Alice Sinclair Gorean style BDSM fiction

Here I was, in a small room adjoining the breeding battery room, with three girls for my pleasure.

It was a small chamber; perhaps it had been some sort of storeroom or secondary tomb for a servant or slave of the ancient warrior who had been buried down here. It made for a cozy space. 

Furs were piled in the center, three inches high. Yellow flame flickered in oil lamps set in the wall brackets. Off to a corner was a bucket of water and a heap of rags.

Facing the pile of furs was the bronze statue of Tsathoggua I had brought back from Aymund. A three-foot-tall bronze statue of a squatting, horned, pot-bellied frog. His head was closer to a bat's, and it seemed to stare at you, wherever you stood in relation to it.

To me, it was just a souvenir, but it raised questions wherever it was placed… I followed no God, which discomforted Hyperboreans. That I would then keep a statue of one, like a grandmother with a travel souvenir, perplexed them no end. 

Down here in the breedery, there were no such questions to answer. It was also amusing to watch the slaves put their head down on the stone floor and worship it; a Hyperborean slave follows her master's faith. 

The statue was mounted on a stone block. An iron ring had been fitted to the block. Three chains hung from the ring. And the end of each chain, on the furs, lay a naked slave girl shackled at the ankle. 

They were Zana the Shang, Little Slut, my red-headed Irish beauty, and the blonde I had been readying for breeding. Today was, as it turned out, the perfect time in her cycle for me to breed the blonde. However, I didn't think she'd be ready for it this cycle. I'd expected her to take a few more days shackled in her cage before she was ready to submit. I was pleased the guards had found her was ready, after all!

The slaves hadn't noticed my entrance. I shut the door behind me, and it made a loud thunk. The slaves turned and looked. 

"Master!" Little Slut and Zana both called out. 

Zana, ever well-trained and demure, rose to her knees. Then, she placed her palms down between them. This was the obedience stands known as "begging" or "dog." She looked towards me; her eyes were hopeful. The shackle at her ankle gleamed.

Little Slut, however, jumped to her feet and rushed to me.

"Master!" She threw her arms around my neck and buried her head under my neck. Behind her, the chain at her ankle went taut.

Zana, in contrast, crawled forward on her knees, then went down on her elbows as well. She threw her hair back and put her lips on my foot. She began licking, looking up at me to read my cues.

Foot-licking is an important and deep-rooted ritual on Hyperborea. By foot-licking, a girl affirms to you, and to herself, what kind of creature she has become and how she may be treated. Animals lick - and so, she is an animal. She may be petted, beaten, or slaughtered. Whatever her Master decides. 

I gripped Little Slut by her throat and pushed her back. She stared at me, surprised.

"You are not a lover or a wife," I said. My tone was not unkind; I was being matter-of-fact with my new female. "What are you?"

"A Slave, Master," she looked down as if suddenly embarrassed. 

"Yes. A slave. So learn to greet as one," I pointed to Zana.  

Little Slut looked down at her. 

The Shang girl smiled up at Little Slut and carried on licking my foot. She did a small flourish where she leaned forwards to rub with her nipples. It was a little addition of her own. 

Without taking her eyes off Zana, Little Slut got down on her knees. She lowered herself to her elbows and cupped my other foot in her hands. She watched Zana for a few moments more, then closed her eyes, and started licking my foot.

She didn't, I noticed, lick like Zana. Instead, she licked like Layla. Those two, it seemed, have become much more than casual cage mates! I measured having Little Slut moved to deprive Layla of companionship versus having Little Slut learn from a most excellent sex slave. Training won out. Let Little Slut learn from this world's finest! 

The third girl then crawled forward. 

Her movements were slow and cautious as if she was afraid I might kick her. Her green-blue eyes were on my feet. She risked only the quickest glances up at me.

Out of her cage and in better light, I admired the blonde's form. Her proportions were lean and athletic. Her body had been well toned even before she had become my property. Slavery, as it always does, had improved it. 

I studied the shifting of her buttocks. The excellent thighs and well-shaped calves. How her spine sloped down to the small of her back. She brushed her shoulder-length hair back with one hand and put her lips to my foot alongside Zana. 

This is a moment of truth with a slave girl. If she will lick your foot, take her by the hair and put your cock in her mouth. She will open to receive it; she wants to please you. Whether from lust, love, or self-preservation, the result is the same. 

The blonde parted her lips and let them drag back and forth over my foot. Her breath was warm. First, I felt the tip of her tongue. Slowly, she began to stick it out. Once it was out as far as it would go, she gripped my ankle with one hand and started a large licking motion. It began at my toes. She kept her tongue pressed to my skin and moved her whole head up along my foot till she reached my ankle. Then, keeping her tongue extended, she threw her head back and looked up at me. Her blue-green eyes glittered in the lamplight.

This move, where her whole head was engaged and ending with eye contact, was how slave girls were taught to lick a man's feet in Armanea.

For the next few minutes, I closed my eyes and just stood there… The only sounds were those made by the soft lips of slaves and the rustling of the chains that held their ankles.

It is good, so very good, Friend, to own beautiful women. 

I decided, at the moment, to check their fertility. This is a breeder's habit, but at that moment, it was an act of tenderness between a Master and his slave girls.

I gripped Zana by her shoulder.

She looked up at me.

"Lie back," I commanded.

Zana lay back on the furs. She propped herself up on her elbows, planted her feet on the floor, and bent her knees. Then, she parted her thighs wide. Her shaved pelvis was bared.

The blonde froze, her tongue in mid-movement up my foot. Was something wrong? 

I stepped away and got down on one knee before Zana. I gripped her calf with one hand and slipped two fingers into her vagina. I reached in deep, moving them back and forth. Then, I pulled them and held them up to the light.

The vaginal mucus was murky-grey. It fell apart as I parted my fingers. This was as expected; Zana would not ovulate for another two weeks or so.

"Open."

Zana opened her mouth wide. I slipped my fingers inside, and she sucked them clean. She beamed at me afterwards - if a slave loves you, she enjoys being examined. 

I kissed her and turned to my Irish redhead. 

"Little Slut," I motioned to the furs. "Lie back."

Little Slut scrambled back onto the furs, then threw herself onto her back. She copied Zana's pose, though spreading her thighs apart even wider. If Zana had the grace of a cat, Little Slut had the energy of a dog. Always so eager!

Meanwhile, the blonde crawled back onto the furs. Something was quite wrong: she sat with her knees drawn up against her breasts, arms thrown around them like castle walls. I could feel her eyes on me, even as I got down before Little Slut.

"Master," Little Slut frowned, perhaps noticing my distraction, "what are you doing?"

"I am checking to see if you are fertile. If you can be bred."

I slipped my fingers into her. Her eyes became wide. She was warm and wet, like Zana had been. 

"You - ooh! - You can tell that, Master?"

"Yes," I withdrew my fingers and held them up for her to see. "See how the mucus is thicker, how it thickens and crumbles when I rub my fingers together? That is because you are not ready to breed. You need another three weeks. If I take you then, I will have to mismate you. Or, let you pup."

"What will it be like when I am fertile?" She asked.

"Clear and very elastic. The strings will not break. Open your mouth."

She obeyed but, this time, without zeal. Her eyes became wide, and she seemed disgusted as she tasted my fingers.

An opportunity!

I gripped her by her hair and forced her head back. 

"Oh!" she gasped as I dipped my fingers back inside her. 

I began to swirl my fingers around, collecting as much vaginal mucus as I could. 

Little Slut's squeezed her vaginal walls around my fingers. She started to fidget. Her expression was uneasy.

"Be still, Slave!" 

She became still. 

I pulled my hand out. My fingers were dripping with her slime and juices. I shove my fingers into her mouth.

"Clean them, Slave!"

She tried to mumble something. I felt her tongue rubbing up and down against my fingers.

"Good Slave." 

I made her taste her fluids in this way three more times. 

This wasn't just about shifting a slave's boundaries and training her to accept - or perform - any act, no matter how degrading or base. Owning a beautiful woman is about so much more than just fucking her. It is also about the rush of power that comes from forcing her to obey you.

Satisfied, I rose from a somewhat disgruntled Little Slut, and turned to face the blonde.

She looked up at me, her eyes wide. They weren't filled with shyness anymore. This was something much rawer, much more powerful. It was the anxiety of trapped prey.

The guards were to select slaves for me to enjoy - and for Layla to hear me enjoying them from the other side of the wall. The blonde had shown submission well enough, but why was she now concerned?

"On your back, Slave."

The blonde drew her legs in even tighter, resting her chin on her knees. Her shoulders tensed as if bracing for a whipping.

"On your back, Slave!" 

I took a step towards her. My hand clutched the air where I would've worn a whip had I been dressed. I had not come here to discipline; I had come to sport!

"Please, Master," she stared at the floor. "Let me suck your cock! Let me-"

I crouched down in front of her.

She pushed herself back, evading my hands. She crawled back as far she could till the chain went taut at her ankle. She gritted her teeth and tugged at the chain, again and again. She looked up at me, eyes filled with fear.

I grabbed the chain with both hands and yanked her to me.

She cried out as she was jerked over the furs. The slave grunted and tried to push herself away again, her feet digging into the furs, her hands reaching back for something to grab.

Why the guards had selected her?!

By my estimate, she was still two days away from the breaking point where she would beg for breeding. And yet, against my directives, she had been supplied. All that work I had done on her had been wasted. There was, however, a bigger problem.

A much bigger problem.

When a Hyperborean Master commands a slave girl to his bed, that is it. Whether she likes it or not, he uses her. This is the nature of sex slavery. Whether he chooses to after getting her to beg him for it is irrelevant. He is still the one who decides if she will be taken to bed and when. 

Herein was my problem. I didn't wish to damage or traumatize the girl, but that could happen if I did not pick my next move with great care. 

Yet, there wasn't time anymore to take that great care... The matter had been forced upon me. If I stopped to think - overthink - it could cost me my slave. She would end up traumatized. Or, I would have to leave this room and sell all three before they could gossip about what had happened. That their Master had ordered a girl to the furs; that she had protested; and then it was he who had broken. 

Don't overthink this like you always do.

Don't overthink. 

Don't. 

I studied the girl, the sheen of sweat on her pale body. The rising and falling of her breasts. The fine features of her oval face. How those blue-green eyes tracked me like a prey animal.

But she was prey. She was a Hyperborean female. It was time to respect her as one.

I grabbed her by her ankles. 

She cried out and tried to kick her legs free. 

I held her in place, my hands like iron. Her skin was soft, smooth, and cool to the touch. I squeezed, and she yelped in pain.

I got down on the furs and yanked her to me. One ankle I pulled to my left, the other to my right. This parted her legs, and she cried out. Her back lay against furs.

"Azathoth take you! Let go!" She jerked her legs, almost breaking free.

I got down on top of her, clamped my hand around her throat, and squeezed.

This was a tactic: it disengages a girl's hands from something more useful she could be doing with them. It worked; she grunted and gripped my arm with both hands, trying to pull it free. I kept the pressure on her windpipe gentle but just enough to be uncomfortable. It had to keep her hands busy. 

Next, I forced her thigh apart with my knees. She tried to roll out from under me, but I had her pinned. The slave girl snarled.

With my free hand, I slipped two fingers into her vagina.

She was wet: that, at least, was good. Whether while lying with her ankle shackled on the furs knowing what would follow, or excited as she showed submission by licking my feet, the blonde slave had become aroused. 

I dug around inside, swirling my fingers and scooping out mucus. I pulled my hand out and held my fingers up to the lamplight.

The mucus was clear. It formed bouncing strings as I parted my fingers. The strings did not break. She was at peak fertility. 

So this was why she became uncomfortable and then resistant when I checked the other two slaves! She had expected to be used for pleasure. Now, she was worried it had been a trick just to breed her.

Herein was my solution! All I had to do was tell her that she wasn't yet ready. All I had to do was tell her a lie.

"You are fertile," said the Hyperborean in me. As soon as I said the words, I felt comfortable having done so. "You are ready."

The blonde threw her head back and moaned, staring into space.

"I will do anything for you, Master!" She said, her voice constricted by my hand around her pale throat. "I will serve on my back in your brothel! I will scrub the floors in your kitchen! I will clean the sides of your bathtub with my tongue! Anything, Master, but do not," she turned and looked at Zana and Little Slut, "do not make me a breeding slave!"

Zana looked down. Little Slut looked surprised, to Zana, then at me.

"I am better than them!"

"Really?" was that what this was about? That she thought she was too good to be a breeding slave? "Really?"

I got off the slave and stood. She rolled onto her side, palms pressed down to the furs. Her eyes were wary, fixed on mine. She had expected, I assumed, to be raped. Now, however, she did not know what to expect. 

"Address Stance!" I barked.

All three girls rose on their knees, their wrists crossed behind their heads.

"Look at them," I pointed to Zana and Little Slut. "How are you better than them, Slave? Do you think you look any different?" 

The blond said nothing and stared straight ahead. 

"Begging Stance!" I ordered.

The three girls sat back on their heels. They parted their thighs and, between their knees, placed their hands on the ground.

Again, I pointed to the other two girls.

"How are you better than them?"

Again, the blonde said nothing.

"Offering Stance!"

Zana and Little Slut turned to show their backs to me. Then, they got on their hands and knees and spread their legs apart. This bared their vaginas. Both looked back at me over their shoulders; this was part of the stance. The slave girl offers herself and looks back into the eyes of her master.

The blonde did not perform the stance.

I bent down and grabbed her by her cuffed ankle.

"Let go!" She tried to kick her leg free. "I will not be one of them!" 

I held her leg in place and removed her cuff. The shackle made a muffled thud as it fell to the furs.

"There is so much more I can do for you, Master! Let me serve you in other ways, let me-"

I grabbed her by her throat and dragged her across the room. She squealed and clutched at my arms, legs beating in the air, feet trying to grip the stone floor.

I lead her to the water bucket and the pile of rags.

There, I pushed her down onto her back. She tried to get back up, and I shoved her back down. 

I got on top of her. I pinned her legs with mine. She snarled and gritted her teeth as I gripped her wrists and held them against the stone floor. Next, I crossed her wrists over her head so I could hold them with just one hand. 

She thrashed and tried to throw me off but to no avail. She was not the first girl I had pinned. She would not be the last.

With my free hand, I took one of the rags from the pile. I dipped it in the bucket, holding it up, letting it drip.

Then, I threw it over her face.

She made a muffled sound and jerked ahead from side to side. This only aided me: I slipped the ends of the rag under her head, securing it in place.

I took the bucket and pulled water over her cloth-bound face.

One must be careful with this. It is dangerous. It simulates drowning- and can cause it. Do just enough. Just enough.

The slave bucked under me, hard. Her head thrashed from side to side, and she choked into the wet cloth. More water entered her passageways, and she choked, even more, thrashing harder.

I had stopped pouring the moment she began struggling. Waterboarding is not like whipping - the slave girl cannot fake it. There is no building tolerance. There is no getting bored. There was only primal terror.

I waited till she was breathing again, her chest rising and falling as she panted.

Then, I put her to the water again.

I did it five times. Each time, I let her recover her breath. After the second, she began begging for her life. By the third, she was weeping. By the fourth and fifth, the begging had turned into incoherent whining.

I got off her, set the bucket down, and pulled the cloth from her face.

Her eyes were red. Her hair was dripping wet. A few breaths later, she turned onto her side and coughed up water. She remained like that, head down, breathing. I gave her a few minutes to recover.

"Offering Stance, Slave," I said.

The blonde turned to present her buttocks to me. She got on her hands and knees, and spread her legs, baring her vagina.

I got down behind her. I pushed my knees between hers and forced her legs further apart. With one hand, I gripped her collar, my knuckles digging into her dripping-wet throat. The other hand I placed against her head, forcing her forehead to the stone floor.

I slipped my penis into her. I pushed in deep, letting her feel me inside her. I let go of her collar and pushed her arms down, so her elbows touched the floor.

I kept her in this position; elbows, knees, and forehead to the stone floor, her behind raised. Then, with slow, steady thrusts, I began using her. Her buttocks quivered with each impact, smack, smack, smack. I did not take long. 

"Turn," I ordered once I'd finished. 

Head down, the slave girl turned around. 

I began cleaning myself with her wet hair. As I did so, she looked up at me, glaring.

Once I was done, I cupped her chin and lifted her head up to look into my face.

"What do you say, Slave?"

"Thank you, Master." Her words could have cut stone.

"Good Slave. To the furs."

She crawled back to the furs on her hands and knees. She did so in a fashion I can only describe as graceless. Slave girls know how to make their movements attractive or unattractive. It's a form of passive resistance. Let them have it; it teaches you their mood.

I followed her to the furs. I took the ankle fetter and snapped it back over her foot. It locked with a dull clack.

***

I had seen that glare on a girl more than a few times. Every master and mistress has. One sees it most often when training a girl fresh to the collar. 

Once you can get a girl to crawl before you on her hands and knees, naked, and call you her master, you have achieved the least training necessary. You order her any way you like. She may curse you, but she will obey. She fears what might happen to her if she does not. 

I did not understand this in the early days, but that is when it is best to order a slave to your cock. 

Do it in front of other girls and masters, if you can. You want people to stop and watch. The slave will look horrified or wrinkle her face in contempt for you. If she is brave, she will make this clear to you with words.

Draw your whip. Watch how her eyes go to it. How her body tenses at the memory of the thrashing you first gave her with it. 

Then, repeat the order.

She will feel the pressure of all eyes focusing on her. Her jaw may drop as she stares at you. The only sound she will hear is her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

What will she do? 

What else can she do? Nothing. That pause is her coming to understand this. 

She will then crawl to you, glaring, like this one, and take your penis in her mouth. She will not bite you, even if she has promised that she will. If she has made such a threat know that at the time, it was not an idle one; it is what she believed she would do. However, now, crawling towards you, she has realized she does not dare. 

You must play up her sexual submission. Order her to cross her wrists behind her back. If she is slow, slap her. Once she has crossed them, cuff them. Then, take her head in both hands and push deep, letting her feel your penis against the back of her throat. Hold it there till she gags and coughs over your balls. Take her by her hair and tilt her head back. Spit in her face. Make open her mouth to catch your saliva. Spit three or four times. The more times you miss, the better. Again, make sure other slaves are watching. If they have tasks, order them to stop and watch. 

When you are done, say nothing. Just pull out and wait. She will then spit your semen on the ground, disgusted, red-faced, and panting.

Tell her to lick it back up. You may need to tell her a second time, but not a third.

When she takes your seed back into her mouth, make her show it to you; the milky white on her tongue. Then, grab her by her hair and grip her under her chin. Force her to turn and show her open mouth to the other slave girls. If there are other masters present, perhaps invite them to use her next.

Then, make her thank you. Make her say it is what she always wanted. That she wants you to do it again to her. Then, if you are up for it, do it.

You will not give such a girl better slave training than this. What is her angry body language, her back-talking, her passive resistance worth after that point? It cannot be taken seriously. She knows you know you can, at any moment, order her to put that angry, lovely mouth around your cock, and then thank you afterwards. 

Those around her will not take her seriously, either. Not even her most defiant allies, such as she may have them. All they will see thereafter when they look at her is her abject degradation at your hands - and how theirs will follow, sure is rain from the sky.

As for the slave herself, you have scored a huge victory. Before that point, her psyche was at the equilibrium point of a free woman. After, however, it has been pushed to a new equilibrium. It is a lower energy state - one her mind will not climb away from. It is one where she hates herself. She no longer measures favorably against the yardstick of her own values. She has failed them: she is not strong. She is not free. She did not fight you; she submitted like the lowest, collar-scum slut. There is no aspiring again to those values; just the thought of them, instead, brings her back to how it felt to lick your semen up off the ground.

Paired with her feeling that she is now worthless is the sense that, therefore, she must deserve to be treated this way. 

This is your opportunity. 

Play your cards, right, and by nightfall, she will be begging for your cock.

Give her about an hour. Make sure she is away from the other girls, and no one talks to her: you want to leave her with her thoughts. Let her weep quietly to herself, her arms wrapped around her knees, her throat chained to an iron fastening ring.

Then, go to her. Speak to her in kind tones. Sit next to her on a stool and stroke her hair. Comment on how beautiful her breasts are, her legs. Her face. Make sure you have taken some meat or fruit with you. Make a show of eating part of it, as if it was for you. Let her smell it. It is better if she has not been fed that morning.

Give her a task. An obedient stance is good; it is easy for her. Praise her, and make her do it again, correcting her stance. Let her feel your hands on her body. Your touch should be gentle as your tone. When she gets the stance right, praise her. Give her a scrap of what you are eating as a treat. 

If it has been even two or three days since she was stripped and collared, whatever it is, it will hit her with the intensity of biting into a fresh orange. Her salivary glands will ache. Her endorphins will spike. Smile and stroke her hair. If she tears up, that is fine. It means she is feeling powerful emotions. That means it is working: you are giving her self-worth again. You are getting her to value herself - by being pleasing to you.

Now, give her a more challenging task. Have her carry boxes from one spot to another. Tell her she must rush; clap your hands and urge her with greater tempo in your voice. She will rush back and forth, carrying those boxes. You want to get her blood pumping, to have her sweat a bit. The endorphins from exertion will add to her sense of accomplishment when you praise her once she's done. However long she takes, say that she did it faster than other girls. Say that you are pleased - and that you are proud of her. Call her to kneel by your feet.

See how she tilts her head back and looks up at you now? How her eyes twinkle? Look at the need in that face. She needs the approval you are giving her. You are her only hope to not hate herself.

Give her the treat. 

When she has finished eating, put her on a leash and take her about with you, like a pet. Give her little tasks that come up: fetching your boots, holding your wine cup, even just kneeling by your side "in case" you might need something. Make sure that she is seen by those same slaves and masters she saw watching, when you degraded her. Let her see how those masters now approve of her. How the other slave girls stare perplexed - and perhaps envious.

Over the evening meal, show more affection. Stroke her hair, tell her she is an amazing beauty, and kiss her. Do it straight on the lips. Then, turn back to the meal. If other masters are present, get them to play along. Let them talk about how lovely she is. If it feels right, make her stand on the table and bare herself for viewing. Cheer her on; the other masters will follow. The girl will blush like she has never blushed before in her life.

When she kneels again, take a large goblet of wine. Hold her by her chin, tilting her head up, and make her drink it. She will be alarmed; Hyperborean women are discouraged from drinking because behaviors associated with slaves can follow drunkenness. Make her drink it all in one go. 

Then, even as wine drips down her neck, order her to lick your feet. Let her do this for some time, twenty minutes to half an hour. You are making her do this for two reasons. The first is because few things transform a slave, like being made to lick her master's feet for will feel like an eternity. 

The second reason is that she needs it. Licking your feet makes her proud - she is pleasing you and has been picked over other girls for the task. This is how a slave thinks. To be chosen to please you, over the other collared meats, is a point of pride. To bring sexual pleasure, of great pride. In that half an hour, you are building her up again. You are making her feel like she's the most beautiful woman in the world. 

As she does so, stroke her hair, her back, her buttocks. She feels your warm hand, and it makes her think of her father's touch when she was a crying child. She realizes that you are her protector and benefactor. That the rest of her life - which can be pleasant - is up to you. If there are other girls under the table licking their master's feet, she will see how delighted they are. The knowing looks they will exchange with her that they are the lucky ones. The most valued.

You will know it is going well from how thorough she is. How she forces your foot up with her face. Her tongue going between each of your toes as if checking if for something left behind. The sounds her lips make as she applies herself with energy. The giggles of the other girls watching her. 

Once the foot licking is done, pull her up to sit on your lap. Let her straddle you. Let her feel your arm around her, making her feel safe. Does it not? You're a master with a slave girl - you will keep her safe. It is the oldest compact. Give her more wine and let her rest her head on your shoulder. Look into her eyes, smile. If she is too timid, give her more wine. If she is still too timid, kiss her.

She will shut her eyes, lock her arms around your neck, and press herself against you. Enjoy the warmth and tightness of her body. Feel how she keeps pressing herself into you as if you will absorb her. 

When the moment comes (if it hasn't, the moment you put her on your lap), leave the table and go to your chambers. She will not stop kissing you. Let her; this releases oxytocin in her, cementing the bond of adoration. Your slave girl is falling in love with you. 

Chain her as you please. Use her, but be gentle. Do not use her in any of the positions a free woman has sex: now, that sends a mixed message. In all positions, have her lower than you. Put your hand to her throat. Hold her by her hair. Make her lick fluids off the floor. 

Above all, make her orgasm. Do it again. Let her bring you to one, and feel the delight that comes with delighting you and the pride of having served well. Say "Good Slave" to her. She knows it is how one praises a dog. Yet, she will delight in it. Good Slave.

Keep her close for the rest of the night. She might babble about her life; let her. At the end, point out that none of that matters anymore, that now she is yours, that you will take care of her, and that she will always be safe. Do not let her speak of her earlier life ever again. 

There is nothing on Hyperborea more wonderful than to own a beautiful female you have fully degraded who is completely in love with you and wants nothing more than to please you. On Hyperborea, this is the oldest compact.

***

"Address Stance, Slave."

She rose on her knees and crossed her wrist behind her head.

I got down right behind her. My chest pushed against her back. My thighs pressed to hers. My penis pressed between her buttocks. In trained reflex, the slave girl tried to lean forward and present her behind.

"Be still," I wrapped one arm around her belly and pulled her against me, tight. The other, I locked around her throat. "Keep your thighs apart. If you close them, I will punish you."

"Yes, Master," she whispered. My chin was over her shoulder, my cheek to hers. I felt the vibration of her words going right down her back. Her body was warm - I enjoyed how it felt against mine. 

I look to Zana and Little Slut.

"Please her."

"Yes, Master!" Said Zana, smiling.

"Yes, Master," said Little Slut, like an echo. Her expression seemed uncertain. She looked at Zana.

Zana crawled between the blonde's legs. She got down on her elbows, tossed her hair to the side, and licked the labial folds. Her tongue ran up and down, tracing over and beside the folds. 

The blonde stiffened and drew a sharp breath. This was not discomfort: it was anticipation.

Zana looked over at me. 

"Do not dig your tongue into her," I said. "Not yet."

I did not want Zana or Little Slut to lick out my semen. I had gone through a lot for this: I would be damned if I didn't impregnate the blonde in the end.

Zana looked back at Little Slut. She smiled at the redhead and beckoned her to join.

Little Slut crawled forward, unsmiling, her eyes anxious. I wondered how far she had gone with Layla - not far enough, it seemed.

It was one thing to make a Catholic Irish peasant girl from the 19th century wear a leash and spread her legs for you. Having a man impose power over her is something great pains have been taken to make her accept. It was quite another, however, to make her perform an act her religious leaders had taught her was a great sin.

Zana put her arm around Little Slut and coaxed her forward.

Little Slut looked at her, then at me. 

I smiled and nodded.

Little Slut got down on her elbows, craned her neck, and licked. Her head darted back as if she'd expected to be struck by lightning. Then, a look of wonder came over her face. She brought her head forward again and tried another lick. This time it was done more slowly.

Zana got down beside her. The two slave girls were shoulder to shoulder. She began kissing the blonde slave, starting at the crotch, and moving upwards.

The blonde slave made a little sound and clenched her toes.

"Spread wider." 

The blonde did not need to be told twice. She spread her legs as wide apart as she could.

I watched as Lana and Little Slut, cheek to cheek, pleased with the blonde. They took their time, making slow, gentle movements. Zana kept running her tongue up and down before probing under the fleshy hood over the clitoris. Little Slut was more enthusiastic, pulling on the girl's labia with her lips and nuzzling her. Semen gleamed on the tip of her nose.

Zana turned and licked it off her, her tongue extended. Then, she rose to her knees and kissed the blonde.

Their lips touched, and their eyes closed. The kiss was gentle, and both girls were in no rush. The blonde moaned.

While she had been my bath slave, I had noticed that the blonde had a tell as she moved towards orgasm. She would throw her head back, shut her eyes tight, and start clenching and re-clenching her toes as her breath became shorter.

A few minutes in, the blonde threw her head back. I felt her chest pumping with shorter breaths. She began clenching and unclenching her toes.

"Stop," I tapped Zana and Little Slut.

Both stopped. Little Slut stared at me, surprised, juices on her lips and dripping down her chin. 

Zana sat back on her heels. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, then licked it clean. She was not surprised. I had used her this way before. 

"Master!" The blonde gasped. She stared up at me, as surprised as Little Slut had been. I held her still, waiting for her excitement to subside.

"Again," I said to Little Slut and Zana.

"Yes, Master," said Zana, crawling forward. 

Little Slut, mystified, followed her.

I repeated this cycle two more times: bringing the blonde to the edge of orgasm, then denying her.

"Master!" She gasped at last. "Why!? Let me have this, please!"

"Because I must do it," I said. "Do you wish your master to please you?"

"Yes!" She screamed. It echoed through the chamber. "Please, Master!"

Even for a slave girl who is not disoriented, underground, and in a cage she can barely fit in, an orgasm is both the greatest and most coveted luxury. Slaves working in muddy, freezing fields all day will fall asleep with smiles on their faces remembering an orgasm they had had weeks ago. It is the most delightful experience they will have for the rest of their lives.

The blonde was not some raw, collar-fresh woman who needed to be taught the joy that comes with deciding that being put on a leash is the best thing that's ever happened to her. This was a girl I had bent over the table more than once before. I thought it would be good for her to look up at me and know that I had - and could again - use her body for nine months, straight… Breeding was just the final indignity left to put her to. 

I pulled her down onto her back and got on top of her. She propped herself up on one elbow, the other hand reaching down between her legs to masturbate. Her lips reach for mine. I pushed her down.

She stayed down, a tamed woman, and spread her legs as wide apart as she could.

I settled over her. I gripped her arms and held them down. I licked between her breasts and tasted warm salt. She cried out as I ran my tongue past her collar and up her throat. I kissed her, biting her lip. She kissed back, hungry.

She was warm and wet as I slipped my penis back into her. She moaned as I began pounding. I took care and nursed her along. I watched for the signs. At last, when I could take no more myself, she threw her head back, and her breaths became short. I kept going till she cried out, fingers clawing at the air. A tremor went through her body as she orgasmed.

She became as limp as a rag doll. I lay over her, enjoying how she felt under me. I very much enjoyed this one; such an excellent female! She smiled up at me with heavy, dreamy eyes.

"Thank you, Master," she whispered.

I kissed her and licked her face.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to displease you. All I want is to please you."

She was not lying.

"It is all right, Slave," I held her face and stroked her cheek with my thumb. "A slave girl is a thing of beauty. A breeding slave is still more beautiful."

I sat up to straddle her belly. Then, I wiped my penis on the smooth, sweaty skin of her breasts. It left gleaming, milky lines on them. She looked down at them with a smile as if it was a badge she had earned. I suppose it was.

"What," I cupped her cheek and stroked it, "was your name?"

"Zadina, Master," she ran her hands up my thighs.

"That is an Armanean name, yes?"

"Yes, Master."

"Where are you from?"

"Bresdak. It is - it was a small city by the sea. It was just my father and me."

I took her hands in mine and studied the fingers.

"Your hands are soft. Were you scribes?" If she could read and write, I couldn't keep her in the breeding cages. Not for long, anyway.

"My father was a jeweler."

"You helped him with his work?"

"Yes. Sometimes with the crafting and the gold working. Most of what I did was help him sell it, though. Our clients were all the rich families in the city and some beyond."

"What kind of jewelry was it," I began kneading her breasts, enjoying the softness as they gave under my fingers.

"Slave jewelry," she replied. There was a glint in her eyes - she seemed to look past me and into treasured memories. "Gemmed collars and dancing chains. Chiming anklets. Nose and cunt rings. We did them all. They were beautiful."

"Did you ever wear any?"

Surprise brought her back from her memories.

"Well? Did you?"

"I used to. Sometimes. My father made such pretty veiled chains. He would do matching sets; one piece for the face, another hanging between the legs."

"When you wore them - were you naked?"

She blushed.

"Sometimes. Yes." She turned her head away.

"It is all right to want to look beautiful," I turned her head to make her look at me. "You are a beautiful young woman."

"It was shameful!"

Hyperborea has no shortage of its own taboos. Here was one: free women fantasizing about being slaves.

"It is normal," I smiled and stroked her neck. "And now you may wear such things."

I imagined her with chain veils across her face and hips. It was a pleasant image.

"My father caught me one day. He was very angry! I never wore slave jewelry again. But, I always love to see it."

"How then did you end up a slave?"

Her expression darkened.

"It was after the Event. The city was covered in ash. It felt like heavy rain; you could hear it falling on the roofs! We heard that sound nonstop for days, Master. Everyone shut themselves inside their homes. The slums of the low houses were buried. People died as their roofs collapsed from the weight of the ash or suffocated trapped in the cellars. I survived because I had been out selling jewelry to a rich family who owned a tower. I was trapped with them in the tower for three days. Once the ash stopped, the freezing rains began. The rains became floods. Only once the floodwaters receded could I go out to look for my father."

Her eyes began to fill.

"What happened?" I pressed. She needed to speak. She needed to process.

"Our home was crushed. A boulder had fallen from the sky and smashed it, just like that," she clenched her hand into a fist. "I do not know if my father was inside. I wish - I wish I'd been able to say something to him before I left." A tear ran down her cheek.

I stroked her hair and let her weep. She did not take the opportunity; she blinked away her tears and sniffed.

"These things happen," she said, her face hardening. And that was that.

These things happen.

"I found a ruin which was dry and out of the wind. It was safe enough. The city guard had set up camps for people to get food." She made a bitter laugh and shook her head. "There wasn't enough food! Seven people would have to share a loaf! We were starving, Master. It was cold, freezing cold. Old people and children were dying. Only the strong lived - they robbed the weak of their food."

I noted she had not said "our" food.

"I would've killed myself, Master. But then, I saw a baby in the arms of a mother who had died. The child was just crying, cold, and hungry! I took her. She baby kept me alive, but," she made a bitter smile, her eyes drifting off back into memory.

"What was her name?"

"I named her Desreena," she sniffed. "It had been my mother's name. We survived together, hiding in ruins, looking for food." A smile left her face. "One day, a girl came who gave us some bread. We were so hungry! She told us there was more food outside the city, but the city didn't want people to know. She said she would go that night to get more food and asked me to come and help her. She said it would be dangerous. What could I do? I had to get food for us. I had to save Desreena. So, that night, I went with her.

"It was a trap. She led me to a group of men who seized me. They stripped me naked and threw me into a wagon. There were other naked, freezing girls there. We had to huddle together to try and keep warm. I didn't care what happened to me then; I just wanted Desreena to be safe! I begged the woman to help her. I begged her, I begged her!" Another sniff. "She did not meet my eye. They gave her half a loaf of bread which she ate right there in front of us. Then, she left, back into the city."

There was more crying. I let it run its course. 

"Afterwards," she began again, "I was taken to the coast and sold. We were packed onto a ship and brought here to Dura. The rest, you know."

I held her hand. Her fingers squeezed around mine.

"I have bred you," I ran my fingers across her belly. Are you afraid of what will happen to this child?"

She nodded.

"You have nothing to worry about. When you pup, the child will be given to a prosperous, farming family. They will have plenty of grain and coin. The child will have many brothers and sisters among other families; many of them will become warriors. They will grow up to be lords, kings, and queens."

She smiled up at me, nodding. She had believed every word. I did not think it was because she was naive but because she needed to believe it. 

"After you've pupped, if it is a girl, I will name her Desreena. After your mother."

"Master!" Her eyes lit up.

I got off her and pulled her to kneel before me on her hands and knees. She shook her hair back and looked up into my eyes.

"Your parents would be very happy to know that you are safe, well-fed, and bearing them grandchildren."

"Thank you again, Master!"

"After the birth, I will reward you. I will bring you a chain veil and loincloth for you to wear. You can put them on and dance for me."

"You are so kind to me," tears began to form in her eyes. 

I parted my knees. 

"Show your thanks, Slave."

She lowered her head between my thighs and began pleasing me. 

I stroked her hair and back as she performed. She took loving, tender, and thorough care. Soon, I came again. She remained still as I squirted into her mouth. With her hand, she squeezed more semen out of my cock. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed before she sat back on her heels. Her face was flushed. She smiled, her expression proud, as she wiped her lips with her fingers and licked them clean as well.

"Good Slave," I got to my feet and turned to Zana and Little Slut.

***

From the report of the guards afterwards, Layla heard my sport and took great exception to it. I was pleased at least that had gone according to plan.