by Clare Seven
Still trapped on the strange world of Zirith, Anya remains chained and is now compelled to work on a desert sandship as one of the women pushing the spokes of wheels on deck, driving the massive gears that connect to the huge wheels below. Worse, in the heat of the desert sun, as a punishment for trying to escape she is forced to wear a steel helmet covering her whole head, except for a tiny grille that could be opened to allow her to eat or drink.
Would she remain as a work-slave for the rest of her life, which might not be very long under these conditions?
Published: 12 / 2014 No. words: 30,400
Style: BDSM/Bondage – Content: Strong – Sex Slavery / Training, Strong BDSM Content, Sado-Masochism (SM) The woman stepped forward, and the overseers moved aside as she neared.
“I will spare your life, perhaps because you are from Earth, perhaps because it would be unfair for me to end it here, now, before you have the chance to understand, explore and suffer all of the degradations and pain of slavery.”
Anya was slowly untied and pulled to her feet, the overseers, almost afraid, showing deference and respect for this mysterious woman. Anya’s face was level with hers now, and for the first time she stared completely into the face of her enemy. There was no other word that accurately described her for Anya. This mysterious woman, from her home planet of Earth, had bought her as a slave, seen her made to walk naked and chained across the sands, and now tormented her by threatening to have her crucified to the mast of this crude vessel. She hoped that not having carried out the threat to have her put to death was not just a temporary reprieve, and that she would not once more be forced down upon her back.
“No. Perhaps it would be best to see you work as a slave should do for a while first. After all, I did spend money on you. You have a strong back and strong legs.”
She moved a hand forward as Anya shuddered, squeezing the muscles of one arm before brushing against her breast with the side of her hand, and moving to her thigh, her thumb playing with the ring through the flesh between Anya’s legs. She smiled, and said something in the foul language that Anya did not understand. One of the female overseers moved off, as if in response to the order.
“You will be placed in the ‘hot helm’, perhaps for a week, perhaps even months, until I decide that you have learnt your lesson. In the helm, you will continue to serve me at the wheel. After all…” she said, running her smooth hand across Anya’s breasts, “I want my damned money’s worth.”
She nodded at one of the women behind Anya, who proceeded to lower something large and metallic over her head as the overseers held her steady. Anya struggled, but there were too many strong arms holding her in place. She felt the heavy steel, rusted in places, being placed on her head, as its two halves were closed about her and darkness filled her vision.
“You can’t put me in this thing!” she screamed, the echo of her plea reverberating about the steel head enclosure.
She had been punished by the hideous cruel devices available on this planet before. She had been put in ball; she had had her pussy horribly whipped, but this was different. Already the heat was stifling. Her vision was limited only to a small grille-like mouthpiece that appeared to be the only part of the helm that opened, once it was fixed in place. The helm was roughly round, globe like, in two halves that were crudely hinged – and it was so very heavy. A collar secured it in place as it was locked around her neck, and her head fell forward with the weight. She had worn light Kevlar helmets when she had been a soldier, and old timers had joked about how light they were compared to the ‘steel pots’ that they had had to wear in battle. But this was very different; crude steel beaten into a globe that was worn by the slave as severe punishment. Perhaps being crucified might have been preferable. She would have been allowed to die in this place then. As it was, she had no idea how long she would have to wear this debilitating device, which made it brutally difficult to breathe and already made her gasp at the heat inside. What would it be like to work in? She dared not to imagine. She shouted her defiance, and almost deafened herself with the loud echo that resonated again around the steel chamber that now surrounded her head. The small grille on the lower part of the globe was designed to be opened so that she might be fed, she realised. They were truly going to keep her encased in this thing.
She was being pulled and jeered across the deck now, with no means of really seeing where she was going, as the grille in the face plate only allowed her to see her blistered feet and the deck.
“Welcome to slavery at the wheel,” she heard the woman say.