Today I Bought a Barbarian

[Note: Whether the narrator is female or male is up to the reader, the story works either way.]

*

Today I bought a barbarian. With his wild hair and bulging muscles, he looks ferocious and proud. But it appears that he's already been well broken, since he doesn't offer the least bit of resistance, whatever I bid. I sent him to the forest to gather wood, then had him chop and saw in the backyard all afternoon. He did indeed manage to produce some beams that I can use for my next piece. His scarred, muscular body, slick with sweat, was very pleasing to look upon; and his musk, too, was quite appealing, in a manner. Once he was finished with the wood-working, I had him lick my sex and drink my juice right there in the yard. He showed some talent for that, too. I don't think I'll regret this acquisition.

***

Today I watched the barbarian work in the shed, hammering and crafting a frame from the beams he had made yesterday. At first he was a little distracted, in a way he hadn't been before; he kept glancing at me, and his loincloth kept bulging. So I rode his face and came in his mouth, and indeed, he showed more efficiency afterwards, and the frame was finished by dusk. But even as I write this, I hear him playing with himself in his bunk. I may have to impose some form of structure on him, lest he loses all discipline.

***

Today I sent the barbarian into the city to buy some canvas for my piece. After he had left, I realised that I had forgotten to give him any coin, yet to my surprise, he showed up a couple of hours later with a large piece of rough cloth. I assumed that he had stolen it, so I had him bend over the table and caned his bare buttocks and heavy testicles for a while. It took me a while to realise that, between the cries and pleads, he was trying to tell me something. Apparently he had approached a group of sailors and had serviced them with his mouth and arse in exchange for a piece of sail-cloth. It's not impossible, so I will have to go into the city myself tomorrow to inquire whether there's any truth to that.

***

Today I visited the city. I managed to track down the sailors in question, and indeed, it seems that my barbarian had earned the canvas fair and square. I then took the opportunity to run some errands, and pass by Murillo's Gallery. He's currently exhibiting Madame Yeone's work, vulgar and cheap, of course. My work will surpass hers by miles. It was evening when I came back home, and the barbarian had stretched the canvas across the frame. He had done an admirable job, and I told him that everything was all right and forgiven. Then I worked his face long and hard. He is getting really good at this; in fact, I think I will let him sleep in my bed tonight, so he can lick me to sleep, and lick me awake at daybreak. Yes, that's a grand idea.

***

Taking the barbarian to bed over night may not have been the best idea. He had woken me with gentle slurps as commanded, but he also had been playing with himself all night, leaving the bed-cloth crusty and soiled. This will not do at all, especially since I was planning on using his seed as solvent for my paint, so I can't have him spray it all around the house like some dog marking its territory. But the local priest gave me a small metal locket to put around his cock. The barbarian is wearing it now, and I'm pleased to see that he's already showing more humility. Although, that may also be because of the caning I gave him earlier. All in all, today was completely wasted, not one single step towards completing my piece. The sun has set already, I think I will have him service me, then retire for the night.

***

Despite the disastrous previous night, I let the barbarian sleep in my bed again, and it was a good decision. Firstly, his slurps woke me up on time again, which is indeed very pleasant. Secondly, thanks to the locket, the bed-cloth has remained unsoiled. And thirdly, I made a highly practical discovery. When I got up to empty my bladder during the dark hours, a grand idea struck me, and I woke him and emptied into his mouth. It's really much cleaner than the chamber pot, and much more convenient than the garden. Anyway, I spent the day watching the barbarian soak the canvas in gesso, then re-fix it on the frame. He is very handy in those matters, I'm pleased with the result.

***

Today, Enzo came by, and we worked together all day. We tied up the barbarian, then shore him carefully from tip to toe. I found him more pleasing to the eye with his mane and fur, but it will grow back. And besides, shaving his crack revealed the sweetest pink pucker, so unexpected and droll on such a rugged man. I then went by Auntie Lull's hut to pick up the ground minerals and bones she had been making for me. I think Enzo had a go at the barbarian's pink spot while I was away, judging by it's even pinker colour now. Tomorrow Enzo will be back with brushes made from the hair we've harvested. Taking the barbarian into my bed at night has become a habit, and one I wouldn't want to miss. His now hairless body does feel a bit odd to the touch, though. Well, his tongue still feels the same.

***

Today, Enzo brought me a collection of brushes, and they look exquisite. A large one and an enormous one made from the barbarian's wild mane, and several small brushes in different sizes and shapes, made from his coarse body hair. I think I will mostly be using the pit-brush and the shame-brush. The canvas fixed on the frame and the pigments ready for use, all I need now is the barbarians nectar. I unlocked his groin, sat on his face and milked his cock, and he indeed produced an admirable amount. But not enough to give form to my vision, so tomorrow I will enquire about ways to increase his load.

***

Auntie Lull is a darling, she really is. I visited her this morning, asking about some herbs to increase the barbarian's bounty. Instead she handed me a tool made of carved bone, much shaped like a man's sex, but larger and adorned with bumps and knots. The way it works is to insert it into the barbarian's rectum, then basically do upon him as a sailor would do upon a whore. After some tryout's, I found a position in which I could work his arse just so, while also being seated on his face. I worked him all day, and the harvest has been plentiful. As I write this, he's sleeping like a stone at the foot-end of my bed, evidently exhausted. I will not wake him, for there is much work to be done tomorrow.

***

Praise the goddess, the first stroke has been struck! The virgin canvas, delicate tools, and rich materials are calling out, a song flowing from the lips of Muses! I placed the masterwork-to-be on my easel and mixed my paints, and to be perfectly honest, was intimidated at first by the enormity of the task at hand; the artist's burden. Getting tired from standing in front of the daunting emptiness, I looked around for a place to rest, and found my barbarian closer than my chair. As I sat on his face, inspiration struck, and I spent the whole afternoon on him, while painting boldly stroke by stroke, and releasing a couple of times into his mouth. I can see my piece take shape on the canvas now, and I'm excited beyond words.

***

How dare they! Murillo has come and gone, and he has dismissed my masterpiece with the harshest of words. Pha! I spit on his vulgar taste, his disloyalty! I have hidden my piece in the shed, for looking upon it now is like being cut with daggers. I have ridden the barbarian's face in rage three times now, yet release to my loins brings no peace to my soul. Stand by me now with strength and wisdom, oh divine Muses, oh merciful Goddess!

***

I have had a realisation. My vanity is wounded, yet not my spirit, which can only grow and strengthen against this storm. The barbarian had brought back my piece from the shed, and I had been most cross at first, for I had not asked him to do any such thing. Yet while I was caning his testicles, I glanced across the room, and I saw my piece, and saw it for what it really is. Not a masterpiece for the ages; not filth to be discarded, either; but a good painting, nothing more and nothing less. Murillo was wrong to be so unkind, no doubt bought and paid for by Yeone, that jealous and talentless tart. I shall find another gallery owner, or better yet, invite buyers to my own home. As I write this, my barbarian lies in my bed, breathing softly in his sleep. So faithful, so loyal, he deserves and has my love. I found out today that his call-name is Tore, and so I shall call him from now on. His skin has become prickly, his hair slowly growing back; yet when I'm riding his face, his lips are as soft and gentle as ever.

***