Sex Slavery In A Warm Climate

Sex-Slavery in a Warm Climate

Thank you for trying my story. It is one that I particularly enjoyed writing, and I would very much like to know what you think of it. Unfortunately, we can put our efforts into only one category, and this one is equally BDSM, Sci-Fi, and Non-con, so I have made an arbitrary choice of the last of those. It is not part of series, but if it finds favour I may well be tempted to write a sequel.

This is the longest of my single-part stories so far, so thank you in advance for your patience!

Chapter One - In the Eye of the Storm

Pussy had been through storms before, but it was still difficult to keep her fears in check. It would break in another four or five minutes, and already the thunder was continuous and deafening and the lightning was flashing every two or three seconds. When the rain started it would be truly torrential. It would last for up to twenty minutes, and there was no telling whether or not a second storm would follow almost immediately. Although it was only three o'clock on a summer afternoon, it was very dark.

At that time of year, afternoon thunderstorms were regular, almost daily events. Pussy was a pleasure slave belonging to the Count of Souvines, who liked to have a woman staked out on one of his lawns when they occurred, as a kind of offering to the forces of nature. He had many slaves, but a third of them were male, and some of the females he deemed unsuitable. Pussy's turn, therefore, came around more often than she would have liked.

Although the sight and sound of the storm seemed apocalyptic, Pussy's life was not in danger. She was staked out in the centre of a large lawn, and the scrubby and twisted trees that had survived the brutal climate were too far away to fall on her. Her naked body, pinioned in a rigid "X" shape and held by steel chains to the four wooden posts, might have attracted the lightning except that she was lying on a large rubber sheet, and several lightning conductors were attached to poles around the edges of the grass.

At the nearest point on the upper floors of the chateau, a covered balcony, and for the faint-hearted a row of windows shielded from the rain, allowed the Count, his guests and his business associates to look down on the helpless woman. One reason why she was used regularly in that role was her very large, soft and pendulant breasts. When she was bound on her back they naturally subsided, the nipples pointing in opposite directions, but when she struggled they would surge in multiple directions, entertaining the watchers who were almost all equipped with binoculars.

Storms were at their most frequent in July, August and early September, when the temperature regularly reached forty Celsius and the rain was warm enough for people to expose themselves to it naked. Over the years during which climate change was making itself felt, they became more regular and more severe, with massive quantities of rain falling, so that the estate was divided by deep channels- built where possible as ha-has- to protect the house and garden from flooding.

As usual, the rain began suddenly, with big, soaking drops, and the watchers on the balcony could see Pussy's body jerking as she felt them, her head shaking as they began to fall on her face and run into her eyes. Then the rain fell in sheets, so they could only see a kind of impressionist painter's view of the girl, but they had the benefit of cameras that were mounted on the lightning conductors or separate posts nearby. There were even drones that could fly very close despite the weather. Some were always lost to the lightning, but they were not expensive and the Count was a very wealthy man.

As the rain intensified, Pussy felt ever more alone. However many storms she experienced, she never got used to them. The constant lightning, often hitting very nearby and splitting trees and shrubs, the continuous and ear-splitting thunder, and the masses of water sluicing over her body, left her struggling to believe that she was not living through the end of days. Every time she was almost convinced that the bolts would somehow overcome the barrier of the rubber sheet, or that they would split the earth and open a crevice into which she would fall, or the water would overtop the draining ditches and flood the lawn.

The last of those eventualities was the most likely, and this time the water did reach one side of the grass. If it covered the rubber sheet, even by an inch or two, would it not expose her to electrocution? Her fear was probably groundless as the lawn was slightly crowned, but it was difficult for her to think clearly. Water was now pouring over her face, and she was trying to keep facing to the side to avoid it running into her mouth and nose. She could barely see anything as it cascaded into and over her eyes, and blinking helped only for a moment.

Watchers, now using the screens almost exclusively, loved the way her body writhed and twisted under the deluge. Before the storm broke she had appeared to be quite strictly chained, with no free movement whatsoever. The overseer-slaves responsible were, however, very skilled and experienced, and they had avoided any stretching, leaving her with a fraction of an inch of "give" if she pulled hard. It was enough for her to shake her breasts, so the rivulets poured either between them or to one side or the other, and more water trickled down her stomach and over her slit, channelled by her thighs.

It was that phenomenon that tended to calm Pussy as the storm raged. She lay as flat on her back as possible and strained upwards against the chains, cocking her head back to escape the worst of the water. The flow was stronger then, as it entered her vulva and caressed her clitoris, and occasionally a raindrop struck the bud directly. The effects were enhanced by other drops falling on her nipples, but most of all by the years of libido-increasing drug and hormonal treatments to which she had been subjected. Without those, it would never have been possible for her to climax under such unpromising conditions.

When she did orgasm, the effects were multiplied by her bondage. The tiny amount of slack was not really enough to enable her to really fight her chains, and so the sensations were trapped in her body, surging and peaking so the observers could see her muscles swelling and subsiding and her bottom almost drumming on the sheet. Some expected her to strain and pull her shoulder muscles, or even dislocate her shoulders, but that never happened. The overseer-slaves were right in thinking that the danger would be greater if she had more free movement, but pleasure slaves with years of service were never likely to damage themselves.

To Pussy, it was as if she spent the second half of the storm-centre in a closed compartment, isolated by the continuous din and the flashing light, the bucketing water and a succession of orgasms. She could not see clearly, or distinguish individual sounds, and for much of the time she kept her eyes closed, which left her concentrating on the shattering climaxes that continued to rack her body.

She often thought, during other times, about the way she felt during the storms, and she was convinced that the vulnerability that came from being staked out in the face of such forces had a powerful erotic effect. She had sex with hundreds of men and women without experiencing such powerful climaxes. She often thought that one day she would lose consciousness, in which case no-one would dare to reach her until the lightning had passed. Would she drown if she could no longer stop the rain from flooding her mouth and nose? She tried to reassure herself that she would wake up first.

The sense of being alone and cut off from her fellow humans was not one that a pleasure slave often experienced, and she sometimes wished that she could be left staked out in calmer weather. From the Count's point of view, of course, that would be pointless. She would then be an ornament to be groped, snogged, masturbated on and penetrated by any passer-by, so she would not be alone for long.

Nor could she expect, when the storm passed, to be left alone or quickly released. As they watched her writhing and bucking through her orgasms, the free persons in the Count's chateau were taking part in a raffle. The winning tickets were numbered one to six; and once the danger from the lightning had passed, the holders would use Pussy in that order, where she lay in bondage on the lawn. Another slave would sweep the worst of the water off the sheet, but none of them would mind getting a little bit wet.

A few guests were already wet, for Pussy was not the only person who had been out in the storm. In a different part of the garden, in a wooded area but protected from falling branches by stout stone walls, were two small rubber-tiled patios that included swinging couches with rubber-covered mattresses. There were also cabinets to hold drinks and snacks. Guests, and occasionally the Count himself, would bring one or more pleasure slaves to experience the full force of the storm while having sex

al fresco

.

This time there was only one couple; a free woman and a female serving wench to whom she had taken a fancy. The little patios were not the chateau's most popular facility, for users had to be installed well before the storm broke, and could not leave until well after it had passed. Some found the experience frightening, and small branches often fell onto the beds, although no-one had ever been seriously hurt. The slaves tended to prefer it to being staked out, for they had a user to distract them from the noise and the rain, and someone to give and receive sexual pleasure and reassurance.

That afternoon, as the storm passed and the sun's rays began to peep between the clouds, Pussy was trying to relax and prepare herself for what was to come. As usual, the aches in her shoulders and muscles were easing very quickly, and her skin was prickling and feeling a slight chill as the water evaporated into the fresher air. It appeared that there would be no second storm; the sky would soon clear completely and it would be fine for the rest of the day.

At times like these her breasts felt very exposed and conspicuous. Since her enslavement five years ago she had become accustomed to being nude, but during the past year her owner had decided to have her bust expanded and put in milk, and now she felt that they dominated her body, and that they drew attention like magnets. She was aware that it was not a bad thing, for she was a pleasure slave and her function was to be sexually desirable. Shivering now as her body dried, she certainly hoped that she was desirable enough to motivate her first user to join her soon.

Chapter Two - Marcel

The thunderstorms made people reluctant to venture out in the afternoons on hot days. Generally, it was possible to see them coming and going, but almost everyone had a story about a narrow escape from a bolt from the blue. The slaves who had staked Pussy out had used a roll of rubber sheet to walk across the lawn, but it was unsightly and as the free supervisor had declared all danger to be past, they were not told to put it out again. Pussy had to wait an extra fifteen minutes for an over-cautious, middle-aged man, who would have replied to any criticisms by saying that he was middle-aged because he was cautious.

Marcel was one of the Count's regular visitors, and Pussy considered him an expert and unselfish lover. He had a towel slung over his shoulder, and his first action was to dry the parts of her body that were still wet, letting the sun warm her body. She was already spread with sunblock that would last all day, so no-one had to worry about her getting burnt. Then he bent right down and sucked each of her nipples, helping himself to a teaspoonful of milk from each, and then he kissed her, long and deeply. It was something he had been looking forward to, for her tongue was strong and long, and she knew that she could explore his mouth without being given prior permission to enter it.

She knew that Marcel liked to be desired, so he would not mind her begging him to use her body. "Please, master, would you take off your clothes?" she asked timidly. "I've been here all alone, and I need to see your manhood."

If that was laying it on a bit thick, he knew that she was half-joking, for he had had her before and they often chatted like friends. He also knew that she really wanted his manhood, so he stripped quickly. In the heat and humidity of a summer's afternoon in the Loire Valley he never wore more than a light shirt and a pair of shorts. He was long, straight and hard, the last of those guaranteed, no doubt, by one of the implanted erection regulators that were fitted to virtually all males, free and enslaved.

He knelt astride her midriff, and she raised her head as if trying to reach him with her mouth, although that was patently impossible. She had hoped he would give it to her to suck, but instead he lodged it between her breasts, and used his hands to "see-saw" them against it for a couple of minutes. As he did so he stroked her nipples with his thumbs, causing her to moan in frustration. Finally he relented, easing himself down her body, and then back up to let his penis slide into her vagina, which was deliciously warm and wet.

To Pussy, it felt like coming home after spending an hour in a totally alien and terrifying environment. It always did, no matter how often it happened. She had faced a monster empty, and now the monster had gone and she was full again. As he thrust into her she felt her tunnel moulding itself to every contour of his cock. He began slowly enough for her to adapt her shape to his

glans penis

, very gradually increasing both the speed and the force of his thrusts.

For most of the time he kept himself propped above her with one arm, using the other hand to stroke and knead her breasts. His fingers stroked her nipples without pinching them, careful to avoid wasting her milk. He had excellent control, and an unusual ability to sense when a slavegirl was about to cum. It was something that most men could probably have cultivated, but he cared more than most. They climaxed together, and she sighed with satisfaction as she felt his ejaculate filling her vagina and being squeezed out past his shaft.

The year was 2073, and generations of research and development had seen great strides made in enabling sex-slaves and other females to control their sex organs. A woman working in 2025 would have been amazed at Pussy's ability to feel every part of his organ and respond to it separately. When he was cumming she could cause her vaginal wall to "wave", with a ring of compression rising up his length to the tip, and then starting again at the bottom. He could feel the sperm being squeezed out of him, and he loved that.

Most slavegirls had had some treatments, but Pussy was unusual in having had everything that was available, for the cost of some procedures was still prohibitive. The Count was not an extravagant man, but he had volunteered her services for various trials, and had thus saved most of the expense involved in creating what was probably the most capable female sex-slave in France.

To Marcel, her control over her vaginal wall made him feel infinitely more desirable. She was not just a helpless receptacle into which he pumped his spunk. She wanted it so much that he could feel her drawing from him, caressing his shaft until the very last drop had been extracted. He knew that she could do the same with her mouth, and had some control, but not as much, over her rectum. It was not the first time he had used her, and had learnt that she was best as a vaginal-oral slave. He was delighted to have won the afternoon lottery, but was trying to think of some way to spend much more time with her during his three-day sojourn at the chateau.

After finishing, Marcel chose to remain hard in her vagina while lowering himself onto her and kissing her tenderly, showing his appreciation of her talents and the way she had used them on him. Not being a tall man, he was able to remain embedded while bending enough to suck another tablespoon of milk from each teat. In forty-degree temperatures, dehydration was the unwelcome companion to almost any vigorous activity. He would soon be back in the air-conditioned building, and she had drunk freely from the rain that had drenched her.

Their bodies- hers only recently dried- were now slick with sweat, and he slid from her body to one side, moving up a little to take the unusual step of fondling one of her chained hands, and then sucking the fingers. Then he came back down to kiss her again, and lay half on her, so that he could fondle both her breasts at once. Being both bulky and soft, they lost shape when she lay on her back, and he could easily "puddle" them, as if playing with wet sand on a beach.

The Count regarded her floppy breasts as a major flaw in his nearly-perfect sex-slave, and had been on the brink of having firming treatments applied. It was possible, by then, to stimulate the production of a geodesic network of cells that would supply strength and structure without changing the basic shape or size. He had confided his intention to Marcel, knowing that his associate liked Pussy, and had been surprised at the strength of the response. He had allowed himself to be persuaded to postpone the treatments, and he was still in two minds as to whether or not to go ahead with them.

After another ten minutes or so, a chime sounded in Marcel's ear to warn him that his time with Pussy was nearly up, and he kissed her again, got dressed, and in a final considerate gesture, wiped her slit and inner thighs with the clean handkerchief that he had in his pocket. Then, regretfully, he walked back to the house, happy at least to be able to get back into the air conditioning, for his clothes stuck to his body from the instant that he put them back on. The freshness left by the storm had gone and the humidity was rising rapidly. The night temperature would not fall below thirty Celsius, and there would be no relief until the following afternoon's storms.

Chapter Three - Told you So

Global warming had been a "thing" since the early years of the century, and despite trillions of dollars spent, annual conferences and windmills sprouting on every eminence in the developed world, not enough had been done to stop it. Declining yields of food crops, changes in rainfall patterns and high temperatures had brought tens of millions of refugees flooding north, and existing social, economic and political structures had collapsed under the strains put upon them. Pre-existing elites, however, had been remarkably agile in adapting to the new conditions. Many chose to accumulate property in areas that were become less attractive. The Count had chosen the Loire Valley, which had been a popular tourist centre, but with the effects of its hot summers and cold, damp winters doubled and redoubled, was now impoverished.

Even though a falling birthrate kept the population of Northern Europe almost stable, the flood of impoverished refugees and the failure of countless farms and factories created a huge pool of cheap labour. As wages fell below subsistence levels, many chose to accept contracts that were, in effect, indentures. Slavery followed in due course, and entrepreneurs who could not afford to pay living wages borrowed the capital with which to buy a labour force. The Count's father had used his scorched lands to establish vast solar farms, selling clean, plentiful energy to the more populous areas of Europe.

As a result, the Count, who had added greatly to his own fortunes by buying and selling slaves in bulk, lived a life of great luxury. Over the years, slaves had been differentiated by function into "labour," "general purpose," or "pleasure." All of the last category, most of the second, and a few of the first, were able and expected to serve on demand as sex-slaves. Pasture for dairy cows being in short supply, about half the females were kept in milk. There were additional categories, such as galley and pony slaves, but most of those also functioned as sex-slaves. When she was first assessed at the age of eighteen, Pussy- then named Jemima- had been thought suitable for full-time milk production, but was then "spotted" by one of the Count's buyers.