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“Yes Master” I mumbled over the thick coin.
The token was quite sticky & tasted strongly of sex. Because women are not permitted to hold money the coins aren’t cleaned. Sometimes women are made to carry them to the counter in their mouths, at other times on all fours, holding the coin clenched between your buttocks, or between your thighs. This doesn’t bother the men, because the coins are just tossed into a brass bowl. These coins are only ever cleaned by being in our mouths. They only serve a symbolic role. It is a simple matter for the barkeeper to keep a simple tally or to collect the money from the table. Rather they are designed so that we can fetch Masters
drink in a suitably menial fashion. For the price of a drink any man can fuck me as much as he pleases, for as long as he pleases. & whip me if, I am displeasing in the slightest, or if he so wishes. In fact not even a drink is required.
I started to rise, but he snapped his fingers
“Fours” I was ordered.
I dropped back to my hands & knees & crawled towards the bar. I could barely bear to stand or crawl, yet I hurriedly did so. Masters are not forbearing.
At the bar several girls were waiting on all fours, similarly coin gagged, one distressed girl was clutching her coin between her buttocks precariously. She was trembling with fear. The bar keeper was keeping her waiting, enjoying her discomfort. If she dropped it she would be beaten. She was dark haired but another earth girl, most of us imported slaves are blonde, but not all. I was called before her, I didn’t feel any
guilt or remorse only relief to have the coin out of my mouth. Rather she felt the sting of the whip than me.
“Up” I was ordered, immediately I stood before him, my arms outstretched.
A chilled tankard of frothy fizzy beer was thrust roughly into my hands.
Akin to lager & very strong & refreshing. How I would love just one tiny sip, rather than the stale often dirty bucket of water we girls are permitted drink from.
I clutched it between my breasts.
“Thank you Master”
“Go”
Actually the dismissal was much terser. The translation akin to ‘fuck off little cunt, why are you keeping your Master waiting’. The sharpness of the command making me flinch &
blanche with fright.
“Yes Master”
I quickly turned & hurried away through the busy tavern.
I was almost crying as I hurried off. This master had been on of my first feminine infatuations. On my first few weeks here, every morning when I passed him he had soundly slapped my bare bottom, causing me to cry out in surprise & excitement. He had then tersely ordered me to attend to my chores. Frightened I had hurried away. This had continued for a couple of weeks or so. Until one morning I had knelt at his feet & begged to please him. That first morning he had lifted me onto his lap & spanked me with his open hand. Then I had been sent back to scrubbing the tiles, utterly wet & helplessly sexually aroused. The next morning I had been unable to contain myself & had begged again to please him. He spanked me again, but then pushed me between his legs for his pleasure. After he had come in my mouth & all over my face I had been sent back to my chores.
That evening while the other girls were being toileted I had been hooded & instructed to wait with the punishment whip clenched between my trembling buttocks. I had been whipped severely then he told me that it was not for me to beg to please a particular master, but to beg to please all men. I had sobbed in terror as he had given me a lash after lash punctuating the painful interlocution, his terse admonitions & my sobbing
terrified response. I had then been sent to serve on the tavern floor.
The next morning another tavern master had slapped my still raw tender bottom. I had squealed in pain, sobbing fearfully. After he had enjoyed my fellatio, I was passed round the other tavern masters. When they had finished with me & my face was spattered & soiled, covered in their sticky pleasure I had been braceleted & dismissed back to my chores. Now every time I feel a slap on my behind I almost choke with fright & alarm. But also gagging & suffocating
with my helpless desire to be found pleasing & sexually obedient.
My stride was petite & feminine. In times gone by my ankles would have been chained prettily, just 3 links apart, the central link being a small bell. However not having them chained kept me even more frightened & diligent about my gait. On many occasions a Master, has taken note of a lacking in my demeanour, to be painfully corrected later. It has been explained to me that my stride should be as if I were walking with panties around my ankles. I loved that.
One
Master, soundly slapped my naked rear just on my brand as I passed him. I made sure to squeal & blush prettily. A brunette girl was kneeling between his legs performing fellatio, she blushed too. I heard him laugh behind me.
Almost breathlessly I reached my Master, dropping to my knees gracefully at his feet. He paid me no attention as I knelt he was watching the two slave dancing on the phallus shaped poles. They were joined by short nipple chains, gyrating sensuously around the metal pole. It was slick & shiny with their juices as they rubbed themselves on its shaft, kissing at its large head lovingly.
After some time he decided to notice me.
“Serve,
emily”
“Yes Master, thank you Master.”
Kneeling perfectly I lifted his cup, to my belly holding it for a second there, before lifting it my breasts, rolling it lovingly in my cleavage. The cold metal tankard clinking on my nipple bells. Intensely aware of his scrutiny I pressed & rolled the cup slowly upwards causing my breasts to swell sweetly upwards to him, then lowered my lips. & kissed the rim reverently. The liquid fizzed violently, almost stinging my nose & eyes, it was so cold. I was not so much thirsty, as my mouth tasted thick & sticky, it had been a very hot day & the water bucket had been quite greasy & smelly tonight. I had performed fellatio 3 times in the hot morning & afternoon. We blondes are usually expected to scrub & polish the stone tavern floors to perfection. & keep it that way all day until the evening
Men seem to enjoy interrupting a slaves chores, for a cold drink & my intimate lips. Then sending me back, to those chores, my face, breasts, hair & mouth sticky with Masters thick pleasure. My veil sodden and plastered to my lips. Especially for
a earth blonde slaves like me.
No matter how frequently my menial routines are disrupted or for how long. I am still expected to complete all the chores assigned to me flawlessly. Or taste the punishment whip, a dreadful shortened bullwhip. Brutally shortened, but no less thick, for the rear-quarters of female slaves. The leather is treated so as not to cut the flesh or permanently visually damage flesh. The raw welting remains subcutaneous. The rear-quarters show a vibrant pink redness, indicating she has been beaten. Her rump feels swollen & acutely tender to the slightest touch, or movement. Despite the stinging throbbing pain I am still expected to perform my duties quickly & prettily. The redness often invites passing masters to slap or lash me, for their amusement & to remind me if any further mnemonics were required of the consequences of male dissatisfaction, with their property.
Often in an afternoon the floor girls like me, have their wrists braceleted behind them & we must continue toiling with the implements held in our trembling lips. Especially on the very humid days, it seems to be pleasing to watch our drudgery over chilled beers in the hot muggy afternoons. We must still move our bodies prettily & sensuously & it seems the exposed position is quite a good advertisement for the
evenings pleasures.
I always try to have my clitoris bell ring out prettily behind me, on such accessions. For a couple of good reasons. In this exposed position the men find it amusing to take the occasional passing swipe at us with the riding crop shaped pleasure whips. Some men avoid striking at the bell going for my inner thighs
instead, however I suspect an equal amount of men aim more deliberately & firmly between my legs at the bell.
Another deeply shaming reason is that I pathetically crave male attention & the bell attracts their notice somewhat. Occasionally one of the men will reach down and fondle me, then while I lick his fingers clean, pass comment on my evident female vitality. Rather akin to commenting on a dogs glossy coat. This is typically derisory, but shows at least his desultory sexual interest in me. Worthless at his feet I squirm wetly & thank him profusely, thrilled & grateful for his merest notice.
However even if that is to my painful detriment, by attracting his whip.
The randomness of the lash or non lash is totally unsettling & leaves you feeling utterly vulnerable and traumatized by any subsequent strike of the whip. Or the sound of the lash on another girl. Thankfully this hands free service is only for the last few hours of the afternoon. The muggy hours when many of the men are enjoying the siesta. Thankfully this is not every day but more often now than not. The hotter the day the more likely we are to serve in this fashion. In private houses & some more progressive taverns this in now the norm.
our humiliation & thus the deliciousness of our service is constantly being refined.
This is often done individually for punishment or amusement too. One girl a brunette who had once been a Gorean free woman, purportedly quite rich & pampered, was kept serving like this for a month at least. It is actually impossible for us slaves to keep track of the passage of time. As we have no female words for minutes, days, weeks months etc. So no conceptual awareness except for the passing of morning to evening, every day similar to the last & next. Now she generally works in the laundry area & in the early morning polishing sandals. & she appears very humble & submissive even to the other Gorean girls. Incidentally earth girls & especially blondes are very submissive to our Gorean born counterparts too. She is very popular amongst the
patrons now & supposedly highly responsive, especially from the sounds of her rape screams & sobs. Just like a blonde earth slut.
We blondes are usually expected to scrub & polish the stone tavern floors to perfection. & keep it that way all day until the evening
The coldness of his cup almost stinging my fingers & breasts, my erect belled nipples, chaffing through the slippery taut fabric of my apron on his cup.
How many times had I thoughtlessly drank a cold coca cola, when I had been free. How many times had I undeservedly indulged myself when I should have been trembling with erotic fright
at a masters feet, submissively begging to please him.
I trembled now kissing his cup. He was the Master I the slave. Devoutly & emotionally
from the burning heat in my loins I welled upwards, to my lips kissing at the very edge of the metal rim. My whole being totally engrossed in my desire to please him as I bowed my head deeply & lifted the vessel upwards & outwards to him.
“Master…” My voice was throaty & hesitant
“Speak slut”
“Master, your slave emily brings you refreshment. She wishes that you will find it invigorating & cooling. And Master
emily begs you to enjoy her lips while you drink Master.”
“Speak more candidly
blondie (short for blow job blonde) slut”
“Yes Master, emily aches to feel you part her warm lips with your manhood Master. Hopes you will enjoy her hot tongue & mouth on your stiffening crown, while you enjoy the dancers & your drink, Master“
“More”
“emily begs you to enjoy the wet sounds from her thighs as you enjoy the wet heat of her mouth on you Master. Begs you to throb in her mouth as she squirms desperately at your feet. With every second & instant of your heightening pleasure, emily’s own need & fervour to please you will
intensify, to augment your delight & sexual pleasure.”
I was literally throbbing & trembling at these words, I felt like my belly was seeping down my thighs like jelly. I was almost incandescent with my need to please him now.
Finally he reached down and holding the tips of my fingers around the cup pulled me forwards, closer between his knees. Then releasing my fingers he took his cup, leaving me over his lap. Some men don’t touch your fingers at all, just taking the cup its all about their preferences, and your obedience to them.
I was reminded of the prostitutes & used to be able to see from my apartment. How I used to despise them and their bimbo giggling & acquiesce to their clients fetishes. How worthless they were & how worthless I was now. I wondered how they would look in their plastic mini skirts, under the whip, perhaps gagged on the feminine filth of their panties. Kissing at the mens feet, not for recompense, but in trepidation of & adoration at their maleness.
As trivial & worthless as I was now.
He indicated his tunic. I could see his pressing erection pressing upwards.
“Yes
Master, thank you Master.” I gasped happily
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