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The Estancia - Book 3 by Jonas

The Estancia - Book 3 




I walked slowly along the loggia after my morning swim and breakfast. I was heading back to my rooms - but my progress was slow: not due to too much food, nor through exhaustion. No, there was a much more interesting reason.

Don Garcia had arranged, via the offices of Madame Cara and the overseers, to have a series of slavegirls in each compartment of the walkway, and it was well worth stopping to take a look at them. Every girl was beautiful, of course - for there are no ugly slaves at the Estancia. Just the cream of the world's feminine pulchritude; only the best is good enough for Don Garcia.  Each of these captive beauties would spark the interest of any full-blooded male, and probably most other males as well.

Yet every girl was different. There was no attempt to order the girls into some scheme of classification. First was a buxom Scottish girl; then a slightly shorter brunette from the Netherlands. Following her, a Nordic-looking blonde girl of the type most liked by Don Garcia himself, and by many of his guests also. Then a well-endowed Latin lovely, and last a dark-skinned American girl. Many of them I knew well enough - some of them too well and far too intimately for the likes of the slave in question.

For example, take the Scottish girl, Carolyn. She was still quite new, and finding life to be a considerable change from her previous existence. I had seen one treatment to her body, and heard about at least one other from enthusiastic guests. The Nordic blonde I wasn't so sure of, as there were many such at the Estancia; indeed, I had one of them - Imogen - to myself at the moment. She was securely trussed in my rooms, awaiting my return.

But it didn't matter that I wasn't sure of this girl's name. They were only slaves, and names were just labels for the package. The staff or guests might call her whatever they wished. However, to prevent total anarchy when someone pointed vaguely at 'that slave over there', it had been deemed prudent and convenient by Garcia for the girls to keep their former first names. Second and last names were irrelevant here. As it happened, I knew from talking with Garcia that Carolyn had been a 'Miss Mackenzie' in former times, a very prim and proper - if somewhat clumsy - tearoom waitress. But since arriving at the Estancia, that name had not been uttered, nor would it be. Slaves are told that their former lives and everything attached to them are  irrelevant. They keep their first names only by the grace of Don Garcia, their owner. Should he wish - perhaps because there are two or more girls with the same name - then the girl will receive a new one, whether she likes it or not. The form of her name might also be changed; a girl called Susan might become 'Susie', for example, no matter that 'Susie' may absolutely loathe being called that.

There was another reason that it didn't matter if I knew a particular slave's name or not. Apart from her other fixings, each girl wore her true symbol of slavery and ownership; a metal collar with 'Property of Garcia' inscribed upon it. From this collar hung a small card, tied by a thong, which gave certain brief details. The girls were advertisements for their own wares, on offer to the guests for entertainment and amusement.

Thus as I wandered along the line-up, I could easily ascertain the following from the cards;

Carolyn (19) Scottish

Ellen (22) Dutch

Tusse (18) Swedish

Guilia (20) Italian

Darla (21) American

But these weren't the only notices displayed, not by a long way. It was not intended just as a simple display of feminine wares, for Garcia and Madame Cara liked to get value for money as far as slaves were concerned.

There were some simple notices, imparting general information. For example, one exhorted any passer-by to ensure the girls were up on tip-toe. The slaves knew they must be so, and knew also that punishment would follow if they dropped onto the soles of their feet. As a slavegirl had no rights, a guest might report her for such a failure when in fact she had not even committed the sin. Life at the Estancia was pretty unfair if you were a beautiful young girl.

Another notice reminded guests that if they wished to have one of the girls, they need only speak to the duty overseer. Naturally all the girls on display were available to the guests for their pleasure - that was one of the main reasons for this type of exhibition.

However, none of them were available just at that moment, for each had a little task to perform during the morning. Further notices explained what was to be done to each girl, and when. Every task was different. From their expressions, and not a few tears, the girls didn't appreciate their imminent ordeals. In some cases, the equipment to be employed was also on display, adding further to that girl's distress. 

I joined the few other guests, who were up and about this early in the morning, in a casual stroll along the line. It must be said that most guests were still well occupied in their own rooms.

First was Carolyn. She stood, like the others upon a little pedestal, a foot or so above the floor. Her legs were tightly tied at ankle and knee, and a metal anklet was chained to a nearby ringbolt in the alcove wall. She was not going anywhere.

She wore some form of prod gag. Shiny rings pierced her nipples, and one could also just make out a ring in her sex. Her elbows were linked with rope, and she  had a leather belt tight around her hips, with her wrists shackled to its rear fixing.

From a ring on the front of the belt, a wire ran down tightly across her pubic mound, and dived into her pussy and up again in the crease of her arse to her wrists. There was no slack in the wire, which had a myriad of small metal spikes welded to it - a kind of miniature barbed wire. I could see from the way she tried to stand absolutely still that Carolyn had discovered the folly of any movement with such a vicious fixture in her most tender spot.

There were tears staining her pretty face - though whether from the barbed pussy invader, or from the multitude of livid, narrow stripes that decorated the fronts of her thighs and belly, I was not sure. Perhaps it was the thought of what was to come, for Carolyn's notice proclaimed that at ten o'clock she was to be treated to the 'remaining' lashes of her punishment. There was no clue as to the number or severity of this final instalment, but knowing Carolyn, it would most likely be at least twenty. The girl had an incredible talent for attracting the most severe chastisements upon herself.

The instrument of this ordeal was hanging on a hook below the notice. It was a leather strap of two thin strips, each ending in a small lead shot wrapped about with a tuft of stiff horsehair. There were good reasons for her tears.

Next in line was Ellen.  Her appointment was for ten fifteen. A little shorter but no less curvaceous than Carolyn, Ellen was fixed in much the same manner but as with the others, in some ways different. Each girl bore her own personal bondage variation.

Up top, Ellen sported a cloth gag; no doubt covering some form of filling mouth expander. There were cords wrapped over the tops of her nicely rounded tits, and fastened to her upper arms as well. Elbows and wrists, ankles and knees were similarly corded, and she wore a very tight rope waistband, on the front of which was tied a large metal ring. Looking around to her rear, I saw that her wrist cords were fitted with a similar ring.

Her body - as with all of them but for Carolyn - was as yet unmarked. Ellen and the others would be well aware that this was a temporary state. Any infraction would result in the swift application of leather - perhaps that nasty looking strap intended for Carolyn.

But that implement wasn't the focus of Ellen's attention. Her little party piece was to involve those two rings, front and rear, for on her notice it simply said that she was to be fitted with a crotch belt.

On the face of it, this wasn't much of an ordeal - but the belt in question was displayed along with Carolyn's strap. It was made of stout leather: with fittings that caused Ellen to breathe delightfully fast, her breasts heaving with emotion, her toes twitching and feet squirming on her pedestal. She tried in vain to determine any possible means of avoiding her ten-fifteen appointment.

Of course, the crotch belt had a dildo fitted to it; in fact, two of them. But not just simple cylinders. The one intended for her anus had a big broad mushroom top, so that once inserted, it would be hellish to remove. And the one for her cunt also had a big knob, divided into two by a crevice. An easily discernible hole was drilled in the end of the knob, suggesting that with a suitable attachment to the outside, liquid might be forced into her innermost recesses.

Halfway up the fat column of the thing was a row of outward pointing stiff hairs:  the base and the space on the belt above it and between the two dildoes was similarly clothed. It was safe to predict that the coming insertion would not be comfortable, nor ensuing events. There was no telling how long Ellen might have to 'wear' the intrusion - though my guess was a day and a night.

Tusse was quite a short, blonde girl, and very young-looking. Her stature emphasised her big breasts and hips, making them seem even bigger. But there was little if any fat on her; I checked by handling her smooth, firm body.

She was fixed rather differently, as she stood on two smaller plinths about two feet apart. Shackles and chains ran from each ankle and each wrist to the alcove walls either side of her. Like all the girls, there was a chain from the ring on the back of her collar, up to the arch above. This wasn't taut, though, just a reminder of her servitude.

Tusse could move about somewhat compared to Carolyn and Ellen, but as we both discovered when I wished to fondle her tits, her hands were held just far enough out to prevent her from stopping me. She still might move her body and try to twist away, and up to a point that was desirable - it was nice to see such flesh in liquid motion. But if she objected overmuch, it would be the lash for her, and she well knew it.

Indeed, she alone of the five girls had the means for verbal objection, since she was not gagged. Yet she did not speak a word. I wondered how many sessions with the crop and cane had taught her silence.  Tusse was still new here, with good cause for complaint.

The notice indicated her treatment was scheduled for ten-thirty. Then, said her notice, the giant French-Caribbean negro overseer Jean-Luke would perform a 'Grand Rear Opening'. In other words, Jean-Luke would be the first to explore her tight little anus with his huge manhood. I wondered what Tusse had done to offend Madame Cara, who was almost certainly 'behind' this little prank. Perhaps nothing, for the Madame likes to inflict the worst upon those who have done nothing to deserve it.

Perhaps the other guests, and maybe Tusse herself, might expect that she would be more rigidly secured, and gagged, before the opening. But I knew Jean-Luke's strength. I had a feeling that it was intended for the girl to squirm and cry and scream and in general try to avoid the little unpleasantness planned for her. Without, of course, any success.

With the next girl, Giulia, it was back to the gag and tight rope bindings. Tall and somewhat fleshy, the Italian girl had splendid big tits, which I lost little time in sampling. There was a tear in her eye as well, as she contemplated her fate as outlined on her notice. This was placed upon a plinth supporting a complex item of securing apparatus, and as such Giulia couldn't read it.  I had no doubt they had told her what it said. At eleven o'clock, she was to be fixed into this equipment, which was a new whipping frame. Guilia had the dubious honour of 'test-driving' it. As the notice said, she hadn't done anything to earn the whipping; it was for 'amusement' only. Not the amusement of Guilia, of course. A minimum of thirty strokes had been ordained.

There was the frame, and its tearful intended occupant, side by side. It was a small puzzle for the guests to try and determine how the girl would occupy the frame - for it wasn't absolutely clear.

The frame had a stout timber rectangle at ground level, to one end of which were fitted two shackles. It seemed fairly obvious that these were for Guilia's ankles. From between these shackles, a diagonal timber beam ran upwards at about sixty degrees, supported at the other end of the frame by a vertical timber. Nearly half-way up, there was a short horizontal rod of metal, with larger shackles dangling from it; knee fastenings? Above that, about two-thirds up the beam, was a shorter horizontal rod and two smaller shackles such as for wrists. Then at the top, a rather curious bent metal rod projecting up and out from both sides, like a cow's horns, but ending in rings.

I had a fairly good idea of how Guilia was to be fixed in this contraption, though it seemed rather too short to fit such a tall girl - it seemed more Tusse's size. Of course, I had no way of telling if the occupant was to be facing towards or away from the beam, draped over it, under it, around it or whatever. There are only so many ways a girl may be fixed down to a given object - but which was the right one? Given that the purpose had been expressly described as a whipping frame, it seemed to me that several possibilities were ruled out, as the prime purpose must be to present the usual targets - buttocks and thighs - in the best position for whipping. But Guilia had those nice big tits - were they to be the targets instead?

It wasn't just an academic question, as the duty overseer had informed us that the guest who came up with the closest guess to the actual position would be permitted to give Guilia several thrashes him/herself. A rare treat, as normally guests are not permitted to discipline the girls directly.

Naturally, it wasn't just an academic question for Guilia either, but it was one that she had no way of avoiding being answered in the most direct of fashions, come eleven o'clock. In the meantime, she could sweat, and cry, and desperately try not to think about it...

Last in the line-up was Darla, a very pretty black American girl of twenty one, and a girl that I had used myself on several occasions. She looked at me sadly, pleadingly.

They had tied her ankles with rope, but with some play in it, though she was restricted by the pedestal in how far she might fidget. Around the tops of her thighs were broad, tight leather bands, fastened to which were her wrists, at each side. Apart from the ankle bracelet and the collar chain, that was all of her bondage - apart from a big round wooden dowel for a bridle bit, strapped in her mouth.

It seemed that I had enjoyed her for the last time in what might be termed her complete and 'virgin' state though the latter phrase is rather out of place in the Estancia. This state was to end abruptly at eleven thirty, since at that time she would be shaved and pierced, joining the likes of Carolyn in a somewhat altered physical condition. There was no mention of exactly which piercings were to be carried out, so I assumed she would get 'the works' - nose, nipples, sex lips - outer ones certainly, and possibly the inner ones as well - and lastly and most painfully, her clitoris.

I knew that Darla was getting to be a hot little number despite - or maybe because of - her slavery. One reason that Garcia decreed a girl was to be pierced was so she could be fitted with a cunt-lock; a bar and padlock arrangement that was fed through a pierced girl's cunt rings to keep her questing fingers and any other form of stimulation away from her honey pot. That was probably the case here.

It wasn't that I was sorry for her, exactly, but she had performed well when I had her tied to my bed, one way or another. She marked up nicely as well, when the strap was kissing her arse or tits, I remembered. So with a little affection, I decided to give her a bit of attention, and stuck my fingers inside her, and worked her clit. Not all the way, of course - just enough to get her distracted, then I left her. Maybe the rubbing her clit had just received would make it a bit bigger, a bit easier to pierce. It was nice to help things along like that.

It was time to go. I had a few things to do, and a couple of girls in my room to attend to. I wouldn't be around for most of the 'events' that the girls were to undergo. Nonetheless, I hoped to pop down again sometime around eleven, to see how Guilia was mated to her workhorse. I left the forlorn line of five sacrificial lambs to ponder on their fates.