Continues from Slave Tales: The Hunt (XXVI) – The Rod and the Riverman
Image – Author unknown
“You disobeyed me at the camp.”
“Sir, I beg forgiveness.”
The Riverman stayed silent and continued carving, the sharpened blade gnawing relentlessly upon the pliant wood. Still he did not deign to look at me, his eyes remaining focused on his task. A thin pile of discarded peelings had fallen and gathered at his feet and, by now quite frustrated, I was starting to feel like one of them.
Of course his coolness toward me only served to intensify my desire for him. I suppose that was part of his game. I hoped so. I was definitely prepared to do whatever he wished in order to break down that icy facade and have him take me with the force he showed me yesterday. I almost felt like provoking him somehow. Even if that meant being punished, it would still be better than this cold indifference.
Look at me, sir. Oh please, sir. I beg you. Take me. Use me. Gods, fuck me sir, please…
But still he did not speak nor look at me. If he had any idea of the passions raging inside me he did not show it. That damned spear. That’s all he was interested in. What was he going to do with it anyway? The amount of attention he gave it anybody would think it was going to be a work of art. Every now and then he would lift it up and inspect the tip. Oh, it just had to be exactly right, didn’t it? I already hated the damned thing. I wanted it thrown in the river with his idiotic loin cloth.
Is it possible to be jealous of a thing? Just an object? I suppose it must be. At that moment I know I was. Jealous of the attention he was giving it. The time. The effort. The concentration. Were they not proof of love? What I would have given to have had him look at me the way he scrutinized that spear. Gods if I could, I would have transformed myself into an object just for him. Something of no use. Nothing. Passive. Without value. Just a silly thing. But he would find a use for me. He would create me. Draw me from nothing. Whip me into shape. Give me purpose and beauty. His hands upon me. Working me. Using me. Gods, I wanted to feel those hands hungering for my flesh once more. In desire or in anger, I really didn’t care. I wanted that hideous loin cloth torn away forever and to feel his smooth firm beautiful cock pounding inside me, his hands carving at my own pliant passive nakedness, shaping my breasts, cleaving my buttocks. Molding me. Sculpting me. Sharpening me.
Bringing me to life.
But nothing. He just continued to ignore me. Gods the frustration. I took a deep breath and listened to the forest. The calm I had experienced only a short time ago now seemed to elude me completely. The trees whispered their amusement and hissed at me in undisguised mockery. The soft breeze now teased and tormented me. It seemed to take cruel delight in licking at my breasts, tickling my nipples and probing at my sex, only to emphasize and amplify my hunger and desperation. As if its sole design was to arouse me fully with the clear knowledge that I was to be sadistically denied that which I most hungered for.
I daren’t touch myself but between my open thighs but I could feel the tingling hot wetness of my blossoming cunt. Blooming for him. Like honey to a bee. My rosebud. It called to him. Called to his manhood. Called to his hungry cock. Rise for me. Come for me…
Image – Ayla Maya by Philip Werner
Gods I wasn’t sure how much longer I could take this. I even moaned out loud. Just a little. I couldn’t help myself. A tiny sound like a gasp mixed with a cry of pain. The sound of my desperation, frustration and even, dare I admit it, anger, all mixed together. What next? Was I going to have a tantrum? Gods no, please, I beg forgiveness. Please help this useless slave to control herself.
“But why did you not do as I asked?”
Jittery and perhaps a little too quick to answer, I started babbling, “Oh Sir, I was so confused. I had no idea what was happening. There was an explosion and the camp was on fire and there were horses galloping everywhere and the hunters were shouting and and screaming and looking like they were going to kill us all and… ”
I stopped and looked down, meekly. “I was afraid, sir.”
He nodded. “So, all the more reason to obey me, no?”
He was right. But everything really had happened that fast. After the explosion he had appeared out of the woods brandishing a long knife which at first I thought he was going to use on me. He cut down the gladiator from the cross above me with the swiftest of movements and took him tenderly his arms. The gladiator’s back was covered in deep red whip marks and he was either unconscious or, more probably after my own ministrations, in a very deep and contented sleep. I noticed a genuine look of concern on the Riverman’s face as he picked him up.and, for a split second, I thought he was going to kiss him. Then he carefully lifted him up and carried him in his arms over to a pair of waiting horses tied to a tree. Once he had placed him securely on one of the horses he turned and beckoned to me to follow. But for some reason I just remained rooted to the spot just staring at him. I couldn’t move. Perhaps I was in shock. I don’t know. It all seemed too fantastic. One minute I was sucking a beautiful gladiator’s cock in front of dozens of drunken cheering slave hunters and the next moment the forest was on fire and the camp was burning down and we were being rescued – or captured? I didn’t know which – by the gorgeous looking Master who had so gloriously fucked me only that afternoon..
The heat from the flames was suffocating and hot yellow ashes were falling to the ground like a kind of fiery snow from hell. Behind me.I could hear the shouts and curses of the hunters. There was little time. Sooner or later one of the hunters would be bound to see us. Yet despite the urgency and the danger, the Riverman walked quite calmly over to me, took me by the arm and led me gently but firmly over to the horses.
Then I remembered Melody.
“Wait. Master,” I pulled at his arm, “I beg you. Save my slave sister. She’s over there. Tied to one of the crosses. Please. I beg you. Free her too.”
But he just ignored me. I tried to pull at his arm but his grip on me suddenly became vice-like. I panicked. I didn’t want to leave Melody. I had made a promise to her. I pulled much harder this time and – only the gods knew what got into me – I even tried to aim a kick at his leg but I missed and somehow ended up falling flat on my ass.
He stopped and stood astride me, looming over me like an angry deity. The look of fury passed in a second and for a few moments he just stood there staring blankly at me. Then, all of a sudden, as if he had given up on me, he turned his back and walked off, leaving me lying on the ground.
But then, and with great relief, I watched as he strode over to Melody and cut her down from the cross. Immediately she fell into his arms. Her eyes were closed – at first I wasn’t sure if she was conscious or not, I had no idea what the hunters had done to her – but then I saw her slowly wrap her arms around his shoulders and nuzzle her head against his chest. Gods she looked just like a sleeping child. He carried her over to the horses and with great care lifted her dormant languid body onto the back of the other waiting animal.
Thereupon he stood in front of both horses, legs astride, arms folded, staring directly at me. Calmly, steadily, but very firmly, he said, “The slave will come now or she will be left for the hunters. If she stays she will not survive the night. She will decide.”
He glared at me.
He’d barked out the last word, all his impatience with me suddenly exploding from him in that one single utterance. He was holding the reins of the horses and I saw his fist clench so tightly around them that the sinews and muscles in his arm bulged and hardened, as if made of iron. Suddenly an image of him holding a bullwhip flashed through my mind and that moment I felt more afraid of him than I did of the hunters. That fear – and also, I must confess, the very alluring vision of him wielding a whip – made me jump to my senses. I got up and raced over. I quickly climbed up onto Melody’s horse and embraced her, hugging her tightly like a long lost lover.
Then I turned to him and said, “But Master. There are other slaves. Who will save them?”
The Riverman just gave me blistering look and thrust the reins of the horse into my hand. Then, without a word, he turned to leave and we galloped after him into the woods.
“Sir, I beg forgiveness. I was not thinking. I just wanted to save my slave sister, Melody.”
“You kicked me. I think you even tried to bite me at one point.”
Gods, if it were true, I must have been hysterical.
“Yes, Master… Sir… I’m so so sorry. Forgive me, Sir, I beg you.”
“And anyway what made you think I wasn’t going back for her after I’d released you.”
I hadn’t thought of that.
How silly I’d been. I only live to serve. I’m Thanasian slave after all. Trained at the ancient seminary. Whipped by the Confessors until deemed ready to serve. How could I have been so stupid? So presumptuous. I should have obeyed him immediately and without question. But somehow my will had failed me. I’d acted like a silly flustered girl and embarrassed myself. And probably even shamed the good name of my seminary.
Punishment was due. He had every right. I had committed the sin of ego. The worst sin a slave can commit. A Thanasian slave lives to serve and we must have no possessions and no will. Not even our bodies are our own as we renounce ownership of everything including our physical selves. This was something that had to be proved to the confessors every day. On one occasion a confessor tried to trick me by asking me, “Will you give yourself to me?” Of course, to avoid a whipping, I had to say that to a slave.the question could have no meaning. A true slave is always selfless and free of from all ego. Therefore, as I had no “self” and no body, “I” could not be “mine” to give.
The Confessor nodded, blessed me and then had me whipped anyway.
This was the lesson I had forgotten. My Mistress would have punished me for sure. Flogged every morning for a month. And publicly.
Image – Author unknown
So whatever he had in mind for me, I deserved it.
But, and may the Gods have mercy on me, that just made me want it – and him – even more.
My only desire. To give him my all. For he is a Master. A true Master. Master of himself and his will.
And his fire is my water.
To truly experience his love, to fully know its ecstasy and to bathe in the very essence of it, I need his hands upon me both in tenderness and in fury.
His discipline is his adoration. His purpose, my perfection.
And my suffering is my atonement. My grace. My beauty.
I was nothing. I was everything.
To be continued