Gender: Female Age: 30 Location: N/A
|Introduction: Hey, this is a piece of Slaveworld fan fiction, based on the `stephen douglas novels of the same name. It uses some canonical characters, but some are mine. I think you should buy all stephen douglas' books because he's awesome!|
In the course of my life I have had many names and worn several faces. Some have called me a traitor, others knew me as a faithful servant. I have been ordered to compile my story here for the benefit and legitimate pleasure of the reading public. After interviews with myself and others who were there, my manuscript was handed over to a team of professionals who produced the document you are now reading. It is dedicated to my sister, Elizabeth.
Early in the Autumn of 2005, the Gate project was closed down. Doctor Franklin and her team, together with the British Ambassador to the court of Queen Victoria, had disappeared without trace and all the evidence showing the way to the Slaveworld had been destroyed. Or so the UK government thought.
Elizabeth Benjamin had answered a questionnaire with a set of very intrusive questions, got a callback and woke up on a lead in the strangest of strange lands. An alternative world, a section of shadow away; the Franklin Gate gave access to millions of them. But the gates were destroyed and Elizabeth was on the other side of them!
By chance, one computer was not destroyed; no beurocracy, even our own, can be perfect, and the machine was thrown away. It found its way into the hands of Richard Benjamin, Elizabeth’s younger brother, who had listened to his sister’s talk of alternative worlds with irritation and bemused tolerence, depending on his mood. Elizabeth had been part of the team that had worked on the construction of the Franlin Gate, but no-one had checjed her background. When Ricgard got Elizabeth’s postcard saying she’d joined a cult, he imagined his ultra-rational sister at the feet of some guru, remembered her hob and put two and two together. When he found the files on his new computer, he figured out a way to get in touch with all the worlds shown in the Franklin Index, the list of worlds you could visit with a Gate. But there was one problem.
A Franklin Gate required a huge amount of power to run. And it took even more to punch through the wall between worlds when there was no gate open on the other side. For over a year, Richard prepared, rehearsing what he would say, how he would convince the otherworlders of his own foreignness, and how he would sell them his idea. Finally he found the right conditions, set up his makeshift gate and rigged the lightning conductor.
Storm clouds boiled in the sky and then the lightning forked down out of the storm and Richard felt himself pulled off his feet and through the Gate he’d made!
Richard felt for the first time the disorienting slipping melting sensation of gate travel and he fell awkwardly as he came to the other world on the far side of the gate. He stood and looked hurriedly around. The Palace was visible in the next street but one…
He forced himself to walk slowly up to the gate and speak clearly and respectfully to the soldier on duty. Being asked for the aide to a high-ranking diplomat by name surprised the corporal, but the man sent for him anyway and soon Richard was chatting with Colonel Ewing, the Officer in Charge of the military aspect of the Gate Project.
‘You say you’re from this other world? We closed all contact, we don’t n eed anything you have.’ Ewing was brusque, irritated at being disturbed.
‘If youy let me talk to His Highness, I believe I can persuade him,’ Richard said, struggling to keep his fear and panic hidden. ‘And think of the trouble you could be in if you’re wrong!’ Richard knew he was pushibng Ewing harder than was safe, but he had to speak to Samuel!
Richard’s satchel, rudely searched and stuffed back anyhow, was thrust with him into Samuel’s formal privy meeting chamber, an incredible honour for a commoner and one that meant he was in real trouble if this went wrong.
‘Your Highness, I have something very important to offer you.’
‘We closed off contact to the world you come from; we need nothing from you.’ Samuel waved a beringed hand vaguely.
‘I don’t think that’s true, Your Highness.’ Samuel raised an eyebrow imperiously at being contradicted but Richard k new if he stopped now he’d never get this done. ‘You harvested slaves from our world, and they’re prized. You got some tech from us, but yours isn’t the only world Franklin discovered, just the only one she told you of. With my help and the knowledge that I have you can harvest technology, slaves, art, treasures from a hundred worlds.’
Samuel was listening now. Richard rattled on, ‘I can supply the knowhow. All you need supply is the Gate and a small team to run it and perform extractions.’
‘SO far, so good.’ Samuel was clearly a decisive, serious man and was now thinking aheasd to objections and flaws in the plan. ‘What are you doing this for?’
‘Your Highness, I read that brain transplants were possible here…’
Richard took a deep breath, and began, under Samuel’s indulgently superior gaze. Richard had the feeling Smuel already knew what he was going to ask.
‘Your Highness, I will serve you to the best of my ability in this, and I only want these things from you. I want to be transplanted, I want to choose the body I get, I want to be slave trained, I want some operational input into the missions, I want to be the one hwo gos where it’s appropriate and I want half an hour alone with my sister. That’s it.’
Samuel nodded thoughtfully. ‘You want to become a slave girl? That is your price?’
‘A slave girl from your world will bea bale to bend any man from any other world to her whims, Your Huighness. There are worlds where the population is tiny, enourmously wealthym, and they are erotically less advanced thatn even my world.’ Richard was aware that talking in pseudoscientific terms did nothing to convince Samuel that his interest was objective but he felt himself wilting under those piercing eyes.
Richard spent the night in a strange limbo, given a room, guarded and served with wonder but not respect. After breakfast, served in his room, Samuel collected him and took him to the cryogenics room of the biggest vet in London.
Samuel walked Richard up and down the huge sarcophagi where bodies with dead brains were kept, waiting for transplants or organ usage. ‘You can choose whichever one you want,’ Samuel assured Richard, his tone of voice somewhere between the address for a slave and for a respectable social inferior like a vet.
Richard felt his heart in his mouth, his mind a haze as he tried to figure out which of these gorgeous bodies he belonged in. Finally, he settled beside the sarcophagus of a girl with only a number, whose photo proclaimed her to be 18. She had blue eyes and a mane of shiny, straight blonde hair, and her features were cute rather than severely beautiful. But something about her caught his eye and he noticed the other people in the room, Samuel and his guards, stopped by her too.
‘That’s your choice?’
Richard nodded, terrified, and followed his new Prince out of the cold room. The group walked past a naked slave girl, helplessly bound, eyes glaed ith lust, displayed in the corridor. When Richard met her eyes, he saw despair and a hopeless hope, and terrible shame. It was Elizabeth!
Richard watched the roof of the vet clinic roll past above hi eyes as he was wheeled into the surgery, and that was all he knew but a drifting in and out of consciousness and some aches and pains until he was sure several days had passed. He felt himself swimming into wakefulness, his body feeling light and cool. He was naked, his hands and feet immobilized and some sort of weight was on his chest. Slowly he drifted back into full consciousness. He was lying on a steel gurney, on a wipe-clean pink mattress a couple of inches thick, chained down firmly and attached by a couple of pads on his chest and head to some unseen machine. He could see himself in the full-wall mirror someone had thoughtfully placed him next to, and he could see that he was going to have to stop thinking of himself as he. From the mirror, the gaze of a cute young woman looked back, her eyes wide, brow high and smooth and her delicate chin setting off full lips in a small mouth. Big eyelashes fluttered when she blinked, and very moderate breasts by Slaveworld standards – C or D, she guessed, in her own world – moved as she breathed.
I’ve done it.
Only a few minutes after she awoke, guards came for her, and briskly gagged and bound her in a practiced manner. They attached a lead to her nipple rings and walked her quickly down the corridor to report to the first of her day’s lessons, and she didn’t even find out what name she was supposed to answer to until the troopers mentioned it in handing her over to her PT instructor. 413, that was all, just a number.
413 knew her number would be for internal use, inside the Prince’s own household: real slave registrations were much longer. But it meant that, for now at least, she could forget about special treatment. Prince Samuel was obviously going to be true to his word: 413 would get absolutely genuine slave training from people who saw girls like her every day and expected to process her neatly, with a minimum of fuss, ande maybe have a bit of fun with her when no-one was looking.
413 remembered from her sister’s notes and the files on the computer that strict rules governed who was allowed to do what to a slave girl, and no junior trooper would risk his career by actually fucking her, but they could all find ways to make their lives a bit more fun, and hers a bit more humiliating!
After PT, 90 minutes every day of intense exercise and ballet-like stretching that made her feel like she’d been through a wrangle, 413 was taken to obedience training. For three days obedience training consisted of trying to convince the instructor that she was absolutely sincere when she said she existed to please and she wanted to be a good, obedient cunt. With tears in her eyes, 413 screamed herself hoarse, begging the man to believe her this time. Only he could turn off the electric shocks to her nipples and clitoris that came at timed intervals, the big digital clock in front of her counting the seconds agonizingly down!
When Peter, as she found he was called, finally accepted that she genuinely wanted to be a good slave, 413 was sent to more various training. A typical day went: wake up, be showered in cold water, suspended from the ceiling of the shower block, by three late-teens troopers who idly discussed her attractions and shortcomings and groped her casually as they prepared her. PT, and then breakfast, which, like every other meal, she both anticipated and dreaded. She was fed just enough to kep her going til the next meal, a sophisticated computer program figuring calories in and out from a chip implanted in her left breast. By mealtimes, she was always famished. But meals were served from a tube clipped into a funnel, poured from a drip stand, and they were always the same: a nutritious, gelatinous gloop carefully synthesised to look, taste and smell like semen!
413 knew of the existence of a drug designed to make a slave-girl physically addicted to semen, which would have made the experience a bit less unpleasant even if it stayed as humiliating as before. But she hadn’t been given it. She had a few dark suspicions as to why that might be!
The rest of her day would be hour-long blocks of training in all the huge number of skills required to be a successful sex slave. 413 was taught to deep throat, a fraction of an inch at a time. Her oral skills were honed t a perfection she couldn’t have imagined before – it was incredible that the Slaveworld Lords and Ladies could withstand it, but then they expected better than she could do as a bare minimum! 413 was trained in how to walk, in tiny gradations of etiquette, in how to accept every kind of sexual use. The one thing she didn’t need training in was in how to respond when she was used: the Slaveworld aphrodisiacs implanted in her body and coursing through her bloodstream saw to that!
Earth girls were sought-after partly because the Slaveworld population had built up soe resistance to their aphrodisiacs, but earth girls had none. As a result, an aphrodisiac-treated earth girl was even more constantly hot, willing, even desparate, to please, than her Slaveworld opposite number! 413 found she had no problem enjoying the sexual uses she was taught during the day, or those she was subjected to during the night!
After her day was done, at about 6 as far as she could tell, 413 was thrown in the pool of available toys. Anyone who wasn’t picky called down and got whichever slave was next in line. 413 spent nights waiting, chained and gagged, kneeling next to the hitching rail in Despatch. One night, Elizabeth was there, staring at her with a look of total incomprehension. 413 turned her eyes away.
After what seemed like an endless time, 413 was fetched from her tiny cell after PT and washed with more care than usual, and carefully restrained and bound. She was obviously being taken somewhere, and she was certain it would be to see the Prince when she saw that the Master Sergeant was actually helping to prepare her! Previously she’d only seen this distant, superior figure, whose word was law in the stable block, when he walked past, ignoring her.
Finally 413 was handed into the care of a Troop Sergeant to be delivered, and she followed his decorous pull of her lead through the hallways to the service lifts. She saw herself in the mirror as she walked into the lift, her nipples chained together on a too-tight chain, a corset pinching her waist tight and her mouth stretched wide by a big pink ball gag, making her drool helplessly on her tits. Her stride, kept short by the tiny hobble that joined her 5-inch heels together, made her sway her hips, but she knew she was doing more than her deportment training required. She was trying to be as fuckable as possible, hoping that the Prince would use her for sex!
Instead, 413 was led into a room containing a big oak table, exquisitely carved, and around it a dozen or so seriously important looking people, wearing the regalia of organizations 413 had never even heard of. She looked down through her lashes, relieved that her arms were bound tightly behind her back in a pink latex sleeve so she didn’t have to worry about what to do with them, as the Sergeant handed her over to the Prince, who legally owned her. What the fuck have I done? She thought.
The Prince stood at the head of the table and swept the assembled group with a severe eye.
‘This is 413,’ the Prince began, ‘and she has come to us with some proposals. We have considered that the best...’ 413 tuned out without meaning to, her lowered eyes focussed on the Prince’s bulge. She couldn’t believe how big he was! She hadn’t seen him since she;d chose n the body she wanted to be transplanted into and she was still getting used to being so short! Richard had been 6 feet two, the Prince was easily six four and broadly built, and 413 was 5 feet two! She was only now realizing how tiny she was compared with her owner, but of course even if shed been much taller it wouldn’t have mattered, she would have been utterly in his power just the same!
‘…and so we have decided to send the team to the fifth of these options, where we expect to find a highly developed culture, mechanised, accustomed to plenty and living in relative isolation. We will use 413 here to charm a native into giving us some gifts, some tech of theirs which we will reverse engineer. This is partly a feasibility test.’ The Prince turned to her and unbuckled her gag. 413 drew a breath but otherwise made no response except to look into her owner’s eyes, stunned that she had been negotiating with this man only a few months ago. How could she ever have dared? She knew as she gazed docilely into his eyes that she would gladly sub it to whatever cruelties he had in mind for her, her only goal to please him, just as she had screamed in agony in the training room. 413 offered a silent plea, hoping her eyes could communicate it to her owner: please fuck me!
Instead, the massive man slapped her hard between the ass cheeks, and pushed two fingers into her pussy from behind. He put his thumb up her asshole and grabbed her breast, and picked her up like that, making her squeal in pain.
‘413, do you have anything to add to the plan?’
She gasped in pain and lust, her hips trying to rock and grind on the hand that lifted her. But she daren’t! Desparately 413 tried to organize her thoughts.
‘They have automated security so large groups are in danger, but individuals don’t trigger the machines. They often live miles from each other, not seeing their neighbours, and they are all incredibly rich.’
413 found she had some trouble summarizing the contents of the report she’d read while the Prince was impaling her on one hand and bruising her breast with the other, but under the circumstances she was quite proud of herself!
Prince Samuel gave brief orders for the teams each attendee led to prepare themselves for a date that meant nothing to 413 since she had no idea when it was now, and the meeting relaxed. Now the structure wasn’t so strict, though of course 413, as a slave, would be severely punished if she forgot her place even for a moment!
In fact she wasn’t to be allowed to forget. Her Prince lowered her gently and put his arm around her head, pushing his fingers, wet with her juices, into her mouth, and asked the group: ‘So, who wants to sample 413?’ Her eyes widened in horror as she realized that everyone in the room was going to have sex with her! A single glance at the Prince told her that the decision was set in stone and had more purpose than letting his staff enjoy themselves – and her!
413 felt strong hands – God, how strong! –force her to her knees, her hair grabbed, a cock presented to her lips. Eagerly she opened her mouth, her lips and tongue slurping loudly over the heavy shaft. 413 had been taught to keep eye contact with the person using her, but there was a hand, then a cock, between her legs, something touching her asshole, more than one hand on her head, hands kneading her breasts, and she didn’t know which way to look!
413 was fed cock and had her face pushed between Ladies’ thighs, including one old lady who was unbelievably wrinkly down there, and her ass and pussy were repeatedly filled with strap-ons and cocks. No-one talked to her or asked her anything; they all knew they had a perfect right to treat her like a toy, a possession, something to enjoy. It would have shocked them all to suggest that it should be any other way!
In her previous life,413 had fantasised about this a million times. But in reality it was far more uncomfortable than she had imagined and unbelievably degrading! That was just making things worse, though: the slave trainers had done their jobs and the aphrodisiac coursing through her veins did the rest. She lost count of how many times she came, screaming or moaning and whining around a mouthful of cock or pussy, her body quivering with pleasure. Even when she was pulled to her feet shakily by her hair after an unknown amount of time, semen leaking from her asshole and pussy, drying on her face and body, she still wanted more!
As she swayed on her feet with exhaustion, 413 heard the Prince handing her lead over to Colonel Ewing, the new head of the whole operation.
‘Here, she’s yours,’ the Prince told Ewing. ‘Enjoy!’
And 413 followed her new owner down an unfamiliar set of hallways to an unknowd destination. He never even looked back. Why would he? 413 was property, she didn’t own anything, she didn’t have friends or obligations, except to be hot, willing, docile and eager to please. And she was certainly that, he reflected as he led her back to his town house.
Read 3774 times | Rated 61.3 (31 votes)
Vote list (Close) :
Ed Itor : NEGATIVE
Please rate this text: