Part I: The Slave and the Master
Annie Archer gasped as the leather strap stung her perky cheeks, leaving its pink stripe across her pale round bottom. Fyrio grinned in his wolfish way. "That's what you get," he said through his teeth, leaving another pink mark with a crisp snap of leather, "for being such a bad little slut!" Another snap, another reddening stripe across the perfect white ass. Then, unable to resist any longer, he set aside the strap and struck the pale flesh smartly with his hand, one cheek and then the other vibrating deliciously beneath his blows. "Such a bad little slave," he muttered, squeezing roughly and then spanking again, as goosebumps prickled Annie's soft skin in the open air.
She knew better than to struggle or squirm on his lap. She had done nothing to deserve this spanking, but she knew Fyrio didn't need a reason except his own perverse desires. She gritted her teeth and held back her tears, knowing they would only please her wicked master more. Her pretty, freckled face was scrunched up against the pain, and her red braids swung gently with each smack. She endured, and only hoped he wouldn't make her...
But he already was. Effortlessly, Fyrio picked up his slave girl, and brought her from the red velvet couch to the grand four-poster bed, dumping her among the red silk sheets. Annie lay there breathing heavily, naked and pressing her legs together in vain. Fyrio smiled wider, slid his hard cock from the front of his calfskin trousers. "Kiss it," he hissed.
Loathing welled up inside Annie as she rose to her knees, crawled across the silken sheets, and brought her thick pink lips within inches of her hated slavemaster's cock. Reaching down, Fyrio bent it back, then let is spring forward, to strike her across one freckled cheek, forcing her to close one limpid green eye as the fat head came to rest across her eyelid, tickled by her lashes. Steeling herself, she slowly raised her head, brought her pillowy lips up to the swollen cock-head, and kissed it.
She hated Fyrio, the cruel bastard who kept her in bondage and beat her for disobedience, or sometimes just for fun. And yet, something about a cock still thrilled her, at a level below the rational. The shape, the firmness, the warmth of it stirred her. She was disgusted by her own desire, but could not deny it, and perhaps it would make her hateful task easier. She timidly stretched out her tongue, and gently licked up the shaft, kissing the head again before engulfing it in her mouth. Fyrio moaned, and Annie felt herself growing wet. In fact, if she was being honest with herself, the spanking had already moistened her, and now the feeling of a cock in her mouth had her positively dripping. She tried to forget whose it was, and slid her soft mouth further down the shaft, swallowing more of the delicious cock.
"Whore," Fyrio muttered. "My little whore." He grabbed both her silky red braids, wrapped them around his hands, then pulled her roughly toward him, forcing her to swallow more of his long member. Saliva flooded Annie's mouth as she took it. Pulling her braids, Fyrio began to fuck her soft mouth, his cock glistening with her spit, as one long string of drool escaped the corner of her mouth. He put a hand on the back of her head, forcing her down even more roughly, until Annie made soft gagging noises, her cute freckled nose buried in his black thatch of pubic hair.
Her held her there for a moment, then pushed her off suddenly, long ropes of saliva still connecting her mouth and his glistening cock. "Face down," he growled, "ass up." She whimpered softly but obeyed, burying her head among the luxuriant down pillows as she raised her ass, naked and vulnerable, into the air.
Fyrio grinned approvingly at the pink stripes he had made, then began to rub his hard cock against the soft lips of her dripping pussy. Annie couldn't contain a soft moan, and Syrio laughed cruelly, smacking both cheeks again with his hands and squeezing the soft flesh roughly. With one hand he pushed his slave's head down into the pillows, and moved the other to his mouth, wetting three fingers with copious saliva.
Fyrio rubbed his stiff cock against her wet lips once more, just to tease her, then stuck his forefinger into the tight, pursed opening of her exposed asshole. Annie moaned again, in surprise and distress and guilty pleasure mixed. Fyrio plunged his finger deeper, felt her tighten against him. He stuck his middle finger in next, spreading the two fingers apart to stretch her tight hole. He hardly ever used his slave's ass, but he had resolved to use it more, to train her to love his anal attentions.
"Relax, slave" Fyrio whispered as he brought the head of his cock up to her stretched opening. Deftly he slid his fingers out just as his cock slid in. Annie moaned softly as she felt him push deeper inside, filling her. She was being violated in a way she hadn't even been able to imagine as a young farm girl, before she had been taken into slavery. She had seen dogs, pigs, and goats rutting in the open, and this unpleasant but uncomplicated sight had been her only real idea of sex, before she was introduced to the thousand deviant ways of pleasure practiced in the sinful Empire of Zathon.
Her hated master began pumping in and out, plunging into her ass as he spread her round cheeks apart with his hands. She hated the little twinges of pleasure that shot through her beneath the pain. She forced herself to breathe, knowing that it would be easier and less painful if she could relax. Then Fyrio smacked her right buttock again, hard, and she tightened with a spasm. He grunted as her ass gripped his cock.
Then taking his hands from her ass, Fyrio grabbed a red braid in each hand, yanking back hard on her head, lifting it out of the pillows and forcing her back into a concave arch. Pulling roughly on her braids, her fucked her faster and harder, slapping against her round ass with every thrust. "Take it, bitch," he said between his teeth as he pounded her. Annie gasped from the pain, but the sick thrills of unwanted pleasure were also shooting through her. She wished, for a brief moment, that he would pull it out of her ass and take her as a woman is meant to be taken, for her cunt was wet and eager for him. Angrily she pushed those thoughts away, as she reminded herself what a cruel bastard Fyrio was.
"Fucking... fuck," Fyrio gasped, and Annie felt him spasm, felt the warm cum inside of her, spilling into her ass. He pulled out with a soft pop, watched in satisfaction as her gaping hole closed and puckered again. Then smacking her firm round cheeks one last time, Fyrio slipped his softening tool back into his velvet trousers. "Clean yourself up, slut," he muttered as he walked out.
Annie Archer lay in the luxuriant bed, breathing heavily and trying not to cry. She remembered her home, the farm in Alephia, her father and brothers, and was disgusted with herself, wondering what they would think to see her now. She remembered the handsome young priest at the Church of Holy Light, who had always preached about purity and abstinence from pleasure. She imagined, with a shame tinged by a measure of sick pleasure, that he was looking down on her now in the bed, naked, ass pink from spanking and dripping with cum. And she remembered the boy from the village, the one she had loved in her girlish way from afar. If he were here now, would he comfort her? Kiss her, hold her, violated as she was?
Quickly, Annie reached to the bedside table and pulled a smooth tapered candle from the socket of a candelabrum. Then, imagining the village boy's cock, she kissed it softly, wetted it with her mouth, and slid it gently inside herself as she rubbed at her hard clit with the other hand. Bad enough that her master could rape her whenever he wished, but to leave her unsatisfied, thinking only of himself, added insult to injury. Annie fucked herself with the candle, and imagined the village boy's caresses. She imagined killing Fyrio a hundred different ways. Then the images of sex and death reached a furious crescendo, and she came, biting her lip to stifle her cry.
*****
"I'm going out for a while," Fyrio said casually. "Don't go anywhere," he added with a smirk as he looked down at Annie. Her hands were tied to the posts at the head of the bed with silken cord, her legs forced apart by a spreader bar manacled to her ankles. She was blindfolded and gagged with red silk. Fyrio took one last swat at an exposed white thigh, making the soft flesh sting as Annie yelped through her gag. Then with a cruel chuckle he sauntered from the room, and a moment later Annie heard his polished black jackboots thudding down the wooden stairs.
She knew he was going to the local tavern, to meet up with other men of his caste, mostly officers like Fyrio (who was an artillery captain). They would drink spirits and trade news of the war, stir each other up with lewd jokes and debauched tales of their seemingly unlimited lechery, the perverse acts committed with free women and slaves. In a few hours, drunk and horny once more, Fyrio would stumble down the cobblestone streets, through the door and up the stairs. Soon he would be in this room again, Annie knew, fucking her in even more debauched and perverted ways, as the drink unlocked the shadowed recesses of his already lascivious and sadistic mind. If she was lucky, he wouldn't bring his drinking buddies with him.
Helpless and bound, Annie Archer had only one way to prevent herself from sinking into a swamp of fear as she waited for her master to return. She turned her mind to prayer, remembering the catechisms and pleas for divine mercy which she had learned in a childhood devoted to the Church of the Holy Light. While some children only went to church dutifully, and sat bored and miserable in the hard pews, Annie had found a sincere faith and love of the Ineffable God, the Supreme Light, the Soul of Creation. It was to this luminous deity she now prayed, saying the words silently in her mind or muttering them into her drool-soaked gag. She tried to imagine herself on her knees at her bedside on the family farm, rather than spread-eagled naked on a bed of sin. She tried to force herself to remember that she was a beautiful living soul, beloved of God, and not a piece of meat, a fuck-toy owned by a man, as Fyrio wanted her to believe. Her faith had sustained her in her slavery, but she had also felt the certainty and strength of it slipping away since childhood, since she had witnessed and done so many filthy and sinful things.
Suddenly her prayers were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and Annie stiffened on the bed as she awaited her master's hated touch.
Instead she felt soft hands, female hands, at her wrists, undoing the bonds gently. Slender fingers probed delicately at her lips as they removed the gag, then slid away the blindfold and left Annie blinking and trying to focus. As her vision cleared she saw a girl she recognized as Nathalie, Fyrio's sister, crouched at the edge of the bed. She was a young woman a few years older than Annie. Dark locks framed a severe but beautiful face. Her shame welled up to see the young women's face down between her wide-spread legs, until she realized Nathalie was fumbling with a ring of keys, trying each in the lock of one ankle manacle.
"I-it's the smallest one," Annie managed, sitting up and rubbing her wrists where they had been bound. Then she brought one of the silk sheets over her bare torso as Nathalie unlocked each manacle and tossed the iron spreader bar to the floor with a thud. "Thank you," Annie said softly as she drew her legs beneath the sheet.
Nathalie smiled grimly. "Don't thank me just yet," she warned. "I need you to do something." She came over and sat next to Annie on the bed, who wrapped the sheets more tightly, conscious of her nakedness. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh when Nathalie laid one soft hand on her shoulder, and produced from some hidden pocket a slim but wicked-looking stiletto dagger. The sterling handle was chased with designs of ivy, but the blade was hideous in its obviously deadly intent. Annie looked at it with growing horror.
