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Bianca's Slaves 
(S K Lavin)

Bianca's Slaves

A Tribute to Victor Bruno


‘Bianca’s Slaves’ was written as a sequel to the two earlier quite magnificent Bruno novels, ‘Bianca’s Island I and II’, and is a tribute to this great writer, who I quite honestly consider to be the best in the genre. 

Although reading the earlier titles is not a pre-requisite to enjoying this book, readers familiar with them may get an additional level of enjoyment out of it.

Here, I have tried to stay true to Victor Bruno’s depiction, borrowing the vignette structure used by Victor Bruno in the earlier titles and telling the story from the varying viewpoints of the characters themselves; first of the slave, then Mistress, Guests and Overseers etc. 

In this book, I have tried to address the internal battle that the slave must fight with herself as she readjusts to her new reality.  The story, meanwhile, re-acquaints us with many familiar characters like Mistress Bianca herself and Mr. Belmont, plus several new ones, hopefully bringing to life the real story of an arrogant English aristocrat’s downfall and brutal induction into slave life.

In conclusion, I hope that you will enjoy reading the story as much as I did writing it.



The narrative of slave Victoria


“Aaaarrrgggghhh!”  I scream in agony and jerk violently against my chains as the whip lashes my back.  My black overseer hangs the oiled, single strand whip casually around my neck, grabs a handful of my sweat soaked blonde hair in his fist and twists my head painfully back to gaze grimly into my eyes.

“Remember this whipping, slut, and try harder in future not to displease the guests!” he growls irritably.  “I leave you to think about the error of your ways.”  He scowls and I drop my gaze in shame.  “Think on this, too, slave,” he says grimly, “when I return I intend to fuck you hard!  It will be better for you not to disappoint me with your performance!  Understand?”

My back and buttocks are burning as though on fire.  The pain is excruciating, and I am convinced the skin is split and bleeding in many places.  I continue to gasp and groan, fighting for breath and trying desperately to formulate some kind of answer.  I can give myself no relief because I am chained, my wrists linked together above my head to metal cuffs hanging from the ceiling.  My ankles, too, are chained to floor-based cuffs, adjusted to stretch my legs wide apart, leaving me hanging with all my weight on my wrists and arms.  My agony seems to last forever.  Yet I must answer my black Master or risk yet further punishment.  “Y … yes … s … sir,” I finally manage to stutter, “I … I … understand, sir.”

He gives a satisfied nod and, without a further backward glance at his tortured slave, leaves the punishment chamber, the heavy metal door slamming shut solidly behind him.

Gradually the biting pain in my back and buttocks begins to ease and my groans subside into little whimpering moans.  My breath continues to come in short sharp gasps, my breasts heaving and wobbling indecently as I try to take in as much oxygen as possible. 

Slowly, very slowly, I get my senses back, taking stock of the dreadful room I am in.  I have of course, been here many times before and every time has been a very painful experience.  It is one of the many private punishment rooms on Bianca’s Island, sometimes used for training new slaves, or by the Mistresses and overseers for fun or entertainment.  A punishment such as I have just experienced is an unusual event in this room.  Severe whippings are usually carried out in public at the end of the day’s work schedule; giving the guests a spectacle to watch which Mistress Bianca has named her ‘Sundowner Entertainment’. 

The room itself is not very large, perhaps twenty feet by fifteen.  The front and sides of the room are full-length mirrors, the back is a wall with a heavy, metal-studded door which leads out into a corridor. 

The central features of the room are the wrist cuffs that hang from the pulley fixed in the ceiling and which can be adjusted for both width and height.  Likewise there are ankle cuffs which can be similarly adjusted.  The mirrors exist so that the hapless slave can see herself being whipped, fucked or otherwise tortured, and abused.

I look at myself in the mirror, seeing the reflection of a proverbial English rose looking back at me.  My humiliation is complete.  The former Lady Victoria Chester – now just ‘slave Victoria’ - is quite tall, five foot eight in height, with ivory white skin that even daily exposure to the Caribbean sun has only managed to tint to a light golden tan.  My eyes are pale ice blue and my features are pleasantly even.  I have been told many times that I am beautiful.  I also have a smile that I used to be told was electric, though I don’t think I smile very much anymore.  My naturally blonde, nearly waist length hair is bleached to a pleasing corn-like colour by the strong Caribbean sun.  I have a tall, slim, athletic figure, shaped earlier by countless hours in the top health clubs of London and more recently by a regime of hard manual labour on the island.  My breasts are perhaps a trifle overfull, yet still reasonably firm, crowned by large nipples.  I’ve always been very proud of my beautiful tits, delighting in the many compliments paid to me by my many admirers in the past. 

Now, of course, my stomach is taut and one can see the hint of muscles beneath my previously feminine curves.  Slave training on Bianca’s Island has seen to it.  My hips are wide as if made for child-bearing and my mons and vaginal entrance, if not depilated, would boast the same corn coloured blonde hair as that on my head.  My buttocks are tight yet shapely, as are my long, long legs and, on my eighteenth birthday, Tatler voted me ‘debutante of the year’ and named me as one of the ten most beautiful women in the England. 

Now, though, I can appraise myself more critically, in the manner that has become quite customary for others to do since my enslavement.  I am, in the estimation of Mistress Bianca’s ‘guests’, no longer really human; but more like a domestic animal or pet offered for view in a market – good for fucking, torturing or hard, manual labour, but little else.

Strangely, I think that – could my previous friends and acquaintances see me now- I might even be considered to be more beautiful and pleasing to them than I was when free.  In the first place I know I am much fitter than I ever was, a consequence of the basic, balanced ‘slave-gruel’ diet and the hard labour to which all the island’s slaves are subjected.  My muscle tone and suntan are certainly far improved and then there are the other subtle differences.  The sight of my depilated pussy and total absence of other body hair pleases the majority of the ‘guests’; as do my nipple and labial rings, which glint most becomingly in the light.  Yes, as well as my pussy lips and clitoris, my much-admired breasts have been pierced and set with a pair of golden rings that keep my sensitive nipples constantly erect.  More importantly, of course, they proclaim me slave, both to any free person who sets eyes on me as well as to me myself. 

For the past two years of my captivity, I have been denied all clothing.  Instead, I have worn the rings.  They were placed on me at the command of my Mistress, Bianca, as a symbol of my slavery.  Every time I look at myself in a mirror, they are the first things to catch my eye.  I have tugged at them, twisted them through their holes, on rare occasions tried to pull them out or break them; but they are permanent, inviolable, proclaiming me slave to all.  They are the most potent symbol of my slavery.  I have often wished that the Tatler people might see me thus, but I fear that, at least in their eyes, Victoria the helpless slavegirl could never compare with the arrogant, former debutante.

What a world I now live in, indeed!  I look at myself closely in the mirror.  Rivulets of sweat trickle down my body, a consequence of my thrashing.  My sweaty hair hangs in matted rat-tails down my back and my body twitches involuntarily within the confines of my chains.  Helplessly, I await the return of my Negro overseer, the brute who has just thrashed me and who intends to fuck me brutally again in what I believe is an act of revenge for what my ancestors allegedly did to his, centuries ago.

Time passes slowly when you are a slave, giving me time to reflect.  I have no watch, in fact I have no possessions at all.  I just have to wait in bondage for my black man’s pleasure, if he bothers to return at all.  Strange as it may seem, as the pain from my whipping slowly subsides, I feel a treacherously warm feeling stirring inside my loins.  One surprising thing that I have learnt as a slave is that, amazingly, being whipped or caned tends to arouse me sexually. 

Of course, the pain is always intolerable when applied, but afterwards my libido always becomes enhanced to the point that I secretly look forward to being fucked or otherwise used by the Master, Mistress, Overseer or whoever else is punishing me. 

It is quite astounding that being punished or otherwise humiliated sexually by a black or coloured person arouses me similarly, though I am careful not to let this become too obvious.  I am afraid that, if my captors knew, they would deny me even this pleasure.

Yes, I have changed.  Gone is the arrogance of the English aristocrat, gone is my feeling of contempt for the black and coloured races; gone are the airs and graces in which I once delighted.  Yes, it is fair to say that I have had those superficial ‘airs’ whipped right out of me.  Two years of being a slave on Bianca’s Island have taught me a lot.  Two years of being permanently naked and chained, being humiliated and punished, being made to serve many a client of differing hues and genders in every possible sexual way with every fibre of my body have taught me exactly where I stand within the context of the society here.  The last surviving member of my illustrious clan is nothing more than a used and abused slave girl on this Island State, the exclusive property of Mistress Bianca.

It is as though God deliberately brought me up as a super snob so that my fall from power would be further and harder and give more pleasure to my owner and her guests.  The truth is that the last of our line must now use her body to satisfy the most venal of the Mistress’s servants and guests, throwing every sinew of her body into the pleasuring of her superiors. 

If only my racist ancestors could see how their last female descendant has to twist and writhe to accommodate her coloured ravisher’s sperm and to lick him or her clean thereafter.  They might also cringe to see how often she is brought easily to orgasm by the descendants of former slaves who now oversee her and often spurn her contemptuously once they have taken pleasure with her body.

I can admit it now to myself, at least.  Secretly, in the very core of my being, I am forced to confess that the endless abuse has become to arouse me in the most bizarre way.  In this regard I am also forced to include the whippings, canings and other punishments that I am forced to bear.  It is so, and I am unable to dispute the fact that my ravishments, no matter how brutal, never fail to bring me to massive orgasms, the like of which I might never have known as a free woman.  My captors, of course, are very much aware of my body’s helpless betrayal and my inevitable descent into animal-like acceptance of my lot.  They are expert in training a girl slave.  The fact is stamped deep into my psyche now.  My slavery is absolute.

I hear a key in the lock.  The door swings open and my overseer, Hakim, enters.  He is a mountain of a man – six foot four in height, jet-black skin with tribal scars on his scary looking face.  He is enormous in every way; his huge chest ripples with muscles, his biceps and thighs bulge but most of all he is the most gigantically hung man on the island.  He claims that his cock is eleven inches long, but having felt it before, I believe it to be bigger and it is so thick that my hand barely goes around it.  Hakim has been my overseer since the day I was enslaved. He has the reputation of being very cruel and, as I have just experienced, he enjoys brutally abusing the many high born while girls in his charge.

The huge black monster stands right in front of me and I turn to jelly in front of his raw power.  Thank God the manacles are still holding me up.  From previous experience, I am extremely nervous at what he is about to do to me now.

Calmly, he reaches out to grab my ringed nipples and, looking deep into my eyes, twists them hard.

“Aaarrgghhh!” I gasp in pain.

“I am going to fuck you now, milady,” he growls, stripping off his skimpy loincloth to expose his giant black nudity to me.  “Are you ready to serve?”

“Y …  yes … Sir,” I stammer, intimidated, as usual, by his almost unbelievable size and knowing that my sex channel will inevitably be painfully stretched to accommodate him.  ‘Sir’ is the usual mode of address to an overseer.  Guests, of course, are always addressed as ‘Master’ or ‘Mistress’. 

He presses a switch on a control panel in the wall and my chains start to drop, allowing my feet to touch the floor and my naked body to assume a more natural pose.  My legs feel like jelly and I am shaking with both fear and anticipation.  Releasing my wrists, he twists them behind me and attaches them to one another by a single link.  Another press of a button raises my pinioned arms behind me, forcing me to bend forward painfully, my cuffed wrists being pulled higher and higher until I fear that my arms will be wrenched from their shoulder sockets.  In the mirror, I see myself forced to bend over double.  Hakim kicks my already spread legs further apart until I am standing on tip-toe, arms pulled straight up and my head somewhere round about my smooth, depilated vagina.

Grinning, he stands in front of me and, grabbing me by the hair to bring my head up in order to exhibit his giant, already semi-erect black equipment to me.  Not waiting for his command, I open my mouth as wide as it will go, taking him straight down my throat as he lunges forward.  Big as he is, it is not so difficult as it might seem.  Much practice, of course, can make anything possible and I am now able to deep-throat even the giant-sized Hakim without nearly choking to death!

Hakim always treats me in this extra rough way.  Remembering my previous position – and my perceived betrayal of Mistress Bianca – I am now considered to be the lowest of the low; just a treacherous, contemptible white slave to be used and abused at anyone’s whim.  I’ve seen Hakim sometime with animals; with them he can be quite gentle, but not with me.

I begin to suck assiduously as he moves smoothly up and down my throat.  My mind is racing.  I am just a poor slave.  How can I convince him of my new-found humility and acceptance of my lot?  How can I persuade him to treat me more gently?  Avidly, I administer to him orally and, within what seem like only moments, he is ready for the next stage of my rape. 

He walks around me and positions the head of his formidable penis against my oh-so vulnerable pussy.  I feel his throbbing head against my labia and actually feel a little relieved, despite the inescapable fact that I know from experience that this is going to hurt – a lot!  In my jack-knifed position he could easily take me in my ‘rear’ channel, which would be much more painful, probably leaving me ‘hors-de-combat’ for a week or so.

I feel two gigantic hands position themselves on my flanks to give the giant Negro leverage.  There is no finesse about what happens next and, despite any anticipation on my part, it is just as painful as I expected.

“Aaarrrrghhhhh!” I scream loudly as I am brutally impaled on the massive member of my ravisher.  The pain is overwhelming and I cannot help it.  My screams reverberate around the stone cell as my overstretched and fear-dried love channel is forced to accept the huge invader.  Instinctively, I arch my upper body as I am penetrated deeper and deeper.  Firm hands on my nipples pull me back with incredible power, forcing my captive body to take in the full length of his weapon.  He penetrates me to the hilt with this first, savage thrust and I shudder as my body tries desperately to accommodate him.

He grabs my hair again and forces me upwards, my body bending backwards like a bow as I am forced to look into the mirror.  I am breathless and my screams die away into a kind of choking groan as the unavoidable fire begins to build in my shaking loins.  Already, my natural juices are beginning to lubricate my channel as he moves restlessly inside me. 

Hakim reads the signals correctly and, grinning contemptuously, begins to slap my hanging, pendulous tits as I remain standing, bent over, totally helpless and skewered on his gigantic cock.  As usual, any pleasure I might feel will be tempered by a matching amount of pain mixed with a sense of extreme humiliation at my body’s betrayal of my self-will.

Gasping and groaning, I feel my arousal unavoidably mounting, my cunt muscles already beginning to undulate helplessly along the length of his cock.  I am totally in his power, no longer in any way in command of my body.  I am defeated; a total slave to my ravisher – as he wills it..

He makes as if to withdraw and I tense, wishing to hold him there, deep inside me despite my discomfort, for a just little while longer.  It is useless, of course.  He will not be stayed.  He pulls out until only the swollen head of his cock is held just within my love portal – then rams into me hard again.

“Aaarrrrghhhhh!” I scream once more as once more he penetrates deep within me!  Still I am forced to look into the mirror by his hand forcing my head up by the hair.  This time the shock is deeper and, incredibly to my shocked mind, not so painful.  My slave body is already beginning to accommodate itself to his giant size.  I shudder as a previously forbidden lust takes unassailable hold of me.  The pain is suddenly secondary, my helpless ascent to slave orgasm all that concerns me.

The giant brute begins to increase his pace, my violated pussy eagerly absorbing every thrust of the rampant male member within it.  Soon I begin to succumb at the altar of the male again.  The thrusts grow more urgent, my breathless screams and whimperings louder while Hakim’s breath comes in rasps.  I am responding helplessly to the brutal fuck and he slams into me harder and yet more savagely until - in the same instant - slave and overseer buck into orgasm together. 

I am exhausted and slaked yet, despite my body’s pain, try to enjoy the moment, still cozening Hakim’s cock deep inside me.  It is not to be, of course.  As soon as he recovers from his monstrous ejaculation, Hakim slips out of me with a disgusting ‘squelch’ and feel a mixture of his jism and my own juices running down the insides of my thighs.

Walking around to stand spread-legged front of me, he waits without speaking for me to clean him.  Submissively, I lean forward as far as I can to take the still erect and leaking cock gently in my mouth.  I have been well trained to do this for my Masters and Mistresses, of course, and no longer see it as anything less than my slave duty.  He then unhooks my arms, collars and re-cuffs me and then leads me back to my cell on very unsteady feet.

And so, on this beautiful Caribbean island, a black overseer leads his well-fucked slave, once the darling of English society, through the Spartan corridors of the slave quarters.  I follow him meekly, well-thrashed, used and filled with his seed, to be locked away for the night.  He has not said a word to me since the beginning of my ravishing. 

We reach my cell, Hakim locks the end of my chain to the ringbolt in the wall and squeezes my tits hard just for fun before un-cuffing my hands.

“Sleep well, slut!” he growls, crudely fingering my well used and weeping slit.  “Mistress Bianca inspects you tomorrow.”  With this, he leaves, slamming the door behind him.


My name is Victoria and I am a slave for life on Bianca’s Island.  My full name and rank before my enslavement was Lady Victoria Chester.  Mistress Bianca has instructed me to write down my story, though I’m not quite sure why she has done so. Perhaps it is to humiliate me further, perhaps it is a form of advertisement for her island, or perhaps even to deter other former guests from contemplating doing what I did.  Whichever is the case, I suspect she gets a sadistic pleasure by making me re-live my degradation through my own words.

I have just completed my twenty-third birthday and this is my second year of captivity on Bianca’s Island.  What follows is my story. …