Rachel and Julia were serving Brock, their black slaver
owner, as he lazed on a low couch under the shady canopy over the veranda of
his great stone house. Julia licked his cock with slow, practised swoops of her
head, while Rachel kept him cool by wafting a large fan of white ostrich
feathers. To Brock the large exotic fans
were more valuable than the bare-breasted beauties who wafted them. Ostrich
feathers were his insignia - and he went nowhere without them.
American women were but two of a dozen or more personal slaves Brock maintained
for his pleasure. Six of them served him on the veranda of the grand colonial
house that day, their svelte bodies naked and oiled. They were prime stock but
considered nothing special. Gleaming gold rings pierced their nipples and
matching bangles adorned their wrists and ankles, attesting to Brock’s great
wealth and status.
these slaves might have been premium, for such an important personage to select
them from those available to him. Some of them slithered around the Dark Slaver
on silk cushions, licking and caressing his ebony flesh, while Rachel and
another woman stood by and wafted the large fans of ostrich feathers to keen
him cool. It was hot… near 40 degrees. In the jungle, being forever naked had
saw Julia steal a glance out at the stockade as she licked the cock. A coffle
of a dozen new female slaves had just arrived, all of them white and comely.
Brock was only interested in white females. The new-arrivals lined up in front
of the veranda for inspection. Their breasts were tagged by crude fish-hooks -
the mark of new slaves. There was a predominance of blondes, but three pretty
brunettes, and a stunning girl with midnight-black hair that hung to her
buttocks. Rachel felt the women’s eyes
upon her as she continued to waft the ostrich feathers over her Master. She
gave a faint smile. If they regarded her as an alien apparition, little did
women looked weary and terrified. Rachel knew they had endured a horrific sea
voyage to the Dark Continent, and then a long trek into the jungle. Even from
the veranda, she could see perspiration gleaming on their naked bodies, along
with scratches from the undergrowth, and marks from the guards’ whips.
women had reason to be terrified. People the world over feared the infamous
Dark Slavers, who were renowned for their harsh skills in turning out prime
stock for the markets. A white slave woman moulded by a Dark Slaver always
brought a good price on the block. Brock's men had turned Rachel and Julia into
abject slaves. After a few of months in the jungle hell, they had become
panting sluts with the wiles of whores. That, from their beginnings as modern
and liberated American career women.
naked creatures who lined up for Brock’s inspection had grown up with the
knowledge of slavery as an institution on their world. Many might have once had
slave maids of their own. Rachel couldn’t even guess whether that made it
easier for them or not, now that their own tits had tags.
cameo on the veranda must have presented a pretty sight for the new arrivals.
It was a frightening taste of their life to come. A few of the women tried to
shield their bodies. Surely they had grown accustomed to enforced nudity by
then? A slave soon lost her modesty. But
even now, an overseer strode along the line, cuffing hands away from breasts
and pudenda, and slapping bellies with a short-blade whip as reminder to
tighten their flesh.
when the plane roared overhead. Julia was deeply sucking the Slaver’s
prodigious cock, and she lifted her mouth from the black shaft in surprise. The
other women on the cushions ceased their ministrations too, shocked by the loud
noise. Spooked women in the line on new arrivals gasped and squealed. The
Slaver appeared unperturbed and gestured for his slaves to continue their work,
and he eyed the newcomers as if nothing had happened.
dares not move from her station under the canopy, but she caught a glimpse of a
large blue and white jetliner as it dropped beyond the tree line. While it
wasn’t a normal landing, the plane’s descent appeared to be controlled. She
glanced at Julia and raised her eyebrows in astonishment. Julia returned the
glance with a small smile on her moist lips, but she squealed when the black
slaver clouted her ear.
‘Back to work, white slut. Suck my cock.’
‘Yes, Maas, mercy,’ Julia said, taking the shaft deep into
her mouth again.
‘Four marks on this one’s slate,’ he said, placing his
hand in Julia’s blonde hair and pulling her head further onto his cock.
girl lurking in the shade of towards the compound gate the house called, ‘Yes
Maas. Four marks for Julia. I’ll mark the record.’
sighed, wondering how many demerits Julia had accumulated since her last
flogging. Few of them completed a week with a clean slate, and each mark earned
a stripe of the cane on the following Sabbath. Few of the girls on Brock’s
personal chain sat on Sundays.
A mile or more away from Brock’s mansion and compound,
gangs of naked field slaves were tilling the land under the lashes of brutal
“What’s that?” a man said, pausing from his work and
shielding his eyes against the searing sun as a huge white object swooped from
the sky, leaving a trail of vapour in its wake as it disappeared behind trees
in the mid-distance.
“Ye Gods!” another cried, making as if to turn and run.
whip cracked, and the wretch fell to his knees with a screech.
manacled male slaves worked in strings of twelve. Their 30 ft central chain
culminated at either end with stout eye-bolts embedded in large granite blocks.
Now, under the lash, they returned to their labours, striking the soil with
heavy steel pick-axes.
Dark Continent wasn’t the best place on that world for a white person to be
enslaved. The land mass bore its name as much for its brutality as for the
ebony hue of its natives. Slaves here, though, were always white-skinned. Black
indigents regarded the white races as natural slaves and fair game for capture.
Dark Slavers bred few slaves - it was easier to snatch new stock from far off
skins of many of the chain gang chattels had weathered to a dark even tan, but
that didn’t mean the overseer’s vicious whips stung or striped any the less.
Nearly all male slaves ended up on chain gangs. Not so the women. Slavers
rarely put the more attractive and valuable females in the fields. Even so some
burlier women were working on another chain, 100 feet behind the men. They,
too, saw the strange object fall from the sky. Their cries of awe and fear rang
across the large clearing.
“Work, you lazy bitches!” the handler screeched, laying
his lash on naked flesh.
chain that held the women was less substantial than the heavy links that
restrained the men. It held a dozen or more female slaves, strung together like
a necklace. Their work was lighter too. They followed behind the men, raking
and smoothing the broken soil. Two girls even worked unchained, carrying water
back and forth to the different lines. A few women, though, wore stout chains and
manacles like the men. They merited harsher treatment, for whatever reason.
One, a trim but sturdy woman, worked on the men’s line, and required to swing a
heavy mattock with the rest of them. The mere sight of her provided an
incentive for the other women to work hard. They remained shackled to the same
chain, day and night. So a woman on a male chain was always at the mercy of the
“Something dropped from the sky, Maas,” one of the women
“It’s no concern of yours,” the overseer snarled. “Back to
work, or I’ll flay the skin off your back.”