Sidonia’s Prison For Slaves

Mistress Sidonia von Bork was well known at the auction house for slaves. Every Thursday afternoon she would cut the crowds to silence as she swept through the slave gallery hunting Her prey. They all new what she was looking for, and she was hard to please. Only occasionally after much inspection of the pathetic men did she take possession. She pushed aside the other bidders to get directly at some male that looked as though he could be trained. Thrusting forward she would have him kneel and throw back his head so that she could examine his mouth with a stick. The slaves would groan at the discomfort but much worse was to come when she grabbed and firmly felt the wretch’s balls. By the time she asked for a display of his erect penis these sad creatures were delighted to oblige; for it didn’t hurt. No one would get in her way or try to stop her treating the men this way.

It was my bad luck, I felt, to be on show and for sale this Thursday as the Mistress approached. Maybe I looked pathetic to Her, maybe she saw a glimpse of intelligence in me. She knew of course that the more intelligent and aware her subject the more he would suffer as she broke him. I was inspected. She seemed especially interested in how well I squealed as she crushed my balls in her strong and well practiced hand. Having pleased herself with that reaction she wrenched my nipples and watched my cock rise. It was then, as she watched my member that a tiny, almost invisible, smile broke around her mouth. Her eyes were magnetic, I just had to stare into them, and she stared back. She said nothing, but as she squeezed my nipples even harder …just a tiny sigh; then a very faint smile broke as though she realised too much was already revealed.

Time passed until I was presented to the crowd for auction. She stepped to the front and, as soon as the bidding opened She cried out, ‘That is mine, five pounds’. It was money way beyond any other bidding so far that day. The crowd was silent, no one would match the bid. Throwing the money at the collector she lunged forward and grabbed my neck chain from my guard and dragged me out of the gallery.

We rode in her coach for some time. I was commanded to curl around her feet to keep them warm. I wore no clothing and was very cold. As we drove the evening came, day turned to night. The coach stopped and the horse’s bridled. She lifted one foot and pushed me across the carriage floor away from her, steeping out into the dark air.

‘Follow pathetic male’ she ordered, and I did despite my coldness and increasing hunger, ‘Follow at my knee’. We passed slowly down a lit pathway. I was straining my head up to see her beautiful face as the pools of light and shadows passed across it. She was indeed so beautiful, very very beautiful. She glanced down at me. I looked quickly down to the floor and felt honoured. We stopped. All was quiet. Then from ahead I heard a moan, then another lower moan. She told me to look up. We were at the entrance to a large stone built room, a little like the inside of a church. Then I saw the source of the moans. At each side of the large room were raised pathways. Poles fixed between the path and the roof supported people…men…slaves. They were partly clothed in some dark material, their genitals displayed. They all looked in agony. ‘Good evening worthless slaves’ She opined. Heads turned and bowed ‘Good evening our Mistress’ they coursed in a well rehearsed manner.

We walked on down the length of the room with the slaves elevated above us. Now I could see that a pipe work system ran down the poles to where each slave was secured. Each was manacled at his feet and secured back to the pole. His hands were restrained together behind the pole, only his head was free to move. Then I saw as we moved on that the pipe work was attached to the slave, it ran into his arse! I stared in disbelief but I had been seen. A sharp hand slapped me on the side of my head to return my gaze to straight ahead and we moved through the wooden door and into the lower part of a tower.

A spiral staircase lay ahead and my Mistress beckoned me forwards. I stood up to ascend the stairs and the wroth of hell descended on my erroneous head. ‘Knees, crawl’ She shouted at the top of he voice, reverberating in the stonework. I crawled and we arrived in an attic above the slave room. She sat on a throne like chair and directed me to kneel at her feet. We stared into each other’s eyes for a few meaningful seconds. Now she spoke to me; ‘you are Mine’ she said as a fact, a fact I would not deny. ‘Yes Mistress’ I instinctively replied. ‘Shortly you will join my other slaves below’. ‘I call one of them according to My needs. If you perform well and please me you will be called most often. If you fail to please me I may send you to the cells’.

I paused thinking if I dare ask, but I did ‘The cells Mistress what are these’. To my surprise She gave me an answer. ‘We passed them as we walked by the slaves. Look’, she opened a trapdoor in the floor and we could see the slaves below. ’There in the wall beneath their useless feet, see the bars’ I did. The 4 or 5 feet of wall beneath the raised pathways of slaves contained a barred window. ‘That’s where you will go if you fail to please me’. I pondered how being in the cell could be worse than being manacled to the pole and attached to a pipe.

‘Now my boots are dirty from this afternoon’s outing, clean them with your tongue’. I promptly shone the boots. As I worked She spoke again. ‘ I need to name you. I have a system for naming my slaves. She glanced to a list on the wall. ‘You will be ‘122’’.

‘Guards’ she shouted, ‘Take the new and pitiful creature,122, to the slave gallery. Install him such that he will receive food’. Two heavy men hurried me down the stairs and tightly bound me to a pole, arms and feet. In a final act one held the pipe whilst the other pushed me back onto it, I screamed and fell silent with the others.

A little while passed, the trapdoor lifted and the room echoed to ‘Guards, 122’. I was taken down and rushed to the Mistress. ‘I want you to see how I feed my slaves 122’. Fetch that bucket from by the stove. Good now look away’. I did as she bid and heard a sound that made me think she was urinating in the bucket. ‘Look now slave’. She had added her offering to a mostly full bucket of urine. ‘See now; empty the bucket into this funnel’. I did, and as I did, I realised what was happening, the clue was the groaning from below. ‘Yes that’s right’ She said, ‘straight into their arses. This is what they get to eat, you can have yours later when you are desperate for food’.

‘I leave it a while then have more water funneled down to them’. ‘You are generous Mistress’ I replied’. ‘Yes slave, bountiful indeed, but you see there is another purpose. Their arses grow full, they moan, I love the moans, so many, so loud. Eventually one of them will leak the contents of his bowels and quickly the others will follow as more water goes down. Then what happens?’. ‘If it pleases you Mistress…I don’t know’ I said meekly. ‘I dare say YOU don’t, but the poor wretches in the cells do..ha.’ She laughed for all She was worth and had the Guards poor in the water. The moaning came, then squeals, then a dreadful smell came up though the trapdoor. ‘Look down slave’. I saw horrid trails of faeces running down and into the cells. Now weak groans and complaints came from the cells. It was repulsive. ‘See; ALL slaves are fed’.

She was excited, and had me grovel in front of Her whilst She caned me harder and harder. Overcome by excitement she called in the guards to take me below onto the pole. ‘You have pleased me 122. Guards, see that he is fed twice as much as the others’.

by Rod