Spoils of War

[Author's Note: Well, some folks wanted a second chapter, so here it is. And a plot slowly begins to form. Hope you all like it. Please feel free to leave me your feedback.]

Part II: Amongst the Elvaran

I cannot walk the next day. Rather, I am uncomfortable doing so. Apparently, being carried by my captresses was meant to be some sort of luxury. Now that I've so displeased them by trying to escape, I am made to walk, my arms firmly gripped by two Elvaran guards, even though my hands are securely bound behind my back. But the beating Alma gave me last night has rendered me even weaker and more sore than I already was. I dare not complain, as I overheard some of the women discussing the prospect of castrating me in retribution for my attempted escape, and I'd rather not do anything to speed along that thought.

The day draws on and we stop only once for a break. At that time I am fed, though my rations are meager. The anger of my captresses seems to have cooled a bit, for they'd threatened not to feed me at all earlier this morning. As we march on, moving ever southwestward, I notice my guards loosen their grip on my arms. This makes things a bit more comfortable for me, though I'm not so foolish as to try and run again. My weariness also plays a large part in making that decision for me.

I am in fact so tired, my hips so painfully sore, and my legs so weak, that I start to stumble in the afternoon. I've never had the occasion to walk so far or so quickly, and the exertions of the day and the night prior are taking their toll. At one point I trip over nothing in particular and blunder into the Elvaran in front of me; a red haired, green eyed woman of considerable height and strength. Her musculature is clearly defined upon her ivory skin, as if chiseled thereupon. She looks down at me while I hasten to right myself and apologize to her in a stuttering stream of words, lest she take my stumbling as an attack. The whole raiding party looks on, waiting to see what she does.

"Good Goddesses above," she proclaims in a fair, mirthful voice, "our poor boy is walking himself to death. Come here, little one."

Tentatively, I step closer to her, only to be swept up in her powerful arms and cradled against her ample bosom. She is so strong that my slender body seems almost weightless in her grasp.

"I think we forget how fragile men are." she addresses her sisters. "And I think he's learned his lesson after Alma's discipline. Haven't you, boy?"

"Yes ma'am." I shyly murmur.

"And look how respectful he is." she praises. "He'll make a fine servant."

I can't help but blush from her praise and her melodic, slightly accented voice. When she sees this blush, she squeezes me gently against her breasts which are soft and warm against my bare flesh, covered as they are by the garment she wares, a simple covering made of soft fur. This common Elvaran garment serves to protect, yet also accents the shapely breasts of its wearer.

"Keira, don't spoil the male." Alma chides. "He'll get lazy."

"He'll get killed by his own weakness if we march him to death." playfully counters the woman holding me.

"Very well." Alma relents. "But on your head be it."

Keira drops back to the rear of the Elvaran unit, keeping a measured pace and holding me comfortably in her powerful arms. The others leave us be, marching constantly, steadily onward. I notice a few more trees starting to grow as we move a bit more directly westward. The change of scenery is a pleasant one from the rugged mountains and thick pine trees I'd come to know. The ground is a bit more level, though rolling hills still abound.

"You, male, are you named?" Keira asks me quietly.

"I am called Sven." I reply in a hushed tone, not wanting to attract the attention of the others.

"Sven." she repeats the name, and her voice makes me shiver in excitement. "I am Keira, warrior of the Elvaran."

"Aren't all Elvaran warriors?" I ask.

"Well," she laughs, "there is truth in that, little Sven."

She looks down at a particularly prominent bite mark along the left side of my collarbone, left by one of the war-band last night.

"I bit harder than I thought." she chuckles. "Or are you just so delicate?"

"It hurt considerably." I admit and she pats my head comfortingly.

"You're a good little male, a cute one too." she praises. "If I get you, I'll keep you well."

"I uh... thank you, Keira." I respond, not knowing what best to say.

"Rest now, little one," she advises, "you'll need rest."

Heeding her words, I lean my head against her and almost instantly I am asleep. I only wake when the Elvaran start calling out to others in the distance. We have at last arrived at their outpost, a walled town built not too far from the shore of the ocean. The town's high wooden walls are tipped with keen-edged spears, and imposing guards stand by the gates.

"Awake are you, boy?" Keira asks, smiling down at me. "Welcome home."

A way outside the walls I see a wooden house. It is very small, with no windows and a door which may be secured by a massive chain. As I watch, a man is pulled toward that shack by two women from the village, who look just like the Elvaran I've already seen; tall and muscular beauties. The man wriggles in their grasp, thrashing about wildly, sweat pouring off his face.

"Please!" he begs. "No! Gods no, don't take me in there again! I beg you, fair mistresses, please not again. I can be good, I will be good! Please!"

"What is going on?" I whisper, involuntarily huddling against Keira.

"Worry not," she soothes, holding me tight, "that is the House of Penance, a place for males in need of more dire discipline."

"Will I be sent there for trying to escape?" I ask.

"I doubt it." she replies. "You may get a whipping, but it was a first offense, and you are yet untamed, so it is almost negligible."

"Oh." I'm somehow not comforted.

The man doomed to the House of Penance screams his pleas for mercy. Those pleas turn to curses, scorning his captresses, then back to begging for mercy as he's roughly hauled inside. The door slams shut and then there is a momentary silence, followed by a horrific metal clanging, like the rachet of chains or gears, and then a long, drawn-out screech like that of an animal in mortal agony. I cover my ears and bury my face in Keira's chest. Gods, what fate is befalling that man? And what will be done to me?!

"It is okay." Keira murmurs when I uncover my ears. "Dry your eyes, my little Sven."

It's only then that I realize that my fear has reduced me to weeping like some child. I hurriedly wipe away my tears while Keira carries me through the gate and into the village. The houses are all large, accommodating the height and build of their occupants. They are built of wood, thick logs comprise the walls, and angled planks make up the roofs. As far as I can tell, they are built with a bit of space between each, and they all radiate out from a larger home built roughly at the town's center. In the distance I can just see a small lake near the western wall.

Elvaran bustle about conducting business with each other, as do many male slaves. The males are clad only in cloth pants, light cloth shoes, and leather collars. I shall surely be presented with my own collar soon enough, or so I assume. The raiding party that brought me here is greeted with cheers, praise, and many exchanges of friendly affection; hand clasping, hugging, and even a few kisses are shared. The Elvaran are a lively bunch, fueled by a seemingly limitless energy. My party makes its way toward the largest home, which has a wide clearing before, large enough for the whole group to stand comfortably within.

"Time to stand on your own now, pet." Keira says, setting me on my feet.

Reflexively, I huddle against her and she tousles my hair playfully. For some reason, this makes me smile. But my attention is quickly drawn to the house before us, which sports an elegant wooden porch unlike its common counterparts. Onto that porch steps a woman, an Elvaran with golden blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She wears sandals that strap to her legs and the same fur garments as her fellow Elvaran, though her's sport decorative feathers and beads. She is also adorned by a jeweled necklace and several metal bracelets that glint in the lowering sun.

"Hail, chieftain!" the assembled Elvaran cry.

"Hail to my tribe." she replies. "And to a successful raid I assume."

She notices me and fixes me with an appraising expression. I lower my gaze sheepishly. She, like Keira and the others, radiates a great dominance, though her regal status accentuates this imposing woman's power.

"We claimed many weapons, coins, and stores of food." Alma reports proudly. "And this young man is the sole survivor of our raid."

"A prize catch," the chieftain declares and I blush, "he seems to have taken well to Keira. Do any dispute her claim on him?"

The group is silent until Alma pipes up.

"You should know," she informs her leader, eyeing me bitterly, "that he tried to escape after we had him last night. I caught and beat him, but you may desire a greater penalty."

Her final words sound almost hopeful. She's not yet forgiven me for my attempt at fleeing captivity. The chieftain mulls over this matter for a moment.

"Very well," she says at last, "Keira may have this new male. But first, Alma will deliver him three strikes."

"Strikes?" I whisper.

"Be quiet, Sven." Keira gently warns.

"Keira," the queen adds, "you will hold him."

Keira immediately obeys. My bindings are removed and Keira lifts me up by the wrists, holding me well out in front of her and just off the ground. The effort seems negligible for her. The crowd parts, watching excitedly as Alma stalks toward me, a predatory grin on her face.

"Remember Alma," the queen warns, "no permanent damage. I've declared that Keira may keep this male, as he seems quite docile under her control."

Alma's expression sours, but quickly returns to a vengeful glare. She will still have her repayment for my escape attempt. Without warning she steps forward with her left foot then swings her right foot gracefully forward, her boot connecting with my groin. I groan in agony, my eyes rolling back. I think I'm going to be violently sick. I gag, coughing hard, tears running down my face.

"Keira," I choke out without thinking, "make her stop! Please."

"Hush Sven." Keira warns, her voice stern but not angry. "Two more and you're done."

"Two more?!" I exclaim in utter dismay, pain still shooting through my loins.

My words barely leave my mouth before Alma's fist connects with my still tender genitals. I promptly vomit. Alma steps back while my muscles contract, my body tensing painfully as I spill bile onto the well-traveled dirt before me. Keira moves me slightly so that the puddle of vomit is no longer in front of me, allowing Alma easy access to me. I'm whimpering now, feeble, pathetic little cries like those of a wounded dog expecting a further beating. Perhaps that is all I am.

"Keira." I moan. "Please, protect me."

"Just one more, do be quiet." Keira bids me, trying to be both stern and sympathetic.

Another kick nearly sends me into unconsciousness. I go limp in Keira's grip and pray to pass out, to leave this agony behind. But I am still lucid, still aware of the unbearable throbbing between my legs, the pulsing ache which emanates up into my stomach. Keira sweeps me into her arms and holds me tightly, almost possessively, rocking me very gently.

"Take your male to your home." the chieftain says, though I can barely hear her. "Collar him and train him properly in our ways. Well done, to all of you, a successful raid."

My vision and senses blur while Keira carries me away from the others and toward a modest home near one of the city's walls. I'm aware that I'm groaning almost ceaselessly, but I can't make myself stop. My pulse pounds in my head, my lower extremities throb brutally. I want to be asleep or unconscious. The cabin has a few amenities, a table and two chairs, a hearth with a hole cut in the roof above to let out the smoke, a barrel for holding water, and a soft bed made of animal pelts. It is on this bed that Keira gently lays my body. She takes a moment to get a bit more comfortable, removing her boots and socks, before turning her attention on me.

"Sven," she says in a calming tone, "I'm going to have to feel you where Alma struck you."

"No!" I yelp, curling into a ball. "It hurts."

"I know, my pet," she coos soothingly, "I just need to check you for damage. Okay?"

"No, please."

"I have to."

I am powerless to resist her strength, but she is as gentle as she can be. I want to stay curled up in a ball, protecting my wounded body from any physical contact. But Keira pulls me to a more exposed position, easily holding my legs apart. My breathing becomes rapid and ragged when her fingers move over my scrotum. She warns me to be still, yet I cannot cease my quivering and yelping as she probes the tender region with her fingertips.

"There will be swelling," she tells me, releasing my body from her grasp, "you will be very sensitive in that region for a while, more so than usual. But nothing seems permanent."

"Why did you let her hurt me?" I ask timidly.

"Little Sven," she sighs, laying beside me, "you tried to escape. There had to be retribution, it is our way."

"It hurts so much."

"I'm sure it does," she says, stroking my hair, "just sleep now. It's over. You are mine now."

And with those words in my head, I sleep.

I awaken the next day in the early morning. Keira lay's beside me, beautiful and naked under a fur blanket. I snuggle closer to her, craving her warmth, her comfort. Only now, when things are calm, do I begin to grasp the gravity of my situation. My people are dead. My father who raised me alone, my friends who so loved to drink and sing old songs of our folk, and all of the others I'd come to know. The man who sold hot bread every morning, the woman who sold cooked meat and wine, and that unscrupulous fellow who would take people's money in exchange for more difficult to procure items. They're all dead, all gone, and I'll never see my home again. That, along with the continuing ache between my thighs, causes warm tears to spill down my face. I normally would not cry nearly so much, if ever, but this is all so much to handle.

"Why do you weep, my little prize?" Keira asks quietly as she awakens.

"Everyone I know is dead." I whine, lowering my eyes in shame. "I'm a captive in a place I don't even understand. I'm just in pain and scared and alone."

Keira makes soothing sounds as she cradles me close to her ample chest. I nestle my head against her and slowly calm myself down. She lightly wipes away my tears and kisses my forehead tenderly. She is so gentle and so kind to me, it's hard to imagine that she was one of the warriors who had their way with me just two nights ago.

"Why are your people this way?" I wonder aloud.

"What way?" she asks. "Big and strong? Warlike? All female?"

"Well yes," I answer, "but why are you so controlling of your males."

Keira ponders over this for some time, a bit perplexed at that.

"Men need our authority," she says at last, "we protect them from themselves and keep them in line. We do battle and raid, they tend to the home and hearth, and we keep them humble and in their place."

"Why?"

Keira tells then of the Elvaran history, how the powerful females and their weaker male counterparts struggled in a harsh landscape to survive. One day, one of the Elvaran goddesses came to the women in their dreams and gave them the call to take charge, to teach subservience in their males, and thus to prosper, for it was only the females who were truly of Elvaran blood. The Elvaran trained their men, somewhat forcefully when needed, to serve them and to worship women as the vessels of the Goddesses' power and beauty. In this way, their society pressed forward, males humbly at the feet of their mistresses. Thus the Elvaran came into prosperity.

"So then I shall be a worshipful servant, sitting at your feet like a dog?" I ask.

"And a cared for lover," she adds, petting my head, "beloved by me and cherished like a precious treasure."

"That part sounds nice." I had to admit. "You are very gentle with me."

"You're so small and breakable," she laughs, "I must be gentle with my little Sven."

Keira leans in and presses her lips over mine, kissing me firmly. I relax in her arms, relishing the warmth of her lips and the exciting feeling of her tongue invading my mouth. At last she parts from the kiss, leaving my lips moist and my heart racing.

"No more excitement until you recover." she advises. "Then I will have fun with my little treasure. All night long."

"I uh... okay." I stammer awkwardly, fidgeting at the thought of another night of love-making with even one of these amazonian women.

"But now," Keira says, "you must go gather water from the lake with the other men. This will be a daily chore."

"Am I to have clothes first?" I ask.

"Ah, of course!"

Alma rummages through a trunk I'd not noticed before and produces a bundle of clothes. Cloth pants, simple cloth shoes, and a leather collar.

"At an Elvaran's coming of age," Keira explains, "she is given these garments for her first future slave."

"First?"

"Some have many men." she replies. "I only want one."

I put on the pants and shoes. The material is actually quite soft, very comfortable. Good garments for tending the home, rather than going adventuring in the wild. But I hesitate at the leather collar, which has a small lock to hold it shut.

"It goes around your neck, dear." Keira explains with a playful tone.

"I know." I mutter with considerable trepidation.

"Put it on please, Sven." there is a warning tone in her voice.

"Keira, no. I don't like it." I counter, standing defiantly in front of her.

"Sven, sweetheart, don't fight me on this." she warns.

"I can't wear a collar like a dog."

Lightning fast, Keira steps in and takes the collar, locking it around my neck without any effort. Equally easily, she spins me around and firmly swats my backside.

"No more," she barks firmly, "Sven, no more. I don't want to hurt you, but please be a good boy."

"You hit me." I say flatly, stepping away from her. "I thought you liked me."

Keira moves forward and engulfs me in a warm embrace, patting my backside gently in an effort to alleviate some of the pain.

"I love you, my little treasure." she assures me. "But you can't be so obstinate. Please, for me?"

"I guess... okay." I relent.

"Good boy." she praises, lifting me up and kissing me eagerly.

I feel embarrassed. Debased at wearing this collar, humiliated at being spanked by my captress, and yet comforted by her kiss. I hug her before she sets me back on my feet again.

"Now," she informs me, "it is customary for the male to kneel before his mistress and kiss her feet before leaving or entering their home."

I, quite naturally, do not like the sound of this, and my distaste is evident.

"But we'll start that particular ritual tomorrow, love." she says, ruffling my hair and sending me on my way.

The means for gathering water is interesting. The barrel is set upright on on a small platform with rudimentary wheels on it. Along with the barrel comes a large bucket. I am to wheel the barrel to the lake side, fill it with the bucket, and wheel the full barrel home, thus providing my mistress and myself with fresh water for household tasks. A simple enough task, so I set out on it, eager to distract myself from the thought of my slaughtered folk and my lowered societal status. Plus a chance to observe the Elvaran as something other than their war-prize will be intriguing. I must look on the bright side of things if I am to get by.