I returned to our spot. Fogrim was already in his tent, his slave girl with him. Our fire still burned bright. The opening to my tent was open.
“Come out,” I ordered.
Onska crawled out. The firelight caught her long, slender figure. Her breasts swayed as she moved. She sat back on her heels, palms planted on the sand. Her eyes darted up to mine before returning to stare at the sand. The eye design on her fused collar seemed to shine red in the firelight.
“Right here,” I pointed beside me. “Let’s get a good look at you.”
She crawled to my side, her buttocks raised. I walked around her, taking her in. The definition and slenderness of the ankles were excellent. The arms and legs were graceful and toned from slavery.
“Apart,” I tapped her ankle with my boot.
She spread her legs wider apart, baring her vagina. I crouched down and reached under her. Her skin was warm, soft, and completely smooth. The thighs and back tensed as my fingers caressed her pelvis. I peered at her vagina - the labia were not prominent. No real scope for rings, I thought to myself.
“You will do,” I stood over her, “whatever I tell you.”
“Yes, Master,” she said to the sand.
“And you will thank me for whatever I do to you, understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
I slapped her.
“Ah!”
“Thank me,” I slapped her again.
“Thank you, Master!”
Another slap.
“Thank you, Master!”
“Go and get that bag,” I pointed to my pack. “Do not use your hands.”
She crawled to it, her knees leaving tracks in the sand. She shook her hair to the side, baring her face, and lowered her head to the bag. With care, she bit the leather and lifted the bag up. She crawled back, like a dog with a downed bird.
I pointed to my feet. She came right up and put the bag down. Her neck craned back as she looked up at me; one foot over the other, eyes sparkling.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“There’s rope inside it. Take it out.”
Her head went back down, and she pulled at the drawstrings with perfect, white, teeth. She pulled the bag open and peered into it. After a few moments of planning, she dipped her head into the bag.
I laughed - I hadn’t expected her to use her mouth for this bit; but I let her.
A moment later, her head rose, triumph in her eyes, and a coil of rope between her teeth. She pulled all of it out and lay it at my feet.
“Thank you, Master,” she blew a loose lock of hair from her face.
“Kneel,” I took the rope. “Hands behind your back.”
She sat back, back straight, wrists crossed.
I crouched behind her; her back was smooth, clear. I pressed my open palm against her back - the skin there was soft and cool. I dug my fingers in; the muscle was firm, supple. I stopped myself from pushing her down and climbing on to her.
My hands clamped around her ankles instead. She gasped as I yanked one over the other. I held them in place while I wound the rope around them.
“Oh,” she groaned as I pulled it tight.
I wound around the ankles three more times and then started on her wrists. I few loops there, and then back to her ankles. She tried to wriggle her ankles, and her fingers clutched the rope. It was a confining hogtie - the sort I’d do to punish a girl.
“Thank you, Master,” her eye said anything but.
Onska squealed as I shoved her on to her side. She turned her head to look back at me as I looked into my bag.
“This will do,” I held up a grey cloth. I tore it in two. She glared (as far as a slave dares to glare - but a master learns to read these looks) as I gagged her. The second strip became her blindfold.
I wasn’t satisfied.
I bunched her long, thick, chestnut hair - it was soft as smoke. The slave girl grunted as I pulled it, forcing her head all the way back. With a second piece of rope, I tied her hair to her wrists.
“What is that?” a passing man stopped.
“Enjoyable,” I gripped the slave’s bared throat, stroking it with my thumb.
He smiled and carried on.
“And now, you hot little bitch,” I whispered into her ear, “we can start.”
I turned her over, so she lay on her side, but faced me. My fingers pushed under her collar and felt her throat - her pulse pounded. Large, well-formed breasts called out - I took them, one in each hand. Fingers fondled their easy softness, their weight. The aureoles were dark - nipples erect.
I pinched one, hard.
She groaned and tugged at her bindings, thighs opening and closing like a book.
I pinched the other nipple, even harder.
Again groaning, her body tensed and her toes clenched. There was a fearful moan.
I stroked her inner thigh, then I raised my hand and smacked her there. She screamed into her gag, muscles clenching. Her limbs strained at the ties.
I slapped her inner thigh again. Then pinched both nipples. She moaned and whimpered.
I felt the wicked delight of a sense of absolute power. It is the same feeling when you order a re-captured slave to march, and she obeys. When I had bred the lovely Layla. That I felt when I saw the look on Haley’s face as I pulled her from the river, and bound her, my slave to do with however I pleased.
I lost track of time. My whole world became exploring her body and her reactions. After studying them, I moved to creating and tuning them. How to make her moan longer? Ah! Slaps, smacks, and pinches - no whips. She couldn’t form words but that didn’t stop her begging. Go beyond what she can take.
Tears finally moistened her blindfold. From there, I went on for a good minute more before stopping.
I’d thought I’d feel like a cruel monster - and I did - but it was a delightful, powerful, slightly guilty feeling. It is how it feels after fucking a new slave. Then, you watch her as she cleans you, completely focused on her task, licking and sucking you clean before looking up at you for approval. Good slave, is all you think. Pretty little bitch. You cannot wait to use her again.
I dragged Onska into the tent with me.
The blindfold, gag, and the rope binding her hair, came off first. She sobbed, face flushed, her head on my lap. I wiped away the tears and dried her face with the gag. Fearful as she was, she kept looking up at me - as if she couldn’t bring herself to stop.
I had become her universe.
I untied her ankles - she moaned in relief and extended her legs. She rubbed them together, nursing her ankles as best she could. I pulled her over my lap, her breasts and belly against my thighs. Her neck held her head up over the tent floor.
My fingers slipped between her buttocks and into her vagina.
I began masturbating her. I went slow, reaching in deep, studying her reactions. First, she looked stricken, then her lips parted. Her hands began clenching at her bonds, she squeezed her eyes shut and started moaning. Her body tensed-
And I stopped. She turned and regarded me, eyes large, hair fallen across her face. I wiped my fingers on her back and stroked her throat. I waited a few more moments - then reached back in, and continued.
Her excitement began to build again. She closed her eyes, her vaginal muscles squeezed my fingers. She moaned again, louder and without any shame. Her feet dug into the tent floor and she rocked herself-
I stopped again. She stared at me, lips parted, a sea of mixed emotions behind her eyes.
“Master!” she managed.
I laughed, brushed the hair from her face, and licked her forehead.
I began teasing her a third time. This was orgasm control - even back in the 21st, that was a thing. Using close study of his girls, a master could keep one on the edge of an orgasm for hours. I considered doing that to a slave, but then denying her an orgasm at the end, altogether. Perhaps then have her watch as hated, rival slave is fucked, and taken to orgasm without any delay. The thought of it gave me that same, cruel, wicked power rush. I wanted to do it!
I denied her a third time. Onska snarled and whined.
“I hate you, Master! I hate you!”
I put her back on her knees, turned her to face me, and pulled out my cock.
She went for it so fast, I thought she’d bite it off. Her hair bounced up and down, her lips raced up and down my shaft. Her tongue pressed against my penis like a warm, tight, sleeve. Loud, organic, sucking noises filled the tent as the sex-crazed girl worked me. I grabbed her by her hair to slow her down - it was like confining a wild animal.
Between her vigor (and my concern), I came to the point of orgasm. I jerked her head back and held it before me, my knuckles white as I gripped her hair. I came on her face: her forehead, the bridge of her nose, on closed eyelids. She panted, thick saliva dripping onto her chin. Her tongue darted up, trying to catch my semen as it trickled down her face.
I held her like that, leaning in till she could feel my breath on her face. I studied the semen as it left gleaming tracks on the cheeks, and under the chin.
“Oh,” she squealed, putting her hands on my knees. “Oh!”
I yanked her head back, forcing her to look straight up. My other hand had returned to her vagina - this time, to finish her off. When she orgasmed, she screamed out so loud it hurt my ears.
I untied her hands.
“Clean yourself, Slave.”
Without waiting to rub the circulation back, she wiped her face clean, and licked and sucked her fingers. The whole time she could not take her eyes off me.
“Thank you, Master,” she lay her head in my lap, closed her eyes, and kissed my penis. With great care and attention, she licked it clean. Then, my balls, my inner thighs, my belly. I pulled her away from mining out my belly button with her tongue.
“You - you are a great master,” was all she could manage as I retied her wrists behind her back. “I-I have never been used like this!”
“Don’t try to explain it,” I pulled her feet across my lap, and bound her ankles. “You don’t understand it - and I don’t want to hear it.”
I lay back and pulled Onska alongside me. Her breasts pressed against my arm. She put her head on my shoulder and kissed it.
“Thank you, Master,” she whispered. “I have never been so happy!”
There was no tension in her body; she clung to me like a coating of warm oil. She would not stop gazing at me.
Water into wine, indeed.
“That might even be true, Slave,” I ran my fingers along the rim of her collar. “I have never seen one like this before,” I sat up on my elbow and looked down at her. “A collar that cannot be removed! This tattoo,” I pointed at the red, eight-pointed star on her belly. “My friend’s girl has it in black, between her buttocks. I’ve not seen it before.”
“The great god Azathoth chose us,” she replied. “To be slaves to the Sea Lords of Armanea.”
The Sea Lords were (mostly) Armanean pirates, prowling the sea to the West of Darfur. Armanea was a land of Mediterranean sun, coughing volcanoes, and black sand that contributed to the most fertile soil in the world. Its coast was a mess of small islands, deep inlets, and river deltas. Rich river sediments fed undersea forests and immense schools of fish. Armanea’s coast teemed with life - and people.
The Sea Lords brought their females to slaving ports, all over the planet.
“When I was twelve years of age, my father had to dice for me at the temple, against the Sea Lord, Barabus. Barabus won and put this collar on me. In my eighteenth year, I was given to him, as a slave. I was taken on to his ship and caged with many other girls. They took us to an island where we learned to obey and to please. I learned, and was shipped in a slave hulk to Darfur. A Servant of Yarth-Tanophk bought all of us before we had even stepped on the beach. That was last month, Master.”
“The Sea Lord won you, and at a temple?”
“Azathoth, the Blind Idiot God, is worshiped in my homeland. He is the Primal Chaos. The roll of a die, a bottle thrown to the sea, an arrow shot blind and falling from the air: through these, his power enters our world.”
“Sounds like a god of gamblers.”
“Gamblers are blessed: the Idiot God guides them and they are his servants in this dream. The whole universe is just his dream, Master! When the Idiot God wakes, it will end. Why is Master laughing?”
“Sorry. Where I come from, we certainly worship more than a few idiots.”
“That is good,” her face was serious. “Idiots are blessed, Master. We care for them in our temples.”
“And people gamble in your temples?”
“Oh yes, Master. Some temples have gathered great wealth, with Azathoth’s favor.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Yes, you can bet there. And where there are no temples, or in foreign lands, there are wandering gambler-preachers. They are the richest and poorest travelers one will find on our roads.”
“I’m still not seeing why your father chose to gamble you.”
“Because Azathoth-”
“No, I mean, why didn’t he just fight the pirates, instead? I’m guessing other girls from your village were at stake, too?”
She paused for a moment.
“I am sorry Master, I do not understand. Why wouldn’t we fight the Sea Lord Barbarus?”
“Exactly.”
A longer pause.
“But, he is a Sea Lord.”
“He tries that shit anywhere else, he’ll get a spear in his eye.”
“Barbarus is our protector. His ships guard our villages against raiders. They allow our merchants to travel safely, along the coast, to beaches sworn to other Sea Lords. It is safe for us on the coast, Master. Inland, there are many kings and cities, and they are always at war. It is not like Darfur, where one Priest King rules all.”
“But that’s just temporary. One day, a power will take all control, and chase away the pirates. It’s a matter of time.”
She shook her head.
“Thank the Idiot God, no, Master. The end cults fell the strongest and wisest leaders. The divine chaos continues: war unending, kings aplenty, till Azathoth awakes!”
Her eyes gleamed.
“That’s horrific. What are these ‘end cults?’”
“They are as holy as the gamblers, Master. They serve the Primal Chaos by creating it.”
“Charming.”
“They may burn a farm down and slay all within it. Or, they may end a king with a cup of poison. They seek chaos for its own sake - and to wake Azathoth. When the Idiot God emerges from sleep, the whole world - and all worlds - will end.”
“Doomsday cultists, gambler-preachers, and pirate government. Be thankful you are now somewhere sane, like a ruined city controlled by alien-worshiping cultists.”
She smiled, likely unsure what else to do.
I was ready to go again. I turned her over, on to her front. My knees pushed her thighs apart, and I locked my arm around her throat. What followed was completely satisfying.