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by MechaBlade Note about my writing style: As this is my first story posted here, I thought I'd explain why this story is written this way. My writing style has basically three modes: writing purely for myself, writing mostly for others, and somewhere between the two. When I write for myself, I pay little attention to spelling, and grammar and will make the story as hardcore as I feel at the moment. When I write for others, I will make sure the story is clean, typo-free and I tend to not to include my harder fetishes (bascially, just scat). The stories I write here are to fall somewhere in between. I don't know any of the people here, although I have an idea what inju likes from seeing his posts, stories and pics. Therefore I will refrain from including my harder fetishes into my stories here, unless I see others posting/requesting stories of my wildy unpopular fetish. All other typical bdsm/slave erotica elements may or may not make their appearance. Since I am restricted by time and I plan to play this like a game, my stories may not be as refined and spellchecked as stories on my website. This website affords me the joy and learning experience of constantly cranking out slave stories without worrying about how well-written they are. My package finally arrived in the form of a medium sized wooden box marked "Fragile". Sometimes I wonder if carriers paid attention to the "Fragile" stamp at all, after having seen several packages arrive with bruises. I took a crowbar and opened the box. Inside the box was another box. But this was no ordinary box. It was created by the ingenious engineers at the Dungeon and it was guaranteed to make your slave arrive with nary a scratch. The box had spring-attached panels on all six size that allowed the box to buffer any drops, kicks or other forces that could bruise a slave, or in the case of poorly-packaged slaves, break their neck. I was much smarter than to allow my slaves to be poorly packaged. This package cost me a cool $50 grand and I wasn't about to throw it away to save a few bucks on packaging. I opened the inner box to see the hair on the top of the head of my most recent slave floating in a sea of styrofoam peanuts. The peanuts moved up and down as she breathed. Good. It had never happened to me, but stories run rampant in the slave-trading community of DOA slaves, and these stories ran through my mind whenever I opened a new package. Drew was packed tight, just how I like my slaves. The way she was packed was completely for safety and weight reasons, but I loved the bdsm element of it. She was likely awake, but her packaging and the special inner box prevented her from moving. A human body, no matter how it is arranged can always shift their weight around enough to move a little, but this inner box's spring-attached panels prevented any of her shifting from moving the outside wooden box at all. After all, customs agents could get suspicious when a box with no airholes began to shake and move. For this reason, many owners would drug their packages before sending them. I preferred to have mine awake to enjoy the long ride in darkness. I also liked having them awake and lucid when I took them out of the box. I move a panel aside, flipped a few switches on the box, and the bottom of the inner box began to rise. That had always frustrated me before: getting slaves out of their boxes without injuring them. God bless the engineers at the dungeon. Drew Barrymore's bound figure began to rise and the pieces of styrofoam fell to the ground. I told my slave Keisha, who was standing at my side all this time, to get a bag and collect the styrofoam peanuts before they blow into the ocean. No sense littering this beautiful island. The box stopped moving and Drew sat atop it as if it was a closed cube and she had been placed on its top. She was in fetal position, sitting with her knees touching her shoulders. Her legs were crossed and arms were crossed in front of her legs. Her hands, safely bound in fingerless fist mitts, were in front of her knees. No airholes meant that she had a small oxygen tank connected to the oxygen mask on her face. She was also wearing a collar that I knew was tied to a D-ring lock on the floor of the box. She had a neck brace over the collar, ensuring that her neck was not broken in transit. She was blindfolded. All this was accomplished with a pair of handcuffs with a small spreader bar, legcuffs with a small spreader, the collar and neck brace, and a decent amount of rope. She was looking symmetric and as compact as possible. I knew this was probably Caleb's work. I've seen him package a slave in under two minutes. He was a true professional. Regardless of how beautiful she looked, I couldn't wait to unwrap my little present to myself. I slowly untied her bonds, took off her blindfold, removed the neck brace, and removed the oxygen tank and mask. More styrofoam fell as I stretched her legs out. I left only her handcuffs and legcuffs on. She was indeed awake. She was probably was too sore to run away. She looked very nice. She was barefoot, wearing only a spaghetti strap blouse and sweats. Usually the Dungeon would put a fashionable dress on packages. I specifically request that they are sent whatever they are wearing when captured. It feels fake to send a slave in an evening gown that they've never worn before. When I get my package it's like they're frozen in the moment they were taken, and still have a semblance of themselves, if only for a few minutes more. I lifted her by her collar and dragged her to a couple of poles in my "backyard" (well, the whole island is my backyard). I chained her handcuffs to the poles and raised the chains a little bit so she was not on her tip toes, but was standing on the ball of her feet. I slapped her a bit, since she was looking drowsy. "Listen," I told her. "Talk and I will have to hurt you." She looked at me through scared eyes, but didn't talk yet. "My name is Marcell. I train slaves. Whether or not you will be sold is a matter I will determine later on. As for now, you are my slave and will submit to my every command." "Who the fuck do you think you are?! You're going to be in so much fucking trouble..." I sighed. I had had a late night last night so I was too tired to look for places to whip her that wouldn't scar my new pet. So I brought my electroshock wand instead. It made training simple and left no marks. I pressed the stun wand against her bare arm and gave her the juice. She convulsed and shook and was finally silent when I removed the weapon. "Listen. Don't say a fucking word. Your questions will be answered later. "Now as I was saying, you are my slave now and will submit to my every command. The bulk of your duties will be satisfying me sexually. Disobey me and you will be hurt. Hesitate and you will be hurt. You are on an island that I legally own, hundreds of miles away from the mainland. No one will find you, you cannot escape, just give any hopes of rescue up now. "Address me only as 'Master' or 'Sir,' speak only when I allow you and service me whenever I command you, and you will not be hurt. You will not be killed. But I do not tolerate disobedience and I am eager to see you fail my commands so that I may punish you. Nod your head if you understand, slave." Her eyes welled up with tears. She nodded. "You may ask one question." "Why me?" she cried. "Because I desired it." I then went for the final act of making her my slave: removing her clothes, the last remnants of her old life. She shuddered as I stepped behind her. It was a beautiful day with a clear blue sky and the bright sun shone down on her pale skin as I used a knife to cut the straps of her blouse and exposed her back. She then swung forward in her bonds and kicked her bound feet at me, screaming. Many slaves do this. Act obedient and then try to hurt their owner. I dodged her kick. "That was stupid," I said. I pressed the stun wand against her back and shocked her. She opened her mouth to scream, but electric current tensed her throat and vocal chords so that she couldn't speak. The only noise she made was a gurgling, chocking noise as saliva began to foam out of her mouth. I walked around to her front, dragging the stun wand so I could finally see her small but cute titties. They shook as she jumped and convulsed. Finally, I stopped electrocuting her. She was a blubbering mess, crying with spit dripping out of her mouth. "Slave, I know the taser hurts, but things are really going to get painful when we get into the house and I use my tools. Let's try and be a good girl, eh?" She just hung there. I gave her a short shock and she yelped. "Are you going to be a good girl?" "Okay, okay!" I shocked her again. "Slave you will answer my questions with a 'yes' or a 'no' and you will use my honorific. Now, are you going to be a good girl?" "Yes! ...Yes, sir!" she said, just in time. I put the stun wand back in my pocket. I cut her blouse so I could remove it from her midsection. I cut her sweat pants and removed them. Instead of underwear, the good men at the Dungeon (who had packaged her) had put a diaper on her, at my request. Sometimes they would install a catheter and an anal catheter on women to collect urine and feces, but I had heard that Drew was an anal virgin, and I didn't want to insert anything in her that might loosen her asshole before I used it. I removed her diaper, which she had wet, but hadn't soiled during her trip. She cried, now completely nude. I used two fingers to separate her asscheeks and peek at her pink asshole. Oh yes, it looked tight and fucking delicious. But it probably tasted like piss now. "Keisha!" My nude little Black slave (wearing only a collar) came running over to my side. She had almost finished collecting all the trash from the box. "Lick Drew clean." Keisha began licking Drew's pussy. I could tell from her initial grimace that there was a hint of piss taste. Keisha didn't like eating pussy much, but she always did her job without hesitation or making faces. Sometimes I wished I had gotten a slave girl who was more bisexual, since although Keisha had claimed to her friends that she was bi before her slave days, she had never fucked or licked another slave unless I told her to. Once I did catch her masturbating while staring at a nude slave. But currently, she and Drew were my only slaves. "Don't cry, Drew. Try to enjoy it. You'll be reciprocating on Keisha by the day's end." Keisha was a well-trained slave and licked from her slit to her pink shit pit. I moved to the poles and lowered Drew's chains so that she was no longer hanging but standing, her arms only slightly in the air. I told Keisha to stand over by the pole as I lined up behind Drew. Drew was still crying from her experience, so hopefully my dick would cheer her up. Keisha rubbed her puss as I opened my fly and stuck my cock into Drew's cunt. It had opened a little during Keisha's vigorous licking. I sank all the way into Drew. I knew she was thinking of resisting, of fighting back, but she was handcuffed, legcuffed, and had been shocked several times with the stun wand in my pocket. So she took it. Drew was warm, but dry. I didn't care. I was so excited with my new slave I knew I wouldn't last long. Still, I stuck my fingers in her mouth to wet them and slathered my cock with a little of her saliva. Admiring the tattoos on the small of her back, I slapped her ass as I pounded it against my thighs. I came inside Drew. I wiped my forehead and zipped up. I had a big day ahead of me. New slaves take so much time and care. "Take her to her room, then finish cleaning up," I told Keisha. She took her drenched fingers out of her trimmed pussy and got to unchaining Drew. "If she gives you the slightest trouble at all, tell me." I took a seat and relaxed in the Caribbean sun. There was a slight breeze. I could use a mojito. -Marcell |