- Is it possible that I will be thrown sometime like this to a landfill ?! - thought Ilma - Abuse my body, get drunk with my blood, gut like a turkey meant for soup!

Tears came to my eyes again, and the princess began to cry silently. She gave out only trembling thin shoulders, but the quiet ringing of the neck chain.

Unnoticed by the girl fell asleep. She again dreamed of her homeland: green fields drenched in the bright rays of the gentle sun, a small river that could be crossed without wetting the hem, a dense forest, gently rustling crowns of ancient trees. How good it was to get drunk with spring water from a spring key amongst the stones at the very edge of the forest, and then fall into the high green grass, close your eyes and enjoy the smells of wildflowers, listen to the business-like romp of a bumblebee or never resting ants. Where is this world now, turned into a pile of heads. Will he be reborn again?

***

A strong sharp knock made the slave start and open his eyes. Against her cell was the same young man whom she saw in the yard in the morning. Because of the gloom that reigned in the hall, Ilma could not see it well. But she saw a smile that danced on the face of this young man: an evil and haughty grimace that made her creepy.

The man drank in his power. From time to time he tapped the bars of the cage with his short whip, and his eyes began to glow when the startled girl shuddered with her whole body. Then he slowly raised his stack, watching with pleasure as the slave closed her eyes, waiting for the next blow. After a short pause he ran the whip around the grill and let it fall down again.

- So what are you, Ilma Brok! - Milard exclaimed in a guttural voice, staring at the slave. - Well, this ugly Uri hid you. But, as you see, I still got to you, because I am your Boss. Lord and Lord!

The young man threw back his head and broke out in a loud, full of childish laughter, from which the girl's ears rang. How vile he now seemed to her! If it were not for the gagged mouth, the princess, who could not resist, would have spat in his face.

The young man broke off laughter as sharply as he had begun, and his face was again twisted in a wicked grimace. At his sign, standing beside her, Gila unlocked the cage door and unhooked her neck chain. The young man took a leash from his belt and, clicking the carbine, fastened it to the collar ring.

“Come on, cutie,” he said without ceasing, “I'll show you my possessions.”

He pulled the leash towards himself, as if trying to pull the slave out of the cage. Gila grabbed the girl by the legs and jerked out with a strong jerk. The young man quickly turned around and already wanted to take the first step, but the older slave, standing in front of him, quickly sank down on one knee.

“Let me tell you, my Lord,” she said, lowering her eyes.

- What do you need? - Milard snapped in displeasure, - I'm busy now!

“This slave still does not know how to walk in shackles,” the woman bowed her head even lower, “It will be difficult for you to lead her along ...”

Without waiting for the end of the phrase, the young man swung his stack and brought down a strong blow to Gila’s shoulders. The woman screamed in sharp pain and looked up in bewilderment. A second, equally strong blow fell on her face. A red stripe immediately appeared on the cheek.

“Who are you,” Milard shouted, “to point me?” Out of the way, slave scum!

He threw her foot to the side and, strongly jerking the occasion, dragged Ilma stumbling to the door. The girl flew finely behind the Boss, trying to get into the beat of his footsteps, but immediately her legs danced in a short chain, and she fell on her knees.

“Stand up, slave,” Milard said through his teeth, “Every time you deign to fall, I’ll beat you with this whip.” If this does not help, I will send you to the executioner. He will teach you all the necessary things quickly.

The young man again laughed wildly laughing. Ilma, wriggling, managed to rise to her feet and again gathered behind her guide. With each step, the bracelets dug into the ankles, and a short chain pulled the legs. From the unaccustomed walking of the caviar, the slaves began to whine, but Ilma restrained herself with all her strength so as not to moan to betray the torments that she felt.

Approaching the next door, Milard stopped abruptly. Opening the small viewing window, he pushed the girl, inviting him to look at what was being done inside the room. Ilma clung to a thin lattice, rising on her toes.

“Look, whore,” said the Lord with a contented voice, “Soon you will have to do the same.”

The room was bright. In the very middle there was a huge bed on which, apart from a thick featherbed, there were neither pillows, nor sheets, nor a blanket. In the middle of this bed a dark-skinned girl was kneeling. Her hands were tied behind her narrow belt, and her legs apart. The girl, bending down with his whole body, diligently sucked the member of a hefty man who was lying on his back across the bed. He held the girl by the head with both hands, pressing on the top of the head and pushing her deeper into his stake.

The second one, no less strong, attached himself behind the slave and holding her protruding butt with both hands, with fury thrust his instrument into her anus. Every time he moved, the poor Negro woman tried to raise her head, but strong hands quickly stopped this attempt, and the fat member did not even give the opportunity to moan.

Ilma withdrew her eyes from the window, but Milard, shortly whipping her on the bare bottom, made me turn around again.

- Look, princess! - the boy grabbed the girl by the hair - This nigger slave, too, was once the daughter of a chief. And now she delights my guests with her charms.

- Mmmm! - only she was able to show her indignation of Ilm.

“And you will do it soon too,” Milard continued his tirade, “And if you bother ... No, I'd rather show you what will happen.”

With these words, he pulled the leash, and they headed down the stairs to the already familiar torture chamber.

***

The girl was in a fever. Every now and then she screamed when the terrible picture that she saw in the torture chamber appeared before her eyes. Suspended by the hands, the girl squirmed at every blow of a long whip. Her body elongated was covered with bloody scars, and the executioner beat and beat the unhappy one. Instead of screaming, a terrible wheeze burst from the throat of a slave, and brown thick blood dripped from the mouth.

But here the poor thing fell silent and hung on the chains. Milard carefully examined the body and pinched the nipple even for greater certainty. Slave did not move.

“I died,” said the huge Negro with a bulging belly full of sweat, “What are you supposed to do with it, Master?”

“Cut her into pieces and feed my dogs,” the Master once said, “I am tired of her.”

- Will be done! - the executioner began to lower the chain, - And what to do with this?

“Cuddle her with a whip,” Milard ordered, “But not to death.” New.

Ilma became hysterical and ...

“Yes, girl,” through the viscous mist that covered her eyes, Ilma saw Gila’s face approaching her, “It’s hard for you.” The owner will not long endure your fainting.

The woman put a damp rag on the slave's forehead. It became a little easier. The girl tried to say something and was very surprised that her mouth was free.

- Where I am? She asked faintly.

“Milard gave you up for me in upbringing,” Gila sat down on the edge of the stove bench, “I ordered you to make you feel in three days and teach you something.

- Does it hurt you, madam? - Ilma reached out to face the woman.

“Not anymore,” the older slave replied with a grin. “I got used to it.” And you have to get used to, if you want to live longer.

- Is it possible to get used to it? - bitterly grinning, Ilma whispered, - I can not take it. I will die.

- And do not hope - strictly exclaimed ... Read more →