Erotic flash fiction: A Punished Slavegirl

A serving girl is humiliated at a special kind of party.

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This story is intended to take place in the Erenisch universe, a smutty world of institutionalized misogyny where women are freely used as sex objects by Men. 

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Looking back, I shouldn’t have been there. 

The advert made it sound so simple, so innocuous.  Servers wanted, uniform provided. Must be able to follow directions.

It was very clear, I thought.  

I really should have known better.  As I pulled on the standard-issue fishnets, metal collar, and platform heels, I should have known I was out of my depth.  As I walked into the event hall with the other girls – not one of them seemed perturbed by the required dress, or lack thereof – I don’t know why I expected to be handed a tray of drinks.

I wasn’t to be that kind of server.  No, the men’s hands were immediately all over me.  

All over all of us.  

I had been warned of this kind of thing all my life, but the reality of it hit me like a ton of bricks.  

One of them grabbed me by the ring in my collar and pushed me to my knees, dragging me back to a plush burgundy couch in the corner.  I struggled, I admit it.  It was more of a reflex, really, as my knees were scraped against the floor. 

I honestly didn’t mean to. 

I shouldn’t have been there; I just… wasn’t expecting any of this.  No matter what I had heard, the whispered rumors – the entitled violence still caught me off guard.  I had always lived a sheltered life at home; there was nothing to prepare me for this.    

My eyes widened as I looked up at the man who still held fast to my collar. 

A cruel half-smile crept over his face, as he leered down at me.  

He pulled me toward him, so close that I could see the beginnings of crow’s feet around his eyes and smell the expensive whiskey on his breath. “Where do you think you’re going, cunt?”  His voice dripped with dark excitement, like he’d enjoy breaking a new toy.

The crude address rendered me… speechless.  I don’t know why, but I pulled back, away from him, and shook my head.  Words wouldn’t form in my throat; my tongue felt thick and heavy.  

He laughed, and it wasn’t a good laugh.  “You must be new here.  I don’t take well to a bitch that tries to fight back.” 

“I just… please, I didn’t mean…”  The syllables tripped in my mouth, making me incapable of putting together a coherent sentence to defend myself.  

He tsk’d.  “And arguing, on top of that.”  His palm connected with my face so quickly that I couldn’t even ready myself for the blow. 

Tears stung my eyes as pain flashed across my cheek.  

I shouldn’t be here.   That was the one thought coursing through my mind, as I brought my hand up to cradle my injured face and bruised ego.  

“You don’t know what happens to argumentative little whores here, do you?”  His eyes were hard, and almost gleeful.

I shook my head.  

He took a deep breath and looked toward the ceiling, as if searching for divine explanation.  “I don’t know why they let these untrained little cunts in here.”  His eyes fell back on me.  “Oh, well, I suppose.  It’s fun for me either way.  Now, move your hand.”  

I didn’t move.  I couldn’t.  Fear stole my ability.

His eyes narrowed, and it turned my blood to ice.  “I said, move your fucking hand.” 

I shook my head, a tiny, minute movement.

His expression darkened.  “Defying me again?” 

I had heard of fight or flight, but I learned at that moment that there was another possibility: freeze.  I knelt there, perfectly still, with his fingers still interlocked in the ring of my collar, not knowing what to do.  It sounds stupid, I know, but it was like if he couldn’t see me move, then the predator’s eyes might be drawn to something more interesting. 

I was so stupid.

“I’ll give you a clue, cunt.  The correct answer here is ‘No, Sir.  I’m sorry, Sir.’” 

“No… Sir.”  The tears that had gathered, spilled down my cheeks.  “I’m… sorry, Sir.”

His smile widened, but it brought me no comfort.  It was what I imagined a hawk might look like, when it spied a mouse in the grass.  “So you’re not completely idiotic, that’s good to know.  But I’m afraid that I can’t let this behavior slide.” 

I stared at him, willing myself to be invisible.

“We’re going to get you a new bobble to put around your neck, doesn’t that sound fun?”  He looked down at me in a way that made me think that it wouldn’t be fun at all. 

Still, I didn’t think I was that stupid.  I had to make an effort.  “Yes, Sir,” I said, quietly, dropping my eyes to the floor.  I hoped that this minor act of submission would please him. 

He made an approving hum.  “Of course it does, you dumb little thing.”  

Before I knew what was happening, I felt his fingers weave themselves through my hair and tighten.  The pain in my scalp was immediate and sharp, and I batted at him fruitlessly, as he hauled my body along the floor toward the front of the room. I yelped and moaned, fragmented apologies falling from my lips.  Still, his grip did not slacken, as my hip slid along the carpet, my legs flailing behind me, useless. 

I tried not to notice the commotion we were making, or the stares of the men and the other servers around us.  In a way, the humiliation of being dragged through the crowd was almost worse than the pain of being held by my hair.  

I shouldn’t be here.  I thought this would be an easy couple of bucks, a simple night’s work.  Ten minutes hadn’t even gone by, and this was already a nightmare.  

I screamed as he threw me onto a wide wooden platform, my body hitting the floor of the structure I knew would leave me bruised tomorrow.  At this point, the adrenaline scraping along the inside of my veins told me that I’d be lucky if those were the only wounds I walked away with.  

If I could walk away.

I was so, so stupid. 

He crouched down in front of me and ran a hand through my hair, tucking a piece of it behind my ear.  The tenderness of the gesture surprised me, made my breath hitch in my throat.  “You should know that I’m going to enjoy every moment of your punishment tonight,” he said.  “It’s been so long since I’ve had to deal with a cunt like you.  It’s going to be a pleasure to watch you cry for me.” 

I huddled on the platform, drawing my body inward, unsure of what the correct response was.

His eyes twinkled in malicious joy.  “Say, ‘Thank you, Sir.’” 

“…Thank you, Sir.”  My voice was barely above a whisper.

“‘Thank you for teaching me to be a better cunt for my superiors.’”

A deep blush blossomed over my cheeks.  “Thank… thank you for teaching me…”  I trailed off, as a fresh round of tears spilled down my face.  It took a monumental effort to continue the sentence.  “…For teaching me to be a better cunt… for my superiors.” 

“Your blush is beautiful.”  He dragged the back of his fingers over my hot cheeks.  “Your stupidity is such a delight.”  He slapped me, again, rocketing my head to the side.  

The burn of it raced from my eye to my chin, and it took me an eternity to gather up the courage to turn back and face him.  

“What do we say when a man gives you a compliment?”  His tone was a mocking sing-song, like one might take with a child.  

I closed my eyes for a moment, fearing that my whole face might erupt into flames.  “Thank you, Sir.” 

“Better, but we have plenty of time to practice tonight.  I guess you’re not a complete waste of oxygen.”  He stood up.  “Now, on your feet.” 

My bones felt liquid, my muscles, calcified.  Everything was upside down and backward, but I dared not antagonize this man further.  I stole a glance at the tables around us, and I was mortified to notice that every pair of eyes was on us.  On me.  

Everyone was watching me fuck up.  

I didn’t want to stand up.  I just wanted to crawl into a hole and pretend I never saw the godforsaken ad for this event.  But one look at the eager, sadistic expression on his face made my joints move, bringing me to a standing position in front of him.  My breath was shallow, as my fear pooled in my chest.  

He stood a head taller than me, and he put his fingers under my chin, tipping my face up to meet his.  I saw his lips move a second before a glob of spit hit me between my eyes.  It dripped in a lazy trail into the corner of my eye socket, burning and blurring my vision.  A single, choked sob escaped from my mouth.  “Th-thank you, Sir.” 

“She can be taught, I’m shocked.” 

The patronizing ring just made everything worse.  I felt my shoulders heave; I wanted to disappear.     

He wrapped his hands around my wrists and brought my arms up above my head, threading them through a set of manacles.  The fight seeped out of me, as I felt his spit cooling on my face, and the hungry stares of the people around us.  The men were eager to watch my humiliation, and several of them guided their own girls to their knees in front of them, undoing their pants.  Most of the other girls attended to them, but more than a few looked on, with excited, cannibalistic stares. 

The man in front of me attached a black pendant to my collar.  “Do you know what this signifies?” he asked. 

I shook my head.  All of my skin felt hot.  “No, Sir.” 

He smiled, but it was a cruel caricature of kindness.  “This pendant tells every other man here, that you’re a disobedient, rotten piece of cunt meat.  That you deserve everything that’s going to happen to you tonight.”  He leaned in closer to my ear, and his breath sent shivers racing down my body.  “No one is going to help you.  They’re all going to know that you deserve every ounce of pain and suffering I give you.” 

Every word cut me like a knife tracing along my ribs.  “I’m… I’m sorry, Sir.”  My voice broke, garbling the last half of my feeble apology.  

He grabbed my chin again, squeezing my jaw and digging my teeth into the inside of my cheeks.  “By the end of tonight, I’m sure you will be.”  His eyes narrowed.  “By the end of the night, you will be begging to serve at my feet.  You will beg for any depraved abuse I can think of.”  

My blood turned to ice, and the juxtaposition of it next to my flushed skin only added to my anguish, my helpless disorientation.

I watched him take a step toward the wall, where a variety of whips, canes, and floggers hung carefully displayed.  I shook my head and leaned back as far as the shackles would let me, as I watched him take down a monstrous-looking bullwhip.  The thing looked as thick as my arm and sharp as a blade.  “Please… please, no…” I begged, knowing that it wouldn’t do me any good.  “Please, I’m sorry!” 

He stood in front of me, the black whip slithering along the platform like some evil snake. 

“Remember your manners, cunt.  I want to hear gratitude.” 

He brought his shoulder back and the whip followed, forming a graceful sinusoid before connecting sharply with my torso.  I screamed as the end cracked and wrapped around my body, laying a line of fire along my skin.  The pain of it was like nothing else I had ever felt; I watched the welt raise immediately as I realized that the coolness on my cheeks were my own tears.  My mind was wiped clean of any thoughts, save for the burning, coiling whip mark.  

He took a step back.  “That was only the first.  Imagine the hundredth.”  His smile crawled across his jaw.  “Now, don’t forget to thank me.”   

Photo by Christopher Campbell on Unsplash