Lord Arcadian Sylver stood atop the highest peak of his realm, a craggy, rocky mountain called Pain's Peak. At the top had been constructed a stone watchtower, and a large pyre that would serve as a signal fire should the realm lord ever need reinforcements from the northern realms. His intense green gaze swept across the southern plains, home to the many villages now under his protection. From this high point, he could see the faint smoke rising in the distance from the closest of his protectorates, the small village his pet had been culled from.
Though well known among his men and servants as a severe man, not prone to smiles or laughter, he did find himself smiling as he thought of his Cailin. Her undeniable beauty was matched by her intelligence and inner strength. Thus far she had taken every excruciating game he had come up with and submitted quickly to all his sexual needs. She had so impressed him that one night he had even taught her a game from his homeland, a game called Stones played with small colored stones on a multicolored field. The rules were complex, and occasionally changed as the state of the field changed, but she had kept up with the changes with relative ease. Of course, being a woman, she had never received more than basic education, and so had not yet presented Lord Sylver with a serious tactical challenge, but the potential was there.
As far as he knew, none of the slaves of his family line had ever even been taught Stones, having been used as nothing more than a toy, a device with which to take out frustrations upon. Arcadian, breaking from what he saw as normal tradition, had begun teaching Cailin to read, to play tactical games, and had even begun taking to asking her opinion on policy. Of course, none of this occurred where his men could see or hear.
This extra intimacy, an intellectual intimacy, had led him to feeling that he'd like to mark her, but not by any of the traditional marks. Brands and tattoos were common among his people, and Cailin had already expressed an interest in taking such a mark, but Lord Sylver was not yet satisfied with his options. Having run into a familiar block in his thoughts, he scowled and finished his inspection of the watchtower, took his mount and began the journey down the peak to the castle.
His thoughts were still grinding against one another, still tumbling in circles as to how he wished to mark Cailin, but those thoughts were banished instantly by a clutch of tumbling rocks from the slope to his side. Reflexes borne of intense battle took hold, and his sword was in his hand before he even thought to draw it, but still too late. Something black and blurry crashed into his side, unhorsing him, and he was driven to the ground by his own weight, as well as the attacking beast, and the impact knocked the wind from his lungs.
The beast, still just a black blur to him, rolled away from him. Again his instincts kicked in and, even though he could not breathe and was still dazed from the impact, he struggled to roll and get to his feet. Blinking his eyes against the haze of his shaken state, he saw the beast clearly. The thing was essentially a black panther, though much larger, the size of a small horse. From it's shoulders rose four snake-like tentacles, four feet long and each ending in a wicked barbed claw: Displacer Beast.
He had heard of these beasts before, but had never fought one personally. He knew these creatures had a powerful magical charm on them which made them appear to be in a spot about three feet away from where it actually was. Going against his instincts, he took his eyes from the beast, casting his gaze at the ground for any telltale signs of movement. He saw a pebble knocked aside, but too late again, and even as he raised his sword he was struck by the invisible paw of the beast, it's claws ripping down his chest, rending chain mail and flesh with equal ease. Arcadian cried out and stumbled away, slashing wildly with his blade. His swing had connected with something, but he could tell it had been a glancing blow at best. He took several more steps back after regaining his bearing, eyes feverishly scanning the ground. The movements of the creature's displaced image working only to distract him.
His glancing blow turned out to be more of a benefit than he had thought, for he saw a telltale droplet of blood appear on the ground to his right, and without hesitation, he rushed forward and, using both hands on the hilt of his blade, drove the sword deep into the invisible beast. Not waiting to see if the single impaling blow had done the deed, he ripped the blade out and swung it in a mighty arc, once again connecting, but this time his blade biting deep. The beast's image faded away as the dead thing became visible. His impaling attack would surely have killed it eventually, but his swing had nearly cleaved the beast's head cleanly from its neck. It's back tentacles still twitched violently; Lord Sylver decided to take no chances, and drove his blade into the beast's head, twisting until the tentacles stopped moving.
Finally, the wound down his torso would no longer be ignored, and he nearly collapsed from the shock of it. He stripped away his chain mail and tunic, leaving them on the trail, and hauled himself back on his horse, and then very nearly passed out from the strain of even this simple action. He faded in and out of consciousness as his steed walked the familiar path back to the castle.
*******
Cailin shifted uncomfortably on her 'saddle'. She still became cramped and sore after only a few hours on this device, but she had learned the hard way not to ask to be relieved of it; a coating of ginger on the cock-like protrusions and a night with the pear of agony as a gag had taught her to suffer in silence. Though the strain on her knees, and the constant pressure of the phallus' in her holes was taking it's toll, her discomfort was not entirely in her body.
