I arrived early and stood reading the notice on the green door. “Please ring the bell and enter the waiting area.” Taking a deep breath, I rang the bell and with my heels sounding loud in the hall, went through to the waiting area.

I had been waiting for this appointment for a while but it is not easy to get to see a specialist. The questionnaire I had to fill in online, before seeing the doctor, was very long. Some of the questions seemed a bit intrusive to me but I answered as many as I could. I knew I left a few gaps in it but hoped that I would be able to explain why.

The waiting room was warm so I shrugged off my jacket and taking a seat, looked around. It wasn’t as clinical as my own doctors’ room, there were paintings on the walls and the magazines were recent.

I checked my watch, 10 minutes until my appointment was due, and I hoped he doesn’t mind me being early. I sat on the edge of my chair; eyes closed trying to relax. . . .

The sound of the consulting room door opening brought me quickly back to reality; I looked up, into the bluest eyes I had ever seen. . .

“Mrs Jones,” he said with a voice that sent a tingle down my spine, “please come through.”

The consulting room layout was much the same as any other, a desk, computer and the examination couch. My eyes were drawn to the couch and he followed my gaze with a smile on his face, “Let’s get you seated and go through your notes shall we?”

I seated myself on the chair he indicated and took a deep breath. “Yes Doctor, thank you.”

He turned to the screen, bringing up the questionnaire I had filled in. “I see you have had quite a few partners, has this number changed since you sent this back?”

I looked at the floor in shame, “Yes, it has Doctor; I met someone new last week.”

“And I can see you have listed a few things on here that you think may help with your treatment, would you like to go over them now or discuss them with the practice nurse at a later date?”

“Later, please!” I managed to blurt out.

“Ok, Mrs Jones, no need to be worried about it. Can you tell me what drove you to finally come and see me?”

It was something I found hard to put into words, the longing, a need to get things sorted, to find out once and for all if . . .

“Mrs Jones!”

“Sorry Doctor, I just can’t explain it very well.”

“Never mind, let’s start by checking your weight & height.” Slipping off my shoes, I stepped onto the scales and stood under the height marker in my stockinged feet.

“Well that all seems normal enough. Now your blood pressure, if you wouldn’t mind removing your top?” With trembling hands, I undid my blouse and offered my left arm. I felt the usual squeeze of the cuff as he placed the stethoscope in the crook of my arm. He said nothing to me as he noted down the reading.

“I had better listen to your heart now, if you could remove your bra please.” I slid the straps off my shoulders, undoing my bra, revealing my breasts to him. The stethoscope felt cold against my skin, a contrast to the warmth of his hands.

“If you could lift your arms, so I can check your breasts.” I tried not to meet his eyes as his hands gently palpated my breasts, moving in circles. His fingers brushed over my now erect nipples. I felt sure he could tell, by the change in my breathing, how aroused I was. He turned again to write up his notes.

“Ok, all seems normal there, would you please stand up, remove your skirt, then turn so you are facing away from me. I would like to check out your spine.” His hands started with my neck feeling his way down until he stopped, just above my buttocks, leaving me with a shiver that ran down the length of my back.

“Now if you wouldn’t mind removing your stockings and panties, then hopping up onto the examination couch for me, we can continue with your medical.” I tried to stay calm as I did as he asked, hoping he hadn’t noticed the damp patch in my discarded underwear. Soon I was lying back on the couch totally naked.

“Let’s check out those reflexes.” Bending my knees, he gently tapped each one with a little hammer. “Reflexes normal,” he murmured, “now are you sure you’re ready for the rest of your exam?”

How could I say no, he was already reaching for the stirrups, inserting them in the sides of the table. Lifting my legs into them, he dropped the table end, leaving me with legs wide open, my pussy totally exposed.

“Please relax Mrs Jones, nearly there.” I heard the scrape of his chair as he moved it closer; I felt his breath, hot on me as his fingers ran down my now wet labia, gently opening me. “Well your external genitalia looks normal but I need to look internally.” He went to the cabinet and bought out a speculum, covering it with lube. Positioning it in front of my wet lips, he deftly twisted it as he inserted it, sliding it inside me. I felt it, spreading me wide, filling me, and exposing more of me to him. I moaned and tried not to wriggle on the couch.

“Ah, I can see you have an IUD fitted, it looks fine to me, no problems there then.” The speculum was withdrawn, leaving me with an empty feeling.

“Now if I can just check out one more thing . . .” His hand reached up to my abdomen as he inserted two fingers in me. I could hardly contain myself; it felt so good.

“No signs of any swelling or abnormality there.”

I heard no more for he had lowered his head, his mouth buried into my waiting flesh, tongue darting over my clitoris. I groaned as a hand reached up to pinch my nipples. His fingers within me found my G spot, pressing urgently against it.

He lifted his head and murmured, “There’s one more place I’ve not examined yet!” He moved his hand away from my nipples and began to insert a finger into my anus; a second one, making me gasp in pleasure, quickly joined it. He kept on tonguing me, sucking and nibbling at my clitoris. His fingers thrust into me wildly, my very being felt alive, every nerve twitching at his touch. I found my body tensing as I gave myself to the most explosive orgasm I had ever had. He kept it rolling like waves over me, repeatedly.

Afterwards I lay there drained with a big smile on my face but he hadn’t finished with me yet. As he started to undress, I could see the hardness of his erection, straining at the fabric of his pants.

Gently he lifted my legs out of the stirrups, holding them up, he positioned himself and with one big thrust, he entered me fully. I could feel the heat from his balls as they brushed against my arse cheeks. Leaning forward to kiss me, he whispered, “Are you enjoying your medical?”

I couldn’t speak as he began to thrust into me with long slow practiced strokes. His cock throbbed as he drove it in harder, hands holding onto my hips. I felt my clitoris come alive again and heard him groan as he came deep inside me. I came as well, not as powerfully as before but it was just as enjoyable. We lay locked together until I felt him slide out of me.

After a while, we both dressed and sat down next to the desk. “Seems to me like you are in perfect health,” he chuckled with a smile on his face, “no problems at all in reaching orgasm. Now would you like to make a follow up appointment?”

“Do you have any history of erectile dysfunction? Ever taken medication for it?”

The patient shook his head no to both, trying not to add any more expression to the response than that. The nurse was taking down his medical history as expected.

He sat a little uncomfortably in the exam room to which he’d been directed by the receptionist. It was the normal medical arrangement, a sink and cabinets on one side, the padded table with its disposable paper cover on the other. This room was provided with two chairs for consultation, occupied now by himself and the nurse.

“What about bloody stools?” she asked, moving to the next line of the form. “Or hemorrhoids, anything related?” Again he indicated the negative. There were a few other questions about general health, consumption of tobacco and alcohol and drugs, the familiar routine for a first visit to any clinic.

The nurse made a few last marks on the form and nodded to him. “All righty. You go ahead and undress, then wait for me by the table. I’ll be right back, hmm?” She smiled to him, so confident and reassuring. As she rose he could not help admiring her, petite and pretty in the white uniform, white top with short sleeves, a knee-length skirt, opaque stockings and comfortable shoes. It struck him as a bit old-fashioned, the white-on-white; most offices had gone to scrubs.

Alone in the room, he rose and steadied himself, making an effort to set aside his nerves. Undressing in an office or any other strange room is always a bit unsettling, and there was that moment of uncertainty about where to put everything. He draped his trousers over the back of the chair, his shirt on that, shoes beneath and the rest on the seat. It seemed some part of him thought he’d get points for being neat about it.

Naked now, he went over to the padded table as he’d been told. But standing there waiting made him more nervous than before, and he started to wonder if he’d missed something in the instructions. There was a gown, wasn’t there usually? Though so useless as to be a source of comedy, it gave a sense of being covered. He stepped over to the tallest of the cabinets and opened it, peering inside to see if there might be one waiting on a hanger.

The sound of the nurse returning gave him a guilty start. She peered in the door at him and smiled, “there’s nothing you need in there.” In her hands she held a pink plastic tray with a selection of tubes and jars, and a package of disposable gloves. “Over to the table,” she said more firmly as she placed the tray nearby. He closed the cabinet door, having found nothing of interest inside, and walked over to the exam table, suddenly feeling his nakedness in the face of her clothed professionalism.

“If you could just stand right there,” the nurse indicated the spot while she opened the gloves. “Feet apart, hands at your sides. Take easy breaths.” There were the rubbery sounds of her pulling one glove and the other over her small, neat hands, a final snap that made him twitch and her smile. “I know you all hate that,” she said confidentially, then leaned closer as she cupped his sac and felt his testicles. “Do you examine yourself? You need to check for lumps or anything odd.” He’d heard the lecture before, he was in the right age group, but didn’t speak; the firm press of her fingers there had him biting his lip as she examined him. A man can’t help but feel judged at some fundamental level, at such a time.

“Everything is fine down here,” she assured him as her gloved touch moved on to his penis. She held it in her palm, turned it this way and the other, checked his glans and the line just behind it where the skin changed from brown to pink. Her hand closed gently around his shaft and tugged upward as her other fingers pressed his lower belly, to one side and the other. When she felt him swelling in response she smiled again. “That’s fine too,” she told him, giving the half-erection a pat as she straightened up. “Now, could you lean over the table please. Stand right here at the end.”

Obviously he knew that moment was coming, but he swallowed nervously even so. The nurse wasn’t watching him; she made a few more marks on the form, then set the clipboard aside, next to the pink tray. Stalling now would make him look foolish, he knew, so he shuffled his bare feet to the end of the table. The paper rustled and the cushion sighed as he bent forward, leaning his weight on his forearms.

“Good,” the nurse said as she looked up just then. Maybe it was staged, she’d just waited for him to move, but it was reassuring anyway. “Feet apart again, a little more.” Her gloved palm touched his hip, urging him an inch closer to the table so that his hip bones felt the padded end. There was a void space beneath, so his penis and balls hung in empty, slightly cool air.

Her fingers opened him, touched and examined, a light stroke along the seam from his balls to his anus, a soft touch around the pucker. Then her hands were gone for a moment, while he heard the cap popped from a tube and the flatulent sound of gel squeezed out. “Don’t clench,” she warned as her hand returned, holding his cheeks apart while she smeared the gel over his anus. It was barely warmed from brief contact with her fingers and it made him flinch and clench anyway, but he relaxed a moment later. “Good,” she told him again as she rubbed it around.

No instruction to turn his head and cough; she pushed her small fingertip through the opening, letting the slick gel counter his body’s natural resistance. He tensed and held his breath, his hands rustling the paper of the exam table. Her finger turned, touching everywhere just a little inside him, continuing that intimate exam. Then out, to be replaced by something cool and a little pokey – the cone-shaped tip of the tube, he realized as she squeezed and sent a gush of that gel inside him. Now he did clench, and his breath came out through his teeth, but that didn’t stop the oily surge. As the stuff warmed in his body heat the nurse patted his hip and tossed the emptied tube into the waste receptacle.

“Easy now,” she told him as her hands returned to open and steady him. Her fingertip at his anus again, rubbing some of the excess gel around; then pushing in, but it was two fingers, pressed close together. “Easy,” she said again as his muscles tightened around her, “slow breaths.” Again she had no difficulty pushing past, her fingers ensconced in his warm grip.He felt the change of tension as her fingers separated, his knees trembling while she felt and probed inside him.

Then came the firm rub of her fingertips over his prostate, provoking a deep groan from him, making him shudder and lean more to the table. The sensation was similar to the verge of orgasm without the intermediate pleasure, and he noted in vague surprise how aroused he’d become. “That’s good,” she said to him as her fingers moved again, but before he could grow accustomed her hand slipped away with a wet noise of glove and gel.

The sharp snap of the gloves peeled off her hands confirmed this part of the treatment was over. “Stay put,” she told him as she tossed the gloves in the waste receptacle, and then reclaimed her clipboard. Her pen scratched a few more marks, and she turned the page. He waited in silence, trying not to feel the wet and oily exposure of his backside as he leaned to the table.

“You signed the waiver,” she noted, “and you chose not to have a sedative. Is that right?” Looking over to him, she gave the appearance of allowing him to change his mind, but her efficient manner did not invite any break in the momentum. When he nodded she checked a last box, and glanced at his naked form bent to the table, his legs apart.

“You’ll want to put your hands up here,” she explained, tapping her pen to the far end of the table. There at either corner, the padding incorporated two rounded knobs, soft projections meant to be easy for his hands to find and grip. “Just close your eyes, or look forward, that will help you relax.” She glanced down between his legs, and he tried not to shift his weight to make his hardness sway. “Your erection is a natural response,” she lectured clinically, “but it may detumesce during the procedure. That’s natural too, and it doesn’t mean anything personal about you. Okay?” Her confidential smile was back, reassuring while still professional. He nodded, then turned his face forward and rested his hands on the holds.

Walking over to the intercom set by the door, the nurse pushed a button with a sharp click, making it light up. Then she stepped around the table again, reaching over to pat his shoulder in passing. “It will be just a moment,” she assured. Going to the counter, she turned her attention to the cabinets and sink. She had to stand on tip-toe to reach up for one shelf, and he admired the woman again while her back was turned, her petite form and efficient manner. He couldn’t quite make out what she was doing, maybe shifting a few supplies from the top shelf to easy reach on the counter top. It gave him something to do while they waited, taking his mind off his nakedness and his position, his hard arousal and the odd half-finished feeling left from the prostate exam.

Then the door opened, and the nurse turned away from the busy work. “Are we all ready?” asked the man who entered, and she replied, “everyone but you,” gently chiding with her brisk tone. He chuckled at that as he stepped over to the cabinets, giving the patient a moment to glance over at him – a tall figure with graying hair and tanned skin, wearing a white lab coat over suit trousers. The nurse stepped close to assist him, and noting the patient’s regard she said firmly, “face forward,” making him turn away his gaze obediently. He took a breath and resumed waiting.

He could hear the preparations – the lab coat hung up in the cabinet, then the belt buckle and the zipper, clothing rearranged. A squirt of more gel from a dispenser, the wet sound of it rubbed over skin, back and forth. The tall man holding still, then letting out a sighing breath. Another wet rub, and the nurse’s voice, “all ready.”

The two of them came over to the waiting patient, the nurse moving to his side, the man standing behind him at the end of the table. She tapped the pad above his head, drawing his focus forward once more, making him aware of his hands on the rounded knobs. “There will likely be an initial discomfort,” she explained to him. “Keep your hands here, and try to relax.” He nodded without turning his head, and swallowed once, then let out his breath.

“Everything looks great,” the man said from behind, prompting a knowing smile from the nurse. “A little wider now,” he said with a firm push on the inside of the patient’s thigh; then his hand touched the dangling penis, half-aroused during the wait, giving it a firm squeeze. The patient’s balls had tightened with nervousness, making a smaller package that barely moved as the man prodded with a finger. “All right,” he said agreeably as he took hold of the patient’s hips, spreading his cheeks again, exposing the gel that welled up in his anus.

He felt the man’s strength, weight pressing him to the padded table, making the paper rustle between skin and vinyl. His eyes closed at the warm touch between his cheeks, bluntly seeking his anus. Then a hard shove, forcing the man’s cock in and through, the burning stretch of his anus and rectum so abruptly invaded. His head jerked up, he let out a wounded cry that obscured the man’s rough grunt, then another as a finishing shove seated the invading shaft far inside him.

“Easy,” the nurse said, more stern than reassuring. The man drew back his hips and shoved in again, forcing the breath out of the patient in another sharp cry. “Easy there,” the nurse coaxed more gently, her hand between his shoulder blades with a firm press. Another deep stroke, hard enough to jolt the patient into the table, making him grab tightly to the pad.

“Take a breath,” she told him as the man started to move more smoothly, hips forward and back, his cock sliding in and out of that burning, violated passage. Two strong hands gripping his hips, pressing him to the edge of the table; one small hand on his back, moving up to the base of his neck. “Breathe it out,” she coaxed, while the hard thrusts went on, matched to the man’s grunts of effort.

“There, now you are doing better,” the nurse approved. Her fingers stroked the nape of his neck, palm pressing down between his shoulders when he tried to move. The man drove in deep again and he winced and whimpered, so she patted him again. “Face forward,” came the instruction at the slight turn of his head toward the comfort. “Can you lift up on your toes?” she asked, glancing down the table. “That will help.” He tried, tensing his legs and ankles, pushing up with his feet to raise his hips.

The man’s response was to move his grip up on the patient’s waist and lean in more, driving his cock down into the offered ass. He groaned and panted, picking up the pace a little, smacking into the patient’s hips and thighs, fucking him harder.

That thrusting cock hit the hidden spot inside the patient he gasped in shock, then closed his eyes tightly. “There,” the nurse said knowingly, her fingers stroking his neck again. After a few more such strokes she told him, “I’m going to check down there. Mind your hands, okay?” He nodded without opening his eyes again, fingers gripping the pad to show his understanding.

There was no break in the hard, driving rhythm, the man’s cock squelching now and then as he shoved into the tight, well-prepared passage. The nurse leaned down, her hand moving under the end of the table, feeling for the patient’s penis. “That’s normal,” she told him as she felt how he had softened under the onslaught. She patted his thigh, careful not to let her hand get caught as the man drove in again.

She was back at his side, her hand resting between his shoulders while he gasped and whimpered, a tender sound matched to each deep thrust, each hard smack of colliding bodies. “Almost done,” she assured after giving the man a knowing gaze. The patient could hear the rough sound of his breathing, feel the tension and urgency in quickened strokes and gripping fingers.

It all ached now, his backside was on fire, his muscles clenched no matter how he tried to manage his breathing. His penis twitched with pulses and drips, feeling like he had ejaculated but not orgasmed. His legs and ankles were tired, shoulders hunched from gripping the table, holding on through it all.

Then one more hard shove and the man let out a strangled cry that he seemed half-heartedly to suppress. His fingers dug into the patient’s waist and the table groaned as he leaned in his weight. His embedded cock bucked and gushed, flooding the invaded passage with his cum, bringing raw spots to fiery attention. The nurse just nodded silently and patted again.

They were all quiet for a moment, instinctively waiting for the man to move first. He took a deep breath and sighed it out, then straightened up behind the patient. Regaining his balance, he pulled back, his cock emerging with a wet plop. His strong hand smacked the patient’s hip in a gesture of good sportsmanship as he stepped back and turned toward the sink.

The nurse left to attend him, running water in the tap, using disposable wipes and towels to clean him. The patient relaxed against the table as much as he could, keeping his eyes closed. He knew he’d be told to face forward if he moved his head. There was a wet sensation behind his balls as something started to ooze out of his sore anus.

More sounds of clothing adjusted, the cabinet opened and closed, the lab coat buttoned. “Room seven will be next,” the nurse told the man, and he nodded with some mutter of comment. The door opened and closed again as he left.

“You did fine,” the nurse broke the sudden quiet to assure him. She had taken up the clipboard again, and made a few final notes; then she slipped another form out from under the papers on top. “I’m going to leave the pamphlet on after-care here with your clothes.” Her soft footsteps carried her around the table as she did so, then back toward the door.

“Would you like me to send in your wife?”

* Every so often, the ruling junta of Kupro Marbordo, the Copper Coast, sends the cavalry to sweep the distant, lawless Pine Mountains free of brigands. A great opportunity for Ensign Fernando Bartro to make a name for himself — and maybe capture a slave-girl. But there are dangers ahead for the young officer. Will he make it through?

This story is set just after my earlier stories, ‘Slaves of the Copper Coast 1 & 2′. However, it is a stand-alone story and you do not need to have read the previous stories to enjoy it.

* WARNING! This book contains scenes of a sexual nature, graphic violence against men and women and strong language, It is not intended for the easily offended or persons under eighteen years. You have been warned, so if you read on, don’t blame me.

* The names, characters, places and events in this book are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

* License Notes: Thank you for downloading this e-book. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be scanned, reproduced, copied or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.



I don’t suppose you know much of the history and geography of Kupro Marbordo, the Copper Coast, do you? No reason why you should as I don’t suppose you’re taught much about our little country in your schools up in the northern United Zones. The only thing most people know about Kupro Marbordo is that it’s one of the few countries in the world where slavery, that peculiar institution, still thrives.

Despite its name, there’s more to Kupro Marbordo than just its hot, tropical coast and copper mines. Our capital city, Haveno Ananaso or Port Pineapple as you might call it, is by the sea. Further south from Haveno Ananaso, the coast becomes a crocodile infested mangrove swamp. Good hunting if you don’t mind snakes, leeches and mosquitoes.

Inland, near the coast, the land is fertile and there are plenty of small farms, market gardens and villages. However, the interior rises becoming drier and the farms give way to large cattle ranches. There are some very wealthy ranchers living in huge haciendas with their stock-men and vaqueros. And not forgetting their slaves of course.

Further inland again, the terrain becomes still higher and wilder until you reach the Montoj de Pino, the Pine Mountains. It’s a dangerous place, the Montoj de Pino, and not just because of natural hazards. The mountains are infested with revolutionary rebel groups, cattle rustlers, brigands and bandits, wild mountain man who are a law unto themselves and runaway slaves. Some of these groups are abolitionists.

Would you credit that! Unbelievable! People who want to free our slaves! Everyone knows our society’s economy needs slaves and, if they are freed, how will our slaves cope? Most of them are bone idle, lazy good-for-nothings and need someone standing by them to oversee every job.

However, I digress. Every so often the ruling junta based in Haveno Ananaso takes it into its head to send the army to sweep the Montoj de Pino in order to clear out the worst of these troublemakers.

And that’s where I come in. Let me introduce myself. My name is Fernando Luis Bartro. My father is a very wealthy, well connected man; highly regarded in Haveno Ananaso society. He took me aside and recommended me to enlist in the army for a couple of terms. He said, and he knows what he’s talking about, that having served would stand me in good stead if I later have political ambitions. But, as a young man, I also wanted a taste of some action and adventure before I settled down to make my own fortune in business or politics. So I was proud to join up.

After my training, I became Ensign of a cavalry section of twelve troopers. They were rough and ready men, but very tough. I wanted to prove myself to them instead of being known as a ‘white handkerchief’ as untested officers were called. Having ridden and hunted since childhood my horse riding and shooting skills were at least as good as theirs, but I’d never seen combat so they looked down on me.

So I was glad when the governing junta decided on one of their periodic sweeps through the Montoj de Pino. It was good to get away from wasting my life in barracks. The cavalry brigade my section belonged to was deployed to the southern Sierras and then dispersed in smaller units. The aim was to drive the brigands and abolitionists and the like northwards where they could be trapped and then either destroyed or captured. Some of those who are caught make good slaves eventually. After they’ve had their slave training at the Domo de Korekto, of course.

* * *

A few weeks later, my section detrained at a cattle town called Celanova at the foothills of the Montoj de Pino. We were to spend the night at the hacienda of a rancher who owned several thousand hectares. He had agreed to supply us and provide fodder for our horses.

As the men led our horses and pack burros down from the train, I looked around. Away from the humid, sticky coast the higher mountain air was much crisper and cleaner. Even despite Celanova’s all pervading smell of cattle. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky. Vaqueros all wearing wide sombreros herded cattle onto wagons to be transported down to Haveno Ananaso’s docks and then onto the United Zones with their never ending demand for beef.

I swung up into my saddle and then waved my wide brimmed bush hat in the air in a theatrical manner.

“Tally-ho!” I called like I was fox hunting.

We rode along the main street of Celanova in a well drilled group but I noticed my men looking longingly at the saloons and brothels which lined the thoroughfare. Outside the largest saloon, a group of slave-girls waved to us.

One of the girls was bent over the lap of a vaquero. The poor girl’s bottom was bright red.

“Hey, horse-boys,” the cow-poke called to us. He took his cheroot and stuck it right up her bum hole as if she was smoking it. The slave-girl squealed as the men laughed.

“Eyes front,” I commanded. I didn’t want the men getting carried away with the girls’ charms. Soon we were out of the dusty town and riding along the trail to the hacienda. Tall grass waved over the savannah as we rode past.

We reached the hacienda by late afternoon. The rancher, Senhor Helder Balduini and some of his vaqueros rode out and escorted my troop in. Senhor Balduini was a tall, weather beaten man of about fifty-five. He had piercing blue eyes accustomed to gazing at the far horizon and a neatly trimmed greying beard and a hawk-like nose. He was dressed in denim work clothes, just like his herdsmen but you could tell by the way they deferred to him that he was their leader. He had the vaqueros’ respect and I admit I wanted to be like him. He didn’t say much until we reached his sprawling hacienda.

I was shocked. Stale smoke hung in the air and I saw the blackened ruins of a couple of outbuildings. Gaunt, black beams stood out against the blue sky. Closer, we passed a small grave yard and I noticed three freshly turned graves. Seeing my attention, Senhor Balduini dropped back and rode alongside me.

“We were attacked three days ago,” he said. His voice was deep and rasping. “A large group of brigands led by Libereco. They must’ve known you were coming here. The scum killed two of my vaqueros and a male slave who was trying to put out the fires.”

I’d heard of Libereco. The name means Freedom in our language. One of the most infamous brigand leaders in the Montoj de Pino. A noted abolitionist, too. Unusually, no-one had ever seen him so his true identity was unknown. There was a large reward of twelve thousand piastres on his head. Dead or alive. Sometimes I daydreamed about capturing him and claiming that reward – enough to buy a small villa in its own grounds or three or four well trained slave-girls.

We dismounted in the courtyard facing the hacienda. The vaqueros showed my men where the stables were and then took them over to their bunkhouse. Meanwhile, Senhor Balduini led me into his hacienda. It was a substantial, rambling building, extended several times over the decades. It was built with thick pine logs, stone and compacted rubble and then whitewashed. Small windows were inset to keep out the summer’s heat and winter’s cold. It had a red pantiled roof. To be honest, it looked like a small fortress built for defence, especially as a stockade fence surrounded it.

Inside, it seemed dimly lit after the bright day outside until my eyes adjusted to the gloom. We were greeted in the hallway by a group of people.

Senhor Balduini turned to one of his slave-girls.

“Mazi, show Ensign Bartro to his room. See to all his needs,” he commanded. The summoned girl curtseyed low.

“Yes, master,” she said in a quiet voice.

She took my backpack and I followed her down a corridor. At the end she opened the door for me. She curtseyed again as she did so. I watched the girl as she unpacked for me. Under her simple, sleeveless shift dress, I saw she was petite with small breasts and trim, toned arms and calves. She looked younger than her eighteen years because she had a spray of freckles across her cheeks and snub nose and wore her mousy hair in two bunches. I thought she was cute. She worked quickly and efficiently. When she finished, she bobbed into a curtsey again.

“Will that be all, master?” she enquired.

Yes, I know what you’re thinking. But a glance at my pocket watch showed I didn’t have time. I needed to check on the troop’s horses and make sure my men were all right sharing the vaqueros’ bunkhouse.

“Yes, just brush my uniform and then that’s all, Mazi,” I told her. She flashed me a look of gratitude.

I was having dinner with Senhor Balduini that evening so he could give me an update on the local situation. As well as Senhor Balduini there was a younger woman in her early thirties I took to be his second wife. Jumping ahead, this proved correct. Sadly, his first wife passed away years before and of his older family, one son was in agricultural college in Haveno Ananaso, another was in the army and his daughter had married another rancher many kilometres away.

However there was a pretty girl of about twelve who was the image of her mother, his second wife, and two boys of eight or nine. Senhor Balduini had invited his head vaquero and his close neighbours — that meant any rancher under fifteen kilometres away.

We were waited on by their Cook and two slave-girls. Mazi and an oriental girl called Fila. I took her to be a Filipinho and wondered what had brought her all the way from those distant islands to this out of the way place.

The dinner was excellent. Roast beef (no surprises there), home grown vegetables and potatoes. The two small boys hung on my every word and sat there open eyed. I didn’t overdo it; not with Senhor Balduini and his head vaquero listening and judging.

They told me more about the worsening brigand situation although they were sceptical we could do more than disrupt them unless we killed or captured Libereco himself.

Senhor Balduini noticed my side–arm and I showed him my pistol. He looked at the gun, puzzled.

“It’s one of the new European

semi-automatics,” I explained. “Its magazine holds sixteen bullets.”

“You can load it on Sunday and shoot all week, si?” the head vaquero said.

“Something like that,” I grinned as I took it back. “A bit of an improvement on the usual six-shooter revolvers.”

This new style of gun had cost my father a lot of money but he thought it would give me an advantage if we came up against any brigands.

Ranchers work hard, and get up early. Long before customary back in Haveno Ananaso, our guests left and Senhor Balduini’s family retired for the night.

“I noticed you looking at my slave-girls during dinner. There’s not many women up in the mountains so I was wondering if you’d like company tonight,” Senhor Balduini said.

“Thank you.” I was grateful for his offer. “But they’re both so pretty, it’s hard to decide,” I said.

Senhor Balduini smiled. “Nothing’s too good for the officer in khaki. Why not take both?”

“Thank you,” I said.


Senhor Balduini clapped his hands. The two slave-girls, Mazi and Fila curtseyed.

“Go with Ensign Bartro and obey him as you would me,” he told them before turning to me.

“If you need to use them, you’ll find a selection of implements in the dresser in your room.”

We shook hands and then I followed the two slave-girls to my bedroom. I shut the door behind me and then lit two kerosene lamps. Under their white glare, the shadows retreated to the corners of my room. The room was decorated with wall hangings in earthy colours and a bearskin rug covered the floor.

I sat in the easy chair and extended my legs. I clapped my hands.

“C’mon, girls,” I said. “Unless you need warming up first?”

They shook their heads. “No master, no master,” they said. I was right about Fila as she had a Filipinho accent.

The two slave-girls drew their dresses over their heads and then unhooked their breast-bands. They stood naked before my gaze. Naked except for thin steel slave collars around their necks.

As I said, Mazi looked younger than her eighteen years. She was slim. Her hipbones stood out around the dark convexity of her navel. Her breasts were small and firm with pretty pink upturned nipples. She knew better than to cover herself and stood with her arms by her sides. But I knew she was ashamed because of the way she looked down at the floor.

Fila, meanwhile, was maybe a couple of years older. About my age. She was about the same height as Mazi. Like most Filipinhos, she had dark black hair, dark oval eyes and a small nose and chin. I thought her features were delicate and fragile. Looking down, she also had smallish boobs but with brown nipples and well defined areola. If she had a fault, and to me she didn’t, it was that her legs were rather short. Her eyes met my gaze until she dropped them.

I was pleased to see that, in common with our slaves back in the capital, they were both clean shaved. Pubic hair is most unhygienic on slaves, don’t you agree?

I wriggled my feet in my boots. I was going to enjoy myself tonight.

“Hurry up, girls,” I said.

They took the hint. The two girls dropped to their knees and pulled off my riding boots and socks. Then they knelt before me and kissed my sweaty feet. Their mouths and tongues licked and kissed and sucked on my toes and feet. Neither dared to kiss higher than my ankles. Neither risked glancing up as they concentrated on their task. Making them give you a good foot kissing is a good way to demonstrate your superiority to a slave-girl. And they were good at it. I enjoyed the sensations travelling up from my feet to my brain.

Eventually, after a good few minutes, I told them to stand up. They did so. I didn’t tell the two girls to do this but as they stood before me, their hands sought each other and they stood there on the bearskin holding hands. It was a cute gesture.

A thought came to me.

“You two are good friends aren’t you?” I asked. They nodded. If these were the only two girls for kilometres around; if their only company was their master’s family and the vaqueros then it couldn’t be otherwise. They were probably confined to the hacienda and grounds so they must have been lonely for female company.

I was wrong about that, by the way, as a few of the vaqueros were married and lived in separate quarters near the bunkhouse. However, I was correct about Fila and Mazi being best friends.

I pointed to the bed. “Maybe you two would like to show me how much you like each other?” The two girls glanced at each other and Fila nodded. A little smile appeared on her face, brightening up her expression.

“Make love,” I commanded. Fila led Mazi over to the bed.

“Come on,” I heard Fila whisper. “It’ll be like the little comfort cuddles we have in our room.”

They lay down together and kissed, their lips finding each other’s. The two women looked deep into each other’s eyes. Fila hugged Mazi close, and a moment later Mazi’s arms encircled her friend. They lay together side by side, kissing with more passion. Their small breasts pressed up against the other’s body. They kissed and kissed until Fila moved her arm down Mazi’s side and pushed it in between them. The girl’s hand moved still lower, seeking and then finding Mazi’s hot, sweet sex.

Mazi gasped as Fila’s fingers went to work, caressing, stroking then probing and exploring her sweet slit. Meanwhile, Mazi carried on hugging and holding Fila. As if she was frightened of letting go, of losing her friend.

“C’mon, Mazi. You can do better than that. Eat out Fila’s pussy,” I commanded.

Mazi shot a terrified glance my way. The two girls broke apart and then Mazi scooted down the bed. Fila lay back and spread her legs wide. With one hand, she slid her fingers between her legs and opened her passion flaps, ready for Mazi’s attention.

Fila made a kiss with her mouth.

Mazi glanced over her shoulder at me, but saw nothing in my face. Slowly, she buried her head between Fila’s leg. I heard her tongue go to work and a minute later, heard little sucking and slurping sounds. I stood up and crossed over to the bed.

“Raise your bottom, Mazi,” I demanded.

The young woman did so. I brought one of the kerosene lamps over to the bed and put it on a small table nearby. Mazi’s behind and sex were illuminated, lit up for my inspection. She had rounded hips, more fleshy than Fila’s rather flat bottom. However, her smooth, hairless sex looked neat and tight. I traced her vaginal lips with my fingertips. The girl shuddered, her bottom trembled with my gentle strokes. But she knew enough to keep her mouth firmly on Fila’s cunt. I ran my fingers over her sex and then worked down. I spread her clit hood and gently, very gently touched her sensitive little button. Mazi gasped as I teased her clitoris with my index fingertip.

“Keep working on Fila’s pussy. You haven’t finished yet,” I told her.

Further up the bed, I heard Fila make low moans.

Keeping my index finger on Mazi’s clit, I used my middle finger to explore around the girl’s vaginal opening. It wasn’t as wet as I’d hoped so I carried on rubbing and stroking her tender little clit for a while longer.

“Swap round, girls. Sixty-nine each other,” I told them.

Mazi seemed glad to get her cunt out of my reach. She lay on the back and opened her legs a fraction. Meanwhile, Fila got up on her hands and knees and crawled around the bed until she was on top this time. Fila lowered her sex onto Mazi’s face and then ducked her head until it was between Mazi’s thighs.

“Open your legs properly, Mazi. I shouldn’t have to tell you that,” I said. Mazi spread her legs a little wider, but not enough to satisfy me. I grabbed her ankles and dragged them further apart. The girl squealed in protest but left them where they were.

From the far end of the bed, I heard Mazi go to work on Fila’s lowered cunt. Good.

From my vantage point at the end of the bed I watched as Fila licked and sucked and kissed Mazi’s sex. Fila had short, black hair which didn’t hide much of my view. She had the harder position, her head bent down at an uncomfortable angle for her tongue to reach into Mazi’s sex. But she made good work. Her tongue darted in an out, licking swirling, caressing in between the folds of Mazi’s young, tight sex. Fila pressed lower and kissed and kissed Mazi’s cunt. I watched her oh so gently nibble on Mazi’s clit.

I felt myself growing rock hard in my trousers as these two pretty young women worked on each other at my command. I walked up the bed to see how Mazi was getting on. Her tongue was working away but merely probing in and out of Fila’s vagina. She noticed me watching her and put a little more effort in, and circled Fila’s labial lips instead.

I clapped my hands. “Stop,” I snapped. “This isn’t good enough.”

Fila stopped and looked up. Her lips and chin were damp with her own saliva and Mazi’s juices. She looked frightened. Mazi pushed herself up and looked around Fila’s trim body at me.

“Get up, girls. Now.”

The two girls disentangled themselves and then swung down from the bed, their small breasts trembling with the movement. They stood by the bed. Fila’s hand gripped Mazi’s. I looked at the two young women. They both seemed very young and vulnerable but they were slaves and needed to learn how to follow instructions.

“Fila. You’re doing very well, you’re making every effort to fulfil my orders. I’ve nothing to complain of about your attitude.” A look of relief crossed the Filipinho girl’s face, followed by a look of worry as she realised I was unhappy with her friend.

“But you, Mazi. You’re not making much effort are you? You’re just doing the minimum I ask. And that’s not good enough.” I paused. “I think you need some encouragement.” I walked to the easy chair I was sitting in earlier and turned it around so its back was now facing the room. Mazi’s face paled.

“Bend over that chair,” I said.

Instead, Mazi flung herself to the bearskin before me. She clasped my knees.

“No, please no, no master,” she begged. I grabbed one of her bunches and hauled her to her feet and then dragged her to the chair before flinging her over the back of it. She started crying. I turned to Fila.

“Fetch me a paddle from the dresser,” I said. I used a gentle tone as I didn’t want Fila to think she was in any trouble. I thought for a moment. It was late at night; everyone else was probably asleep and I didn’t want to disturb Senhor Balduini or his family. That wouldn’t have been fair after their hospitality. “You’d better bring a ball gag as well, Fila.”

“Please no, master. Please; mercy, master,” whined Mazi.

Fila returned with the implements. She knelt before me, still naked of course, and offered them up. I looked down, at the play of light on her olive skin, at her dark nipples and breasts. I picked up the paddle. And flung it across the room. It clattered into a corner.

“Not that one. It’s little more than a hairbrush. Fetch me a proper one,” I said angrily. I realise Fila is friends with Mazi but if I ask for a paddle, I want a proper one. I took the ball gag as Fila returned to the dresser. I stood over Mazi. I grabbed her bunches and lifted up her head. She was crying hard now. Tears were streaming down her face.

“I’m sorry if I’ve annoyed you, master. But please don’t hit me, please, please, kind master.”

For a moment I was tempted to let her off. She looked so small and young and vulnerable bent over a chair crying her eyes out. But if I did that, the girl would lose all respect for me. And I wasn’t having that.

I shook my head. “Open your mouth,” I said. She shook her head. Her bunches swayed from side to side as she did so. I pinched her nostrils closed. She had to breathe and she’d used up so much oxygen in her body with all that crying. She opened her mouth and I pushed in the ball gag, forcing her jaws apart. I then buckled it behind her head. Not easy with her shaking her head so forcefully, but the girl was no match for my strength.

“You’re just making it worse, Mazi,” I told her. “I was going to be lenient at first as you only needed a little reminder but unfortunately, I shall have to be more severe now.”

“Mmmghff,” said Mazi around her gag.

I turned round. Fila was kneeling behind me, holding up another paddle. Much better. It was at least sixty centimetres long, about six centimetres broad with holes drilled through it to speed air flow. It was made of stiffened leather. I lifted the paddle and swished it through the air a few times. Excellent.

“Get hold of Mazi’s ankles and keep her legs apart,” I instructed Fila. The oriental girl shuffled forwards on her knees and did so. She lowered her back, keeping out of the way of my blows. I took up position to Mazi’s left (I’m right handed) and then rested the paddle upon Mazi’s bottom. I rubbed her buttocks with the paddle, letting her skin get used to the feel and texture of the stiff leather. Even through her gag I heard muffled protests. I knew I’d be hearing a lot more from Mazi shortly. Her buttocks quivered with terrible anticipation.

I raised my right arm. Horse riding and military exercises have made me strong. I paused at the top of my swing. Then CRAAACKK!! The paddle smashed down onto Mazi’s buttocks.

“Mmmfaaargh,” she cried out, the gag muffling her shriek of agony. Her body jerked forward. She might have toppled off the easy chair if Fila wasn’t gripping her ankles. I raised my arm again. WHHAACKK! Another blow slammed down right across her agonized butt cheeks. Another broad line of fire joined the first. Mazi gave out another dulled scream. Her body lurched forward.

Still crouched by Mazi’s ankles, keeping the girl’s legs spread, Fila looked up, her oval eyes pleading. “Please, master,” she said quietly.

In response, I raised my arm again. And brought the stiff leather paddle down full force a third time. SPPLAATT! Another blocked scream rang out around my bedroom. It was a good idea I’d remembered to gag Mazi or I’d have woken up the whole household.

I laid the paddle down.

“Bring the light over here,” I told Fila. I wanted to inspect Mazi. She wasn’t my slave; she belonged to Senhor Balduini’s family and I didn’t want to prevent her from fulfilling her duties tomorrow. Fila got up from her place by Mazi’s ankles and curtseyed. She fetched the kerosene lamp.

“Hold it there,” I said.

I looked at Mazi’s bottom. Three thick red lines overlay each other covering most of her cute ass. Purple edging lined them. I’d been most careful and none of my blows had hit her smooth sex. However, there was no way she’d sit comfortably for a day or so. I separated her bum cheeks and looked up her ass at her tight, puckered anus. Mazi squirmed under my brief inspection. I stepped back and then slapped her bum. She squealed around her ball gag.

“You can stand now,” I told her. Mazi straightened up. She rubbed her buttocks. Tears filled her eyes and overran down her cheeks pooling in the straps of her gag until I unbuckled it. She flexed her jaws.

“What do you say, girl?” I asked.

She collected her thoughts for a moment and then, gingerly, knelt before me. She lowered herself, her small boobs brushing the floor and kissed my feet.

“Thank you, master. Thank you for correcting my mistakes,” she said around her kisses.

That was a stock response but it would do. I guessed she wasn’t sure why she’d been beaten — for not making love with sufficient enthusiasm but just going through the motions. I can’t stand slaves who think the bare minimum is acceptable.

I turned to Fila. She curtseyed. I pointed to the chair.

“Bend over,” I told her.

With a little sob, Fila did so. Her flattish, oriental buttocks in contrast to Mazi’s more Euro nates.

“Please, master. May this slave-girl ask why she is to be punished?” she asked.

She said it so nicely, I decided to be lenient with her.

“Because when I asked you to fetch a paddle, you brought something resembling a hair brush. Not good enough,” I said.

Fila slumped over the chair. Without being told, she raised her buttocks and spread her ankles.

I lifted up the stiff leather paddle and introduced it to her skin by rubbing it over her bottom. Fila shivered.

“Please, master,” she sobbed. I knew she wanted to get her punishment over with. I drew back my arm, held it at the top of its arc and then whipped it down.

CCRRAACCKK! Fila bit her lips and made a muffled shriek. Only then I remembered I’d forgotten to gag her but she tried to make as little noise as possible. What a good girl, I thought, thinking about all the sleepers in the hacienda. I dropped the paddle and scooped Fila up. I turned her around and held her close. Her tiny titties pressed against my chest. Her nipples were like two little stones. I hugged her close before dropping one arm down the small of her back and rubbing her bottom for her.

After a few minutes, I thought that these two slave-girls had recovered enough. I decided not to give Fila any further punishment. Not screaming loudly forgave her as far as I was concerned. I carried Fila over to the bed.

“All fours,” I told her. “You, too, Mazi.”

The two girls got into position, their beautiful, if bruised arses spread open to my view. Their tight little sexes underneath. I unbuttoned my fly and stepped out of my trousers and then hung my pants and shirt over the back of the easy chair. Freed from my trousers, my cock sprang up like a flagpole. All right, I may be exaggerating my size a little but you get the idea.

I knelt behind them on the bed.

“Sshh,” whispered Fila to Mazi under her breath, so low I barely heard it. I pressed my hand to Mazi’s cunt and then spread open her labia. I fingered her narrow vaginal opening. She was so young, only eighteen, and it was obvious she hadn’t been overused. Mazi whimpered, a mixture of fear and expectation.

I shuffled forwards on my knees and guided my flagpole past her lips and into her opening. It was a tight fit. I pressed onwards, deeper and deeper. I leaned forwards and grabbed her small titties. I fingered them, kneaded them feeling her nipples stiffen under my attention. Then I rammed my pole all the way in.

Mazi squealed and jerked forwards. I took a tighter hold on her breasts, keeping her in place. Then I took her. Took her hard. I rammed in and out, all the way to the base of my pole. As I slammed into her body, I felt the heat from her bruised buttocks against my lower abdomen. To be honest, it felt good, nice and warming. She was such a tight fit and I was so desperate that I came very quickly. My seed spunked right into her cunt up to her cervix.

Despite my arms, Mazi collapsed forward on the bed. I withdrew feeling spent. But I wanted to take Fila as well. I let Mazi lay on the bed. Knowing she wasn’t needed any further, she curled up in a ball, her arms wrapped around her stomach. I think I heard a few muted sobs. Until I slapped her bottom a couple of times. Then she shut up.

I knelt back on my haunches. My flagpole wasn’t at attention any more. I turned to Fila. I rubbed my cock up and down her bottom crease, my bell end dipping into the little puckered crater of her anus. But I didn’t want to take her anally. Don’t ask me why but I wasn’t in the mood so I didn’t force my stiffening rod up her arse hole. Tempting though it was.

My staff was almost ready. I moved it lower and with my left hand, I spread the Filipinho’s hot, damp pussy lips. She moaned slightly and pushed her bottom towards me encouragingly. Not that I needed any extra incentive.

I dipped my finger into her love tunnel. It was hot and damp, if not quite as tight as Mazi’s young cunt. I took my finger and sniffed the love juices coating it. Then I plunged my now wood hard cock deep into Fila’s cunt. She gasped as the sensations from her cunt flooded her groin.

As with Mazi, I took Fila good and hard. I should have taken them the other way around as Mazi was definitely tighter but I still enjoyed myself. All too soon I came a second time and the last of my seed poured into Fila’s cunt. I pulled out, my cock only semi stiff now.

I patted Fila’s spread rump.

“Hold it all in, girl. I don’t want your cunt leaking all over the bed,” I told Fila.

She made the only response possible. “No master,” she said. I watched as she clenched her pelvic floor muscles.

I was tired now, but I still had the two slave-girls on my bed.

I pointed to the bearskin rug on the floor. “You two can sleep on that tonight,” I told them. “I want an early start tomorrow, so make sure you bring me my breakfast in bed by six o’clock.”

The two girls swung down from the bed and crossed to the bearskin. That’s better. It’s hard to sleep in a strange bed. And much harder when you have two paddled slave-girls wriggling around to get comfortable as you’re trying to sleep.

So the rug was the best place for them.


Fila was prompt with my breakfast the following morning and she served it so beautifully. Cold roast beef, bacon, biscuit and greens. There was too much of it so I treated the slave-girls to what I couldn’t manage. I popped the last of the food into their mouths as they knelt naked before me. It tasted better than the bland but nutritious slave-gruel most slaves get to eat in Kupro Marbordo and they thanked me most prettily. I finished the coffee, stood them up and kissed them good-bye and then stepped out into the hacienda’s courtyard.

The sun was already flooding the savannah with light and in the distance I saw the peaks of the Montoj de Pino. They glowed pink in the dawn’s light. It was a beautiful sight. This high up the warmth had not yet come and my breath steamed in the early chill. As a rancher, Senhor Helder Balduini was already up and about and he crossed the courtyard as soon as he saw me. He wore a serape against the chill over his denim work clothes.

“Were Fila and Mazi to your satisfaction, Ensign?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

“Certainly, and thank you for sharing them with me, Senhor,” I said. “Fila is a very good slave-girl, very accommodating and I think Mazi only needs a little more discipline to be as good.”

“I’ll see that she gets it,” Senhor Balduini said, swishing his riding crop through the air. “Now, onto other matters. I’ll lend you a couple of my vaqueros as guides and scouts. Since that raid, they’ve been thirsting for revenge. They all volunteered to go but I can only spare two.”

Even back in coastal Haveno Ananaso, the vendettas of the vaqueros was legendary. Those brigands had made a big mistake by killing a couple of their friends. I thanked the rancher and then checked up on my cavalry troop.

The dozen men had assembled in the pasture by the barn. They looked ready for business in their khaki uniforms, wide-brimmed bush hats and riding boots. They were all armed with imported Albion made Lea-Anfeld carbines and sabres. Senhor Balduini’s vaqueros wore earth coloured serapes and sombreros and wide fringed chaps. One had a scatter gun, the other an old Martinho rifle.

With a cheery wave to everyone from the hacienda who had turned out to watch us we rode off towards the Montoj de Pino in the west. Senhor Balduini’s two young sons ran alongside us cheering us on for a kilometre before turning back. As we crossed the savannah I spotted in the distance other small groups of riders also making their way west. Other squadrons of cavalry also on this big sweep to clear out the mountains. I thought one group must be my friend, Lieutenant Aicolina’s troop.

We stopped for the night at a small hamlet clustered around a whitewashed adobe taverna. Fields of alfalfa and beans waved in the breeze. It was the last gasp of civilization before the mountains. The villagers weren’t particularly welcoming. They were probably worried about having to feed or billet us so I had the men camp in a meadow a couple of hundred metres out.

That evening myself, Corporal Estevez and one of Senhor Balduini’s vaqueros walked into the hamlet. One of the houses served as a small saloon and we had a few shots of tequila – the local fire-water. None of the locals spoke to us. On our way out I saw a poster on the side of the adobe taverna advertising an abolitionist meeting. The picture of the speaker made him look like a lunatic with wild staring eyes and a hedge-like beard. Typical abolitionist.

Don’t get me wrong, Kupro Marbordo is a tolerant country and it is not illegal to belong to an abolitionist organisation. But I ask you, abolition of slavery? Ridiculous. Yes, I know you in the northern United Zones abolished slavery over forty years ago but I ask you was that a wise move?

I was thinking of my own personal slave-girl my father bought me a few years ago when I turned eighteen. Bibi is a good girl, plump, but rather dim witted. All she wants to do is sit and gossip with her friends. I’ve had to deal with her laziness many times.

You can usually find my Bibi sitting chatting in our kitchen. If she’s not there, she’s either making out with one of our grooms or gardeners in an outhouse or shed or else she’s hiding out of the way dodging her duties, and eating a stolen fruit.

At first, I spoke to her or gave her a hand spanking but when that didn’t work I used the cane or paddle on her rounded arse. She cried and promised to improve but it didn’t last. Lately, I flogged her in front of all our other slaves. After she recovered from her whipping she was good as gold for a few weeks but as the pain faded from her tiny mind, she’s gone back to her usual slothful ways.

I ask you, what would a girl like Bibi do with freedom? She needs someone standing over her all the time just to keep her working. She’s a great lay, though.

However, I wondered about the abolitionist meeting and thought these villagers had more to do with the brigands up in the high mountains than they let on. After I returned to camp, I posted guards and fell asleep under the crystal clear stars of the mountains.

Beyond the village, the land gradually rose and the following day we were soon in the foothills of the mountains. I saw that firewood wouldn’t be a problem as we passed a number of acacias, mesquite and creosote bushes. We passed a stand of brittle-brush, their blossom blazing yellow.

Away from the cattle ranch, the air smelled so crisp and clean. It’s hard to describe but for someone like me from a humid, tropical city it felt so invigorating and refreshing. However, as the sun climbed higher it soon became very hot.

Heat beat up from the rocks and it felt like we were crossing a frying pan. We camped for the night in a shallow hollow between the hills. There was a little spring surrounded by cottonwoods. I posted sentries but we saw no-one although we heard coyotes howling nearby. After the day’s heat the night was very cold.

The next day, we were up in the Montoj de Pino properly. Senhor Balduini’s vaqueros came into their own as I think we’d soon have lost our way on the mountain tracks without them. The mountains were thick with the giant ponderosa pines from which they get their name. Against the clear blue skies, the snow capped summits stood out brilliantly. Although we were hundreds of kilometres from the coast it was a beautiful part of Kupro Marbordo.

However, we never forgot why we were there or the ever present possibility of danger. I detached a couple of men to act as skirmishers; to act as a vanguard against ambush. The vaqueros had a keen nose for danger and spotted the remains of a camp site only a few days old.

“Brigands,” the man spat.

The next couple of days were the same. If it hadn’t been for the ever present threat of danger, it would have been a very pleasant trek through beautiful mountain scenery. All the fresh air and crystal clear views you could want. The sort of thing rich people pay good money to enjoy. A few times we crossed the trails of other squadrons like ourselves also hunting the brigands.

Then one late afternoon, my lead scout spotted two men silhouetted on a mountain ridge on the other side of a valley. A stream ran through the valley bottom. Those two men must have been good marksmen. They fired at us and bullets churned up the earth only a few metres away from where we stood.

Immediately, my men spurred their horses in hot pursuit and cantered down hill and then up the opposite mountain slope. Senhor Balduini’s vaqueros in the lead. The two marksmen vanished from sight down the opposite slope.

“Wait up, men,” I shouted but they took no notice. Their blood was up after several boring days in the saddle with not a sniff of any brigands. I loosened my Lea-Anfeld carbine in its scabbard and followed suit. It was exhilarating cantering down to the valley floor, splashing through the stream, and back up and I soon caught up with my troop.

It doesn’t look good for an officer to hang back.

We breasted the summit. I looked down into the opposite valley with horror. There wasn’t just the two brigands we’d been chasing. There were lots of them; at least thirty. All mounted and all armed with a variety of firearms. They outnumbered my little troop of a dozen or so riders. I turned to Corporal Estevez.

“Sound the retreat! Now, man!” I shouted.

Corporal Estevez put the bugle to his lips and blew the first few notes of the retreat. But then a fusillade of bullets from the waiting brigands cut him off. The sound echoed from the mountain walls. Corporal Estevez made a strange choking sound and toppled from his saddle. That was all the rest of the troop needed. With one mind, they wheeled their horses around and rode as quickly as they could downhill, back the way we’d come. I saw another man throw his arms up in the air and crash from his horse, rolling in the dust.

The brigands spurred their horses after us. I jerked on my reins, turning my horse’s head around and cantered after my men.

The brigands followed, bullets chasing us, seeking their marks. But it is very hard to hit a moving object when you are riding yourself and I saw no further casualties. But we hurried down hill. The brigands knew these mountains better than us and were gaining on us. I spurred my horse onward.

And then disaster struck me. I don’t know what happened. Maybe my horse missed its footing on a patch of scree or loose rocks, or maybe its hoof struck a boulder. It could have been anything. It fell forwards in a bad fall. Instinctively, I pulled my boots out of the stirrups and rolled off my horse as I didn’t want it crushing me in any fall, maybe breaking my leg. I threw my arms out but my head struck a rock and my world exploded in stars, fading to red and deep black.


I came to hours later. It was dark and a camp fire was blazing nearby. I groaned and tried to sit up but my arms and legs wouldn’t move. I licked my parched lips.

“Corporal Estevez? Is that you? Where are we?” I croaked. A man pulled a burning branch from the fire and came up to me.

“He’s fine; he’s come to,” the man said.

The man crouched by me. His brand flared up. I recoiled with terror. He wasn’t a trooper from my squadron. He was a brigand. He was bearded with a scar on his forehead. He wore a torn, filthy denim shirt. He stood up and then kicked me hard in the ribs. I rolled away from his boot and only then realised that my ankles were bound and my hands tightly tied behind me. The man kicked me again.

“Stop that!” a voice from round by the fire commanded. “Libereco doesn’t want the officer damaged.” The man scowled at me and spat. His spittle hit my cheek. But he returned to the fireside.

Another man stood. He was slimmer, younger with a trimmed beard. He wore a stolen cavalry tunic and denim jeans. He knelt and checked my bonds. When he was satisfied they were secure he ran a length of rope from my ankles and tied me to a nearby tree stump.

“Please, water,” I asked. My throat felt like a desert.

“The officer wants water,” the man called back to his friends around the camp fire. They laughed.

“He wants water, I’ll give him water,” one of the men shouted. There was more laughter.

“Go on, Slasher,” I heard.

Another man stood and walked over to me. He looked on with contempt as I tried to sit up. He lifted his leg, placed his foot on my chest and forced me back down. Then, an evil grin on his face, he unbuttoned his fly and pulled out his cock.

“No!” I shouted.

He unleashed his stream and pissed all over my face and neck and upper body before aiming his piss back into my face. The warm liquid flowed over me to be soaked up by the dusty ground.

“Enjoy your drink, horse-boy,” he said as I choked and gasped.

“He still looks thirsty,” another man said. He too left the brigands’ camp fire and had his veiny cock in his hands by the time he reached me. Again, he pissed all over my face. I ducked keeping my mouth closed, trying to avoid the stream but as I was tied up I was too slow.

A third got up afterwards but he pissed all over my crotch, making it look like I’d wet myself. I choked with rage.

“Bastards,” I spat. They laughed.

Then the first, bearded man got up. The man who’d kicked me originally. He fumbled with his belt.

“Hey, you hungry, son? Want something to eat? How’d you like a chocolate sausage?”

“No! No!”

The man kicked me again. “Okay then. Nothing to eat. But soon you’ll be beggin’ for that old choc sausage.”

The man kicked me again but obviously didn’t want to upset Libereco because after that he rejoined his friends.

I lay on the damp soil, my wet clothes sticking to me. In the chill mountain air, I soon became very cold. The humiliation and degradation was far worse than the pain from my head injury.

However, I dropped into a thin fitful sleep. I woke just as the night sky was just shading into grey. I heard the clip-clop of horse shoes on the rocks. My heart leaped with joy. The cavalry. My men had come for me. I was rescued.

But immediately after my heart sank into my boots. One of the brigands whistled and his challenge was met with an answering whistle. The sleeping brigands struggled to their feet around the camp fire’s embers. One threw another couple of branches on and as the sparks whirled up I saw several more horsemen enter the camp together with some women on foot. I guessed they’d been sent away if the ambush had gone wrong but were now back.

“Report, please, Anselmo,” one of the new horsemen demanded.

The young man who’d saved me from a kicking off of Slasher stood and sketched a rough salute.

“Your plan worked perfectly, Libereco. We lured them in, killed at least two cavalry and injured one. And we captured their Ensign. He’s over there,” Anselmo pointed in my direction.

Two of the horsemen swung down and handed their reins to a nearby brigand.

Libereco. The most notorious brigand of the southern Sierras of the Montoj de Pino. The one I’d dreamed of capturing. Yet the one whose captive I now was.

The two new brigands walked over to me. I tried to struggle upright.

The first, and I assumed Libereco was a pure Angolan. He was tall but not extremely tall, standing about one metre eighty five, I guessed. He was powerful and heavily muscled. Despite the dawn’s cold he wore only a vest to show off his dark skinned arms and chest. His hair had been shaved to little more than stubble. Two bullet belts crossed his chest. The man gave off an impression of strength and control. Yes, I could easily believe he was Libereco.

But it was his companion who took my eye. Not as tall as the Angolan, she was still tall for a woman at about one metre seventy-five. A man’s khaki shirt strained over a pair of full, firm breasts. The cold had perked up her nipples and I saw their outline under the shirt. She wore khaki riding jodhpurs which emphasised her thighs and hips. I looked up from her bodily charms. She was what you in the United Zones might call a quadroon.

She had caramel skin, full generous lips made for kissing, hazel eyes that sparkled with intelligence and curly brown hair that fell way past her shoulders to her full breasts. Even in my distress I thought she was beautiful and I wanted her.

“What do you want to do with him?” asked the young man, Anselmo.

“We’ll ransom him off later,” said the big Angolan; Libereco.

“After making good use of him,” said the woman. I didn’t like the sound of that. I opened my mouth to speak but one of the brigands clumped me on the ear, knocking me over.

“Will you stay for breakfast, Chibuzo?” said the beautiful woman turning to face the Angolan. Chibuzo, I thought, that must be Libereco’s real name. I stored the information away in my mind.

“No, I want to be long gone before their cavalry come back,” he said. He had an Angolan accent but spoke our language excellently. The man and woman kissed and I felt jealousy and resentment stir in my chest.

About half of the men saddled up and rode out with Chibuzo or Libereco. As the sky lightened and the distant snowy peaks turned pink in the dawn light I saw there were still about fifteen male brigands and seven or eight women left in the camp. Far too many to tackle on my own even if I wasn’t tied up.

Later, I discovered that some of the brigands were runaway slaves, some were peons forced off their land, a few were dedicated abolitionists whilst others simply thought a life of banditry was easier than working for a living. But whatever their reasons, we had to stamp them out.

This gang ate and one of the older women kindly offered me a flat-bread and a mug of water. But then, I was slung over the back of a burro like a parcel, my hands and feet were tied underneath the poor beast’s belly and we set off deeper into the mountains. They blindfolded me so I had no idea where we were going.

I was in agony as we jolted along the path. The journey was never ending and my position rapidly became intolerable. I cried out for them to let me sit normally.

“Silence,” the beautiful quadroon woman said.

I shut up but couldn’t control the cramps or agony flooding my system. I moaned with pain. This was a mistake. She jammed a ball gag between my lips forcing my jaws apart and then buckled it behind my head. Fresh pain for me to deal with.

We halted in the shade for a siesta during the hottest part of the afternoon. Then they cut me down and I curled up in a ball, groaning with agony. The gag was pulled out. I flexed my jaws with relief and they poured some water down my throat, relieving my thirst but then the cramps hit my stomach.

“Please no more,” I begged. But all that happened was they pinched my nostrils shut until I opened my mouth to breathe and then the ball gag was forced back in. And then the nightmare trek continued until the sun slid down the sky and the thin mountain air quickly lost its heat.

I was cut down from my pack burro and crashed onto a patch of turf. I was glad to stop moving but the pain in my limbs and back, having been forced into an unnatural posture for so long was intense.

I heard a clank of chains and I felt the cold metal around my ankle. Then a woman took off my blindfold and ball gag. As my blinking eyes adjusted to light again, I saw I was chained to a dead tree. Looking around I saw we were in a little, steep sided box canyon. The shadows were already climbing the ochre sides of the valley. There must have been a spring nearby as there was grass and cottonwoods nearby as well as some tamarisk and even a couple of willows.

Near my dead tree, there were some tents and a couple of lean-to huts. This must be one of the brigand camps. In the distance I spotted a sentry posted at the entrance to the box canyon. He was sitting under a rocky overhang, his rifle across his knee. Even in my weakened state I thought that was lax security.

A couple of women boiled up a beef stew. From another rustled steer, I thought. One woman brought me a bowl and I thanked her but she didn’t speak. They left me alone for a while as the sky above the canyon turned from blue, to dark blue to indigo and the stars appeared like ice crystals high above.

Then they came for me. Two men left the camp fire and whilst one covered me with a revolver the other unchained me. He hauled me over to the camp fire and thrust me forward. There were ten men and almost as many women around the fire. Most of them were sitting on pine logs or boulders in a rough circle around the fire. Apart from a few sentries, this must be the whole of this gang, I thought.

Some of the brigands shuffled around. Then I saw her again. The beautiful but cruel woman from earlier, the one who’d jammed that horrible gag between my jaws.

She stepped over a boulder. She was even more striking than before, if that was possible. Her curly brown hair was loose and cascaded down her shoulders. She wore a yellow crop top which showed off her trim midriff to perfection. I spotted a glint of gold from her belly button – an unusual touch in a free woman. She wore a cut down denim skirt that fell to her knees – again shorter than any free woman would wear in Haveno Ananaso, Kupro Marbordo’s capital city where I live. I wondered if maybe she wears it shorter for freedom of movement riding in the mountains.

In turn, she looked me up and down then she looked deep into my eyes, her hazel eyes searching my blue ones. A challenge; a test of wills. I felt the full force of her personality. The other brigands had all fallen silent and watched the two of us. I knew now that she was the chief of this gang of brigands. But she had the weight of power of the whole camp behind her and it was me who dropped my gaze first.

A little smile played on her full lips.

“What is your name?” she asked.

I had nothing to hide. “Fernando Bartro,” I said proudly.

The woman nodded. “Bartro?” She paused for thought. “I’ve heard of that name. Didn’t your father recently become a Sinjoro, or Knight?”

I nodded. “That’s right. He’s a rich man and there’ll be a big ransom paid for me.”

There were whoops and cheers from the assembled brigands.

“Do you own any slaves, Fernando?” she asked.

What could I say? “My family owns some. Domestic ones and gardeners at our mansio in Haveno Ananaso and domestic and field hand slaves at our haciendas in the country. I don’t know exactly how many.”

“What about you personally?”

“Only the one. My father bought her for me on my eighteenth.”

“Do you ever beat her?”

I thought about my own personal slave-girl, Bibi. Like I say, she’s a good girl but bone-idle. Sometimes she’s more trouble than she’s worth. And I also thought about Senhor Balduini’s slave-girl, Mazi.

“Only when she’s naughty. Or to encourage her as she’s so lazy,” I admitted.

That response didn’t go down very well. there were angry growls and hisses. Too late, I’d forgotten a lot of brigands were runaways or abolitionists.

“I hardly ever have to hit her though. She’s a good girl,” I backtracked.

“Have you ever wondered what your slave-girl thinks? What she has to endure serving someone like you?” the woman said, angrily.

I can’t say I’d ever noticed Bibi thinking. Hiding yes; thinking no.

“Well, not really. She likes serving my family and I. She’s very happy,” I said.

“I doubt that.” And then she said something that chilled me far more than the cold night had done.

“Let’s see if we can show you what it’s like for those poor unfortunates who find themselves as slaves. Take off your clothes.”


The brigands, male and female leaned forward. Two of the largest men raised themselves off their log and stood over me.

I looked about but there was no mercy on any of their faces. In the flickering red firelight they looked like demons. I hooked my fingers through my buttons and slowly took off my khaki shirt. I dropped it behind me. I’m fit and strong and a lifetime of riding and outdoor pursuits have given me a good physique. Some of the women whistled. I unbuttoned my fly and then dropped my cavalry trousers and stepped out of them. I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Everything,” the woman insisted.

“No! You can’t mean…” I protested.

“Now you’ll find out how your poor slave-girl feels, stripped naked in front of strangers.”

There was harsh laughter from the brigands.

I shook my head.

Suddenly, one of the women behind me darted up and tugged down my under-shorts. They lay in a little pool around my feet. I was exposed to view. Immediately I covered my privates with my hands. There was more laughter.

I looked up, blushing with shame and embarrassment.

“I’m not a slave! I’m a free man! The son of a Sinjoro!” I cried out.

“That can be changed,” the woman said. She nodded to the two men standing next to me. They grabbed my arms and dragged them up behind my back. I thought they’d wrench my arms out of their sockets it was so painful. My penis was fully exposed.

Then a woman approached. She carried a short length of chain and a padlock. I thrashed my head from side to side but she draped the chain around my neck. One of the men hit the side of my head and I was stunned for a moment, unmoving. That was all the opportunity the woman needed. She padlocked the chain around my neck and then passed the key over to her leader.

The two men stepped away from my sides. I tore at the chain but it was on too tight for me to lift over my head. I stood, glaring at the woman.

“I gave you an order to undress, slave, which you refused to obey. That’s a very serious offence and must be punished.”

“I’m a prisoner, not a slave and I will not be a slave!”

“Silence!” Her voice whip-cracked around the little box canyon, echoing off the rocky sides.

“I will not be spoken to like that by a slave. Now I must punish you more severely.”

She turned to some of her people. “Bend him over that log and stake him out.”

They dragged me over to the felled trunk and threw me over its surface. The bark dug into the tender skin over my stomach. Several of the men held me down. Others grabbed my arms and they were chained together. One brought a mallet from out of a hut. I screamed in panic. I thought they were going to smash my brains out. Instead, they put a tent peg through the chain links and hammered the peg into the ground before me so I couldn’t move my arms.

They chained my legs and also staked that chain out. I was sprawled over the trunk, my arms staked before me, my legs staked out behind me and with my bottom in the air. I wriggled but apart from a few centimetres of leeway I was immobile.

“You can’t do this! I am a free man!” I shouted.

The woman spoke from behind me. “Gag him. I don’t want this slave’s shouts attracting any cavalry scouts.”

A young man, Anselmo, approached with a ball gag. I shut up and clenched my jaws shut. No way. But they had all the power and I was totally defenceless. He pinched off my nostrils until I had no choice but to breathe, and then the horrible gag was forced into my mouth and buckled behind my head.

“A very disobedient slave, Libereco, I would recommend you give him a beating to remember. Like his family probably beats their poor slaves,” Anselmo said.

Even in my terror Anselmo’s words penetrated my brain. Could this woman be Libereco, not Chibuzo the Angolan brigand leader? Was that possible? Nobody had ever thought the most notorious brigand of the southern Sierras could be a woman. If I could capture and escape with her I’d be a rich man — and be promoted and appear in all the newspapers. But I had other things to deal with first.

“Are you ready for punishment, slave?” the woman, Libereco asked.

I ignored her. I was too busy thinking about Libereco and I was determined to give her no satisfaction by responding.

“Yes, a very stubborn, disobedient slave,” she said. “And an ex-slave owner. Needs some punishment.”

I heard a harsh, loud whip-crack behind me. My whole body flinched. From the pain that was to come. The woman walked around the tree trunk and showed me what she was going to be used. It was one of the worst whips used on slaves in Kupro Marbordo. It was a two metre long black-snake whip, its thongs braided together to make one long lash. My eyes bugged out with terror. Only the most expert owners or Doms use such a whip as it is too easy to permanently damage or cripple a slave with this. Even in Kupro Marbordo, this type of whip is rarely used on slaves.

Through my ball gag I begged for mercy but all that came out was a muffled “Mmmnghh, “Mmmnghh,” and a head shake. The brigands laughed.

The woman walked back around and stood behind me. She ran the tip of the black-snake over my buttocks. My flesh shrank from the touch of the leather. I clenched my buttocks, desperate not to humiliate myself by pissing or shitting myself.

There was another crack in the air behind me. More laughter. I shuddered. Then my whole body exploded with pain as the black-snake slashed into my defenceless bottom. CCRRAACCKK! Through my ball gag I screamed like I’d never screamed before, not even when I broke my thumb when I was six or seven. My whole body surged forward against the tree trunk I was staked over. A man put his boot on my head and forced me back.

There was a pause as Libereco coiled the lash and then a hiss through the air and CCRRAACCKK! The lash smashed onto my left buttock. The pain was far worse, far more intense. A bolt of red-white lightning seared its way to my brain. Again I screamed as the cruel woman re-coiled the black-snake. SSNNAAPP! This time on my right buttock. Another blast of pain coursed through my entire body. I never knew pain such as this could exist in this world.

I couldn’t help it — I really couldn’t. I lost control of my bladder and my piss sprayed out and trickled down the side of my thighs and onto the tree trunk. Even in my agonised misery I heard more harsh laughter. I thought about my poor slave-girl, Bibi, back home in our mansio in Haveno Ananaso. I’d once paddled her very hard for laziness and she’d wet herself too. I’d laughed then but now I knew how she felt. I’d never beat the girl like that again.

But then another CCRRAACCKK! and all my thoughts were blasted out of my mind as pure absolute agony filled my mind and body. I screamed through the gag, trying to draw air into my lungs. Another CCRRAACCKK! followed by another CCRRAACCKK! and I sobbed and howled with pain and fear and anguish. I lay hanging over the trunk, just a mass of beaten agonised flesh. But that didn’t save me CCRRAACCKK! CCRRAACCKK! two more blows smashed into each buttock. I screamed and shrieked again.

There was another pause as the black-snake lash was coiled again. “One last blow,” I heard from behind me. CCRRAACCKK! The lash landed on my already battered flesh. One last blast of pain, worse than anything before it if that was humanly possible.

That was it. I lay unmoving over the log. A brigand unbuckled and pulled out that hateful ball gag allowing me to breathe easier.

“What do you say, slave-boy?” I heard from behind me. I didn’t say anything. All I could do was moan and try to cope with my agony.

Libereco walked around the pine log until she stood in front of me.

“I asked you what do you say?” she said. More harshly. I still didn’t reply.

“Obviously this slave-boy hasn’t learned the value of obedience yet,” she said to her band, making them laugh. “Maybe another few kisses from the black-snake will loosen his tongue.”

“No, no,” I managed to utter. I recalled what I like Bibi to say after I’ve thrashed her. “Thank you, mistress. Thank you for correcting this slave-boy, mistress.”

My humiliation was complete.

Except it wasn’t. There was worse to come.

The woman, Libereco, brought a kerosene lantern over and set it down on the log next to me. Its white light brightened up a circle near me and I smelled its oily reek.

“Let’s have a look, slave-boy,” she said.

Libereco crouched behind me and then pulled apart my butt cheeks. I was about to protest but thought it best to keep quiet. She pushed her finger deep up my anus. I gasped at the intrusion. No one had ever been up there before. Never in my whole life. My butt muscles clenched tight around her finger. She slapped my already bruised agonised ass forcing me to relax. She withdrew slightly but then pushed a second finger up there. It was a horrible sensation. I felt grossly violated and stretched.

“A tight little anal virgin; all puckered and ready for you, Parris,” she laughed.

My mind recoiled in horror. No. This couldn’t be happening. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve nothing against homosexuals — we are an open and tolerant society in Kupro Marbordo — but it’s not for me. Unless I’m watching two female slave-girls indulging in lesbian sex, of course.

A man stood and loomed into the circle of firelight. He was tall and slim with a reddish beard that reflected the orange flames. I heard him unbuttoning his fly.

“Lets burst his anal cherry,” the man said. There was more laughter from the circle of brigands. The man, Parris stood behind me. I felt his rough hands separate my ass cheeks. He spat direct on my anus. I felt the cold sticky gob of spit trickle down my crack.

“Ugh. He’s all hairy! Whoever heard of a hairy slave-boy?” Parris stepped back and slapped my arse. I cried out as his hard hand hit my hurt bruised flesh.

It looked like the evening’s entertainment was over. The brigand gang dispersed to their tents. One of the women pulled out the tent pegs. With difficulty I stood. The woman dragged me over to the tents. But then she pushed me back down and hammered a tent peg through my wrist chain.

I didn’t think about escaping,. I was naked, barefoot, chained up and my bottom was hurting too much. I couldn’t have walked a kilometre. And just as important I didn’t know where I was in the Montoj de Pino. I could easily get lost in the rocky badlands, die of thirst and end up as buzzard food.

I decided to wait and take my chance when I saw any opportunity.


The woman woke me early. She dragged me over to the fire and I had to help get the gang’s breakfast ready. Guess who got the scraps? Immediately after breakfast, most of the brigand gang rode out. They left a guard at the entrance to the box canyon and another lookout on a rocky cairn reached by a narrow arroyo at the far opposite end. Both had rifles and I knew there was no way out.

Two women were left with me. They led me over to the far end of the little valley. Under the cottonwoods and tamarisks a spring trickled into a pool. No wonder the brigands had chosen this canyon as their base.

One woman threw me a rag and block of carbolic soap. “Wash,” she said. I lowered myself into the pool. The water was freezing but refreshing. I luxuriated for a moment but then washed myself down. I felt more refreshed and human after I climbed out of the pond. The sun had climbed above the canyon’s stony sides and I swiftly warmed up.

The woman pointed to a nearby slab of rock and told me to lie down. I did so, the sandstone cool against my back.

“Spread your legs,” she said. I looked up. She was older than me, maybe early thirties. She was an attractive brunette with an upturned nose and full breasts underneath her gingham check blouse. She held a razor in her hand.

The horror must have shown on my face.

“Don’t be silly, you stupid slave-boy. I’m not going to castrate you; just shave you.” Her companion laughed. The other woman was younger and also sunburned despite the sombrero shading her face.

I lay back down. The sunburned woman held me down and turned my arms and legs as the older woman shaved me smooth. Then she took hold of my penis and lifted it. Despite myself, I felt it twitch like it had a mind of its own.

The two women grinned and the younger woman, with her ash-blonde hair piled into a loose bun, slid her hand up and down my length as the first woman shaved my balls. She stretched the wrinkled sac of my scrotum and the razor glided over my skin with a gentle scratching sound. It was incredibly sensuous, what with the younger blonde running her fist up and down my shaft all the way up from the base up to my bell end.

“Is slave-boy enjoying this?” she asked. I could only nod.

She didn’t let me cum. Not then anyway.

They told me to roll over. They drew in breath when they saw the state of my bruised and battered buttocks.

But the brunette spread my cheeks and I felt the razor’s sharp edge shave my crack and around my anus and then down to my perineum to the very base of my balls. I was a shaved slave-boy. I felt humiliated. Hairlessness is one of the signs of slavery as very few owners like body hair on their slaves. It is so unsightly and unhygienic. Now I no longer felt like a free man.

After they’d finished I rolled over onto my back. An eagle soared over the highest pinnacles, high up in the blue sky. An eagle — the ultimate symbol of freedom.

“Listen,” I said before the women got up. “My father’s a very wealthy man. And one of my uncle’s the Supreme Judge of Kupro Marbordo. If you help me escape from this hole; if I get back to civilization we can make you rich and drop any charges against you.”

“Rich enough to own slaves ourselves?” said the brunette woman in gingham who’d shaved me.

“Yes, yes,” I said eagerly.

“I used to be a slave myself before I escaped. I hate slavery and I hate slave owners. Now you’ll experience a little of what us slaves have to go through,” she spat. There was no sympathy in her brown eyes.

“I’m not a slave. I’m a free man!”

She rattled the chain padlocked around my neck and then squeezed my freshly shaved testicles. A low pain shot up from my balls and settled in my stomach. She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t have to.

The older brunette woman pushed me back onto the now sun warmed rock. The stone felt good against my naked skin as I lay there looking up into the clear blue sky.

“Keep still, slave-boy,” she said. I hated that title but kept quiet. She lifted her skirt and then sat on my face. “Don’t keep me waiting. You know what to do.” I did but I wasn’t used to doing this. Especially as this woman was free and so hadn’t shaved.

However, I had no choice. Unless I wanted a flogging later on. Under her skirts, I smelled her sharp, natural scent. My tongue started probing her folds, parting her labial lips, slipping along her vulva. I licked and lapped her vagina, deep into her slippery love tunnel; then along, past her urethra and around her love button. I felt her clitoris stir and swell as my tongue worked its magic. And then back, back to her vagina again and into her wetness.

Above me, the woman moaned and ground her wet cunt deep onto my face. Her pubic hair tickled me. I took a deep breath and carried on my work, my tongue probing and stimulating her.

And then I felt the other, younger woman take my cock in her hand a second time. Her hand stroked my shaft and I felt my cock thicken and stiffen. I moaned myself, under the woman’s skirts. She cupped my balls with her other hand and the sensation was too much for me. I tried to hold out but I couldn’t and I felt release and spurted my seed out into the air. Above me, I heard both women laughing at me.

At last, the woman above me came herself. Her love juices leaked out, soaking my face and chin with her wetness. She sighed with relief.

“Well done, slave-boy.” She stood and adjusted her clothing. I blinked in the hard light.

After that, we walked back to the camp. I now felt so downcast and unhappy with my lowly status. They gave me a battered straw hat which had lost most of its crown and a pair of sandals bound together with twine.

However, the other woman who’d given me a quick wank also kindly gave me some rags to wrap around my fetters to stop them chafing. I spent the rest of the day sweeping out the camp and helping to prepare their evening meal.

It was almost dark when the brigands returned. Not all at once but in twos or threes. Some had been out hunting and brought back a young deer, another a brace of jack rabbits. Others had been out scouting and were talking about a nearby herd of cattle they could rustle.

They ate and relaxed as the sky darkened.

Then I looked up with horror and terror.

Libereco stood up. She lifted up a cane from by her side and pointed to the tree trunk seat.

“Slave-boy. Assume the position. Bend over,” she commanded.

I whimpered, I couldn’t speak.

“Quickly unless you want black-snake to kiss your arse again.” There was laughter from the gang. I found enough courage within myself to scurry over to the pine log and bend over it.

“No, no, no, no,” I whined.

Again, tent pegs were hammered through the chain links securing myself in place with my bruised arse up in the air. I heard the brigands gather round.

“No, you can’t do this, please no,” I begged.

“Does your slave-girl ever say that?” Libereco asked. There was nothing I could say to that. Bibi used to say things that until she gave up.

Libereco spread my buttocks and looked up my shaved crack to my anus.

“I’m the chief here, so I’ll pop his cherry,” she said. There was laughter which I didn’t understand. She was a woman; so how could she?

I was soon to find out. Libereco stepped over the log and showed me the giant strap on wooden dildo she wore. It was huge — thirty centimetres long and five thick at its base. There was no way my ass hole could take that. I had enough air in my lungs to scream “NO!” Which was a mistake. Once again, my mouth was filled with that ball gag. I looked up piteously and shook my head to and fro.

“Axle grease,” Libereco called. One of the men appeared with a dented old bucket. She stood in front of me and lubed that monstrous dildo. My eyes watered.

Then she stepped back over the tree trunk and stood behind me.

“Don’t worry. As you’re a virgin I’ll be gentle with you. Like I’m sure you’re gentle with all your family’s slave-girls.” There was more laughter.

Then I felt the tip of that wooden phallus press against the tight puckered skin of my anus.

“Try to relax. It’ll be easier on you,” she told me.

Then she pushed and I felt agony as my anus was pushed open and that thing ripped its way up my rectum. She pushed and I felt its vastness inside my guts, swelling filling me up engulfing my senses. I cried out through my ball gag. I didn’t think I could take any more but I had to; I had no choice whatsoever. I felt her thighs press against mine. I’d taken the full thirty centimetres. It felt like I’d been impaled on a fence post.

And then she pulled back a little before ramming it all the way back up again. I howled with the pain and humiliation of it. She reamed me out until the pain overwhelmed me. I cried. A vision came to me, that of Bibi crying once when I had her bent over a chair and I was roughly using her bottom for my own pleasure. I hadn’t considered her feelings then; she was just a slave girl who existed only to serve my pleasures. How wrong I had been. Then another image shamed me. I’d beaten her afterwards for crying.

But I still had to deal with the pain of the ass-rape I was enduring. And I never knew such pain. I thought I’d never shit properly again. The dildo rammed in and out. I focussed on the darkness beyond the firelight, willing my spirit to escape my poor bound body. In and out like a steam train’s piston or a rammer swabbing out a cannon after firing. I couldn’t take any more but I had to, I had no choice. It felt like I was being ripped apart, that my innards were being destroyed. If this was being gentle, I didn’t want to know what rough would be like. But I was soon to find out. Eventually, the woman, Libereco stopped. She pulled out. I heard a little ‘plop’ sound as she took the dildo out of my red raw anus.

“Don’t dare follow through, slave-boy, unless you want another flogging with the black-snake.” No way could I take another beating with that terrible whip. Desperately, I clenched my buttocks, until that loose, oily sensation died away. I hung, limp and spent over the rough pine log. Surely they must release me now. Anyone could see I was at the end of my tether.

Then she said those words which ripped apart my soul as much as her dildo had ripped apart my arse.

“Anyone else?”

One man stood up. I recognised him from last night. Parris. The man who’d almost taken me last night. But now I was a shaved slave-boy completely at the brigands’ mercy. And there was no mercy for me tonight.

“Go on, Parris. Give ‘im a good seeing-to,” another man called out. “Give him the full load.”

The man, Parris, stood. He rubbed his foxy beard and sauntered around the circle of watching brigands. I sensed the man standing behind me. I tensed up with fear and an agony of expectation. As before he spread my buttocks and looked up my cleft to my anus. He spat direct on my sore, stinging hole. I flinched.

“Nice and smooth now, just like a slave-boy should be.” There was laughter from the watching brigands. They were looking forward to what was about to happen to a Kupro Marbordan cavalry officer. Worse, one who owned a slave himself.

“No, no, please no,” I moaned. My voice distorted by the gag. But I heard him unbutton his fly and lower his jeans.

“You’re going to get it big, slave-boy,” a woman called out, followed by harsh laughter.

Then he slapped me. Hard. Once on each buttock and then a third across both.

“Where’s your manners, slave-boy? It’s ‘no, master’. Surely you know that. But as you’re only a new slave-boy, I’ll not flog you if you beg me nicely,” Parris told me over more laughter from the other brigands.

“Better do as he says, slave-boy. He means it.” One, I think it was Anselmo, said.

“Please, please, master,” I pleaded through the ball gag. I didn’t know what he wanted me to say so I just begged incoherently. “Please, please.” I said.

“Did you hear that, folks? Parris said. “This slutty slave-boy is begging me to take him up the arse. We don’t want anyone accusing us of being cruel to our slave so I’d better satisfy his needs.” More laughter echoed off the canyon’s high sides. I opened my mouth to protest but before I could say anything, Parris rammed his rigid, veiny cock right up my poor abused bum hole.

I cried out as my hole reflexively gripped the man’s shaft and he slid in out, slowly at first and then faster and faster. Hard rough and brutal. There must still have been a residue of axle-grease left over from Libereco’s dildo but it still hurt. Parris leaned forward and gripped my hips for better purchase. I was beyond feeling anything except the agony and humiliation of being ass-raped with nothing I could do about it.

Suddenly, with no warning, Parris shot his load up inside me. It felt like red-hot magma spurting from a volcano, up and inside my rectum. I cried out with shock and pain.

“Don’t you dare shit my love juice out, boy. Hold it all in for me.” I heard from behind me. I nodded and clenched my buttocks again as Parris withdrew his now shrinking cock.

Then I felt a fresh, sharp pain as he jammed a butt plug right up my poor violated hole. I cried out.

“Keep that in all night as a reminder, boy,” he said to fresh laughter.

Not long after, the brigands broke up for the night. One pulled out the tent pegs securing my wrist and ankle chains freeing me. Slowly, I stood, my muscles bunching and jumping with pain as the blood started to circulate again.

I looked down. I couldn’t believe the shame of it. My cock was erect. No way. I couldn’t understand it as I hated what had happened but it was true. My shaved cock was stiff and hard. The brigands laughed louder and longer. I tried to cover my erection with my hands but Slasher knocked them away.

“Hey, Parris, this dirty little slave-boy got off on it. He loved it,” Slasher called out.

The only one not laughing was Anselmo himself.

“That often happens. Even men who aren’t gay can get erections when they’re taken anally. They can’t help it.” I looked at Anselmo with gratitude.

Libereco herself pushed her way through the brigands. “Shame to waste it. She grabbed my cock and dragged me over to her tent. I stumbled, the ankle chain catching on a rock. She yanked my penis – a raving bolt of pain tore down my shaft and settled in my groin. It was difficult to keep up with her but I had no choice.

She led me to her tent and closed the flap behind us. There was a camp bed along one canvas side and a rough hewn table with an oil lamp standing on it. Some of her clothes hung from the ridge pole. I dreaded what she would make me do. Was she going to ass rape me a second time with the wooden phallus which was lying next to the lantern? My damaged bruised ass-hole couldn’t take that again.

She stood before me. With one easy motion, she drew off her riding blouse and tossed it onto her cot. She wore no breast-band and her bosom was firm yet full with lovely round nipples, standing proud in the night’s cooler air. They were a darker brown than her caramel skin and contrasted nicely. I stared before dropping my eyes to her pierced belly button. Next she unbuttoned her fringed buckskin skirt and let it slide over her hips and down her long legs. She stooped, her breasts depending beautifully, swaying gently and threw the skirt onto her bed next to her blouse.

Apart from a pair of panties, Libereco was completely naked now.

She looked at me with her sparkling hazel eyes and a smile curled her plump lips.

“Take off my panties,” I made to obey and stepped forward with my hands outstretched. “With your teeth, slave.”

I knelt before this strong beautiful woman and did something I’d never imagined I would ever do. I kissed her bare feet. Instinctively, I knew my submission would please her. She let me kiss them for a minute but then she grabbed a handful of hair and lifted my head.

“Panties, slave-boy,” Libereco reminded me.

I licked my lips and then gripped the waist band with my teeth. Gently I tugged them down, over the swell of her hips. Her dark, curly pubic hair tickled my lips and nose. For a moment I was surprised. As you may know, in our society only free people have pubic hair. Nearly all the naked women I’d seen so far in my life have been slave-girls and, of course, they are all shaved smooth.

I nearly sneezed but that would have been a bad mistake. I wrinkled my nose and I caught a hint of Libereco’s natural scent, heavy and musky and arousing. I tugged the panties lower, down her long tapered legs to her feet. I kissed her toes again and then Libereco stepped out of her panties. Her lovely, pale brown body glorious in the lamplight. She raised me up and led me over to her bed.

“Lie down,” she commanded. I obeyed. Libereco fetched down some ropes from off the ridge pole and tied my wrist and ankle chains to the ends of her camp bed.

Despite what I’d been through my cock was still hard. It felt swollen, full and I needed release. Libereco raised her arms, accentuating her magnificent breasts. Her wavy brown tresses cascaded down past her breasts. She was an amazing woman, simply beautiful. She saw me watching and smiled.

“Does Libereco please this slave-boy?”

What could I say? “Yes ma’am,” I said. And I meant it. She could see the proof with my cock pointing at the ridge pole.

“And this slave-boy pleases his mistress.”

With that Libereco climbed onto the camp bed and straddled me. It groaned under our combined weights. She took hold of my shaft and pulled down my foreskin. The pleasure made me groan with anticipation. My body arched. Pre-cum glistened on my purple bell-end.

Libereco fed my penis into her vagina. Her tight walls gripped my shaft. She paused for a moment, looking down on me, a smile playing on her full, wide lips. Then she rode me like a cow-girl, her body riding me faster and faster, harder and harder. Her muscular vagina was tight and I tried to resist letting go; to let my mistress make the pace.

Her body rode me, her breasts bouncing, her hair flowing. I wanted to hold her breasts, to feel her hard nipples beneath my fingers. But my hands were bound to the bed and it was impossible. Libereco looked up at the roof of her tent with an expression of pure ecstasy. I was just there to be used for this woman’s pleasure. But I couldn’t last out any longer. I bucked beneath her. My semen jetted out filling her vagina with my white love juice.

A moment later, Libereco herself came in her orgasm. She collapsed onto me and I felt her warmth as she lay on me, her breasts pressed against my chest. She rubbed her hand over my chest and then gently kissed my face and nibbled my ear. Just for a moment I felt completely at ease. I hoped the brigand leader would let me stay in her tent for the night.

My cock relaxed and then Libereco swung off my body, the air cool against my love-sweat. Swiftly, Libereco untied me. I sat up and rubbed my wrists and ankles.

“Out,” she said, pointing to the tent flap.

Slowly, I stood and left. Libereco did not look back at her slave-boy.

As usual I spent the night wrapped in rags for blankets next to the camp fire’s embers. I was kept awake by the screams of a puma or mountain-lion higher up the peaks.


The next few days were better and the brigand camp settled into dull routine. Even the sound of distant gunshots didn’t arouse them. Every day, shortly after dawn, the brigands left and returned as night fell. As there was no escape for this naked slave-boy, I was free to wander around the camp. My duties included sweeping it up, tending the fire, helping to prepare meals but as I was a cavalryman I also looked after the brigands’ horses and burros in the corral.

I was right about the lax security, though. As the two sentries got used to my presence they took less and less notice of my presence. The man who always guarded the main entrance to the box canyon was a grizzled, older man in his sixties with a bad limp who could no longer ride a horse. After Libereco and the others were out of sight, he wrapped himself up in his serape, tipped down his sombrero and took a long siesta in the shade.

The other man who was stationed at the top of the narrow arroyo beyond the spring was unusual among the brigands. I wanted to know his story as he was obviously educated and spoke with a posh accent. However, he was fascinated with the geology of the Montoj de Pino and was always deserting his post and wandering off among the crags looking for rare rocks. He was convinced there was an untapped seam of silver ore nearby. He reckoned that one day he would stake a claim and get rich. The others laughed at him.

So, one hot afternoon when the sun looked twice its normal size and it’s rays bounced off the rocky walls and the breeze was like an open furnace, I seized my chance. The two women were taking a siesta in their tent. The two sentries were either asleep or rock hunting. However, I was still chained and naked so escaping would have meant a slow death of thirst.

Without finding my corpse at the ambush site, I knew my troop would still be searching for me. I crossed to the camp fire. Most of the firewood was mesquite or creosote. Too dry and fast burning for my purposes. I made my way to the damp coolness by the spring and, over several trips, gathered up several armfuls of greener wood. I was gasping with thirst and my naked body was covered in scratches and sweat by the time I’d fetched enough wood.

I built up the camp fire until the flames were bright. Then I carefully laid the greenwood on top. I still wasn’t happy until I poured axle-grease over the top. Soon, thick black smoke was billowing up above the canyon’s walls.

I fetched a worn out horse-blanket and made smoke signals using Morse code. Dash dit dit dit / dash dit dash dit / dit dash dit dit. B C L, I made three times before I ran out of greenwood. It was one of our pre-arranged codes: Brigand Camp Located. I could do no more for the time being. All I could do was hope that one or more of our cavalry patrols spotted my signal and got a fix on my position. And then they’d come and rescue me.

I scattered the ashes, washed myself down in the spring and drank deep of the cool water.

When the two rested women came out of their tent, they didn’t seem to notice anything untoward. However, I didn’t have too long to wait for something to happen. Earlier than usual, I heard cantering and then the brigands, led by Libereco herself, swept into the narrow canyon.

“What’s been going on?” she demanded. “Who’s been making smoke?” Her hazel eyes fell on mine and she instantly knew who was to blame. She swung down from the saddle and handed the reins to Anselmo.

“What have you been signalling, slave-boy?” Libereco shouted, her voice ringing around the canyon.

“No-body, ma’am” I lied. “I’m sorry, ma’am but the fire was nearly out so I put fresh firewood on but I didn’t realise the wood was green. I’m so sorry.”

Libereco looked at me and knew I was lying.

“What signals have you sent?” she asked again.

“Who cares? We’ll have to leave this camp,” said Anselmo by her side, a worried look on his young face.

“I know that. But we haven’t come across a trace of any patrols around here so we’ve got a little time. Enough to make this lying slave-boy tell us what he’s done,” Libereco snapped.

“Does it matter? Let’s just break camp,” said Anselmo. A couple of others nodded agreement.

I took a step backwards, away from Libereco’s fury.

“Seize him,” she demanded. Immediately, a couple of brigands grabbed my arms. They dragged me over to the fallen log and bent me over it, my arse up in the air.

“No, no,” I begged. “Honest, ma’am, I haven’t signalled anyone.”

She beckoned. “Parris. Give him a truth injection.”

“No, no,” I screamed. My poor anus was still sore from the other day. But two brigands held me down whilst Parris, with an evil grin on his foxy face, dropped his jeans.

“Looks like we’re all out of lube,” he said glancing into the nearly empty axle-grease bucket. He spread my bum cheeks and then forced his rod into my sore, red ring. I screamed out again. With pain and humiliation. Parris was an expert. He sawed back and forth yet he held back from spurting inside me for as long as he could until my poor anus felt like it would never recover. I cried out as Parris eventually shot his load up me.

He withdrew and then slapped my still bruised bottom. I cried out again as I desperately clenched my buttock muscles tight.

“What do you say slave-boy?” he demanded.

Then came my total abasement before these fiendish brigands. I hung limp over the pine log as I said those words; words I like my Bibi to say after I’ve used her.

“Thank you, master. Thank you for satisfying this slave-boy.”

The brigands laughed. Except for Libereco herself. She gripped my hair and lifted my head until I had no choice but to look into her eyes.

“So. What have you been signalling?”

“No-one, ma’am. No-one,” I gasped, meeting her gaze, willing the brigand leader to believe me.

She looked around the knot of brigands.

But things were going to get a lot more painful for me.

She picked up a flat boulder from near the camp fire, about the size of a dinner plate and placed it next to me on the pine log.

“Put his cock on that,” she told the two men holding me down. They lifted me up, turned me around and made me kneel before the log with my cock and balls resting on the flat boulder. The slab was hot from the sun and burned the sensitive skin of my genitals.

“You sure you don’t wanna tell the truth?” one of the men, Slasher, said.

“I am!” I shouted.

Then Libereco herself approached. She carried a thin, whippy willow branch from the firewood pile. She swished the willow through the air. I shuddered at the sound.

“Last chance, slave-boy,” she said.

“Please, no, no,” I whined.

She ran the tip of the willow whip up and down my shaft and tickled my balls with it. They shrank from its touch.

“Shame to have to do this,” Libereco said.

“No,” I screamed as she slashed the whippy branch down on my testicles. The agony was like wildfire racing up from my balls to my brain — an intense fiery slash of red pain. Another slash down on my testicles; another vivid blast of pain.

I cried out my agony to the blue sky above. I howled like an animal. There was some laughter from the brigands, but even in the depths of my torture I noticed some of the men clutching their crotches in sympathy.

A third stroke, right on the base of my cock. I screamed out again and a spray of amber urine jetted out of my cock, almost splashing Libereco herself. I couldn’t help myself.

“You filthy bastard,” the angry woman swore. Her hair was all disarranged from the force of her blows and her eyes flashed fire. She slashed the willow whip down again, right across my testicles again. Yet another vicious line of pain exploded in my genitals. I felt sick. My scrotum reddening and starting to swell under the force of this furious woman’s whipping.

I could take no more of this torture. I opened my mouth to beg for mercy; to tell Libereco the signal I’d sent.

Just then my ears picked up the sound of trotting hoofs. In spite of the pain flooding my system my heart leaped inside me. Was this a cavalry patrol following the source of my smoke signals? Was I about to be rescued?

But then my heart sank to the soles of my feet. I heard no shouting or gunshots.

Instead eight or nine other brigands came into view. The big Angolan, Chibuzo, at their head. He swung down from his bay horse and passed the reins to a woman. He wore a plaid shirt with bandoleers crossing his broad chest. He swept a sombrero with a silver band from his head.

He looked at me kneeling naked by the pine log with my red raw penis resting on the slab. His lips curled with contempt. Then he turned to Libereco still standing there holding that willow whip.

“Libereco, you need to strike camp. There’s several cavalry patrols scouring the near Sierras,” Chibuzo said. “We only just made it here without being spotted ourselves.”

Libereco looked around. “They’ll never find this little canyon,” she said. “And it’s too good a spot to abandon, what with having water and fuel.”

“That’s your choice, Libereco,” Chibuzo admitted, “but if I was you I’d move on, even if only for a few weeks whilst the patrols are so active.”

Libereco nodded at this advice.

“We can always come back later when it’s quieter,” said Anselmo.

That seemed to decide her. “We’ll move out tomorrow.” She turned to her gang. “Pack up what we can take with us and hide or bury the rest,” she ordered.

She hauled me to my feet by the chain around my neck and dragged me over to the camp fire.

“I haven’t finished with you. But for now help get the evening meal ready.” Then Libereco led Chibuzo over to her tent. Through the canvas I saw the two leaders talking together, his voice a deep bass.

Libereco called me into her tent. I pulled back the tent flap. Libereco and Chibuzo were sitting around a small folding table sharing a bottle of wine. Maps and paperwork littered the tabletop and my semi-automatic lay on top as a paperweight.

I knelt and kept my gaze on the floor. Chibuzo sneered at me. He obviously thought I wasn’t much of a man. More of a grovelling worm. Which Libereco soon proved to him.

“Kiss my feet, slave-boy,” Libereco demanded.

I shuffled forwards on my knees. Libereco wore high riding boots. Gently, I unbuttoned the boots and slid them off her legs. Her calves were long, smooth and tanned. She wriggled her toes. I knelt before her and kissed her feet, sucking and licking in between her toes. I took her big toe in my mouth, licking and sucking and working my tongue in and around her toes.

After a few minutes of this, Chibuzo spoke.

“Boy. When you’ve finished kissing your mistress’s feet; show us how your newfangled gun works. It seems to be broken.”

“Yes, master,” I mumbled.

When Libereco let me stand, I bowed and picked up my semi-automatic. Chibuzo covered me with his revolver.

“No funny ideas, boy,” Chibuzo growled.

Immediately, I saw what had happened. My pistol had jammed. That is the problem with semi-automatics. Although they hold more bullets than a six-shooter, they’re not so reliable. I pulled out the magazine, peered at it and shook my head sadly.

“I’m sorry. It’s broken. You’ll have to take it to a gunsmith to get it fixed,” I lied. All that was wrong was a jam which would be easy to fix but I wasn’t going to do that for these brigands.

“Hunk of junk,” growled Chibuzo.

They sent me out and carried on with their discussions.


After we’d eaten, I thought I’d be tortured again but the brigands were too busy striking camp and getting things ready to move on at first light tomorrow. Slasher threw me a shovel and I had to dig a hole in the sandy soil to bury some of their loot that was too bulky to take with them.

Afterwards, as usual, I wrapped myself in rags and stretched out by the camp fire. I looked up at the far distant stars like diamonds scattered across black velvet. Despite my nakedness, I thought about trying to sneak away in the darkness. Once we moved on into the further mountains it would be much harder for me to escape.

Maybe because of all the exercise and in spite of the pain from my throbbing testicles, I fell asleep. It was almost dawn when I woke, chilled and cramped. The sky above the canyon’s walls now a dark grey.

I stretched out, yawned and cupped my swollen testicles.

Suddenly there was the crash of a single rifle shot echoing around the canyon followed by a fusillade of shots. Over it all came the clear notes of a bugle call sounding the attack. There was a scream and at the head of the canyon I saw the old sentry’s body arching down from the rocky overhang. His body turned once and then slammed to the rocks below.

There was whoops and hollers of excitement and then more horsemen cantered around the entrance of the canyon. They spurred their horses and galloped towards our camp site.

Have you ever stirred up an ants nest with a stick? The brigand camp was like that. Brigands tumbled out of their tents rushing about. Some snatched up rifles or revolvers and were firing back at the horsemen. The darkness inside the canyon lit up by flashes of orange fire. I saw one trooper fall from his saddle and was dragged along by his horse.

In all the chaos and confusion, the brigands had forgotten about me. I crouched behind the log by the fire’s ashes and looked about. I saw Chibuzo and Libereco emerge out of their tent. Chibuzo hurriedly belted his jeans and draped a gun-belt over his shoulder. Libereco wore only her white brocade slip and stood out like a beacon in the darkness. The two leaders took in the situation at a glance. Immediately they ran to the corral and threw saddles over two horses.

Meanwhile, the battle was going badly for the freshly awakened and disorganised brigands. One of the tents was ablaze, probably from an overturned lantern and its flames lit up the scene. Gunfire crashed around and cordite fumes filled the narrow valley. I saw more prone bodies and still more cavalry sweeping into the canyon. A few of the troopers had dismounted and a vaquero sharpshooter was picking off any brigands showing fight.

However, Libereco and Chibuzo had saddled up and were picking their way down the canyon to the narrow arroyo at the far end leading out to the peaks beyond. A wave of anger flooded through me washing away my pain. I stood and raced to Libereco’s tent. Some fool of a vaquero took a pot shot at me but the bullet whistled away in the night.

I was in luck. Still hanging from the ridge pole was her key ring. I fumbled through the keys and then unlocked the chain around my neck. As it fell to the floor I stood taller. I took a deep breath. I was a free man again.

Lying at the foot of Libereco’s camp bed was my khaki uniform with my jammed semi-automatic pistol lying on top. I threw on my uniform; stuffed the pistol into my pockets together with a few other things and then ran over to the corral in a low crouch to avoid flying bullets.

May 2018
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