EXTRACT FOR
Companions In Slavery
(Author Unknown)

THE CHALLENGE

    

CHAPTER ONE

    

    "Well, well, well!"  Master Charles chuckled with amusement as he peered over his cornflakes at the letter which had arrived that morning.  Really, he thought, the impudence of the writer was too much!

    Standing stiffly to attention by the side of the dining room table were two girls.  One, who was known as Thatch, was waiting on him as he ate his breakfast.  The other, called Apples, had just brought in the post.  She had not yet been dismissed, as he might have messages for her to take to his son or the butler.

    A humdrum domestic scene, one would think, in an opulent country mansion with the local squire or fat cat and a couple of maids.  Nothing unusual, except for the slightly eyebrow-raising canes, straps and so on that hung on the walls and somehow looked as if they were more than mere decoration; and for one other, more readily noticed point: namely, that the two young girls were both stark naked.

    They were not, in fact, maids: they were slaves.  Thatch and Apples were slave names and each girl's name was indelibly inked on her upper left breast.  Thatch's name referred to the thick curls of pubic hair that were all too visible, whilst Apples was a precise description of the shape of the older girl's firm young breasts.  Both were technically held here against their wills: Thatch, who had only been here for a few months, would probably still consider herself a prisoner, but Apples, who had just completed her second year here, was more resigned to her fate.  Escape was impossible and the penalty for trying so harsh that nobody ever dared attempt it, especially in view of the astronomical odds against succeeding.  The mansion and extensive grounds were surrounded by a very high, unclimbable wall topped with barbed wire; the only gate was even higher. Outside, there were no other houses for several miles and no possibility of getting far before the tracker dogs found them.  Communications from the manor were tightly controlled and the very few visitors (such as the postman) were in the know and kept happy by regular free bouts of sex and whatever else they wished, which of course the nubile captives themselves had to provide.  It was, Apples had more than once ruefully reflected, not unlike the Chinese custom of the family of the condemned man having to pay for the bullet which killed him.

    Apples' real name was Alison, or Ali, but only rarely had anybody called her that since her arrival here two years ago; it was against the rules for slaves to be addressed other than by their slave names.  Only the fact that her slave name had been changed several times allowed her to retain her old name in her own mind; most slaves gradually came to think of themselves by their slave names and she herself answered automatically to hers now.  She was brunette, with thick curly hair, whilst Thatch had thinner black hair, although she had a thicker covering between her legs.  Both girls were extremely attractive, but Ali's best features were her bum, legs and lithe, sporty figure, whilst Thatch's strongest points were a very pretty face and perfect complexion.  All of the girls owned by the organisation were lovely, but each had her own individual strengths.

    Yes, they were owned, a fact of life which, however regrettable, Ali now accepted.  Master Charles, as head of the organisation which abducted girls, enslaved them and made quite a profit from leasing them out, was her owner.  Understandably, he frightened her: at his merest whim, he could have her subjected to awful agonies. In point of fact, any man she met these days had more or less the same rights over her, and she had learnt, as all females did here, to do everything in her power to please the men, no matter how degrading or unpleasant.  She had noticed that Thatch was this morning nursing six fresh cane marks across the otherwise satiny smooth skin of her backside.  It did not mean that the eighteen year-old had done anything wrong: such treatment was more often than not given out purely for the entertainment of the masters.  It was simply something else that the girls had to live with, and not made any easier by the masters' insistence on them spending much time rubbing baby oil and lotions into their skin to keep it soft and sensitive.

    But this morning, Master Charles was in very good humour, or had been since he opened that letter. Even so, when he called Apples over to him, she approached quickly but fearfully.  She knelt by the side of his chair, back straight and knees apart: a required position.  A gnarled hand reached out and fondled her breast absent-mindedly as he held his tea cup with the other. He was around fifty and she was twenty-one, but she kept any revulsion over the casual molestation of her body by him firmly buried; he was the master, and that was all there was to it.  She could not afford the luxury of pride.  On the other side of the table, Thatch stared impassively ahead, knowing that it could equally have been her in that position, and knowing that she would have submitted in just the same way.

    "Do you know who this letter is from, Apples?"

    "No, master."  Her voice was soft and respectful and thrillingly feminine.  After two years, the use of the title "master" was quite automatic to her.

    "An American sado-masochism club; they know us through connections with my father."  His father, she knew, who had run the business before his retirement, now lived on a ranch in Texas, supplied from time to time by slaves from the organisation.  Only winners of the bitch competition were sent, and she, as a former winner, would probably be sent there for a stint sooner or later.  She herself, of course, would have no say in the matter, or even any notice.  She never knew from one day to the next what she would be doing tomorrow; and surprises were rarely pleasant.

    "They want to challenge us to a bitch competition," Master Charles went on.  "Four of their girls, all free women of course, against four of ours, whichever four we choose to put in.  I think," he said speculatively, "that this could be very interesting."

    





CHAPTER TWO

    

    

    Ali Balcombe, at that time a C.P. and S/M enthusiast, had first come here for a "bitch weekend".

    She had arrived with only a vague idea of what was in store for her; certainly she hadn't realised how severe it was going to be, and of course even less that the plan was to abduct her at the end of the weekend and keep her here, she having conveniently and extremely foolishly covered her own tracks.  The weekend had been very hard: five girls forced to satisfy eight extremely demanding masters.  She had been raped ten or eleven times and been constantly beaten, as well as enduring numerous other indignities and hardships.  One of the activities had been what the men termed 'a bitch competition,' in three categories: beauty, sport and endurance.  The sport section had involved such activities as pony cart racing and mud wrestling, whilst the endurance section simply meant the ability to withstand torture in various sadistic forms.  Ali had not done particularly well, finishing joint fourth, but two months later had won the next such event, the difference being that she was now, however reluctantly, a permanent slave.  She had taken part in three more such weekends, each one a dreadful experience, but had tried hard at the bitch competition, it being one of the few ways of retaining some pride in a strange and perverted way, but she had never won again; the masters found that the desire to win gradually faded in most girls. There was one girl, Forest, who bucked the trend and still competed with all her heart, despite the dreadful torment competitors had to withstand and even inflict on themselves.

    But now Ali's back was up.  She had reacted furiously to the cavalier tone of these Yanks.  Their challenge had been couched in sneering, dismissive tones, and had antagonised in several other ways. For one thing, Ali was quite patriotic and also detested what she regarded as sloppy American culture.  Moreover, in the last two years her pride and ego had been stripped as bare as her body; there were few things left that she could take pride in, except her looks (which she wasn't that confident about anyway), her sexual prowess (not something a well-bred young lady should be proud of, especially since her speciality lay with her mouth), and, in a strange way, her submission and ability to take pain.  How dare these pampered free women (any free woman led a pampered life compared to a slave) try to beat her and her fellow slaves on their own ground, so to speak?  The suggestion that anybody could do this sort of thing denigrated the sufferings the girls had been forced to endure during their training.

    When word got around to the other slaves, their reaction was similar.  The new ones, Thatch and her three friends, had not yet suffered a bitch weekend; they might know something of what one involved, but that was very different to actually having endured one.  The other, more experienced slaves currently on site, Milady Cunt, Virgin and Phoo K'me, had all been though such experiences, and viewed this arrogance very much as Ali did.

    Master Charles had put Apples in charge of organising the 'Manor Team', as he put it.  She was allowed to choose whichever four players she wanted from the organisation's extensive stable and he would arrange for those not currently housed here to be contacted and, if willing, take part.  Yes, willing: it was to be volunteers only.  Although slave life was never a bed of roses, this meant volunteering for a day or so of dreadful agony, but Ali knew that many of the experienced slaves would immediately do so: that strange, perverse pride again.  When she chose her team, she was not surprised that all of them jumped at the chance, and several others who came and went (or rather, were delivered and shipped out) over the next month or so lamented that they were not in the squad.  

    The four player team she chose were Forest, Hercules, Virgin and herself.

    Forest, now aged 22, was a dark-haired beauty and the undoubted queen of bitch competitions.  A competitor through and through, she was determined, fit and brave. Hercules, like Ali herself, was aged 21, a well-built girl with golden hair, very strong and powerful, but also highly attractive and chosen with an eye for those judges of the beauty section who liked fuller figures, although her statuesque body was far more than just that; her physical power would be useful in the sport section. Blonde, eighteen year-old Virgin was also included for the beauty stakes, this time for the judges who liked the teenage type, but she was also an athlete, a competitive runner for her school team before her abduction.  Ali chose herself partly because she wanted so much to take part and wipe the smile off these former colonials, but also because she felt confident of doing well in several of the sporting and endurance events, and although she (rather unfairly) did not consider herself much of a beauty, she knew she always did well in the bum and legs sections.  She and Virgin were also already putting themselves through a hard physical training plan as much as their slave duties allowed.

    It looked a good team.  Ali had wanted to include a really glamourous beauty, perhaps Bimbo (formerly Floppy) or even the recently arrived Pussy, but there was no room.  Anyway, all the others in the team were very pretty anyway.  Confidence was high.

    Ali was a little hampered by not being told exactly what would be in the programme; she only knew that it would be the usual three sections (beauty, sport and endurance) plus a small extra session on obedience.  The other group of women had also not been told, although they had been given details of previous bitch competitions.  There would be eight male judges, four British and four American, but they were to be impartial.  Master Charles said that the four British ones would be the ones the home team would least like to have, and ditto for the visitors, but he did not elaborate.  In terms of planning the competition, both sides were making every effort to be scrupulously fair, but the even-handedness ended there.  To Ali's considerable dismay, Master Charles informed her that the visiting girls would arrive on the Friday and would be treated as guests, not slaves, until the event on the Sunday.  That meant that Ali and her comrades would have to act as slaves to them until the event began.  The only concession was that the American girls would be expected not to beat their British counterparts without very good reason.  On the Sunday evening after the competition, the British girls would be available to service all the men; the Americans would not, unless they wanted to.  

    "That's not fair, Master," Ali railed.  "If they want to be like us they should have to get their clothes off at the gate-house and live on their knees like we have to.  Why should they be given the opportunity to humiliate us?"

    "Because they're free women, and you are not," answered Master Charles mildly, and went on in the same tone: "are you questioning my decision?"

    Ali went hot and cold, realising that she had considerably over-stepped the mark.  She had never dared speak to her owner like that before.  Thank goodness she had automatically called him by the proper title of Master, but even so she did not expect to get away with it.  She was quickly proved correct.

    "Come and stand in front of me, hands on head and legs wide."  She obeyed with a heavy heart, and watched him casually pick up a short strap from his desk.  A moment or two later he swung it in an upward arc until the top few inches bit painfully into her exposed genitalia.  It stung like Hell, and she flinched and gasped, but held position: not to do so would incur even worse punishment. The strap bit five more times, until her crotch blazed with pain and she had to bite her lip to remain silent, which is what she knew he preferred for administrative punishments: he preferred stoic acceptance to hysterical squealing.  When he had finished, she thanked him in a shaky voice and apologised for her faults: again required behaviour, but Ali always tried to genuinely learn from any punishment for misdemeanours, for the very simple purpose of minimising future suffering. She had to be what they wanted her to be: she had no choice in the matter, and the only thing she could do was to try to make it as easy on herself as possible.  She had, whether she liked it or not, gone a long way towards true slavery.

    When the letter had arrived in May, there were eight slave girls on site, rather more than the usual optimum number.  By the time August came, when the challenge was scheduled to take place, Milady Cunt had been leased elsewhere, as well as several other slaves who had returned from leases and been re-leased, all without their own consent, of course.  The four new girls, including Thatch, had been sent, again on lease, abroad to continue their slave education, accompanied by Master Charles' son, Master Ralph, who was supervising their development and was also making contacts for the lucrative foreign leasing of slaves. He had also taken his own personal slave, Egg, with him.  Apples, Phoo K'me and Virgin remained at the manor to cater for the local trade, consisting mostly of nightly visitors and weekend parties; Saturdays was rape night, Sundays c.p. and sometimes bondage parties, and during weekdays it could be anything.  Hercules had also returned from her lease contract, and was being retained at the manor until the competition was over.  Forest would only be delivered a day or two before the event.

    The American women's team would arrive on the Friday, and spend most of Saturday recovering from jet lag.  Both sets of masters would arrive late on Saturday, but neither set of girls would see them until Sunday morning when the event began.

    Apples' and Virgin's fitness programmes were now occupying much of their time.  Apples had spent some time earlier this year as a pony girl, and was now as fit as she had ever been.  Hercules had also been pulling the carts at the same place, though at a different time, but she was far stronger than Ali, both naturally and as a result of the weight training which had been her hobby before abduction.  Actually, she was not British, but Austrian; however, Master Charles had said that she was British owned and therefore eligible for the 'British' team, and the Americans had agreed.

    Phoo K'me was also foreign, Taiwanese in fact.  Her English was much weaker than Hercules', and had been sent here by her Oriental masters on an exchange to improve it.  Like the others, she had been illegally abducted, but that made no difference in practice.  The exchange period was nearing its end and she would be returned soon to an unpleasant future in some seedy dive somewhere in Hong Kong or thereabouts.  She would act as general assistant and maid for the weekend; the manor's previous maid had left some months ago and not been replaced.

    As they approached the last few days before the weekend, all of them grew increasingly nervous.  Ali was only too aware that they had signed up for a day of horrendous torture, gruelling and painful physical work and no small amount of humiliation and degradation, and had done so voluntarily!  But it was too late to back out now.  They read and re-read the letters that had been sent, trying to kindle their anger and determination, but the thought of the dreadful pain which awaited them loomed large on the horizon.

    Forest arrived on the Thursday.  She was taciturn and withdrawn, as she always was, but she was also ready for the battle.  She didn't seem bothered by the arrogance of these challengers, she just relished the challenge itself.  Forest seemed to live for these bitch competitions, despite the pain and humiliation they brought, neither of which she actually enjoyed.  It was something nobody else understood.

    On Friday morning the butler departed for the airport, returning some time later with the four challengers.  Ali and her team were summoned to the lounge to await their arrival, where they stood waiting in a line.  Each of them was of course fully naked; only very rarely at the manor were they permitted to wear clothes.

    The visitors sauntered in, each looking smart and elegant in expensive summer outfits.  The mere fact that they were dressed, although she had known that they would be, immediately made Ali's hackles rise, and she could sense similar reactions in Debbie and Astrid (Virgin and Hercules' real, or pre-slave, names) as they stood to attention beside her.  One of the women lazily wandered over to them and looked them up and down dismissively as she chewed obnoxiously on a piece of gum.  She must have been around thirty, tall, hard-bitten and ruthless-looking.

    "This the best you could come up with?"  Her accent was a Southern drawl which set Ali's teeth on edge. The woman looked her up and down.  "Soft as shit, this one looks."  Ali came awfully close to hitting her, but somehow restrained herself.  "Well?"  she prompted sharply.  

    "Yes, mistress," replied Ali through clenched teeth.  We'll see, she thought, but the woman had already moved on to Hercules.  They were almost the same height, but Hercules was heavier, though her weight was curvature and muscle, not fat, whereas the other woman was wiry.

    "This one's all flab," she complained.

    Hercules bristled.  "Ve'll see, Mistress," she said quietly; only when she was in great pain or extremely angry did her accent lapse that much.

    The woman latched onto it straight away.  "Ah, you're the kraut!"

    That was another great insult to Hercules.  "Austrian, Mistress, not German," she corrected, her politeness an effort.

    The woman shrugged.  "Same difference," she said off-handedly.  "Get set for a repeat of World War Two, kraut."  She moved on to Virgin.  "And this is the baby."  Virgin could easily look young, bereft of make-up and with her hair done in an unsophisticated style, and Master Charles kept her that way, catering for the schoolgirl fantasists; but she had grown quite a bit in the last six months or so, and her chest was filling out, a development which had caused her quite a bit of embarrassment as she was permanently nude in front of her masters.  "Hold your hand out, baby," the woman snapped.  Virgin did so, wondering whether she was going to get the cane across it; weren't these women not supposed to beat them without very good reason?  However, that wasn't it; instead, the woman pulled the disgusting wad of chewing gum from her mouth and stuck it firmly in Debbie's palm.  "You can dispose of that as soon as we dismiss you."

    "Thank you, Mistress," Virgin managed to get out; she was almost shaking with anger, but again the woman had moved on.

    "And this is the one who is as hairy as an ape."  That was another gross exaggeration, of course: having black hair, Forest's fine hair on her arms was more visible than the lighter-haired girls; but her crotch was quite thick with hair, which had inspired her name.  Also, it was regular practice at the tail end of bitch weekends to shave the girls' crotches, and when that happened frequently the hair always grew back thicker, and Forest had been on more such weekends than any of the others.  She too went red at the comment, though perhaps more with shame than anger.