Interviews In A Slave Traders Lair

Interviews in a Slave Trader's Lair

Many thanks for opening my story: I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This volume is the second of what will probably be a trilogy that began with

Interview with a Slavegirl

, but it is not a series or serial. The narrative is not continuous, and it is not necessary to read them in order. I always appreciate ratings and comments.

Chapter One - Unfinished Goods

"Consent," said Harold Carruthers, "is a difficult concept. Most of my stock are here because they would die if they were free. My best source of fresh pleasure slaves is adulteresses. They're sentenced to stoning, and quietly smuggled out, and by various routes they come to me as raw material. It would be odd if they didn't consent to being here, although no-one has asked them."

"I'm taking it," replied Sally, "that their consent isn't taken for granted." They were in dungeons that could only be accessed with both finger and retina prints, with individual caverns and cells that were isolated behind heavy iron doors. The stock all wore collars that would shock them unconscious and trigger an alarm if they were somehow to get close to the boundaries of the estate, but that had never happened. The room in which they were standing housed five young women, all in the strictest security.

It was one of the most spacious and comfortable of the slaver's caverns, because the inhabitants were not undergoing punishment. It was basically a small dormitory, with six beds- one vacant- and an armchair next to each, with a little table and storage for a few books; mostly children's novels and English primers, for all the women were learning the language. Several televisions, mounted high out of reach, showed porn films, all with very simple dialogue and subtitles.

The women were all very lovely; the very best of Carruthers' stock-in-trade. They were naked and bare-footed, with hobbled ankles and their wrists in manacles, chained just over a foot apart. One ankle was locked to another chain that terminated in a steel channel set in the floor. There were six of those, each terminating near a bed and running parallel to one another to the end of the space, where the toilets, enema dispensers and showers were situated, together with a small kitchenette.

The women could thus move as far as necessary, with those nearest the utilities being the most restricted. Any two could be paired or confined more closely by inserting a block into the steel channel. Sally noticed that two were locked to the area around their beds, and in addition, had their hands behind their backs, close together. She asked Harold about them.

"The women are allowed to have sex with one another," he explained. "In fact, it's compulsory. They aren't allowed to refuse requests. They're welcome to use their hands and fingers on one another, but not on themselves. Masturbation, whether mutual or solo, is forbidden. This pair were spotted lying together, but with their fingers in their own slits. They'll be like that for twenty-four hours. We'll release them to use the toilets, but the other women will have to do everything for them, including feeding them."

Although young, Sally had met enough slaves to know that having their hands locked behind their backs was not an unusual state of affairs. "Were they whipped?" she asked, looking in vain for any sign of marks on their olive skin.

"No. I took responsibility for giving them too much freedom before they were properly trained. I fined myself by giving my free staff a small bonus. The other thing is, that we occasionally get a potential customer coming for a tour, and he or she spots a girl in this or one of the other rooms. They can buy her by private treaty if they're prepared to wait for her training to be completed. Obviously, they're more likely to buy one without whipmarks."

Sally noticed that the irons worn by the women were bevelled and smoothed, and would not injure their skin despite being snugly fitted. She and Harold were now in the centre of the space, well within reach, but there seemed to be no risk of being attacked. The slave-trader carried a cattle prod and a stun pistol, just in case. He beckoned to one of the three "loose" women and she came over to kneel in front of him, to be lifted immediately to her feet. He gestured to Sally, but she could not, obviously, interview her if she could not speak English.

Sally, who estimated the girl's age as no more than twenty, thought her face lovely but disliked her bondage. With her hands locked in front of her body, separated by a chain, her arms half-covered her breasts and distorted their shape, so she gestured to her to put them behind her head. As expected, she had perfectly formed boobs that were medium sized but no doubt growing, and very pert little nipples with very neat, round, circular areolas. She was just a little top heavy, narrow about the waist and hips and with very slim legs.

Sally reached out and grasped both breasts, and the woman caught her breath but stood still, eyes glancing down only momentarily. "She's confident," Sally remarked. "Not at all shy, considering what her background must have been."

"You'd be surprised at how quickly they adapt," replied the trader. They lived their lives totally enclosed, never seen by people outside their very close families. Those lives were ended with a death sentence. All those old rules are stripped away from them, along with their clothes. It's not as difficult as you might think for them to literally start their lives again from scratch."

"A life in chains, though."

"They know it won't be spent in this cavern. They understand that the better they respond to their training, the better their lives are likely to be. They do leave this place for various kinds of treatment and exercise. It's easy to unhook them from the floor chains. You can try this one out tonight if you want."

Sally ran her hands up and down the young woman's body, and nudged her legs as far apart as the hobble would allow. Feeling in her slit for moisture, she was surprised to find her very wet. "She's soaking," she said to Harold. "Are you sure she hasn't been masturbating?"

The girl in question showed no sign that she understood them, but Sally was not without her suspicions. Harold explained that the trainee slaves had all been given various libido enhancers, so she was bound to be horny. Sally, who was staying the night, decided to put her on her "likely list" of bedwarmers, even though she had been hoping for a well-hung male pleasure slave. She had also been hoping for one who spoke English, since she was supposed to be interviewing both the staff and the slaves.

Chapter Two - Nice Work

Sally was employed by James Hanshaw, the owner of an unnamed slave who she had interviewed a few months previously. He had conveyed two messages through her. One was that she was risking everything by compiling material on slavery and BDSM activities and selling it to a small group of subscriber-only websites. Other journalists had a wider public in mind, and if there were any leaks, she would come under suspicion. The other was that he was prepared to employ her full-time as a researcher.

Sally was loath to give up her independence, but the warning-cum-threat was real. If she was suspected of spying on slave-owners and BDSM groups, a confession would be wrung out of her under torture, and she would end up as a slave-whore in a foreign brothel. With a good salary and regular access to her employer's sex-slaves, her life was now more comfortable and more secure, and she was still writing, blogging and filming for the same audience. Her job description, officially, was to do and supervise research into "the relationship between sexual response and bondage."

It was vague, but with a "hands on" approach she was never going to suffer from that "Monday, Monday" feeling. Her purpose-built "laboratory" came with living quarters and a big bed with built-in chains. Her present assignment would probably not have come her way without James' intervention, for Harold hardly ever entertained guests who were not potential customers.

She had no idea where she was. She had been collected from the laboratory by a motorhome with all its blinds down and sealed. The journey had been a long one- at least twelve hours- and had involved a sea crossing on a ferry. She knew that the vehicle had probably followed a circuitous route, and that the vessel concerned might have gone out to sea and come back again, but she guessed that she was on the Isle of Man, or possibly in the Mourne Mountains.

Her host was not the most productive slave-trader in the world- he was in Belarus- but he was the most reputable supplier of very high-quality pleasure slaves. There were no "trade secrets." He was just very careful, very thorough, and very empathic, and relied more on carrots than sticks. She was welcome to report on his processes, but obviously she had to protect his identity and location, of which she knew nothing anyway. It promised to be the most interesting of all her assignments, but had so far been frustrating. Harold was friendly and informative, but she had not so far identified any slaves with whom she could speak at length.

The next cavern that she was shown was being used to teach four female slaves- slightly more advanced than the first group- to perform fellatio, using four male trainees as subjects. All hands were locked behind backs, so the women could only stimulate the shafts properly by deep-throating them, and the males could not help by pushing their heads down onto them. Two of the women were almost ready to be passed out, while the other two, thought Harold, would need at least two more sessions. He did make one interesting comment.

"We train them to do the basics," he said. "They must learn to get the whole length into their throats and keep their teeth out of the way, use their tongues, and swallow every drop of the spunk. But we think that most owners like to finish the training themselves; to think they've got a pleasure slave customized to suit themselves, and possibly their partners or other regular users. That's true of many aspects of their training. Customers can ask for their slaves to be fully finished; that's appropriate for very large houses, big harems or brothels. There's no extra charge for that."

"You don't sell your slaves at auction?"

"Oh, yes. It's about fifty-fifty. We sell a hi-end product, so many of our customers want to be kept briefed as we prepare their orders. When we hold auctions the bidders are mostly agents of overseas buyers, and they sit in private cubicles with screens. They hear one another's bids but they never see one another. We can arrange for "try before you buy" appointments, also private. Incidentally, a lot of our auctioned slaves are trade-ins and retreads."

"Are they different things, Harold?"

"Trade-ins are slaves who did not originate from here, and we test them thoroughly and give them a rating. Retreads are trained here, bought and used for up to ten years, and given a refresher course, together with repairs to any physical signs of wear and tear. They go for a respectable price because they've had lots of experience."

They walked through a couple of other teaching spaces; one with couples attempting the "goldfish" and another with females performing analingus on males. "Tongue strength is very important," pronounced Harold, as if imparting wisdom that would guide Sally throughout her life. "It's vital for slaves who have to service several users in quick succession."

Harold dined with Sally alone, except for slaves from stock and his own serving wenches. There were only two of the former, both used as "below the table" slaves who gave very gentle oral stimulation, with no intention of producing orgasms, even at the end of the meal. He used an Arab woman who had no difficulty in keeping his rod deep in her throat, stroking it so slowly that it was sometimes difficult to see her head moving. He was, he said, intending to keep her throughout the evening and night, for he thought her almost ready to be delivered to her new owner.

For Sally he had chosen a retread, but one of exceptional skill. Despite using chairs with special cut-outs in the seats, delivering cunnilingus from kneeling to sitting was not easy because of the angles involved, with the slave often having to bend low with her head tilted back. It would have been easier just to come down heavily on Sally's clitoris, but a very gentle, prolonged cunt-munching was much more difficult. "I'm tempted to keep her for the evening and night," she said to Harold as they were discussing their slaves' performances over coffee. "But I was intending to try one of your males, so I find myself on the horns of a dilemma."

"I'm sure you'll face more difficult decisions, my dear," he replied. "In this case, I can solve it for you. You can have both. I'll send you a young man at about ten o'clock. How would you like him bound?"

"You're very kind, Harold. I'd like him in an "X" on the bed, if that's possible."

"If you come down for a goodnight drink just before ten, he'll be ready for you when you go back up. I'll make sure you get one that speaks English."

Chapter Three - Chatterbox

They parted for the evening after coffee, and Sally took her retread to her bedroom, which was not actually "upstairs" but in a smaller cave nearby. The woman seemed only slightly older than her twenty-four years, but was probably in her mid-thirties. She had a calm, placid demeanour and a broad, kind face with a wide mouth and full lips. She might have been of Southern European stock; there seemed to be very few northerners among Harold's merchandize.

Sally pushed her down onto the bed and played with her medium-sized breasts for a few minutes, French-kissing her and fingering her pussy. Her mouth tasted very slightly of her own pussy-juice, and her lips were soft, smooth and very responsive. She "scrabbled" her fingers in her slit, coming ever closer to her clitoris, until the woman came suddenly, convulsively, uncontrollably.

Afterwards she was apologetic, speaking for the first time in their short acquaintance. "Forgive me mistress. I almost bit your tongue. I've rarely encountered such agile fingers, mistress.'

For Sally, it was still quite novel to be so intimate with a total stranger, and very novel to have a mature woman be so subservient to her. Her first instinct was to get to know her better. "I have the fingers that God gave me," she replied; a bit of nonsense that she hoped would come across as profound. "What's your name?"

"If mistress pleases, I'm called 'Millie' at the moment. I'm sure it'll be changed before I'm sold, and again by my next owner, mistress."

"It is a bit lightweight, but it'll do for tonight. Tell me your story, Millie."

"Mistress, I've almost forgotten my story. I know I don't look English, but I am. My mother worked in a coffee bar, mistress, and I never knew my father. When I turned eighteen she sold me to a brothel to finance her drug habit, but I never actually worked as a prostitute, mistress. They sold me on to Master Harold, mistress, and I was trained as a pleasure slave."

"I don't expect you to tell me anything about your master, Millie. Were you fully trained when they bought you, or did you learn on the job?"

"I was trained to seem untrained, mistress; to make my users feel that they were teaching me, when I was really teaching them. It's a bit difficult to put it into words, mistress. Perhaps, since you're obviously interested in such matters, I should be completely open with you. There was no danger of me biting your tongue, mistress. I was in ecstasy, mistress. With my bud being about four times as sensitive as it would be in its natural state, I couldn't have avoided cumming if I'd wanted to. But I was in control throughout. I'm trained to give my users the idea that they have caused me to lose control, mistress. I hope you'll forgive me. I thought you would want to know."

Sally chuckled, trying to sound mildly sinister and pinching Millie's nipples. "I'll forgive you if you promise to be straight with me, now and, if we ever meet again, for the rest of our lives."

She could see that Millie was delighted that this younger mistress would even consider a longer term understanding with the pleasure slave that she had just used "under the table." She wriggled a bit to try to seat her breasts more firmly into Sally's hands. "Mistress, I can tell you that I was not bought by an individual. I spent my last ten years as the property of a syndicate. There were usually ten memberships. Some of them were couples, mistress, and some also owned slaves individually."

"So how long did you spend with each member, in any given month, approximately? How was it worked out?"

"Before I answer, mistress, may I tell you that my breasts are getting full? If mistress enjoys fresh milk, she could suckle while I talk, mistress."

She shook them, as if thinking that Sally might have forgotten where they were, although some moisture had seeped from the nipples when they were pinched. Sally decided to accept the suggestion, and it was easy to listen as she sucked out the milk, which was definitely of "Channel Islands" quality.

"It was done by an algorithm," she said. "The members were entitled to a fixed fraction of my time, and every membership was treated equally. They all entered their preferred dates, and any dates and times when they would not be available. I was assigned to them for three-day periods, but they could "save me up" to get a continuous week. There was a limit to how much time they could keep, and for how long. There were also some very complicated rules about travel times and who was responsible for taking me from one membership to another. I didn't really need to know all that. They all lived within an hours' drive of one another."

Millie's voice was become uneven: she obviously loved being milked directly by mouth. "A few three-day periods were reserved, every year, for social occasions when most of them met together, and I was usually gangbanged a lot then. They also did exchanges with other syndicates. Life for me went on pretty much as usual, except that I was used by different people, mistress."

Sally left the teat for a moment to ask a question. "Were they all kind to you, Millie? Were you ever whipped, for instance?"

Millie seemed to hesitate as Sally returned to suckling. "It depends, mistress, on what you consider to be 'kindness.' It would be true to say that they all gave me a lot of attention, so I always felt owned and valued. Some kept me in very tight and strict bondage, while others were happy to let me roam around their houses in in loose and light chains. I never wore clothes, mistress, even in winter. The syndicate owned a heated and insulated van, and they all had garages that were accessible from their homes, so I was never cold for long, mistress.

"You asked about whipping, mistress. Some members liked to do it for exercise or fun, mistress, or they would use a whip or cane as a spur during sex. If they passed me on with any marks showing, mistress, they had to send a message to the next user, and the central server, to explain when and how it had been done. They could be fined some of their time for damaging me, mistress, but that never happened. The syndicate has rules for inflicting collective punishment if a slave proves unsatisfactory, mistress, but I never knew that to happen, either to me or anyone else. I generally enjoyed my time with the syndicate, mistress."

"Did you ever get any time off, to yourself, Millie?"