It’s been awhile since I pointed to any stories here. But I just stumbled across a long story called The Black Pearl of Pharazion by Cobalt Jade. I haven’t read the whole thing, but when I dipped into Chapter 7: The Making of a Slave I found it entertaining:
Shezrine tugged sharply on the leash. Marnessa was forced to squirm after her like a caterpillar, moving at the slowest of paces because of how she had been bound. Shezrine continued to whip her as she struggled. Not raw, for one did not risk scarring one’s pleasure slaves, but the welts were large and very red.
I squirmed in my seat. Yes, I was very wet, the demonstration stimulating me against my better judgment. I prayed J’Wabra would not sense my agitation, but he was in a world of his own. What did a eunuch think of such things?
Marnessa’s pace picked up under the whip. Her expression slackened, the fearful tears giving way to a frantic desire to obey, the phallus no doubt contributing a degrading pleasure as she crawled.
Shezrine let her rest in the middle of the floor. Her strapped buttocks bulged, now red and smartly welted. They were so deeply cleft by the leather straps they looked like a pair of ripe, rosy apricots. She moaned, in relief, I thought.
“That’s it. Moan louder.” Shezrine snapped her whip. It hit the floor only inches beyond Marnessa’s shaved head. She moaned louder. “Good. Let me know with the sound how much you suffer, how much you deserve it, how much you enjoy it. You do enjoy it, don’t you?” Another crack. “Look at you, crawling on the floor like an animal, every inch of you exposed.”
