Continues from SlaveTales: The Hunt (XIX)
Image – Corwin Prescott
“Gods! There was almost a riot out there!”
I’m naked. Truly naked. Without form or will. I can’t see. I can’t move. My body doesn’t belong to me. It was stolen from me by the whip.
Belly and breasts. Pressed against soft fur. A rug? Yes. Lying face down. Stretched out. Soft and warm. My sex. Pressed against the rug. Bear skin. It tickles. Feels nice. I want to merge with it. Fuck it.
Her voice. Soothing, calming. Like a mother with an ailing infant. Shhh pretty baby. Don’t cry. Her warm hands are stroking my bare skin. Bathing me. Cleansing me. Gentle rhythmic pirouettes skip over my shoulders and back. Loving kisses falling like feathers.
“That was one of the most beautiful whippings I’ve ever seen.”
She’s massaging my shoulders. I bathe in the blissful warm currents that her hands conspire for me. Cool oils soak my skin, extinguishing the fires wrought over my naked body by angry merciless whips. One by one she rids me of them. In turn each agonizing knot of pain loosens its hold over me and surrenders to her. The stinging pain of the lashes is now just a warm glow, a fond memory.
I am the vessel, the Tormentrix my pilot. She had steered me beyond logic, reason and pain into the coolest waters of a sea so beautiful, so transparent and so enormous, it seemed infinite.
A speck of driftwood. Where the currents willed me I would follow.
Now she is returning my body to me. It had been abused, whipped, violated. Part of me doesn’t want to go back. I love being here. This place where all the currents converge. Beyond will. Beyond me. Beyond everything.
But no. She insists. Knuckles dig hard into my shoulders and I cry out.
My body. I’m inside it.
And what was that? That sound. Was that my voice?
“We were having to fight them off. Gods, the effect you had on them – we had on them – they would have ripped you apart, my dear. So I begged the Captain for protective custody and had you sent to my tent. You know, perks of the job, after all…”
I hear her laugh. It’s a beautiful laugh. So happy. I want to laugh with her. Have I made her this happy?
“You were escorted back here under armed guard. They would have torn you pieces otherwise. There are four of them outside now. Big strapping men. Lovely asses. Tight and firm. All of them stood to attention. Protecting us. Fists tightly gripping their long swords… just in case….”
She’s laughing again. Happy. So I’m happy too.
“You’d like them. Come and taste one. You have no idea how pleased they’d be to see you.”
I think about it. I think about moving my legs. I can’t. It doesn’t matter. I don’t really want to anyway. I have a body now but that doesn’t mean I have to do anything with it yet. The Masters will decide that for me anyway. They can have me if they want. I don’t mind. Everything feels just perfect as it is. Calm. Peaceful. I’m happy. Why ruin everything by moving?
Her hands are rubbing more oil into my back and ass. She lingers over my buttocks. Feather fingers. They venture between the crack of my ass. She parts the cheeks. A finger pokes into my anus. Warm and slithery. It tickles. I want to giggle.
The finger has discovered my sex. It plays idly at my clitoris, teasing me, provoking me. Then it enters me and tastes the wetness within. At the same time a thumb presses hard against my anus and I feel the inquisitive presence of another hand. Fingers zigzag over my back. They rise to my neck and my hair is brushed aside to make way for her tongue. Her mouth encloses upon the tender soft skin there. She pauses a moment, as if to savor me, and then, slowly, softly, and so very gently, she bites into the smooth yielding flesh of my neck and sucks upon it.
I hear that voice again. It’s mine. A soft, slow, sensuous moan.
She’s playing me.
My breath. An unsteady rhythm. It falters, hesitates, then quickens as she conjures me to life.
Then the fingers are removed. And her mouth withdraws. I sense emptiness. But feel desire. Powerful. Overwhelming. Beautiful desire.
“I could exhibit you. The finest slave whipsong in all the Principality. We could go on tour. Go south to Isbania or Agentia … or what about the New World! Yes, the rich masters in the Confederation would pay handsomely to see a beautiful slave like you sing under the whip. And everyone loves seeing a strong woman dominate another. I’ll speak to the captain in the morning. I’ll purchase you. There’s no point in some filthy rich southern Prince buying you and hiding you away in his harem is there? Gods, that would be a crime. People need to see you. To see you whipped. You are so beautiful under the whip. Absolutely breathtaking. Yes, you must be exhibited…”
The mist in my head is beginning to clear. A harem? Yes. The Hunters. They were taking us slaves to auction. I remember. The slave hunt. They had captured me. Punished me. The Kiss of the Cane.
Image – Corwin Prescott
The oils were soothing and cool. I was just putty in her hands. Fingers dug into my flesh and kneaded it and molded it to suit. Little by little, piece by piece, she was reconstructing me. Recreating me. Turning me into an object of desire. I could be anything. Her slave. Her pony girl. Yes. My reins in her hands. With the whip flicking at my back she would drive me. Make me run. Make me feel. Oh the whip… Yes…
My pussy started to tingle. There was a pressure there. A warm sensation. An tiny itch. I needed to touch it. Soothe it. I squeezed the top of my thighs together. Where were her fingers now? The rug was beneath me. I pushed my sex against it. Yes. Pleasure. I let out a another little moan. This was my body. And it gave pleasure. So much pleasure.
My sex. Stirring. Coming to life. Yes. Coming…
Her knuckles drilled into the bottom of my spine and very slowly and very deliberately dug a trench all the way up my spinal column, from the top of my ass to the nape of my neck. The fingers circled around my neck and formed a tight collar, so tight that for a moment I thought she was going to suffocate me. She pushed her thumbs hard against the back of my neck and I gasped out loud as something seemed to impact against me. I thought I heard a kind of crack. I felt really strange for a moment. Like she had found a window to my mind and had deliberately forced it open so that some thing, or some creature, could gain entrance and subjugate me.
“Precious slave. Obey me and gain my love. I promise you will be maintained and disciplined.”
She slapped my ass three times. It stung and I cried out. I could still feel the marks of the cane. Then, as if removing poison, she started to lick and suck at my buttocks.
Her tongue crept toward my sex. Slowly, tentatively, it curled and twisted. Like a snake. I raised my ass for her and the snake crept into me. It slithered inside me hissing, its tongue flicking and snapping as it drove into me. It sought my bud, found it. Kissed it.
Nestled within me, sucking on me, feeding off me, it swelled and grew. Its power overwhelmed me, claiming me for its own, enslaving me to an agony so beautiful, so vast I wanted to lose myself in it forever.
But then I sensed it withdrawing. Leaving me behind. Naked. Helpless. Slave to its mercy. Crying out for its return.
“Wake now. You are restored. Mine.”
Her tent. Colors red and gold. Candlelight. Flickering shadows. Drapes….
She lifted my head and I blinked up at her.
She sat up and reached for something from a small bedside table. It was a silver cup.
“Here drink this.”
I raised my mouth to it and drank. It was sweet. I was so thirsty. I gulped it down quickly.
“Yes, good girl. Drink. You’ll be needing it. This night is still not over, my pet.”
She took the cup from me and put it back on the table. Then she raised my head and held it against her breasts. She was humming now. Almost singing.
She tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear and whispered, “Precious little thing. Did we hurt you very badly?” She kissed my forehead. “But it was so beautiful. One of the most beautiful whippings I’ve ever seen. The Kiss of the Cane. One of the ultimate tests. And you passed it my dear. Gods did you pass!”
Image – Corwin Prescott
All of a sudden I remembered Meli.
It was as if I’d been given a slap. My thoughts coalesced and focused all at once and I was now wide awake. Meli. Where was she? I wanted her. I wanted to know if she was safe.
“Mistress, I beg you…”
How strange my voice seemed. Hoarse, broken sounding…
“Meli, the other slave girl. Where is she?”
“Who? The girl in the cage with the short hair? I suppose she’s in the arena. She’s just a common domestic slave. I’m not interested in her. I think she was promised to the Giant. They’ll be playing with her. Humiliating her for their sport. Whipping her, fucking her. I don’t know.”
In the arena? Of course. They were bound to have some kind of makeshift arena for their games. The other slave girls would be there too.
I spoke. My voice louder now. Clearer. More urgent. “Mistress, please…”
“She is innocent…”
“Of what? Well, she won’t be innocent for long, that’s for sure. And what do you want me to do about it anyway?”
She pinched my buttock. “What a cheeky little brat you are.”
Then she grabbed my nipple and held on to it. She wouldn’t let go. She squeezed it hard and, yanking at it, laughed at me as I squirmed.
“Admit it. You have designs on her, don’t you?”
I said nothing. She twisted it until it burned, “You’re a terrible little slut, aren’t you?”
Then, digging her fingernails in even harder, “You want more punishment?”
In a flash my sex was charged and hot.
I closed my eyes. She was pulling my nipples and I loved it, loved it.
“Gods you’re insatiable. An animal. Look at me. Do you want to be punished with her? Or do you want to watch her punished?”
She was yanking at both nipples now. “Little minx, aren’t you? These nipples need clamping. What do you say?”
I gasped out, “Thank you, Mistress. May it please the Mistress.”
“And piercing. Nipple rings add so much to a slave’s beauty. All my slaves have their nipples pierced. And so shall you.”
She laughed and let go. Both nipples were throbbing hot. Stinging. I looked down. They were sharp little nuggets. Firm and erect. Glowing red hot. My fruit. I looked up at her. I wanted her to taste them. Suck them. Bite into them.
Gods, yes. She was right. I wanted more.
“Right, bitch. Punishment you want and punishment you will get.”
She reached over to a small chest and took out some rope and tied me by my wrists to one of the tent poles.
“But I’m going to tickle you,” she laughed.
“I want to see you beg. Beg me to stop. Maybe I will and… maybe I won’t.”
Before I knew it her fingers were dancing all over my belly and my body was convulsing and jerking to the feather light mayhem of her mischievous hands. I pulled at the rope in agonized laughter.
I have no idea how long it lasted. She didn’t stop until we were both giggling hysterically. Then, in a moment of breathless exhaustion, our eyes met and each of us saw something within the other.
An understanding between us.
Image – Corwin Prescott
A voice called from outside. It was one of the guards. There was a message from the Captain.
“Mistress, the Captain is calling for the seminary slave. There is a wager to be settled.”
“The slave is still not quite restored. We will be there in 15 minutes. Go and tell the Captain.”
She waved her hand at him in dismissal. When he’d gone she winked at me. “Always keep them waiting, eh?”
Suddenly she turned very serious. “Listen and listen well, slave. There is only person standing between you and this bunch of savages. Me. And if you want to survive the night you will obey me absolutely and without question. Complete and utter submission. You are a seminary slave and I demand nothing less than absolute perfection. Understand?”
I nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”
She got up and walked over to a large chest and took out a small flask containing a milky colored liquid. She poured some into a glass and handed it to me. “Drink this. It is a prophylactic and will protect you from their seed.”
It had a strong bitter taste but I drank it to the last drop.
“All the oils and potions I have given you will act as restoratives. They will loosen the stiffness in your muscles and relieve the stinging of the cane.”
Then she smiled and added, “There are also elements within them, extracts of rare plants and herbs, which will, through smell, taste or otherwise, affect people when they come into close contact with you. They will become fascinated, hypnotized by you and massively attracted to you. Like a rare jewel, you will become a trophy to be fought over, won and shown off. Or to put it another way…”
There was a malignant gleam in her eye.
“A wild bitch on heat. These hunters want to see an animal. A wild animal. A prize animal. And they want to see it captured, toyed with, humiliated and forcibly made to surrender to them.
And tonight,” she patted my ass, “That animal is you.”
She went over and picked up her riding crop. She tapped her thigh with it twice and said, “On your knees, bitch. Now.”
She approached me and attached a long silver chain to my collar. Then, like a dog, I was led out to the arena on all fours.
Continues The Hunt (XXI) – “Sebastian Enslaved”.
All images – Corwin Prescott http://www.corwinprescott.com/