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Prisoner Of The Sultan

35000 words

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Sex Slavery / Training

They were bored. It was that simple. Two innocent young ladies in eighteenth century Britain, who prevailed upon their father to let them visit him in fabled, far off India. For the lovely young daughters of Colonel Witier-Jones it was to be an exciting adventure, but not like any they had ever expected. For when the regiment's camp is raided by Indian cavalry their lives are changed forevermore. Lovely young Miranda, a lush young blonde is carried off by the Sultan's men, to become a target for him to vent his hatred of the arrogant British upon. Mass abuses and inventive public torments would break her spirit and make of her a suitable bedmate. Meanwhile her sister Caelie, a willowy brunette, escapes the Sultan's men only to be captured by desperate British deserters. They are delighted to find a half naked White girl on her own, and twice as delighted to discover the daughter of their hated commander. Caelie is introduced to the flog her father used so often upon their bodies. She is then carried off as their naked servant and sex toy, headed for the local slave markets, where White women are an expensive rarity. Caelie shrewdly tries to outwit the ignorant brutes, but luck turns against her and she is sold regardless. Will either ever see Britain again?

Price:  $6.95

Formats Available:   PALM (PDB)  Mobi (MOBI - Kindle Compatible)  
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EXCERPT

Miranda wore a collar around her slim throat, and thin silver shackles on wrists and ankles. And she wore nothing else.
After being dragged from the box and washed off she had been instructed that only if she showed true subservience, true dedication to serving the needs of the sultan would she be permitted to do so. If not, she would go back down for more punishment.
All pride gone, Miranda had flung herself at the Sultan’s feet, whimpering and begging him in abject desperation to be permitted to serve him, to do anything to serve him. She had babbled and sobbed, licking at his bare ankles and his pointy toed slippers, rubbing her cheek against his ankles like a desperate, loving dog.
It did not matter that he was a filthy savage, or that a dozen other filthy savages had been standing around watching, smirking laughing. She prostrated herself desperately at his feet and begged him to make use of her, promised to be obedient, promised to do anything she was told immediately.
“Let you show your humility to my guests, English girl,” the Sultan had purred.
And so, all pride cast aside, the blonde girl had been sent to crawl on her belly across the stone floor to the next closest man, licking at his toes and ankles, then the next, then the next as the Indian men stood around her laughing, smirking, sipping at their drinks and making mocking comments.
The sultan said something in his own language, and a servant hurried up with a length of leather which he attached to Miranda’s collar. He then handed the other end to the sultan, who tugged on it.
“Get on your knees, English slut,” he ordered curtly.
Miranda instantly obeyed, then, as the Sultan tugged on the collar and started across the room, she crawled desperately after him, showered with laughter and snickers and comments she was too numb to care about even if she could understand them.
The Sultan strolled slowly up the long wide marble passage; Miranda crawled desperately along beside him. She cringed a little each time they passed a servant or group of servants, but she was nearly frenzied with her determination to not be sent back down for more punishment that their startled, often lustful, often contemptuous looks hardly mattered.
The Sultan walked her into a huge room where there were large, colourful rugs and big floor pillows, and took his place on one of the latter. He ordered her to kneel beside him as musicians serenaded him and beautiful Indian girls fed him grapes and sweets. Occasionally he would reach out to Miranda and hold out one or another to her. The first time she had reached for one he had drawn it back and given her a sharp look which had made her guts churn in terror.
“You not use hands, only mouth,” he ordered.
And so she licked the treat out of his fingers, giving him what she desperately hoped was a grateful look. After eating he sprawled back on his pillows and gestured her forward, then pointed at his groin. Miranda hesitated, heart pounding as she reached for his robe, but he showed no sign she could not now use her hands, so she unfastened it and drew out his cock.
Smiling frantically, she bent and licked at it, then took it into her mouth, licking and sucking at it as he smirked down at her. Yet he was soon frowning at her, and after a minute or so shoved her back and shouted out something to a servant by the door. Miranda, stricken, looked apprehensively around and saw an Indian girl enter, clad in a colourful, but very tight, and gauze thin Sari. She moved with a liquid grace and sank to her knees before the Sultan, who spoke to her for a long minute, gesturing at Miranda.
The girl smiled and nodded, then beckoned Miranda forward. Miranda obeyed at once, and watched as the girl took the Sultan’s organ into her fingers. She traced long, sensuous lines across it with her tongue, licked at it, teased the head, then stroked it delicately with her be-ringed fingers before bending to lick at his testicles and suck and kiss them. Miranda knelt next to her, staring, knowing she was being shown that her own performance was less than satisfactory and that she must learn how to service the Sultan properly.
Soon she was licking as the Indian girl, mouthing the Sultan’s testicles and massaging them with her tongue and inside her cheeks, sucking gently, then taking his shaft into her mouth and, with less and less gagging each time - down into her throat.
The Sultan sat back mutely, smiling, no doubt enjoying the instruction as the two women bobbed up and down on his cock and mouthed his balls. Then it was time to learn more, and the Indian girl removed her Sari and, nude, straddled him, sliding her shaven sex down onto his glistening pole, squirming and writhing in pleasure, moaning as she began to ride him.
Miranda was not good enough to service the Sultan yet, so another man was brought in to sprawl alongside, and Miranda straddled him, gasping as she impaled herself, sliding down on his staff, then doing her best to imitate the Indian girl, even to the look of pleasure on her face, gasping and sighing as she rode up and down on the man’s prick.
She needed much instruction, of course, and the man could only take so much. Soon he was replaced by another, and then another, and then another as they changed positions. When the girl decided her performance was adequate her leash was handed to her, and, still crawling, the girl led her out of the room and up the hall, then into another room where Indian women knelt alongside her and washed her as they had before, inside and out.
When she was cleansed of the other men’s taint, perfumed, brushed out and clean, she was led, still crawling, back up the corridor, again past servants and groups of people, and into the Sultan’s presence, where she straddled him and cried out in feigned pleasure as she rode up and down on his cock, then at a gesture, turned and took her position on hands and knees as he mounted her from behind.
When done, he slumped back, and it was her task to lick his balls and cock clean, which she did immediately. But then the Sultan gripped her hair and tightened his fist.
“Swallow,” he ordered. “Should one drop spill you will go downstairs once more.”
Miranda quailed in sudden terror, not understanding. But then liquid began to pump into her mouth, and she swallowed frantically, eyes widening as she realized from its heat and bitter taste that it was urine she was swallowing! Yet such was her terror that she continued to swallow, closing her lips tight around his soft cock, swallowing again and again a his piss filled her mouth and made her want to throw up.
Only when she was certain he was done did the dazed, stunned young woman lick his cock clean and pull her mouth free. The Sultan smiled, though his eyes were cold and cruel.
“You will service me in that manner from now on,” he said.
Miranda managed to smile, but it was a dazed, slightly crazed smile.
“Now you repay Dakini for her efforts in teaching you,” he said.
How would she repay her, Miranda wondered dazedly?
The Indian girl stood above her, then moved closer. She spread her legs and guided Miranda’s face between her legs, and Miranda, staring at her glistening shaved slit, realized that she was being instructed to perform on the girl sexually. It was the shock, rather than any mindful refusal which caused her to draw back, appalled. The very idea of doing such a sinful, wicked thing, a homosexual thing, astonished her.
“You refuse!?” the Sultan snapped. “You think to disobey me!”
“No! I-I just - I never thought - I have never - .”
“You do not wish to service females?” the sultan smirked. “Then you shall service only men. Many men!”
He called out, and Miranda, begging to serve him, trying to reach the naked girl, was dragged off by the leash, a large turbaned man pulling her along on the floor so that she almost strangled before twisting onto her hands and knees and crawling after.
She was not taken downstairs, but her relief was brief as the quivering, fearful girl was led out to the rear of the palace and made to kneel beside the open door. The turbaned man spoke to two others, who rushed to fetch a long, polished length of wood and carry it back to them.
It was perhaps five feet long, and at its centre was an opening, a ring - a collar, as she discovered when they forced it down over her head.
“Oh please!” Miranda cried.
The men only laughed, jeering at her in their own language, drew her arms up and out to either side, and bound her wrists and elbows to the wood. Her long blonde hair was drawn out to either side, braided roughly, and then pulled so that she screamed. They laughed at her, pulling harder, threatening to tear her hair free as they tied the end of her hair to rings in the top of the wood
Now she could not turn her head in either direction.
Panting, moaning, whimpering, she watched as they picked up a length of curved wood which had been cleverly worked. There were two large, fat phalluses carved out of wood apparently screwed to the top side, and Miranda squealed as she felt them pressing up against her shaven sex and anal openings.
“No! Don’t! Oh please!” she sobbed, tears spilling down her cheeks.
But it was not evident the savages even understood English as the carved and polished phalluses were slowly forced up into her body, through the aching, overused lips of her sex, and the soft, bruised folds of her anus.
A foot-long length of wood projected out from the front of the ring around Miranda’s throat, and another from the rear. The men used narrow leather straps to bind the lower wood to the one about her throat, to hold it in place with the phallic objects halfway up inside her. Miranda felt only slightly relieved that they did not go deeper, and even wondered why, for none of the savages who had so cruelly and rudely used her had shown her the slightest consideration.
Miranda squealed again as leather bands were wrapped tightly around the base of her heavy breasts, forcing them to swell and bulge outwards. She stood quivering and sobbing weakly as the men carefully tied thicker leather straps around her knees, and then fed them to the wooden crosspiece between her legs and tied them in place. Small leather cords were then tied to her nipple rings and pulled down to the same wooden crosspiece.
“Walk, slut!” one of the men growled.
Miranda, whimpering miserably, hardly heard.
He picked up the long, thin whip and slashed it across her buttocks and she screamed, stumbling forward.
And screamed again in shock.
It seemed - somehow - that the leather bands tied around her legs just below the knees were bound to the wooden phallic things they had forced into her body. And the phalluses were not, as she had assumed, nailed in place to the wooden bar between her legs. Instead they were able to move freely up and down. As her right leg jerked forward, the wooden cock in her pussy slid downwards until the head was barely within her. At the same time the one in her bum thrust itself painfully deep within her gut with such force she almost collapsed to her knees with the pain.
“Walk, whore!”
The whip slashed across her bottom and again she screamed, lurching forward.
The wooden cock in her bottom slid backwards, the one in her pussy was pushed high and deep, burying itself within her so that she did indeed, this time, collapse in pain to her knees, her arms pulling frantically at the wooden crossbar they were bound to.
They yanked her to her feet, laughing, and then forced her, wobbling and sobbing and yelping in pain, to cross the room and exit through the wide door. Every time her legs moved the thick wooden cocks moved too, as if they were hooked to some manner of piston or wheel beneath the wooden bar between her thighs.
And there was naught she could do about it, as she was led out into the yard, and then, to her utter horror, the gates were thrown back on the hordes of savages who wandered the streets. Dozens, then hundreds of eyes turned to stare at the lush blonde girl as the whip cut across her bottom once more, this time with more force.
“Ahhh!” she cried, lurching forward.
The cock in her pussy slid back, the one in her bottom thrust deep, and she sobbed and shuddered, her insides twisting and cramping.
Crack! The whip cut across her back and she shrieked, staggering forward.
The savages were pointing and laughing in delight now, men, women and children. Scrawny dogs looked up from the alleys, and rats scurried away as she was forced out into the centre of the wide street and then made to stagger slowly down its length. Laughter and jeers were all around her as the sobbing, sweating girl stumbled forward, the wooden cocks pumping in time with her movements.
And there was more, she realized now, for the cords tied to her nipple rings seemed also attached in some way to the wooden cocks, or perhaps to her leg bands, for as she moved, she felt them pulling, first on one nipple, then the other, tugging them with every step until each stung fiercely.
Why do I not faint, she thought desperately. Please let me faint! Please.
“Aghgh!” she cried as the whip cut across her back.
She stumbled forward down the street.
“Faster, whore!”
The crowds were growing greater, for the ones who had first witnessed her shame were now hurrying to keep up, pointing, laughing, calling to other Indians. The crowd was twenty deep on either side of her as she stumbled along, sweating, panting, sobbing, the wooden cocks pumping very painfully and very visibly in and out of her sex and anal opening.
A young man darted in to roughly squeeze one swollen breast and she squealed in pain as one of the men guarding her swung at him. Another young man rushed in to grasp her bottom, another to squeeze her other breast. They laughed and jeered, dancing out of the way of her minders as they marched along behind, before and around her.
A piece of fruit smacked against the side of her head and bounced off, to more laughter. Some other bit of something bounced off her swollen, reddened left breast.
Down the road she staggered and stumbled, the crowd laughing and roaring, the whip cracking across her bottom or buttocks when she moved too slowly. Dazed, the sobbing, miserably blonde girl stumbled along, her bare feet shuffling through the dirt of one street, then along the heated cobbled stones of another.
A young man dashed in, grasping her shaven mound in his tight, grubby fist even as the wooden cock buried itself in her belly. She cried out, stumbling to her knees as he laughed and dashed away.
She swayed weakly, crying out as the whip cut across her back, then again.
“Move!”
Again the whip slashed across her back, and she screamed and sobbed, forcing herself to her feet, staggering along again.
She stumbled dazedly out into the main square, pouring sweat, face red and glistening with tears, her insides aching as the two wooden cocks continued to pump in and out, her nipples stinging like fire.
The square was packed with people; hundreds and hundreds. The men led her to the centre, where there was a pile of loose hides thrown onto a low platform. They led her up onto it and let her fall to her knees, then surrounded her, untying her, removing the wooden crosspiece and collar, pulling the wooden cocks out of her nether holes, unbinding her legs until.
She knelt, panting, sweating, aching, numbed by the utter shame of it all as one of the uniformed men shouted out to the assembled crowd, pointing and gesticulating at Miranda as she knelt wearily beside him. Then he gestured off to the other side and a roar came from there.
Miranda turned her head weakly, seeing a large group of men, men who looked even more shabby, more filthy, more slovenly, more raggedly dressed than most of the natives she had encountered. Most of those around the low platform were dressed in very bright, flowing robes and pantaloons, but these men wore filthy brown and black and –.
The man leaped down, and suddenly as if released, the men howled and ran forward towards the stage. Yards before the first of them reached it Miranda felt an overpowering stench coming from them and lurched back in horror. She understood now. They were the Untouchables. They were the lowest, filthiest, most despised segment of Indian society. They worked with dead animals, hauling their carcases and refuse, picking up excrement in the streets with their hands to carry off in pails.
So low, so in contempt were they held that an Untouchable could be killed for even stepping across the shadow of an upper caste Indian. And now they swarmed around her like a wave, their filthy hands tearing and slapping and groping at her as the rest of the Indians looked on in smug satisfaction.
She screamed as she was bowled over, mouth biting at her breasts, at her nipples, fingers jamming at her sex and bottom, pulling at her hair. Stiff, filthy cocks rubbed at her face and head and breasts and back and belly and thighs as they fought over her like dogs with a bone. They jabbered and babbled and screamed and cursed to each other as they fought for position, and finally several spread her soft, pale legs well apart as another thrust himself home in her quim.
Miranda gagged at the overwhelming stench, and if she’d had anything left in her belly would have heaved it up at once. Her skin already felt slimy and filthy as their hands raced and scrambled and clawed over every square inch of it. She was lifted in dozens of hands, tilted and turned, risen and lowered as they fought for possession And then she screamed anew as her hair was yanked back, and then a dirty dark skinned cock was thrust into her mouth. The taste was the vilest she’d ever felt, and she gagged as her stomach tried to heave.
The man laughed and lunged forward, and with a choked gurgle of despair Miranda felt his sausage-like prick slide into her throat. At the same time the half dozen or so hands scrambling at her sex were pulled away and she felt her lips pierced by a fat cock, a cock which drove into her like a spear as the owner immediately began to hammer himself against her.
She was still held by dozens of hands, a sea of eager, lustful, filthy bodies utterly surrounding her as the two cocks thrust violently in and out of her body. And those hands continued to touch her everywhere, groping and squeezing, pinching and kneading, stroking and slapping and pawing and clawing as she was rocked back and forth by the eager thrusting of the two men who had actually been able to get their cocks inside her.
The one between her legs withdrew, and there was a brief howling fight before another forced himself in between her thighs and drove himself home. The one rutting inside her mouth and throat spilled his seed after only a few dozen seconds, mercifully drawing back then. Miranda gasped for breath, sobbing and moaning as another fight gave her a brief respite.
Then another Indian man yanked on her hair and forced his cock through her lips and down her throat.
None of the men lasted long, most spilling themselves in under a minute, many almost as soon as their throbbing brown cocks touched her soft skin or hair or lips or sex. Yet they remained packed around her in seemingly endless numbers, jabbering and yelling and babbling and crying out in their native tongue as those on the outside of the ring tried to fight their way forward for just a touch of her.
Cocks spilled themselves into her hair and over her face, onto her breasts and belly and thighs and into her ears and over her feet and legs. Yet none of the scrambling men seemed to care as they continued to strive desperately for a touch of her - anywhere.
Cock after cock thrust into her pussy and mouth, spilt their seeds, and were replaced, and her voice went hoarse, her tears drying up, as she became almost limp in their arms, eyes wild and rolling as she was raped again and again and again. The sun crossed the narrow round opening of sky she could see far above and then the light began to fade.
Yet still she was surrounded, still the brown men eagerly scrambled to climb past the others fondling and groping and clawing at her pale white body.
At some point she heard strange banging noises, but hardly noticed nor cared. They seemed to grow louder and louder, and then after an eternity the crowd broke away from her, dropping her heavily to sprawl, utterly soaked in their juices.
The first English soldier, his bayonet fixed to his musket, gazed at her eagerly as he approached, a grin on his face. But the sight of the spent juices soaking every square inch of her made even his tolerant nose twitch, and his lips curled in disgust. Still, a few buckets of water and she’d be ready to go, he thought. Unfortunately, an officer rode up then, and he sighed, knowing he would never get the opportunity.


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