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Servitude In Limbo (Victor Bruno)

Servitude In Limbo by Victor Bruno

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Limbourne, where slavery is a fact, where good-looking young men and women are sentenced to a period of time serving middle aged sadistic employers, who have the power of pain and suffering over them!

Matt and Nancy are finding out what life is really like as slaves. It is particularly hard for Matt, driven into servitude as a housemaid, outfit and all!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 6 / 2018

No. words: 33600

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Fem Dom - F/M

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

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Limbourne, where the action of this story is centred, cannot be said truly to exist. Except in the imagination of man. It is, in a way, rather like Swift’s country of Lilliput ... a setting against which a way of life can be acted out, politics played, passions pursued. And where points of view may be made.
So there is no place where Limbourne can exactly be said to be. Sometimes one feels it might be a quiet English seaside town or, possibly, a large village; at others one feels it is among some pioneer American community, with its rough honesty, rigidity and Puritanical outlook allied to hard work. It is a strange mixture.
There is a timelessness about Limbourne, too. It cannot be the present, though many things are of the present day. Mainly one seems to be living in the past, yet one cannot deny the numerous facets of the future which ever and anon flash upon the scene.
So one must be content with the fact that it is any place, at any time. Therefore, and rightly too, one must call it a figment of fantasy, and yet ... and yet ... how often the reality of the place and people seem to grip one.
Here then, is a strange ‘new world’.
But it is not a science-fiction world filled with bizarre beings and even more bizarre machines. On the contrary, it is filled with very ‘ordinary’ people who live in a familiar everyday world for a very good deal of the time. In that sense, it is quite a believable world. At least, so it is to be hoped.
It is a world some will find rather amusing. Some will enjoy it a great deal. Others may be rather appalled by it. If you are one of the latter, please do not persist. This is meant to be a form of enjoyment for those who enjoy such things. It is not meant to be taken seriously. So if you don’t like it, don’t read it - simply dispose of it.
What then, makes this mythical Limbourne different?
After all, it has been said that the people and the place have a familiar appearance.
It is simply that it is a place where society (even in this microcosm of it) is based on a system of slavery. There are those who earn and those who are owned. Those who are served and those who serve. That, of course is something quite alien, indeed horrifying, to society today. Yet those in Limbourne accept it as a natural way of life. For them, it is something that has been ordained - from ‘on high’ as it were. Complacent ease and privilege - or bitter toil, humiliation and deprivation. On or the other has been decreed. How? Why? To what end? If there is any purpose in anything at all anyway!
Let us then, in imagination, move into Limbourne ...


Maud Campbell was very pleased with the look of weather on the Thursday morning she had planned to take her two slaves - Nancy Blake and Matt Dawson - on what she termed ‘Nature Study’. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, only a faint mist which gave promise of a dry, warm day. It would be ideal for sketching or photography, whether she chose the beach or the woodland.
Which should it be?
Seated over the remnant of her breakfast, Maud pondered on the matter. Since her subject was ‘The Gardens of Eden’, the woodland seemed more suitable. Yet the beach had its attractions on such a day. Perhaps she could do something rather primeval. Creatures emerging from the sea. The first act of creation on land. Yes ... that had possibilities. On the other hand, Maud somehow preferred the idea of a ‘Garden of Eden’. She had done a number of paintings already, using her former slaves, Jessica and Dermot as models, but now she felt she could improve on them, using Nancy and Matt.
At that moment, Nancy came into the room and interrupted her thoughts. The girl, who wore her drab, shapeless working dress, curtsied.
“May I clear the table, Ma’am?” she enquired meekly.
Maud nodded curtly. “And hurry up with the chores, Nancy,” she said. “I want to be leaving the house with you both by ten thirty. You and Matt will have to be finished and changed by then. Tell him ... “
“Yes, Ma’am,” answered Nancy, quickly beginning to load her tray. She knew, even after only a few days as Maud Campbell’s servant, she would have to work hard and fast to comply with the deadline set. However, under such a regime, when was one not working hard and fast?
Nancy informed Matt of their Mistresses instructions when she reached the kitchen. He was scrubbing the tiled floor, wearing only a pair of leather shorts.
“I wonder where she’s taking us,” he said.
Nancy made no answer. The official rule was that the two servants did not converse unless it was strictly essential - and then concerned with domestic matters. Even though Mrs Campbell was seemingly still in the dining room and out of earshot, Nancy respected the edict. She was aware that, if Mrs Campbell caught her disobeying such an instruction, she would have no compunction about ordering her over the kitchen table, with her skirt up and her knickers down. There to have a strap or cane laid across her bared bottom cheeks. Nancy did not wish to risk that, even if Matt did not seem to mind so much.
As fast as she could, yet carefully, Nancy got on with the washing up. That was not the only chore there was for that morning. There was a bed to be made, a bathroom to be cleaned. It did not seem possible she would have enough time. Still, she must try.
Although Nancy Blake had only been with Mrs Campbell for three days, it already seemed more like three weeks. So much had happened! So much that was quite horrible. [*1]
That first evening when she and Matt and Matt had to strip naked in front of each other ...
Then Mrs Campbell’s calm insistence that the two new arrivals have sexual relations in front of her ...
The painful thrashing that had followed her first refusal ...
Her subsequent submission ...
The next day, her visit to Reeve Headquarters to be ‘fettered’ ...
Being sent to buy canes from that horrible man, Mr Harris ...
The way everybody leered at her in the abbreviated, revealing outdoor clothes she was forced to wear ...
That hideous encounter with lecherous Mr Ward. who had demanded that she show him whether she wore knickers or not ...
The even more hideous incident which followed, when she was taken back to Reeve Headquarters, there to receive her first agonising taste of the official ‘stick’ ...
Her return home to Mrs Campbell’s wrath, for her guests, Mr and Mrs Barnes had been kept waiting for tea ...
Having to expose her weal-striped bottom to the guests ...
Mr Barrens subsequent assault on her ...
Then the awful night she had to spend in those clinging rubber panties, with the special penetrating attachment ...
The shame and humiliation of it all ...
The next day, she and Matt being caned over the kitchen table, really for no fault at all ...
And a far worse, subsequent caning she had received, being as naked as Matt who had been ordered to ‘horse’ her ...
Yet it was all but a beginning ...
Her first experiences of the never-ending misery of slavery ...
The slavery that was as normal as rain and sunshine in Limbourne, and other similar communities organised by the distant but all-powerful State ...
Fate had indeed decreed a terrible existence for her, and all because ‘the luck of the draw’ had gone against her ...
As it had done for all those now in servitude ...
Little wonder that 19-year old Nancy Blake wept silently as she went about her tasks in Mrs Campbell’s bungalow. The inhuman cruelty of it all! Both mental and physical. Made all the worse because it was all accepted as so NATURAL by those who had the good fortune to be owners rather than slaves.
“Time to change, Nancy ... we’ve only got ten minutes.” It was Matt poking his head round a door and whispering to her.
Nancy stopped polishing the parquet floor and got wearily up off her knees. Maybe, after I’ve done this more often, she thought, my back and arms won’t ache so much. She was aware that she had not quiet finished all the chores she should have done but simply had to hope that Mrs Camel wouldn’t notice. Ten minutes was only just about time enough in which to change. It was good of Matt to have warned her.
Perhaps he wasn’t such a bad fellow ...
Nancy tried to analyse her feelings towards her fellow slave, as she hurried to her room and began to change. At first she had bitterly hated him for his lustful ravishment of her. How much he had enjoyed that, she knew. Yet later, calmer, reflection had told her that it was scarcely Matt’s fault. He had been ordered to take her, by their owner. If, out of some sense of gallantry, he had refused, he would have been mercilessly thrashed until he complied.
It was just that he was so happy and eager to take her.
Still, perhaps Matt couldn’t help that either. She understood, from what Mrs Campbell had said, the young man had been long deprived.
Then again, Nancy had hated Matt when he had ‘horsed’ her, ready for caning. The had recalled her naked body writhing against his as the rod bit again and again into her buttocks ... and, once more, she knew that Matt had enjoyed the sensation of that. Maybe even enjoyed the fact that she was suffering.
But, as before, could he really be blamed? Once again, he had been acting under orders. It was understandable, too, that a lusty young man like him should enjoy the feel of a ripe, young woman’s body against his.
No, said Nancy to herself, I must not blame Matt too much. There are some things he has to do; some he can’t help. I must try and be more tolerant. After all, he is a fellow sufferer.
Nancy regarded herself in the full-length mirror. The panties she had to wear were no more than a lacy wisp. Similarly the brassiere, which was of the half-cup variety, uplifting higher her upthrusting breasts. Suspender belts and stockings were not to be worn that day (there had been a note to that effect on the Daily Orders, pinned up in the kitchen) so Nancy put on one of the pleated micro-skirts she had to wear and then a see-through blouse. Nancy was aware of how sexily provocative this kind of outfit made her ... and thus hated it all the more. How hypocritical Mrs Campbell was! Warning her about her behaviour ... about the attentions of men ... then making her go about in this indecent fashion!
Dressed at last, her pretty face made up and her thick, raven hair combed, Nancy hurried from her room and down to the hallway of the bungalow. Mat was already there; dressed in a plain shirt and breeches ... and Nancy saw his eyes hot with happy desire as they fastened on her. She made an effort to fight down her resentment. Resentment that bordered on hate. It is not his fault ... he can’t help it ... she kept telling herself. All the same, did he have to look quite like that!
As it happened, Maud Campbell did not come into the hallway before twenty to eleven. Nancy reflected ruefully that she could have well used that time to complete her morning tasks, but of course, such a matter was of absolutely no concern to her owner.
“I have ordered a C-Cart,” said Maud Campbell. “Matt, go and see if it is at the door. [*2]
“At once, Ma’am ... “
Matt Dawson had already acquired an excellently servile manner. Though, in many ways, his servitude was both arduous and humiliating, it had, to some extent, compensations. There was, for example, a bizarre sexuality about it. The enforced masturbatory sessions ... having to act as a sex-servant to his owner, if in the most humble sort of capacity. And, it need hardly be added, there was Nancy. To be able to eye her, day in, day out ... to have contact with her ... to be ORDERED to fuck her .. my God, that really was a bonus! Slavery was certainly not an ideal system in which to be a loser, but Matt was beginning to think he had happened upon a form which had compensations. Admittedly, he had only enjoyed Nancy once, but Matt had a strong feeling he was going to be called upon fairly frequently. Admittedly, at his owner’s bequest ... for her amusement maybe ... but he did not find that altogether intolerable.
Matt opened the front door and went down the garden path. Yes ... the C-Cart was already there. It was of the single variety and drawn by a rather plump young woman with long blonde hair. Matt stood for rather longer than he should have done, looking at this unfortunate who had been assigned to this degrading Community Duty. Naked, the girl was harnessed to the C-Cart by means of a waist-belt and crotch-strap. Her wrists were fastened by thongs to the shafts of the cart. These Communal C-Carts, as he understood it, could be summoned by any citizen. There were, however, some more influential and wealthier citizens who owned private C-Carts, either single or in pairs. Perhaps, Matt thought with a tingle of apprehension, I shall be assigned to such a duty one day. After all, every owner had to give a slave over for some months of the year for Community Duties, as it was more than likely it would happen to him in due course. Not a pleasant thought to contemplate as he returned to the bungalow.
“Your C-cart is here, Ma’am,” he said.
Maud nodded perfunctorily. “Pick up the hamper, Nancy,” she said sharply, “and you, Matt, you can carry my easel and paints.”
The two servants were quick to do her bidding and then followed the plump figure from the house. She was practically clad in sunhat, linen suit and brogue shoes. She could have been any suburban matron on a day’s outing. Indeed, she was. Except that she happened to live in Limbourne ... and thus had slaves to attend her.

[*1] All these incidents, and many others, are described in ‘IN LIMBO’, the first book in the Limbo Saga.

[*2] C-Carts: Small carriages driven by human beings, male or female.


Maud Campbell stepped up into the C-Cart and the springs sagged noticeably under her weight.
“You two follow behind,” she said as she took the slim, knotted horse-whip out of its holder. “No dawdling ... “
The whip flicked a couple of times across the plump buttocks of the girl between its shafts.
“Hup ... at the trot!” ordered Maud Campbell.
The girl took two even paces forward and then went smoothly into her stride. It was not a particularly fast one, but it was very rhythmic. The knees came up to the horizontal with each stride and she took the strain of pulling evenly between the waist-strap, crotch-strap, and her wrist on the shafts. It was not altogether a simple task to pull a C-Cart smoothly and efficiently. Every slave assigned, male or female, received a thorough training, however.
Nancy and Matt, carrying along the equipment, were forced to keep pace. They toiled along in the dust raised by the light, big-wheeled carriage, whilst their Mistress lolled back on the upholstered seat and enjoyed both the weather and the scenery about her. Before her the plump white bottom of the girl who pulled the C-Cart swung, bounced and juddered in a steady rhythm. If there had been any slackening of pace, or clumsiness in the traction, Maud Campbell would have taken the horse-whip from its tubular holder and lashed it across the jouncing flesh.
They continued for a mile, all uphill, after they had left the outskirts of Limbourne. To their right were some wooded hills and, when they turned in that direction, it was obvious that was where Maud Campbell was heading. The lane grew narrower and steeper and the plump blonde began to labour. Maud Campbell took out the whip.
Flick ... flack!
Flick ... flack!
The knotted cord lashed across the sweating flesh, raising thin red weals. The blonde squealed and stumbled before gathering herself and resuming a faster and more rhythmic pace again. The effort it cost her had her breath rasping and her breasts heaving wildly. Maud Campbell sat back again unconcernedly. She was only interested in results. The girl’s evident distress did not trouble her. The girl was only a slave.
At last the ground levelled out into a clearing. By that time, Nancy and Matt were as thankful as the girl who pulled the C-Cart. It was no joke carrying luggage up such a slope, on the trot.
“Over to the far side,” ordered Maud Campbell.
The little convoy proceeded across the clearing. Tiring fast, the plump blonde stumbled as they crossed the sandy stretch ... and got two more lashes from Mrs Campbell.
“Steady!” she bellowed, “or you’ll have us over.”
What, in God’s name, wondered Matt, is all this in aid of? Why were they up in these woodlands? Surely not just for a simple picnic.
“Down that avenue of trees,” commanded their owner.
The panting girl between the shafts kept going, urged on now by repeated flicks of the horse whip.
“Right ... that will do ... “ called Maud Campbell.
They had all arrived at a smaller, greener clearing. Matt could see the calves of the girl between the shafts quivering and also noted the sweat which sheened her body. Maud Campbell was no lightweight to pull up such a hill!
Maud Campbell descended from the C-Cart. “I want you back here at three o’clock,” she said peremptorily.
The blonde inclined her head. She was not allowed to speak. Merely acknowledge. Matt watched the thighs lifting and the big breasts bouncing as the girl began her return journey. No doubt it was quite a relief to have far less weight to pull, he reflected. The wobbling, thinly-striped bottom gradually disappeared into the distance.
“Lay out the rug ... set up my chair ... and my stool ... open the hamper and pour me a glass of lager ... “ Maid Campbell’s orders came crisp and fast and Nancy and Matt were quick to obey them. What wouldn’t I give for one of those, thought Matt, as he poured out a pale and bubbling cool beer. Anyone would have imagined that Mrs Campbell deserved it, for having got them there!
“There’s a stream fifty yards away, down that slope,” said Maud, as if divining his thoughts. “You may go and get a drink.”
Thankfully, the two ran off, under the green shade of pines, beeches and small oak trees ... down a glassy slope. The water bubbled clear at the end of the decline and both knelt and drank deeply.
“W-What do you think this is all about?” asked Matt, turning to Nancy. He just couldn’t keep his eyes off the luscious breasts thrusting through the see-through blouse.
“I ... I don’t know,” whispered Nancy, flushing as she saw the direction of Matt’s gaze.
“Nothing to our advantage, I’ll bet,” said Matt.
Nancy put her hand to her glistening-wet lips. “You ... you know we’re not supposed to talk,” she said.
“She’s fifty yard away ... “
“I know ... but still ... it frightens me ... “
“You really are scared, aren’t you,” said Matt, with a certain gentleness.
Nancy nodded. “If ... if you were ... were a g-girl ... you would be, too,” she said.

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