Related Free Sites - PopUp Free!
Fetish Sex Toys | BDSM World | The Fetish Exchange

Back to more sex stories about sex slaves, domination and submission.

1 Asian Porn Features Bondage, Domination, Submission, BDSM & Asian Sex Slaves

Archive-name: Slaves/ladypira.txt

Archive-author: Brush Strokes

Archive-title: Lady and the Pirate of the Sands, The

	The column was finished, about to be overrun.  Queen Victoria's finest

were meeting defeat at the hands of a horde of desert tribesman, the Barbers.

Looking out from under the wagon under which she lay for protection, Ivy 

could not believe this was happening to her.  Just last month, she had left

London on a passenger ship bound for Cairo.  When the ship experienced engine

problems, she, the Duchess of Kensingworth, was transferred to a coal scow.

Although she was given the captain's cabin, the journey to Rome was wretched.

Once in the famous Italian city, the conditions went from bad to worse.

	Aside from having to wait a week for a ship bound for Cairo, Ivy

was forced to stay in inferior lodgings.  The hotel had no sweets and did not

even provide servants quarters.  Her maid, Melissa, was staying in exactly the

same caliber room as she.  On top of this indignity, the weather was abysmally

hot.  Every day she would spend the hours of eleven to three lounging around 

her hotel room wearing only her bodice.  There was really nothing else to be 

done to combat the heat.

	Dressed only in a minimum of undergarments, she knew full well

why Colonel Bradford Stanley had been so intent on marrying her.

Her breasts were quite shapely and her skin, with its natural paleness, was

soft and satiny to the touch.  Running her fingers across her own stomach,

she thought of her few romantic encounters with her husband before he had left

for the frontier.  They had been rushed affairs, with all the formality of his

military training.  They had all the pleasure of his military training, too; at

least for her they did.  Ivy found it much more pleasurable pleasing 

herself sexually.  On such occasions, she could fantasize about a man who gave

her the proper amount of attention.  The saving grace of her husband's attempts

at "lovemaking" was having the security of sleeping next to him afterwards.  

A man lying next to you at night was very reassuring.

	If you excluded his lack-of-ability in bed, Bradford was a fine 

husband.  He was the only one of Ivy's suitors who was considered to be of 

the proper stature.  Having come from a moderately wealthy family, with a 

social status well above their financial means, she had found it hard to find 

a man she liked and whom her father approved.  Her looks assured that there 

were ample courters, while her lack of a sufficient dowry gave few of them the

proper titles.  In fact, there was only one:  Lord Bradford Stanley, colonel 

in the expeditionary force to the Sudan.

	From Rome, she caught a ship to Cairo and, from this city she referred

to as the cesspool of the empire, Ivy made plans to meet her husband at

Khartoum.  A well-guarded caravan including two companies of British regulars,

was heading out towards the famous city, where Gordon had made his final stand.

With all the protection there would be no problem with being attacked by the

natives.  They would never dare move on a column of the size Ivy travelled


	This is what Captain Piper had told Ivy, her maid, and several other

wives of officers who were venturing out to meet their husbands.  It was rather

ironic when a Barber marksman had signalled the attack on the column by 

shooting the overconfident captain between the eyes.

	Without its leader, the column was easily crushed.  The men fought

bravely but were outmatched by the overwhelming numbers of desert tribesmen.

Now Ivy stood tied up in a line of women, formerly English citizens, now

pronounced slaves by the leader of the barbarous Barbers.  At least he thought

that.  She was an English woman and would teach him a thing or to.

	Having given up all hope of ever seeing her husband again, Ivy was

overjoyed to hear a bugle playing the cavalry charge.  From the east, a horde 

of riders was descending on the disorganized Barbers.  Spread out looting the

caravan, they were caught off-guard.  The group of riders smashed through the

meager resistance at the edge of the caravan and was soon engaged in a 

ferocious melee.

	The rescue force consisted of men riding camels with the exception of

their leader, who rode a huge white stallion.  With his face masked to keep out

the desert sand, he made a fierce looking warrior.  Dodging swords, spears, and

bullets, he moved through the Barbers, introducing them to his

English-style lance, topped by fine English steel.  From the way the entire 

rescue party fought, they had to be English.  Although they were dressed in

desert garb, they used English weapons and tactics.  Soon the Barbers where 


	Ivy's rescuers secured the area and then turned to appraising what

was left of the column.  If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn that

the relief force was partaking in looting, just in a more organized fashion

than the Barbers.  No, they were just collecting the rifles and ammunition 

so they did not fall into the hands of the tribesmen.

	Several riders stood guard over the only survivors from the caravan, 

the women.  In all the excitement they had forgotten to untie them.  Knowing 

that they were a military unit, Ivy realized that this oversight would be dealt

with once the area was considered to be safe.

	After making sure all was in order, the leader of the column rode over 

to the women.  He was  still wearing the mask, which covered all of his face 

save his eyes.  Saying something in Arabic, he motioned to one of the men 

standing guard over them.  The designated man jumped from his camel and walked 

over to the women.  He was going to untie them.  Their extremely brief 

stint as slaves would be over.  This would be a story that would shock the tea 

club back in London.

	Instead of untying them, he checked their bonds and made sure they were

tight.  All of the women, including Ivy, let out a gasp.  "What are you 

doing?"  Ivy demanded.  "We are citizens of the Empire."

	Once again the leader spoke in Arabic.  The man who had just checked

their bonds walked over to his camel and got his riding crop .  Walking back to

the now terrified Ivy, he grabbed her by the hair and forced her down to her

knees, pressing her face into the host sand.  She could feel him using the 

hand which held the crop to lift up her dress and petticoats.  To her dismay, 

he did not stop at her bloomers.  He pulled them down too.

	With her face pressed into the sand, she could not even scream.  Her

bare backside was exposed to all the marauding band of supposed rescuers, and,

even more degrading than this, all of the ladies who accompanied the column

were witness to this shame.  Pain filled her entire body as the crop was laid

across her buttocks three times.  Pulled to her feet by her hair, she gasped 

for air as she was returned to the line of female captives.  Her face was 

covered with a mixture of the dessert's fine white sand and shame.

	While the column and the Barbers who initially attacked it, were 

being picked clean by the pseudo-rescue party, Ivy stood with her head hung 

low.  She managed to wipe her face off on the shoulder of her dress but did 

not look up.  She did not want to make eye contact with the other English 

women.  Having experienced a disgrace worse than she could have ever imagined, 

she did not want their pity or looks of horror.  She was now a tainted woman. 

	Feeling like she was being constantly stared at, she looked up for a 

moment and caught the leader looking down at her.  He quickly looked away and

directed a group of his men to check one of the wagons.  It had to be her 

imagination.  After a few more minutes of waiting, she glanced up again.  He 

was definitely staring at her.  With this, Ivy's predicament went from bad 

to worse.  On top of all the other degradations and misfortunes which had 

befallen her, she was now the object of some barbarian's attention.  As an 

English lady, she would rather die than become his play thing.

	As the would be rescuers prepared to leave, one of them rode over

to the party of women and reined his camel.  Addressing them, he said, in

English, ``Captive English citizens, when we get to our base you shall be held 

and ransom arrangements shall be made for all of you whose loved ones can 

afford to pay.  All others will be made slaves of the Raj Shomire also know as 

the Pirate of the Sands."  With this remark he gestured towards the band's 

leader, still a top his white stallion.  This was none other than the Pirate 

of the Sands, whom Ivy had heard stories of even back in England.  The man 

continued,  ``So long as you behave like good English ladies, but with the 

respect of an Arab woman, no one shall be harmed."  He directed this last 

comment towards Ivy.  Staring at the ground, she could feel the other woman's 

eyes turn to her.  What did she care?  At least she had spoken up like a good 

citizen of the realm.

	The English speaking man rode over to Melissa, her maid, took out his

sword and cut the ropes which attached her to the line of female captives.

Since the terrified servants hands were still tied, she had no way to protest

when he hoisted her up and threw her over the front of his saddle.  It was

some recompense to think that at least they would not have to walk.

	One by one, other riders came over and took the woman of there choice

to carry.  With Melissa hoisted up first and the some what dowdy, Mrs. 

Wadstone last, it seemed to Ivy that it was a kind of beauty contest, with

the highest ranking man taking the prettiest woman.  What surprised her was

that, no one had chosen her.  Melissa was a red haired beauty, in a common

sort of way.  Still, Ivy felt that with her blonde hair and pretty face,

she should have been either the first or second woman carried away.  

	To her dismay she realized that she had been deliberately excluded from

the competition.  The pirate leader, the highest ranking member of the band, 

road over to her and dismounted.  Ivy stood up straight, holding her head 

high. She was going to show him that it took more than a simple beating to 

break her spirit.  Something in his eyes said he already knew this.

	First, he lifted up her dress and removed her numerous layers of 

under-clothes.  He then took a leather harness and fastened it so that it 

wrapped around her waist while a second strap slid between her legs.  Standing 

there riggedly, she refused to look down and give him the satisfaction of even 

being remotely curious.  She would take what ever humiliation he decided

to rein on her and he would pay dearly at the hands of her husband.  Colonel

Bradford would track him to the far ends of the Earth and see that he payed for

his barbarous behavior.

	Ivy was not quite sure, but the harness felt like some kind of

chastity belt.  When she was lead over to the horse and thrown across the 

saddle, its purpose became clear.  Taking a strap from the saddle, he fastened 

it to the contraption which ran between her legs and about her waist.  She was 

securely attaching to the saddle.  Lying there on her belly, legs on one side 

of the horse, head and torso on the other, Ivy could feel the piece of harness 

which ran between her legs rub gently over the most private areas of her 


	Whipping his horse with the reins, getting it to follow the others, 

he also playfully slapped Ivy on the rump.  As they road the purpose of the 

strap which ran between her legs became all too clear.  With each step the 

horse took the strap between her legs massaged her.  No matter how hard she 

tried, her body could not ignore it.  She could tell she was lubricating and 

was actually worried that there was so much liquid that it would seep through 

her dress.  Never before had she been this excited.

	Further along in the ride, she still resisted the pleasure

she felt between her legs.  After all, she was an English lady.

The impetuous pirate grew weary of holding the reins and with one hand

forced Ivy's mouth open, while placing them between her teeth with the

other.  After being whipped once, she knew enough not to let them drop.

So with the taste of leather in her mouth, they travelled on getting farther

away from the routes commonly taken by English columns.

	The trip was long, and her captor grew restless.  Removing the bun

in which she usually kept her hair, the rakish pirate, started running his 

fingers through her silky curls.  His touch was surprisingly gentle as he 

lightly rub her scalp.  His hands wandered from her hair to her back and began

to gently massage here too.  He was touching her just as she wished her 

husband would.  This, combined with the the rubbing of the harness between her 

legs, was too much for Ivy to bare.   She could no longer hold back.

	Biting as hard as she could on the reins while forcing

her body to become ridged, she let the orgasm run through her body.  She tried

to display as little movement as possible.  To him, she wanted it to look like

a cramp or a momentary tightening of her muscles.  Somehow the adverse

conditions made it that much more powerful, causing to forget what she was

doing and drop the reins.  Realizing what she had done, she could only pray 

that he did not notice what had really happened.

	Picking up the reins he gave her a sharp slap on the rump and forced

them back into her mouth.  By night fall and a dozen orgasms latter, they

reached the camp.  During her latest climaxes, she'd held on to the reins

and she thought that she had better control of her body this time.  As before

it was extremely powerful, if not the most powerful she had ever had.

	Once in the camp the English speaking Arab interviewed all the women

separately.  He asked Ivy,  ``What is your name, your rank if any and your

husbands name?"  

	Knowing he could always beat the truth out of her, she replied, ``My 

name is Lady Ivy Stanley, wife of Lord Bradford Stanley, Colonel in a regiment 

stationed at Khartoum."  She was wily enough not to tell him the military unit 

her husband belonged to, since this could have given away the cities strength.

	With a wry smile he asked, ``What do you think you are worth to your


	``What?" Ivy demanded.

	``You heard me.  What would he be willing to pay for your safe return?"

This was the cruelest thing to do to an English woman.  They are such a proud 

race and not likely to under-value themselves greatly in order to save there 

husband some money.  She begrudgingly told him what she considered to be a 

reasonable amount.

	He also inquired what she knew of the other women she travelled with.  

By doing this he could potentially catch any of them if they lied about there 

husbands rank or what he could pay for his loved one's ransom.  The Pirate of 

the Sand was a sly character.  The questions he had his henchman ask where 

most revealing.  Ivy was glad she had initially told the truth.

	As Ivy was lead from the tent she was interviewed in, she saw

Melissa and the other two maids, who had been in the column, being lead to the

far end of camp.  They had no husband to pay their ransom.  Although Ivy

had offered to let Bradford pay Melissa's too, she had been told that such 

arrangements were not allowed.  What this really meant, was that the band of 

ruffians needed a few women to keep as slaves.  At least they had the common 

sense not to chose an English lady.  No proper woman of the realm would ever 

stop struggling against being imprisoned as a harem girl.

	Ivy was lead to a tent where several of the other women sat 

huddled together on the floor.  Several of them wept openly.  These where the

ones whose dresses had been torn open in the back.  Each had several lash marks

across her back.  They had not told the truth about their husband's financial

status and had tasted the whip.

	Later that night, they all gathered in a large tent.  The women where

told that they where going to be allowed to partake in the victory feast. 

All the men lay around a low table being waited on by numerous slave girls. The

newly captured females, minus three, where tucked away in corner, suitably out 

of the way.  They were quiet during the meal all too ashamed to speak.  Being

whipped and held for ransom took the spirit out of most of the women.

	Both of the other maids were included amongst the scantily clad slaves

serving the meal.  Melissa was no where to be seen.  The two maids were also 

wearing the same revealing silks accompanied by bangles on their ankles as the 

slave girls.  Their ears had also been pieced and 

from them dangled large brass hoops.  Ivy wondered what it felt like to have a 

man control your body.  Control it so must that he violated it by piecing your 

ears with a needle, forcing you to wear earring as a constant reminder of you 

servitude.  It must of been horrible for them.  Still, to Ivy's surprise, the 

former maids seemed to smile contentedly as they went about their work.  

	Ivy was getting worried about her former maid, Melissa.

Having just gotten up the courage to ask where her servant was, a small

gong was sounded by the English speaking pirate.  The entire tent quieted

down.  Turning to the men, he spoke to them briefly in Arabic and afterwards

they all cheered loudly.  He then looked over at the English captives and said

in their language, ``Tonight you will be entertained in the fashion of the

desert.  The dance will be performed by someone who should look very familiar

to you."

	It was just then that Ivy noticed he carried in one hand,

a thin silver chain.  He reeled in the chain which stretched out of the tent's

entranceway.  To the English ladies surprise and dismay attached to the other 

end was Melissa Ivy's former maid.  She was dressed in a flowing veiled 

outfit.  In her hands she held small cymbals and about her neck ran a thin 

collar attached to the silver chain.  She was no longer the domestic servant 

who had so faithfully served Ivy in London.  From the way she held her body, 

she was with out a doubt an animal, a slave. 

	Several of the men picked up instruments and began to play. Melissa 

accompanied them with her hand chimes and the the natural rhythm of her body. 

Dancing playfully around her chain and in circles about the man who held it

she seemed to be trying to seduce him.  Slowly, she began to remove each

veil, letting it slide slowly down her shapely body.  The music sped up as

each layer was removed.  Her body became frenzied, as she dance around the

beaming English speaking Arab, pelvis thrusting in a depraved manner.  With

the last veil, she seemed to climax.  Standing in front of the man who held

her chain, she mouthed the word master and then fell to her knees.  She 

crossed her hands in front of her, an obvious sign of submission.  Exhausted

she lay at his feet.

	All the men let out a cheer, as the Arab who had arranged the 

entertainment swept Melissa into his arms and triumphantly left the tent.

What was to happen next could only be assumed. Following this the music started

again.  This time three women entered and began to dance.  Their movements 

were more refined than Melissa's had been.  They had probably been properly 

trained to perform this vile ritual.  Despite their lack of Melissa's raw 

animal enthusiasm, their bodies still conveyed the same vile message.

	Ivy could stand no more.  This was an insult, something no citizen 

of the realm should stand for.  Rising slowly to her feet she

yelled, in as lady like a voice as possible,  ``This must stop!".

The entire tent became silent and deadly still.  

	Motioning to several of his men the pirate leader said something, which

although in a foreign language, whose intent was clear.  Running for the 

entranceway Ivy was tripped up by none other than Lady Wadstone's former 

maid, now a slave girl.  Staring at her fellow English woman in disbelief, she 

was grabbed and carried away by four men. 

	Taken to an ornate tent at the other side of the compound, a scimitar 

was used to cut her clothes from her body.  Following this indignity,  she was 

forced to stand naked in the center of the tent while her hands were shackled. 

A chain was attached to the shackles which ran up through a pulley in the 

ceiling.  The chain was then pulled taunt, forcing her hands up over her head. 

Completely exposed in the middle of the room, she could not even fall to the 

ground and cover herself. ``If only Bradford would come."  She could only 


	The four men left her. She waited and waited.  This was almost as

tortuous as the indignity of being bound and left completely exposed.  Finally

the leader of the sand pirates entered the tent.  At dinner he had sat at

the other side of the tent from her.  Even from that distance she was able

to make out that he was probably not an Arab.  When he walked into the tent, 

without the benefit of his mask, there was a definitely Aryan look about him.  

Blonde and blue eyes, he was definitely not one of them.  Maybe he could be 

reasoned with.

	``Please," she said trying to bring tears to her eyes,  ``Don't hurt

me."  She had been unsuccessfully in her attempt at using her

proud English citizen act in order to show the band of ruffians how to treat 

behave.  Left with no alternative, she was resorting to her last line of 

defense, behaving like a helpless woman, which she was. 

	He smiled and laughed cruelly. ``If you dance for me.  I will no kill 

you."  As he spoke he fingered the whip which lay coiled in his belt.  It 

was ready to strike.

	From his accent he was obviously an Englishman.  Why wouldn't he 

listen to reason?  How could someone from the Mother Country, be such a 

barbarian?  Ivy could not bring herself to dance for him.  She would rather 

die first.  ``No." she replied holding her head high, waiting for the

blow to fall across her exposed back.  

	``Have it your way.", he gloated.  ``You entertained me numerous times

as we rode, I can't see why you won't do it again.  Dancing is even less 

personal than that."  

	Closing her eyes she tried to imagine he just was not there

and that this was all just a bad dream.  He had noticed how much she

enjoyed the harness, how humiliating.

	With the first sting of the whip on her ankles, she was forced to 

acknowledge his presence.  He brought the whip down again and she tried to 

move her feet out of the way.  By careful concentrating on where the whip 

would fall she could avoid it.  Suddenly, she realized that he had her moving 

to a certain beat and her feet following a set pattern.  

	Never before had a man controlled her so.  First on the horse, the

fierce warrior had subtly taken over the most private act her body could

experience.  That was something her husband had never taken the time to do.

Now, he made her body move to a natural rhythm, a slave rhythm.  It was 

stirring, causing the same arousment she felt with the harness gentling 

massaging her between the legs.  She was his instrument and he

played her masterfully or more fittingly put, like a master.  

	He stopped nipping at her ankles with the whip and she kept dancing.

Soon her upper body was moving to the rhythm he had established.  After

staring a her, what seemed to be desirously, he turned and walked towards

the entrance way of the tent. 

	Without thinking what she was really saying, Ivy sobbed, ``Master, 

what did I do wrong?"  She was shocked by what she had just said, but she was 

also torn up inside because she had tried to dance seductively and he had

just walked away.  Wasn't her dancing good enough to please him?

	Instead of leaving the tent, he stopped near the entrance to take the

end of the chain which attached to her shackles from where it was

fastened to the wall.   Keeping it taunt he approached her.  Wrapping his

arms about her, he kissed her savagely.  It was tortuous.  She couldn't throw

her arms about him and return his embrace.  She couldn't even fall at his feet

and prove her obedience, prove her love for him.

	The chain was still in his hands.  It pressed against her back.  It cut

her but she didn't care.  She just wanted to be held by him.  She just wanted

to please him.

	``Since I have allowed you pleasure so many times, don't you feel it 

is about time you  reciprocated, my pretty lady?"

	``Yes," she begged, squirming with desire.

	After raising her several inches off the floor with the chain, he 

lifted his robe.  Dangling above the ground, he lowered her.  As her body slid 

along his she could feel him enter her.  She had no choice.  He had penetrated 

her; he owned her.  

	Wrapping her legs around him she clung to him.  He released the chain 

and held her.  With her shackled hands clinging about his neck, she could feel 

his powerful shoulder muscles ripple with each trust into her body.  He had to 

be an incredibly strong man to lift her off the floor with one hand, but then 

again he had to be an incredibly strong man to so easily subdue an English 

lady.  Something in her eyes had known this ever since she first caught sight 

of him charging head long into battle against the Barbers.  

	As he thrust deeper into Ivy than she ever imagined 

possible, she was driven into a frenzy.  Tearing at the back of his neck

with her nails and biting at his shoulder, he was forced to throw her to

the ground.  Dodging her multitude of female weaponry he rolled her on her

stomach and took her from behind.  This allowed him to easily avoid her

nails and teeth.  Ivy was left to claw at the soft carpet on which she

was pinned.  He pounded her, properly introducing her to an English lance

like her husband would never wield.

	Her assault on him only increased the intensity of his love making.

He counter attack against her lasted so much longer than all time her husband

has used her combined.  Finally his whole body went rigid and he stifled

a scream.  After filing her completely, his body seemed drained of strength as 

he lay down next to her.  Ivy rolled over and tenderly licked at the scratches 

she left on the back of his neck and kissed the teeth marks she had left in 

his shoulder.  Gently rubbing her back with just the tips of his fingers, he 

asked, ``Will you dance for the men tonight, my sweet?"

	``Yes, please master.", she said wanting to show them what a strong

man her master was.  He had tamed her so easily.  

	With a smile he asked, ``What is your name, your rank if any and your

husbands name?"  So he had been the one to phrased the questions asked of her


	Not hesitating for an instance she responded, ``Ivy, if the name

pleases you, I am but a slave, and I have no husband for as I said before,

I am but a slave."

	Holding her closely he kissed her, first on her eyes, then her nose

and finally on the lips.  Maintaining the embrace she could feel his body

fill once again with desire.  Lying on fully on her back, she spread her legs 

welcoming him.  Not hesitating for an instant, he took the invitation.

	Later that evening Ivy danced for the men.  She danced for the

other English ladies, who were completely appalled.  What did she care? 

She was never going to return to their ``civilized'' world.  Here she would be

happy and receive something they could only dream of, true love.  

	At the end of her dance she fell at her master's feet with her hands

crossed in submission.  She could tell from the applause that she had 

performed better than Melissa.  As she started kissing her master's feet, he

picked her up and carried her back to his own tent.  What happened next 

could only be assumed by all the horrified English ladies.  As the ladies lay 

down to sleep, they where kept awake by the throaty sounds of a woman 

being pleased.  The slave girls' cries of pleasure filled the night air.

Was it Ivy, was it Martha or one of the other maids?  The English ladies 

could only grit their teeth in dismay at the sorry state the former

English women had fallen prey to.  Then again, they could have gritted their

teeth in envy.

	After the ransom was collected, the English ladies were escorted to

a designated meeting point where they were to be picked up by a British

cavalry unit.  During the journey they all agreed to say that Duchess 

of Kensingworth had died in the initial attack on the caravan.  This was far

from the truth.  She had died the night she married Bradford and was reborn

when she was first fastened to her master's saddle.

	Several months later a rumor circulated from Khartoum to London to

Bombay, that the Sand Pirate had been killed in a mutiny lead by his own men.

At roughly the same time a long deserted castle on an island halfway

between Italy and Africa was being restored by a strange band of men.  Some 

wealthy English man had bought the castle from the King of Naples.  It came

with the royal title of count.  Here on the serene island, the count and his 

wife lived out there days ruling the pleasant natives of the island and taking 

an occasional trip to any country in Europe, save one where the countess's

face was too well known.

	The countess was renown for her radiant personality and for throwing

the most entertaining dinner and parties.  Any noble noble who was lucky 

enough to be invited for a visit was pleased to partake in the many beautiful

serving women provided by the noble host and hostess.  Women of a caliber

never before seen so close to Europe.  There was a certain Arabian flavor to 

each such occasion.  In private the countess was secretly known for her 

ability to dance and to please her one master.



Back to more sex stories about sex slaves, domination and submission.

Back to 1st Sex Stories Main Page

See All Our Feature Hardcore Sites!
Fetish Club, 1 Asian Porn, Fetish Cinema , XRated TV , V Girl, Massive Hardcore