Sunday, 26 June 2011


Herod knew his stock. He could grip an upper arm and tell how much a slave could pull an oar. Or clasp and weigh a breast for how well it might suckle stock.

So I found a visit to the Market with him an education.

One of his sayings was never buy a pleasure slave you can't spy in the gloom of a chamber where the oil lamps are guttering and dying off.

And so that day he decided to buy this snowy white fleshed wench who would shine in the humid dark, newly captured from the Snow Lands.

Pale flesh of this quality is hard to find in the slave markets. Her ivory hide and fine pink nipples and areola will capture a fine price

Herod liked this one. He ordered her to place her hands behind her head. She obeyed, straining her breasts so he could inspect. They were soft but heavy, the pink nipples gorged with blood as he ran his finger nail over. And all the time her eyes didn't waver in looking into his.

She wanted servitude, an escape from the dullness of her peasant past.

Bidding was fierce when she hung from the auctioneers hook, a fine trunk of gently panting, swaying  ivory flesh. When the auctioneers assistants pulled apart her legs to show her clit, she gasped and writhed not with resistance but with hardly suppressed excitement.

Later when she was branded on the rump, she turned her head to stare into Herod's eyes, willing him to press his brand deeper into her flesh. As the brand sizzled on her flesh, she closed her eyes tight and willed the pain away, making the slightest groan.

She would have a silver collar riveted around her neck and be chained in his chamber. Her task would be to serve him in his living chambers and pleasure him when and how he ordered. Her body may be passed to guests for their pleasure when ordered. But should she pleasure others without his command and be discovered, she could be punished with death on the cross or a sentence to the galleys or mines.

When he bored of how she served him, he would have her sent to the kitchens or the fields. But now he would enjoy her loins, moist cunny and ample tits for many nights.

Tuesday, 21 June 2011


Backs glistening and lash striped arched and stretched as arms pulled and flexed on the oars. Pale,shining naked torsos moved in unison, breasts taut then loose and swaying as the oars were pulled and swept back again and again. Faces grimaced as each slave forced herself to work the oars at the rhymn and pace set by the drum beats.

I marvelled at how the overseers worked the galley slaves, letting their lashes strike hot sweating flesh at the optimum moment to squeeze out more effort from already aching and stressed bodies.

Some slaves yelped as the lashes' metal tipped thongs wrapped around their backs and nipped the edge of their breasts or hollow bellies. A few - like the thin red haired wench newly chained to the bench - needed special attention, taking many blows to get up to speed. Others were old hands, now a month or more chained in position and hardly noticed the lash except to gasp when it bit.

This is the sight facing the new galley slave as she kneels, iron collared,  waiting to be shackled into place. She has the broad shoulders and hips to work the oars well, peasant stock from the defeated nations of the North.

Taken from the deck pens, the newly collared slave is shown her fate on the galley benches

Sunday, 19 June 2011


In the height of the summer, the plantation owners take advantage of the longer daylight hours to bring in the harvest.

Field slaves are worked from dawn to dusk and are kept out in the fields and not brought back to the pens.

The heat is terrible and the work back breaking as each slave gathers the crop to put into the basket strapped to their backs. Indeed at this time of the year many slaves die from the hard labor but the plantation owners hardly care as field slaves are cheap to buy.

Only when it is dark and cool do they rest.

The field slave lies exhausted beside the field. Like the others she is skin and bones, worked hard by the overseers who whip the slaves viciously to get in the crops  

Friday, 17 June 2011


I was looking for a new household slave. So I wandered around the Pens, looking at the flesh available. The slaves here are well broken and available to inspect wearing only leg shackles to prevent escape.
Kitchen and house slaves are chained by the ankles as buyers scour the Pens for bargains

But most of the stock was scrawny and too used for my liking; slaves who had bored or displeased their masters and were now tossed back on the block for a sale.

I hunted out the fresher stock, newly enslaved captives who offered me the same submissive temperament but the taste of something new.

Eventually I came across what I was looking for, a pale full breasted slut who's eyes avoided mine as I closely inspected her body.

A new slave avoids the gaze of the buyers

"Slave, what is your name?"

"I am Hana, master"

"Lift your arms and place your hands behind your head,  slave"

She did as ordered, revealing deep glistening pits and allowing her fine tits to swell forward. I cupped her breasts in my hands and then ran a finger nail over her areola. She flinched and moaned.

"Where are you from?"

"Baalos, master. I am  to be sold to pay for my sister's dowry"

This is happening more now as the Wars flood the markets with slaves, forcing the free peasantry out of work.

Yes I would bid for this one. Her naked torso would be a pleasure to see as she worked in my house, serving at table or sweeping the floors. I wouldn't mark those breasts though but would have my brand on her upper flank.

I left her and returned to the market hall awaiting the auction.

Thursday, 16 June 2011


We had to ride back early in the day so passed through Julius's villa as the cock crows.

Needing supplies we went via the kitchen where we came across the kitchen slave preparing bread for the day

A slave kneads the bread while another adds brush to the fire under the oven

Tuesday, 14 June 2011


I had come aboard to see the captive who I had first seen carted down the procession way in the Triumph of  a month before.

But when she was dragged before me it wasn't true I hadn't seen her that day.

When I had promenaded along the high gang way above the slaves earlier  I had seen her struggling with the oar, her arched back taking the force of the whips. Her screams as the cat's tails cut into her flesh were intense, making her breasts judder and sway with the blows and the motion of the oars.

Now kneeling before me I could properly see how our fine Imperial system reduced its foes to its will.

The ex-princess was now a slave, permanently shackled and pulling the oars on this vessel.

The galley slave still hot from the oars  is inspected by her master, the captain

However she was defiant. A a sheen of sweat shimmered on her from her exertion and her tits were still soft and white - yet to be burned red then nut brown under the hot sun. But her eyes retained the will to defy me.

The captain was non-plussed, saying the slave would be returned to the bench and within days her spirit would be broken by his overseer's lash.

Monday, 13 June 2011


The scandal of the senator's plot ended with the death of him and his sons.

The wife and the remaining daughter were spared the dance of agony on the cross but were sentenced to slavery.

As convicted slaves their passage into servitude was a public spectacle held in the hall of justice.

First the mother was brought before the judge and ceremonially stripped naked and tied to the branding rack.

The criminal sobs for mercy as she is shown the branding irons to be used on her tits and belly

She pleaded her innocence and for mercy but the judge ordered the public torturer to work the bellows harder on the brazier so the coals glowed brilliantly. Taking a rough cloth the torturer then got a good grip on the iron and dug it deeper into the white hot coals. The iron came out of the coals burning like a star and was shown to the unfortunate woman whose pleas broke down into sobs and then a piercing scream as the iron was pressed into her breast.

Cold sea water tossed on her slumped sweating hide brought her around for pressing of the brand into her belly. She fainted again and this time was woken with whips.

Sobbing and panting she did not resist as the collar and manacles were riveted in place.

Her fate was to be sent to the Cisterns where gangs of slaves turned the great treadmills that lifted thousands of gallons of water into the high citadel. She would work the mill until her body gave out under the lash and the ceaseless labor.

But her fate is less dreadful than that of her daughter. Implicated in the plot she has been in the hands of the public torturer for several days already.His instruments have extracted a confession and she is condemned to the galleys.

Broken by days of torture she submits to her branding and fate as a galley slave

On the branding rack she is hardly conscious as her body is stretched for branding. Sweat mingles with the red weals of the lash that criss-crossed her body. When the brand is placed on both nipples and high on her inner thigh she howls loudly and her body arches violently, her rib cage starkly erect and pushing out her tortured breasts.

Cut down from the rack, an iron collar is riveted in place on her neck and her hands and ankles are manacled in readiness for her life on the bench pulling her oar. The rubbing of rock salt on her brands and a scourge of knotted leather is used to revive her for securing to the coffle that is  marched down to the quay that very day.

Saturday, 11 June 2011


The day had gone well. We had  plenty of fresh stock for the markets back home and had set sail a few hours ago.

I went below to see our catch of new flesh. We passed the slaves working the oars and lifted the hatch to the lower hold to look over the load.

This one chained up like the fifty others lay exhausted from the march to the quay. Her body shone in the warm light of our torches but she didn't stir.

Others were awake. This one is already marked on the belly with old master's mark and a slave in her own country. She knows what to expect when the galley docks. The Pits, the Block and the Rack where  the gentle attention of the slaver's smithy will mark her again.

Overseers have  lashed one leg out so the sailors may take her more easily

Thursday, 9 June 2011


I stayed the weekend with my friend Marius.

He had a fine villa with a bath house where I refreshed myself after the long journey.

A nubian house slave attended to me, pouring fragrant oiled water into my bath. Her loin cloth slipped to reveal her dark tight curled cunny.

She was a fine bit of flesh but later I discovered Marius's kitchen slut. A dark haired Thracian who kept the oven fires going and sluiced the drains when the other slaves had returned to their cots. She was lithe and sweat slicked when I came upon her.

She was most pleasurable as I love the salty taste of working slave who has been underfed and can be made to pleasure a master in whatver way we demand.

She lay with me that night though I had the overseer remove her from my bed and flogged while I took my early consitution. Her screams certainly cleared the mind.

Marius told me he had had her sent up to the plantation since I stayed because my attention to her above the other slaves  had unsettled the household

Monday, 6 June 2011


On one level she didn't know why she was here chained to the bench, pulling the oar under the beating sun on a galley that pitched and rolled in the swell.

But the reason was clear. Her country's army had fallen but she had taken to the streets to join the crowds desperate to hold back the invading force that now rammed the city gate.

They had failed and she, like those others who hadn't been slaughtered, has been rounded up. As an example, many were put on the cross on the city walls but the majority were dragged away in chains.

She was one of these. The soldiers had fallen upon, torn away her garments and raped her in the hot dust of the square. 

Marched for days across the desert in a long coffle, she had been brought into the Great Market of Baalos.

They were marched into the Great Market

It had been a formality to have her and the dozen others branded and shackled for the galleys. She had fought when dragged to the branding rack but was soon subdued. As a rebel, she was branded in three places: above her cunny (so close that her pubic hairs singed), on the outer thigh and - finally - on the side of one breast. And then they had ringed her nipples with a hot needle and brass rings.

Galley slaves were ringed

This was her view now, the bare back of a fellow slave, fresh red weals mixed with sweat that rolled off the toiling, straining back that pulled and then pushed back the heavy oak oar. She could count the weals - eight criss-crossed around the  shoulder blades, a few straying and licking around the lower back and belly. Her companion's hair, like hers, was cropped to above the nape of the neck; the blonde hair black with sweat.

When the lash came across her own back she grunted, burying herself in the exertion of her oar.
The slave wenches pull on their oars, torsos slick with sweat and striped with the lash

When first chained to the bench, she had felt that her arms would be torn from her shoulder sockets when she pulled the oar. Was this how it felt to be racked, she'd thought.  The sheer weight of the heavy oak oar digging into the swell had  made her scream with pain. As the overseer's lash of salt soaked cords came down on her back for the first time,she recoiled forward  to complete the pull and then lift and push the oar back into place for the next pull. The whipping continued until she was pulling and sweeping the oar like her fellow slaves.

Her bench was narrow; there was no need for comfort as she was rarely still. She and her row were chained in place by a long chain that ran through their ankle shackle rings to the bulkheads. Her hands were permanently shackled with short length of chain. These like the ankle rings had been hot riveted by the slaver's smithy

When she worked the oar, she used her legs and feet to press hard on a rough rib of wood that was grooved to enable her bare feet to gain purchase even when the decks were wet.

Several months at the oars had made her used to the rhymn of the rowing and even though her body ached and sweat and her lungs burned with the need to keep working the oars, she found time to think  on her situation.

She had been naked for half a year since being captured. As a galley slave not one stitch of cloth was made available. They would work, live and die naked.

She felt how her breasts had grown larger and more pendulous as she worked on the oars. When she sweeped forward they hung low and flopped back as she pulled back on the oar. The brand on her tit had long healed and now was a dull red. Like the rest of her body, her breasts were now nut brown from being sun baked on the open deck, the areolas were a muddier brown and nipples ruddy pink.

After several hours, the wind returned and the oars could be still. She and the other slaves slumped over their oars, taking deep breaths, gasping for air to fill their sore lungs.

Friday, 3 June 2011


Many slave owners consider how they might maximise their investment. A slave is totally owned by her master, her body is his propertyand this includes any offspring she may bear. 

The attraction of breeding additional stock is high but be wary. What's the value of a pregnant field slave who can't haul in the crops?Or a scullery slut who can't sluice out the drains or fire up the coppers?

Certainly pregnant slaves get no special treatment and can expect to be worked and whipped as hard as any other slave whose work ethic slips. On the galleys, if there is no work suitable, a pregnant slave is ditched over the side, for example.

And a master may lay with his slave whenever he likes and she must submit under pain of the lash. But many masters choose for their slaves to pleasure them in ways that don't risk the slut being seeded. She might take his manhood and caress it or he may take her from behind.

Breeding new stock is best left to the professionals. Slave bred flesh is often preferable because it is more submissive than captives though the costs require breeding to be done on a large scale.

Baalos has several slave breeding plantations that supplement the steady supply of enslaved captives. Breeding slaves are purchased with a keen eye on their physique. Below is a good example.

You want stock that can be in heat and carrying on a 10 month cycle - a typical breeder will produce 12-13 new slaves in her productive lifetime. They must have broad hips to bring the new stock into the world and heavy breasts that can feed a large brood of many different slaves offspring. This slut is a natural breeding slave who stands on  the block willing the slave-masters to take her for breeding. Her breasts are pendulous and areolas broad and nipples large, while she has a strong back and legs for bearing the child and for hard labor.

Don't expect that breeding slaves have an easy life. They are impregnated with large syringes (sex is only a pleasure to the masters never the slaves and the alchemists of Baalos have long perfected the collection of male seed and its transfer into the cunny of slaves)  and regularly inspected for whether the seed is successful. They do manual labour on the plantation but aren't sent out into the fields. Tasks include sorting the crops in the sheds, rendering bones, picking and grinding of spices, working in the manure pits or any kitchen work

When the slave is ready to produce, she is confined and chained into a birthing pen. Once the brat has passed through her loins and has suckled for the first time, the slave is separated from the offspring which is put into central holding pen where they are suckled by whatever slaves are assigned for feeding.

The breeder is immediately returned to her duties before being impregnated once again.

Thursday, 2 June 2011


As much as I enjoyed wandering the Pits, the greater excitement lay in watching the auction itself.

Slaves had  been marched from the deserts  and the quays into the auction house which was built like a small fortress as much to keep the stock inside as to stop thefts of valuable merchandise.

In Baalos the tradition was to haul up the lot on a winch and give the buyers a final opportunity to assess every point of interest in the flesh they were interested in owning.

Stretched out, the slave's musculature and bone structure was clear to see and the size and shape of their breasts were accentuated. In the hot, close atmosphere of the covered auction pit, the slaves shimmered with sweat and gently panted and groaned as they swung on outstretched arms.

Like the others I was taken by the blond slut and imagined how she would work in my kitchen and open her loins for me at night when I commanded. But the bidding for her was too fast and high for me to have any chance.

So I turned my attention to another lot, a dark haired slave from the Southern Desert. These slaves are famed for their hard lithe bodies, able to take the lash well and to pull the oar or swing the salt pick with considerable force. Hanging before me I ran my eyes over her sweat slicked hide and convinced myself to join the bidding so that I could put my brand to her thigh.