The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Adventures of Rania

Part Three: Slavery in America

Categories: mc, mf, md, hm, nc, ds
* * *

The story so far: Rania, a 20-year-old Princeton student who is also the princess of the small Arabic country of Kazeb, became the victim of the obsession of her brother Nasser, the king, and was subjected to the brutal brainwashing process that was used to create slaves in her father’s father’s day. She emerged as her brother’s helpless plaything, trained to arouse and give pleasure, and incapable of disobedience (or speech). When a coup resulted in her brother’s execution, Rania was smuggled out of the palace and sold to common slavers in Libya. Picked up for a song in Sudan by a discerning South African middleman who discovered many of her hidden talents, she was resold, for considerable profit, to a sophisticated client in New York.

* * *

In a vast New York penthouse complex, washed with city light from two walls of windows, Rania knelt naked on the thick carpet, masturbating vigorously, whimpering with desire and looking longingly at her new owner.

Twenty feet away, Charles Carling, dressed in pyjamas, reclined in a comfortable chair, talking on the phone, practically ignoring the masturbating slave who had cost him the equivalent of a Greenwich Village condo.

“She’s here right now,” said Carling. “I got her started on a jerk-off session. She’s still at it an hour and a half later, and going strong.”

A pause. “She’s all about the tits, really. Someday I’ll get around to looking at the rest of her.”

Pause. “Oh, they’re amazing. You’ll have to take a look yourself—I can’t do them justice. She’s a tiny thing—5′4″, the spec sheet says, though she looks smaller—she’s a tiny thing with these giant gazongas.”

Pause. “Yes, they’re obviously real. I’m watching them bounce around right now. The technology isn’t good enough yet to get that kind of bounce. The amazing thing about them is really the nipples, even more than the tits themselves. She looks as if a calf could come along and take a swig off of her right now.”

Pause. “They’re long, and pimply, and black, and the dark part fades into the white meat. She looks as if she’s been taking cow hormones.”

Pause. “No, that would be too much trouble. I’m too lazy for that. I’m not particularly into lactation, anyway.”

Pause. “No one knows. She looks Arab or Israeli, but she could be Spanish, or Sicilian. But—here’s the sweet part—she’s educated, probably from the upper classes. She can’t talk, she can’t even make signs, you’d think she’s a fucking vegetable. But if you make her do the right tricks, you can tell that she knows a lot of things. Wait—she’s coming. Listen.”

Carling held the phone toward Rania, who was doubled over in an orgasm, sounding as if someone had knocked the wind out of her. Slowly, she sat up straight again, her face covered with tears, and continued rubbing her middle finger up and down on her clitoris.

“Did you hear that?” said Carling. “Anyway: somebody brainwashed her. De Vries doesn’t know who, but in certain parts of the world they have ways of taking a woman and breaking her will so that it becomes impossible for her to disobey. He picked her up in Libya, of all God-forsaken places, so he’s guessing it’s an Arab thing. But she could have come from anywhere. Hold on—she’s coming again.”

Rania wasn’t quite as vociferous with this orgasm. Visibly weary, she continued to masturbate.

“She has a bunch of little orgasms after the big one,” said Carling. “Whatever they did to her, it also turned her into a sex maniac. Every time I stick my finger in, she’s wet. Maybe she’s having the time of her life being a slave.”

Carling chuckled. Rania listened, looking quite bedraggled. You wouldn’t look at her and think she liked being a slave—but, on the other hand, she was wet all the time....

“No, de Vries wouldn’t lie,” said Carling. “There’s no percentage in it for him to lie. It’s a small world, the collector’s world.”

Pause. “You know, some day I’d really like a get a blonde, just for variety. All these girls are either dark or black. Blondes are hard to come by.”

Carling chattered on, ignoring the masturbating girl on his carpet as she thickened into another mini-orgasm.

* * *

Charles Carling was born into great wealth and had a marked taste for living outside the law. One manifestation of this taste was that he chose to collect slaves. His penthouse had been specially constructed to stifle all outgoing noise, and he rented the two floors beneath him just to keep them vacant.

Rania was Carling’s third slave. The first was a Romanian girl named Dorina who had moved by degrees from prostitution to outright servitude before Carling had bought her from an Amsterdam dealer, and who had not seen the outside world for five years. The second was a Senegalese beauty named N’dour who stood over six feet tall. She had been sold into slavery after a tribal conflict and purchased by Carling just three months before. Each remained confined in a spacious room of her own when Carling was not using her.

When Carling had bought Dorina, he had the idea of mastering her through brute force in the old-fashioned way, using a whip to compel obedience. But Carling tired easily, and soon lost his taste for cutting a heroic figure. He was actually small and a bit frail, and Dorina could have taken him in a fair fight. So he turned to technology: first with cattle prods, and eventually with electric-shock collars that could not be removed. The latter worked so well that he went out of his way to acquire a tall, powerful woman when he decided to expand his collection. N’dour towered over him, but the smallest shock from the collar left her crumpled and crying at his feet.

The care and feeding of slaves was a tedious business, and so he was interested when he got word of an utterly obedient slave who would execute his orders even when he wasn’t there. One of Rania’s duties was to be the care and feeding of Dorina and N’dour. De Vries had assured him that he did not need to fit her with a shock collar, and Rania gave him no reason to regret this largesse.

Oddly, Carling wasn’t especially interested in fucking his slaves. He availed himself of Rania fairly often in her first months as his possession, but he showed little passion; Rania’s dramatic reactions even seemed to annoy him slightly. Mostly he seemed to enjoy playing with her breasts, though even this pastime eventually lost its charm. Before long, Rania’s vaunted sex drive was more discussed with his friends than put to use.

What Carling seemed to enjoy more than sex was watching his slaves masturbate. After acquiring N’dour, he liked to host jerk-off contests between her and Dorina, inviting his circle of “slave-friendly” friends (not as small a group as you might think, and drawn almost entirely from the wealthiest stratum of American society). The winner would get something good to eat; the loser would get an electric shock, to keep the game competitive. The authenticity of orgasms was determined, rather arbitrarily, by the host, with shocks as penalties.

When Rania came along, the other girls simply could not keep up with her in masturbation contests, and the games became less popular at parties. Carling held this against Rania in a vague way.

Carling did not like the idea of letting Rania use the electric-shock remote control on Dorina and N’dour, which would have made it easier for her to perform her housekeeping duties. And he did not like his slaves socializing without his presence. Once, when he had left the room for a few seconds, he returned to find Rania giving Dorina a rather passionate shoulder rub: Dorina had commanded her, and she obeyed just as enthusiastically as if he had given the order. (Dorina’s shoulders ached constantly because of the breast implants that Carling had given her several years ago. Even so, Rania’s chest was bigger.)

So Carling had devised, at considerable expense, a way for Rania to attend to the needs of the other slaves. When a button was pressed, an alarm sounded in the slaves’ rooms, and they had 30 seconds to move to small adjoining rooms before receiving a shock. The doors locked behind them, and Rania could then enter to clean the rooms or leave food. Afterwards, Rania would press another button, and Dorina and N’dour were free to return.

Rania had been a good cook, and, though her creativity had been stifled by her slave training, Dorina and N’dour’s diet improved when she assumed kitchen duties. Their food was spiced in a distinctively Mediterranean way—but the slaves did not report to Carling this clue to Rania’s origins.

Carling occasionally threw little parties for his slave-friendly circle, and these were invariably the most unpleasant episodes in the slaves’ lives. As the new slave, Rania was the center of attention when Carling entertained his friends several months after her arrival. She and the other slaves served drinks and hors d’oeuvres as the guests arrived: all three of the slaves were naked and silent, but only Rania made eye contact as if trying to offer herself to each guest individually. Carling’s friends commented openly on Rania’s looks, some approvingly, some quite brutally. One young-looking man affected disgust in response to a lewd comment about Rania: “I really wish that Charles would keep this one covered up,” he said, with Rania standing naked in front of him, holding drinks. “Well, the tits are nice, anyway,” said the companion. “Jesus, no,” said the young man. “She looks like the Pillsbury Doughboy on female hormones. I may never have sex again.” It sometimes happened that Rania’s overripe body, with its fleshy nipples and protruding labia, evoked disgust in men who preferred not to think about the inner workings of the female animal. Rania was surprised that she could still be hurt by such cruel appraisals of her body, after all that she had endured. But even a slave who suffers from her attractiveness wants to be attractive.

One of the floor shows for the evening was a series of lesbian acts with the slaves, culninating in a three-way. Rania’s obvious sexual enthusiasm showed up the business-like resignation of the other slaves. Though Carling had taken a dislike to Rania for changing the equilibrium of his stable, he enjoyed her effect on his friends, not all of whom were so indifferent to her charms.

Meanwhile, unnoticed by all, Rania’s urgent performance during the lesbian act left so much of her saliva on N’dour’s neck and chest that the African girl’s electric collar quietly short-circuited....

Carling’s dossier on Rania from de Vries told of her great skill at exotic dance, and so Carling arranged a floor show at the party, which left even this jaded audience open-mouthed. Rania danced naked, focusing intensely on one audience member after another, as she had been instructed. With her short hair, which had grown in only a little since de Vries had given her a pixie cut, her dancing looked different, less traditional, more extreme: there was something almost freakish now about her huge breasts flying about the room at the slightest twitch of her muscles. Even more exciting than her extraordinary skills, which made it look as if each part of her body moved independently of the rest, was the obvious fact that there were no limits, no boundaries for her between dancing and fucking.

(Interestingly, some of the guests later told Carling that they wished he had put Rania into a skimpy little belly dancer’s costume instead of making her dance naked. They didn’t object at all to Rania’s body: it seems they enjoyed the element of mystery in traditional belly dance.)

For the remainder of the party, guests slipped away to the bedrooms, where the slaves were discreetly summoned and put to various sexual uses. Rania was very much in demand, both because she was new and because of her inflammatory performance. Until the party broke up in the wee hours, she was continuously passed from one man to the next in the suite of bedrooms. Despite their air of refinement, Carling’s friends made Fouaz and his trainers look like Peace Corps volunteers; if it weren’t for the need to return Carling’s property intact, they might easily have done serious damage to Rania.

Dorina and N’dour were called for sex as well, but on a more leisurely schedule that left them time to wait on the men in the living room. For recreation, one of Carling’s friends borrowed the electric collar remote control from Carling and took aim at N’dour, who was walking by with an empty tray. The girl froze in terror as she heard the click at her neck that usually preceded a shock. But nothing happened. As she stood bewildered, the man walked across the room to Carling, yelling, “Charles! This thing isn’t working!” “What do you mean?” said an irritated Carling. “It was working an hour ago.” Carling took the remote, walked purposefully toward N’dour, and pressed the button. But the naked girl had had enough time to recover her wits, and when the collar clicked again, she screamed at the top of her lungs, fell to the ground, and faked the convulsions with which she was so familiar. “It’s working perfectly well,” said Carling, walking away. “You must have done it wrong.” “How can you press a button wrong?” said the man. N’dour cringed on the floor for the right amount of time, then crawled away on her hands and knees, picking up the tray she had dropped. She would have to bide her time, wait for the right opportunity.

* * *

All the slaves survived the tender attentions of the party guests and returned to their less demanding existence with Carling. As the novelty of Rania’s arrival wore off, Carling often lost interest in the girls altogether unless there was a social occasion, when their lives suddenly became much more exhausting and dangerous.

On one such occasion, Carling wanted to show his new slave off to one of his girlfriends, who had been away on a summer voyage. So Rania, Dorina, and N’dour found themselves kneeling naked in a row on the carpet one Saturday night, masturbating wearily, while Carling read the papers and waited for his companion, who was always late. There was a jar of lubricant on the coffee table, and every so often Dorina or N’dour would rise silently and moisten their sexes before returning to their assigned positions. (Rania also had permission to use the lubricant when needed, but it was her lot in life never to need it.) When Carling was not rustling the pages of his paper, the room was filled with the rather loud squishy-sucky sounds of three girls belaboring their wet genitalia.

The buzzer sounded, and five minutes later Cecily Scott had cleared all Carling’s security checks and entered the room. She was about 20, and had first fucked Carling when she was 14 and he was 26 (not such an uncommon thing in the enclosed world of the very wealthy). A thin blonde with short hair, long legs and sharp, intelligent features, she wore a little black dress, looked very comfortable in high heels, and was used to being the most attractive woman in whatever room she was in.

Amused at the three naked girls set out on display for her, she took a step toward them, then stopped dead in her tracks.

“What’s the matter?” said Carling.

“Rania?” said Cecily.

There was no reply, of course. “You know her?” asked Carling.

“Rania, is that you? Say something,” said Cecily, a bit jarred.

“She can’t say anything,” said Carling. “Where do you know her from?”

“From Princeton,” said Cecily. “Why can’t she say anything?”

“She goes to school with you?” asked Carling.

“She was Jane Winston’s roommate,” said Cecily. “But she didn’t come back to school last year.” Cecily knelt down next to Rania. “Her hair used to be long, but this is definitely her. I know her quite well.”

“I’ll be damned,” said Carling.

Rania was visibly agitated. But she still pushed her chest forward, trying to brush Cecily with her nipples.

“Rania—what’s going on? Is this some kind of game?” Cecily said. She reached out and put her hands on Rania’s bare shoulders, and Rania immediately threw herself into Cecily’s arms. Cecily held Rania comfortingly, expecting her to cry on her shoulder—until she felt Rania’s tongue darting in her ear, and her wet sex sliding up and down on her bare thigh.

“What the fuck?” said Cecily, startled. “Kneel!” said Carling to Rania sharply. “Get back in position with the others!” Rania withdrew at once and began masturbating again.

“What’s going on, Charles?” said Cecily, still on the carpet. “Why can’t she talk?”

“Your friend was brainwashed by experts,” said Charles. “She obeys whatever orders she’s given. And she’s in heat all the time. Bit of a nuisance, actually.”

“Oh, my God,” said Cecily, her hand over her mouth.

“I bought her from a dealer in South Africa, who bought her in Sudan from some Libyans.”

“Is she...a zombie or something?” asked Cecily, looking at Rania’s hand working between her legs.

“No, she understands everything,” said Carling. “But she can’t do anything about it.”

Rania’s flushed face and watery eyes showed her mortification at being discovered in this reduced state by her acquaintance Cecily. And the worst of it for her was that she was hovering on the edge of her orgasm. Before her training, the shock of public humiliation would have aborted her sexual response: but now, adrenalin and terror just fed into her arousal, like almost every emotion she experienced. She knelt before her classmate, leaking fluids from every orifice, feeling the ebb and flow of the blood in her head, getting closer to the edge.

“She’s royalty, you know,” said Cecily, who was tracing little figure-eights with her hand in the juice that Rania had left on her thigh.

Carling sat up. “No, I did not know.”

“She comes from one of those little kingdoms over there in the Middle East. Her brother is a king.” Cecily did not follow international news very closely, and had never heard about the regime change in Kazeb.

“Royalty?” said Carling. “Are you having me on, Cecily? Did someone put you up to this?”

“Check on it yourself,” Cecily said.

“I certainly will,” said Carling. “What did you say her name was?”

“Rania Al-Khalifa,” said Cecily. “She has a much longer name back home, but that’s what she went by at Princeton. What do you call her?”

“I don’t call her anything,” said Carling.

Rania’s breathing changed audibly, and Cecily turned and watched with fascination as Rania’s orgasm crept up on her and took her over. The little convulsion seemed to take forever: as she was trained to do, Rania never took her sex-swollen eyes off of Cecily’s.

“This is fucking incredible,” said Carling. “So my slave went to Princeton with you.”

“More than that—we travelled in the same circles,” said Cicely. “Your pal Harry went on a date or two with her.”

“Harry?” said an unbelieving Carling. “Why, he was at a party with her. He may even have screwed her. And he never said a word to me.”

“Well, that’s typical, isn’t it?” said Cecily. “Harry’s not very good with faces, or names, or anything else having to do with people. And Rania looks completely different without her long hair. I barely recognized her myself. Did you cut it off?”

“No, she came that way,” said Carling.

Cicely seemed to adjust quickly to Rania’s enslavement. When she and Carling drifted off to his bedroom, she didn’t even glance backward at the three naked, masturbating women, who remained at their stations until Carling came out to lock them up before bed.

But Cecily’s indifference was part of a plan. In the bedroom, she put extra effort into pleasing Carling, whose tastes she knew well. Stripping naked, she straddled Carling with her long legs and shimmied forward until she was just inches from his chin, then leaned back, spread her nether lips with her fingers and began playing with her clitoris, giving him the best possible view of the action. Carling’s face was expressionless, which she knew was a good sign.

“Charles,” she said, “you have to lend Rania to me.”

“What!” said Carling. “Do you know how much she cost?”

“Please, Charles. I promise I’ll take good care of her.” Cecily, still fingering herself, started breathing more and more audibly as she talked. Carling didn’t excite her in the least, but she could fake passion quite well. She started twitching her hips at intervals, bumping her wet fingers into Carling’s face.

“Please, Charles,” she said.

“Can’t we discuss this later?” said Carling

“Pleeeeease....” she moaned, rubbing her hand across his face in a fit of ardor. Carling made her shift her weight so he could move his arm close enough to jerk off. Cecily made her fake orgasm coincide with his.

Afterward, the discussion continued. Carling didn’t like the idea of taking over the care and feeding of Dorina and N’dour while Rania was away. Then there was the issue of turning a slave over to an inexperienced owner.

“But you said that she obeys every order, and couldn’t disobey even if she wanted to,” said Cecily. “Why, a child could manage her. All you have to do is get her something to wear, and I could just walk up Park Avenue with her on my arm.”

“You’re crazy,” said Carling. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but slavery is illegal in this state.”

Cecily was very good at getting what she wanted. She persisted in the outrageous idea of walking home with Rania, just to give Carling an issue on which to put his foot down. “You don’t know anything about transporting slaves,” he said. “There’s a right way and a wrong way, and that’s that.”

The next day, a doctor arrived at Carling’s penthouse and anaesthetized Rania. She was securely wrapped in gauze and packed in a heavily padded crate, which was delivered by movers to Cecily’s apartment, only five blocks away. After the movers left, Cecily lit a cigarette and walked around the room, inspecting the crate from every side. She hadn’t been so excited about opening a package since the christmases of her childhood.