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Caravan of Slaves by Janey Jones
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Chapter 1
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A MONDAY MORNING IN MAY
1: At The Gipsy Training Camp
Dark-haired and dusky-skinned, the naked collared figure of the gipsy girl Maggie crouched all alone beside the swiftly flowing stream.
She picked up a well-soaped shirt from the pile of clothing dripping at her side and banged it hard on a wide flat stone. Shifting her weight on thighs that were sore and throbbing, she dipped her hand into the tumbling brook, and cupped water, fresh and cold, to splash onto bare haunches still glowing from a recent beating.
The shirt shone whitely in the sun, dazzling against her dark skin, and she nodded with satisfaction before plunging it into the dear fresh water, one well-scrubbed cuff held tightly in her right hand.
"I hope that pleases you now, Troy Dempsey," she said to herself. Her naked body lithe and slender, glistened in the sunlight and Maggie, servant and bond-maid to Dapper Troy Dempsey commander of this gipsy training camp, smiled humming happily, and remembered her recent punishment almost with pleasure. The quiet humming turned into low song and she worked her way through the laundry with vigour and enthusiasm enhanced by the memory of her beating. A laugh, deep, and throaty burst from her and her supple body shook with elation.
Maggie was eighteen years old, although she would not have been able to put so precise a number on her years had she been asked. Born into a gipsy colony and assigned to Troy at the appropriate time in a gipsy girl's life, she had grown from a wiry rapscallion of a child into a wilful wide-eyed young woman.
Humming and singing her way through his washing, she remembered with pleasure the night Troy had taken her for the first time. Troy wide- shouldered and sleepy-eyed with long dark hair, brushed straight from a high forehead and caught in a thick tail that snaked down his back, Dapper Troy, so clean, so neat, his clothes always immaculate. Even on this warm and sunny morning, Maggie shivered at the memory of that night.
The flames from the campfire had illuminated and warmed the chill air of the September evening when, on the green-sward in front of his peers, Troy had initiated her into the adult gipsy world.She had been proud to become the woman of such a high ranking man. She was still proud and continued gladly to submit to his will, by both day and by night.
Whipped, bound, loved, Maggie was a willing slave to Troy's demands. And Maggie was pleased with herself for she had learnt many new tricks and Troy could not leave her alone. Always free to take another woman, whenever and wherever he chose, it would need a determined opponent to disengage Maggie from Troy.
Leaning back on glowing haunches, she shook a lock of hair away from her face, hair that was thick and curled roughly over shoulders that were narrow and slight it curled in heavy unkempt tresses and was the colour of wet pitch. Her eyes, velvety as bitter chocolate, gleamed bright and alert beneath fine black brows and her nose tilted skywards. Her mouth was generous, perhaps a little too large, richly red, the colour of ripe cherries, and she grinned widely as she continued with her wash. The grin revealed small teeth, sharp and white, and the tip of a pink tongue clasped in concentration between them. The lips glistened, the tongue curled, and the teeth, always willing to nip and nick at tender flesh, shone brightly.
With the sun beating on her back, Maggie worked hard. This was not the first time today she had tackled this particular heap of washing. Earlier that morning, when she had returned from the stream to the gaudily decorated caravan she shared with Troy he had taken one look at the basket of laundry and roared his disapproval into her smiling face.
"And just what do you call this, you useless lazy baggage? Do you call this clean?" He had held up one of his shirts the same shirt she was now admiring, and wound it tightly into a thick wet rope. The heavy basket was flung from her arms, the clothes scattering drunkenly about the field. Troy had torn her shift of fine muslin embroidered with flowers from her shoulders, revealing a bronzed body, completely naked, petite and perfect. With slender hips and parted thighs, bottom cheeks clenched, her small, full-nippled breasts had heaved as she caught her breath in surprise at the violence of his reaction.
"Troy! I've been up since six, working hard, washing all your lovely things, They're clean, or they were until you threw them into the dirt!" Maggie had stooped to gather the discarded items. Some had caught on twigs, others were strewn about the grass, and some unfortunate pieces had fallen in the cold dead ashes of last night's fire. Kneeling on one knee, picking up a pair of jeans coated with ash, she had tried to shake the dirt from the wet material.
The first blow sent her reeling. The shirt that was now a rope, cracked across her stooping back, threw her small body sideways, knocking the breath from her lungs. Maggie rolled over on the grass, curled up into a ball, hair flying, arms clasped round her gasping frame.
"You no-good little trollop. I'll give you working hard. Work - you don't know the meaning of the word." Troy leapt at her, grabbed hold of wrist and ankle, thrust her flat onto the damp dew-covered ground, spread-eagled and helpless. He swung the shirt above his head and Maggie could hear it whistling through the air. She lay quite still, trembling and impatient, waiting for the first thwack to home in soundly on her flawless apple-round rump. "I'll teach you to give me lip, you hussy." He beat her until the smooth bronzed flesh of her bottom and thighs shone with a deep and glowing red. Maggie knew with a quivering certainty what the next move would be. That prick, always excited by the sight of whip-lashed buttocks, was now growing thick and hard between his thighs,
The pounding ceased. A strong arm scooped her body, shaking and sore from the ground. With crotch unzipped Troy plunged, urgent, hot and hard, inside her wet and willing slit. Maggie bounced, hair tumbling, breasts swaying, belly jerking at his long insistent thrusts. Hot spasms exploded into her and as his cock withdrew from the sweetness of her. Troy let her fall, discarded, onto the earth.
"Now, collect this lot of filth together. Then when you've done that, light the fire and get my breakfast."
Feeling elated after the quick fuck, Maggie knelt on all fours, bent down, tousled hair falling forward over her face, a pretty face but covered in cinders now and grubby as the clothes she had been trying to retrieve. "Do you still want me to clean the clothes?" Her voice was pleading, low-toned, almost whispering, and she stayed where she was just in case Troy wanted to beat or fuck her again. With small breasts swaying and neat bottom exposed, she knelt very still, ready willing and waiting for any further attentions.
"Oh, forget it, forget it." Irritation made him spit the words in her direction. "I'll go over to Jem's van, I need to talk to him, I'll have breakfast there. I have arrangements to make with the boys if we're going to be ready in time for the arrival of the Big Man. Jem and the others will have to be getting out and about to do some recruiting now we're here." Troy swung a booted foot heavily against her waiting bottom and lazily brushed back a loose lock of long black hair from his eyes.
"We are staying here then, Troy?" Maggie glanced cautiously upwards at her man's glowering face. "You've come to a decision?" She saw his expression lighten, the thin lips curved and fine lines creased the corners of his deep-set eyes.
"Yes, yes, it's true. I have made - no, what I should say is the decision has been made for us. This field is ours for the summer. And not just this field, The woods beyond the stream," he waved a muscular arm, "and the park land we passed through last night on our way here, though I don't suppose you saw any of that."
Maggie grinned, stood up, brushed the dirt from her knees and wiped her soot-smeared face with the back of her hand. She could see his mood had changed; He was pleased to be here. "No, I didn't see anything much at all on the way, did I?" With head to one side her big eyes looked at him mischievously "I would have bad difficulty in seeing anything the way you left me, now wouldn't I? Trussed up like a chicken all ready to go to market." She rubbed her wrists where the deep marks left by the ropes still glowed. Happy to see him pacified, she gathered together all her bits and pieces and placed them back in the basket. "So now I'll be off and get this washing done - again,"
A grunt had been his only reply and Maggie had returned to the stream and here she was, happily- completing the same wash for the second time in as many hours. As she knelt on the bank, she sang a song of love and loss in a lilting voice, and didn't hear the swish of bare feet moving quietly through the lush water-side grass. A lithe willowy figure was creeping slowly towards her.
A low lazy voice drawled, "Strewth, Maggie, you look like an animal, crouched there, bare-titted and bare-arsed."
"Jeez, Shorsa, you frightened the life out of me creeping up like that I could have lost the clean washing all over again and then where would I have been?"
"Strung out on Troy's rack, if I know Dapper Troy Dempsey. And receiving plenty of lashes from his best cow-hide belt. Does the thought tempt you, Maggie? Shall I throw that shirt in the deeper water for you?" Grinning lazily, Shorsa Colquhoun flung herself down on the grass, selected a long juicy stalk from a clump beside the brook and began to suck the tender creamy coloured flesh.
Where Maggie was small and slender, Shorsa was taller, full-bosomed, narrow-waisted and wide-hipped. Like Maggie, her hair was dark, but fine and straight, parted in the centre. It framed her fine-boned face, two black silky curtains, translucent and shining in the sunlight.
"I've had one beating and fucking already this morning. look -" Maggie stuck her bottom out so Shorsa could get a better sighting of her glowing rump and dripping lips - "but I'll tell you this, we're here for the summer. We're setting up the camp in this field until the Big Man arrives."
"Here? Are you sure of that, Mags? It's nice enough. Oh, but I would like to have been nearer the sea." Sighing heavily, Shorsa stretched herself on the ground, languid and lazily content, screwed up her eyes and stared into the heavens. Her long hair spread around her head on the grass like a fan. A skimpy shift of deep purple muslin hand-embroidered with leaves of gold and slashed open to the waist revealed her magnificent full-bosomed body right down to her navel. A stone in the belly of her stomach. an amethyst, bluey-purple, sparkled in the sunlight, and the contrast with the tautly drawn dusky skin of her flat stomach was startling.
"The boys'll be out recruiting then, eh?" Shorsa's eyes glittered. "We'll soon be having some fun with the local girls." Her face relaxed. as she considered this. "That's what I really enjoy about the summer months, Mags. Seeing all those naive bitches learning what life is really about." She burst into a fit of high-pitched giggling, rolling about on the ground and her voice contracted into a simpering whisper, "oh no please, please don't do that, Mummy wouldn't like it."
Maggie smiled, but looked thoughtful. "That's all very well, Shorsa, but I've heard - you know - it means we have to share the men and - well - I -" Maggie began to blush furiously under Shorsa's hard gaze. "Don't look at me like that. Just because you don't give a damn who you go with - or where - Troy is special and I belong to him."
Shorsa stared at her friend. "Don't get too fond, Mags. I've heard there's something special happening this year. I don't know what yet, but it's all to do with the arrival of the Big Man. He's been here before. I've seen him."
"What's he like, Shorsa? I've only heard talk of him."
"Oh. believe me, he's big, enormous!" She rolled her eyes and puffed her cheeks. "Big face, big chest, big hands, big cock. But so far," she sighed, "no matter how hard I've tried, I haven't managed to get near him. It's a real shame. There's something about him. Something compelling and very sexy."
"Oh, you think anything in breeches is sexy, Shorsa. For me, there's only Troy." Maggie stopped her scrubbing and stared dreamily at the shirt grasped in her wet fist.
"Maggie!" Shorsa pushed herself up onto her elbow and gazed at her friend. "You've joined up here in the training camp and, well, life's different. You can never be sure quite what's going to happen next - or who you'll be with."
"But I was assigned to Troy, I'm his. He's mine!"
"Don't ever think that, Mags. No man is yours and you can be given to any man in the camp Life is good Maggie, and we should make sure we enjoy every opportunity to the full."
"Uh-huh, Shorsa, I do understood. But, you were saying about the Big Man..."
"Yes. He's been here before. He comes to select certain girls. Usually the recruited ones, but sometimes he takes a fancy to a gipsy girl. He's of gipsy blood himself."
"What does he want the girls for, Shorsa? Just for his own amusement?"
"No. No, it's more complicated than that. He runs a circus, a Speciality Circus. This training camp supplies some of the girls."
Maggie frowned. She didn't want to join any circus. She wanted to stay here, with Troy. She turned back to her laundry. "Ah well, I don't think he'll be interested in the likes of me there's nothing I can do, besides my dancing. Now, help me get this washing back in the basket and together we can carry it back up the slope and put it out to dry."
Shorsa rolled over, kicked her legs high in the air, momentarily revealing pussy lips, soft moist and juicy ripe for pleasure. "No. I think you're safe this year. This year he wants only fair-haired girls, blondes, red-heads, apparently he has something particular in mind."
Maggie stood up and looked down at her friend. "Troy's mighty fond of red-heads himself." She looked round anxiously, as if she expected to see redheaded girls popping up from behind every bush. "It looks like I'll have to keep my wits about me this summer, Shorsa."
Giggling, Shorsa sprang to her feet. "It's not your wits Troy's interested in, it's your tits," she squeezed, "your fanny," she stroked, "and your cunt!" She pressed her warm soft body against Maggie and dug two fingers, long brown and tipped by nails painted a deep and glowing purple, inside the wet and accommodating cunt.
"Keep everything well-oiled and ship-shape, Mags, and you'll have no problems." She massaged Maggie's clit, still aroused from Troy's earlier attentions. Her long brown fingers rubbed, slowly at first, round and round, up and down. Probing and gentle, she caressed the responsive pussy until it creamed and moistened. Maggie moaned and wriggled her hips. "Let the red-heads and the blondes invade, Maggie. We're ready for them, all of them. We'll fight 'em on every front"
The two girls kissed, mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue. They squeezed one another in loving arms, warmly and tenderly. Then dropping to their knees, they folded the clean clothing into the basket and slowly made their way back up the slope to the training camp on that fine and balmy Monday morning in May.
End of Chapter One
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