Three short offerings
THW has begun bulk uploading AIG images to an imaglr.com account. Some are very nice. The ones selected here have been upgraded.
A new Owner’s whim
Picture: Naked in the market square: Click here to reveal.
“Go and find people to fuck you. Don’t come back to the car until you’ve had at least five different cocks in you. Can you do that?”
He’s grinning at her, highly amused at the appalled look in her eyes. It’s only a week since her lover— the older woman she had succumbed to 18 months ago (tearfully begging the woman— a former lecturer of hers at the University— to; Train me, then, please, to be an acceptable slave for you, if that is the price for staying here), had casually announced that she had been sold;
“Some guy on the dark net. He’s paid the deposit; rather a lot, thanks to those clever pictures the new girl took of you while I hurt you, and it’s safe in my crypto fund now. So even if he doesn’t pay the balance, I’m still a winner.”
“He’ll collect you next week. I’ll take you to somewhere remote, chain you in some abandoned building, put the key in a locker at the station. Like in a spy movie— exciting, don’t you think? I’m looking forward to being rid of you, honestly; I need a new challenge.”
The announcement had been a bomb going off, had destroyed her. That being a slave meant she could be sold had never been serious in her head; she was Lorna’s sex-toy, and happy to be so; really, truly happy. To hear what she had just heard had been like having some huge chunk of freezing lead dumped into her gut— a constant and destructive force, impossible to think past or through; she had been devastated.
But equally, she had found it impossible to discover in herself any resource at all which seemed as if she could use to mount a resistance to this impossibility, this madness, this crazy idea that she had been sold, without even being consulted until the deal was already done, as if she were a dog.
And so, not without much weeping, it had happened; she had been chained, naked, freezing, in a filthy, rotting shed in some damp field, and many hours later, in the dark, noises, a blinding torch in her eyes, shrieking her fear, big hard hands between her legs, laughing, male voices, some unknown language; guttural, ugly to her ears, hands at her breasts, in her hair, unceremoniously bent double and immediately violently penetrated, raped, as she screamed her pain and shame and despair at having lost herself. At it being true.
The real shock, though, was that she had seen, within a day, that the impossible was not only true, but that she was not going to be able to fight it; she had told herself she would hurt this man, bite his cock, be always dry and tight for him, spit at him, until he freed her; but it seemed that her time with Lorna had made her defenceless, even to a violent rapist, if he controlled her well, if he made her understand that she was to be controlled, that she was held, firmly and relentlessly held.
And he had done exactly that, and masterfully, so that she had been shocked by feelings of gratitude to him for his firmness in suppressing her stupid little attempts at resistance (she had got nowhere near anything like what she had imagined; too frightened to do more that shake her head vehemently a couple of times, and even then unable to prevent herself from looking at him, fearfully, already defeated).
Only two days, and she had found herself kneeling for him, meek and hopeful for a caress, a kind word or two, even if the words were; Good slave. Good little slave-cunt. Kneeling, because it was the only way, any more. Because she was cunt, had been forced to accept it in herself. Not ‘Lorna’s toy’, but simply ‘slave-cunt’. Because she would kneel to this man whose name she still did not know (he was “My Master” to her).
And now this— without warning— just pushed out of the car on a freezing day, in the busy square, naked but for her corset and the terrible heels he had her in 24/7. And the absolute certainty in her that he meant what he said; that he would not open the car to her again until she had met his target.
She wanted to cry, to go down to the ground and curl up like a baby and wail her despair; but that would not get her out of the cold, not get her back to the safety of him, her Master (appalling, but also astoundingly welcome, that she already knew that He was her safety now, her foundation).
And so, she looks around her, looks for the eyes of a stranger who will grin, to whom she can offer herself to be fucked; knowing suddenly, with a sick lurch, that she, herself, wants to be fucked; that to be required to have five guys fuck her is exciting, desirable; that a big part of her wants it; that she will urge the men who use her to fuck her hard, will work for them, jerk her hips for them, curl her legs around them to encourage them.
Slave-cunt, slave-cunt— the words are in her head, now with some sort of desperate, heart-stopping magic to them.
Shamed
Picture: Kneeling in the hallway: Click here to reveal.
She was working as hard as she could to give off the impression that this was a normal, ordinary thing, that she be made to wait outside the apartment in her skimpy dress on her knees. But everyone knew what it meant. That she had been Shamed. That her family had been given the standard two weeks to decide whether they would sell her themselves, or whether they were rich— or proud— enough, to disown her, and let the state sell her.
One thing was sure, though, whatever she was now was not going to last; very soon now, she would become a public whore or a private slave; there was no way out; all her thoughts, going round and round in her head, were in service of trying to reconcile herself to this appalling reality.
The voices arguing in the apartment— so loudly that everyone walking in the hallway could hear— were none of them interested in her anymore, not about her as a person, at least; only as a source of shame on the one hand, and possibly cash on the other. She couldn’t even remember which option meant what for her, she was so innocent. She was a good girl, very well-behaved, from a respectable family, and had not paid attention to this upsetting part of life; it would never touch her, so she could ignore it.
So she had thought. She had only let Tricia and Alice lick her pussy once in the dorm of their private school, eight years ago, never done anything wrong again, although it had been the most amazing experience of her life.
Stupid, crazy Alice had taken a photograph when she and Tricia were somewhat distracted, and it seems she had kept it, because her new husband had found it in her things and denounced her. Then they had come for her, Laney. And she had given up Tricia, who was unrecognisable from the photo (Tricia’s lovely face was hidden between Laney’s thighs in the image, only her lush dark ringlets visible). They told her the girl who had denounced Laney by giving in the picture was dark haired, and Alice was very blonde.
So Laney had thought Tricia had done something evil to her, and taken her revenge, telling the Morality Inspector that it was indeed Tricia, told them she had been unwilling, that she had been raped, only to be told that made no difference— only if she had reported within 4 hours would it be considered rape.
Then they had grinned, and told her how they had tricked her, just before they all took turns raping her for real. She has been raped a few times since then; every group of officials seems to consider it their right to use her in their nasty ways, and though she squeals and struggles, in the end she is always overpowered, or too frightened to really resist.
The three girls had been at the short trial together, but never had a chance to say even a word; just looked at each other, horrified, bleak, raging, as the moods had taken them, all of their lives ruined.
Anyway, it was all over now. Here was her husband (except that once his ignorance had been confirmed he had received an automatic annulment), grinning grimly. It appeared he had won the shouting match, and that it would be he who arranged her sale. Which meant she would almost certainly be offered to his boss, a very rich man, old and fat and sweaty, who had molested Laney at the Christmas party last year. She hoped he wasn’t still as mad at her as he had been when she screeched. Maybe, if she was extra nice to him, he might not hurt her so much as she feared (although she hardly knew how to be nice to a man, so protected had she been— her husband had his secretary for that kind of thing).
Alice, offered to the Members
Picture: Alice, displaying herself: Click here to reveal.
When in town, Sir George likes to present his niece to the members of his private club.
Having been carefully and cynically groomed since shortly after her 18th birthday, Alice has become a particularly depraved and needy young woman, and he’s a busy man. While they’re at his country estate, where he is a hands-on manager— he has neither the time nor the energy to keep her from the extremes of her behaviour without periodically making her available to the help.
But these lusty country types— for all their vigour— lack sophistication; they are not cruel or experienced in the ways of mastery, which exposes yet another dimension of the neediness of his lovely young possession; she requires, fairly regularly, to be subjected to ruthless cruelty, to reinforce and condition her in her subjugation (he brought her to understand this about herself when she was 20, after she had flunked out of college and come to him for help: she has been helplessly, despairingly, willingly his ever since).
Here at the Club, his fellow members are both willing and able to help. He displays her in the lounge each morning, hoping to offload her for the day so that he can attend his business appointments in the knowledge that she is being well managed. When they comment on her youth, he asks them to look more carefully at her spread pussy;
“Young she may be, but innocent she is not— you will see that she has been used often enough. She knows how to please, and you may have her just as you prefer, never fear.”
None of them miss the slow, lewd surge her hips make when she hears herself described so, nor the soft blush, nor the catch in her breath, which makes her stiffening nipples shift, catching the eye.
If he cannot secure a Member to take her in hand, there is always the option of sending her ‘below stairs’ for the day— to keep the flunkeys happy.
Alice does everything she can (within the tight limits prescribed her) to encourage interest. Even though she knows this is wrong for a girl her age, she can think of nothing that makes her life meaningful which does not involve a man pushing his cock into her, or at least mauling her with his hands, though recently Sir George has recruited a young housekeeper and encourages the two of them to entertain him, and Alice is beginning to yearn, too, for repeats of the experience of Ms Fothergill’s fist forming, deep inside her pussy; a unique and overpowering sensation, unattainable with a cock, made more remarkable by the knowledge that Sir George is watching, highly entertained, and that, soon enough, he will push his fat cock into her tight little asshole, so that she can be devastated by both at once.
Occasionally her uncle requires her to talk about her future; he has told her that if she chooses to stay, he will become bored with her within a year or two, and will sell her to someone from the club at that point; you’ll be taken abroad, your death faked, effectively gone from the world, a nameless sex-slave, subject to any fate your new owner desires.
The idea horrifies, appals and fascinates her, but— despite always being in tears, shaking, despairing by this point— she always begs him to keep her, to continue to use her for his pleasure, to treat her as nothing but a possession, unable to imagine a life without the emotional intensity his control of her delivers. He asks her less and less often, for which she is grateful; the harsh floggings she always needs to settle her after being brought face to face with her own complicity in her failed life are a terrible ordeal, and she would rather not be asked to think, ever again, about anything else but being fucked.
Displaying herself like this to the Members is always a special experience; club members are the only men she encounters who have a fraction of the callous greed she most helplessly responds to in a man who fucks her. Knowing that one of these might in future own her, life-and-death, adds intensity, and she likes the way it makes her feel, the desperation to be delivering total satisfaction.
