolish to think my torturer would have to be an ugly, petty man, but this one seemed to be quite the opposite. His eyes were like amber, bright and lively, his features strong, somewhat rough, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and had tanned skin, with curly dark hair.

I averted my gaze, intimidated, and remained quiet, awaiting my fate. I wanted to cry, but held back, believing it would be in my best interest. He had a verr skin on his waist, hanging from a cord attached to his belt. He detached it and pulled out the stopper.

"Open your mouth," he ordered, and I, terrified, obeyed. He pinched my nose and poured a dark, bitter liquid down my throat. It was slave wine, the powerful Gorean contraceptive. It was awful, and I nearly puked, but I swallowed it all. He released me and replaced the skin on his belt.

I saw him slip his hand into a pouch he carried, and pull out a wedge of dark bread. I was ravenous, so I instinctively reached for it, only to be stopped rudely by my wrist and ankle chains. The man cuffed me then, with an open hand, sending my head to the right with a loud crack. I cried out, immediately putting my hands to my cheek.

"Do you know what you are now?" he asked, cruelly swinging the five-stranded whip before my eyes. I was afraid to answer, to say the word he himself had used, the one I had toyed with, with dread and curiosity. However, I thought that he would hurt me if I did not reply satisfactorily, so I answered after a few seconds.

"A... a slave..." I said, feeling a tingle on my skin as the word rolled off my tongue. It was a tingle of humiliation and trepidation, but in retrospect, I now believe it was also one of excitement.

"Yes girl, a slave, nothing more,"

My shackled hands were before me, lowered, touching the iron ring which kept them to the floor. Because of how they were so close to each other, by virtue of the chain, my breasts were pushed together and outward, doubtless a welcome sight for the man before me. Indeed, he looked at them, with just the hint of a smile on his countenance, and brushed my left nipple with his calloused hand.

I whimpered as he did so, feeling violated, degraded. Something about this man told me he was unlike anyone I'd ever met, that he was far more dangerous, more primal. He was strong, lively and almost electrifying.

"You will sell well I'm sure," he told me "you and that lovely mother of yours."

I almost jumped. My mother was, indeed, alive. I felt relief spreading throughout my body, like a warm fluid, so happy I was. She was nearby, apparently. and in similar straits. I was of course concerned, and feared for her future, but still I was comforted to find out about her.

She was a slave, just like myself.

"You will make a nice pair of slaves, if you are bought together of course," he went on, before putting the bread to my mouth. I tentatively took a bite, treading carefully. It was soft, and crumbled readily as I chewed. It was delicious, rich in texture and flavor, better than any bread I had tasted on Earth, grown from better grains, in better soil. I would later learn it was cheap Sa-Tarna bread, fit for low castes and slaves, unlike the yellowish Sa-Tarna bread which was more tasty and expensive.

Just when I began to eat more eagerly, he pulled the bread away from me, beyond my reach. I looked at him, beggingly.

"Slaves are dependant on their masters for everything, the food the eat, the water they drink, their clothes, even their lives," he said to me calmly "if your master wishes to maim or kill you, he may do so. Would you like to be maimed or killed?"

"N-no!" I hurriedly replied, shifting with another clash of chain links.

"No, Master."

I hesitated, enough so that he lashed my back once with the leather whip, close to my shoulder. I cried out again, and fresh tears began to appear in my eyes.

"N-no Master!" I replied, trembling.

"Would you like to be killed?"

"No Master," was my answer.

"There is only one way you can preserve your life, or rather, one way you may convince your owner to spare it, and that is to be the most obedient, dutiful and pleasing of slaves. You must forget your life on Earth, where you were free. You are on the planet Gor, where we teach slaves to be slaves, uncompromisingly, whether they will it or not. You will be taught to tend to a man's needs, all of them, how to cook, to sew, to clean, polish, how to kiss, how to carry yourself, how to lay with him. And you will strive to be the best you can be, for the men of this world will accept no less."

I was shocked by everything he said, utterly dumbfounded. Did he mean it? Was I really expected to be such a lowly, worthless creature, a servant, no, a slave? Looking into his eyes, I knew he meant every word of it, and I trembled.

He then rose, and walked behind me. My heart raced like a wild kaiila as I heard him unbuckle his belt, it falling to the floor with a thud and a clank. I knew he was going to rape me, and I was helpless to stop it. I was but a naked, chained slave. I could not even look at him properly, having to twist my neck to look over my shoulder at his now bare siluette.

"Please don't, please, please," I begged piteously, my chains making much noise with my trembling and jerking.

His strong hands grabbed my hips, clutching tight, holding me in place as he began to slide his member inside me. He did so with authority, swiftly, pulling back my hips so that my rear smacked against his groin, sending out a loud, unceremonious clap as our bodies met. I let out a cry, violated, in much pain. David had never been so rough with me, always easing himself slowly between my legs. I knew this man wouldn't be tender with me.

He slid out, and I felt a respite from the intense discomfort which emanated from my stretched sex, which was straining to accommodate him, but in less than a second, he had rammed into me again, rocking my body. His rhythm was quick, animalistic, merciless. As his thrusts pushed me forward, scraping my knees against the floor, my breasts swayed.

I could feel his hard, muscled body against mine, his chest against my back, his powerful arms surrounding me. He grunted with each thrust, sending spikes of pain throughout my nether region.

I tried to beg, but no words could come out of my mouth, only groans and whimpers. I felt so helpless, chained in his power, a vessel for his savage pleasure. I had never imagined a woman could be had that way, which such authority. His hands ran over my skin, my back, my belly, my breasts as he intensified his motions.

He slid in and out, in and out, his cock sounding off as it burrowed between my tight, slick folds.

"Slave!" he exclaimed as he spanked my right buttcheek "what are you? Say it!"

When I didn't answer, he gripped my hair, tight, and pulled back, bending my neck backward.

"I am a slave!" I replied, grimacing.

Just when I began to feel a tingle of pleasure in my groin, surfacing above the pain and humiliation, he finished inside me, grunting loudly as he pulled back my hips one last time, hard, collapsing on top of me. We both panted heavily, him elatedly, I in shame.

Tears swelled in my eyes as he slid out of me, rising. He got dressed without speaking, but he smiled as he left me there, his cum dripping out of me.