Continues from Slave Tales: The Hunt (XXV)
Image – “Forest Dreams” : Photo of Model: Andrey Stanko – Art Work: Gonzalo Villar
Only a couple of hours past dawn and the forest was already bathed in warm sunlight. It was going to be another hot day. I lay comfortably naked – and I hoped invitingly so – on a patch of grass by the riverbank shaded by the thick majestic branches of a tall and probably very old oak tree. A few feet away the Riverman was still studiously carving the tip of a spear he was making from a long branch. He appeared totally immersed in his work, oblivious to all else, including me, but I knew he was watching me like a hawk. Not with his eyes – he never looked at me once – but with his senses.
He had captured us – myself, my slave sister Melody and a gorgeous male slave whom I had presumed to be a gladiator – from the hunters’ camp the night before. We were his now, I supposed. And although I was free to get up, walk around, speak or do as I wished, for some reason I did not. I was quite happy lying at his feet. It was as if the he had put a spell on me. Some kind of invisible chain. A link to his will. And it was a chain which, at that moment, I was more than pleased to wear for him.
A fleck of dark blond hair hung down his brow and I longed to brush it away from his eyes. I couldn’t wait to drape my arms around those firm muscular shoulders and lay soft kisses on the back of his neck or – I don’t know – just serve him in some way. Soothe him. Caress him. Be of use to him.
What fascinated me about him was that he appeared to be a man who was in tune with both the savage and the sapient sides of his being. And who also knew how to balance and control them. He carved the spear with such skill and grace and seemed to exude a kind of power that was both conscious and yet also primordial. True power. The power of creation. The power of nature and the gods. That which cannot not abuse or be abused. His was a power that demanded I submit without question. Not only with my body or my sex – that was already his for the taking – but also with my mind. He would test me. And only when I was ready would he call me to him. It was my will that was the prize. For with my will and his discipline he would fashion me. I was just the wood. The bare material. He would take me and give me life. Create me. Give me purpose. And like that spear he would carve me, shape me, sharpen me. Make me true and pure. And then when he had deemed me perfect. Worthy of him. Then I would be his servant. The tool of his desire.
And his equal.
Image – Liuda Beliaeva
There was hardly any wind; only the softest of breezes which brushed playfully against my nakedness, softly caressing my breasts like an adoring lover, tickling me between my thighs and joyfully arousing me to wakefulness. I stretched my legs and closed my eyes. I imagined the sun and the breeze were my two lovers. One was ardent and pitiless; the other soothing and tender.
They embraced me, shared me and my nakedness gave them pleasure. I desired them equally. I had need of both. One lover, or even one kind of love; is not enough for me. My sex is wild and free and like a wild young mare I must be caught, tamed and broken. I am a rare prize. Capture me. Possess me.
For life is but a moment.
I leaned back and stretched my arms above my head. The air was minty and fresh and above me birds were flying through the tree tops and their song seemed to fill the the forest with music and cheer. Gazing up at the majestic dome of a clear blue sky, I breathed in and inhaled all the fresh aromas the morning had brought forth. The bark of the trees, the cool grass on which I lay, the rustling leaves; all seemed to have their own particular scent and I was assailed, almost overwhelmed, by the variety of life which flourished and fluttered around me.
Suddenly I recalled the dream I’d had before waking. The trees were whispering my name, soothing me, reassuring me. They sung me a lullaby, hushing me to rest as if I were an infant wrapped in their loving arms.
Was this where I was born?
Or is it here that I shall be reborn?
I sat up bolt upright. I was wide awake now. It had suddenly occurred to me that I was entirely surrounded by life. It was everywhere. Inescapable. Above me. Beneath me. In the very air I breathed. Everything was so lush and verdant. My fingers clutched at the fertile earth beneath me and pulled out some tufts of grass. I let them fall to the ground. It seemed to me that even in death there must be life. The forest was brimming with it, all painted in the richest and deepest of hues. I’d never noticed that there were so many different shades of green before and when the sunlight fell on the leaves it seemed to light them from within, rendering them luminescent, aglow with color and meaning.
Everything was alive.
On my left the waters gently lapped at the riverbank and the bright sunlight skipped on the river’s ever restless surface. A glistening watery canvas on which each moment seemed to paint its own bright and wondrous design. And beneath it – as if in another mirror world – the trees shimmered as if dancing to a melody that only they were privy to.
This precious moment and the joy I felt were surely a gift from the gods. I must give thanks. In the traditional manner which I had learned in the slave seminary I extended my arms behind my head and raised my naked belly and breasts to the sky. Then, slightly parting my legs, I raised my sex towards the sun.
My fertile luscious cunt.
My sacred fruit.
For Your pleasure.
Image – Kelsey Dylan by Diana M. Schenke
“Are you begging the gods for forgiveness?”
The Riverman suddenly paused and for a moment his knife rested motionless at the tip of the spear. He stared at the ground as if pondering something.
Then he resumed, and the knife once more gently caressed the pliant wood.
“So I am your Master now, am I?”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. He’d captured us so I presumed we were now his slaves. Didn’t he want me to call him Master? If not then what? Anyway, I presumed he’d given me permission to speak and so I just went ahead and introduced myself.
“May it please the Master… You… Sir. My name is Bella, slave of the house of Mistress Theia. Trained at the slave seminary in Thanasius. I live to serve.”
He held the tip up, stared at it, said nothing.
I waited. After a moment his knife resumed its work. He hadn’t even looked at me.
Very well. So be it.
I looked over at my slave sister Melody. She was lying next to the male slave. What a beautiful couple they made lying naked in each other’s arms. Physically they were almost opposites. He was dark and tall and had the lean powerful physique of an athlete. I was convinced he was a gladiator – they were famous for their beauty as well as their fighting prowess. He also had one of the fullest, finest cocks I’d ever had the pleasure to taste.
Melody, in complete contrast, was petite, light skinned and with a cheeky boyish face that her short blond hair only served to emphasize. I’d met her in one of the slave cages at the camp. I was immediately drawn to her. She was crying and confused and I felt very protective toward her. I made love to her and after an initial shyness on her part the union between us was unrestrained and absolute. We were like soul sisters. It was as if we had always known each other. She filled me with a love that I recognized as quite innocent and pure. I loved her very much and wanted to keep her away from harm. When the hunters discovered us fucking without permission I was desperate to be whipped in her place and take the punishment for the both of us. As it turned out they chose to give me a caning. It was vicious and the guard clearly enjoyed tormenting me and seeing me cry out in agony at his cruelty. But actually – and I know this may sound incredible – I was happy to suffer every single one of those agonizing cane strokes just for her.
And I would do so again. After all it is my gift. My suffering. The pure beauty of it. I am a trained slave of the seminary of Thanasius and my whipsong is beautiful. I know it. My Mistress says so. When she whips me she says my cries are the the most beautiful thing she has ever heard.
And I am happy it is so. For does not all beauty come at a cost?
Melody was wide awake now and I noticed how attentive she was being to him. Her fingertips gently brushed over the flat smooth skin of his belly and slowly she drew invisible patterns on his chest, idly tracing circles around his dark nipples. It was as if his body was something entirely new to her. Unique and precious. Like a work of art. And its sublime beauty existed to be explored, touched, sensed and felt.
And as if drawn to it by some unseen power, her hands could not resist the tantalizingly rich allure of that dark and potent cock. She seemed fascinated by it and returned to it again and again – gently nudging it, playing with it, teasing it – as if to rouse it from its slumber and return it to life so that she might break her fast upon its milky bounty.
I smiled. She was obviously as enchanted by it as I was.
Image – James Ferringer
The boy lay completely still. If not asleep he was probably feigning it in order not to interrupt her undoubtedly pleasant ministrations. But his cock now, that slept no more, it had risen and at her hand’s behest was eagerly greeting the new day. It stretched and saluted the morning, raising itself fully for everyone to see, graciously doffing its cap to all and sundry.
I laughed. No finer cock would crow this day.
Our eyes met. She grinned, winked and then climbed on top of him, her pussy brushing over the tip of the upright cock. I watched as she began to slowly gyrate her hips, pushing and teasing her sex against the hard rigid shaft. Then she reached up, stretching her arms high above her head, fully exposing her breasts to him. What a flirt she was. His hand rose – as she knew it would – and pressed softly against the supple silky flesh, exploring its perfect texture, savoring it fully. It cupped the breast and soon thumb and forefinger pressed tightly upon the defenseless rosy nipple, squeezing it, pinching it. She gasped at the delicious torment and her head fell back and I heard her moan – the mellifluous sweet song of her rushing flowing sex. Slowly the hand descended to her waist. He took her hips in both hands now and pressed her down onto him, forcing his cock up into her and thrusting it inside. She cried out and leaned forward suddenly, almost falling onto him. And then with her hands firmly clutching at his chest, her naked breasts gamboling in joyful abandon, she held him down fast, riding him like a wild horse bucking and kicking beneath her.
And as their bodies pulsated and wove into one, the fullness of her smile and the innocent joy it contained almost made me melt. I relished the sight of her ecstasy and utterly enthralled by the graceful urgent motion of their bodies so erotically entwined, my fingers pressed feverishly at my own sex. Gods I could take it no longer. My desire overwhelmed me. My sex roared. I wanted nothing more than to run over there and join them. Without thinking I started to get up…
“Stay where you are.”
The Riverman. I removed my hand quickly and stared up at him.
“Yes, Master…. Sir.”
The shame of it. Caught red-handed.
He was sure to punish me now.