Adventure tourism has become very popular. People go off to explore jungles, climb mountains and explore the high Arctic. This was a different kind of adventure tourism!   This adventure was an adventure into a previous age. An age when slavery was not merely legal, but a normal and accepted part of everyday life. When human flesh was bought and sold on a daily basis, and slaves were considered of less value than animals.   Evelyn was a curious, adventurous girl. As a student of history and psychology she was interested in the mental and psychological aspects of slavery. She was also, she had to admit, excited at the sexual aspects of being a slave. Going to a slave colony seemed to be the perfect way to spend her summer vacation.   The contract had been somewhat intimidating. Pages and pages of conditions. Everything was explained to her in detail, and a counsellor, herself a slave, a permanent one, told her in very graphic terms what slavery was all about. After a thorough medical examination she was taken out to the show pens.   It was exciting, and humiliating, to be out there, naked, to be examined by those in the market for a slave. ‘No limits’, that was the frightening part. The contract went into great detail what that meant. An owner could do anything he, or she, liked to a slave, apart from permanent mutilation.   The excitement, the sexual excitement, was paramount. She was naked, available. She was going to be sold. She was going to be used. She was a slave, an object. She was soft, vulnerable flesh. An instrument for pleasure.   Soon, soon, she would be sold. She couldn’t wait!

Tessa fought the ropes!   They cut into her wrists and ankles, yet she strained and twisted, desperately trying to free herself. She had screamed into the gag! Curses, pleas for release, and, finally, screams of outrage.   Her holiday had gone horribly wrong. She had taken a wrong turning from her hotel, trying to find the museum. Instead, she had found a narrow alley, and three young thugs. Now she was in a tiny room, bare but for a mattress on the floor, and a bucket. A foul smelling, none too clean bucket.   She was naked! They had laughed at her struggles as they stripped the clothing from her, remarking on the quality and the price the items would fetch in the second hand market. The ropes had been removed, only to be replaced by these cold, unforgiving steel fetters. A steel collar! All of them connected by chains. This was beyond a joke!   One of the thugs had informed her, gleefully, that she would be packed into a container with several others and flown to Mali. Mali? Where the fuck was Mali? “They have a nice brothel there,” he chortled, “staffed by people like you. Rich, arrogant white women.”   She tugged at the fetters. The steel so hard! So cold! So unforgiving! And yet…so right! The cold, hard steel seemed the perfect complement to her soft, warm, naked flesh.   Mali? Where was Mali?   Why was she so excited? Why was she so wet?

“Bloody peasants! Always an excuse! Too much rain. Too little rain. Bullfinches ate all the fruit buds. The sheep got foot rot. Excuses! Taxes are taxes, and taxes they will pay!”   The farm looked prosperous. Neat, solid buildings, walls well maintained, ditches clear. The farmer’s clothes were well worn, but of good quality. He stood in the doorway, hat scrunched up in his hands, head bowed. A strong man, perhaps forty years old, showing the broad-shouldered build of an archer. I remembered him from the war against the Scots ten years before. A good man. “My Lord, I know I am in arrears. I have paid all I can. It has been a bad year. The storms back in April destroyed the barley, and two cows drowned when the river burst its banks. My wife caught the fever, and has been bedridden since, my daughter looking after her. I can pay the arrears next quarter day, my Lord, please. I have served you well.”   I shrugged. “I remember you, Jed, from the Scottish wars. The King wants men, men at arms, fully equipped. As you know, armour and war horses are expensive.”   “My Lord, we have barely enough to keep us alive, three mouths to feed, a sick wife. Please, my Lord.”   “How much does he owe?”  Walter, the reeve, consulted his lists. “Seventeen shillings, my Lord. One cow and forty sacks of barley.”   “My Lord,” Jed interrupted, “I have no barley, the whole of the crop was lost, and two cows. Please, my Lord, allow me some grace.”   I shook my head. “You have a daughter? Bring her! Ready for travel.” I smiled, an evil smile. Bring her out! Ready for travel!” He seemed to shrivel, to shrink. “Please my Lord, she is all we have. She nurses my wife. Our son,” he sobbed, “our son was killed fighting for you in your war with Lord Montague, last year.”   I had had enough of excuses. “Bring her, now! Or I burn your house, with all of you inside!”   He scuttled into the house. I would give them a few minutes. After all, how long does it take to strip a girl? I heard a soft cry, the girl’s voice. “Father, no. Please, who will look after mam? Please?” The sound of tearing cloth. The soft sound of bare feet.   The girl was lovely. Pretty, innocent. A bit lacking in the tit department, but firm and strong. She would keep me amused for a while, perhaps as much as two months. There was pleasure to be had between her thighs. After that? My soldiers would enjoy her for a while, then, in say half a year, I would sell her to old Madge. She was always in the market for reasonably fresh girls. Once they were in her house they did not last very long. Exhaustion and abuse wore them out quickly. I nodded to Gwynn, the leader of my archers. “Bind her hands, a rope around her neck, she can run beside my horse.”   Gwynn moved to her. “Hands behind your back, love. We don’t want you trying to escape, or covering that sweet cunny, now do we?” His hands roamed freely as he bound her hands. She moaned softly, shaking her head, as he cupped a firm, round buttock in his horny hand. “Nice bum, lass. I do like a firm, tight arse. His Lordship will pass you on to us when he tires of you, before sells you to old Madge. Open you up nicely, we will. Madge’s girls work had. Do you a favour, we will, stretching you.” He passed the rope’s and to me. “Fine little piece, my Lord. Lovely arse.”   “Will I ever see you again, Rosey?” The farmer held his daughter’s shoulders for a moment. I smiled at him as I tied her leash to my saddle. “She should be at Madge’s in about six months. A few pennies will buy you some time with her.” I spurred my horse, the girl braking into a run to prevent being dragged, and strangled. I liked the way her breasts bounced firmly as she ran. Perhaps I would keep her for three months, especially if Gwynn’s assessment of her charms were accurate. Gwynn would simply have to wait his turn.   “Peasants! They never learn! But they do breed fine daughters.”

“I’m sure I’ll get used to this.”   “I mean, the thought that I am owned, that somebody, a total stranger, paid money, a lot of money, for my body and that I am now his property. How can that be? I’m a person, a human being. I can’t be owned. Can I?”   Gina was pretty and innocent looking. She was sitting on the bed, freshly bathed, perfumed, made up. Ready for use. By a total stranger. A man who had borrowed her from her owner. “Borrowed me! Borrowed me! Like I was a lawnmower, or a powertool. I’m a human being, a person, not some THING to be lent out! Aren’t I?”   Gina had come into this voluntarily, if not entirely willingly. Poverty is a grim ruler! The pandemic had destroyed her family. They had been a comfortable middle-class family, her father had owned his own little business, and all the family had pitched in to help. That was all in the past. Unable to trade, her dad had gone bankrupt. A few weeks later he died, a victim of the virus. Money was scarce, work even scarcer. They all hunted for work, did odd jobs. Gina had to give up her dance classes, her great love. Then a woman, one she had sometimes seen around the studio, ‘accidentally’ bumped into her in the street. They chatted for a while, ending with the woman, Lynda, inviting her for coffee. After an hour of chat and coffee, another luxury Gina had had to give up, Lynda came to the point.   “You’re broke, aren’t you? Your family are about to be evicted, and you have nowhere to go, nowhere except the streets. Right?” Gina nodded, numbly. Lynda had just, brutally and accurately, summarised the situation. “What are you going to do? Turn tricks in the parking lot?” Gina blushed. She had actually thought about it, becoming a prostitute, but discarded the thought immediately. There had to something she could do to earn a living for her family? “I’ve watched you in class. You have a good body, girlish, innocent, the kind men will pay good money for.” Lynda smiled, “Women, too.”   Over the next hour Lynda filled in her proposal. Gina would sell herself as a slave, a sex slave. It was better than prostitution. After all, a slave was worth money, valuable, and would be looked after well so that she retained her value. She would be given training, groomed, and be sold by auction to the highest bidder. She would be a slave for twenty years. Half of her sale price would be given to her mother, the remainder, plus a percentage of any resale, would be invested in order to provide her with a pension when she was freed. Lynda named an amount that caused Gina to gape in amazement! “You’re joking! I can’t be worth that much! What would I have to do to justify a price like that?” Lynda smiled. “Obey! Simply obey!”   The man moved around the room. The man who had borrowed her. He was distinguished looking, dressed in an expensive looking suit. He had removed his jacket, hanging it carefully on a hanger. He had spoken only three words. “Good evening, Rosebud.” Rosebud! She wasn’t Gina any more. Rosebud! “What shall I call you?” Her owner had said conversationally, on that first afternoon of her slavery. “Rosebud! Yes, Rosebud. Why?” He smiled. “Because you have such a perfect rosebud. I shall use it often, in fact, I will use it almost exclusively. It is your best feature.” He had used it then, and several times since. Slave life is strange, she mused, to be named after your anus.   The man was unpacking his rather bulky briefcase. She knew the use of most of the items he was arranging fastidiously on a side table. Nipple clamps, two large buttplugs, handcuffs, a penis gag. A flogger and an evil looking singletail whip. She knew their use, of course she did, they were there to hurt her, although as yet she had not been whipped. The auctioneer had made a point of showing off her pale skin. “So pale, so soft, so sensitive, Ladies and Gentlemen, her skin will mark up beautifully under the whip!” She had not yet been whipped. Would it be as painful as those first buggerings had been? Would she get used to it? Even start to enjoy it? As she was beginning to enjoy the buggering?   The man had finished laying out his equipment. Now he undid his tie, smoothed it and folded it. His shirt was next, carefully hung up. Gina watched. He was not young, there was grey in his chest hair, but the torso was strong, well-muscled. He sat down, removing his shoes and socks, each sock placed neatly in its own shoe. He undid his belt, his fly, removed his trousers, again neatly hanging them up. His underpants were tight, she could see the outline of his cock, he was circumcised. She swallowed nervously. She was a slave. Slaves had only one deity, at least in her limited experience. Slaves served and worshipped cock! The underpants came off. His cock was half erect, slowly inflating and growing. Not huge, she noted with relief, not as big as the Master. He walked toward her.   “I want your mouth.” Gina smiled as she moved to the edge of the bed, her tongue out to taste his cock, a cock that didn’t taste of her own bowels! Her Master only used her mouth to clean him after buggering her. She started to get off the bed, to kneel at his feet. “No, I want to play with your tits, they’re beautiful.”   She took her time, using all the skill she had learned in her short career as a slave. The cock tasted so good, unsullied by her bowels. She relished the taste, the texture, the aroma of the firm shaft of flesh. She played with him, bringing him to the edge several times before he lost control and flooded her throat with his seed. She swallowed every drop.   She lay back, her thighs spread invitingly, her pussy, her slave cunt, wet and needy.   The man, would she ever know his name, kissed her, deeply, lovingly, seeming to enjoy the taste of his own cum in her mouth. He broke the kiss, smiling at her. His finger slid easily into her moist slit. He licked it clean. “Delicious!” He said, smiling, “But you know as well as I do that that hole is unavailable to me. Your Master was very clear in his instructions. “You are welcome to fuck her face and her ass. You are welcome to whip her, or hurt her in any way that pleases you. However, use of her cunt is prohibited! So is any stimulation of her clitoris. That hole is reserved for one user only.”   Tears welled in Gina’s eyes. She was so horny, so needy, so empty. Her pussy ached with need. Her master was so cruel! His orders were emphatic! She would never do that. It was disgusting, unnatural. She would never ask for that, no matter how needy her pussy was. It wasn’t fair!   The man was hardening again. Gina sighed, her eyes pleading. He shook his head. “Turn around, please,” he said softly.   She obeyed.   “I can see why you are named Rosebud,” he laughed. “Perfect, absolutely perfect.” She gave a shuddering sigh as he entered her there.   One day, one day, she would come to terms with being a slave.

Hello all. I am a rather aged male Dom who is very much into slavery and the state of slaves. I am a writer, and hope to post stories here. The above picture is obviously not me, but does illustrate the kind of slave I enjoy owning and dealing in. I look forward to chatting to likeminded people of all sexes, both owners and owned.