Charles was frozen to that spot. He wanted to look away but Mistress Emmanuelle held him riveted to the floor with just her eyes. She showed the telltale signs of a Mona Lisa-like smile but her control was evident. When she closed her eyes, she started breathing heavier, bouncing up and down more aggressively. She was going to cum and cum hard. Charles would have loved nothing more than to grab his cock and stroke it but he knew, without being told, that he wasn’t allowed. Still disoriented, his brain was misfiring. His tongue was sticking out, as if he was licking the sweet folds of her wet pussy and tongue fucking her dark, musky asshole. Emmanuelle was moaning, groaning, chanting over and over, “Oh yeah, eat my Black pussy, lick my ass you piece of shit white boy. Show our guest here exactly how much I own you, how I own your soul. You’ll do anything I say, no matter how degrading, how perverse, in front of anyone I tell you with no shame because you belong to me and I control your every desire.”
The man acting as her human toilet seat moaned his affirmation in between the full, round asscheeks of his Mistress as she grabbed a riding crop from the edge of the desk and delivered the swiftest, most extreme blow possible to the worthless sissy’s nuts. His screams were muffled by the fact that Mistress Emmanuelle seemed to be flooding his mouth with her flowing pussy cream.
She stood, lowered her skirt and stood up as Chambers knelt to lick the hardwood floor of any drops of piss that he’d missed. Emmanuelle lifted the hem on the man’s shirt and exposed his naked ass and whacked his balls with the riding crop again. She twisted them cruelly in her hands for good measure and the sub licked and moaned that much harder. With a simple wave of her hand, she dismissed him and he was gone without a word. She moved gracefully to sit behind the desk and addressed Charles like nothing had happened.
“Okay, Chuck, now where were we? Oh, yes, of course. I have some consent forms here for you to sign that release my employees and I from any legal liability in the event that you have second thoughts or regrets. If they would actually hold up in a court of law is really very doubtful but I like to have them on hand just in case. I’ve yet to have anyone contest their treatment but just to be on the safe side . . . If you sign them, you are saying that you are aware that you are going to be subjected to torture and punishment for your pleasure and that we have the right to mark, alter, and essentially punish you in any way and every way we see fit and that you’ve freely consented by paying for our services. We will do everything that white slave owners did to slaves but you’ll be paying for it. Got it?”
Charles thought he was going to faint. He was light-headed from hunger and exhaustion but his cock was rock hard from the little spectacle that had just transpired in front of him. Again, his perverse desires betrayed his resolve; his declaration that he was never again going to let his libido dictate his actions was nothing more than dust in the wind in that moment. “Never don’t last always,” like ole’ folks used to say. He was still wearing the ball gag so all he could do was nod his consent. The ink was barely dry on the forms before he was whisked off to a barn-like building where he was to be “seasoned.”
Seasoning was the process that slaves endured in which they were broken in spirit in order to become good slaves. They were inflicted with extreme psychological and physical torture in order to ensure that they wouldn’t try to run or rebel. A group of women dressed in tight fitting riding pants that hugged their every curve and crisp white cotton shirts with single-tail whips attached to their dark leather belts surrounded him. Their knee-high, black riding boots caressed their strong calves and shined so highly that the sun cast a glare off them. They all spoke in Gullah and Charles felt disoriented by the strange language. They put thick wrist cuffs on his arms and secured him to a hook in the ceiling. He could feel the heat from a fire behind him and he saw them walking towards it with a branding iron. The ball gag muffled his screams and one of the women whispered something in his ear as he felt his flesh being seared with the hot metal. The pain was more intense than anything he’d ever felt and his body contorted and twisted in a natural reflex to escape the scorching hot metal. Tears would have flowed but he was too dehydrated to cry. He felt like an idiot; he had had the opportunity to leave and here he was, being marked like a piece of beef of his own volition.
He awoke, on the floor, and he could barely move his limbs. His ass had been permanently marked and he was sure it was something that indicated that he was the property of the Domina Emmanuelle. One of the women towered over him and kicked him in the side. He thought for a minute she was just abusing him but he soon realized that he was being directed to move. He crawled on his hands and knees to the corner of the room where there were two metal bowls on the floor like dog dishes. The food was covered with flies and the water was brown. He lapped at the water like a dog, dismissing the thoughts of what sort of bacteria and germs flourished in it. The food was rancid and greasy and he could only stomach a few mouthfuls before he started to vomit again.
There were three women in total and while he was still bringing up what little food he had been able to stomach, he felt a leash being applied to his throat and being pulled across the room. There was a pot of water being heated on the fire and full enema equipment prepared. Charles looked around and pleaded with his eyes. Boiling water would kill him, burn his intestines. Tears stained his cheeks but his body was too weak to fight. Someone removed his ball gag but he didn’t have the strength to fight, he simply prepared himself for the pain that was to come.
The water was actually heated to 112 degrees, not hot enough to kill him but more than hot enough to inflict excruciating torture. Fingers probed his asshole without the benefit of lube and he felt the thick end of a medical speculum being inserted. They spread the apparatus so they could insert the nozzle deeply into his colon. He braced himself in defiance, determined not to show signs of weakness but the second the clamp was released and the scalding water flowed into his bowels, he screamed out like a wounded animal. Slapping his face, the women revived him just as he was to be administered a second enema of ice cold water. The second enema was more painful than the first and he soon lost consciousness again.
Restraints were placed on his ankles, wrists, and balls so that if he moved his arms or tried to run it would cause his testicles to be pulled painfully from his body. The women picked him up and placed him in a box smaller than a coffin and shut the lid, leaving him to expel the rest of the contents of his bowel in the tiny prison. He smelled his burnt flesh over the putrid filth that leaked from his anus. He closed his eyes and tried to leave his body, to go someplace where he was normal, where pain didn’t motivate his perverse fantasies.