Anya
I had the dream again last night. It's been so long since the last time, that I'd forgotten how utterly real, how devastating, it is. I awoke in tears, as I always do, though the dream itself is invariably happy. The place, the events, the people, are always different; but it is still the same dream.
This time I was on a beach, somewhere on the Mediterranean I think, and judging by my attire, I'd guess it was the mid nineteen-fifties. There was a group of us, five or six teenagers, and we were drinking beer and talking of taking a sailboat out later in the day. A handsome boy put his hand on my thigh and I laughingly slapped it away. He grinned and shrugged and opened another beer. I continued talking to a red haired girl sitting close by.
After a time, the sun grew very hot and I waded out into the ocean for a swim. I swam, I laughed, I talked with friends. I joined an impromptu game of volleyball. I woke up crying.
He has never asked why some mornings, when I wake him with my mouth wrapped gently around his cock, there are tears falling from my eyes. Perhaps he knows about the dream. Perhaps he knows that sometimes, when I sleep, I taste the freedom I have never known in life. More likely, he simply doesn't care why I cry.
He awoke this morning to my gentle ministration, as he always does. And when he noted the tears, he moaned with joy. His cock lurched and swelled in my mouth, and he held my face tightly to him, forcing open my throat.
After all this time his lust for my tears has not dimmed in the slightest, but then neither has it grown out of control. It is a constant wonder to me that his darker needs haven't destroyed us both by now. A side effect of the bonding, I suspect.
I have lived a very long time, and I have seen true evil. I have been witness to atrocities that have left me haunted. My Master is not evil. But he lives in its shadow. Only the magic of the bonding keeps him sane.
But just as it keeps his sadism in check, it also keeps me from ever becoming accustomed to his games. Each blow is always as sharp as the first, each humiliation is just as cruel. Within hours my body can heal almost any injury, thus every time is the first time. Every rape is the first rape. For two hundred and thirty-six years, I have begun each day as an eighteen year old virgin.
I was not born what I am, but close enough. I was taken at birth, my body and mind trained for the bonding. I have been a slave all my life, taught to protect and please the one who would take my bond. I'm 5 feet tall, I weigh 104 lbs, and I can kill an armed soldier as easily as he could kill a child. I have long dark hair, light brown skin and large black eyes. I have been told I am stunningly beautiful. Of course I must be, it is part of my dual purpose...to protect and to please.
At eighteen I was deemed by my trainers ready to bond. They were taking me to my new owner when our caravan was attacked by British mercenaries. We were not a military target, just an opportunity for sport.
I remember thinking how easy it would be to kill the man who drug me from my palanquin. He was huge and fierce, but he was no match for me. I wanted to kill him. I was not yet bonded, so I suppose I could have fought him. But I had been a slave since birth. Defiance was not in my nature. I cowered from him. I begged for mercy. He laughed. When he ripped away my sari, I cried. When he tugged down his trousers, I screamed.
His manhood was enormous, as long and thick as my forearm. He fell on me and shoved that monster at my virginity. I was tiny then as I am now and dry as I have not been since. But he was determined. He spit on his hand and rubbed himself for moisture and heaved and grunted and shoved. The pain was overwhelming. Finally, he was inside me. I felt my virginity tear away. Then I felt the bond erupt inside my mind.
I knew immediately that nothing mattered more in the world than this man's pleasure. Suddenly I could sense his delight in hurting me. He loved that he was so much bigger than me. He loved that he was making me scream with his cock. The power he had over me had him utterly intoxicated.
My terror grew as the horror of what was happening to me was coupled with a desperate need to ensure his continued sense of bliss. I felt as if I were feeding on his bliss. It was life itself, sweet and pure and more wonderful than anything I had ever imagined. It was not that I shared his delight; I was certainly in no less pain. His emotions were separate from me. They in no way diminished my own terror, but I couldn't get enough, couldn't ever do enough, give enough...
I don't remember being aware of my surroundings, of the fighting, the screams of the dying. My own plight was far to immediate to me. But then I saw one of my trainers. It was a man I'd known since infancy, the one who'd taught me to read, the one who'd taught me all the names of the god. He was struggling to his feet, one arm hanging useless at his side, the other hand clutching a short spear.
He saw me then, and the man on top of me. His eyes flew wide. I don't know if he believed that the bonding was not complete, or if he was simply in shock. I knew he was not a fool, and yet he drew back the spear, as if to kill my rapist.
In a heartbeat I was out from under the man, my torn womanhood screaming at the sudden emptiness. In another heartbeat I had batted away the spear; another and my hand was flying at my trainer's throat. And then he was dead. Before his body had even hit the ground I was turning back to my Master, but the pain was faster.
I gave one horrific scream as every muscle in my body cramped in spasm. I fell to the ground, unable to move, barely able to breath. I had interrupted his pleasure and this was the price. It didn't matter that it had been to save his life, or that I'd had no choice. It was the cost the magic demanded for denying my Master.
The convulsions seemed to go on forever, but when I was able to stop screaming, my Master was just coming to his feet, his cock still engorged, shock painted across his face. I fought my way to my knees, and bowed my face in the dirt.
"What the bloody hell just happened?" He grabbed my hair in a fist and jerked my head back. "Answer me, girl, what the fuck did you do?"
"I stopped him from killing you, Master."
