Fragment 10: The Slavemaster

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2020 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
Well, the votes came in and most were in favor of me posting incomplete stories. These, unlike my "fragment" series, I _may_ finish if there is enough interest. Get what you can out of these stories but don't blame me if you are disappointed--they are incomplete, after all. You have been warned! :)

(The Flogmaster)

The Slavemaster

(***, M/F, Severe, slavery, paddling)

The story of Icarus, King Cyris' harem Slavemaster, responsible for obtaining and training all of the King's female sex slaves. (Approximately 4,429 words. Originally published 1996-02.)

My name is Icarus. I am King Cyris' harem Slavemaster. I was born in the Fifth year of the reign of King Cyris. My father was an minor advisor to the King and as such I was given the best education and a privreledged upbringing. But as a young lad, full of lust and curiousity, I became fascinated by the King's harem of love slaves. I would spend as many hours as I could watching the masters train and prepare the slaves for the King. One day, with the fearlessness of youth, I approached the King and asked if I might apprentice as a harem slavemaster.

The King agreed, and though my father did not approve, he did not want to contradict the King. So I became an apprentice, learning everything I could about the slaves, and discovering what kind of women the King found most fascinating and desirable. I eagerly aided in the purchase of these slaves, and soon gained great favor with the King because of my ability to select desirable women. Using my new authority, I began to expand the King's harem, designing new training methods and raising our standards of quality.

The King was pleased, and during my twenty-third year he appointed me head slavemaster of his harem, and gave me much power and control over his slave estate. In many ways I became a much more powerful advisor to the King than my father had ever been, because the matters in which I advised the King were of supreme importance to him, and he would listen to my suggestions eagerly.

The King is extremely particular about his slaves, both in quality and quantity. Each year I purchase several thousand females, most of which fail the rigorous training and testing procedures I helped develop. Those that fail are resold as generic slaves, but the few that succeed, no more than 200 or 300 per year, are admitted into the King's private harem.

After five years of service in the harem they are granted their freedom and given a large bag of gold coins, but only a few manage to endure five years in the King's harem. Most are dismissed because of disobedience or other failings, and many others choose to leave after their first year, a choice the King generously offers, though they are not freed but only resold as a slave.

The King desires women of great beauty, not just in body, but in character as well, which is much more difficult to find. To help us in our search for these women of character, I helped devise our unique testing and training methods, which I oversee.

After purchase, slaves are brought to the main compound where they are stripped and bathed, and here I (or one of my assistants) perform the initial physical examination. I dismiss about half the slaves at this point because of physical flaws.

Understand that this is no ordinary physical examination. I am most thorough. We measure and categorize every aspect of the female's appearance: the size and shape and position of breasts and nipples; the width and depth of the hips; the size and shape of the buttocks; the condition of the anus; the shape and condition of the sex, including the precise degree of sexual stimulation required for arousal; the length and girth of the legs; the texture and color of the flesh, in particular the flesh of the breasts, belly, shoulders and back, buttocks, thighs, and calves; the length and texture of hair (including pubic hair); the color and quality of the eyes; the shape and condition of the lips and teeth; and the overall structure of the nose and face. We note any deformities, even the most minor birthmarks. We also examine the mental capabilities of the slaves, keeping only those of prime intelligence and capability. The King abhors mindless slaves.

After passing the physical exam, the slaves are led to quarters and explained the rules regarding their stay. The rules are simple: obey your masters no matter what. No not even hesitate to obey, or you will be punished most severely. As an example of the likely punishment, all the new slaves are soundly whipped before being allowed to eat and sent to sleep for the night.

A word regarding punishment: as these are valuable slaves we do not permanently harm them. Our whippings and beatings, even the most severe, are designed to inflict pain and humiliation, but to not damage the flesh of the victim.

Whippings are with leather straps of various widths and weights and do not cut the skin. We also paddle our slaves, using wooden boards ranging from thin and light to thick and heavy. I recently have created several paddles made of heavy leather, which work admirably. I have a small one with a surface about the size of a large hand that is one of my favorite instruments of discipline, as it is gentle enough it can be used on a slave's bottom literally for hours, yet each blow stings quite diligently.

That first whipping of the new slaves is one of my favorite events, and I always watch each time we get a new batch of slaves. The new slaves are always fresh and innocent and virginal, and the whipping confuses them. If they have been whipped before (and what slave hasn't) it has always been bloody and brutal, and for disobedience. Here we whip them for no reason and the whipping is mild but long and thorough, and across the buttocks and thighs instead of the back. The shock of being punished for sheer pleasure is of great distress to them at first, and it is wonderful to watch them struggle during First Whipping.

It is our rule that every slave at all times must show evidence of recent punishment, as our master, the King, may call for a slave at any time, and he is too impatient to wait while the slave is readied. Thus a great deal of our training is teaching slaves how to bear their punishment and endure the pain, because they will be punished regularly, regardless of their behavior.

For slaves that disobey or are uncooperative, however, we have more extreme forms of punishment. The primary is the Whipping Post at the center of the square where all the common people go to watch the King's slaves be flogged. It is most humiliating to even imagine it, being naked and bound between two posts on a large stage, common beggars and thieves and children and old men laughing and jeering at you and pelting you with rotten vegetables, while the whipping master slaps grease against your bottom and thighs and then proceeds to smack you with a wide leather strap again and again until the audience is satisfied that you've had enough (which means that the prettier you are or the more you struggle the longer your whipping will last). Everyone is sent to the whipping post occasionally, both to keep it busy and to simply punish the slaves for no reason, to exercise their will and test their obedience.

A slave's first few times at the whipping post are exquisite, and though they never really get used to it, they know what to expect after a while, which can be less exciting to watch. Part of our job is to keep things fresh, to design new and unexpected variations of punishments for each slave, because once a slave is used to a form of punishment, it shows in her face and the King will find her less interesting.

It is the many shades of her suffering that he finds fascinating, and I can't blame him. Woman who suffer beautifully and gracefully are supremely gorgeous, wonderous creatures that delight and entertain. I have seen thousands of the most beautiful of such creatures, but never had I seen anyone like Sheba.

I met her in the spring of King Cyris' 32nd year as King. One of my most trusted slave purchaser, a man named Malchus, had returned from a visit to the King's military compound. Here he had found a several dozen beauties captured by a recent military conquest and these he brought to me immediately.

I was in the process of chastising one of my private slaves, a lovely named Eshelle, given to me by the King as a token of appreciation of my good work. Eshelle was a lovely girl of dark hair and eyes and light brown skin. Her breasts and buttocks were among the most lovely to watch, especially when she ran in the training games. Today she had returned late from an errand I had sent her on, and I was annoyed. I therefore was giving her a classic whipping, dangling by her ankles from a wooden frame I had built.

I was in the middle of testing various new leather creations of mine, enjoying immensely the resulting color they brought to Eshelle's naked flesh, when Malchus was ushered into my office.

"Greetings, Malchus! How did the military purchase go?"

"Excellent, my lord," he said bowing low. "We have 47 new slaves for you to inspect, sir."

I waved my hand at him, dismissing him. "Inspect them yourself, Malchus. You know what we are looking for. I will see them this evening, before mealtime, during First Whipping." He nodded.

"Seveteen virgins, sir."

"Remarkable!" I said. The King was very found of virgins. "The King will be pleased," I said as he bowed and left.

Turning back to Eshelle, I began to test a new device, a paddle made from rubber, and I was delighted with the results. The paddle bounced off flesh in a remarkable fashion, and the stinging, to judge by Eshelle's expert opinion, was amazing.

"Excellent, Eshelle! You are doing wonderful, but I still think you are a little incorrigible. I think I shall send you to the Whipping Post this afternoon."

Eshelle whimpered and began to cry. "Yes, my lord, whatever my lord desires, but..."

"But what!" I said sharply, a dangerous tone in my voice.

"Please do not be angry with me master," she whispered, her voice silky, her tone humble and obedient, "but will you please do me the honor of watching me at the Post? I can take the Post if you are there, sir, it is much more difficult if you are not."

Her eyes were imploring me, the tears beautiful. I was already well pleased with my successes of the afternoon and decided to ease her suffering a little so I agreed. Besides, I would enjoy watching her at the post. "After dinner," I said. "I'll arrange for you to be there after dinner and I will watch."

"At night, sir?" she said, her voice quavering. "Yes, sir," she nodded at my look. "The night is an excellent choice." I had her taken and mounted out front for all passerbys to see her newly punished flesh, while I busied myself with several administrative tasks.

Her alarm at a night at the Post was not surprising. Most of the slaves hated the Post at night, because though the stage was brightly lit with hundreds of torches, the faces in the crowd were lost in dark and they gleamed like hundreds of monsters and pairs of eyes without bodies. In the flickering torchlight it was eerie and nightmarish and the punishment was all the more devilish in its surprises and tortures. The evening crowds were louder and more brutish, often drunk, and the entertainment the Whipping Post offered was a fantastic escape from their meaningless lives.

It was close to mealtime when I belatedly remembered the new slaves. I hurried to the greeting hall and found the girls lining up for First Whipping, though none knew that was what was about to happen.

I hurried to the front and stood behind Malchus and watched. The slaves were foreigners, very light-skinned, almost pale. It must have been a good crop because there were almost twenty here, the others dismissed because of physical failings, a high percentage of keepers.

They were generally tall and fair, though there were a few with dark hair and eyes that I thought contrasted beautifully with their pale skin. I was anxious to see things get started. Most of them were quite young, perhaps around sixteen or seventeen years old, though I did spot several slightly older girls. I didn't have time to look at them all, however, as the punishment was starting.

The first girl was led forth and I watched her and the others in line, studying their faces and reactions when they discovered what was to happen. The first girl was darling, a little smaller than some of the others, frightened but bravely determined, her huge breasts exposed without shame, her hands properly behind her head. She was lithe and her buttocks were prominent and smooth and pale. The whipping would show delightfully on that pale skin.

At the front of the room there were two rings dangling from ropes fastened to loops in the ceiling, and she was instructed to grasp them with her hands. My men adjusted the ropes so that she was on tiptoe, her arms stretched wide above her, her bottom wiggling below. She's told if she lets go or speaks she will be publicly flogged, and the look of terror across her face sends passionate chills down my spine.

Malchus was handling the whipping personally, I saw, pleased. He had chosen one of my new leather paddles, a thin wide one, and he proceeded to spank the poor girl soundly.

I was right about that pale skin. Each blow of the paddle left a bright splash of red across her bottom, and she cried miserably, wiggling and dancing delightfully, ignorant that this was exactly the kind of show we most enjoyed.

The paddling was sound, but not brutal. When her flesh was an even scarlet Malchus stopped and ordered the next girl to advance. This girl was similar in construct but taller, her face less innocent.

She took the whipping well, her head thrown back, breasts thrust forward delightfully. Her cries contained less panic than the first girl's, though her body writhed in obvious pain.

I watched the waiting girls during this whipping and was entertained by the looks of terror and shock and lust that alternated across their various faces. It was then I noticed Sheba for the first time.

She stood at the far end near the end of the line of girls. Her face was clear and her expression calm. Her eyes were bright and betrayed a touch of nervousness, though she did not seem afraid, at least not in the same way as the others. Perhaps she was more resigned to her fate, or perhaps she was more comfortable with her sexuality than the others.

Her body was exquisite, the breasts full and round. She stood in the appropriate positon with her legs slightly apart, hands locked behind her neck, her breasts painfully prominent. Like many of the others she seemed bothered by her nakedness, her cheeks slightly flushed with shame. But unlike the others, she was calm and controlled, and did not fuss and figit nervously.

But most astonishing was her hair. It was the color of the evening sun, a deep reddish-brown like clay. I had never seen a girl with red hair before, but it had a wonderful contrast against the white of her skin. The hair was so long it almost touched her bottom as it draped behind her.

I continued to watch her as the third and fourth girls were whipped, barely glancing at them. When the fifth girl was taken she gave a scream and broke away. The guards brought her back instantly, and bound her to the rings, but she struggled and cried in a manner that normally would have fascinated me.

But I kept my eyes on Sheba, admiring her resolve, her calmness. Then to my supreme delight one of the passing guards, restoring order to the nervous girls by striking bare bottoms with his strap, selected Sheba for a few strokes, though she was not causing any trouble. But the girl barely flinched at the strap, though it must have stung admirably. She tensed and her face went slightly cold, I thought. But her graceful lips remained shut and she did not scream like the other girls. I couldn't wait to see her at First Whipping.

I motioned to Malchus as soon as he was finished with the fifth girl and whispered my instructions. He gave an order and Sheba was ushered out. Girl six was crying with relief but Sheba did not even look surprised. As she passed me she paused and looked right into my eyes. She didn't smile but her expression rent my heart. It was so sad and poignant, full of what I can only describe as a mature innocence.

The guard motioned for her to move but she did not. He struck her heavily with the strap, and she grunted but did not move. Again came the strap but her eyes never left mine. They were a bright green, wide and clear and astonishing. I was so aroused I feared the others would notice. The tension was unbearable. I broke our glance and looked away.

In a moment the girl was gripping the rings tightly, her pale bottom looking incomparably lovely to me with just those few red stripes across it, making the surrounding flesh seem even more tender and fresh.

She trembled slightly in her position as I held up my hand to bade Malchus to wait. I wanted her fear to build before we began. I watched her face as she waited, her tension and nervousness growing. In amazement I saw tears in her eyes as her frustration grew. She glanced sideways at me and smiled, a brazen smile, and I nodded to Malchus.

The paddle caught both cheeks of her buttocks with a heavy blow, leaving bright red splashes that delighted me. Her face tensed with pain, the tears gently rolling down her cheeks. Again and again the paddle caught her, and soon she was dancing helplessly, her face a wonder to watch, so calm was her expression, so poignant and full of suffering. She wept without shame, her tears melting my heart. I saw the tears dripping onto her breasts, and her eyes closed when this occurred, so humiliating it must have been for her.

As the spanking continued, her buttocks slowing becoming pink globes, her expression changed. I could see the pain had reached a new level and she was having a much more difficult time bearing it. Her hands gripped the rings so tightly she occasionally lifted herself off the ground. Suddenly she groaned, a raw gutteral sound that seemed to come from the depths of her soul. She threw back her head, her long red hair rippling down her back as she moved her head.

I signaled an end to the punishment and whispered to Malchus that I wanted to take Sheba, as he told her name, to my quarters for "personal" training. He was surprised, but not extraordinarily so, as I'd done that sort of thing before. We all had our favorites, our special slaves we loved to torment more than others. But he was shocked that I wanted to leave immediately, forgoing the rest of the First Whipping.

I went to my quarters immediately, informing Malchus to have one of the guards escort Sheba to me in a few minutes. Once there I reflected on my feelings and what exactly I proposed to do with Sheba once she was in my exclusive possession.

I would punish her, surely, but in what manner? Should I take her to the Whipping Post to see if that incredible composure of hers would be lost among the screaming commoners? Or should I ride with her on the Bridal Path, or chase her down the Garden Path?

But there would be plenty of time of all these exquisite punishments, I reflected. For now what I needed was to see her face, to hear her voice, to talk with her. I wanted to know her, to understand her. My feelings confused me, for, you see, though I had been among beautiful women since I was a young man, I had never truly fallen in love. Until now, though I did not know it.

There was a knock at the door and at my command Sheba entered, her hands properly behind her neck, her face as serene as before. "Enter, dear Sheba," I commanded. "My name is Icarus, and I shall be your master. My will shall be your will, and your every thought shall be to please me in whatever way you can."

Sheba did not look frightened, exactly. Perhaps resigned to her fate. But she was calm as she looked at me and bowed. "Yes, my master."

"Good, Sheba. Very good. Always show proper respect and obedience to your masters and your buttocks will be less red." I stepped nearer to her, my heart pounding as I smelled her fragrance, sweet and musty, and indescribably erotic. "Come closer. I want to look at you,"

I briefly looked into those green eyes of hers as I fondled her hair, my hand sliding down her back. I lifted her breasts with my hands and pinched the nipples. I slapped her breasts back and forth several times, enjoying the feel of the weight of her flesh in my hand.

Her eyes closed to narrow slits while I spanked her breasts, and she gave a low moan and leaned her head back. I turned her around and explored her buttocks, feeling and touching them liberally. My touch made her tense and occasionally I heard her moan very softly when my fingers probed a particularly tender spot.

Her buttocks were magnificent, large and very round, with seemingly endless amounts of smooth flesh to touch and spank. I ordered her to bend over and spread her legs, and when she hesitated, I delighted in slapping her bottom a few times. She obeyed, gasping in horror as I pried her buttocks open and poked my finger up her rear.

She was tight, very tight. I hurried to a cabinet and found an item which I brought to her. She was still bent over, her legs awkwardly wide, breasts dangling, her face looking upward. I showed her the device, a thick wooden phallus with a string horsetail attached. She gasped and I saw tears flood her eyes as she struggled to remain calm.

I thrust the phallus into her, ignoring her gasps of pain. It was a good-sized phallus, not my largest, but quite large for a fresh slave like her. I pushed it in deep, all the way to the hilt, leaving the horsetail jutting out from between her buttocks and dangling between her legs.

Sheba was sobbing, her hips trembling. Her face was flushed with shame and she whimpered audibly. I took the leather strap I always carry at my waist and gave her bottom a few good licks with it.

"None of that, my dear. Cry or groan if you must, but never beg. Never let me hear you beg!" I shouted this last and whipped her furiously. She wept miserably and her cheeks flushed with shame.

"Yes, master. I'm sorry master," she managed, her voice shaking with emotion.

"Now," I said, pleased with her obedience, "I want you to shake that tail. I want you to prance about the room and wag that beautiful rump of yours, whipping that tail against your legs. I want you to feel that tail brush against your legs, feel it inside you, piercing you."

Dear Sheba was obviously horrified by the prospect of what I demanded of her, but she obediently went forth. She danced around the room, still bent over, and when I demanded it, she wagged her bottom back and forth, the horsetail striking the flesh of her inner thighs. I urged her to arch her back and thrust her buttocks out more, and in desperation she complied, the tears of her struggle dripping off her beautiful face.

I began to chase her about the room, urging her to move faster, to wag her bottom still more, and I whipped at her buttocks with my strap. I enjoyed watching her squirm and rush to obey and to escape my strap. I bade her to stop and wag her bottom in position while I whipped her and she obeyed.

I whipped her legs and between her legs, right at the base of the phallus. She groaned dismally and wiggled frantically, desperate to please me. I ordered her to squat, to keep her legs apart and give me her buttocks, and then I whipped at the crack between her buttocks. I made her waddle about in this degrading position, delighted by both her obedience and how much that exercise in will cost her.

I whipped her outside to the entrance of the building and showed her my dear Eshelle, bound and mounted at the steps where all could see and touch her. There was a large stone statue there, a giant lion standing on his hide legs, an enormous cock projecting upward. Eshelle was mounted on this, her arms stretched above her head and bound to the jaws of the beast, the nipples of her breasts pinched by tiny clamps pulled by weights.

Eshelle was blindfolded and gagged, and couldn't see who we were. I whipped at her breasts with my strap and Sheba fell back in terror at such punishment. I brought her closer and showed her the phallus Eshelle had taken, and I told her that with the proper training, which I would of course provide, soon she would be ready for such a size. She wept silently and begged me with her eyes.

"Don't worry. You are much too fresh to take punishment like this, my dear Sheba," I said.

The End

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