The Master Woodworker
Author's notes: Everyone is over eighteen. I hope you enjoy it. Written for the hero challenge
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John, a master woodworker, toiled in the small Duchy of Darvina in East Fringilla on a sweltering mid-summer morning. The heat was so intense that his shirt was unbuttoned, and perspiration already dotted his brow. His workshop, nestled on the outskirts and just within the walls of the old walled city of York, the Duchy's capital, offered a view of the Old Keep. This fortress, a testament to his ancestors' craftsmanship, was a relic of a time when such strongholds were necessary to fend off marauding bandits and warlords. In the present era, the need for such fortifications had waned, thanks to the vigilance of the current Emperor Iron Fist and his soldiers.
The Old Keep was on a hill surrounded by a moderate but sheer outcropping of solid rock about the height of three men. This made it impossible to undermine. Its first of three walls was set on this impenetrable foundation denying any access to the Old Keep except for one path, a ramp wide enough for three carts to go side by side that led to the gate. Each wall was taller than the next to deny cover to the enemy if taken. Each wall also had several towers to provide deadly crossfires, and once, several centuries ago, it had accomplished a great slaughter of its attackers. The history books told of rivers of blood flooding the city. It is a grisly and perhaps over-exaggerated description but a patriotic symbol to his people.
The structure overlooked the city. Within the confines of the Old Keep lived the Duke Albert and the Dutchess Angelina. They ruled benevolently and frankly were seldom seen except at festivals such as Spring Planting and Fall Harvest where they accomplished the required rituals of the augers and little else. Few were allowed into the Old Keep or even inside the Old Keep's walls except for soldiers, servants, and slaves.
John had, as most artisans of the village, received his shop from his father, who had received it from his father and so on for as long as memory could tell. Each generation apprenticed the next to continue the unending line of artisan mastery. Unfortunately, some of the artisans had passed without passing on their skills, and several, woodworking being one, had diminished in numbers. Currently, there is only one woodworking master beyond himself. One might think this would make John happy since there was little competition, but with the needs so high, it seemed he had nothing but a never-ending pile of work to complete. His son was not old enough to begin his apprenticeship, and there were few free men in the entire village who were interested in apprenticing their sons. Most ran off to the Emperor's Army a more lucrative adventure because one could loot the enemy as well as be paid to fight for Iron Fist.
John's grandfather had been very forward-looking, and when the new technology of water wheel power had come to the fore, he had secured his access to it. This was continued by his father, who invested in machinery and tooling to such an extent that the other woodworking master, whose ancestors were not as forward-thinking, was hard-pressed to get business at all. Rather than drive him out of business, as both were apprenticed at about the same time and were friends, John made sure that he sent him overflow work. He could not bear to see his friend's family in need.
It was early in the morning as John was preparing his shop for the day's work. He had checked and cleaned the water trough to his wheel, examined all the belts, greased the gears, and was about to begin sharpening his tools. He heard the clip-clop of the hooves on the cobblestones and the tinkling of the bells of the slave ponies coming closer.
This was not an unusual sound. Horses had been banned from the city for almost a century. The filth and stench they produced, not to mention the potential for disease, had been noticed long before, and since war was not something to worry about, the banning of farm animals from the city had been accomplished. Out in the country, outside the wall, they were found and used, but inside the city, they were not allowed unless there was some emergency need of brute force. They had been replaced by slave ponies who moved goods and people within the confines of the village and brought and exited goods and people from the village.
John looked up the street and observed a six female team, three matched pairs side by side in a column. Most of the teams were female, at least the ones on the street. All male teams were used but far more rarely and usually in dangerous or extreme conditions for they were very hard to control. The women were slaves picked and trained to do this work, usually from one of three sources. The largest source was slaves taken in battle. Iron Fist and his ancestors loved their wars and had conquered many lands. Besides the usual tribute of food and gold, slaves were also a part of their tribute. Next were desperate females who had little choice if they wanted to eat, and finally, there was a breeding program, but it had gone on for some time with very mixed results. The women were chosen for size and strength.
All six of the females were naked with great manes, the sides of their heads shaved, and the hair in the middle waxed to stand straight up like a crest from the forehead to the middle of the back of their heads. From there, the hair was long, braided, and went back along their necks into the middle of their backs between their shoulder blades or fell carelessly over a shoulder. Each sported a butt plug tail that matched their mane curved to run up their backs and resemble more the tail of an actual mare. Great plumed feathers rose high above their heads attached to blinders. Bells of silver and brass played and danced merrily from their bouncing udders' pierced teats. From a short chain hung a cluster of bells bouncing off their high-stepping muscled thighs, hanging from their pierced clitorises. This kept them in a state of near-constant arousal, an aid in their control. They could often be seen orgasming yet forced to maintain the pace. Their hairless cunts gleamed in the early morning sun, open and ready.
The only clothing they had were high-heeled and nearly knee-high boots shaped to appear like hooves with metal clips on the bottom, creating the clip-clop sound on the cobblestones. Their arms were fastened behind them, elbow to wrist, to force them to thrust their udders out, and leather tack hung on their torsos, spreading out the weight of the pull and distributing it over their entire body. The carriage had three tongues, providing a pole on each side of the pony to attach their tack. A strap was attached to the top of their outside boot to the next pony in front, exactly the distance they were hitched. This measured and kept each step consistent with the animal in front, forcing them to maintain pace in both length and timing, a difficult task for the high-stepping carriage team. Welts on their shoulders and backs testified to their failures to keep pace. Their reins were attached to a bit, seated well in their mouths, accomplished by the removal of their back teeth, and also clamped their tongue down, rendering it useless. That, with the slitting of each one's vocal cords, reduced the ponies to grunts, groans, and animal noises, further policed by punishments, emphasizing to them their status as draft animals. As they got closer John could see rivulets of sweat coursing down their bodies and dripping off chins and bouncing teats or a spray of droplets as one shook themselves. They were pulling a personal open carriage. The red, blue, and purple flag told him it was a royal carriage from the Old Keep. His father had built it and he could recognize it anyplace.
Driving the carriage in a seat was the female driver. All drivers were females, and she was nude with bells on her pierced teats, also playing a pleasant tune. They were chosen for their size. The smaller, the better. The driver did not sit but was rather on her knees, a dildo inserted into her naked hairless cunt. John knew this dildo was attached to and was driven by gears from the front axle. In this way, this slave of a slightly higher caste level was constantly penetrated and also was always in a high state of arousal. Drivers could talk, although no slave was to talk unless a question was directed to them by a free person.
The carriage was not coming fast but in a sort of slow jog shuffle. John knew that a team could keep this pace up with proper periodic breaks and water most of the day. The driver expertly directed the team with whistles, shouts, and whip to come around the corner and stop in front of the shop. It wasn't until now that he could plainly see the occupant of the carriage. It was the Duchess Angelina.
Quickly, he approached the carriage, unlatching the door, opening it, and dropping the steps while holding out his hand, palm down, to aid her. No one was allowed to grasp the Dutchess unless she willed it. She placed her hand on his to steady herself and descend the two steps.
The Dutchess was a magnificent beauty. Although most would know she was middle-aged, she was stunning. Thin and shapely, her regal look and confidence showed through like beams of sunlight. Her hair was up in a stylish way, looking almost like a beehive. It had gold and pearls interlaced in the hair. Her long neck fell to her bodice, which was low cut, almost scandalously in front, yet came high on and completely surrounded the neck. The sleeves were long, and the bottom flared out, cascading over her hips, reminding him of a waterfall he once saw falling to her hem, ending just above her ankles. Her shoes had high heels and glimmered with shiny stones of some sort.
"My Lady," he said, bowing.
"I am looking for Master Henry," she said condescendingly.
"Alas, my father has passed away two years hence, and I, John, as his son, have humbly taken his place," he responded respectfully.
Pursing her lips, an almost apologetic look on her face, she replied, "You have our condolences. Are you the craftsman he was?"
"I fear I could not be as good as he was, My Lady, but to allay your fears, please come," he said, pointing to the shop. "To prove his skills, my father made twelve items and displayed them here on this wall," he said, pointing to one wall of the shop. "I also made each of the same items to show my skills and placed it next to his. Please feel free to examine them and see if my skills are good enough for your needs."
Examine them she did, looking at each and every one. She didn't just look at them. She examined them, touching and eyeing each and every joint, testing the smoothness of the sanding and the glint of the finish.
It took her a full half hour before she finally said, "You are quite skilled, Master Woodworker."
"Thank you, My Lady," he again replied. Since there was a pause greater than was comfortable for him, John continued, "What may this undeserving servant do for My Lady today?"
"We have need of a pillory," she replied.
