Six short offerings
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The Don
Picture: Virginia, naked, on her knees: Click here to reveal.
“My child, why are you here, thus?”
He knew, of course; he was just doing everything correctly, and somehow, despite the brutality of what was happening, the ritual of it made this terrible thing easier, as if she were in church, confessing some venal sin.
“To … to beg you for some help, Don Amadeo.”
“Very good, Virginia, I will listen.”
“Don Amadeo, my …. my father has done you a great wrong, been disrespectful in a way which is beyond forgiveness.”
Her father had had the temerity to sell his olives directly to the Florentine who had been trying to get a foothold in the region— nothing more; except that he had been warned, three times, not to do this thing.
“Indeed, my child, he has caused me pain, and after all I have done for your family.”
“For which we all must thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”
He had recruited her eldest brother, and used him for the most risky tasks, so that her brother had eventually been caught by the police, then accused of betrayal by his rivals for the Don’s favour and murdered in his prison cell in the cruellest of ways.
“Very well, Bambolotta, what is your request?”
“I am here, Don Amadeo, to offer … to offer myself as the price of my father’s life. To offer myself, completely, without reserve, if only, in your infinite mercy, you might permit my father to have his life.”
The pause, the silence, was agony for Virginia, a sweet and simple traditional girl, who had never wanted anything to do with the dark side of life; she felt as if she were dying inside at this horror.
“This, my child, is a serious matter; you are lovely, but, honestly, I have no shortage of young beauties who offer themselves to me for far less than the weakness some would see in me permitting your stupid and greedy father his life.”
More silence, then, his hand reaching out to touch her;
“Tell me, is your name still true?”
Utter despair; he was going to reject her, despite all she had done to get here, despite the magnitude of her sacrifice; and if he did reject her, her father would die and she would still have become dirt in the eyes of all who knew her.
“You must be honest, child; I will know if you disrespect me.”
She dared not lie;
“No … no, I … I lay with … with my boyfriend. Just once.”
More silence; she is biting back the tears, trembling visibly;
“Child, if I take you, I will not touch you; I will give you to my soldieri. You will have no status at all, just a puta, open to the most extreme of uses. And I will take your fathers’ sight. The last thing he will see is you being used by many men. Then you will watch as his eyes are burned.”
There is nothing, nothing to do, but kiss his offered hand, and wish, wish for death at the hands of his men, before having to watch her father so horrifically treated. But she must try, try with all she has, to appear grateful, since even this is a blessing.
Racial Purity
Picture: Certified Aryan brood mare: Click here to reveal.
She wasn’t so sure any more.
“Racial purity breeder”. It wasn’t a pretty phrase. But here she was, being dedicated to the local Partei chapter as a certified aryan, fertile brood mare.
“All the chapters are having them”, the leader had told them— she, LouAnne and Marybeth; “Now, which one of you is going to have the honour?”
He had interviewed each of them, separately, and, going last, seeing the smug smile on LouAnne’s face, she had stripped herself naked, gone to her knees and taken his hands to her breasts, before leaning in to take his wrinkled old cock into her mouth.
And so she had been chosen; it was too late, now, for second thoughts.
Slavery suits her
Picture: Sweet and docile: Click here to reveal.
It wasn’t that she liked being chained, kept naked, not that she liked being made sexually available to cruel and greedy strangers, wasn’t that she liked being whipped and demeaned, nor that she liked having her extraordinary hair-trigger for sexual overexcitement exposed in front of well-dressed, sneering guests. Not … not at the time.
But it was impossible to deny that serenity had crept up on her in a life which consisted largely of those things, a life where a future of little else but those things was certain, now.
She had never experienced serenity when she was free, when she had had a normal life; but now she looked at those who used her with such a mild, sweet, acceptance, submitted with such soft, helpless grace to terrible humiliations, degrading usage, cruel impositions.
Because, for the first time for her, life— really and truly— felt sweet.
And now; now here was someone whom her owner, the woman who had seduced her into this new life, had told her she was to be sold to.
It was such a strange idea, that she could be sold— delivered; naked, defenceless, nameless, in exchange for what had sounded like an unbelievable sum of money, to a man who knew nothing of her save what he had proven to his satisfaction over the preceding days; that she could be fucked and beaten and degraded at will, and that she would offer herself, open herself, meekly accept everything while smiling, softly, for those who abused her.
She can feel herself trembling, knows that she is frightened, feels tears gathering in her eyes, for she knows he is cruel, that he sees her as nothing more than an expensive toy. But inside her, the sweetness is blossoming. Being nameless, away from anyone who remembers her former life, will be even simpler. With him, she is somehow certain, it will be even easier to present herself prettily for the whip, for cruelty, because to offer her all for another’s pleasure will be her meaning, her very purpose; everything else will have been taken from her.
She is glad.
Her only regret, now, is those years after she became a woman, when she had not ben kept like this, not been simplified, not been taken beyond choice; it had been such a waste of four years.
He is discussing his plans to have her pierced and branded, a pretty mark burned into her cheekbone, so that her condition will be undeniable.
Even as she begins to tremble, feels tears gather, as she has to blink them back, she knows this is good. Perfect, even, and she makes herself smile at him, to express her gratitude.
Addicted to rape
Picture: Possessed by abusive memories: Click here to reveal.
To be fucked like that! Without her consent being an issue, brutalised in the face of her body’s pathetic attempts to defend itself from violent, degrading penetrations.
To feel, afterward, so … so completed, so filled up. So … solid … somehow.
And yet … the cost, the astonishing, unfathomable cost…
To have offered herself up, yet again, to their casual cruelties, their lazy, presumptive rapaciousness.
To have accepted, to have given; given, all. Given everything, including her self-respect, her decency, her dignity …
To have been so unmistakably, helplessly caught up in the debauchery of it, submitted so helplessly to the way she had been used, manhandled, savaged, to have been so obviously obsessed by it, her responses uncontrollably sensual, needy, avid.
And more …
… to know that, this time, she was not going to leave when they offered her the chance. That she was going to kneel, mute, head bowed, as they opened the door, showed her her clothes, the possessions she had come with, offered her help to stand, solicitous support; she would to ignore it, and wait; wait, until the huge door closed again, with its heavy, final slam; to know that she would never again be offered freedom.
That she was over.
That she would be raped, now, raped and beaten and abused and degraded, without care, until she was used up, until they no longer desired her, when she would be disposed of, like a worn-out toy.
That she would be grateful, pathetically, humbly grateful for all of it.
Toys
Picture: No existence but as a sex toy: Click here to reveal.
Their girls were kept naked but for cruelly tight corsets and heavy body jewellery.
Carefully chosen, then trained with empathy combined with a ruthless will and total absence of mercy, the girls were irretrievably consumed by their new meaning.
A meaning which depended, totally, on doses of semen deposited into their warm, sticky holes, a diet to which each girl was softly, wholly, helplessly committed.
A desperate bargain
Picture: Offering themselves: Click here to reveal.
They had a minute or two, at most. It was utterly necessary that they covered their desperation, their fear, their urgent need— never-mind that he would know it, that it was obvious— utterly necessary that they project sweet, erotic eagerness and eager willingness to please, to be abused, to become as nothing more than toys.
Both of them had been taken in servitude as a result of their family’s debts. Both were lowly servants at the largest inn in their small town, both were desperate for this wealthy young man to take them— buy them— as his slaves. Both knew that the inn-keeper would whip them brutally if their daring cunning were revealed.
Nevertheless, they had stripped, were presenting themselves; naked, trembling, horrified at themselves. Both were risking it, in pathetic hope that life as a rich man’s sex-slave might be easier than as a small-town servants, likely to be made pregnant at any moment by some greedy old man, doomed to a life of poverty, dirt and drudgery.
