When the women gathered to gossip in the way I have explained those who owned slaves brought them along which meant I met many from all over the island. We usually had a chance to speak to each other at the end of a session just before we dispersed.
It soon became apparent that the slaves had many grievances and grudges and that a mood of rebellion was in the air. The girls complained about being raped and abused and both sexes had a sense of grievance about the excessive physical punishments and other humiliations meted out to them. Much of this discontent was aimed at the chief who granted slaves no right of appeal and whose despotic authority underpinned the regime of cruelty that pervaded the island. He was the one who cast us into bondage in the first place and he was one the one who kept us in chains.
Slowly a plan was conceived and I found myself playing a leading role though I had not sought it. By virtue of being hired out all over the island I was in an ideal position to circulate messages and keep slaves in touch with each other.
A fertility festival was held annually on our island during the spring and our plotting centred on this event since we knew for certain the chief would be present.
Our leader was actually a magnificent female slave called Moon, striking in appearance and strong in character. Like most of the men around her, I fell under her spell and would have done anything for her or for our cause if she ordered it. We were mesmerised by her beauty and conscious that she was more courageous than many men.
The origins of the pagan festival were lost in the mists of time long before the shipwreck that had brought white people to the island and it involved human sacrifice.
The white people, descendents of those who settled on the island after the shipwreck, tended to cling onto Christianity, although there were many who were non believers, and they thoroughly disapproved of the festival because of the orgiastic behaviour of the indigenous people and the human sacrifice that came as the climax.
The festival was held outdoors on a headland where most adult islanders congregated for dancing and singing and story telling as well as feasting and drinking. The activities were shunned by a few dozen of the white settlers (who regarded themselves as devout non-conformists) but practically every other living soul participated.
As slaves we took part in the wild dancing wearing only masks and brandishing spears in a re-enactment of an invasion by people from a volcanic island a hundred miles from our own. These invaders colonised the island and the population grew enormously.
Our dance brought us close to where the chief was sitting with his wives and entourage and because we carried spears the event seemed to give us an unequalled opportunity to kill him. The spears were largely ceremonial but we had had them sharpened in secret to make them deadly weapons once again.
When the moment came for the first slave to hurl his spear it simply grazed the chief’s shoulder and he dropped to the ground so that the other spears either killed his guards or fell harmlessly to earth. Other guards leapt into the arena and rounded up all the slaves who had taken part in the dance.
In the end, the only point in our favour was that because our faces had been hidden, we threw the masks quickly into the fire when we saw we had failed) no one knew who had thrown the spear that had wounded the chief.
The chief lost a lot of blood but the cut was not deep and he was up and about breathing vengeance before long.
We were taken to a stockade where each of us was tied to a post and given nothing but water.
***
It was at this time that I encountered the most depraved man I have ever known. From the moment he stepped into the stockade two days after our unsuccessful attempt to assassinate the chief, he had the most profound influence over my life.
At that time I was not aware of his name but I soon learned he was Laurence Povey, a man with a worldwide reputation as an explorer and anthropologist.
It appeared that for some reason we did not understand, this man had been granted authority by the chief to interrogate us after the slave revolt. I was surprising partly because we had never seen this man before and also because we had expected the chief to entrust the task to an indigenous islander.
Povey turned out to be a sadist who elevated flagellation to the level of an art form, being himself an expert practitioner. By this time I had received many floggings, admittedly most of them administered by females, but I had never seen anyone who came near to matching his skill with whip or with cane. But he was a peculiar man. At one point when he was interrogating us, he spent a long time sketching my cock which I found very unnerving and strange. I had met men before Povey who were attracted to their own sex, especially youthful examples, but never someone who wanted to make such a careful study of my penis. I have said I am well endowed and perhaps he had never seen a cock of such length and circumference. After puzzling over this a great deal, I concluded he was either perverted or it was part of his work as an anthropologist.
This man had us all at his mercy in the dungeons of the chief’s palace and he indulged his sadistic tendencies to the full. He clamped my cock and balls in a pillory and the pain was almost unbearable to the point where I thought I would faint. Then, when I was held in the cruel contraption, he whipped me unmercifully across my buttocks and his whip curled round to kiss my pinioned genitals so that I shrieked with the pain of it. To my great shame, I betrayed Moon as our leader, knowing I could not take much more of his torture.
Povey turned his attention to Moon and first he made her ride a wooden horse whilst he whipped her, striving to secure a confession. I was simply amazed by her courage and fortitude under the lash and again felt ashamed of my own cowardice in blurting out Moon’s name.
Then the poor girl was sexually abused by both Povey and William at the same time. Although I disapproved of their brutal conduct, I found myself aroused by the sight of Moon in this predicament. She is such a majestic woman it was strangely affecting to see her brought low by these foul creatures. I admit watching her being fucked made my cock hard despite myself and again I felt unworthy of her.
When the flogging on the horse did not yield the results they wanted, they bound Moon to a cross and whipped her lovely breasts, the cane marking her terribly. Povey and his minion strutted about with erections, not that they were particularly well hung, and then made Moon masturbate them until they came.
The following day they changed their tactics by punishing
Rio
and me in the hope that Moon would confess in order to bring an end to our suffering. During the course of this degrading episode I was penetrated anally by William. Regrettably, I have to record our tormentors succeeded in their determination to overcome Moon’s resistance, calculating correctly that she was more likely to give them what they wanted to protect others than she was to save herself.
***
The chief give Povey the two of us as slaves to show his gratitude and our master re-named me as John and Moon as Margaret.
In the months that followed we discovered new aspects of Povey’s cruel nature. He already had a slave named Sheena who was now a half-starved naked creature more animal than human but Margaret had known her as a girl of renowned beauty before Povey owned her. Sheena spent most of the time crawling along the ground and we wondered if she would have the strength to stand even if Povey had allowed it. She followed him like a dog and licked his feet whenever he stopped to talk to anyone, apparently undeterred by the kicks and blows she received. We looked at Sheena with alarm, wondering if she represented what fate had in store for us.
Povey used us sexually and whipped us for his recreation, sometimes not bothering to allege a misdemeanour. There was no question that he enjoyed flagellation and part of his purpose seemed to be to remain in peak condition with his whipping skills well honed.
As time passed I formed the opinion that if we did not strike back against our tyrannical master soon we would be so cowed and well trained in subservience that we would lose the will and strength to rebel. When I put this to Margaret she agreed though neither of us knew how we might accomplish what we desired. We pondered whether to include Sheena in our plot uncertain about her loyalty. She seemed incapable of thinking for herself being utterly her master’s creature.
Margaret and I hatched many elaborate plots but in the end our opportunity was quite fortuitous. Povey was indulging in one of his orgies of flagellation having the three of us suspended in improvised hoists when suddenly my bonds snapped. Our master was so engrossed in whipping Margaret that he did not see or hear what had happened behind him. I reached for one of the burning torches that illuminated the hut and advanced towards him.
I will never forget his expression moments before I thrust the torch into his face. Whip in hand, he turned towards me and the sight of the flames inches from his face was his last. I did not aim particularly for his eyes but that was where the torch made most contact and I pushed it hard and held it there, all my hatred for the man concentrated in that action. I even screwed the red hot end of the torch into him as he howled and screamed and finally fell over clutching and clawing at his face.
I used the torch to burn through Margaret’s bonds and did the same for Sheena though it was clear she did not wish to make her escape with us. As soon as she was released, she crawled over to where Povey was writhing in agony and tried to lick him though he pushed her away. His hair was on fire and I just had time to see Sheena throw a pitcher of water over his head to douse the flames. Then I took Margaret’s hand and we fled the scene.
As runaway slaves I knew our chances of evading re-capture were slim. The island did not afford much cover since vegetation is sparse and the terrain is flat. Although many islanders wear very little clothing only slaves go completely naked so unless we could steal something with which to cover ourselves we were very conspicuous. The island is not densely populated and people tend to know each other even when their dwellings are some distance apart.
Although Povey’s wounds would be terrible, he would be able to raise the hue and cry and the chief’s men would be deployed to search for us.
We decided our best plan was to head for the harbour and try to smuggle ourselves aboard a boat leaving for one of the other islands. At the beach we stole loin cloths from two youngsters who were having fun playing on a raft knowing we didn’t stand a chance if we walked onto the quay naked.
We approached one of the boats and when the two man crew had their backs to us we made a dash onto the deck and then descended into the dark hold.
After what seemed an age, the hatch was suddenly opened and from our position hiding behind mounds of fruit we saw men climbing down the ladder. With sinking hearts we realised these were the chief’s men who must have been informed of our whereabouts.
Laurence Povey could not see his moment of triumph when we were brought before him but he could rejoice and he could take his revenge.
Margaret and I were never out of irons for a year and in that time we were trained to please our master in every possible way until we were almost as abject as Sheena.
When the year was over, Povey bade farewell to the chief and set sail taking us with him first to the
Jamaica
where we were dressed in European clothes and then to
England
and his ancestral seat of Drydon Hall.
Perhaps because I had been a slave and had seen so much flagellation I became an enthusiast myself and practised on Margaret and female members of the household. The truth is by this time I was thoroughly corrupted by Povey. In time my master encouraged me in the art and we decided to advertise for a young lady we could use for our purposes though ostensibly she was to take up a position as amanuensis. Our real intention was to train her as a guide dog to give the master his life back.
After the first outing to the master’s club, we went up to
London
more frequently and I began to get used to the smell of the place. The club had a distinctive smell as an all male establishment
and because I crawled its rooms and corridors on all fours using my sense of smell like a dog I noticed the combination of tobacco smoke and the different polishes applied to the furniture and the brass fittings.
Then there came an occasion when we visited the club at night with Mr. Povey looking very smart in top hat and tails.
I lay at my master’s feet while he dined and then accompanied him to a drawing room where about half a dozen gentlemen were served with Port and cigars. I was startled to see that one of the gentlemen had his own guide dog for I had not noticed it during the meal. It was a well proportioned young man in a collar and harness and otherwise naked.
We had our harnesses and leads removed and were encouraged to go into the middle of the room to provide entertainment.
Both the dog, I heard him referred to as Fido, and I realised we had to behave exactly like hounds or face punishment, so we circled round
sniffing and nuzzling each other’s rumps, Fido being bolder and giving me a lick or two between my legs.
Then the gentlemen began to throw pistachio and walnuts to us and, taking our cue, we went to their tables and sat in begging positions until they threw more which we tried to catch in our open mouths.
I saw the gentlemen begin to unbutton their trousers and draw them down to their ankles with their underwear.
We were required to go round licking and sucking their cocks as they puffed at their cigars and drank their Port. They appeared to have no particular preference for either of us, happy to be fellated by either sex. They were quite rough with us as we pleasured them, some pulled my hair, and others burned me with their cigars. I noticed Fido had an erection by this time and I confess my juices were flowing despite the degrading way we were being treated.
After this we returned to the middle of the room and I was required to get under Fido and fellate him to full erection as he was already quite stiff. Then he came behind me and mounted me, and we fucked exactly like dog and bitch much to their amusement. I played my part by barking a few times.
Fido was very virile and vigorous and it was certainly not unpleasant for me although we were a public spectacle.
Two tall servants came into the room carrying a whip with many tails on a red cushion and presented it to the gentlemen at the head of the table.
Then I was hoisted piggy back on one of the servants, while the other picked up Fido. Now we were horsed, the servants carried us round the tables to be whipped across our naked rears, the whip being passed along as required. The whip was short but the tails snaked round our cheeks causing much pain. I heard Fido cry out then remember to turn his shout into a dog-like howl. I whined like a whipped cur which seemed to please our tormentors. Fido was ahead of me and I saw the red marks across his trim white buttocks knowing my bottom would look the same.
I thought at this point my ordeal might be over but that was not the case. The servants cleared away the glasses, bowls of nuts, and some of the candlesticks and I was lifted up to stand on the lace table cloth.
The man who appeared to be directing affairs, I heard him referred to as Northam, ordered me to masturbate and despite all that had happened before I blushed with embarrassment. There was something particularly degrading about performing this act surrounded by their leering faces and glinting eyes; pleasuring myself with my fingers was such an intimate act quite different from being used by one of them.
I knew it would not suffice simply to poke my fingers in and out. I needed to act the part of a woman utterly devoid of inhibitions, totally consumed by the impulse to bring myself sexual pleasure. I needed to contort my face and convulse my whole body as if in a state of ecstasy. I needed to moan and cry out like someone possessed.
At times I knelt and arched back my upper body, spread my thighs and let them see my fingers forcing my cunny lips wide open. I surmised they would like it if I swallowed up my whole hand so I obliged them, making the crudest of sounds as I did so, not only from my mouth but from the place where all their eyes were drawn, a sucking sound like that made by a plunger in a plug hole for by this time my pussy was overflowing with juice.
Later I found it difficult to acknowledge to myself that I had acted so crudely but it was for my own protection and preservation knowing what they would do to me if I did not satisfy their lust.
Then I saw Fido up on the table with his cock in his fist, masturbating vigorously.
I was told to lie flat on my back on the tablecloth and continue to frig myself and Fido was ordered to squat over me so my face was between his thighs.
Soon I felt his warm semen splash over my face as he came copiously and, in obedience to their instructions, Rex pointed his cock at me like a hose pipe to make sure his flow was not misdirected. I tasted some of the salty liquid as it fell on my lips, the rest landing on my cheeks, forehead and chin, some falling in my hair.
Now one of them picked up a candlestick and allowed wax to fall on my nipples while all the time I continued to fuck myself with my fist.
It was a bitter concoction they forced me to drink. The pain from the wax was excruciating but it was mitigated by the pleasure I was giving myself. It seemed my fate was to have pain and pleasure so mixed that I could scarcely distinguish the flavour of one from the other.
I could feel the hot wax coagulate around my rigid nipples.
Their ingenuity as far as inflicting pain and humiliation were concerned seemed boundless and it appeared to be what drew this band of reprobates together.
One of them cut two pieces of wick from a candle and placed them on the little mounds of wax surrounding my nipples. By pouring more melting wax around the pieces of wick, they made sure they adhered and with a little more work they shaped the wax into little candles sticking up from my breasts. The candles were lit and other lights were doused.
“Just like a birthday cake,” Northam said.
General applause greeted the effect created by the two sources of light in the darkened room.
They seemed fiercely competitive in their desire to think up new ways to hurt me. One suggested another candle was fashioned to stand on my Venus mound just at the top of my slit and I braced myself for even greater pain though my nipples were tender enough.
Their games continued well into the small hours.
Mr. Povey allowed Northam to take me to his room when the party broke up making me anticipate more hours of abuse before being allowed to sleep.
Northam seemed to have all the paraphernalia of the sadist there in his suite.
First removing the pillows, he made me lie on his bed and he tied my wrists to the bedposts with lengths of rope he produced from his case. He tucked the pillows under my stomach with the obvious desire to raise my bottom for some form of punishment. It seemed superfluous because I had my back to him but he placed a hood over my head which I hated because it made me feel cut off from reality.
For some reason, I did not dislike Northam as much as I might have expected given his position as a kind of chairman or master of ceremonies orchestrating the indignities heaped upon me in the downstairs room.
It is always very difficult to account for our why we respond in one way to one man who acts cruelly towards us and in a quite different way to someone else who perpetrates the same outrages.
He did not remind me of John in terms of his physical appearance but he had the same single-minded approach to the tasks he set himself. His concentration was total and there was no doubting his dedication to the art of flagellation and I felt if he met John they would understand each other instantly. I had no doubt John would enjoy being a member of this strange fraternity but clearly Mr. Povey had not seen fit to include him probably because of his inferior position in society.
I am not sure I will be understood in trying to convey my thoughts.
Some would ask how I could admire a person because he liked to humiliate women and bend them to his will, expecting such a trait to be a matter for condemnation instead.
I have explained how I felt like a cipher when John used me.
Although that will sound anathema to many people, I experienced a strange sense of freedom and release when I surrendered myself to John’s will, as though all my hopes and fears, all the fretting that mankind is heir to, the burden all men carry, was lifted from my shoulders.
If I could endure the agony of crossing the threshold of suffering, I might hope to experience a higher plane: a place where thoughts teeming in the mind are stilled and pain is transubstantiated into joy.
This is what I had learned since coming to Drydon Hall and falling under John’s influence.
Somehow I sensed that Northam might help me in the same manner.
It might be thought I am simply saying that I liked men to hurt me but the truth is much less simple.
The deep satisfaction and spiritual peace that came to me was occasioned by the surrender of my personality, put simply I was able to “stand outside myself.”
But
the threshold
as I have named it could be a place of profound suffering, a vale of tears, as I was about to discover again.
I could not see what had taken place behind my back but it became obvious later that Northam had dressed himself in the scarlet tunic and black trousers and boots of a cavalry officer.
He climbed on my back and began to strike my flanks with his whip as though riding me into battle at a furious pace. He took hold of my tresses (for my hair had grown back) and used them like reins.
After a time he released the bonds around my wrists and threw me on the rug beside the bed, forcing me to crawl on all fours. The hood was dispensed with but I felt rather than saw that he was wearing spurs and I could not help uttering a blood-curdling cry as they cut my thighs. I feared I might be seriously wounded by the vicious spikes but thankfully he did not dig them into my flesh as he might have done.
I caught a glimpse of him in the mirror and had to concede he looked magnificent in his redcoat; he was totally absorbed by the role he was playing; in his mind he was a cavalry officer and I was his steed.
We returned to Drydon Hall as the sky was streaked with the purple of dawn but I was still wide awake. I never had Mr. Povey’s cock out of my mouth, kneeling between his thighs with my hands cupped round his balls all the way home and by the time we reached our destination my mouth was sore with the continual chaffing of his pego against my lips and knew I would need to rub salve over them if I got the chance.
I tried to think of John or even Mr. Northam and imagined myself pleasing them in this way to take my mind away from the harsh reality of what was actually happening but these thoughts did not succeed in distracting me completely.
Lying on the rug at the side of the master’s bed, I felt restless. The events at the club had stirred me and I felt unfulfilled. I waited to hear snores from Mr. Povey then crept along the corridor to John’s room. I knew he would be fast asleep and there was risk in disturbing him but I wanted him desperately. I entered his darkened bedroom and called his name softly then realised he was coupled with Millie with the bedclothes thrown back and I watched the rapid rise and fall of his naked buttocks as he thrust deeply into her.
Instead of retreating with some dignity intact, I climbed onto the bed and insinuated myself between them and soon I was incorporated into their love making and John entered me without any show of surprise.
***
My master was now much more confident about my ability to guide him and he took me greater distances on country walks and on outings in the carriage. Sometimes he would visit another great house to spend time with a friend and when we arrived at Baildon Abbey one afternoon I imagined that was his purpose.
I was completely taken aback when we greeted at the door by a monk or at least a man wearing a brown habit.
Following the monkish figure down passage ways we passed other men wearing the brown habit and nuns wearing white habits, some with towering wimples. The passages were dark with thin shafts of light slanting from the gothic style windows. The building was meant to look like a medieval abbey but it was clearly a more recent replica.
Almost before I realised what was happening, one of the nuns took hold of my lead and led me off in a different direction from my master.
The room she took me was unfurnished and bare apart from a large wooden cross bearing the figure of Christ on one wall and a small cupboard
with a row of hooks above it on another wall, the hooks holding religious robes of many kinds, surplices and cassocks and habits of different hues. She told me to stand but I protested that my master would never allow it. Very solemnly the nun explained that when I entered Baildon Abbey I had to stand and be proud that I was created in God’s image.