Description
by Lindsey Brooks
Africa, 1924. A place and time when slavery still existed; illegal and risky perhaps, but more than a few rich landowners kept female sex slaves, and regular slave markets still traded on the shores of the Gulf of Aden.
Piet Van Gryf was one of those landowners, training and keeping a stable of slaves for his amusement, and for him Caroline Milton was “White Ivory”, a rare commodity indeed – the young English widow of a missionary who had finally succumbed to drink and fever. Rarer still, Mrs Milton had asked to be his slave, to be used and abused, held prisoner in restraints, and kept as his plaything.
Published: 2 / 2011
No. words: 79100
Style: BDSM/Bondage – Content: Moderate – Sex Slavery / Training, Moderate BDSM, Male Dom – M/F 
Caroline had stopped watching the garden. It was as frustrating as the persistent buzzing of her bottom and the unreachable tingling in her pussy. She had seen at least six girls. She longed to speak to them, to learn about their experiences and what would happen to her, and how they had come to be there. She was not fool enough to believe there were many like her, eager to surrender their independence, their will, their whole future. Caroline had had many months to think about what she had fleetingly witnessed on her last visit to Van Gryf’s home. The more she had pondered, the more she had become convinced it was not just her own cravings that had persuaded her the Afrikaner took pleasure in dominating women. The knowledge had obsessed her until the mere sight of him had been enough to make her aroused, and she had almost wished he would stop calling at the mission.
Caroline knew now that she had been naïve to think the girl she had glimpsed through the stable window had been a willing participant. Nor could it be true of all the others she had seen. Most were surely not there of their own free will. She gulped. Unlike herself, they really were prisoners. The tingling in her sex grew more urgent and she tugged again at the straps holding her wrists. It was maddening that they prevented her relieving her desire, but it was wonderful too, constantly reminding her of her subjugation. She was completely in Van Gryf’s hands, to be used however he wished, to obey him or – a delicious ripple ran through her – to be made to obey him.
She eyed the dressing table. If she bent her knees just a little she could rub herself on its corner. Caroline frowned. She would be disobeying if she did it, but it might allay her passions for a while. She could barely think with her pulsing pussy continuously driving her to distraction. She looked away, once again determined to overcome Van Gryf’s opposition and make him admit her to the ranks of his slave girls. Slave girl – the words alone made her dizzy with excitement.
Driven back to the window by her frustration, Caroline found the girls had gone, retreating from the sun as it climbed higher above the rooftops. Behind its slatted window-blinds and thick walls, the dormitory remained cool and very silent. She went to the bed, the only place she could sit comfortably with her hands fastened behind her, and tried to wait calmly for whatever was to come. Apart from the soft, rapid thud of her heartbeat, there was no sound.
The bolts of the door sliding back made Caroline’s heart leap and her belly go tight. She stood and faced the pat-pat of approaching sandaled feet, straightening her back and lifting her head as Mustafa appeared and beckoned her. Dry-mouthed, she followed him past his living quarters, turned a corner, and entered a white-paved corridor. A frightening thought flooded her mind as she passed a closed door and the eunuch’s hand on her cuffed wrists halted her outside another.
“Oh, sir, I’m not going to be punished, am I?”
“Never you mind, missy,” Mustafa said, ushering her through the door and pointing to the red-tiled floor. “Kneel there facing the chairs.” He left Caroline alone and trembling.
The room was large, divided into two by a curtain. Long windows high on one wall let in light from the corridor. The others were stark, solid, white stone and bare except for a cupboard fixed to the one behind the two plain, wooden chairs before which Caroline knelt. This could not be the room she had glimpsed that night, she realised, for there was no window in its outer wall. Hanging from the ceiling though, was a light like the one she had seen, a cone-shaped shade at the end of a long flex. Her heart thumped louder. Glancing over her shoulder, Caroline saw a large, misshapen object hidden beneath a dustcover and wished she had not looked. Fear of the unknown kept her shivering as she waited.
The door opened. Caroline saw Van Gryf and, with gut-wrenching consternation, the Englishman, Douglas, framed in the doorway.
“…pretty sure Sylvie did start it, even if Susan struck the first blow,” she heard Van Gryf say before he sat on one of the chairs and Douglas on the other. A shiver across Caroline’s skin added to her body’s quaking as she raised her head and saw Van Gryf’s uncompromising stare settle upon her.
“Tell me what you saw last New Year, Caroline.”
“S… sir?”
“Describe what you saw, and I want to know how you managed to see it. You can’t have followed me inside.”
“No, sir. I… I went around the sides. It was late and I wondered what you… That is, I… I was curious.” Caroline described how she had seen the glimmer of light from a window and looked through the tiny crack where the blind was broken.
“That would be next door. I’ll have to see it’s repaired,” Van Gryf said, lighting the cigarette Douglas gave him. “So, what did you see through this crack, Caroline?”
“I… I saw a girl with blonde hair.” Caroline was having difficulty breathing. “She… she could almost have been me, except… except…”
“What was she doing?”
“N… Nothing. She couldn’t. She was… was bound, fastened to something.” Her pussy quivered.
The Afrikaner stood, walked to the dustcover and whisked it away. “To this.”
Her pussy clenched tight. It was a large, rectangular wooden block with a T-shaped iron bar fixed to one end. Riveted to the centre of the crossbar was a hinged, steel collar and at either end, wrist cuffs of the same metal.
“Y… yes,” Caroline stammered. “She was kneeling, moving all the time, as if she couldn’t keep still. There was a round patch of light shining down. The rest of the room was dark and you were walking around her. Y… you had something in your hand.”
“How do you know it was me when most of the room was dark?”
“You kept stepping into the light, flicking your hand towards her. She… she was wriggling. I…” Caroline faltered as Van Gryf strode to the cupboard. She turned her head to watch him, and saw Douglas’s dark gaze move from her breasts to the curls on her mound and the slit below it that her kneeling posture could not conceal. The warmth flowing through her sex turned to heat.
Van Gryf opened the cupboard and Caroline’s breath caught in her throat. A row of canes and whips and similar implements whose names she did not know, filled the space within. Chest tight, she watched him remove something.
“This is what you saw, Caroline,” he said, moving ominously closer. “Fine, plaited strands of horse’s tail. Twenty of them.” He stood at her side and draped them over her right shoulder and breast. “Feel them.”
How could she with her hands cuffed, Caroline thought, and in the same instant he stepped back and flicked the whip across her breast.
“Ow!” She cried more in surprise than hurt. Her skin tingled, rather than stung. She looked sharply up at him.
“That’s what I was doing, Caroline. The girl’s name is Natasha,” Van Gryf said and his stern gaze increased the moist tickling in her sex. “Could you hear anything?” He smiled thinly at her headshake. “I thought not. The girl was begging me. Begging me to let her come.”
“Oh!” Caroline’s pussy clenched again.
The Afrikaner pulled her to her feet and over to the wooden block. She felt his overpowering strength as he pushed her to her knees.
“Straddle it.”
Giddy with nervous excitement, Caroline placed her knees either side of the wood with the iron bar at her back. The pressure of Van Gryf’s hand bent her forward and he freed her wrists. She fought the need to dive her hands to her wildly twitching sex.
“Keep them away from your pussy,” Van Gryf ordered, as if he had read her thoughts. His hand on her head drew her upright and pushed her back until the nape of her neck touched cold steel. Mind whirling, Caroline felt the hinged collar close across her throat and heard the snick of the catch lock it in place.
“Ooh!”
“Calm down,” Van Gryf cautioned her. “No coming without permission or you know what to expect.”
Caroline wanted to tell him she did not, but could find no words amidst her swelling excitement. Eagerly, she raised her arms to help the Afrikaner secure her wrists.
“Ooh!” She was trapped, held fast as the girl she had seen through the window had been. Caroline’s simmering sex abruptly reached boiling point. For long, tortuous, tantalising seconds she hovered on the brink of orgasm, a hairsbreadth from the raging release that had been bubbling up inside her for hours. The sudden, sharp slash of the horsetail whip across her squirming abdomen made her eyes snap open and stole away her climax.
“No!” Van Gryf said sharply. “You are not to come, Caroline.”
She blinked, eyes clouded with desire.
“Do you wish to stay here?”
“Yes! Yes, sir,” she panted.
“Then you will accept my authority completely. You will obey me.”
“I… I will, sir.”
“Then you will not come unless I say so.”
“Ooh!” His harsh, inflexible tone sent thrills shivering through Caroline’s sheath. “It’s… it’s hard, sir.” She fought the feelings off somehow, groaning with frustrated passion.
“Of course it is.” Van Gryf flicked the whip across her breasts. “That’s why I have this to help you.” He went to the cupboard, handing the whip to Douglas. Through her half-closed lashes, Caroline saw the Englishman examine its short handle and its thin, plaited strands, then return his attention to her naked, shackled body. His dark eyes were intense and intent as he watched her, his expression unreadable, but his penis was straining the fabric of his pants leg. Van Gryf came back with something in his hand, the evidence of his own arousal plain in his trousers. She was doing that, Caroline thought with a thrill of mingled humiliation and excitement; arousing these strong, virile men by abasing herself before them. It was what she had always wanted.
Van Gryf knelt beside her. There was a hole in the wooden block directly below her. He slid the plug at the base of the ivory dildo he held into it and retrieved his whip.
“You will not allow your pussy to touch that,” he instructed. “If you do, I will punish you.”
The moment Van Gryf had put the dildo in place it had pressed against Caroline’s sex. With an immense effort of will she drew her pussy away from it. Her buttocks pushed hard into the iron bar behind her, making her arch her back, but that was so uncomfortable she had to move. She lifted herself and felt the steel collar dig into the muscles at the base of her neck. Shrinking from the discomfort, Caroline felt the dildo’s tip nudge her pussy-lips. The whip flicked her across her belly.
“Don’t touch,” Van Gryf barked.
Caroline pulled away and felt the hard iron against her bottom, arched her back, lifted herself, lowered herself, and hissed at the dildo’s touch. The horsetail whip struck her left breast and the tingling that was not quite pain spread across her skin.
How long it went on, Caroline had no idea. Too uncomfortable in any position to keep still for more than a few seconds, she squirmed continuously in her struggle to avoid contact with the phallus. It was impossible. She knew it was meant to be. At some time during the cycle of movements she was being forced to make, the end of the dildo met the wet, quivering lips of her sex or the hard bud of her clitoris and sent tremors of delight coursing through her. Van Gryf continued to ply the whip to her breasts and belly, and with each flick what had begun as slight discomfort changed to a sensation of heat and then a burning sting.
Nevertheless, Caroline’s arousal burned brighter with every rub and chafe, prod and press of the ivory against her pussy until she was weeping and whimpering with the effort of holding back. At last the inevitable happened. The whip and Van Gryf’s harsh commands were no longer enough. Caroline came, her sheath writhing and roiling with an intensity she had never felt before. Stars swirled in her head as breath-taking spasms convulsed the whole of her belly, and she cried out in wild, unfettered passion.
