Continues from Slave Tales: The Hunt (XIII)
Image – Chloe Camilla / DeviceBondage.com
Lost in erotic reverie I’d been fingering my pussy for some time and when I opened my eyes my cage mate was staring right at me. She had the most dazzling blue eyes and was looking at me in a kind of wide-eyed wonder, as if she’d never seen anything like me before.
I sensed those bright lively eyes contained a powerful and barely restrained lust. She was making quite an effort to conceal it but however hard she tried, she kept stealing glances at my pussy and breasts, and then, as if embarrassed, would quickly look away.
I guessed she was about my age though she looked younger. She was short, petite and perhaps little too skinny to be a pleasure slave – a domestic maid or house servant perhaps. Her breasts were full and perfectly rounded and had large sumptuous nipples which seemed to rear up playfully in eager greeting. She had rather a boyish face – her jaw was squarely set and her cheeks and nose were lightly sprinkled with freckles – and someone had cut her blond hair very short which made her look like a tomboy or street urchin. However rather than diminish her femininity this actually seemed to compliment and enhance it adding a youthful boyish mischievousness which I found fascinatingly attractive.
Hers was indeed a magnificent beauty that would appeal to all tastes and persuasions. In the present company those qualities would probably attract very much the wrong kind of attention but there were no marks on her body so I guessed she had still not been used for a whipping or a punishment game. Not yet anyway.
I noticed the girls in the other cages all looked untouched as well and I wondered if they were preserving us for something special. I remember the captain had been quite adamant to his men that I was not to be used again. Perhaps our cages served not just to imprison us but also to protect us. After all these hunters were wild men with brutal desires and any form of self-control would be completely anathema to them – especially on the night of the slave hunt.
The girl glanced at me again. I stared into her eyes and I suddenly sensed a light within her. We are all light to varying degrees but she seemed to possess a radiance that was so powerful it penetrated me and exploded inside me like a flash of intense heat. I even felt a kind of jolt, like a static charge and in a second my skin prickled and goosebumps ran up my bare arms to my shoulders. Suddenly I felt very hot and between my legs my pussy twitched and roared into life. I had a powerful feeling we were connected in some way but I wasn’t sure how. A shared sensuality or a common desire maybe? Or perhaps something even stronger.
For a moment she seemed almost magical and I was quite transfixed by her. But I also sensed that she probably had no idea of the beauty or powers she possessed. She was a queen but had been made to believe she was a slave.
There had still been no words between us and I wondered if she knew my language at all. I presumed not. She was very fair indeed and her eyes were the deepest blue and I wondered if she had been captured from one of the northern tribes. They were wild nomadic hunters, very fair-haired, and each tribe had its own dialect which was often incomprehensible to outsiders.
She was glancing at my pussy again. I widened my legs and staring right at her I shifted forward slightly trying to make it obvious to her that my pussy was hers if she so desired it.
I wanted her to touch it. I wanted her fingers to measure the texture of my soft pussy flesh. To take it between her fingers, stroke it and have me yield to her. I imagined her playing with me – watching me as I moaned and squirmed in the unbearable ecstasy that she would inflict upon me. There was nothing I wanted more now than to make a gift of myself to her. A slave’s slave. I moved closer …
But once more fear and shyness got the better of her and she turned away.
Undismayed, I leaned back against the bars of the cage. I decided to wait. Her desire was plain. All she needed was the time to conquer her fear.
I looked around me. Most of the other caged slave girls were asleep, or at least feigning it. The three slave boys who’d been chained together by their cocks had now embraced and were dozing in each others arms. They looked beautiful – so peaceful and calm. I lingered admiringly on their broad shoulders and muscular thighs. The skin on their shoulders shone silver in the moonlight and they looked so serene, almost statuesque. Like something you might find in a town square with a dedication to those fallen in battle. Then I noticed those firm thighs were shiny and sticky from their own cum. So that was how they had achieved such serenity.
There was singing from the campfire and every now and then a scream or a loud moan could be heard mixed with the occasional cracking of a whip. Laughter and cries – both of pleasure and pain – rose over the revelry like the sound of vultures celebrating the dead in a battlefield.
I paused and gave thanks to the gods for my submission. I had very little fear. I had my faith. I’d been trained at the slave seminary and had been educated to understand the ways of the gods. In life there were two powers – the dominant and the submissive. We were either Masters or slaves. There were always at least two sides to all things and harmony was achieved by the unity of opposing elements. Good needed bad as bad needed good. Take pain and pleasure – when they are unified, the gods rejoice and the gates of heaven are opened to us – opened to both Master and slave. Unified as one.
I know this to be true.
My freedom comes through my submission and the whip is the symbol of my devotion.
I’ve had all of it whipped into me. Literally.
And of course I accept it. Willingly and absolutely. In the hands of a highly skilled Master or Mistress the whip will cleanse me, punish me, excite me and lead me to rapture. The whip is my truth. And my submission is the greatest gift I can make.
Do not abuse it or treat it dismissively for my submission is god given.
But many slaves have not had my training. And for them life can be short, brutal and meaningless. In a world of random cruelties – where slaves can be punished or tormented for no reason other than the amusement of bored Masters and Mistresses – there are times when all an obedient slave wants is a moment of reassurance. A show of affection. An affirmation.
Image – Chloe Camilla / DeviceBondage.com
I smiled at her. She was looking at me again.
She glanced at me and looked once more. Fear was still holding her back but I could see she desperately wanted to speak to me. And touch me. Her legs were pulled together so I couldn’t see her pussy but her nipples were now succulently firm and erect and, in a motion that was evidently a sign of her strong unconscious desire, she was slowly stroking and pulling on the the tip of the middle finger of her left hand.
I reached out my cuffed hands to her and nodded with my head low, as if bowing. She studied my face for a few moments. Then, all of a sudden, she took a breath and looked around quickly as if making sure no one was looking or listening.
Leaning in closely to me, and in a strong accent, she whispered, “You are very beautiful.”
“Thank you. So are you.”
“You are a pleasure slave?”
“Well… Yes. Sort of.”
“They say you are a runaway. Is this true?”
I shrugged my shoulders, “Well, it’s enough that they believe so.”
“But they are going to whip you… punish you.”
I laughed again and winked at her, “I hope so.”
Her eyes widened in amazement, as if the idea was truly shocking to her. She looked down again and I could see her trying to make sense of it.
Then, slowly she raised her eyes to me and whispered softly.
“I’m so frightened.”
She was like a scared, beautiful young doe lost in the forest and surrounded by hungry predators.
She bit her lip. At that moment her mouth, so full and sensual, seemed the most succulent of all fruits and I wanted nothing more than to taste it and to kiss away her fears. I was assailed by an irresistible urge to embrace her and hold her tightly in my arms. I wanted to make love to her and to have our bodies writhing in a passion that would be fearless, fierce and invincible.
Precious beauty, so radiant and full of life. Her eyes drew me and by their light I knew I must live.
Continues Slave Tales: The Hunt (XV)