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Spoils of War Episode 3: Breeding Slaves (Henry Sparrowhawk)

Spoils of War Episode 3: Breeding Slaves by Henry Sparrowhawk

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Clara was the daughter of a priest, blonde, eighteen years old, shy and a virgin. Then she was snatched, transported to Akkadis and sold into slavery. Now she is a branded pleasure slave in a brothel. To survive, she must learn to submit, to please and obey her masters, to dance naked and entertain them in bed. It is difficult, but Mr Bowser's whip is a very effective teaching instrument.

For Amanda and her daughter Honeysuckle, the transition to slavery is more humiliating still. They must serve and entertain men (and sometimes women) who they once knew as social equals, or inferiors.

But worse is to come. Amanda makes a terrible mistake, and she and her friend Ana are sent to the company's breeding farm, where slave girls are blindfolded and 'covered' like livestock, inseminated by a 'stud' slave to breed the next generation of slave girls.

Each day the pregnant slaves are exercised naked outdoors, sweating and running exhausted beneath the whip of Ezmay, the spiteful, embittered female overseer, while farm labourers, strangers and the hated Dr Nargal watch their humiliation.

But in the depths of her despair, Amanda stumbles upon a secret so dangerous that it could destroy her tormentors. She commits a desperate act of defiance that could plunge the known galaxy into war, and offer her a glimmer of hope for freedom - if she can survive long enough to enjoy it.


Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 2 / 2017

No. words: 48715

Style: SciFi BDSM/Bondage, Sex Slavery / Training

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

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Ezmay meted out Amanda’s punishment towards the end of the training session.
The thirty-eight breeding slaves were standing in straight lines, naked and still panting and dripping with sweat from their exertions. Ezmay always exercised the girls naked. She told them it was for their health, but in reality the overseer simply enjoyed humiliating them and demonstrating her power over them. Amanda was standing between Ana and Nessie. They stood perfectly still except for the rise and fall of their breasts.
Each girl had been given a thick wooden pole, about a yard long, which she held with a hand at each end. When Ezmay ordered, ‘Squat,’ they bent their knees and touched their hands to the ground, still holding the bar. When Ezmay said, ‘Lift,’ they stood, despite their fatigue, and lifted the bars high above their heads. Amanda had long since lost count of how many lifts and squats she had completed. At first the exercises seemed bearable. Now after forty or more repetitions she was close to exhaustion, but she dared not slow down.
“Squat,” said Ezmay, and the girls sank obediently to the ground. “Lift,” said Ezmay, and they dutifully stood with their arms raised high, supporting their wooden bars above their heads. Amanda felt her breasts thrust proudly forward. Her left breast was still burning from the cut of the whip earlier. A raised welt had already appeared, purple and thick, vertically crossing her nipple, about three inches long. It must be easily visible, Amanda thought. She had yelped loudly when the whip cut into her breast. She had tried her very best not to cry out, but she could not help it. The girls were not allowed to scream when they were punished. If they did, it invariably meant an extra lash of the whip. But so far, Ezmay had not punished Amanda. Perhaps she would be merciful.
Nargal was standing a few yards in front of her, watching the girls being put through their paces. Amanda looked straight ahead, ashamed to meet his eyes.
“Squat,” said Ezmay, and Amanda sank to the ground again. “Lift.” Amanda stood again with her arms raised, conscious that once more her breasts were presented for Nargal’s scrutiny.
She dared to glance at him briefly again. He was definitely looking at her. He was smiling. He thought it was amusing. He thought it was funny that Amanda was being exercised, naked and in public, and that she had been whipped because the overseer thought she had been running too slowly. Amanda was bitterly ashamed to be seen like this, publicly exhibited. She looked quickly away. The humiliation would have been bad enough if he had been a complete stranger, but to be scrutinised like this by an acquaintance, a man she had known socially in her old life, when she was free, was torment.
But Ezmay had seen her glance at Nargal. It was the moment the overseer had been waiting for. The slut has no sense of shame, Ezmay thought. She’s flirting with the doctor. Flirting and showing off her tarty looking enhanced breasts. Ezmay lunged forward powerfully with the dressage whip and at precisely the right instant flicked it sharply back. It was an accurate lash and a severe one, even by Ezmay’s high standards. Dr Nargal, Ezmay and every one of the thirty-eight bare slave girls heard the sharp crack as the tip cut pitilessly across Amanda’s right breast.
Amanda uttered a loud yelp followed by a series of prolonged squeals which she tried desperately to suppress. She must not offer any reason, any excuse, for this horrible, horrible overseer to punish her again. Her face twisted in pain and for the briefest of instants she lowered her hands as if to clutch at her burning flesh. Then she controlled herself and returned to her correct position. She was whimpering and sobbing and gasping for breath, but she did not break position. Her arms were still raised and her breasts were still thrust forward. Nargal chuckled at her discomfort. Amanda’s face was twisted and tears of pain and humiliation ran down her cheeks, but she dared not break position to wipe them away.
Ezmay smiled inwardly. Dr Nargal had seen her handiwork. He would be impressed.
The slut got what she wanted, thought Ezmay. The doctor’s noticed her breasts. And now she’ll have matching stripes, thick and purple, one on each breast.


The two men watched patiently as Clara wriggled and writhed and whimpered for another minute or more. The pretty blonde was trying her very best to keep still. Bowser politely extended the cane towards his friend and said generously, “You want to try it?”
“I don’t mind if I do. Thank you,” said Arnold, accepting the proffered rattan.
He began by stroking Clara’s inner thigh with the cane. Obediently, Clara shuffled her feet still further apart. She was now bent over with her feet a yard apart, and her hands still on her feet. Bowser and Arnold could see her face, upside down between her legs. Her eyes were wide with fear and her long blonde hair hung down prettily to the floor.
Arnold lifted the cane to deliver the third stroke. Clara closed her eyes, awaiting the inevitable. Arnold was physically strong, easily strong enough to deliver an excruciatingly painful stroke, but he was not as accurate as Bowser. He was a novice. The third stroke landed lower than the first two, across the back of Clara’s thighs rather than her buttocks. It is a very sensitive part of a woman’s body, but by a supreme effort of will the priest’s daughter was able to keep her hands and feet still.
Clara wriggled though. She wagged her tail as wildly and urgently for Hezekiah Arnold as she had for Bowser. She squealed as loudly and lengthily for the novice as she had for the maestro. Her pretty, rounded rump tensed and twisted again and again. Her buttocks clenched and her labia quivered without pause. She danced her humiliating dance, but felt neither shame nor embarrassment. Pain, of the magnitude which a rattan cane can create, is stronger than shame. It had driven all lesser sensations from Clara’s mind.
The two men watched as the pleasure slave struggled to hold her position despite the searing pain. Arnold watched Clara’s face, framed between her thighs, her expression twisted with pain. He saw the pain in her eyes and in her mouth. This was what real pain looked like, he thought, not the pretended pain of an actress on the telescreen. Bowser waited patiently, like an artist who had stepped back from the easel to assess his work. He enjoyed his work anyway, but he enjoyed it particularly in Clara’s case because she was an Imperial, and a daughter of a priest.
Eventually the urgent squeals softened to a continuous wailing, punctuated by sobs. Bowser spoke to his guest. “That’s what we mean by a ‘wagtail’. The girl’s an Imperial. I expect you guessed. No self-control. No willpower. They make good pleasure sluts though, once they’re broken in. After a month at the Maidens, they’ll do anything for a few solidi.” Arnold nodded. The two men discussed Clara’s appearance and performance as though she could not hear them, as though she were a trained animal. Eventually Bowser told the pretty blonde to stand once more. “Remove the gag,” he added. “Turn round and face Mr Arnold.”
It’s over, Clara thought. For today at least, it’s over. Overwhelmed with relief, she suddenly began sobbing again, uncontrollably. She stood to attention, with her toes and heels together, her hands by her sides and her chin raised prettily. She tried her best to stand perfectly still, but it was simply not possible. She was sobbing and crying and gasping for breath so much that her whole body was shaking. Tears were streaming down her face, but Clara did not dare to wipe them away. The two men watched, Bowser unsmiling and Arnold amused, as Clara’s breasts shook and bounced prettily as she sobbed. They were attractive breasts, well rounded, of a good size but not over large. They were best described as hemispheres, rather than globes. Clara was, after all, only eighteen. They had not been enhanced with biosilicon gel. They were firm though, jutting proudly forth from just above her ribcage and bouncing attractively whenever she sobbed or gasped for air.
“You may rub your bottom,” said Bowser.
“Yes, master, thank you, master,” said Clara with a polite curtsey, gratefully rubbing her seething buttocks to sooth the pain.


Amanda and Aimee were kneeling across Scamander’s body with their full weight. Aimee was on his chest, pressing the sheet firmly over his mouth and nose.
“Do you want to live, Scamander?” she said.
He nodded desperately. He could feel the lifeblood ebbing from him. “You screamed like a girl, Scamander. You screamed like a girl.”
Scamander looked into Aimee’s eyes and she knew that he remembered those words. He had spoken them himself once, long ago on the Evening Star, when he had told Aimee how her brother and father had died. Now he heard the words again.
They were the last words that Peter Scamander ever heard.


“Good morning, miss”
“Good morning, miss”
“Good morning, miss.”
The three girls stood politely and smiled and curtsied as Amanda entered the room.
“Good morning, girls,” replied Amanda. They looked demure and pretty in their yellow Akkadis Leisure uniforms. They would not be wearing the dresses for long, but they made an excellent impression while they did. All three were beautiful, Amanda thought, with pretty faces and lovely feminine figures. Two were blonde and one brunette. Their names were Tessa, Flora and Peony.
They did not sit until Amanda herself sat down. Amanda knew they would have been taught impeccable manners and etiquette, as well as domestic science, child care, dancing, physical education and general knowledge. They were the produce of Seven Fountains Farm and they were eighteen standard years of age and on their way to the Rose Garden to be sold. They were all virgins, of course. Akkadis Leisure was naturally strict about that. Soiled goods would do nothing for the company’s reputation, nor its balance sheet.
Amanda chatted to the three girls while they waited for the vehicle which would take them to the slave market. Naturally the girls were fearful. Their years on the farm, safe and protected, were over now. Their new lives were about to begin. Within days they would be branded and sold to strangers. They knew they would have one chance and one chance only for a happy life, or even a bearable one. Each of the girls would try her best to make her master love her, so that he would keep her forever. If he chose to sell her to another man, she might be sold again and again. Eventually she would be bought by a brothel.
The girls asked Amanda for advice, for any tips she could offer. She tried to think of something useful to suggest, something they had not already been taught, but their training must have been thorough. “Find out what your master likes,” said Amanda, “and do it. Show him you enjoy whatever he does to you.” The girls blushed, especially Peony, the shy brunette. “If he is married, respect his wife. Make yourself useful to her.” The girls nodded, attending to every word Amanda spoke.
It was little wonder that free women, and wives especially, hated concubines and slaves. How could any free woman compete with such creatures as these? They were delectable: beautiful, trained, obedient, and as eager to please as if their lives depended on it, which indeed they often did. But a wife did not have to compete with a slave. She could simply persuade her husband to dispose of the girl.

Author Information

Greetings, friends of Akkadis! Welcome to the Henry Sparrowhawk author page.

Five years ago I gave up my rather boring job to do the work I had always wanted to do: writing. The result was the Atkoi War Trilogy and the Atkoi Slave Girl series. The new Spoils of War series contains rewritten, edited and extended stories from these books, divided into novella length episodes.

I began writing because I love good quality bdsm / domination literature. I wanted to create believable characters that the reader can empathise with, realistic situations and a good storyline. I also love the old science fiction classics: Asimov, Poul Anderson, Heinlein and Frank Herbert.

'Spoils of War' begins in the year 2999. Man has colonised the stars: his vast Empire encompasses a thousand inhabited worlds, but its rulers have become weak and complacent. On its borders are the Atkoi tribes, descendants of human settlers centuries before, who have long since reverted to barbarism. Now, for the first time, the Atkoi are united under a single charismatic ruler, Rurik, Great Kzam of All the Atkoi. As the Empire's ruling elite try to appease the Atkoi, their demands grow steadily greater. On remote planets on the fringes of the Empire, the innocent victims pay a terrible price for Empire's weakness. The Kzam has promised his followers rich pickings from the wealthy conquered worlds: land, plunder... and beautiful women, many of whom are destined for the slave markets of the rogue planet Akkadis, notorious for its slave brothels, harems and its Arena, where slave girls perform in degrading public performances.

The 'Spoils of War' series follows the stories of some of those slave girls as they submit to the realities of their new lives and adapt to their circumstances.

If this sounds like something from antiquity, from the days of Attila the Hun, perhaps, or Genghis Khan, you are of course right. But it is also happening today. And if man ever does conquer the stars, it will still happen. Civilisation is not inevitable. It rises and falls. Perhaps the whole of human history is the story of the conflict between civilisation and barbarism.

Enjoy reading the books! And do please write a review or make a comment. I welcome such feedback. I am particularly interested to know which characters and situations you enjoyed reading about most.

With best wishes,

Henry Sparrowhawk


Publisher Information

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