I made my way through the tall grass.
I was about 400 feet from the edge of Fogrim's farm. Tall stands of grass and wild grain rippled in the gentle late morning wind. Some clouds were skidding across the sky; by nightfall one of the Eibon region’s fantastic thunderstorms would be raging. I heard the buzzing of giant insect wings; 20 feet to my left praying mantises the size of small dogs were on a corpse obscured by grass. They tore into it with their razor arms and jousted for the best meat.
Had the foolish girl come to a bad end?
Pack insects were not to be trifled with, especially on open ground where their superior speed and numbers could come to bear.
I crept towards the feeding monsters, my hand on my sword hilt. Once I was close enough I could tell it was a Pelycosaur; a lizard-like beast with a large fin down its back. Two of the mantises stopped and regarded me, their eyes bright red. The others did the same.
I backed away slowly.
The eyes followed me as I withdrew through the grass but then went back to fighting and feeding.
This land was one of highland grasses; a few tall, baobab-like trees towered over the grasses and made shady homes for insect swarms and chirping winged lizards, but otherwise, the terrain was tall grasses and gray-white boulders.
Somewhere out here was the slave Layla.
I returned to my course. I was heading to a natural spring that emerged between two large rocks, making a small stream. It was the only other source of water within three miles of the farm. It was the only place Layla could have gone.
The world turned dim as larger clouds came together and blotted out the sun. Shortly, there was a pattering of light rain. The ground squelched under my boots; it was not the first rain of the morning that fell. Drops from the last hung from long, sharp, yellowed grasses, gleaming like silver.
In a patch of mud beside a rock, I saw a small, human footprint.
I knelt down to study it. It was quite fresh, I could make out the definition of the toes. I measured it: it could have been from Layla’s petite foot (there was much chance of anyone else out there). The footprint pointed towards the mountain spring.
I made my way through the grass. I had hunted down other runaway slaves, but this time I did so only for myself. Whatever game Layla and Fogrim were playing with each other, I had no interest in. I recalled how she looked the night before; milk chocolate skin gleaming in the firelight, long, silk-black hair pulled through a copper ring into a ponytail. Even before Fogrim had offered her to me, I had not been able to take my eyes off the quiet slave girl as she carried dishes and knelt to work the fire. She had stolen glances at me out of the corner of her eye – and noticed well how I looked at her. For the rest of the night she kept her distance, yet made sure that she was always in full view of me; kneeling with her thighs wider apart the normal, constantly raising her hands to adjust her hair - and bare her breasts. She was a fertile young woman in heat. Our bodies were completely aware of each other.
I had the soft babbling of water rushing. I crouched: the grasses were taller here, and a stand of Cycad trees and giant ferns had grown around the spring. They provided cover for me - and my quarry - if she was here.
I pulled a coiled rope from my belt and prepared a lasso. Crouching, I snuck towards the water and crossed the tree line.
I found Layla at a large pool hollowed out by the spring. It spilled over a rock at one end, starting the stream. Thick ferns provided cover against the wind and rain and created a little secret garden around the pool. The fronds of freshwater plants waved in the pond and wriggling insect larva big as my finger, swam among them.
Layla crouched naked beside the pool, peering down into the water. Her hair was loose, gently curling and falling down her back. All she wore was an iron collar around her throat. She held a crude fishing line made from a twig and plant fiber. The water larva, though, did not seem to be biting.
I got as close as I dared, reached back, and flung the lasso.
It just missed her head, sliding off her shoulder. She cried out and jumped to her feet, startled. Her eyes became wide, and her jaw dropped when she saw me.
She ran.
I chased.
Layla was a healthy, young, and set to daily farm labor. Yet, she was barefoot, and I wore boots. My longer strides closed on her, and I leaped and tackled her legs. She shrieked: it was a bloodcurdling sound. I went down on top of her in the grass, my arms clamped around her knees.
"Get off me!" She screamed, rolling onto her back and trying to kick her legs free. "You won't breed me! No one will breed me!"
I lunged forward and grabbed her by her throat, my fingers making a vice. She yelled and clutched my arm with both hands, grunting and gritting her teeth as she tried to pull it off.
I moved forward and pressed down on her with my weight. She snarled as I pinned her, beating against my chest with her small fists.
“You beast! Let me go!”
I rolled her over onto her front.
"Ah!" She whimpered as I twisted her arm behind her back. Her small feet beat against the ground. I grabbed the other hand and pulled it back. Holding her wrists with one hand, I pulled out a rope and quickly tied them together. She groaned and tried to yank them apart. With another piece of rope, I grabbed her ankles and hogtied her.
I stood up and looked down, brushing dirt off my clothes. She turned her head and glared up at me.
The entire capture had taken less than a minute.
"You worthless little slut! How dare you escape from me."
"You cannot breed me!" She had the defiance of the wronged in a courtroom. "Only my Master can breed me!"
"I am not interested in your weird lovers’ quarrel," I began to disrobe, "and any man who puts his dick between your perfect little buttocks can make you pregnant. As I am going to do to you now, Slave."
Her expression changed; fear stilled her tongue.
I lay down my clothes and my pack. From inside my pack, I produced four, sharpened, wooden stakes, some rope, and a hammer. I hammered each stake into the ground around her, forming the points of a rectangle. I released one slender ankle from the hogtie and tied it to a stake. Then the other ankle, to the other stake. Last I tied her wrists to the forward stakes. Thus Layla ended up on her hands and knees, each limb secured to a separate point of the invisible rectangle.
"Just like in the breeding hut," I slapped her behind. It was warm and soft. "But I want to breed you here, so you will always remember what happened to you when you ran away."
She looked straight ahead, trying to blank her face. I could make out a suppressed pout. Forgrim had spoiled her: no female back at the Red Water slave camp would have behaved this way. Much less a woman under his cruel discipline.
I knelt beside her. I gripped her throat and ran the other hand down the gentle curve of her back, feeling the muscles on either side of the spine, the rise of her buttocks, how they felt cupped in my hand. Her ankles tugged at their ropes, her hands curled into fists.
"Lovely beast, I reached under and stroked her flat belly. "You are perfect." I gripped her by her chin and forced her head to face mine. "You are one fine, sexy little bitch, Layla. Forgrim really knows how to pick a slave woman."
Her dark brown eyes rebuked me.
I slipped my hand between her thighs and touched her labia. They were well-developed and protruded slightly from her vagina. She did not react as my fingers traced them: slave girls are used to being handled there by men. I slipped my fingers between them: her vagina was dry.
I pushed two fingers into her. Her vagina walls closed around them. Slowly, deliberately, I began to write out the letters of the alphabet inside her. By the time I got to "D" the second time around, she had parted her lips and started mouth-breathing. She began clenching her toes and tried to look back at what I was doing. Need started creeping into her expression. By the end of the second round, she clenched her teeth to stifle a moan.
"No," I squeezed my hand around her throat, and her eyes popped. "Open your mouth, Slave. Wider. Wider."
I let go of her throat and quickly smacked her hard on her behind.
"Ah!" She cried, her whole body rocking forward. I smacked her buttocks again. I wanted her to vocalize. I moved my fingers inside her faster, pressing and kneading her vagina walls.
"Ah!" She called out, her expression stricken. "Ah!"
"Louder, slave!"
She obeyed.
I jabbed my fingers back and forth inside her as if a penis was ramming her. She rocked herself in tandem, moaning and squealing. My fingers became quite wet; vaginal juices dripped from her cunt and ran down her thighs.
I grabbed her jaw and turned her face to mine. I lowered my head and we kissed: she moaned as she pressed her face against mine, her tongue reaching in.
I pulled out my fingers and broke the kiss. Then, I got in front of her, my penis erect. She lunged forward and took it in her mouth, pushing her head forward till her lips pressed against my crotch. She started rocking her head back and forth, saliva gleaming on my shaft and her lips. She pumped with earnest, long, black hair tossing back and forth.
I let her bring me almost to the point of orgasm, then pulled out. She looked up at me, semen and saliva hanging from her lips, staring in surprise.
I got behind her. I pushed her thighs apart and slipped my penis in.
"Oh!" She closed her eyes and threw her head back, her hands clutching at crushed grass. I gripped her by her throat and placed one hand against her belly, and pulled her to me.
“Now I’m going to breed you, you hot little bitch!”
She cried out loud for all the Highlands to hear as I pounded her. I ejaculated and held her to me. It was good that I had not used her first thing in the morning; the fresher semen would fertilize her better.
I remained inside her. I pressed in deeper, letting her feel my legs and cock against her, and gripped the female's collar. I pulled on it, forcing her head back and making her arch her back. I pulled until she winced and then held her at that point.
"Master!" She gasped, "it hurts!"
"I just bred you, cunt toy," I brought my head down to her ear. "Understand that this is your role in life, Slave. To be worked, bred, and fucked in your beautiful mouth, until you are cut open on an altar or culled to make leather and slave meal."
I released her and shoved her down against the ground. She made a small cry and squirmed on the dirt, quickly turning her head to look back at me.
"Fogrim is amused that you ran away, but I am not. Do not be stupid enough to try that again, or when I catch you, I will cull you." I grabbed a whip from my pack: a heavy, multi-flailed, punishment whip. Her eyes went from the whip to me.
"Understand what you are," I reached under her and pressed my hand against her belly. "Before this child becomes an adult, you will meet your end. Unless Fogrim mounts your skull on a spike," I got to my feet, "you will not be remembered."
I gave her fifteen strokes of the whip. Then I put a leather bag over her head, bound her wrists, and lead her stumbling back on a leash.