A Free Man's Passion

It was 147 years since Collapse, that cataclysmic year when the world’s economy and governments broke down. No one was left who had lived through those times when, almost overnight, money became worthless, treaties and the laws which dictated how a society functions were rendered useless.

Manufacturing and technology ground to a halt. Oil refineries ceased to work, electric power plants shut down, and the world quickly plunged into darkness. A new world grew from the debris of the old, one where wealth was measured in tradable, useful items: food, weapons, horses, and slaves. Power to rule lay in the hands of those who ceased it, and hold onto it by force. And morality, if it every truly existed, became a casualty as well.

Sex existed for two purposes only: procreation and the enjoyment of the powerful. The poor and disenfranchised, scattered in a Diaspora as they sought to escape enslavement, clung to the old ways of families and monogamy, their surest hope of security. Who could you trust to protect you, they must have reasoned, besides your spouse and offspring? But families were routinely hunted down, broken apart and sold by those who had managed to scrape together larger holdings of land…land that was only profitable if it could be farmed by slaves.

And for the powerful, sex slaves were little more than tools, like a hammer or a plow. They served a purpose to the ruling class: they provided pleasure and they provided offspring. The powerful had abandoned the laws of monogamy. Rulers seldom mated with one another. Instead, in an effort to strengthen the gene pool of the ruling class, it’s females were ritualistically mated with slaves who were chosen for their beneficial traits. Sex, for them, was a pleasurable reward in part, but was above all else a captive breeding program. Humans were bred to increase slave holdings and to keep the ruling class from suffering the effects of incestuous inbreeding.

It was into this society that Freeman Jarod was born.

Waking from the blow that had rendered him unconscious, Jarod found himself chained to a post, his arms manacled to either side of a foot-thick pole which was driven into the ground in the center of an enclosed livestock stall. His right temple ached mightily where the bolo weapon had struck him the night before. He had been brought down by the slavers, a trade guild of sorts who trapped and sold the few remaining Freemen who remained. Jarod had tried to escape with his wife and son from the slavers…had even succeeded in killing three of their hunting dogs…but in the end the family was captured. Jarod’s wife, an olive-skinned Andosian, was considered undesirable in the slave trade. Their son, being of mixed-race, would also bring a small price on the auction block. Both were raped by the slavers, then put to death…all of it before Jarod’s eyes.

Jarod heard voices coming toward his stall, the large woman slaver that he had heard that morning, ordering workers around in preparation for the day’s auction. The other voices were those of another woman and her daughter. He overheard them asking questions of the slaver and the slave in another stall down the aisle. Gentry, Jarod thought to himself in a mocking air. A mother and daughter out on a shopping trip. As they appeared in the doorway of his stall, Jarod’s suspicions were proved correct. The slaver, a large sweaty woman, was delivering her sales pitch to the mother. The daughter, whom Jarod judged to be perhaps 18, was silent.

"Now this one," the slaver bellowed, "came in just last night. You don’t see many specimens like him these days. Look at the muscle tone and his teeth. Handsome I’nt he? A prime piece of manflesh."

The mother looked up and down Jarod’s naked body.

"What race," she asked the slaver. "Where was he captured?"

"Why, look for yourself," the slaver exclaimed in mock amazement, "Blonde hair and those pale blue eyes. He’s an Arian, no doubt about it. Captured in New Michigan, he was. Viking blood I’d say."

"Yes, well, maybe," the mother spoke, her gaze fixed on Jarod’s crotch, "but he’s dark haired below, and his beard is dark as well. He’s likely mixed, I’d say. Anglais or Frankish."

The trio entered the stall, walking toward Jarod. The daughter separated herself from her mother and walked around to his right side, studying his physique with obvious interest.

"You there," the mother spoke, looking with cool green eyes into Jarod’s, "what is your name?"

Jarod spoke not at all at first, letting the cold anger in his eyes speak for him.

"My name is Legion," he said finally. "and you will never be rid of me. For every one of my kind you enslave, a hundred more will rise up. We will band together and…"

A swift blow to the temple from the ham-fisted slaver silenced Jarod. The mother smiled. She spoke to the slaver, as if she now had a bargaining chip.

"Yes, well, he’s a fine specimen physically, but he’s obviously aggressive. He’ll never do."

"Aggression in a worker, now that is undesirable, but Madam, aggression is a good trait for ruler stock," the slaver said gently, "and we can make him gentle if that is to your liking. Just lobe him, little nip on the frontals, and he’ll be gentle as a puppy. And it won’t affect the genetics at all."

The mother came closer, and Jarod looked her over. She was tall for a woman, even for a Ruler, and her long red hair cascaded in curls past her shoulders. Her ample breasts were supported in a silver mesh halter top, and below her jewel-encrusted navel was a white silk loin cloth -- rectangular panels that reached almost to the ground hanging from a large silver belt that rested on her hips. She reached out a long, painted fingernail and drew it down his cheek and upper chest. She spoke to the slaver, but her eyes remained fixed on Jarod’s own.

"Let’s see him at attention," she said, finally turning away from him and walking back toward the slaver. The slaver dipped her had into a leather bag on her belt and pulled it out with her fingers slick with a shiny rosin of some kind. She walked hastily up to Jarod and, without hesitation, began stroking his cock vigorously in her huge, callused hand. She leaned again him, whispering into Jarod’s ear.

"If you know what’s good for you," she said, her rank breath repulsing Jarod, who tried to turn away from her, "you’ll show these women what they want. A concubine, that’s as fine a life as a slave like you could ask for."

Jarod was sickened by the slaver’s unbathed smell and the weight of her leather-clad flesh pressing against him, but he couldn’t help his natural reaction to her rapid jerking of his cock. His erection grew. He turned away from the slaver, ashamed he could not will himself to remain flaccid. And as he turned away, his eyes met the young daughter’s. The daughter stared in wide-eyed wonder as his growing cock emerged from the top of the slaver’s fist. Her blonde hair was plaited in a long braid that ran down her back to slender waist.

Her eyes, green like her mother’s, stared hungrily at the now fully erect cock. Her hands went to her own face, then slowly trailed down her neck to rest on her heaving breasts. She began to play with them, unconcerned with the presence of the others in the stall. Jarod found his own breathing increase as well. This young woman’s arousal succeeded in arousing him as well. Eventually, the slaver stood back, letting the other women admire his shining, swollen manhood.

"Have you fathered any children, slave?" the mother asked. She obviously wanted to know if he were fertile. Jarod thought of his son, now dead at the hands of these slavers, and of his beautiful wife, who bore him this son.

"No," he said. Perhaps if they thought he was infertile, they would not buy him.

"That’s a lie!" the slaver yelled at him. "He was caught with a woman and small child, Madam."

"I was not the father," Jarod lied. "She never got pregnant by me, so we bred her to another."

The mother smiled, seemingly pleased that the slave could come up with a believable lie so quickly. He was intelligent, but she didn’t believe the story.

"A motility test will verify this." se said, nonplused.

The daughter drew closer to her mother, with an eagerness in her eyes. "Mother, may I sample him?" she said excitedly.

"You may not fuck him yet," the mother told her. "You’re 18 now, but your first time must be at the ceremony."

"Then, may I… taste him?" she replied.

The mother smiled at her daughter. "Yes, I suppose so. Save the cum for the microscope though. Ursula, would you be so good as to fetch a scope?"

"Right away Madam," the slaver responded.

"Well," the mother replied, "perhaps not right away."

The slaver smiled, perhaps I’ll take my break now," she said with a smirk, as if the sale were now assured. "I’ll be back with a scope in a while."

The two woman, mother and daughter, came closer. Jarod, still chained with his back to the post, struggled in the impossible task to free himself. The daughter stepped closer, and he could smell the lilac and sandalwood of her hair oil. She reached forward and gently took his stiff shaft in her hand.

"You are very handsome, slave," the girl spoke softly. " I hope you are sweet to the taste. I would love to take you home."

The girl then unfastened the clasps at her shoulders that held her robes in place. She lowered the robes, revealing first her firm, girlish breasts, not yet filled out to the fullness of womanhood. She lowered the robes further still revealing her naked body…and the soft blond tufts of hair that were trimmed above the soft folds of her pussy lips. She stepped out of the robes and handed them to her mother, who hung them on a peg on the side of the stall.

The daughter put her arms against Jarod’s sides, placing her palms under his shoulder blades, and pressed her naked flesh against his well-muscled body. She parted her legs and mounted one of his shackled legs, grinding her sex on his thigh. He could feel the moistness of her as she drover herself toward a climax.

Against his will, Jarod felt a tightening in his groin that signaled his own impending orgasm. The daughter’s right hand left his shoulder blade and sought out his pulsing cock. She withdrew herself from his leg and kneeled before him, clutching his cock in her hands and rubbing it between her heaving breasts. She grabbed his ass in her hands, digging her nails into them urgently, yet not painfully…and then moved her chest up and down, his swollen manhood cradled between the firm globes that were her breasts. Jarod looked away from the girl writhing against his groin, trying not to think about it, trying to disconnect from the ordeal.

These were the people ultimately responsible for the death of his wife and son, he reasoned. But reason was to no avail. He looked at the mother. How could she stand there and watch her daughter do this? Had she no shame, he thought. Then, as if in answer to his unspoken question, she raised her own hands behind her neck and unfastened the chain-mail halter top she wore, letting it fall and expose her own full, round breasts. Her hands sought out her own nipples and she began to roll them between her fingers. They stood up as she teased them, her gaze never leaving the sex act her daughter was performing on the slave chained before her.

Then, slowly one of her hands descended to her bare hip and then slipped beneath the folds of her loincloth.

"Time to taste him, dear," the mother said.

The girl pulled reluctantly away from the slave, then took his shaft once more, this time in both hands, and lowered her mouth to it. Jarod felt the wet lips and tongue of the girl kissing and licking the head of his cock. She licked slowly up and down the shaft, then swallowed the head and half the shaft as she began bobbing her head in a steady pace. She grunted hungrily, taking in more and more of his turgid manhood, lapping with her tongue on the bulging blue vein on its underside.

Jarod closed his eyes and wept, thinking only of his wife, trying to escape mentally if he could not physically, from the act being perpetrated on his body. But as he again opened his eyes, he saw the mother, her loincloth now discarded, furiously plunging her middle finger into her own enflamed cunt with one hand, rubbing her auburn haired pubic mound with the other.

Jarod could resist no more. He felt the surge of his jizm jettisoned into the mouth of the girl. She seemed almost surprised, as she brought her fingers up to her mouth to try to catch the dripping cum that escaped her lips. She stood up and walked the stall doorway, where there was a glass jar on a shelf. She spit the contents of her mouth into the jar, and then licked her fingers wantonly.

"He’s good Mother," she said. "Salty-sweet, like father."

"Now, let’s see about stamina and size." The mother replied, moving toward Jarod quickly.

The mother ran her hands over his torso, then reached between his legs and grabbed his nut sack, squeezing it gently and pulling on it. "You haven’t lost that erection yet, have you slave? It’s Mother’s turn now."

She encircled Jarod’s cock at the base and squeezed it tightly, forcing the blood into the erection and bringing it back to full size ­ nearly purple and rock hard.

"That’s a good slave," she said, taking the staff in both hands and guiding the head to her already moist cunt. She rubbed the hardened head against her own swollen clit, eventually leaning forward, spread-eagled against his body, rubbing her whole body against him and guiding the cock into her eager pussy.

After a minute of such attentions, the woman began shouting obscenities and animalistic noises of ecstasy.

"Ohhhhh, oh fuck, oh dammit, yes, fuck me, fuck me, shit, yes, YES, ugh uhhhh, Ahhhhh!"

She pressed herself ever harder against Jarod, spasming wildly and then freezing dead still for a moment. All the while, the daughter watched the mother impaling herself on the slave’s rod. And as she watched, she masturbated furiously.

"Mother!" the girl exclaimed. "I want him in my ass, please mother. I need it now!"

The mother pulled off Jarod and beckoned her daughter forward. The girl turned around, exposing her glorious taut young ass to him. She came back toward him, and the mother took his cock in hand and guided it into the girl’s asshole."

"That’s it, dear," she said, "Not the pussy dear, not until the ceremony. All right, now push!"

Jarod felt his cock penetrate the tight young asshole, and the girl, already in a frenzy from her masturbation, forced her firm ass down over his cock. She moaned with the pleasure of feeling his enormous rod filling her ass. She squirmed and rocked on the rigid shaft, and Jarod, unable to resist any longer, began to pump in response. Matching her thrust for thrust he drove himself deep into her, grunting and growling in pent-up aggression. The mother came forward again, reaching down and stroking her daughters pussy with her finger. Without pulling her hand away from her daughter’s pussy, she leaned in toward Jarod, licking his earlobe and whispering in his ear, "Was your woman this good, slave? I think not."

The mother pressed her cunt against Jarod’s hand, still manacled to the side of the post, and Jarod began to thrust his fingers into her dripping box. In moments, all three of them screamed out in a circle of orgasmic glory…Jarod casting his seed into the daughter’s tight asshole, the mother’s cunt splayed on his hand while she simultaneously masturbated her own daughter.

For a moment, no one moved or spoke. Then, the two women pulled away and dressed. Jarod felt his member go flaccid as the slaver returned with the remnants of an old microscope. She took the jar from the shelf, prepared a slide of Jarod’s first ejaculate, looked in and grinned with satisfaction. She then held the scope up for the mother to see.

"No problems her, missy," she winked at the girl. "He’ll give you plenty of fine heirs."

The mother looked at the swarming sperm in the scope.

"Will trade you five oxen and 600 bushels of corn," the mother said. "and not a kernel more. He’s a passing specimen, but he has no pedigree, and if he’s pure Viking I’m a Portugreek harlot!"

The slaver considered a response, thought better of it, and accepted the bid.

"Of course," the slaver said, "that frontal lobe cut will cost you extra. I’ve got expenses you know."

"The frontal…" the mother started to say.

"Won’t be necessary," Jarod said evenly.

The woman looked into at the slave, searching his eyes for deception. "Legion?" the woman addressed the slave, coming close enough to talk privately, out of the earshot of the slaver.

"Madam," he said softly. "If our tryst was this good with my hands and feet chained, imagine what I could do for the both of you in a more unrestrained setting. But you know as well as I, performance is weakened by the lobe cut."

"You rather enjoyed that, didn’t you?" she said quietly to Jarod. Then "We’ll take him as is," she said to the slaver.

It was a mistake, Jarod thought, one she would live only long enough to regret. When the chance arose, he would slay her, and the daughter too, to regain his freedom, and to avenge his family. He would serve their pleasure for a time, but the girl would never bear his child. His offspring would not, could not, be raised in such a family. A time would come, he thought, when their guard is down, and he would seize the moment.