"Xanthi's Tale".

by 'xanthi'

Prologue.

I was always a popular girl, though not because I was especially beautiful or clever. My secret was that I was always ready to help others. I used to help mother cook, set the table and clean the house. I would help friends at school with their studies, or offer to run errands for them or their parents. I would help father tend the animals. I was everybody’s little helper. Maybe this was my submissiveness showing through even before I knew what the word meant? My father received several offers for my hand in marriage, starting when I was seventeen, but he refused every one of them. My girlfriend, Cashmail, said it was because I was so useful at home – it was like having an unpaid servant – that father would therefore never accept any offer. She said I would doubtless wind up as an old maid, living with a dozen cats, and screaming at any small child who strayed into my garden to retrieve a lost ball.

One day, I was hanging out the washing when three strange men approached. My first thought was that they were a wild and fearsome bunch; my second was what were they doing here, in our garden? Before I knew what had happened, one of them threw a bag over my head and pulled the drawstring tight. It had an overpowering smell of leather, which sent my senses reeling. There were two small holes in it, so I was able to breathe. Even so, I panicked, thrashed around with my arms, and kicked out blindly with my feet. I must have caught one of them a lucky blow, because he cursed me loudly and in the most awful language. My legs were quickly secured with rope and I was thrown bodily onto the back of a horse – lying across it like a sack of potatoes.

By the time we reached our first stop, I was bruised and battered and crying. I was given a drink of water and then the bag was placed once more over my head. That night, while two of the men held my legs, the third took me. Then they changed places until all three had used me. This happened every time we stopped during the next few days of my journey. When we reached our destination, I was no longer an innocent young woman. I was, for good or bad, just another female slave, destined for the auction block and a life of servitude.

"Is a girl’s life worth so little?"

The day of the auction, I, along with at least a dozen more girls, was led from my small cell, where I had spent the better part of a week, out into the bright sunlight and into a wagon drawn by two old and poorly kept horses. Their moth eaten coats barely concealed their protruding ribs, and one of them wheezed as it strained to pull its share of the burden up the slight gradient to the market square. The drover, rather than allowing it time to regain its breath, simply struck it repeatedly with a long whip. The poor beast struggled to work a little harder, but the years hung heavy on its tired body and it could do no more than simply accept this, the latest in a long line of beatings. As we dismounted and were led to the auction block, I paused briefly to stroke its matted mane and plant a gentle kiss on its nose. Its eyes flickered a brief acknowledgement of possibly the only kindly gesture it had received in its entire life, and it tried to nuzzle my hand. But the brute escorting us grabbed my arm and pulled me roughly. As we were lined up behind the auction block, waiting for our turn to climb the steps and pose for the assembled traders, Masters, or their representatives, I heard a loud commotion and looked back in time to see the old horse’s legs buckle as it collapsed and died. I remember feeling happy for it. No more pain. No more suffering. It was finally free! Just then, I was pulled up the steps and my wrap was removed to reveal me naked before the noisy mob. I had never performed in front of a crowd, before, and so many people, pressing closer and closer to examine the inside of my mouth, my ears, and my most intimate places made me feel dizzy. I felt I would soon faint, unless some kind individual took pity on me and took me from there. But no one came forward, and I was handled and fondled for several more minutes before they withdrew and the bidding started. I should point out that I was nearly twenty years of age, and likely to be considered quite old in the eyes of most bidders; but someone in the crowd must have sensed that I would likely respond well to training. I was also a natural blonde. It is a rarity in this world, and was a mystery to my father, who always suspected my mother maybe sneaked out of the house one time but could never prove it. Anyway, in a very short time, I was sold to someone and dragged from the auction block. My ankles and wrists were shackled, and I was loaded into the rear of a covered wagon, pulled by four horses, I think. Eight other girls followed me over the next hour.

The journey took several days, over badly rutted roads. I could tell we crossed several bridges by the sound the wheels made as they rolled over the wooden slats. We also splashed through several streams. Then we started climbing and it began to get colder. If I had harbored any thought of escape, it was being knocked out of me by every sickening bump and jolt of that worn out wagon as we slowly ground our way up to the snow-covered Pass of Junigar, which led to the fabled kingdom of Senershreb.

"A girl gets her first view of Senershreb."

To hear tell, Senershreb is a wondrous place! Seven great cities, each with broad, tree-lined thoroughfares, thousands of marble palaces, ornate gardens and fountains are but the smallest part of its beauty. Elegant ladies, veiled and dressed in the finest silks and brocades, glide on embroidered slippers from their gilded, horse-drawn carriages into luxuriously appointed eating houses, where their equally well-dressed husbands order the finest food and wines for their delectation. While they dine, anything they might crave – a new dress, a chair, makeup or shoes – will be brought to them to view and perhaps purchase. No one is forced to work, here, unless they wish to. Leastwise, that’s what the stories tell. The truth is less wondrous. This lifestyle is available only to the members of the royal household (including almost a thousand princes and princesses), and to the numerous descendants of the sixteen ancient families (houses), which between them own all of the lands of Senershreb. Then there is the governing elite, of course – comprising the bureaucrats and Caliphs of the Seven Cities – and finally all those who have accumulated sufficient wealth to purchase such nobility. This amounts to some one hundred and eighty thousand individuals. The rest of the five million people living here are slaves, plus a few thousand indentured apprentices, who are receiving no wages while they learn a trade. These, the privileged few, have personal bodyguards to protect them against us, while each city possesses an army, whose members are paid handsomely for their loyalty to the state. Thus, are the Lords and Ladies of Senershreb serviced and supported in their lifestyle, while those who serve them suffer for their pleasure and die, off-times, prematurely.

A week later, our wagon rumbled towards one of the twenty imposing gateways set in the thirty-feet high wall, which still surrounds the City of Rishmureb, and once protected it against its many enemies. Rishmureb, in case you don’t know, is the second largest city of Senershreb - Kusharwa being the largest. Before we could enter, we were stopped by a contingent of guards who insisted on checking inside of the wagon to confirm the drover’s claim that we were all in good health and not carrying the plague. I should explain, perhaps, that my world is often ravaged by disease. Senershreb, though well protected by the high mountains from most of the diseases that afflict the rest of us, imports so many slaves that it must maintain a constant vigilance. The general condition of our health thus confirmed, we were granted entrance, and the wagon started across the drawbridge. I had never been in such a place. My nostrils were assailed by a thousand smells – some pleasant, most not. Everywhere, there were people, of every racial type and appearance, selling this and that. Birds sang in cages, while wild animals restrained by thick chains snapped and growled at passers-by – sometimes succeeding in giving them a nasty nip or, at the very least, a serious scare. There were lines of tables covered with bolts of the finest silks and linens, spices, fruit, vegetables and jars of wine from the furthest flung places. There piles of silver and gold trinkets, boxes of rare minerals and jewels – all protected by huge guards with equally huge swords - and everywhere the hustle and bustle of a thriving marketplace.

The wagon drew up to a low, stone building and one of the drovers dropped off to open the large double wooden doors. The wagon moved inside the building, the doors were closed, and the rear cover on the wagon was thrown open. We were told to get down and led into the rear of the large room, where two girls, wearing dirty and torn ankle-length linen dresses, served us with wooden bowls of thick porridge and wooden mugs of brownish water. They had been so miss-used that neither would dare to raise her eyes above my waist as I took my food from them. I had not seen the sun for almost eight days now, and I yearned to feel its warmth on my face, but we were hustled down a flight of steps, long before we had eaten all of the porridge, and into what I could only describe as a dungeon – although I had never been in such a place before. We were separated, two to a cell, and chained to the walls. There was no light in the cell, save what managed to sneak passed the heavily barred window set below street level, and through which the sounds and smells of the market above taunted us with images of freedom. For the first time in many years, I cried myself to sleep on that filthy straw covered floor.

"A girl gets her first understanding of being a slave."

No word was spoken when the two men entered the cell the following morning. My cellmate, Cyree, was the first to be taken away. I heard her screaming from a distance, and a while later she was dragged semi-conscious back into the cell. I was unchained and half-dragged out the door, down a long stone corridor, with cell doors on each side, and into a small room. There was a long table placed against the far wall, and another smaller one against the wall to the right. On this, I could see strange metal tools and two boxes half full of shiny metal rings. A small brazier in the middle of this table held red-hot coals. I could feel the heat even where I stood. Before I could ask what was going to happen to me, one of the men held a heavy leather hood in front of my face. Attached to the inside was a thick, penis-shaped gag, with a long tube passing through the middle of it. He forced the gag into my mouth and pulled the hood over my head. He laced it very tight. He then slipped a tall and very stiff collar around my neck, which held my head up very high. I was then sat on the table, with my legs swinging over the edge. Cuffs attached by chains to the wall behind me were then used to secure my wrists. For the first time since they had brought me here, one of the men now spoke to me. He told me that from this moment on, I would always be available for anyone’s use, and in whichever way they might wish to use me. He then told me to open my legs. I hesitated long enough for him to seize the tube and squeeze it so I could no longer breathe. I held out as long as I could, but eventually I had to relent and open my legs. I felt him drag his finger over my secret place and brush my little bud, before grasping my left labia and pulling it towards him. My girl juices were flowing like never before. How could being helpless, depending on the will of another for the next breath I drew, cause such arousal? I was perplexed, but not for long. He muttered something about me being a naturally gifted little slut and then the most incredible pain seared through my groin. Then it happened a second time. He released the left labia and took hold of the right. I felt him piercing me two more times. Then he moved on to my nipples. By this time, I was too woozy to ponder the whys and wherefores of sensory deprivation and autoerotic stimulation. I was released and dragged back to the cell. Before he left, one of the men threw me a pot of cream. I was to put it on the wounds, he said, to prevent infection. This was my first opportunity to examine myself. In each of my labia were two, three-quarter-inch rings, while slightly smaller sized rings were fixed in each of my nipples. These would forever identify me as a slave; or more importantly as sex slave. I had no clue as to when or where I would get my first chance to demonstrate my as yet undeveloped skills, but I doubted it would be too long in coming.

The following day, after sleeping fitfully because of the soreness in my nipples, I was led, accompanied by Cyree and the others, out of the cell and up the stairs. After being given water, but no food, we were helped into the wagon, the doors were flung open, and we rattled our way down the street towards the Caliph’s palace. After the guards at the entrance completed the usual formalities – checking for concealed weapons, this time – we were admitted. The Caliph is not the most popular person in Rishmureb, due, in no small part, to the high level of taxation. Most of the population is convinced that the money is used for keeping him in the most lavish luxury possible. Still, that is not for a lowly slave to debate. Suffice it to say I was in such a state of nervous anticipation that I could not think straight. And therefore, whether or not the Caliph was guilty of fraud, excessive self-indulgence, or merely making bubbles in the bath with his own gases, was of little concern to me. I should also mention, perhaps, that the pain from my newly installed pussy rings (as Cyree called them) as we bounced over the cobbles was pretty distracting, too!

We were taken from the wagon and housed in a small room two floors up from the courtyard. The woman who brought us food and water was quite old. She stooped to serve us and I saw she was pierced in the same manner as us – though I could not see her pussy rings, because, unlike us, she wore a long, linen skirt. Her wrists jangled with silver bracelets - dozens of them! I asked her how she got them, but she refused to answer. She’d probably been told not to speak. Perhaps she was a mute, or had had her tongue removed for being disrespectful? I didn’t press her, and accepted the food with a polite nod. We slept well that night.

The following day, we received our steel collars and had thin chains secured around our waists. These chains served two purposes. First, they were another means of securing us, and second, they would show if we were putting on weight. Clearly, the Caliph was not about to risk overfeeding us. Cyree and I were separated shortly afterwards. I never saw her again.

"A girl receives her first punishment."

Slaves are punished every day. No matter how hard you try to please, sooner or later you will get into trouble and will be taken to the Hall of Mentors, where ‘experts’ will adjust your error prone tendencies, as well as your lackadaisical attitude. Two for the price of one, as they say here. For more than six months, I had served them, whenever, wherever, and however they wished to use me, but eventually I messed up. My present Master – I’d had several since I was brought here - was an ambitious man. In this proud land, the lavishness of his hospitality is the measure of a man’s importance and place in society. Master was entertaining some important merchants - men who would support his future efforts to seize power from the Caliph. He had instructed me to serve them orally, while they were lounging after consuming a large and sumptuous midday meal. Assassination is a common danger, here, and even a naked slave cannot be trusted, so my arms were secured behind me in a leather arm binder, strapped tight so my elbows touched. Straps passed over my shoulders, across my breasts and beneath my armpits to secure it. I knelt before these ‘important’ men and upon a signal from my Master, made my way towards the first on my knees and buried my head in his lap. Thanks to my exemplary technique, honed after many weeks of training and practice - reinforced by several severe beatings - the wrinkled old man came quickly and slumped back in his seat with a deep sigh. My Master was delighted and clapped his hands as I shuffled sideways on my knees to begin my task anew. This man was young and well endowed. For him, I worked especially hard. He rewarded my efforts with so much cum that I almost choked. The next four guests were dispatched in a relatively short time, and in exemplary fashion – according to the last one: a small, middle-aged man with hairy legs and a very thick endowment.

My knees ached! Why could he not give me a cushion to kneel on? My shoulders ached, too, because of the arm binder; and my tongue, normally so agile, felt like it had been used to clean the kitchen floor. Master, sensing I needed an incentive, attached a pair of golden clamps to my nipples. They bit painfully and I hissed a breath through clenched teeth. A chain hung between them, and each clamp had a small bell attached to it. Master told me he wanted to hear them ring loudly as I served the next guest. He was even older than the first, with a shriveled cock, which even my skill could not bring to life. I tried and tried, using my tongue as inventively as I could, until the smallest dribble emerged. He patted my head and thanked me in a hoarse whisper. He had not cum in many years I remember thinking to myself.

The next guest offered his cock to me with a great flourish and demanded that I tell him if I had ever seen its like. I looked to Master to see if I was permitted to respond. He nodded, so I lied as convincingly as I could and took the misshapen thing into my mouth. It tasted awful and I gagged. Suddenly, he ejaculated, and I spluttered it everywhere. His silk pajamas were ruined. He bellowed at my Master, “Get this useless slut out of here!” My Master was angry beyond words, and I was immediately taken by his personal eunuchs to the Hall of Mentors, but not before he had reclaimed the golden clamps – gold being valuable and all – almost removing this girl’s nipples in the process! Since I had no previous experience of what was about to befall me, I remember walking to meet Mentor Hapa Grazino with nothing more than a slight unease. After all, I’d already been used, abused, pierced, dragged half way across my world, beaten, raped, forced to suck all manner of foul smelling, foul tasting things in the name of oiling the wheels of commerce or politics, so what else could they do to me? Well, if only I’d known, it might well have wiped the half-smile off my face, as I gleefully remembered the man’s bent out of shape cock squirting all over his priceless silk trousers.

After walking for ten minutes, I wound up in a really spooky place. Even the door creaked as it opened to reveal a small, powerfully muscled man, with long gray hair and piercing green eyes, set in a heavily creased, darkly tanned face. He had a bronze ring through one nostril, and was sitting at a large, wooden desk, on which I noticed there were several metal instruments – of unknown use to me - and a thick, leather-bound ledger. He licked a pencil and asked me for my name. I answered, ‘May it please You, xanthi, Sir’. He opened the ledger at the place marked by a filthy strip of red silk and ran his finger down the list of names on the left of the page. He smiled, muttered something like, ‘New girl, eh?’ and entered my name in a blank space. He seemed quite a nice man, really. He told me I had to be examined to determine whether what I had done was merely accidental, or the result of a deliberate and malicious disrespect for the majesty of Master’s body and that of his honored guest. He was so gentle in the way he spoke to me about this, my first transgression, that I was drawn to smile. That was a huge mistake! In one swift movement, he was across the desk and gripping my right nipple between his powerful fingers. I howled in pain as he tugged the ring, pulling me after him at the run.

We ran down steps and through a long corridor. We went deeper and deeper into the heart of the building: to a place where the light never reaches, except in a slave’s head as that last behavioral kink is straightened and the light of absolute obedience clicks on. I was pushed through a doorway and into a small room, empty except for a tall wooden post, which had two transverse pieces of wood attached to it. Each transverse had very thin rawhide cuffs at each end. Water was sprinkled on them, the arm binder was removed, and in less than a minute, I was strung up on that cross. The pressure on my wrists from my own weight, and the ever-tightening rawhide, was unbelievable! My fingers were soon growing numb. I tried to raise myself to ease the pain, but the pressure on my ankles made me stop instantly and I hung there with tears streaming down my face. Mentor Grazino then explained the manner in which I would learn that Masters are to be obeyed, feared, serviced without complaint and, more importantly, without ruining their very expensive pajamas. My blood ran cold as he told me I was to be left hanging there for as long as it took for my hands to become permanently damaged. Then, if I still had any fight left in me, why, he’d do the same with my feet. He then sat down and ate his lunch of half a chicken and some bread, consuming a bottle of ale as well. I started to plead with him. He looked annoyed, said for me to stop complaining because it was spoiling his lunch – because he always liked to meditate while he was eating – and then, because I started sobbing, pushed a gag in my mouth. It took him maybe an hour or so to eat that meal. As he was about to leave, he asked me whether I wanted to say anything to him. When he removed the gag, I pleaded for him to let me go. I said I’d do anything he wanted. I told him I was the best. Honestly! I was going crazy with the pain, and I’d about given up, when he suddenly called one of his assistants and between them, they got me down off that awful thing.

"A girl gets her first lucky break."

He let me sit for a while to catch my breath, and massaged my wrists to restore the circulation. My fingers hurt for several minutes as the blood returned to them. He then sent his assistant away and told me to stand. He lead me out into the corridor and turned to the left – away from the direction we’d entered – and up a slight incline. I was shaking violently from elation, a couple of drops of anticipation, and a very large helping of outright terror. Suddenly, we reached the last door and the sunlight I thought I’d never see again struck me full in the face, warming me and lifting my spirits. Mentor Grazino walked me towards a large building. As we entered through an ornately carved portico, I caught sight of the detail of the carvings. Several voluptuous and very willing slave girls were shown, in what can only be described as ‘difficult poses’, with men with the legs of horses, and tigers with pelican heads. These were seriously sick people, I decided. I was lucky to be alive, let alone about to… Actually, I had no idea what I was about to do, but it had to be better than having my hands drop off. The thought prompted me to massage my wrists as Mentor Grazino led me upstairs to a very large and lavishly appointed hall, fitted out with long, leather couches, expensive rugs and plump cushions. A girl sat in the far corner. Her arms were secured behind her and she seemed to be doing something; but it was some time before I worked out she was sitting on a man’s face. His legs were away from me, and his head was pressed into the cushion by her weight and virtually invisible from my viewpoint. Mentor Grazino shrugged as we walked past what was in fact another cruel and vicious Mentor enjoying the fruits of his ‘mercy’. Now, in a slightly more confident mood, I recall wondering how many of us had been taken out of circulation by the Mentors and reassigned for their personal use. Ah, but wouldn’t the people who ran this place realize they were missing a few girls, you ask? Why, of course not! There were tens of thousands of us, in this city, alone, sucking, slurping and taking it up the ass. There were probably as many boys, too! No way would even a couple of hundred of us be missed! More slaves than that likely died every week, of everything from simple cruelty, through malnutrition, and on to a broken heart!

Mentor Grazino opened the door to his personal quarters with a flourish. It was similarly appointed to the hall we’d passed through, but had the addition of a very large fish tank in which strange looking creatures continuously swam from one end to the other. He pointed to the cushions and told me to sit. He offered me a glass of wine. I drank it greedily. He poured me another. I drank that, too. He gave me the bottle, took the precaution of locking the door, and then disappeared into the bedroom. He emerged a few moments later, completely naked, except for a strange device, consisting of five rings and a complicated system of leather straps, fitted over his penis. Well, I thought, this is probably going to hurt me a bit, but it has to be better than my hands… Yada! Yada! Then, believe it or not, he knelt down, bowed his head, and called me, ‘Mistress’. He told me he had been a naughty boy and deserved to be punished. I tried to sound really dominant, but, let’s face it, I’ve always been submissive – even before the extensive, money-no-object, training I’d received – so I wasn’t very convincing. In desperation, and because I couldn’t think of anything else to do, I brushed my fingers lightly over his penis. It began swelling. I could see it growing and being constricted by the rings. It looked painful. What am I saying? Mentor Grazino’s face told the story. He was in agony… terrible agony… and loving every minute of it! I leaned closer and kissed the tip. There was the smallest drop of pre-cum on it. It tasted really sweet. The sweetest I’ve ever tasted in fact. I gave it one long, slow, lick, and heard him moan. He was even harder now, and the rings were cutting deep. I told him I was not going to give him release until he promised me I would not be punished anymore. That was stupid! As quick as he’d switched from being a brutal torturer to a cringing slave, he snapped back again and struck my face with the back of his hand. I was on my back, with a split lip for my trouble, and another lesson learned the hard way. I said I was sorry. He said he was sorry, Mistress, and that he deserved the worst punishment imaginable. I was beginning at this point to believe he was totally out of his gourd – or, at the very least, ever so slightly unhinged – when he sprang to his feet and plunged his penis into the fish tank. I have no idea what the creatures made of this sudden intrusion, but his penis shrank instantly. He turned and removed the contraption, and then gave me a broad, and very sadistic, smile. He had decided, he announced, to dispose of me. I had this sudden, terrifying, image of my bruised and battered body being found floating down some river, bound and gagged. So, I told him, as forcefully as I dared, that even though I was totally submissive, if he’d be patient and give me a little time I was certain I could turn it around. He laughed, reached for my hand, and pulled me to my feet before leading me through a concealed door into another room. Inside was the biggest bath I have ever seen. It was bigger even than the marble and gold one in the Caliph’s private quarters. I was there once, as part of a three-girl team the Caliph had brought in for the amusement of a potential business partner. I have no idea where this man got his energy, but he used us three times each that night, and came every time. Sessa was okay, but Lula and me walked funny for almost a week afterwards.

"A girl gets cleaned up like new."

Mentor Grazino’s face lit up as I emerged from the bath, relaxed and scrubbed. I cleaned up well, he observed. He rubbed his hands together. I had a good figure, he said, excellent technique – except for that one small lapse – and I was well motivated not to mess up again. Yes, I was going to make him a very, very, rich man! I thought about asking him what he meant to do with me, but that split lip still stung, so I remained quiet as he danced around the room, skipping over the cushions and colliding with the fish tank. It moved on its support and a lot of water spilled out. I felt sorry for those poor fish. If Mentor Grazino didn’t slow down and watch his step, their life expectancy was going to be even less than my own.

Mentor Grazino put cuffs on my wrists and ankles, snapped chains onto them, and attached a leash to my collar. I was naked, like usual, and covered in bruises and scratches. That meant I had to be kept out of sight for a few days, while he had me ‘repaired’ (his word not mine). I was taken to a small house a short distance from the Hall of Mentors and placed in the care of a retired brothel keeper – a close, female relative of Mentor Grazino – and warned not to try to escape or cause any trouble. If I did… He didn’t need to finish the threat. I was there way ahead of him! Those three, nearly four, days were the most wonderful I’d had in more than a year. I did not know when I’d ever have another, so I made the most of them, taking a morning and evening massage (proper, not erotic), long baths, and lazy nights spent dreaming. Maybe I should tell you, Dear Reader, what I dreamed about? Perhaps you will think me stupid? Deranged? Perhaps, you’ll decide all those men using me had made me totally loopy? But I’ll risk it, because it will give you an insight into me as a person – not the thing without a name I was here.

"Even a girl can dream, can’t she?"

I know tomorrow, or the next day, I shall leave here, but tonight, I have my dream - my own true fantasy. A tall, blonde-haired warrior, riding a fiery steed, his armor glinting in the bright sunshine, is coming for me. His mighty warhorse leaps the moat easily, landing with its feet splayed, its eyes staring wildly, its blood-gorged nostrils flaring as it snorts angrily. My savior spies the prison guards rushing towards him and draws his mighty sword, swinging it from side to side as they surround him. My blood rushes through my veins, and rouses my sorely used body as I watch the gleaming steel slashing through flesh, shattering bone. My rescuer quickly dispatches my captors. He dismounts and his heavy blade cuts through my leg chains like they are thin rope. He remounts, reaches for my hand and lifts me up, depositing me on the saddle in front of him. His strong arm encircles me, holding me tight as his mighty charger leaps the moat once more. Then we are off across the cobalt colored desert to the high mountains, and safety. The rulers of this kingdom would never waste time searching for a slave like me. I will not be missed and can easily be replaced. Besides the mountains are high, dangerous and inhospitable. An entire army could not find us there. Safe at last, my savior slows his horse to a walk, then stops and helps me down. With a file he carries for tending to his horse’s hooves, he removes my ankle and wrist cuffs. I pick them up and put them in his saddlebag. “They are symbols of torture and submission,” he says. “Why do you not throw them away?”

“They are gold,” I reply, “and worth a great deal of money.”

He smiles as he tends to his sweating mount, removing the heavy saddle and bridle. I gather wood for a fire and fill his water bottle from a nearby brook. That night, he reaches for me and I move to lay with him. I give of myself freely, and he accepts this, my gift, in the same manner.

As the sun strikes my face at dawn, I awake and look at his strong face. He breathes slowly. I don’t want to disturb him, but my need is strong. I move closer to him, smelling his maleness, and stroke his manhood to attention. He wakes and smiles at me. My heart leaps. After, as I lay in his arms, he nuzzles me and says, “I’m hungry, wench.”

I get slowly to my feet and laugh for the first time in a year or more. “Yes, Master,” I tease.

“Come here,” he says.

I kneel with my back to him. He files the lock securing my collar part way through, and then breaks it with his strong hands. “You are no longer a slave,” he says, earnestly. He takes a necklace from his saddlebag. It is made from golden rings and is very old. He places it around my neck and secures it with a small lock. “But, since I rescued you, you now belong to me.”

I turn in his arms to face him. I look up at him and kiss him.

Then I wake up and the dream is gone, placed in my mind’s strongbox, where it will be kept safe until I need it again to lift my spirits and renew my hope.

"All good things must come to an end."

All to soon, Mentor Grazino inspected me and pronounced me, ‘Good as new,’ so I was re-acquainted with my collar, cuffs, chains and leash and lead out of obscurity and back into the public eye. Well, actually, I was to be taken to a different city, altogether. Mentor Grazino had it all worked out. With his fearsome reputation, and not inconsiderable wealth – because he’d almost certainly done this sort of ‘disappearing girl trick’, before - he had no trouble spiriting me out of Rishmureb in a covered wagon. This one was in much better condition than the previous one I had traveled in, and was pulled by six horses, so the two-week journey to Kusharwa was not too arduous. The only downside was that it took me ever further away from my home on the other side of the mountains. I was quite tearful for a day or so, but, eventually, my submissiveness came to my assistance and I quietly acquiesced. Mentor Grazino was very considerate. He declined to use me once during the whole trip. Maybe he wasn’t attracted to me? Whatever the reason, I was glad. The drover who handled the horses showed more than a passing interest, however, but he clearly feared offending Mentor Grazino and left me alone as well. I dreamed my dream several times during that journey.

On the last day, we rounded a tall rock and there it was: Kusharwa. Standing in the middle of an endless plain of tough grass, dotted with stunted evergreens, its tall spires gleamed brightly in the midday sun, while the domes of its palaces shone like pools of liquid gold. It was paradise, itself, unless, of course, you were a lowly slave girl with one strike against her. Mentor Grazino instructed the drover to whip up the horses so we could be there by nightfall. We made it by half an hour, but one of the horses was so exhausted it keeled over and died the moment we stopped outside the gate. There was a huge kerfuffle while the sentries made sure the horse didn’t have the plague, that we didn’t have the plague, and while the drover un-harnessed the poor beast and steered the five remaining horses and the wagon around its carcass. We were eventually allowed to enter the city, just after nightfall. The sentries and their families likely ate really well for the next few days.

Mentor Grazino found a room for us both, while the drover slept with his horses – presumably in case the sentries had enjoyed eating the other one so much they would decide to come and take another.

The following morning, Mentor Grazino secured my leash and wrist cuffs to the head of the bed, and my feet to the bottom of the bed, and took himself off to check out the auction rooms. He was gone several hours, by which time I was busting. I fidgeted all the while he was releasing me, then ran headlong into the restroom and peed for ages. When I returned, he was actually laughing at my plight. He soon calmed down and told me he’d arranged everything. I was due to go on the block at noon tomorrow. He gave me a little speech about how sad he was at losing me, and then he laughed, slapped me on the ass, hard, and ordered lunch. I must say, he treated me pretty kindly for the rest of the day, and even allowed me to sleep in the bed – chained of course – and to lie in until quite late the following morning. Even so, it was with a heavy heart that I clambered into the wagon for this short journey to the next part of my life.

"I can heartily recommend this girl to you, Sir."

When we arrived at the auction house, it was already quite crowded. At least thirty girls and sixteen boys were to be sold that day. Mentor Grazino had bribed the auctioneer to offer me early on, because it was a well-known fact that the highest bidding occurred in the first half an hour or so. After that point, those who had the real money had already got what they came for, as likely as not, and were in the process of leaving. Only the dregs were offered to the riff raff who remained after the nobility had left, and that would not have fitted Mentor Grazino’s little scam at all well. Right on cue, my name was called… third. You, Dear Reader, will recall I’d done this auction thing before – well, once, to be precise. I was no good at it then, and no better at it now. When I twirled, I almost fell into the front three rows of bidders. There were loud catcalls, whistles, cheers, and a lot of laughing. Mentor Grazino doubtless thought his investment was going down the pan, when a loud, commanding voice rose above the clamor with a bid of ‘seventy-two-and-five-hundred.’ Well, that got the action started, and we were up to ‘ninety-seven-and-six-hundred’ in less than a minute. Even though it was me they were bidding for, I was getting really excited, and started jumping up and down and clapping enthusiastically as the numbers got crazier and crazier. I even whooped a couple of times, I recall, as we passed ‘one-ten’. Eventually, the insanity passed and the bidding got bogged down at one-seventeen-and-three-hundred’ and refused to go any higher. It was quite an anticlimax as I waited for the lucky winner to step forward and claim his prize.

Mentor Grazino signaled me to leave the block and to kneel at his side as a mark of respect to my new owner. I lowered my eyes and watched as a pair of feet, wearing what looked like very expensive boots (well they’d have to be, wouldn’t they, after what he just paid for me?) came into view and stood in front of me. Mentor Grazino was soon in full flow. ‘I was the pick of the crop,’ he began. ‘I came fully versed in all aspects of oral, anal and vaginal intercourse. I could give massages, both therapeutic and erotic. I knew three ways (five, actually) of giving hand relief and, yes, I was a total glutton for spanking, paddling and very strict bondage.’ “You can hang her upside down for an entire night, Sir,” he enthused, “in the most arduous restraint imaginable, with a cinder block attached to each of her nipples, beat her rear end mercilessly, and she’ll still be able to iron your shirts in the morning, or bring you pleasure with her quite extraordinary mouth.” Then he shook the man’s hand vigorously and added, “I can heartily recommend this girl to you, Sir.”

Well, after that introduction, all this girl could do was swallow hard and hope to goodness her new Master wasn’t inclined to try the ‘cinder block’ thing for real. The rest, I knew, I could likely handle.

Thus far, my new owner had said nothing, other than start the bidding. I did not even know his name. I was pulled to my feet and told by Mentor Grazino to follow him outside. I started walking, then stopped. It was idiotic, I know, but whatever his motives, he’d given me another chance, in another city, with another Master, who maybe wouldn’t use me too bad, wouldn’t whip me too hard, and might smile once in a while and say ‘well done, girl.’ It’s a lot to ask, I know, but there was just an outside chance I’d be better off – maybe a little – so I ran back, took his hand and kissed it. “Thank you, Sir,” I gushed, then turned and ran after my new Master, who was now already inside his carriage. The driver, standing on the back, waved me to climb up next to him, whereupon I was chained to one of the springs and we set off at a breakneck speed, leaving Mentor Grazino counting his money in a cloud of dust.

"A girl gets a 'new look', and a new beginning."

Master never came near me for almost a week. Used as I was to working, to justify my keep, that was quite strange. I had cost Master a total fortune and he hadn’t even tweaked my nipples to see if they were real, let alone hung cinder blocks on them! Not that I was left to my own devices during this time. There were things to be done. Important things. Like, for instance, all of my rings had to be removed and replaced with golden ones. My collar, a thing of utilitarian ugliness, was replaced by the kind a girl can be proud to wear. It was gold, two inches wide, had a one-inch ring attached to the front, by which I could be safely secured to anything Master might have a mind to, and another, smaller one, at the rear, for hogties and stuff. Once it was on, the servant locked it in place with a small padlock. I ran to the mirror and looked at it, trying to read the name inscribed on it but, of course, it was backwards. It took me almost five minutes to decipher the swirling style and read: ‘Ottomanis’. Ottomanis? Golly gosh! I was owned by a member of one of the oldest and proudest families in all of Senershreb. They were the oldest, in fact - if the history books were anything to go by. I lay back on the plump, silken cushions and sighed contentedly. Here at last was a man who would appreciate a loyal, hard working girl. He would never resort to harsh, physical punishments, because he was used to the ways of command. Not for me the sting of the whip. A single word would be as a hundred lashes. A few moments later, a tall, well-muscled, manservant, wearing just a pair of volumous, green silk pantaloons, entered the room and grabbed my hand. In answer to my protests and endless questions, he said nothing, pointing instead to his throat. He was a mute – natural or otherwise - I realized.

I followed him – or rather, he dragged me – along a thickly carpeted corridor, almost a hundred yards long, with numerous, richly carved wooden doors on each side. At the far end was another, ornate door. It was ajar, but my escort knocked loudly with his huge fist and waited to be admitted. I remember hoping that I wouldn’t be given to this oaf as a means of softening me up. It was commonplace to do just that, because it a) showed the new girl her place in the scheme of things, which was, of course, at the very bottom, and, b) rewarded the employer’s hard working staff for their loyalty!

An old, bent, retainer greeted us. He held a very long and intricately carved staff in his right hand. He bid us ‘enter’ with a disdainful tone to his voice. It is not at all uncommon for those with no authority to assume the air of one who has all the authority in the world, and so he looked down his nose at me as I entered. I was but a lowly slave, and harbored no illusions as to my importance, so I passed by him with my head held high. He followed us, and then scurried past so he could arrive at his Master’s feet before we did and complete his task of announcing us – well, me, that is. Master likely already knew the name of the man-mountain that had hold of me. Well, I mean, one could hardly miss something that tall and wide.

I was busy wondering whether his tongue was the only thing he’d had removed when the retainer coughed politely and Master raised his eyes from the book he was reading and looked in my direction. I say looked in my direction because, in polite society, one never, really, looks at anyone directly. And in my case, I was only of passing interest to him, until he desired to use me, of course, so I expected at the very most a nod, and at the very least, no reaction at all. What I got in fact was the broadest, most lascivious grin as he leapt to his feet and placed his large hand firmly on my pussy. He squeezed it hard, like he was checking I actually had one. My girl juices had not flowed in almost a month, except by my own hand, but they were flowing now, I can tell you! I was to be prepared immediately, he told the retainer, and brought to his private chamber later that afternoon. He squeezed my bottom hard, before returning to his chair and picking up his book. He was busy reading again as I was ushered out the door.

As several girls scrubbed and cleaned me, I remember thinking he was indeed very handsome. I assumed I must be just one of many such girls in his household, but I wouldn’t mind at all. Dear reader, perhaps my obsessive preoccupation with matters of the flesh puzzles you? After all, was I not originally an innocent virgin living in my father’s house? Had I not been forced, against my will, and under threat of a severe beating if I refused, to perform deviant sexual activities with complete strangers? I can only offer the following explanation: my submissive nature had come to my rescue and I had learned to accept and finally revel in the many ways I was used. I was also, apparently, as the man who installed my rings had observed, a highly gifted, ‘natural’. What could I expect from such a wonderful, and obviously well educated Master I wondered, as Lissa, my handmaiden of the day, shoved a thickly soaped sponge into my bottom crease to make sure I was presentable? Something wonderful, special, and very inventive, hopefully! My reverie was broken as she prepared me for my least favorite pastime – an enema – just in case Master fancied staring at my back while he had his way with me.

At last I was prepared, to everyone’s obvious delight. Lissa gave me a playful slap on the rump to show she was happy with my appearance, too. Slave girls are seldom nasty to one another, because, quite simply, where can you run to if you’re bad to someone? And, besides, we’re all sitting on the same camel, aren’t we? Anyway, I had a surprise in store for me: I was to be wearing clothes for the first time in more than a year! Lissa and Marietta, a young novice, brought a pile of soft silks to me and started dressing me. First came pink, silk pantaloons of the finest quality. Next, a long, sleeveless robe of near transparent, white silk gauze was slipped over my arms and I was almost ready to meet my fate. They placed golden cuffs on my wrists and ankles, and attached small, golden bells to my nipple rings. Lissa clapped her hands and the mountain in green pants arrived to take me to Him. I remember thinking at the time that Master was clearly a discerning man, who liked his girl presented nicely, and with a certain style. I also wondered whether He liked to tie a girl tightly before indulging… Sorry, I’m wandering, again.

Where was I? Oh, yes, I was being escorted, fully clothed, for me, but almost naked by most other people’s standards, to meet Master for my first ever attempt at making him happy and delighted that he was born a man. Not that a woman might well have been delighted, too…. Actually, I have never been asked to…. You know? Probably I’m too tall or something? Anyway, the heavy door swung open and I peered inside his chamber. It was not the original door I was entering through, but a different one, concealed in the wall behind his large bed. Guess what? He wasn’t there! The man-mountain told me, by a series of signs, to kneel, eyes downcast and wait for Him. When I asked how long He might be, the mountain looked annoyed. Just one of those enormous hands could have strangled the life out of me, so I relented. He couldn’t have really killed me, of course, because Master would have been upset with him. What am I saying? He’d have had him served to His dogs, alive! Still, I knelt quietly as he chained my ankles together and snapped a long length to the back of my collar, then placed my hands behind my back and snapped a short link between the cuffs to hold them there. Finally, he bent down and tweaked both of my nipples for several seconds, so they would grow red and hard. When he released them, the little bells jingled a couple of times. Then, he left by the door we came through and I was alone, among the silks, the satins, and the heady incense.

"A girl thought she had this all figured out. How wrong could she be?"

Master took His sweet time getting there. My knees were sore for the very simple reason that ‘man-mountain-with-no-brains’ had forgotten to put a cushion on the floor before I knelt down. My back and shoulders also ached a little. I was getting bored, and jiggled my boobies to make the little bells jingle. I tried to play a tune on them, but I couldn’t control the way they moved. I didn’t hear Him come in, and wasn’t aware he was there until he said, “Stop that!” I stopped and waited for my next instruction. He moved in front of me, placed his hand under my chin and raised my head. “Look at me, girl,” he ordered. I looked up at Him, with as much adoration as I could muster. His words were lost in that fuzzy feeling a girl gets between her ears and thighs when she’s about to… Didn’t happen! He was in fact telling me I was unlikely to be suitable for his immediate use, and that I would be required to attend an orientation session, during which he would ascertain my exact training needs. I was then hauled to my feet and my ankle cuffs released.

He marched me through another concealed door and down a dozen steps. He opened a door and led me inside. I could see a long bench standing against a gray, stone block wall, in which several rings were set. The floor was covered in a thin layer of straw. What is it with Masters? Don’t they realize that straw is the most awful stuff to lie on when you’re naked? (Thinks to herself: Did I just ask that question? Jeez, what a bimbo!) Anyway, in the corner was a large box. It wasn’t wood. It was more like the thick papery substance that clothes are packed in by shop assistants. Master told me to turn around. He released my wrists, and then said to remove my clothes, fold them neatly, and place them on the bench, because they cost a lot of money and he didn’t want them getting dirty. I did as he commanded and stood before him naked and totally busting for him to throw me to the floor and ravish me,but he just nodded and bent to open the box. He removed several items – the like of which I had never seen – and laid them out on the bench. He removed my golden collar, wrist and ankle cuffs, and then he placed my original clothing in the box with them and put the lid back on. He then held up something that looked like a jacket with funny sleeves – there was nowhere to put your hands through - and there were straps everywhere. He ordered me to put my arms in the sleeves and then he did up the straps at the back. He pulled one arm around me and buckled its strap at the back. He did the same with the other arm. I was now standing with my arms crossed in front of me. He next lifted up something I had seen before: a discipline hood. It looked pretty scary! It had a mouth hole and two holes for breathing, but no eyeholes. He put something in each ear and stuck some sort of tape over them. Then he slipped the hood over my head and laced it tight. Just like the first time someone put one of those things on me, I started getting wet! But he wasn’t finished, yet. A tall, stiff collar was locked around my neck, holding my head completely still and slightly up tilted. I was still standing at this point, but my knees almost gave way as he touched me ‘there’ – well, pretty close to it - to buckle a thigh strap around my left leg. Then he repeated the action on my right leg. Four straps, fixed two to each side of the straightjacket (as he later called it) – one at the front and one at the rear – were attached to the corresponding thigh strap. This would stop me from pulling the straightjacket over my head and getting loose. He really tugged those straps tight. If I imagined he was finished, I was wrong. He now pushed me backwards until the backs of my knees came up against the bench. He obviously wanted me to sit, so I did. Next, he chained my collar to the wall, placed cuffs around my ankles and hobbled me with a short chain. Finally, he held a beaker of water to my lips. After I’d drunk my fill, he pushed a penis gag into my mouth and buckled the straps tightly behind my head. It was different to most of the gags I’d been fitted with before, in that a long tube passed through the center.

Well, let me tell you, Dear Reader, I was trussed up tighter than an oven-ready chicken, horny as any girl can be, and he walked out on me. Can you believe that?

At first I thought he was having some sort of game with me, and I expected him to return at any moment and at least remove my gag and have me pleasure him. But the minutes passed, turned into an hour, then two, then three… At the end of the first night, I was busting to pee. I held it as long as I could, hoping he’d return, but eventually I just had to let go; but I made sure I moved as far away from my position as the chain would allow me before I did.

"A girl wonders, “Is anybody there?”

Someone came and connected a water bottle to the tube in the gag and gave me a drink. It wasn’t much: just enough to make up for what I’d peed. I was starving by the second day, but was now being given water every six hours. The straw was beginning to stink, too. It was a heady mix: the odor of a horse’s stall, combined with the smell of the heavy leather hood.

I was soon disoriented, weak from hunger, slightly dehydrated, and very stiff. The gag was removed and I was given a long drink on the morning of the third day, as well as a little food – biscuit, I think. Then, before I could begin to ask forgiveness for whatever transgression I’d committed, the gag went back in and I was left alone with just the sound of my pulse in my ears.

About the fourth day, I started to lose it. Master told me afterwards that He feared when He eventually released me that I really had gone over the edge. Sorry, I’m jumping ahead of myself. So, I started hearing sounds that weren’t there. My head tried to follow the noises I was imagining, but the collar held it fixed, so my body kept twisting this way and that. I must have looked like a demented thing, sitting there, my upper body completely encased in thick, black leather, twisting this way and that. Even the periodic connecting of the water bottle to the gag became immersed in a dense fog – like it was happening far away and to someone else.

Finally, on the fifth day, I felt something being attached to my collar, and I was spoken to, though because of the earplugs it was very faint. If I could have, I would have kissed the mouth that uttered those words, because it was something real happening to me – not the weird noises and sensations manufactured by an isolated brain, desperate for stimulation. I was pulled to my feet. The voice said I should follow. I tried to ask, ‘where’, but the gag prevented me. The tension on my collar was now pulling me away from the bench. I tried to keep up, but my stiff legs and the short hobble chain prevented me. I lurched forward and was caught before I toppled by a pair of powerful hands. It had to be the ‘mountain’. Without knowing whether it was, or not, I made myself a promise that I’d sneak up on him and hit him with the biggest and hardest thing I could lift if I ever got out of this predicament. I started to laugh. I felt like I was floating. My legs finally gave way and I collapsed on the floor.

"A girl receives her first lesson.”

I regained consciousness lying on a soft bed. The gag, collar and hood had been removed, and Master was leaning over me looking really concerned. When He saw my eyes flutter, He dribbled some water onto my parched lips and helped me sit up. I was still wearing the straightjacket, and I feared for a moment that this was just a brief respite from my punishment, and that I’d soon be gagged and hooded and sent back to the cell. I lowered my eyes and waited.

He said nothing.

I was desperate to show Him how respectful I could be and thanked Him in a whisper for my punishment. He raised my head with his hand and smiled gently. I was not being punished, he said, merely being taught that everything I had learned previously was no longer relevant. I told Him I didn’t understand. He brushed my hair from my face and told me that His appetites were not those of the overstuffed and over-indulgent philistines I had been forced to serve. They had neither the time, nor the wits to train a girl to serve them properly. Instead of correcting any problems with a strict regime of training, he told me, combined with carefully selected and appropriate punishments and rewards, they typically subjected them to the worst imaginable pain and suffering when they failed to perform. These poor creatures, if they survived at all, emerged, not trained, but broken. That he despised them all was clear. I had always despised them, too. Feared them. Hated them. If he wanted me to forget that I had ever knelt before them, well, I had already forgotten! I smiled softly, and he asked me, ‘Why?’

‘I was happy,’ I said, lying cocooned in his strong arms. He laughed, again, and raised me to a sitting position so he could unbuckle the straps securing the straightjacket around me. It slipped off my arms and I stretched them, luxuriating in my freedom.

I stank! There was no other word for it. Ten minutes later, I was up to my nose in bubbles and Lissa was scrubbing my back and demanding to know where I’d been for the last week? I started to tell her, then stopped. Master hadn’t said I couldn’t, but he hadn’t said I could, either. I marveled at my newfound obedience! In the end, I told her Master would tell her if He wanted her to know. She looked a little upset, but I knew it was not with me. As if to prove it, she kissed me lightly on the forehead.

Two hours later, once more dressed in those pink, silk pantaloons and the long, sleeveless robe of near transparent, white silk gauze, I was entertained by Master at his private table, where I was given the most lavish meal I had ever tasted. Once I had eaten so much that the skin on my tummy was taut, like a drum, Master explained what the future would hold for me.

He told me I was embarking on a journey that would take me to places I had only dreamed of. When I asked where we were going, he laughed out loud and said, “You will travel in your mind, Little One. You will learn things about yourself that you are not yet aware of. You will explore your darkest feelings and emotions. You will ultimately want to serve me, without question or hesitation, in any way I desire.” I then asked him about my training. Why, for instance, did He believe it was necessary to spend so much time and effort teaching a girl to please Him, when the awful sting of the whip was just as effective? He stiffened, and I feared I might have annoyed Him. I remember thinking at the time that I had not made a very good start. I begged His forgiveness. He was not angry, He told me, though He had to admit He had never met a girl who asked so many questions. In answer to my question, however, He told me this: ‘a well-trained girl is similar to a good horse. Obviously, a rider wants a horse that will obey him, immediately and without question. But, he also wants the horse to constantly challenge his horsemanship, and by doing so, bring out the best in Him. That spirit only survives if the training is firm, yet humane,’ he said. ‘A broken horse was useless. It had no spirit.’ When I looked confused, he commanded me to tell Him why. ‘Does this mean that Master wants his girl to be disobedient,’ I asked, ‘but in a new and more devious manner, so He has to invent even newer and more terrible ways of punishing her?’ This made Him laugh so much He sprang to His feet and pulled me from my chair. He held me so close to Him that I felt His heart beating. His man-scent was overpowering, and I became instantly aroused. Without thinking, I expressed that arousal by rubbing my belly against His. He immediately released me and held me at arms’ length. I instantly lowered my eyes and waited for the sky to fall on my head. But nothing happened. I waited and waited and He said and did nothing. I dared to raise my eyes and look at His. They shone with a pride I had never seen in a man’s eyes, before – be he Master or not. He pulled me close and told me, “Little One, you have a need far greater than any I have known before. You yearn to give of yourself; but that yearning is uncontrolled. It lacks direction and purpose. I shall give you those things.” I think I fell in love with Him at that precise moment, though not in any way that I might recognize. My soul knew it. It was my heart and mind that were going to take a little more convincing.

"A girl gets her chance to show what she can do.”

As the evening wore on, I began to imagine He might want to recoup a little of His investment and have me perform in some way for Him; but, yet again, I was wrong. He sat me next to Him – me on the floor on my knees, Him in his plump cushioned chair – and told me about the upcoming journey we would be taking together. Remembering His original statement, I assumed that the journey He was talking about was mine - a journey of the mind. I wondered if I should perhaps ask if my beginning on what was likely to be a very long trip, indeed, had been a good one. However, before I could do so, He told me I should go to my room and pack everything of value I possessed and be ready to depart the following morning - at day break. Now, I was totally confused! Since I had nothing of any value, anyway, save my collar and rings, and they weren’t really mine, my packing would take no time at all. I told Him so. He laughed, said it was a manner of speech, and that I should concentrate on being ready on time. I said I would, of course – since He commanded it – and asked His permission to leave His presence. He said I could not leave yet, so I waited, patiently, while He read the next chapter of His book.

At length, He yawned and stood up. “Come,” he told me. I rose to my feet and followed Him to His bedchamber, where I was required to assist Him as he undressed. I removed His outer clothing down to the point where He was standing in His thin silk pantaloons. Well, Dear Reader, He was put together as well as any girl could possibly hope for in a Master; and the best part was He was certainly ready for any such contingency as might present itself - He was as hard as cedar wood plank! I cannot remember the signal, or indeed if there even was one, leastwise any movement of the hand or eye that might have suggested He wanted me on my knees before Him. But on my knees I was, and totally panting for a taste of that magnificent cock I just knew was hidden behind the thin silk. I automatically placed my hands behind my back. He asked my why I’d done that, and I told Him my hands were always restrained in some way, because the men I served feared assassination, even from a helpless slave. He nodded thoughtfully and told me that He understood, but that I would never be restrained that way in future, except as part of my training, or if it suited His mood to do so. I recall feeling a little disappointed that I wasn’t going to be tied up, but comforted myself with the thought that, knowing His girl as well as He did, he would get round to it soon enough.

He sat, legs wide apart and smiled down at me as I ran my tongue around my lips, moistening them. Then I parted them and raised my half-open eyes to show I was eagerly anticipating His signal to begin. He gave me a gentle smile, lay back in his chair and nodded. I lowered my eyes and slowly loosened the ties that held His cock inside His pantaloons. I caught my breath as I saw it for the first time. Though not especially long, it was very thick, fully swollen, and moving up and down in time with His heartbeat. I extended my tongue and tasted it. Without waiting for another command, I opened my mouth and slowly moved forwards, until the head was inside my mouth. I very gently bit down on it, feeling Him stiffen as it grew even harder. I relaxed my grip and proceeded to swallow him until my chin almost touched his testicles, whereupon I pushed my tongue hard against the shaft and slowly pulled back until I had almost released him. At that point, I used the tip of my tongue to tease the tender spot at the base of the glans. I heard Him catch His breath and tense. I raised my eyes to see if He was pleased with me. He gave me the briefest smile. This was my signal to go to work. I repeated the technique of swallowing Him and then pulling back and tickling the sensitive point for several cycles. Then, I began pushing my tongue against the shaft both in and out. Suddenly, He gripped my hair. I stopped. He withdrew His cock. He stood, still holding my hair, and forced His cock past my lips. Then, He began to thrust and withdraw while keeping my head still. After almost a minute of this, he exploded, filling my mouth. I frantically tried to swallow every drop – remembering the trouble I had been in with the man with the mis-shapened cock. But there was too much for me to cope with and it dribbled down my chin onto His pantaloons.

Desperate for reassurance that I had not disappointed Him, I dared to raise my eyes to His. To my eternal relief, He was grinning broadly – like when I’d first met Him.

He helped me to my feet and slipped an arm around me, saying, “Good girl.” I glowed.

At last my dearest wish had come true. I had a Master who would punish me when I messed up, but who would praise me when I succeeded. As I pulled His bedclothes over Him, after I’d finished cleaning His cock - with my tongue, of course – He told me tomorrow would see us, first, on a shopping expedition, and then, en route for His summer palace and the commencement of my education. He snuggled and fell asleep. Oh, how I silently prayed He would wake up and order me to climb in and lie beside Him. I thought about doing just that, but there are rules about that sort of thing, and, unfortunately, His kind make them and my kind obey them. Since He hadn’t dismissed me, I sort of hung around for a bit, then pulled several rugs together in a pile, found a plump cushion for my head, lay down, covered myself with a table cloth and fell instantly asleep.

I was awakened in the middle of the night with a yell, a curse, and the sound of something soft hitting something hard. Stupid girl that I am, I had made my bed in the exact place a half-conscious Master making His way to His lavatory would tread. He had tripped over me, in the darkened room, and fallen headlong into the mahogany table. I leapt to my feet and rushed to see how He was. He didn’t move. Oh my, what was I to do now? They’d sent me to have my hands torn off for spraying cum over a man’s pantaloons. What could I expect for causing a man to die? ‘Run!’ my mind screamed. So I did, right into the arms of the man-mountain, who was sleeping outside the door, had heard the commotion, and was coming to find out what was causing it. “Master is dead,” I screamed. “What shall we do?” The man-mountain knelt beside Master and felt his neck.

"A girl waits anxiously and fears the worst.”

I stood, transfixed, while man-mountain and two other servants lifted Master back onto His bed. His arms hung limply at His sides as they maneuvered Him until His head rested once more on His plump pillows. A small trickle of blood oozed from His left temple. They covered Him, while I stood shivering in the cold night breeze, which blew through the open window.

By now, Master’s ancient retainer had arrived, together with His Chief Advisor: a small, wizen-faced man called Franca. “What happened?” Franca demanded. I replied I knew only that Master had fallen and struck His head, and that it was the sound of His flesh striking the hard wood of the table that had awakened me. Franca nodded, thoughtfully, and said I should remain with Master while he summoned the Captain of the Guard. When I asked why he needed to do this, he told me, one, it was not my place to interrogate my betters, and, two, that since the majesty of his Master’s body had clearly been assailed, an investigation was obviously forthcoming. Leastwise, I think that’s what he said. Truthfully, he confused me with his long words and long-winded delivery. Maybe he was a schoolteacher in another life, or something? Either way, I was seriously panicked by this new turn of events. Everyone knew that Masters never ever made mistakes, so His accident couldn’t really have been an accident. Someone had to have caused Him to fall. And who was only a few feet away? Yes, little me: principle suspect in this mysterious occurrence! Gosh! This girl is beginning to sound like the Chief Advisor! Franca told man-mountain to bring me to the women’s quarters and told the newly arrived Captain of the Guard to have a man posted outside. See? I told you I was the prime suspect.

Lissa was sitting – tears streaming downing her face - while Conchira and Jasira tried to comfort her. Jana, who was the oldest of the women, here, sat quietly sewing. It was as though she hadn’t a care in the world. I felt so bad, I started crying, too, and was soon blabbing that I had caused Him to fall over and strike His head… and that I was so sorry and everything… and that I wished it had been me who had struck her head and not Him… and that I deserved the worst punishment possible for doing such a dreadful thing… which had caused them to maybe lose their wonderful Master. Not that He wasn’t my wonderful Master, too… but I had sort have given up the right to call Him that because, well… I had killed Him. Shortly after, I heard men’s voices outside the door.

Jana was now listening with one ear pressed against the trellis panel. She gave us a running commentary in a low whisper. “They say the Captain’s report will doubtless say that a slave did it?” She looked at me. “They say an example will certainly have to be made.” She scowled. “They say the punishment will likely be dreadful, so as to warn others not to transgress against their Masters and Mistresses – even in ignorance.” She turned to me and added, “You had better leave, xanthi, and swiftly.”

"A girl takes her first hesitant steps in polite society.”

Dear Reader, this girl would not expect you to have an understanding of what passes for a dress code in the broad streets and tree-filled squares of Kusharwa, as well as in the other cities that stand on the cobalt colored deserts or grass covered plains of Senershreb, so she must spend a few moments explaining.

Naturally, if you are a free citizen, of good standing, you need only obey the laws of common decency. However, a slave girl usually wears nothing but her collar and rings. Indeed, I had spent my entire time in Rishmureb naked as the day I was born. Masters and Mistresses indulged their pleasures away from the eyes of spouses and offspring, so a slave’s nakedness was not a problem. However, if I left the sanctity of Master's house as I was, my nakedness would so offend those around me that I would be stoned to death on the spot. I would need proper clothing, not the seductive outfit I was presently wearing. But where could a girl get such items?

The answer came in the guise of an old woman, who entered the women’s quarters through the back entrance, carrying a basket piled high with clothing. I ran to her and took the basket from her, leaving her looking both confused and relieved. Confused that a pampered, powdered and scented slut – me - could be bothered with such mundane things as washing, and relieved to have the weight lifted from her tired and creaking body. I pulled item after item from the basket, scattering them behind me, as I frantically searched for something I could wear. Eventually, I settled on a worn and faded dress, with a fringed hem and long sleeves. I grabbed some sandals, slipped on the dress, and hopped through the tradesmen’s entrance on one leg, fitting the sandals as I went. So pre-occupied was I with my escape, that I did not see the evil smile on Jana’s face.

The sun beat down on my head as I found myself in the street outside Master’s palace. I quickly found a long scarf drying on a washing line and stole it, wrapping it around my head and the lower part of my face as I walked quickly into the bustling throng. My nerves were raw with worry. Not only was I a murderess – albeit by accident – I was now an escaped slave and a thief to boot. I was not capable at this point of rational thought, otherwise, I might have died of fright at prospect of the fearful punishment that would face me upon my inevitable capture. I simply functioned at an unconscious level. The sounds and smells that had overwhelmed me as I first entered this city now hovered around the periphery of my senses. My fear stood between the outside world and my inner thoughts, preventing more information from reaching my already overburdened mind. I remember, vaguely, bumping into several people. Later, I would discover bruises on my body, but I had no idea when or how I got them.

"A girl needs food, and a safe place to sleep."

As night fell, I found myself walking, alone, along a narrow alley. As I turned the corner, into yet another alley, a large and obviously drunk man accosted me. He seemed to regard me as the support he badly needed to help him get home, and threw his arm around my neck. The load on my legs was too great and they buckled, leaving us both sprawled in the gutter and him laughing loudly. Right then, a bucket of water was thrown from an upstairs window and we were soaked to the skin. The man cursed magnificently and struggled to his feet, with my help of course. He told me a hot bath awaited me at his dwelling, as well as food and drink. With little other in the way of a plan to follow, I decided to go with him.

It turned out that his home was almost half an hour’s walk away, and my back was aching by the time we arrived at our destination. It was a small house, but well maintained, and freshly whitewashed against the heat of the midday sun. Inside, the furnishings were plentiful, if a little old and worn, and in the corner, at a basin, stood a woman I took as his wife. She was dressed in an old, sleeveless dress, tied at the waist with a rope belt. As she turned, I bowed my head. The man took no part in our introduction or conversation: he had slumped in the corner and was snoring noisily. The woman came quickly to me and said she was a slave, also, and that I need not show her respect. I replied that all were entitled to respect, even if they did not always receive it. I took off the long dress and hung it over the back of a chair to dry.

The woman - her name was Kittan, which means ‘blossom’ on my world – looked at my golden rings and collar with obvious surprise. In answer to her question, I told her, ‘Yes, my Master was a very rich and important man, from a prominent family.’ Before she could ask me what a pleasure slave was doing in her Master’s house, I asked her whose dwelling I had entered. She told me, ‘Master Taragico’. She then asked me if I was hungry. I rolled my eyes and told her I was starving, so she ran to the cupboard and brought out bread and meat and some pickled vegetables and watched in silence as I gorged myself. I washed the meal down with a cup of wine and belched for good measure. The woman laughed and said I could sleep in her room, if I desired.

I asked where she would sleep, and she said, "Why, on the floor."

Well, tired or not, I could not deprive her of her bed and offered instead to sleep on the floor by the fire. Reluctantly, she agreed and ran to fetch bedding for me, which we laid out between us. I crawled into the makeshift bed and fell instantly asleep.

"A girl finds that nothing really changes – just the location."

I could not breathe and woke with a start to find the large man on top of me. He was trying to have his way with me, but so large was his belly that he needed guidance from me to achieve it. Coming out of a deep sleep caused me to momentarily forget that this is my place in the world - to be taken as and when the mood strikes someone - and I fought back with every bit of strength I could muster, though I knew I would have to submit, eventually.

Suddenly, he fell to one side of me and lay still on the floor. I sat up, catching my breath and saw Kittan standing there, with a heavy pan in her hand. A small pool of blood was forming near the man’s head. It spread and stained the fur I had slept on.

“What have you done?” I cried.

“Killed him,” Kittan replied.

“For using a girl?”

“He had no right,” she said.

“He had every right,” I said. “It is how things are.”

“You were polite and courteous,” she insisted, “even to a lowly slave.”

“And for that you would kill a man?” I groaned.

“He was anignorant tyrant, who did few good and most evil,” she countered. “I have long thought to kill him.”

“And so you have, sister,” I told her. “Now you will be hunted… like xanthi.”

She looked at me, as though seeing me for the first time.

“Because my Master lies dead, too,” I added. “It was an accident, but a slave must pay.”

She walked purposefully to the cupboard and began assembling a supply of food, enough to feed an army for a week, or more, which she placed in an old shawl. She knotted the shawl and hefted it on her shoulder. “Bring water,” she said, as she took hold of a long, gnarled stick and opened the door.

“What of your Master?” I demanded, as I collected a leather water bottle and followed her into the street.

“He has no family and no friends,” she replied. “He will be bones before anyone troubles.”

Despite Kittan’s confident prediction, xanthi knows better, and so I urged her to increase her pace and head for the city gate. I did not want to be anywhere near the city of Kusharwa, leave alone the house of Master Taragico, when the smell of his decaying carcass grewtoo bad for the neighbors to ignore!

"Our little band grows ever larger!"

The walk to the city gate should have taken us about an hour. Unfortunately, a hue and cry was in progress, which stopped us dead in our tracks. There were guards everywhere! At first I thought it might be over me, but Kittan, who had taken the trouble to enquire of a tradesman what was going on, said it was over a group of male slaves who had killed their overseer and several assistants. It was believed they were hiding somewhere in this quarter of the city. Escaped slaves are pursued remorselessly. They have to be, or else others would follow their example and anarchy would reign in Senershreb. Not that the slaves would complain, of course; but Senershreb is not run for the benefit of slaves! The entire army is dispatched to search every nook and cranny, every tower and dungeon, every passageway and sewer. This activity does more than locate missing slaves. It brings to light stolen property, other slaves, who have left the home of a deceased owner without permission, and wanted criminals. It would be only a matter of time until these, the latest escapees, were cornered and arrested. After that, it would be unspeakable torture to discover who, if anyone, had aided them in their escape, followed by a very messy and public death. In the meantime, however, everyone would be subject to regular ‘stop and searches’.

I told Kittan we must press on, like ‘good and loyal household slaves going about our business.’ She, for her part, suggested my beautiful golden collar might yet prove to be my undoing. When I asked her, ‘Why?’ She said, because not many household slaves were given a collar costing the equivalent of a year’s pay for the entire Guild of Pantry Keepers. I have to admit, Dear Reader, that, being a perfumed and pampered sex slave, xanthi has no knowledge of what a Pantry Keeper is. Nor what a Pantry is, even. But Kittan was right! My collar did show that, even though I was but a lowly slut, my owner’s status was considerably higher than that of a simple homeowner.

Knowing this was a problem, of course, was not going to help me, because, quite simply, I could not remove the collar! Nor could I remove the ankle and wrist bracelets. Though the nipple and pussy rings could go, of course. In fact, since they were gold, also, they might well fetch enough to finance our escape from Kusharwa! So, with a more optimistic attitude towards our future, notwithstanding the possible discovery of Kittan’s former Master’s remains hanging over us like the mythical ‘Sword of Kumar’, we pressed on towards the eastern gate.

As we entered the broad thoroughfare, which leads to the ornately carved and gilded eastern gate – through which the legendary hero, Upata, entered in triumph after the defeat of the Sumian Hoards, millennia ago - we found ourselves joining a long and impatient line of traders trying to get out of the city. As it was market day, they were faced by an equally large number of people who were trying to get in. These opposing groups, comprising men, women, children, oxen, carts, horses and the odd stray dog, were pressing forwards towards one another, while belligerent soldiers tried to keep them apart for the purposes of determining if any of those coming in carried the plague, or any of those going out were escaped slaves. It was a recipe for disaster!

And very soon it happened!

One horse reared and kicked, got its hind legs the wrong side of the traces and fell on its side. Its frantic attempts to get to its feet spread panic among the nearest people, who, in trying to get clear of it’s thrashing legs, caused their own animals to panic. Now, with upwards of a thousand people, horses, carts and wagons all jammed into such a small area, the soldiers guarding the gate decided, for some unknown reason, to add to the chaos by tearing into the crowd with their swords flailing. Goodness knows the number of casualties.

Half an hour later, the soldiers were once more in control and scrutinizing all those leaving. As I moved slowly forward, my scarf concealing my collar - hopefully - I felt someone take my left arm. I half turned and saw he was tall and gaunt, and his face was heavily creased. He had to be about a hundred! Kittan had fared no better. Her new ‘life-partner’ had to be a hundred and twenty!

Suddenly, my right arm was seized. I looked that side and almost fainted. He was totally and absolutely gorgeous! I felt giddy and the two of them had to carry me towards the gate. I swear I could feel Kittan’s eyes boring into the back of my head. She had to be soooo jealous! I just had to turn around and see, and surprise, surprise, she had acquired a younger man, too – as well as a ‘daughter’. We were no longer two: we were seven!

"When a girl has served old and impotent men, lying comes easy."

“Where are you going?” the guard asked as we all stopped.

“Rishmureb, Sir… May it please you,” I replied. “My mother lies sick and I, along with my father, and my brother, need to be with her.”

“Can you afford to hire a team and wagon?” he asked with a smirk.

“We can, Sir,” I replied.

“Good.” He pointed to my left side. “This one will not make it on foot.” He nodded, indicating we could pass. As we moved off, the guard demanded, “These four? They are with you?”

“May it please you, Sir, they are on my mother’s side,” I replied, turning and coming back to him. “This is my mother’s father, his wife, their elder son, and adopted daughter.”

He shrugged and waved them through. I couldn’t help noticing the streak of red on his right arm: testimony to the fact that he had spilled blood earlier. I suddenly had this overwhelming desire to put this evil place behind me and return to the home of my parents. And, yet, that desire was tinged with sadness. I’d known him for such a short time, but – and I know you will find this strange, even crazy – I missed Master, terribly, and I was reluctant to leave the place where he’d lived. Quite why, I have no idea, even now. Perhaps I knew this was where I belonged – where the rest of my life would play out?

"A girl get her first taste of freedom."

We walked through the high gate, apparently without a care in the world, and held our breath until we had crossed the drawbridge. I slowed, but ‘gorgeous’ pushed me along, until we had turned the corner of the customs house and were out of sight of the guards.

“Blessings, Sister,” ‘gorgeous’ enthused. “You have saved us!” He embraced me and told me his name was, Hunar. I suppose I should have felt some kind of emotion while he was holding me so tightly, but, to be truthful, he left me cold. Perhaps he was enslaved to a Master? They say a girl can tell from the touch of such a man. Not that I hold any judgment of such people. I simply mention it, here, to explain my reaction to him.

With the passing of the danger, my knees went weak, and I thought I would faint, but the two men buoyed me up and we walked quickly to the nearby coach house. Three large wagons stood outside the old inn. Their teams of horses were still resting in the corral, to the rear, and would likely be brought to the traces when the wagons were loaded with passengers and ready to leave. Three drovers busied themselves with laying the traces out in neat lines and checking the brakes, which would be sorely needed on the run into Rishmureb – which is largely downhill after the Pass of Cinnagar has been safely negotiated.

We made our way inside the inn, where Hunar sought out the innkeeper and asked for food and drink. I thought to offer him some of the food Kittan had packed, but she indicated I shouldn’t. The innkeeper, as is the way with all tradesmen, demanded to see the color of Hunar’s coin. Well, that took the wind out of his sails and his outward calm deserted him instantly. He was a blubbering idiot by the time I had worked out what was wrong. Careful not to expose either of my breasts, I removed first one nipple ring and then the other. I offered one to the innkeeper, who clamped his teeth on it and pronounced himself satisfied. The other ring, plus one of my pussy rings - which I had to remove by touch, under the watchful eyes of the other guests in the room, who likely imagined that I was engaged in some kind of perverted self-gratification - I gave to Hunar, with the suggestion that we go our separate ways.

He seemed upset by the idea and said we should stay together, but the sudden appearance of four, off-duty, and very hungry, guards made the decision for us. Kittan pulled my sleeve and we began to slowly back towards the other door. We’d almost made it when one of the guards caught sight of my blonde hair, got to his feet and lumbered towards me.

“What’s your hurry, pretty?” he crooned as he lurched close enough for me to smell him.

Well… I could hardly run out after that introduction, could I? But I couldn’t stay, either, because the moment he got his hands on me, he would see Master’s golden collar – complete with Master’s name inscribed upon it – and know that I was not where I was supposed to be! I would then be taken into custody and returned to Master’s palace – after a short while spent seeing that the troops were good and happy, of course. Naturally, I had no problem with looking after the troops. It was the other part that had my knees knocking. After an escape attempt, which had clearly established her guilt in the matter of her Master’s death, poor xanthi would spend a long while in the clutches of someone who would make Mentor Grazino look like the tooth fairy, before embarking on a slow and painful journey to a reunion with her long dead ancestors!

I froze, momentarily, then smiled, curtsied, smiled again and ran through the door as fast as I could. Kittan, in a moment of dazzling and, for her, all too rare improvisation, told the man I was a complete simpleton, still a virgin, and scared totally witless of men. As I cowered among the horses in the corral – doing a fair rendition of the terror stricken creature I’d just been described as being - I could hear laughter coming from inside the inn. Kittan appeared outside the door a few moments latter, grinning broadly, and stood looking around for me. I gave a low whistle to attract her attention and she walked towards me smiling.

“I bet you never ran away from such a handsome man, before,” she observed, beaming.

“I seldom got the chance, to be honest,” I replied. I then asked her what had happened. She told me. She added, “We need to book passage.”

“To where?” I asked. Home seemed too far to even consider.

“At least as far as Rishmureb,” she said.

“Will my three pussy rings be enough, do you think?” I asked, reaching to remove them after checking I wouldn’t be seen.

“They’ll have to be,” she said, taking them. She grinned. “If not, we can always offer your services to make up the shortfall.”

I nodded, accepting my probable fate - as ever - and waited while she went back inside the inn and negotiated the fare to Rishmureb with one or other of the drovers. I remember hoping that she wouldn’t offer my services, or intimate that they were on the table so to speak, too soon, because I was tired and hungry. Neither is an ideal basis from which to contemplate a sexual encounter with one or more drovers, who would doubtless be roaring drunk to boot!

"All aboard for Rishmureb and all points west!"

The following morning, dozens of hung over and scarcely awake passengers threw their belongings onto the wagons, and then clambered on board, while the drovers, who were even more hung over, cursed loudly and cracked their whips as they backed the horses – who were not hung over, but just as bad tempered - into the traces.

Eventually, everyone was ready to leave, except Kittan and me, who had kept well clear of the aforementioned proceedings and were now desperately seeking somewhere to sit. One of the drovers leaned towards me and offered his hand. I took it and found myself sitting and staring at the rear ends of two horses, one of which had a very bad dose of flatulence, while the other evacuated its bowels all over its feet and the traces. The smell was appalling! The drover cursed royally, cracked his whip loudly, and we jolted into motion.

After four hours, we reached the first stop, where two people dismounted and five squeezed on board. One drover got into a violent altercation with a bald-headed man who insisted he had every right to travel with his two goats. To prove his point, he threw one in among the people sat at the rear of our wagon. Naturally, the goat was as unhappy as the people it was sitting on, and it jumped off – the hooves on its forelegs striking the head of the drover as it passed overhead. The man was eventually persuaded to take the next convoy, when all three drovers threatened to join forces and whip him within half an inch of his life. The dispute resolved, we jolted off on the next leg of our journey: the twenty miles to the overnight stop at the entrance to the Pass of Cinnagar, which we fully expected to reach by late evening. I got a foretaste of what I might expect when we bedded down for the night, when the drover slipped his hand on my thigh and gave it a firm squeeze.

With eighteen miles behind us, and two hours of daylight remaining, the portents looked bright for reaching the inn ahead of schedule. I recall twisting on my seat and exchanging a smile with Kittan just as we turned sharply to the left to skirt around a massive piece of rock, which had fallen from above and had introduced a chicane into what was originally a straight section of road. As the horses began to turn to the right, to rejoin the road, we heard several bloodcurdling cries, followed by loud whoops and fearful hollering. Soon, a dozen brigands barred our way. Just when it seemed all was lost, a tall, blonde, and wonderfully put together man rode towards us on a white horse and signed to the ruffians to pull back. He was wearing just enough clothing to render him respectable, and brandishing the biggest sword I have ever seen. As he came close to the first wagon, his horse shied and shook its head. It had clearly been ridden hard. Sweat glistened on its neck and shoulders. Its blood-gorged nostrils flared as it snorted angrily, while its chest heaved as it took huge gulps of air. The man’s powerful arms and shoulders tensed, pulling the horse’s head away from me. I felt a dark, bottomless well forming inside me as its wild eye glared at me. I counted the lashes framing that deep, liquid pool of evil. This was no savior, come to rescue a damsel in distress. It was a demon, come to take her soul. Suddenly, my reverie was broken. “Tie them to the treeths, yonder, and make thure they can’t ethcape.”

“What about beauty, here?” one of the brigands asked, stabbing a filthy thumb in my direction.

“Take her with uth,” the blonde replied. “The’ll doubtleth bring a thubstanthial thum.”

Why someone with such a bad lisp would wish to construct sentences populated with so many pitfalls, I cannot guess. Perhaps he was the kind of person who rises to such a challenge? Perhaps he was attempting to overcome his impediment by constantly exposing himself to it? Maybe he wasn’t even aware of it? Whatever the answer, I knew I was to be sold, again, and once more my life would be in the hands of another. I think you’ll agree, Dear Reader, that I’m a pragmatic kind of person, but I have to confess I permitted myself one, very deep sigh of resignation as I was thrown across the back of His horse.

"Head for the high country."

I bounced around for hours on the back of that evil eyed animal until we eventually slowed to a walk and clip clopped our way through a narrow, rock strew gully towards a distant pair of gnarled and stunted acacia trees. As we passed between them, the blonde man cupped his hands to his mouth and cried out, “Theptimuth returnth. Open the doorth.”

I raised myself up until I could see around his broad, suntanned back. Two carefully camouflaged wooden doors swung open to reveal a large encampment, dotted with stunted trees upon which the women of the camp had hung their washing. Children played noisily in between rows of brightly colored tents. Men tended crops and animals, while the women washed and repaired clothes, taught the children lessons, and spit roasted large carcasses on roaring open fires.

Septimus stopped his horse outside a large, bright red tent and slid gracefully from the saddle. He turned and helped me down. He then pulled me into the tent, where ten women, of widely varying ages, confronted me. Septimus pushed me towards a beautiful, brown-haired, olive-skinned woman with the words, “Prepare her.” The woman bowed her head and led me in silence to the rear of the tent, where a large metal bathtub sat brimming with suds. As she started to remove my clothes, she caught sight of my collar and cried out, bringing several men into the tent - swords drawn. They left after Dushira, the brown-haired woman, reassured them that all was well.

Dushira pointed at the bath. I put one foot in and pulled it out immediately. The water was freezing! She then called two of her ‘sisters’ to aid her in completing the task she had been assigned, and they physically shoved me in and forced me to sit down. To be fair, they were quick, and it was probably one of the shortest baths I have ever had.

Actually, thinking about it, there was one that was shorter. It had to be almost six months ago. I had left the Caliph’s palace and was owned, briefly, by an innkeeper, called Fimgar, who also brewed his own beer. He was a nice enough man, when he was sober; but get a jug or two of his product inside him and he was a total tyrant! Anyway, there were four us who were owned by him and his lifetime friend, Arnau. Our job was to entertain the patrons of his establishment. The work wasn’t hard. In fact, it was pretty easy. Some nights we had barely one customer between the four of us. Well, this particular night started out slow, so I was given permission to go and take a bath and have an early night. Anyway, I had quite literally just slid down into the bath, when I was dragged, dripping wet, to a rendezvous with an evil-tempered man, who’s disposition had not been improved by being kept waiting for over an hour, because the girl he’d paid for, Jari, was double booked. Arnau, her owner’s, first thought, of course, was that she could handle both. After all, from a practical viewpoint, a girl can bring pleasure – or, at the very least, relief - to up four men simultaneously. This does, of course, require a degree of cooperation from the men, in that they work as a team, so she doesn’t have to move in opposite directions at the same time. It also requires that they know each other, or that they are accepting of sharing her. The evil-tempered man, however, was not a ‘sharer’, so I was conscripted to serve him. When I greeted him, in time-honored fashion, by pressing my forehead gently against his rapidly hardening groin, he grabbed my hair, pulled my head away, opened his pants, then pulled me towards him so quickly that I barely had time to open my mouth. What he possessed in bad attitude, he lacked in stamina, and I was trying to slurp him clean in less than ten seconds.

But he wanted none of that. He fixed himself, growled, threw money on the floor and left, slamming the door behind him. But that wasn’t the worst of it. When I returned to my room, I was in soooo much trouble: I cannot begin to tell you, Dear Reader. And when I told Master, Fimgar, that Master Arnau had kept all the money, as well… Well, I wasn’t able to sit for a week. On the plus side, I could still earn my keep of course. That doesn’t require a girl be able to sit down. I was sold shortly afterwards to the rich merchant who later had me sent to Mentor Grazino.

A girl’s journey takes a new, yet familiar, direction.

As I stood, shivering, while Dushira and one of the other girls rubbed me down, I remember thinking that this was journey’s end for me. My beautifully engraved collar had told its tale on me, and I would be returned, promptly, to Master’s palace, for a sizeable finder’s fee.

Septimus would likely get a free pardon for his trouble, too. Why? Because the exploits of bandits like him, who, let’s face it, were more often than not unsuccessful in their attempts to hijack the heavily laden and heavily protected wagon trains that crossed their territory, were little more than an inconvenience. Only on one occasion was Kusharwa’s garrison dispatched to round up these malcontents: when they inadvertently abducted the son of the High Caliph, himself. Then, Dear Reader, the hills ran red with the blood of the innocent, as well as the not so innocent.

When they restricted themselves to stealing from the lower classes, bandits were gnats, nibbling on the tough hide of Senershreb. Slaves, like xanthi, who ‘killed’ their Masters, or rebelled against their authority, were a far more serious threat. We were cancerous cells who, if we were allowed to live on inside the body of Senershreb, might one day join forces, become a fatal tumor and destroy it. There was no other option in their eyes but hunt us down, by any means possible – including encouraging people like Septimus to turn us in - and put us to death.

Septimus came into the tent just as I was dressing. I saw Dushira move to him and start speaking. His head nodded a couple of times, and then he came towards me and grasped my collar. He studied the engraving for some time, though it was obvious from his knotted forehead that he could not read Master’s name. Dushira came close and muttered something in his ear. I caught the word, ‘Dangerous’, I think, though Septimus gave no indication he was concerned. At length, he released me with the words, “Feed her, then bring her to me.”

I suddenly realized, when he mentioned it, that I was absolutely starving! I had not eaten for more than a day. Dushira took me to another tent, where two long trestle tables groaned beneath the weight of sides of cooked beef, sheep and goat. As I sat, nibbling on a cold piece of sheep’s leg, people sauntered in and sliced off entire haunches, struggling outside with slabs of meat that had to weigh as much as me. I have to admit Septimus seemed to be a great provider for his people. Possibly, that’s how come a man with his disability – oratory, let’s face it, is often a prerequisite for strong leadership – was capable of commanding such respect. Alternatively, maybe he beat up on anyone who argued against him. He was, after all, a very big and powerfully muscled individual. *sigh * Now, don’t you all go thinking I was attracted to him – big and strong as he was. I loved Master. Well, his memory, anyway. And, besides, I was just a meal ticket to the big guy, and we both knew it. As if to reinforce that understanding, Septimus walked through the tent flap just as I was leaning to tear off another piece of meat. We stared at one another for a full ten seconds, before he came over and ripped off an entire leg of mutton and started gnawing on it.

“Good?” he asked, between chews.

“Good,” I replied. “You are a great leader,” I added, verbalizing my earlier thoughts.

He smiled and nodded. “Life ith good here.”

Well, I was gob smacked! A bandit satisfied with his lot? Whatever next? Consensual slavery?

Since he seemed to be in a reasonably calm mood, I decided to risk asking him what he intended to happen for me, but he stopped me with a raised hand the moment I opened my mouth. “You are thafe, here,” he said. “No one will harm you. I have thent methengerth to your Mathter’th houthhold. They will bring word, thoon enough.”

My look of abject terror must have touched a protective nerve in him, because he moved to sit beside me and put a huge arm around me.

“You know they will kill me,” I whispered – so softly that I couldn’t hear myself say the words. But I could hear them, of course. I had heard them in my head continuously since I first ran out the door of Master’s palace.

“Yeth,” he said, without emotion, “they will. But your death will thave many, here.” He looked at the darkening sky. “Winter is coming. Thoon the cold windth will freeze our boneth. The reward will buy uth food and clothing.”

Well, I suppose my submissive nature and instinctive need to be of service should have permitted me to view my demise as a positive thing, in the light of the benefits to these people that would accrue from it; but it didn’t. In fact, I couldn’t see the slightest good coming from my dying in such an awful way – except, as an end to my seemingly continual misfortune.

I have never been an, ‘if only’, kind of person. But the truth was, if only Master hadn’t died, I would likely be tied up somewhere, with a big gag in my mouth, having the starch beaten out of my bottom and loving every minute of it. To me, life seemed to have become so unreliable, lately. All of my life’s events and lessons – certainly after I was abducted - had relentlessly steered me towards that fateful meeting with Master on the auction block, and then, in an instant, it had removed him from my life, and in such a way, that now my own life was forfeit. There seemed to be no purpose in it. No purpose at all. In fact, life wasn’t so much unreliable as unfathomable. At that point, I stopped trying to figure it out, and went back to something I did understand: men.

I wiped my right hand on my dress, leaned against him and slid my hand sideways over his thigh. My little finger had almost reached its target, when Septimus suddenly stood up, scowling. “You would have me place my pleathure above the welfare of my people?” he cried.

“But…”

“Enough!” he boomed, and left the tent.

I was so crushed by his rejection that I couldn’t eat another mouthful. I just sat there in silence and watched the people as they came into the tent from time to time to take a piece of meat.

"We have ridden all night to bring you word, Lord."

The following afternoon, two men rode into the camp. Their horses were near death, so hard had they been ridden, and were led off to be watered and fed the moment their riders slid from the saddle. I should point out, perhaps, that more often than not a horse is worth more than a person, here, in Senershreb. Actually, it’s usually a lot more!

Please forgive a girl. She’s wandering again.

Septimus was called and they conferred, slightly out of my earshot. They caste the occasional look in my direction, however, so I was left in no doubt that they were talking about me. Septimus nodded at length and slapped them both on the shoulder. They had done a great service to their people, he told them, in his booming voice, as he turned away from them strode towards me. As he reached me, he put an arm around my shoulders and guided me into a nearby tent. We didn’t enter.

“It ith done,” he confided. “Tomorrow, at dawn, we will ride down to meet soldierth from your Mathter’th perthonal guard. They will conduct you to hith palace.” His eyes left mine, as if he was ashamed, almost. With that, he walked away.

I passed the rest of the afternoon in my cot, staring at the ridgepole of the tent. A small bird twittered in a wire cage above my head. Its song was so shrill and full of hope. Some birds mate for life, I have heard. Perhaps this one had already mated when it was taken? How did it feel, trapped behind bars, so far from the heart that owned its own heart? How could it sing so beautifully, when it was so sad, I asked myself? On impulse, I leapt to my feet, grabbed the cage, and ran outside. Before the owner could reach me, I had torn open the cage door and released the little songbird. It fluttered and flapped around for some time, before falling to the ground, exhausted. People ran around trying to capture it, but it was too quick and easily evaded them. Eventually, their efforts drove it into the air, once more. Its long unused flight muscles tired quickly, and it fell an easy prey to a hawk, which dove out of nowhere and snatched it up. My shoulders shook as I started sobbing. I walked slowly to the tent, climbed into my cot and tried to shut out the world. But the owner of the bird would have none of it, and slapped me several times, before Septimus stopped her.

He pulled me from the cot and led me to his own tent, where I was chained to one of the supports and left to ponder my fate.

"Why is it tomorrow only comes quickly when you don’t want it to?"

I was being shaken. I forced open my eyes and saw Septimus standing over me.

“Come,” he said, pulling me to my feet.

I followed him. He threw open the tent flap and I saw it was still night. As we walked across the moonlit compound, I noticed the stars were still clearly visible on the eastern horizon. It was obviously still some way off till sunrise and my appointment with Master’s guards. Perhaps Septimus wanted to meet them a good distance from his own encampment, so they couldn’t find it easily, if and when they decided that they would come back and destroy him and his people. The upper classes are like that, in Senershreb, as they are everywhere else, I would imagine. They could be as practical as need be, and deal with the lowest of the low, as long as it suited them; but once the situation was resolved, as was the case with getting hold of me, again, they would quickly revert to type. The nobility, here, took hypocrisy to new heights, almost daily! And, well, since they were torturing me anyway, I had no doubt one of the questions I would be asked, right after, “So, why did you kill him, whore?” would be, “So, what do you remember of the encampment, girl?” A possible deal would be hinted at. I might receive clemency, and get to live out my life in prison, or the mines – minus parts of my anatomy, of course… like a hand, or two.... All of this, and lots more, was churning in my mind as we approached the large enclosure where the horses were kept.

Septimus stood me in front of a tan colored horse, which had a large white patch on its left flank, and a smaller one on its nose. It was already saddled, and a water bottle was hooked over the pommel. A large sack was draped across its back, just behind the saddle. He helped me mount and handed me the reins. I thought to take flight, but gave up the idea immediately. My horse seemed to be in quite poor condition. It was very fat, and reluctant to move away from the pile of hay it was busy shoveling into its mouth. Septimus’ mount, on the other hand, was lean, muscular and, doubtless, very swift. And, besides, he knew his mountains far better than I. With him in the lead, we clip-clopped out of the encampment, passing between the gates and the twin acacia trees, and started along the rock-strewn path to the foothills, where I had been taken from the wagon train. I thought for a moment about Kittan. Was she safe? Was she alive, even? I had no answer, and no hope of finding one, so I stopped dwelling on it and tried as best as I could not to think about anything.

"Even in sorrow, there is still beauty which cannot be ignored."

I noticed the sun was beginning to caste long shadows to the right side of me as we started to walk slowly downhill. Suddenly, I felt the first, warming rays of a new day and my spirits were uplifted. Septimus turned in his saddle to check on my progress just in time to see a slight smile playing on my lips. “You are a remarkable girl,” he said.

“How so, Sir?” I asked.

“You ride to your death with a thmile on your lipth,” he replied. “You have courage, little one.”

“No, Sir,” I protested. “I am terrified of dying.” I pointed at the sun, now starting its journey across the sky. “But it is a beautiful sight, and I must revel in it, in spite of myself. It gives me life. It gives life to all living things.”

Septimus pulled hard on the reins and waited until I had drawn alongside. His demeanor was different, somehow. He pointed to where the path flattened out as it reached the plain. “When you reach there, turn to the left. Ride for three dayth with the thun to your back. You will thee a gully, which eventually leads north to a path over which you must ride for three dayths more to reach the border of thith land. They will not purthew you beyond that point.” He pointed to the bag slung behind me. “Food enough for a week, if you are careful.”

“But, Sir, what of your people?” I asked, though, to be truthful, it was more out of politeness than any serious attempt on my part to change his mind. Why was he letting me go? Perhaps he didn’t trust the word of the Captain of Master’s personal guard. Perhaps he was fearful he would be killed? Maybe he was concerned he would be followed and the encampment discovered and destroyed? Maybe, like me, he had figured I would be tortured and forced to reveal their whereabouts. And, having decided instead to release me, rather than simply killing me, perhaps he wasn’t going to tell his people the truth? Maybe he intended to say he had been betrayed and they had taken me without paying? He didn’t tell me his reasons, or his thinking, so I shall never know. He pulled his horse back a stride, leaned over and slapped my horse’s rear, setting it in motion.

I never looked back at him the whole time I was moving down that precarious pathway, though I sensed he was watching me, just to be sure I got down safely. When I reached the bottom and looked up, he was gone. Tearfully, but joyfully, I turned my horse to the west and kicked it into a slow trot. “Out of the frying pan…” I muttered to myself, with a rueful smile.

"An old friend encountered, and a brand new plan."

My first night alone in the open air did not pass without the odd scary moment. Strange, but you would think the large cities of men would be noisier places at night than the wilds. The truth is, of course, that they are. It’s just the noise is made by other people, not spooky, creepy-crawly things that want to nibble you, bite you, and, worse case scenario, gobble you up!

My horse was no help, either. Every now and then, its nostrils would quiver and its eyes would roll as it picked up the scent of some creature or other. Then it would snort and stamp its feet. Sometimes, it pulled at its tether, and moved sideways around the tree for a bit, before moving back to where it started and settling. I decided I would stay awake and on guard – for what little good that would achieve – and would attempt catch up with my sleep while in the saddle.

The next day dawned and I mounted my horse as soon as I had gathered my belongings. I ate some of the cold meat as we moved off, and washed it down with some of the water. I’m not a great fan of meat, actually. It tends to leave pieces jammed between your teeth, forcing you to grimace and contort your face as you poke about inside your mouth, trying to rid yourself of the irritation. I suppose my concentration slipped for a moment, for the horse noticed something way before I did, reared, and took off – depositing me on the ground. I jumped to my feet, but the horse was already heading back the way we had come. Fortunately, it stopped running after a couple of dozen yards and stood pawing the ground. It couldn’t be bothered to run anymore, so I was able to approach it to pick up the reins without any problem. It followed me docilely as I returned to the scene of my unexpected dismount and stooped to retrieve the water bottle. As I straightened, I caught sight of a small group of trees. I looked closer and thought I saw people among them. Curious, I walked towards them, noticing a massive rock to my left, which seemed to straddle the road. Suddenly, I realized that this was where we had been intercepted by Septimus’ band of cutthroats. Those must be some of the passengers and drovers! Kittan was probably there, too! I decided to leave the horse where it was, so I tied the reins to a low bush.

When I reached the trees, I turned away and emptied my stomach. The two bodies were almost completely intact, but decomposition was well advanced. Those creepy-crawly things that had kept me awake all night had clearly condemned the other poor wretches to eternal sleep, long before they were due. I sat and slowly recovered from the dreadful image, musing on the tragedy of those taken before their time, and in such a bloody and frightening manner. I paused and considered that statement. Maybe this was their time; and this was how they were fated to meet their end? I recoiled immediately from such futile philosophizing – frankly, I’m not qualified for it – and struggled to my feet with a heavy heart.

The ground hereabouts was parched and hard. A man built like Septimus would not make a dent in it, even with an axe, I decided; and there were not that many loose rocks lying around that I could use to bury them, so I had no choice but to leave them where they were. In time – a few weeks, at most – they would be gone. Just a few bones, maybe, would remain. I hefted my water bottle and returned to the horse. I mounted, slipped the water bag over the pommel, stroked the horse’s neck to soothe it a little, and went in search of what might be left of the luggage the wagons were carrying. I was hoping some of the food Kittan had packed might have survived the frantic searching of the brigands.

As I turned the south corner of the large rock, I was greeted with a cry of joy. It was Kittan, alive and well and running towards me like a long lost lover! I dismounted and we embraced.

“Sister. Sister,” she gushed. “You are safe!”

“And you, sister,” I snuffled, holding her tight, “are safe, too.”

“Who would have believed it?” we chorused, and then broke into fits of uncontrolled giggling.

After a moment, we regained our composure and sat down on a rock. Kittan told me how she had managed to get one hand free, after she and the others were abandoned, and had eventually managed to free herself completely just as night was falling. Being, like me, a city girl, and easily frightened by the strange night noises, she had clambered high into one of the trees.

During the night, she had clung on, petrified, as first one traveler, and then another, and another, had screamed out in their death agonies. Eventually, their desperate praying had ceased, to be replaced by the soft growls, snarls, grunts, and scuffling sounds of carnivores cleaning their whiskers and settling down for a well earned nap.

The sun rose to reveal a scene of carnage. The carnivores had left. Uneaten body parts were strewn about - many still in the clothing that had covered them in life – and blood was everywhere! Kittan knew she had little time. With so much potential nourishment still available, so to speak, the next rank of predators or scavengers would soon be making an appearance now the top carnivores had moved on. Of that she was certain. And they may not be night creatures! As she headed away from that dreadful place, she noted there were three bodies still intact and tied to the trees. Two of them had obviously died of fright, and the third had lost her left leg. It had been severed at mid-thigh. She had probably bled to death.


After spending much of the day finding the wagons and then searching them for anything she might possibly be able to use, like food and water, she was forced by the fast fading light to take sanctuary once more in the trees. The second-ranked carnivores, accompanied by at least one of the top-ranking ones, too, judging by the sounds it made, arrived at sundown, and began to dine on the scattered remains. When the sun rose again, just two of the bodies tied to the trees were left. Of the woman, there was no sign. I asked Kittan how the two bodies had survived for two nights uneaten. She said it was probably because of the cannaphtha. Cannaphtha is used to prepare the bodies of dead people, and the skin of anyone who uses it regularly absorbs it. It never scrubs off. Ever! Obviously, these men were professional embalmers, and the smell of their bodies was too much for the sensitive noses of the predators.

Having heard her story, I no longer felt the least bit sorry about Septimus being unable to feed and clothe his people, this coming winter. In fact, I hoped they’d all freeze to death. The fact that he’d decided to spare me for some reason in no way made up for the suffering his casual, “Tie them to the trees and make sure they can’t escape,” order had caused. And, yet, if it was their pre-ordained time to die…? And, after all, he had let me go. I shrugged and decided to let the gods figure out what Septimus had coming to him, if he had anything coming to him, and held onto Kittan as tightly as I could.

After a while, I told her we must think about moving on. Her eyes slowly focused, and she smiled and nodded her acceptance. As we walked slowly west, holding hands and leading the horse, I explained the route Septimus had planned out for me. Our first waypoint, I told her, would be that deep gully. I didn’t tell her that it would take us almost a week to reach it, with little food, and with very little water; and, that after that, it would be another week or more of struggling over the high mountain passes before we reached the border and relative safety. I didn’t think she was ready for another adventure, quite yet!

"I have to ask: “Does someone, somewhere, have it in for me?"

We had made good time – not that I am experienced in such matters as exploring. Suffice it to say, Septimus had said it would take three days to reach the gully, and so it did. Our water was almost gone, now, and the food was down to a few scraps jammed in the bottom seam of the bag. The horse, of course, was fine. It just set to and destroyed the local fauna down to the bedrock every time we stopped, or slowed sufficiently for it to snatch a passing mouthful.

As we turned into the gully, I decided to take a short break and discuss our worsening supply situation with Kittan. To be truthful, she was not much use when it came to overcoming such adversity; and to be fair, neither was I. Well, not this kind of adversity! I mean: the meals we slaves were given may not always have been especially tasty, or even particularly generous in the size of helping; but they did have one, really good thing going for them. They were regular! Every morning it was thick, gooey porridge. For lunch, it was usually bread, pickled vegetables and fruit. For dinner, it was usually just fruit – or what we could cadge from the kitchen staff. See? Regular.

I remember my stomach rumbled loudly as I leaned towards Kittan and asked her opinion about what we should do, now. She shrugged.

“There’ll be water the higher up we go,” I told her. “We can last a long time without food, as long as we have water.”

“What about the horse?” she asked.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” I replied. “I mean, it’s almost like one of the family, now.”

“I don’t mean eat it,” she growled – or maybe that was her tummy? “I mean, how will it eat the further up we go? It has to carry us, so it’ll need its strength.”

I studied the horse for a moment. “He should last okay,” I suggested. “He looks pretty well fed.” I took a closer look. “In fact, now I come to mention it, he looks positively obese. He must have been eating the whole time we’ve been traveling to get that fat.” That’s when I made my startling discovery…. “It’s not a boy,” I exclaimed. I giggled. “You’d think, of all people, I could tell the difference.”

Kittan leapt to her feet and strode to the horse, whereupon she bent and looked underneath its belly. The horse, as is the way with horses, apparently, took exception to someone staring at its genitalia in such an obvious way, and moved around nervously. “Judging by its ribcage, it’s pregnant, too,” Kittan said, straightening. She patted the animal’s flanks as she walked around its rear end. She expertly dodged the flicking tale and exclaimed, “And from the size of that vagina, I’d say we’re going to have company pretty soon.”

“You mean it’s dilated?” I cried, sounding, for all the world, like an expert in such matters, even though I only knew about things going into pussies, not coming out of them.

“Not fully,” she responded. “But it’s started all right.”

I started running to and fro, like I was gathering towels and water and kindling for heating it. “We have to make a fire,” I yelled. I looked around wild-eyed. “Then we need…” I grabbed hold of her shoulders. “What do we need?”

Kittan pulled herself free, laughing. “We need to let the horse take care of itself,” she said. “It knows what to do.”

With that, the horse snorted twice and lay down.

“A girl learns that Mother Nature cannot be rushed."

We had been sitting on that same rock, staring at that same horse’s bottom, for almost six hours. It was freezing cold and my teeth were chattering noisily. “H…how l…long do you think this is going t...t...to take?” I stammered.

“It’s own sweet time,” Kittan replied.

The horse snorted, rolled onto it stomach and shook its head. It snorted again, and then whinnied pitifully.

“It’s started,” Kittan whispered.

“Couldn’t w…we at least try and light a fire or something?” I pleaded.

Kittan rummaged around in the pockets of her dress and pulled out two empty hands. “Nothing there,” she said, tersely. “What about you?”

“I d…don’t have any pockets,” I moaned. “At least you can keep your hands warm.”

The horse whinnied again. Suddenly, something plopped into view: a pair of legs, followed by a head. It was brown, with two dollops of white. As we watched, spellbound, its little ears twitched. The horse was making a lot of noise, now, and visibly straining to force the foal’s body all the way out.

“It looks like it’s in a lot of pain,” I said, innocently.

“Of course it’s in pain, you idiot!” Kittan snapped. “Childbirth hurts.”

“Oh,” I muttered, silently wondering if it might be less or more painful than having your hands pulled off.

Plop! The foal was out, and swimming around in the most awful goop I have ever seen. Anyway, pretty soon the mare was on her feet and the foal – a male - was struggling to get to its feet, too. Kittan was ‘oohing’ and ‘ahing’ all the while. I was just numb with cold.

“Does this mean we’re its aunties?” I asked, once Kittan had stopped dancing around.

“Perhaps we should give it a name?” she suggested.

“How about, ‘Frostbite’?” I joked. I looked up at the distant, snow-capped mountains. “Or, ‘Snowy’, maybe?”

“No,” she replied, grinning. “I like ‘Frosty’ better.”

The foal started to suckle.

“Ah,” we crooned in unison. “Bless him.”

It started to rain!

"A girl can always depend on help, from the most unexpected quarter."

You know, I’ve often wondered about fortune. Not money…or wealth. Fortune. Good or bad, some people seem to have an endless supply of it. I’ve often bemoaned my own fortune, or lack of it, but, somehow, when the chips are down, and I’m staring disaster in the face, fortune arrives with an answer to my troubles. Take Mentor Grazino, for instance. I’m about to be crippled, when out of nowhere comes the idea to make some money from selling me and I am saved. Better, yet, I go on to meet Master! Then, of course, Master dies – which is not exactly the best of fortune. But, then, I’m on the run and I make a new friend: Kittan. Bandits capture me and then they let me go – while everyone else, apart from Kittan, dies. Don’t you think it’s just a little spooky?

Even though the horse had given birth to a healthy foal, and was, itself, in fine form, Kittan and I were not so well placed. We couldn’t eat grass, like the horse, or suckle, like the foal was doing, and very noisily. About the only thing that was going to save us, now, was a dose of old-fashioned fortune – the good stuff, of course. And that’s just what we got! Well, in a way….

"The Taurag."

The Taurag are a loosely connected group of nomads, who, during the course of the year, drive their herds of smelly, bad tempered sheep from one end of Senershreb to the other, and back again. They acknowledge no one as their Master - except for those who lead them, of course – and their leaders only hold sway over them because they are permitted to do so. Though they do have slaves, these tend to be outsiders who have somehow become attached to the tribe, and as such have no rights according to tribal custom. Those that prove useful are most often declared free, and permitted to remain with the tribe as sort of honorary members. Females are usually taken for wife, have children, and live out their lives on the broad plains and high mountain pastures. It is a hard life, with few luxuries, but at least they are free.

Kittan and I were soon ‘captured’ – though in truth we had little strength left for running, so had just sat waiting for them to reach us – and taken to the tribal leader’s tent.

The leader was elderly, very elderly, and dribbled into his beard constantly. After hearing about our adventures, he pronounced himself content to have us evaluated for the kind of contribution we could make. From the way he looked at me, I had kind of already worked that out – and clearly, so had he. Still, we were safe, had shelter, and the possibility of food. And that was definitely worth the price of having an old man leer at me…

"A girl looks back."

Today is my thirtieth birthday.

Eight summers have come and gone since the Taurag rescued Kittan and me. My golden collar has gone, melted down to pay for winter-feed. Kittan was married to a handsome young man, called, Ofee. I heard she'd had two sons and a daughter by him, and has doubtless grown fat and happy in the six years since I last saw her.

As for me: well, when it became clear that I had been born barren, they had little use for me, and sold me into a middle class home, where I was assigned the duties of maid and companion for their three children. Much as I love them, it has been a bittersweet experience.

It has been a long time since any man called me to him for anything other than a glass of beer, or to clean up a spill on the carpet. Not that Master and Mistress aren’t kind to me. They are. They do not beat me, or curse me. I know I should consider myself blessed, indeed. But, for some reason, my life seems empty.


Yesterday, I was in the market, buying vegetables, when a coach drawn by four of the finest white horses in all of Senershreb passed by. Though I caught only the briefest glance at the passenger inside, I knew instantly that it was Master. My Master! What am I saying? A girl cannot own a Master. But it was Him: Master Ottomanis. He was a little older, of course, but I knew for sure it was him. He looked in my direction, briefly, but I knew he'd not seen me. I hastily lowered my head, as everyone else had done, and remained so until the sound of his carriage had passed.

I realized, then, that Jana had lied to me. That I hadn’t killed him.

The tears just started and they wouldn’t stop.

When I reached home, I excused myself by saying I was feeling unwell, and spent the rest of the day in my room, cursing myself for my cowardice - for not waiting to hear if he lived or not. He would not have punished me for an accident, surely? He would have taken me into his arms and reassured me. He would have…. Then I thought again about Jana, and her lies, and the anger grew in me until I thought I would burst. I vowed I would have my revenge!

But what would be the point? Master wouldn’t be interested in me, now. I am old. My soft skin has been coarsened from long exposure to the sun, up in those high mountains. Besides, there are so many, young, beautiful and willing girls for him to choose from. My submissiveness – my most attractive characteristic in his eyes - has become nothing more than resignation.

As I sit staring out the window at the busy street below, I can hear Master and Mistress laughing on the other side of the wall. Pretty little Cathera – a girl they bought last week - is with them. I can hear her squeals of delight, occasionally.

Part of me wants to hate her, for her youth, and the attention they lavish on her. But part of me is happy for her. Happy that she has found her place in the world: a place where she will be cared for and treasured.

Though much of my life, here, in Senershreb, has been brutal, though I was never loved, simply used and sold when a Master became tired of me, at least I was still alive! I felt pain and fear. I laughed, and shared food with my slave sisters. It was… An adventure!

I cannot conceive of another twenty years, feeling as I do, now: empty and without purpose.

If I could have that moment over, again, I vow I would stand firm and face my punishment. I would risk all for Him. But I am mortal, and such things do not happen to mortals. I busy myself with cleaning my room for a while, then flop on my bed and try unsuccessfully to sleep.

"A knock at the door."

Master and Mistress' house is in unroar! There is a commotion in the street, as dozens of guards bang on doors and demand entrance. They are searching for something. That is clear. But, what? Or who? I dare to peek out the window. An ornate coach, drawn by four of the finest white horses in all of Senershreb, is standing there. The lead horse paws the ground and snorts, anxious to be gone from this crowded place. Master summons me! His voice is high-pitched! He's excited.. or scared. I can't tell which. I run downstairs. The room is full of soldiers. I start to panic. Then, I see him. Master Ottomanis. He smiles as I fall to my knees and touch my head to the floor. I feel his hand on the back of my neck. His fingers entwine themselves in my hair and exert an upward pull, drawing me to my feet. I dare to look at him. His eyes twinkle. They are full of joy! He takes my hand and leads me from the house to his coach, not speaking a word.

As the coach starts to move off, he turns to me. His face is clouded. Perhaps, after all, I am to be punished and then executed for my transgressions? As if reading my mind, he smiles and says, "You are long overdue for your journey, little one." He slips an arm around my shoulder, cradling my head. "We shall leave tomorrow."