I carried my slave into a small room. Tucked to a side was a heap of furs. Black hooks and chains hung from the ceiling. A spreader bar lay beside the wall, a device for holding a girls legs apart when using, punishing, or breeding them. Mounted against one of the walls was an "X" frame made of iron. Wrist and ankle cuffs hung on little chains from its corners. Irons were heaped on a small table. Beside the table was a large bucket filled with water.
I lowered my new woman to the furs. She got to her knees as quick as she could and grabbed my thighs, her hands trembling.
"Master!" I could stare at those green eyes for hours, "Master, I am yours!"
I bent down, and we kissed. She threw her arms around my head and kissed me again and again, chewing at my lip, her teeth knocking into mine. Her small hands dug into my hair. She squeezed her soft body against my legs, and she grew more frenzied.
I pulled away. She stopped and stared up at me, her expression one of unnerved surprise.
"Stay," I used the same tone that I did with dogs, holding out my finger.
Simmering, the animal sat back on her heels.
I picked up a pair of cuffs from the table. These were unusual - the chain running between them was barely an inch long. I searched and found a similar second pair, this one designed to hold ankles. I turned and regarded the slave.
She looked at the irons, then crossed her wrist behind her back. She rose up slightly on her knees and crossed one ankle over the other. She gave me an anxious look.
"Good Slave."
I got down behind her and cuffed her wrists and ankles. She could not uncross them: that was why the chains on these were so short.
With her shackled this way, I dragged her to kneel before the bucket of water. She stared into it, her face reflected back at her.
You must always teach a new girl her place. Give a hard taste of what displeasing you will bring her. Then, give her your cock to taste. The first establishes your mastery. The second, her slavery.
I would teach this one.
"Who is your Master?" I got down beside her, my hand around the back of her neck.
She turned and looked at me.
"You are, Master."
I forced her head into the bucket.
Water splashed up and out onto my clothes and dripping down her pale body. Moments later, I pulled her head back up. She gasped for air, water coursing down her face and that lovely, red-brown hair.
"Who is your Master?"
"You are!"
I dunked her again.
This time I held her down longer. She began to squirm, crossed ankles and wrists tugging at her cuffs, trying to break free.
I lifted her head back up. She cried out and gasped for air, her chest rising and falling. The anxiousness was gone from her eyes. Now, it was all fear.
I dunked her again.
I held her down even longer this time. Her feet began thrashing, beating against the floorboards. Her body twisted this way and that, trying to throw herself from the bucket. I held her in place, one arm around her shoulders, the other holding her neck below the water.
Longer still.
Longer.
I pulled her head back up.
"Who is your Master!"
"You! You!" She gasped in English, choking and spluttering. "Please, Master,” She continued in that language, “I am yours! Please don't kill me; I will do anything for you!"
I laid her on the floorboards on her back. I pulled off my tunic and wiped her face with it. Then, I toweled her body. She stared at me, her eyebrows raised.
"Do you-do you understand me?" She said again in English.
My answer was to take her by her cuffed feet and drag her to the furs. With the slave upon them, I unshackled her ankles and her wrists. She sat up and clutching at her limbs, rubbing the soreness from them.
I took a chain from the table and fastened one end to an iron-holding ring set in the floorboards.
"Ankle," I said in English.
Her face lit up, and she smiled.
"Yes, Master!" She replied. She lay back, propping herself on her elbows. Then, she pointed her toes and raised her small foot to me.
I shackled her white ankle.
I had made clear my life-or-death power over her. Next, it was time to teach her what her captivity would be like. There are many ways to fuck a slave girl, and all of them are right. When you are teaching a slave her place, though, you must be dominating. You must make her feel small, helpless, forced.
I stripped and got down on the furs.
“Master!” She closed her eyes and kissed me. An arm went around my neck and her forehead pressed against mine. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”
“Are you?”
“Oh yes,” I felt her breath against my face. She rubbed her legs along the insides of my thighs, brushing them against my cock. She opened her eyes to look at me as she did so, reading my reaction. She giggled and held my cock between the pads of her small, white feet. She was, I was pleased to see, quite flexible.
“Down, Slave,” I used my weight to force her to lie on her back. There is a way to do this so the girl cannot get free. She is like a pinned butterfly.
She giggled again, submitting.
“Oh, Master!” her legs snaked out, and she locked her ankles behind my back. “If Sister Beatrice could see this.” Thinking - apparently of a nun - she started rubbing her pelvis against mine. Then, she closed her eyes and tried to kiss me again.
“No,” I gripped her by her hair and forced her head back. She whined, cheated, her throat bared.
“Please, Master!”
My answer was to dig my fingers into her roots.
She tried to pull her head free, but it was no use. After two more tries, she gave up and lay there, panting, staring at the wall behind her.
I licked her neck like a vampire. My tongue pushed hard, tasting the salt on her skin. I moved to lick her face. Slaves do not like having their faces covered in saliva... Make them submit to it, and thank you for it afterwards. I held her like that, pinned in place with her head forced back, as I explored her face. I took my time.
Next, my head went to her chest.
“These are large breasts for a little slave.”
“All the boys in the village thought so, too,” she smiled.
“All the boys? Were you a slut?”
“No!” her eyes flashed wide. “No, Master!”
“Ha! I’m not Sister Beatrice. Also, do not lie to your master again.”
“I will not, Master,” the new-made fear from earlier returned.
“How many of the boys did you fuck?”
She paused for a moment. I thought it was hesitation at first - then realized she was counting.
“Seven, Master.”
“Seven! How old are you?”
“Twenty, Master.”
“A slut indeed,” I smiled. “That is not an insult in this world - or from me. Men want sluts. We pay more for them.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”
My attention went back to her breasts.
They rose and fell as she breathed. I pushed my face between them and bit one, gently. The slave moaned.
There was sudden wetness on my cheeks - I raised my head to see what: her breasts had begun dripping.
“I’m sorry, Master!”
“It is alright, little slut,” I licked one nipple clean, then the other. Again there was the taste of melted, honeyed ice cream. “It is time to milk you.”
I changed position to straddle her belly. Then, I took her left breast in both hands and put my mouth to the nipple. One breast at a time, I drained her.
She propped herself up on her elbows and watched the process with interest. Before today, she had never produced milk, let alone been milked by a man who had half-drowned her.
I filled my mouth with the last of the milk - but did not swallow. I had other plans for it.
I regarded her.
Those green eyes studied me, wondering what was next.
I cupped her jaw and squeezed.
“Yes, Master,” she giggled and opened her mouth.
I squeezed again.
She opened her mouth wider.
I shook my head and gave another squeeze.
She opened her mouth as wide as she could, like a giant river serpent coming up to swallow a boat.
Only then did I spit the milk into her mouth.
Her eyes widened as she closed her mouth and swallowed.
“Master!” She licked her lips. “Master, it’s so sweet!” She ran her fingers over her lips, then licked her fingertips. She looked at me with the amazement of someone with been initiated into a great and wonderful secret. "That's the nicest thing I've tasted since - well, since before the famine."
I got off her, sat cross-legged, and pulled her onto my lap. She put her small arms around my neck and pressed her head against mine. Soft lips kissed my jaw.
"When you had one, what was your name?" I asked in English - I wanted her disarmed.
"Molly, Master," her voice became quiet.
"From where did Molly come from?" I started stroking her hair like one of her boys might have.
"County Donegal. Ma and Da were farmers," she stroked my chest. "Then, the Famine came. Da fell sick and died. We left our land and tried to get to the coast. They said the English were sending corn - but it wasn't corn."
She was right. Rather than repeal the Corn Laws - which were about wheat - the British government imported maize from America as food aid. No one considered that Irish peasants had never seen maize before and had no idea what to do with it.
"Then, I woke up naked, hogtied. There were lots of other girls like me, but they weren't like me, you see? All kinds. Skin colors I'd never seen before. There was just my sister and a few other Irish girls. All the rest were screaming and yelling, but we didn't know a word of what they were saying. But a man gave us food. I wasn't hungry that night. The next day, there was food again."
I feed my slaves well.
I stopped stroking her hair and gripped her by her collar instead, my knuckles pressing into her throat.
"Your name isn't Molly," I said, switching back to Low Hyperborean. "You're not from Donegal. You have no mother. You have no dead father to remember - nor will I permit you to remember him, at all. Everything you have just said is nonsense. It has no meaning to anyone, and you will not speak of any of it again."
She stared at me as if I had slapped her.
I pushed the slave off my lap and onto her hands and knees.
"Let me tell you the truth of who you are. You are slave meat, taking along the Red River," I picked up my belt and 1looped it around her throat. "You are valued for your fine skin, giving good milk, and for being a slut," I tightened the belt loop. She put one hand to her throat, gripping what was now a leash. "You have been sold to me. Now, you are learning your place."
I put her on her hands and knees, got between her thighs, and entered her.
Her vagina was as wet and warm as her milk had been. Holding the belt-leash taut, I started ramming her. Smack! Smack! Smack! I buffeted her, pushing her forward with each strike.
She got down on her elbows and pushed her ass up, high. Her mouth opened wide, her expression became stricken. Red-brown hair fell over her face.
At the last moment, I pulled out. I ejaculated onto the wooden floor. The little slut turned and looked back at me, glaring.
I pulled her by her leash and forced her to the semen.
"Clean it."
"Yes, Master."
She knelt, sitting back on her heels. She shook her hair back and lowered a hand to the semen.
"No," I tugged at her leash. "Do not use your hands."
She paused for a moment, looking at me. Then, insight flashed behind her eyes.
"Yes, Master," she lowered her head to my seed like a dog to spilled milk.
She stuck her tongue out and gave it a lick. Then again, her head moving up and down as she scrubbed the floorboards with her tongue.
"Show."
She turned to look at me; her tongue stuck out. It was covered in milky white.
"Continue."
I watched, the belt-leash in my hand, as the animal licked it all up. I got on one knee in front of her and squeezed a few more drops out. She watched them fall, then licked them up as well. She studied the floor. Seeing there was none left, she looked up at me, her chin hovering an inch from the floor.
“What are you?”
“A slave, Master.”
“Where are you from?”
“Red River, Master.”
“What is of value about you?”
“I’m a slut with good skin and milk.”
“You are a little slut with good skin and milk.”
Little slut. Yes!
"May I clean you, Master?"
"Yes, Little Slut. That is now your name."
On her hands and knees, the slave who had said she was the luckiest girl in the world, licked the tip of my cock. She drew her head back and looked up at me.
I gave her no reaction.
She reached forward and licked the tip again, but this time did not draw her head back. Again she looked to me.
Again, I did nothing.
Little Slut ran her tongue up the length of my shaft. Then, back again to the tip. She repeated, on the other side of my cock. Next, She took hold of my penis in her small hand. Staring up at me, she and wiped the tip back and forth across her neck. It brushed against the iron of her collar.
“I am your little slut!”
“Perform well. Or, I will hang you from the roof and whip you.”
Her answer was to press my cock against the side of her face. It lay across her cheekbone. Her eyes closed, and she began kissing my balls.
“If this does not please,” she said to them, “Whip me till I cannot walk.”
She opened wide and took in the whole scrotum. I felt her tongue stroking and feeling each testicle, getting to know them as well as my harem girls did. After a full minute of this, she spat them out and took my cock in both her hands.
“Will you whip me?” her face was flushed, lips parted.
Before waiting for an answer, she rose on her knees and began to pump me with both hands. She looked at me like I was a messiah sent by Heaven.
At the last moment, I grabbed her hands and aimed my cock at her chest. I came on her neck, her collar bones, her breasts. Once I was done, I released her.
She held up her hands, semen dripping between her fingers. She brought one to her lips.
"No," again, I used the same tone I would use on a dog.
Little Slut froze.
***
It was dark in the breedery.
The only light came from a single oil lamp I had set on the floor. Slaves stared at me in the flickering light. They gripped the bars and tilted their heads, trying to see what I was doing. Many seemed wide awake. I’d been so pleased with Layla’s disorientation, I had put them all under the same treatment. Due to her stubbornness, the breedery had been made even more unpleasant for them all. I smiled at the thought.
Speaking of Layla, the hot little bitch was in the bottom cage to my left. She was on her hands and knees, staring up at me. She blinked in the lamplight; in the dark, she had become used to, it must have seemed like a bonfire. Then, she looked from me to my side.
At my side, on her hands and knees, was a small made girl with pale skin. Her hair was deep red, almost brown. Her palms, knees, and feet were dirty from a forced crawl. A leash chain hung from my hand to her collar; it swung back and forth. The girl’s neck and breasts gleamed with half-dried semen.
I opened the door to the floor cage beside Layla’s. Its door groaned as I swung it open.
"Inside."
Little Slut crawled into the cage that was now her new home. She turned around to face me. I unfastened the chain from her throat and shut the door. Metal clanged as it locked, automatically.
"Now, you may."
The girl wiped semen off her collarbone with two fingers.
"Thank you, Master!" She put her fingers in her mouth and sucked them clean.
I left the oil lamp on the floor and left the breedery. Except -- that I did not quite leave. I stayed at the entrance, hidden in shadow. I watched, like a spider, at unaware flies.
Little Slut sat back on her heels and started wiping herself clean with both hands, licking her palms and fingers.
"Please," Layla turned to face her. She gripped the bars of her cage, "let me taste him!"
The two girls stared at each other.
"Is he your master, too?" Asked Little Slut.
"Yes," said Layla. "All of us in here, belong to him."
"My name is Molly," she said. "I'm from Ireland."
"I am Layla. I am from Maha-Bharaji. Will you - will you let me taste him, Molly?"
"Of course."
Little Slut Who Thought She Was Still Molly moved forward and pressed herself against the bars, her breasts pushed between them.
Layla threw her hair back, leaned forward, and licked my semen off the Irish girl’s breasts. She licked as if she was cleaning a penis - something she did quite well.
The two held hands through the bars. Little Slut kept still as Layla licked one breast clean, then the other. Then, she moved up, licking the Irish girl’s neck. The two girls found themselves staring at each other, their faces inches apart.
They close their eyes and kissed.
I cannot tell you how good this made me feel. To see two beauties sharing what to them was the gift of my seed, and finding joy in each other.
I had no plans to breed Little Slut, but I had no interest in stuffing her away in my harem. I spent so little time there: the harem was poorly thought out. Here is where I used women.
Come the morning, I would dissolve the harem. I’d bring the meat here, add another room and some more cages. Yes, that would work well. Another ten more cages.
I left, wondering what Layla’s milk would taste like after I’d pupped her.