Slave of Amazons

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Slave of Amazons

Getting captured sucks. It tends to involve things like pissing yourself in terror, while terrifying Amazons hold their spears deathly still at your Adam’s apple, leaving you too afraid to so much as swallow.

Getting taken prisoner sucks. It involves endless manacled marching and cruel whipping whenever you stumble or falter.

Being sold into slavery sucks. It involves standing naked under the hot sun, as Amazons mutter and joke to each other about you, while your throat dries out and a thin layer of dust cakes you.

The start of being a slave wasn’t so bad.

The dust of the markets was washed off. The welts that my whippings had left were poulticed. I was anointed with fragrant oils and clad in simple robes. I couldn’t help but be nervous though, because the men who bathed me flinched at every loud noise and kept their eyes resolutely downcast.

Starts can be deceiving.

After I was bathed, I was branded.

The other slaves led me firmly to another room. It was bare stone and smelt of sweat and pain. The only accoutrements were a fireplace and a set of stocks. I didn’t like the look of this, but there were three of them and only one of me. I was forced to kneel in front of the stocks, then forced into them. I struggled against them, but the wood was as unyielding as the slaves.

The slaves stoked the fireplace, or at least I think they did. It was behind me, and so hidden from my vision. But I felt heat on my back. They removed my robe as they left. I noticed that their backs – left bare by the loincloths that were all the clothing they had on – all bore brands.

I broke out in a cold sweat.

The woman who had bought me entered the room. She was fierce and scarred and wore no more than the slaves. Like all Amazons, there was a mass of scar tissue where her left breast had been. A golden torc encircled each of her biceps and both her ears were pieced with iron studs.

I resolved to bear my pain manfully. Surely if she could survive her breast being removed, I could withstand the branding without screaming.

It was a nice thought.

She circled me a few times, remaining silent. I had never heard her speak. Her slaves had haggled for my price, while she looked on impassively.

“Breaking you will be enjoyable.”

Her voice was deep and gravely. It set me to mind of the low rumble of chariots on hard packed earth. It was the voice of a woman with violence in her very bones.

Defiance seemed clever at the time. I fired back the first half-baked insult that came to my head.

“Almost as much fun as breaking your hymen will no doubt be.”

She didn’t argue, didn’t bluster, she simply smirked. That was a lot scarier than the alternative.

She turned slightly and I saw what I’d missed before. There was a brand and a cane in her left hand.

“Breaking you will definitely be enjoyable.”

She walked behind me. I heard a muffled clink, what must have been her putting the brand in the fire. My courage fled.

“Look, surely there’s a misunderstanding. I’m important, you could ransom me!”

“You offer me money, but what use is that compared to pleasure? Money can buy pleasure, certainly. But you ask me to trade pleasure I will have now with pleasure I might have in the future. This does not seem sound.”

“For what you get for me you could buy a dozen like me!”

“Perhaps. But if you’re worth so much, they’ll still want you even if I break you. And if you’re lying, at least I’ll have had the pleasure of breaking you.”

“Please! Don’t do this!”

My voice was cracking. I was terrified.

I felt her hand on my ass. She stroked it gently.

“Perhaps it isn’t necessary. Tell me you want to be my slave. Make me believe you want to serve me. Then I might decide that you don’t need to be branded.”

I didn’t have it in me. I was terrified, but I couldn’t beg. Not like that. Not yet.

“No? Then I guess you’ve just been wasting my time. You’ll soon learn that there is a severe punishment for that.”

There was no warning of the blow across my ass, just the sudden blossoming of pain. It hurt more than any of the whippings I had been given on my forced march here. It took my breath away. I couldn’t help but scream.

“After each stroke, you will say ‘Thank you master, that was one, another please’, ‘Thank you master, that was two, another please’’ and so on. If you miss one, you’ll start over. I might stop once you count to ten. Or I might decide to keep doing this until the brand is ready. If you impress me, I’ll be more merciful. So impress me.”

I gritted my teeth in preparation for the next blow. It didn’t come. She went back to gently stroking my ass and despite myself I couldn’t help but push into her hand. I was hurt and scared and the contact was comforting. As soon as I relaxed into her, the next blow came.

I bit back my scream and choked out: “Thank you master, that was two, another please!”

There was no comfort after this blow. Just a half dozen more blows in the span of a second, each as hard as the first had been. I couldn’t say anything. I could only struggle and scream. The pain didn’t feel like it was in my skin anymore, it felt inside of me. I would have done anything to get her to stop.

“You didn’t count one and thought you could go right to two? START. OVER.”

And then the hand was back, comforting me and even though I knew it was a trap and a lie, I couldn’t help but let it. And so the next blow took me by surprise.

I screamed, but I managed to whisper and then croak: “Thank you master, that was one, another please!”

“Good.”

She comforted me again after that blow.

The next few minutes were a nightmare of agony and comfort, of confused signals, of my resistance breaking down and me losing faith in my own mind. After every blow, I accepted her comfort. After every blow, I thanked her and asked her for more, despite every impulse telling me I had to scream, to beg, to ask her to stop. I was terrified that if I made any mistakes, she would prolong my torture.

After fifteen strokes, there was a pause. She stroked and rubbed my ass with both of her hands. I truly relaxed, feeling safe.

“What have you learned?”

“You are my master,” I responded instantly.

She grabbed my ass, wrenching the striated flesh. “You’re smarter than that! WHAT. HAVE. YOU. LEARNED!”

I whimpered with the pain of it.

“I’m helpless. I can’t stop you. I have to do what you say, even if it seems wrong to me. If the only way I can avoid future pain is to ask you for pain now, I’ll do it.”

She went back to comforting me.

“Good.”

She stroked and caressed my ass gently for several minutes, then moved to my shaft. I quickly became erect and began to moan. I couldn’t help but feel affection for her. I couldn’t force my brain to realize that the person who was making me feel good was the same one who had been torturing me.

“If you beg me to brand you, if you convince me that you’ve really learned your place, then I won’t need to punish you any more for now. Do you think you can do it?”

“Yes master!”

“Then beg.”

“Please, I want you to brand me. I want everyone to know I’m your property! I want to know I’m your property, that escape is impossible, that I’ll do whatever you ask because I’m too scared and broken to resist.”

I frantically told her everything I thought she wanted to hear, while telling myself that I was just lying, that it wasn’t true.

I’m not sure which one of us I was lying to.

She stroked me oh so softly as I begged her to torture me and I couldn’t help but enjoy the pleasure, couldn’t help but keep wanting to be stroked.

“My best life is as your slave! You know what I want and what I need! You know I’m bad and need to be punished. The world is scary, please let me be your slave.”

She withdrew her hand. “You’ve done well. I’m convinced. You’ll bear my brand and be on display for everyone to see at my party tonight.”

“Yes master, thank you master!”

I felt the heat of the brand before she pushed it to my back, but I said nothing. I held myself still. I couldn’t bear to be punished more after the branding. Let this be it, I thought. This I can take, but no more.

I was wrong, of course. I thought the beating had felt like fire, but this was fire. Fire beneath my skin, fire driving deeper and deeper, pain so pure that it drove everything out of my mind, everything but the pain and my scream and the pure white light of nerves pushed beyond what they could endure.

* * *

I woke up an indeterminate amount of time later. I was lying on a slab. It wasn’t the room I’d been originally bathed in, but this room too contained a bath. My hands and legs were manacled, held fast together with chains.

Another slave was watching. He saw me stir and helped me to the bath. It was breathtakingly cold, a welcome balm on the knot of agony in my back and the network of welts on my ass.

I was again washed and oils were applied. Then the slave led me back to the slab. I was compliant. I kept my eyes downcast.

He placed a blindfold over my eyes, a gag in my mouth, and stopped my ears with wax. I could not see or hear. He gently led me through the house, steering me with his hands.

After a few minutes of walking, he pulled on my shoulder to stop me. I didn’t know where we were and I had no idea of my surroundings.

I felt him attach something to the chains on my wrists and then they were slowly pulled above my head, until the pressure in my shoulders pulled me onto my tiptoes. My legs immediately started to hurt. I was exhausted, but there was no solace to be found. I either had to place the weight painfully on my shoulders (not just painful but excruciating where it stretched the recently branded skin on my back), or keep my legs engaged to keep the weight off.

Nothing happened for an indeterminate amount of time. Then I began to be aware of air currents that suggested people were walking past me. I scowled in shame. I was naked, exposed, and anyone could see the evidence of my punishment and branding. This is what my master had meant by being on display.

Time passed and I drifted in a fugue state. I had two options for pain and I switched between them whenever one became overwhelming. The lack of external cues made it impossible to know how long I had been hanging here. It could have been a day, or it could have been a quarter hour.

I soon wished the tedium had remained. People began to touch me. Some ran their fingers around my brand, prompting me to scream into my gag. Others punched me, driving the wind out of me and wrenching my shoulders. I wanted to cry out, to scream, to beg, but my gag muffled it all. I felt tears well out of my eyes, but they were absorbed the cloth that covered my eyes.

The pain was bad, but the teasing was unbearable. People constantly touched my cock, until it was painfully erect, until I desperately pushed into every hand that touched it, needing release so badly that I didn’t feel shame, only an animalistic need.

I felt lips enclose it and I frantically pumped my hips. But just before my release I was punched in the kidneys. I fell forward and screamed into my gag as the muscles in my shoulders protested and my brand was stretched. Whoever had me in their mouth gave me a hard bite, adding to the pain before spitting me out. I cried out and raged, but the only visible exhibition of this was my quiet shaking.

I imagined a crowd of Amazons surrounding me, jeering at me, laughing at my helplessness.

* * *

Forever passed like that, with the frequency of my violations slowing down as the night wore on. Each act gave me some sense of time, but I they too all blended together, leaving me just as confused as before.

But after an eternity, my arms were released and I was led to another chamber. Here I was forced onto my front, and chained spread-eagled. My blindfold and gag were removed, as was the wax. I was left like this for a few minutes. I took the opportunity to breath freely and frantically grind into the table, in the hopes of getting release.

I was stopped by the sound of footsteps outside and I lay still, in fear and shame. I did not want anyone to see me reduced to such an animalistic state.

“I hope you enjoyed my party.”

It was the voice of my master and a hundred emotions leaped into my head, but she stroked my hair and they all faded away behind comfort. She was my master. She knew best. She’d care for me.

“You did well today, so I’d like to give you a reward.” She pulled on my hair and I found myself looking right into the folds of her sex.

“Lick!” She commanded, so I did. I extended my tongue and lapped at her wet slit.

She held my hair tightly and jerked my head around at her whims. I kept my neck light and acceded, letting her be in control, revelling in the feeling of being useful and the lack of control, lack of pain.

I licked until my tongue got tired, but I didn’t dare stop. Soon her legs were twitching and her breathing came in rapid gasps. “Good slave, yes, good slave.”

I glowed at the praise and redoubled my efforts. Her moans became louder, her motions more violent.

I felt a shudder pass through her and she jerked my head away. She swore for a few seconds and I tensed, thinking I had made a mistake and would be punished. But when she jerked my head painfully up so that I was looking at her, she was smiling.

“You’re particularly good at that. Do you have practice?”

I cast my eyes down, scared of answering wrong. I wanted her to go back to stroking my head. I didn’t want to meet her terrifyingly intense eyes.

“No master.”

“Well you’ll be getting lots of it now. I’m very pleased slave. I suppose you deserve another reward.”

She left the room for a minute and then came back. She sat next to me on the slab and continued to stroke my hair. I reacted like a dog, to the extent that my chains let me.

“You’re happy to be my slave, aren’t you?”

“Yes master! I just want to make you pleased.”

The words didn’t feel like a lie anymore.

She kept stroking my hair. I heard another slave enter, mumble some things and then leave.

Master shifted her position so that she was by my hips and pulled me up onto my side a bit. It hurt my shoulders, but I didn’t complain.

With one hand, covered in something oily, she began to stroke my shaft. The other hand stroked my ass for a few moments. I began to moan from her efforts.

“Do you enjoy this, slave?”

“Yes master!”

I’d been teased all day. I was desperate to come. I held myself in rigid control though. I knew bucking into her hand would be the wrong thing to do.

Her other hand returned to my ass, just as greasy as her first. It slowly sought out my ass hole. I felt a pressure at it, as she began to insert a finger. I wanted to flinch, but I held myself still. I couldn’t let her stop.

“I want to use you until you come. Would you like that?”

“Yes master!”

Gods help me, but it wasn’t a lie anymore at all.

Her finger explored the inside of me, while her other hand stroked my shaft.

“I want you to beg me to make you come.”

“Please master, make me come! I want you to be the only one who makes me come! I want you to control my body. Please make me come master!”

She did something with the hand inside me and suddenly all I could feel was pleasure. I moaned and moaned and moaned.

“You have my permission to come.”

I’m glad she gave me permission, because there was no stopping me. She kept doing that thing inside of me and kept stroking my shaft and I was coming, Gods help me I was having an orgasm so strong it was driving every thought out of my head; it was the same pure clarity as branding.

As I recovered, she continued to stroke me gently. Soon she was cradling my head in her and making me tell her that I was hers. I came to believe it, then. She owned me, body and mind and I would never let that change.

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