She trembles deliciously. Naked, blindfolded, suspended high by her wrists, her luscious body shuddering in terror. There is no escape for her, no way to avoid the unbearable agony of the whip. The whipmaster unfurls its tail, disturbing the still air; she scampers back a few inches on her bare toes. Her smooth skin tightening in anticipation.
The General watches from a nearby alcove. His bearing is stiff, military; his hands are firmly behind his back; his expression is one of practiced indifference, but he is fuming inside.
This is for me, he thinks angrily. It’s a message, a warning not to fuck with the leader. Have I done something wrong, he wonders. Does Cronin expect me to do something wrong?
He pulls down on the front of his blouse removing an imagined wrinkle. His full-dress uniform, festooned with medals, is wrong for a Cunt’s whipping. His inappropriate attire is causing him unwarranted angst. I’ve worked hard to be correct in everything I do, he thinks.
The Secretary timed this whipping to happen while I am waiting. He is making a statement. Noted, he thinks bitterly, wondering why Cronin feels it necessary to delivery such a message.
Whatever, I’ll find out soon enough. The man is a tyrant; his logic is different than other people; no sense trying to figure him out.
Continuing to hide his feelings, he studies the girl’s long body. The whipmaster is purposely dragging this out, he thinks. He wants him to fully appreciate her beauty--the supple movement of her limbs, her swollen nipples and mound, her high and dimpled ass. Panting, she runs her tongue over her dry lips and he realizes that a perverse excitement is moderating her fear. She is addicted to the pain, he realizes; she is expecting that moment when pain and pleasure become indistinguishable, that moment when she explodes in erotic overstimulation.
How many women has the Secretary corrupted this way? How many has...
The man is a monster, a fucking pervert consumed by his need for extreme reactions. A small voice inside asks, “Are you any better?”
His rage dissipates...maybe not.
His erection is enormous; his hungry eyes are consuming every inch of her body; her shape, her sensuous curves are intoxicating him; the cruelty is stimulating; her pleas, her fear, her trembling is ... is what, exciting?
Am I also a monster, he wonders. Are we all monsters; are we all stimulated by another’s pain, by cruelty? Is this a natural human trait; is this the human instinct that separates us from other living things? Is this why we achieve greatness only to fail in the end?
A hideous scream interrupts his high thoughts. The black snake strikes out again encircling her hips and biting her ass, ripping another agonized shriek from her lips, and leaving a fiery red line on her cheeks. The whipmaster rolls his massive shoulders contentedly and lashes her again. Another perfectly parallel line, one-inch below the last, appears on her perfect ass. The next stroke is equally precise. The man has skills, Jackson thinks. His strokes are delivering unbearable pain with a satisfying, almost military symmetry, but they don’t break the skin--maximum pain, minimum damage.
She is twisting franticly now, screaming, writhing in agony. There is no greater terror than a whipping, he thinks idly. She dances away wildly on her toes, but there is no escape. The whipmaster has positioned her skillfully--his suspension allows her to move around enough to show her agony but not enough to affect his accuracy.
All for him, he thinks again, all this showmanship, all this terror and pain is for his benefit. She is probably innocent of a punishable offense--it’s rare for a house Cunt to earn a whipping--this is all for me.
“Secretary Cronin is ready to see you now, General.”
He turns slowly towards the voice, instantly, refocusing his mind on the trial to come.
“Thank you,” he says, as casually as he can manage.
The girl’s torture, her suffering might be a preview of what lies in store for him. Being summoned to the Secretary’s personal quarters is also rare. It usually portends extreme news, good or bad. He stiffens his bearing once again and nods.
“Please follow me, Sir.”
He walks behind the servant glancing back just as another stroke lands on her upper thighs. Her gut-wrenching screams echo in the hallway following him like a ghostly siren.
No one expected the Chaos, nor could anyone explain it.
One day, the world was stumbling along dealing with its ordinary problems in its ordinary way; the next, everything was unraveling. It started with an electrical grid failure in America; this led to inner-city rioting and to a Wall Street sell-off. The financial losses stunned the wealthy; it was a month of Black Fridays. The markets’ collapse paved the way for the failure of other major systems--agriculture, transportation, distribution ... communications. It was like watching a row of dominoes fall, each failure begetting the next. Many tried, but no one could stop it.
Worldwide fuel and food shortages were common resulting in increasingly larger and more violent riots everywhere. Within a year, the citizens of most industrialized nations had abandoned their cities--the cities had nothing to offer but disease and starvation--to scavenge in the countryside. Conflict was everywhere.
Some called it global war, but it was too disorganized for that; it was madness. The insanity lasted for 20 years. Billions died. Slowly, as the decimated populations began to find food and build shelters, the insanity receded. People began to find ways to defend themselves and their families. Numb with despair, they crawled into their holes and began to organize.
What followed was a hundred years of feudalism--local communities became agrarian enclaves governed by strong men. Soon, these isolated communities began to form alliances and eventually kingdoms appeared. The kings fought each other occasionally over the next hundred years for any number of reasons. Two hundred years after the Chaos, the kingdoms banded together into regional empires.
America, east of the Mississippi, became the EEK, the Empire of the Eastern Kingdoms. Other similar empires formed in Asia and Europe. Tribal conflict still entangled the rest of the world.
At first, the Congress of Kings ruled the American Empire, the EEK, but infighting soon made this model of government impotent. A succession of Congressional Secretaries assumed more and more power until the Office of the Secretary and the Secretary himself became the de facto EEK ruler.
The land west of the Mississippi was not included in the EEK. The survivors who settled in these territories had taken a different path. Those in the Mississippi valley, the heartland, became dirt farmers. They banded together in local communities for protection, but their communities, their settlements never got any larger than necessary. They became a buffer between the militaristic East and those in the Wilderness.
Many survivors fled the Chaos by moving into the Western mountains. Most of these people died from ignorance--they had no idea how to survive in the wild. Those who lived, quickly organized themselves into tribes. Many of these were racially oriented--black, white, brown, red, yellow; some were regional or religious; but most were just random collections of people who found it easier to survive in a small group. Some women, those who were actively trying to avoid any further contact with men, formed another kind of tribe which called Amazonians. Over the centuries, these ragtag bands became more organized and developed their own laws, customs, traditions, and values.
The most successful of these tribes had outdoorsmen at their core. These people knew how to survive in the Wilderness, as the mountain regions were known. Gradually, the tribes adopted “Indian ways,” which was a way of describing their lives, which closely resembled those of Native Americans in the 18th Century. They were not real “Indians” of course, but their lifestyles resembled what most people thought of as Indian. The term became a convenient way to describe and to stigmatize this population, who many considered little more than animals.
Two centuries after the Chaos, almost nothing of modern society remained, not its culture, its institutions, its armaments, its infrastructure, its technology ... nothing. More importantly, all the vital integration and the trade supply-chains that had built modern society were gone. Restoring these and rebuilding the industrial facilities was impossible. Civilization was stuck in an 18th Century world, unable to bootstrap its recovery back to the 21st. The knowledge of 21st Century science and production methods was still around, but there was no way to practically make use of this in any meaningful way.
What was inevitable in this autocratic, labor-starved world was the reemergence of a power hierarchy built on serfdom and slavery. As in earlier times, strongmen made slaves out of war prisoners, the weak, the starving, the unaligned, and anyone else willing to trade their freedom for security. Eventually, people just accepted the necessity of slaves and, like in other times, even considered it a righteous part of their lives.
Chapter 1 - Indians
Sara watched the light flicker through the trees. Her thighs and calves were burning; her feet were raw, her arms numb. The savages had stripped her naked and tied her wrists behind her neck. The cruel bondage arched her body--lifting her breasts, tightening her abs, and exaggerating the natural curve of her back. Every few minutes, she glanced down at her nipples wondering why they stayed so large and taut.
She knew the bondage was not just to prevent escape; they also wanted to humiliate and terrify them. A savage riding nearby trailed a rawhide strap that he had wrapped around his wrist. Every few minutes, he would lash out, biting one of their naked bodies. The dense forest absorbed their screams, muffling them as if their pain were of no consequence.
She was proud of her lean and muscled body, proud of her great mane of chestnut hair, but the stark reality of her vulnerability, of her naked helplessness in front of these men was devastating. She had always been shy, always deferring to her more aggressive friends. Now she was revealed, splayed open in a way that let her no private space, no personal choice.
How much longer, she wondered? How much longer would this terrible day last?
At first, the shock of her capture, the horror of watching the savages slaughter her friends had made her bondage and nudity seem unimportant. But over time, she had realized that they had enslaved her, that they had changed her in an instant from a person to ... a Cunt, to livestock. She hadn’t yet accepted the full implication of this, but the nudity, the bondage, and the rawhide whip had already made an impression.
She looked up. The Indian riding alongside was staring at her, his eyes full of lust. For the first time in her life, she understood the effect of a woman on a man. Without the veneer of civilization, without the constraints of a watchful society, she saw the raw instinct of a man. It was terrifying and in a terrible way ... exciting. He wanted to fuck her, to subjugate her with his superior strength and size; and she, she wanted to feel his power to...
This was no casual dalliance, no harmless flirtation. She was a captive, a Cunt, a beautiful pet for these men to handle and abuse in any way they wanted. A sudden wave of hopelessness coursed through her body and she stumbled clumsily; the coffle rope jerked her back into line and the tip of his rawhide strap snapped in the crease between her ass cheek and her thigh. The pain caused instantaneous compliance and she regained her footing.
The coffle was the final insult. They had tied them together in a line joined by a neck rope held by a savage on a lead horse. He set their pace; they had no choice but to follow behind like a string of ponies.
She had heard the horror stories of course--about how the mountain raider struck without warning; how they killed those they didn’t want; rejected; how they stripped and bound their captives; how they tortured and sexually abused the girl and neutered the boys. She had dismissed them as fairy tales; no human being could be so cruel to another. Now she knew the truth. The stories were not exaggerations; they minimized the reality.
She stumbled again on a tree root then quickly righted herself. This trek was impossible; she couldn’t take another step. Her strength was gone. The burn of the rawhide on her bare skin was still fresh, but the depleted condition of her body was undeniable. Desperately, she straightened herself trying to rally her strength. The idea that he would lay the rawhide on her again was terrifying.
What if they stopped and whipped her. A continuous series of strokes was impossible to consider. She would die if it was one stroke after another. How did anyone survive a real whipping? How did anyone...
Don’t think about it! Her mind screamed. I am prairie-strong. I have spent my entire life working in the fields. I am not weak. I can outlast the others in my coffle. These savages don’t respect weakness; they have no heart for it. I will survive this. The militiamen from the fort will find us and free us from these animals. They must find us; the alternative is too terrible to think about, too terrible to...
The encouraging words rang hollow in her mind. Her life was over; she was a Cunt now, nothing more than a sheathe for a man’s cock, a pet. The truth was, she would be sucking one of their cocks tonight. They had not attacked the settlement for food or supplies; they had purposely targeted a group of young, unmarried maidens and boys. They wanted sex slaves ... Cunts. Hiding from reality wasn’t going to change it.
She swooned again with fatigue and leaned back against the tow rope. The lead horse ignored her pull. The animal was immensely strong. At some point, no matter how well the lash motivated them, they must stop. A human body can only take so much. Her legs were in full revolt. She needed to rest, she must stop...
What more could they do to her?
The rope jerked her forward. What would her captors do if she just sat down on the ground and refused to move? Would they drag the entire coffle? Unlikely... They wanted them alive and undamaged. No, they would use their whips. Would the rawhide be any more painful than the burning in her legs? The equation seemed sound. She simply could not take another step, she just could not...
She stumbled over another tree root and, once again, the rope jerked her forward. Angrily, she looked up into the lead horse’s ass. Were they fucking stupid...? Didn’t they understand that she was exhausted, that she could not keep her balance without the use of her arms, that...?
Suddenly, the coffle rope jerked her backwards and she fell heavily on her bare ass. It would have been comical in another setting. She looked angrily behind. Jüri had dug her heels into the ground refusing to move another inch. The two girls behind her in the line had banged into her and tripped; they were lying on the ground off to the side.
Horrified, Sara felt the coffle rope tighten as the lead horse continued to drag them a few more painful feet. The rider at their side shouted something and the lead horse stopped. Jüri knelt on her haunches starring defiantly at the side rider. The others scrambled clumsily to their feet, cowering back, terrified. They were afraid of the whip, afraid the lead horse would drag them again, afraid that.... Sara suddenly realized that they were already Cunts; that fear would rule them during their captivity. She felt a sudden admiration for Jüri, who remained stubbornly planted on the ground. Of all of them, she was the first to defy their new masters.
Sara knew Jüri from church. She was a beauty,
easily the most attractive girl in the settlement with a hauntingly beautiful
face and dreamy bedroom eyes. She was also insufferably arrogant. Her father owned
a large farm in the north, which gave her enormous standing in their small
community. Sara had tried to speak to her once, but she had just smiled meanly and
turned away. Sara never tried again; she just wrote her off as a bitch.
“What are you doing, Jüri?” Sara hissed urgently, panicked. “Get up. You
are going to get whipped; you are going to get us all whipped.”
“Fuck off, Cunt. One of us has to have the courage to take a stand with
Sara took a step back, astonished. Jüri spoke confidently with the imperious
air of a royal princess. Did she really think she could “take a stand...?” Did
she really intend to defy them?
She had not been so brave earlier when the savages had stepped out of
the corn, when they had killed their guards, and those few boys who tried to
fight. She had not been so defiant when they had stripped her naked and tied her
in the coffle. She had been terrified, just as scared as the rest of them.
“Get up ... please,” Sara hissed again more urgently.
The raid had been so sudden, so violent that it had stunned them. Jüri
had clearly recovered, but they needed more time to plan, to talk, to rest, time
to recover their senses. This was not the right time for taking a stand, for making
demands. These were savages, Indians. They didn’t give a damn about us, about
or feeling. Who knew how they would react when challenged? They had already killed
our friends, killed them with such ease such lack of compassion that they
paralyzed us. Had Jüri overcome her fear so soon?
The leader, a muscular man named Clark, rode up to the disturbance. He wore animal skin pants and vest like an Indian, but he was white. She knew the term “Indian” didn’t mean a Native American anymore, but it was still shocking to have someone so familiar treating them so badly. Surviving in the Wilderness must change a person, she thought, but it was impossible for her to relate to him.
She took another step back and timidly avoided his eyes. She didn’t want him holding her responsible for the delay. He wasn’t carrying a rawhide strip, but there were plenty gathered around who did. She could still feel the burn in the crease of her ass.
Clark stared down at her moving his eyes from her face to her bare breasts to her cunt and legs. She looked up and froze, subjecting herself to his inspection. There was something compelling in his eyes, something that forced her to remain still.
She felt a wave of self-loathing--had she already accepted her bondage; had she already adopted Cunt ways? Jüri was glaring angrily at her. Clark turned away and signaled his men. Instantly, the nearest two dismounted and untied Jüri from the coffle.
“I NEED TO REST!” she screamed. “WE CANNOT WALK ANOTHER STEP! MY FATHER WILL PAY FOR MY RELEASE.”
Sara turned to her in surprise. Jüri had appointed herself their spokesperson and in the same breath, set herself apart. She was right--they did need to rest--but she was very wrong about ransom. These Indians didn’t want anything from the settlement other than their young cunts. Her father wasn’t going to save her with his wallet.
“She is too tired to walk. Put her on one of the horses,” Clark said casually.
One of the men snickered meanly. Sara wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. They were going to let Jüri ride just because she said she was tired...? Sara’s eyes flashed in frustration. By speaking out, Jüri had gotten her way.
In the next instant, she knew she was wrong. The two savages forcefully pushed Jüri’s body down, folding her at the waist then, while one held her in place, the other bound her torso to her legs with strips of rawhide. They laughed at her frantic struggles, her screams. Sara watched, horrified, as they laid her on her side and pulled her straps suffocating tight; she could see the girl’s swollen cunt lips peeking out from between her legs.
Jüri began to plead piteously with Clark from the ground, her eyes wild with fear, but it was too late. One of the men shoved a leather wad into her mouth then ran excitedly to his horse. They were happy for the diversion. He returned with a deer-skin bag. The two pulled it up around Jüri's body then tied it loosely at her neck. She shook her head violently trying to signal her surrender. Another man holding the reins of a pack horse came near and the two men lifted Jüri’s bag to the pack horse’s straps. The animal made a neighing sound of protest but remained in place. Jüri's head was inches from the animal’s enormous cock.
The horse will pee on her tied like that, Sara thought numbly then realized that was their intention. The crush of the rawhide straps and the bag, the stifling heat, and the horse’s urine would make her journey a nightmare. One of the men removed her gag so she could vomit; wisely, Jüri stayed quiet.
Clark turned back to the coffle and openly stared at Sara’s naked body for another minute then spoke with quiet menace.
“Anyone else who is too tired to walk...? Is there anyone else who prefers to travel in a Cunt bag? If so, please step forward. We are Miwok; we know how to handle Cunts and Cocks. I warn you not to test us again.”
No one moved. Sara felt her clit hardening with the power in his voice. "Miwok..." was that the name of their tribe ... was it an Indian tribe?
They knew he was serious; the Indians could move just as fast perhaps even faster with all the girls hanging in bags under their pack horses. Their animals were large, about 1,500 pounds, and strong. Sara knew they could easily carry a hundred-pound girl. She turned towards Jüri’s bag. She could see the terror on her beautiful face as the deer-skin crushed her slender body and the suffocating heat built inside.
“You are our property now, our animals, Cunts...,” Clark reminded them again. “You will obey us or suffer.”
Cunt...! The word was a slap in her face. It defined a female slave, one whose purpose was to bring sexual pleasure to her master. Their purpose was now clear. Cunts were less than slaves; less than dogs and horses who performed real work; less than the animals who they ate. Cunts were for fucking, they were human condoms. The lowest of the low. He turned to her and surveyed her body once again then pulled hard on his reins and rode back to the column lead.
Sara turned towards Jüri who was being led back to the rear. The girl’s punishment horrified her; not only was it excruciatingly painful, it denied her any standing as a person. The horse turned his head and looked back at the hanging bag then, as if he was one of her torturers, he pissed hard in her face. She gagged as the vile liquid seeped over her trussed body into the bag. Sara watched as her entire body began to convulse and heave. Much of her vomit leaked down her chin and into the bag mixing with the horse’s piss.
Suddenly, the coffle rope jerked her forward and the warrior snapped his rawhide tail in her ass. She stifled her cry and began to walk with new energy.