Victoria's Secret: The Donkey Cart

No matter what the position Victoria was always an eager partner, and groaned and bucked and reached down or backwards to rub her randy little slave button eagerly as the men used her.

At first I told myself that she was acting, and pretending to be more excited than she was, for after a particularly good fucking the men usually rewarded their hot slave humps with a piece of fruit or maybe even a part of a chocolate bar. This was in itself amusing, as I remembered my wife constantly complaining loudly every single time we went out that the wine had turned or the soufflé or pheasant was improperly prepared. No she was humping like a 25 pence whore, sucking black penis and swallowing every load served to her, being careful to lick up any drops of semen that splashed onto the ground or on her face, all in exchange for a tiny piece of bitter chocolate.

It wasn't until a particular fucking that her true nature became clear to me. Some local farmers were exchanging supplies and as part of the barter a toothless old black farmer had his way with Victoria. Bent over with legs spread wide, the laughing old geezer fucked her slowly, with Victoria reaching up to rub herself as she always did. In this case, the old man was soft enough and slow enough that I was actually able to watch Victoria's pussy spasm through several shattering orgasms.

Seeing the toothless old black man bring her off so easily made her true nature clear to all. Victoria was no longer the proper English lady who regarded sex as her duty to the Queen; she was now a randy African slave slut.

More exciting still than watching Victoria getting fucked in exchange for a few apples was the knowledge that each day was drawing us closer to her final destination. Victoria was being run to market and like any cattle drive time was of the essence. Each day on the road meant another day of pay for the overseers, more slave kibble, and more carrying costs. The temptation was to run the girls harder, and run them they did, with the barking dogs herding the girls and spurring them on. Victoria had already lost weight and the dogs nipping at her heels left her gasping, sweating, and exhausted. Still, it was a pleasure to watch her run, and I always picked a truck that allowed me to watch her bouncing bottom and breasts as the dogs nipped at her heels.

Victoria was very thin by the time the dogs chased her into the rural market that would be the place of her final disposal. The market was tiny and unimportant, actually smaller than the market where our adventure had begun a few weeks before. But Victoria's transformation was absolute and there was no question this was a fit place to sell her now.

The leader of the caravan merely smiled when I asked if I could use Victoria the night before her sale. Ever the randy slave slut, Victoria began to rub herself as I dragged her to my tent by the scruff of her scrawny neck.

I didn't reveal my face until we were inside the tent. I smiled as I watched her facial expressions: shock, confusion, puzzlement, awe. Then she fainted.

When she came to I gave her some water and told her the entire story. I had been there since the beginning, watching as she was stripped, humiliated, brainwashed, tanned, and fucked into becoming an African slave. A brutal transformation, but a necessary one for now I had the money to buy her.

Her reaction was classic Victoria. "You bass-tird!" she said, screaming at me in her French-African slave accent. "You'ze let them uze me, and you WATCH? You fuck-eng bass-tird!"

She actually tried to strike me, but I caught her punch in my hand easily, and laughed as she flailed futility. It was quite amusing actually, and classic Victoria: I knew her anger at the way I had duped her far outweighed her anger at what had been done to her!

I laughed as she tried to hit me, easily holding her tiny fists in my hand. It was only when she tried to kick me that I pushed her away, and took the slave whip off my belt.

At the sight of the whip her slave training kicked in. "Pleeze, mas-tuah. No whip! I beez good slave! I beez good!"

I smiled as I looked down at her, watching as she licked my dirty, sandaled feet. She was truly irresistible.

"Don't worry, my little slave girl," I said. "I have already made arrangements with Balla, the leader of the caravan, to buy you. I will give him the money in the morning."

"What my sale prize?" she said, looking up eagerly. I smiled. Even in their subjugation slave girls were so vain.

"10,000, local."

"How much, Englez?" she asked.

"A pound. Maybe less."

She looked at me in stunned disbelief. I smiled. The exchange rates never bothered her when she was buying local goods for a song.

"I worth MORE," she said, clearly unhappy. "Youse, cheap, Englesh-men."

"Not as cheap as you, my little black mongrel. Not as white as we pretended, are we? Now the sun has revealed you to be what you are. An ignorant black slave girl, ready to be sold in one of the cheapest pig markets in Africa."

For a moment I thought she was going to strike me, but a tap of the slave whip against my thigh held her in check.

"You put me on block," she insisted. "Block price more."

"No. I'm not going to auction you. Too risky. Your price has been set. I will buy you tomorrow, before the auction."

"You'se not man enough to sell me," Victoria sneered. "You got no balls! When we go home London Victoria cut your money off and lock your tiny little Willie up in a cage so you no have sex...ever!" she said, smiling maliciously.

I was stunned. Knowing Victoria's cruelty I had no doubt she could good on her threat. But why threaten me now? No one knew she was my wife; to everyone else she was simply another black slave girl ready to be paraded naked on the auction block. With her fate entirely in my hands, why would she threaten me so? One would think she wanted to be a slave.

I stood firm. "You're not in charge here, Victoria. With your attitude be glad I'm purchasing you at all. It would serve you right if I didn't."

Victoria smiled. Lying back in the dirt, she spread her legs and rubbed her bare pussy. "You-se buy, mas-ta. You wanna this," she said, rubbing her sex.

I looked down at her, lying in the dirt, rubbing her bare pussy. She moistened quickly, and before long I could smell her arousal.

I did not have to be asked twice. I had dreamt of this moment since I had first seen her naked in the slave market. I took her roughly, not as a wife, or even as a whore, but as a slave. Twice she orgasmed, but I did not care. Her pleasure did not matter. She was only a slave.

When I was finished with her I sat in a small wooden folding chair, and pointed down at my flaccid penis. "Get to work, bitch. Make it hard again. I want lots of tongue work and lots of saliva. Suck, suck, suck. And when I blow my load I want you to swish it around in your mouth - back and forth- so you get a really good taste of your lord and master's seed before you swallow."

Victoria refused to give head when were married but I was not asking her as a husband, but as a master. Seeing the defiance in her eyes I responded by picking up the slave whip and tapping it meaningfully against my palm. Dutifully she sank down on her knees and took my still slimy member in her mouth, sucking it greedily, the hatred and humiliation in her eyes making my total mastery of her all the sweeter.

I lost track of how many times I enjoyed my randy slave slut, but that night I slept soundly. Each time I awoke I reached out and found my slave, and pushed her head to my crotch, letting her suck me to orgasm before falling back into a satisfied sleep.

It was only when I reached for her head and realized that she was not there, that I knew morning had come.

When I opened the tent I saw the market was a bustling place. What time was it? I heard the bleating of sheep in the livestock pens. Where was Victoria?

My heart raced as I ran to find Balla, the leader of the caravan. But he was not in his tent. "Where is he?" I demanded of one of the other men in the caravan. I was told he had left an hour ago to do some trading at the river.

I had arranged to buy Victoria from Balla, but now Balla was gone. Where was Victoria? In my heart I knew. But would I get there in time?

The market was crowded, and I was already winded from my run to Balla's tent. But I never ran so hard or so fast in my life. Victoria was not in the main square, or at the large slave market near the entrance. Finally I found her, standing naked in a one of the livestock pens in a cheap slave market towards the back.

It was shocking to see her there. There were a few other slave girls in the pen, but mostly there were a goats, and about two dozen pigs. I watched as a farmer moved from examining a pig's ears and snout to a goat's hoofs and fur to examining Victoria's feet, mouth, and breasts.

"Balla is gone!" I shouted. She waited until the farmer's fingers came out of her mouth before she responded.

"Good," she said, smiling broadly. "Now you'se buy me off block."

I reached for my wallet. It was not there.

"My wallet's gone!" I shouted, stupidly looking around as if I'd see it at my feet.

Victoria laughed. "I'ze took it. Hid in yellow sack in big wagon so you not sell me to Balla. You'se fetch now. You bid high!"

Victoria turned at the sound of a goat, bleating loudly as a brand was applied to it's bottom. Her smile faded. "After sale, brand. No charge. You'se hurry!"

I was still panting from my first two runs across the market but that did not matter. I could feel the oxygen burning in my lungs as I raced back to Balla's tent. "Where's the big wagon?" I demanded.

"Balla took it."

I was too starved for oxygen to respond. In a bid to prove she had a worthy "block price" my stubborn wife had stolen my wallet to prevent me from buying her from Balla. Her plan had been to reveal the location of my wallet after she was put into the market to force me to bid on her. But now the wallet was gone and at least an hour away.

I tried to explain myself to Balla's assistants but to no avail. I was not close enough to any of them to secure a loan, and indeed, they seemed confused as to what I was asking.

"When Balla back, he give you money then. You buy different slave girl."

I tried to explain again. She was my wife. The men laughed.

"They all wives," another said knowingly "Bear sons, scrub and cook. One good as other."

Seeing I was getting nowhere, I raced back to Victoria. By the time I got there, they were already taking her out of the pen. I was so tired from running I couldn't even speak. I simply stood there, resting my hands on my knees, gasping for breath.

Victoria smiled when she saw me, but when I looked up at her and shook my head, her smiled faded.

"No!" she said, instantly realizing from my expression that something had gone horribly wrong. "NO!"

Victoria gasped as the slaver grasped her by the back of the neck and led her from the animal pen and toward a decrepit wooden cart. The goats had been auctioned on sold ground, but apparently the two legged livestock needed to be seen by all.

The auctioneer was a toothless old man holding a long, wicked looking whip that seemed almost as big as he was. He pointed at Victoria, then pointed to the cart. Smiling toothlessly he patted the wooden slats on the floor of the badly bowed cart, bidding her to scamper onto it.

Victoria surveyed the cart doubtfully. The wagon looked bad and smelled worse. Although the old gray tires looked like they might be rubber the cart itself appeared ancient. It had no sides, or if it did have sides they had long since been ripped off. It looked like a Bronze Age shop class project gone wrong, with roughly hewn and uneven boards held together by some strands of hemp rope and a few crooked and protruding nails.

I shared her uncertainty. I couldn't imagine hauling anything in it; you might hang someone with it, but in truth it didn't even look stable enough for that. Even the little donkey in front of the cart looked embarrassed.

I must admit that my emotions were mixed. Because of Victoria's trickery and stubborn insistence on finding her "block price" I had been forced to run back-and-forth across the market to the point of near collapse. I knew that was of no concern to my self-centered wife. As soon as I revealed myself as her husband I was once again hers to abuse.

This time, however her trickery would cost her. The irony was rich. I knew that Victoria's time as a slave - shocking as it was - had taught her nothing. With the prospect of release in sight she was determined to walk over me and once again get her way. Now she would pay the price for her arrogance. Victoria would find her "block price", but she would do it by being sold off the back of a donkey cart in a market designed for the sale of pigs and goats.

Victoria was appalled. But the toothless merchant, tired of waiting, picked her up like a ragdoll and lifted her onto the cart. She was an easy lift, and he even managed to grope her perfect little bottom in the process.

Standing to her left I watched as Victoria looked down in dismay at the depressingly unfinished and misaligned boards. Her feet were dirty, but the cart bed was somehow dirtier. Victoria bent over and picked up a few dried out pieces of straw. She wrinkled her nose at the smell. Had the wagon been used for hauling pigs, or simply piles of their excrement?

Victoria seemed slightly dazed, as if she couldn't believe this was happening.

"Puh-leaze" she said to the merchant. "I Englush. I rich! I pay much!"

The few men in the crowd who could understand her pigeon English laughed. She tried pigeon French: "Je suis riche!" Again, her appeal drew laughter.

Despite the gravity of the situation, I found myself laughing along with the men. The thought that the little slave bitch standing naked on the back of the donkey cart owned ANYTHING - let alone riches - was absurd!

"She rich!" one man cackled.

"Yes," another man chortled. "Check her purse!"

He reached between her legs only to have her step back. The auctioneer, displeased, cracked the whip in the air. Knowing what she must do, she stepped forward and placed her hands on top of her head, spreading her legs wide.

Victoria gasped as he fingered her crotch. "No coins," he guffawed. "Just tight pooo-sey!"

Victoria groaned in misery. "Puhh-leeze," she moaned. "I own cars. I give you Jag!"

Again the men laughed. I did too, for the truth is the pretty slave girl had nothing to offer any of us but her strong back, her round breasts, and the gash between her legs. Victoria might have had numerous sports cars in her garage in London, right now the only form of conveyance in her life was the fetid, rotting, stinking wooden cart beneath her feet.

Victoria soon had bigger problems than the cart. The dumpy platform was only a few feet off the ground, but it raised Victoria high enough to catch the eye of every man in the vicinity. To her discomfort and the merchant's delight a crowd of smiling black faces quickly formed around the disgraceful wooden scaffold.

Victoria blushed hotly as she stood before the smiling crowd with her hands behind her back and her legs spread wide. Her embarrassment both surprised and amused me. I had supposed that she had lost all modesty over her slave training, as she was ogled, fondled, and humped with a regularity that was as casual as it was shocking. Until now, at least, she had been spared the ultimate humiliation for any slave girl: being paraded naked and being auctioned off like an animal in a public market crowded with goats, pigs, and sheep.

It was a warm African day, but I knew the sheen of sweat glistening on Victoria's dark skin and the trickles of sweat running down her back and face had nothing to do with the sun. In the slave caravan there had been limits, for she was inventory, and damaging her too severely would lower her block price. Her new master would know no such limits, and would be free to beat, brand, or dispose of his new possession however he saw fit.

As if the emphasize this point the auctioneer began by using the tip of his whip to point at the rope marks around Victoria's neck, laughing and joking as with the other hand he mimed hanging himself, complete with bulging eyes and extended tongue. From his laughter it was clear he was joking, but Victoria, remembering the horror of the noose, did not laugh with him. She knew as I did that her dirt cheap price might draw a master that would pay pocket change for her simply for the pleasure of watching her jerk on the end of a rope.

I could see the terror in her eyes as she scanned the dark faces in the crowd, searching desperately for sympathy or compassion. She found none. To the men she was nothing more than an animal to be used for work or pleasure. Sympathy was not an emotion to be wasted on slave girls.

For a moment I thought her horror at what was happening would overcome her, and she might make a run for it. But good sense and her rigorous training prevailed, and the naked slave slut presented herself obediently on the block. Running would earn her nothing but a good whipping. Indeed, the thought of a naked girl escaping by running through a crowd of men eagerly bidding on her body was comically absurd.

Until the moment Victoria had been able to clutch the slender hope that I might rescue her. Indeed, that was what would have happened if her clumsy attempts at manipulation had not spoiled my plan. Nor was it likely that Lord Humphrey or Mr. Crawly would ever come to a market as primitive as this one. No, gentleman of their caliber only bid on the finest merchandise! The filthy black slave girl standing stark naked on the back of the dung cart would be sold for less money than these aristocrats would spend polishing their dirty boots.

The merchant began his sales pitch by grabbing Victoria's breast and cracking a joke that cause the crowd to laugh. The he roughly spun her around so the crowd could see her bottom, poking her right bottom cheek as he made another joke that drew laughter.

I couldn't understand the merchant's jokes, and I wasn't sure if Victoria's slave French was sufficient for her to appreciate the auctioneer's playful humor. Doubtless she understood everyone was laughing at her, and it was clear from the pained expression on her face that she was not appreciating the rich humor of her situation at all.

With her back turned to the crowd, he jiggled her bottom cheeks with the tip of his whip, laughing and joking as he bounced her ass cheeks up-and-down. The crowd laughed with him.

When he tried to bend Victoria at the waist she resisted, staring at him in disbelief.

I could read the shock on her face. Bend over, with her legs spread wide? With all these men watching?

I smiled. The special degradation of being displayed this way on the auction block, and knowing that the men were bidding on her naked pussy, was clearly overwhelming her good sense. Did the foolish little slave girl not understand that it was her ass, tits, and pussy that were for sale?

Undeterred by her stupidity the merchant grabbed her short hair and pushed her head down, literally bending her to his will. Roughly kicking her feet apart, he opened up her sex and her rear passage for the buyer's inspection.

The merchant's rapid-fire patter switched to Arabic, with a little French, I think. The hooting, laughter, and jeers from the crowd required no translation. I was pleased when he switched to English.

"Tight flower!" he said, tapping her anus with his riding crop. "Shit hole fit you like glove. She squeal like piggy when you fuck her butt hole!" The crowd laughed and finally understanding the joke I laughed with them, but alas, he switched back to Arabic.