Catharsis of a Warrior Part Two: The
First Days of Slavery
by Sophie-Louise
Dryhten lead me, sore-arsed and dewy eyed from my cell, past the
dawdling dregs of the crowd, to where my family was standing. I stood
there, clad only in the skimpiest of slave clothes, my slave face
melted with sweat and tears in the arms of a great warrior. "I hope you
understand", Dryhten spoke to my father, "he, or she, or it has
pledged herself to me as my slave, and will leave here today to travel
with me as I return home".
"Of course I understand" replied my father. "What she was once was an
absolute disgrace. She is nothing to my me or my family anymore. I can
only hope that she may serve a great warrior like you well as a slave".
"I'll see to it that she does" Dryhten replied, his thick hand
giving my bottom a hard slap.
We arrived back at Dryhten's city later that day. It was of course
common knowledge why Dryhten had journeyed to my former city and as we
travelled through the streets the procession of the famed warrior
resplendent in armour and the meek, shamed slave girl in the briefest
of silks caused many heads to turn and many mouths to giggle.
The same was true when we entered Dryhten's home. Being a famed
warrior, he of course had been rewarded by many slaves; some given in
tribute to his fearlessness, others captured on the battlefield. All
stared at the new arrival. Dryhten summoned the lash-mistress
"This is little tart is Sophie-Louise" he said with a grin. I still
bristled at being referred to with a woman's name.
"Ah yes; we've been expecting her" replied the mistress. "We understand
you've got some special plans for here".
"Put her in the French maid costume. She is to be given the most
degrading and humiliating tasks, for even among slaves she is the least
worthy. She may eat only the most rancid leftovers. She is to be
considered common property when I leave for battle next week".
"In any particular way, master?"
"Let her work as a siolat girl at the tavern; there she may earn her
keep".
"And earn it she shall", concluded the mistress with a smile.
Till then, however, I was sequestered in Dryhten's personal quarters.
For a week, sunset was seldom seen without my master's twyll being
violently lodged in some part of my body, our bodies intertwined in the
rank, smug silks. We were often interrupted by some other member of the
household attending to my master's needs. Such occasions offered
opportunities for explicit discussion of my activities.
"Who would have thought?", Dryhten often mused, as I drowsily lay with
my body sore and stomach heavy with byth "she has experience of only
three men, and yet her skills in the silks would put many an
experienced slave to shame".
"A good slave has pride in her work...so she should be....she's
obviously a born whore..."; such comments were the usual reply, and
while they pleased my submissive instincts, still they bothered the
last vestiges of male pride in myself. My master obviously picked up on
this, for his own opinion, delivered with delight, was that I was
"making up her debt to true warriors in the only way she can" a comment
that at once reminded me of my shameful act as a man, while underlining
my punishment in the utter loss of such manhood.
Such were my night-time activities; during the day, I worked as a
common household slave; actually, I was less than a common household
slave. As Dryhten had demanded, I was routinely given the most
disgusting and repellent tasks that a slave might perform, at least
outside the bedroom. I need not go into these, so I shall spare the
reader; be aware, however, that my body was violated in such ways that
it came even as a relief to perform the drifna cefnell for my master's
visitors.
That I had been chosen for the latter task came as a shock to the other
girls; it was Daphne, another slave, who was always chosen to remove
her slave silks for the satisfaction of men. Her beauty was but one
reason, and her lasciviousness, the relish with which she performed the
task, was but another. For Daphne was formerly a free woman of high
class, whose slavish instincts caused her to throw herself at Dryhten's
feet and offer herself in bondage, both by crossing her wrists in
supplication, and then shamelessly and vigorously performing the
slave-girl's kiss on her master's engorged member. While there was no
small amount of prestige inherent in possessing a slave of such
provenance, it must be said that the curiosity of her degradation
provided her greatest attribute.
So it was, that when told of her replacement in the
humiliating act of stripping, that she resolved to enquire after my
background. She cornered me in the latrines, where, on my knees, I was
performing one of the tasks which I shall refrain from mentioning.
"Sophie-Louise", she began, "are you a slave of formerly high class?"
"No, Daphne" I replied "though I belong - belonged - to a respectable
family, there would be no great prestige in my origin".
"Then you were formerly a great warrior, captured in battle, whose
celebrated deeds should arouse the interest of men throughout the
country?"
"I was a warrior, Miss, but no great one. Indeed, my fate shows it to
be a laughable pretence".
"Then why should you be given the task of performing the
drifna-cefnell?"
"My master will find no prestige in me performing that act; rather, he
intends it for my shaming punishment."
"Punishment? It's not my place to say it, but such vengeance is quite
improper. What is it you did?"
A tear came to my eye as shame flooded my body in the recounting of my
sorry tale.
"Engaged in battle with your - our - master, I hid like a timid girl
while my friends were slain."
"you did what? I can't imagine any man born would chose to act as a
miserable coward rather than observe the code of loyalty and aid his
comrades as a true man would?"
"I am - was- that man, miss" I said between recontrite sobs.
The aspect of Daphne's face changed as she grasped my hair and pulled
it back, forcing my face upward. "I devoted my life to man in respect
of his virtue and strength; but as a man you could not bring yourself
to act like any such thing; rather, that you were found to have the
heart of a pathetic woman?"
"That is true, Miss".
"Actually, it's not", she contradicted, her voice growing in anger. " A
woman would gratefully aid a brave warrior in anyway she could, whereas
you just ran away."
she paused for several moments, as I on my knees, remained under her
gaze. She resumed, her voice louder, and her tone mocking:
"Well, you're serving a great warrior as a woman now, aren't you?" Here
her voice reached its apogee of anger. Hearing no reply, she
pressed her mouth to my ear.
"Well, next time you find yourself bent over, in the silks, I dearly
hope our master's twyll tears your rhadus in two, you worthless slut".
Daphne's words rang in my ears as I, humiliatingly
dressed in my maid's costume was later called to perform for an
acquaintance of my master. As I simpered to the room where I was to
perform the striptease, my face loaded with slave-paint, I felt a
stirring in my breast. Such a feeling was intensified when, after
submissively introducing myself to the recipient of my dance, he spoke.
"I hope you prove yourself to be a better woman than a man; Dryhten has
spoken often to me about you, both of that episode in the clearing when
your mannish pretence was exposed, and of your punishment as a slave.
It is a tale repeated in taverns, camps, at the forums; wherever men -
real men - get together, the tale of your humiliation fills the
air, along with much raucous laughter and mocking jokes. Though it
really won't take much, let's hope you prove yourself to be
better slave than you were a warrior". A feeling of indignant shame
filed my breast. The man spoke: "Begin".
My emotion found a voice. In my brief slave-training I had been
instructed to coyly play with the hem of my short skirt, to slowly
expose my breasts, the performance a slow, steady revelation of my
form. Here, though, upon hearing the man's words, I swiftly leapt to my
knees. I kicked my stockinged right leg, tapering into my slavish
high-heeled shoe, high into the air, then balanced with one foot on the
floor, the other resting on my lord's shoulder, and with my left hand
on the back of his head, I began to grind my saer into the man's face,
with only the thin fabric of my slave silks between us. I then turned
round, and flipping up my skirt bent over , presenting my encased
buttocks to my patron, my vaec mark brandished like a badge of honour.
He leant forward, caressed my brand with his hand, and hungrily sunk
his teeth through the soft fabric into my soft flesh. When he left off,
I turned round, and facing my aroused patron, opened my legs, hitched
up my skirt, and straddled his lap, the cloth of his trousers rough
against my tender behind. He pressed his mouth to mine, and I willingly
accepted his tongue into my mouth. The heat between us, and the lithe
proboscis in my mouth reminded me of my first day as a woman, a
shameless girl with a shameful heart. I did not resist, then when after
unloosing my lacy outer silks, my head was forced down onto my lord's
throbbing groin. The teuring lasted not long, before my head was again
raised, and vigorously sprayed with my lord's byth, the thick balm
coating my face and hair. I rested back on my haunches in the
slave-girls pose of supplication as my satisfied conqueror slumped back
into his chair. My body trembled with the emotions coursing through my
body as he called for the whip-mistress. A smile came upon her face as
she observed the scene.
"Miss, this girl is a true slut. If her performance was typical of her
usual behaviour she shall do well at my tavern."
"Very well, sir" she replied.
"And as for you", he addressed me, " Do not wash my byth from your face
or hair; it suits you very well to wear the balm of a warrior upon your
face. A real man you were not; a true slut you most certainly are. your
weak heart let down brave warriors; let your weak body pleasure them".
His last words thrilled and shamed me; I was condemned to the life of a
debased slave, always probed with the filthy sweat saturated heglogs of
men I might formerly have called comrades. And yet, unarguably, I was
never truly a man; indeed, my state insulted those proud and strong
men, the real men. Now as a woman, I may at least pleasure their strong
bodies, and give my own body as a receptacle for their proud twylls. My
manly courage deserted me on the battlefield. May my womanly lust fill
me in the silks!
Siolat girl: Catharsis of a Warrior
Part 3
by Sophie-Louise
"Siolat is expensive; a woman's body is cheap".
I muttered this this phrase, uttered with the frequency and force of a
proverb throughout Zhor, to myself as I walked the short distance from
my departed master's home to the tavern where I was to prostitute
myself. I was wearing the earther maid's outfit, as demanded by the
tavern keeper; my bosom heaved against the tight corset, and I could
not passa teenage boy without my brief skirt being flipped up to expose
my very exposed bottom.
Eventually I reached the tavern, and was accepted in
by the keeper. He led me into a small room, and seated himself as he
outlined the requirements of my position.
"Tell me, strumpet, what you believe your work to be here."
"To prostitute myself and serve siolat", I replied without emotion.
"You seem very sure of yourself", he said after a moment's pause. he
raised himself and moved behind me. "But you're slightly wrong. You
will indeed serve siolat; and you'll do so with the respect and
obedience natural to a woman, and integral to a slave girl. But you
won't prostitute yourself."
I was both relieved and, unnervingly, slightly disappointed. But he
grabbed me around the waist, his twyll poking into the small of my
back, as he whispered into my ear:
"Oh don't worry; you'll get plenty of sex, even as much as to satisfy a
rank slut like you. Indeed, I dare say you'll be brolled until you
bleed. But you won't receive any money for it; such services are
complementary to the siolat. You'll merely be a convenient hole in
which the hardworking men of this town can relive themselves".
His last words caused me to tremble with anticipation, which I thought
was fear, but was probably something else.
So began my work at the tavern. At all hours of day and night, I would
greet customers with a forced smile and a dainty curtsey. Then I would
serve the siolat, careful to show plenty of cleavage when placing the
drinks on the men's tables, as instructed. I would then collect the
money, with a grateful smile, and place it in the till. All this was
accompanied, of course, with lewd suggestions from the clientele.
Rarely did five minutes go past without some rough hand finding its way
up my skirt to probe and fondle my most intimate places.
And of course, every now and then I would have to
lead a man to an alcove, and then, well, what happened next was up to
the customer. Occasionally, a man would treat me like a lover, gently
caressing my soft curves, and entreating, rather than demanding my
pleasures. Most of the time, however, the story was rather different;
much of the bar's clientele was made up of soldiers, who all knew
what I was and what I'd done. They expressed their feelings upon the
matter physically. My heart sank every time one of these men demanded
my services, for I knew that there was to be no gentle love-making.
Instead, I would be forced to bend over with my face roughly shoved
into the silks, and a twyll roughly shoved into me. Other times, I was
ordered onto my knees and forced to perform a teur, my sore body and
injured pride finding only the mocking lotion that came with being
showered with thick wads of balm, before I had to continue with my
duties sporting the effluent of true manhood on my clothes, face and
hair.
So continued my days at the siolat tavern, days and
nights when the performance of the most base, slavish acts left
me feeling sick from shame; I felt especially ashamed that, deep down
in my womb, on some level I was enjoying being used by men; I was
ashamed to enjoy it, but I also enjoyed being shamed.
These feelings reached their zenith when one night,
my master arrived home from another glorious victory in battle,
accompanied by his entourage, each as composed of broad chests, stout
legs and sinewy arms as my master. I was ignorant of my master's
presence until called upon to supply his group with siolat. As I
sauntered over to his table, the sight of his firm muscles , covered
with hair slick with mannish sweat, and above all his knowing leer
distracted me from the task at hand; I thought of those nights in his
service, his heavy body on top of me as his masculine scent filled my
nostrils, his tongue filled my mouth and his twyll filled my saer. My
thoughts were interrupted by the crash of glass as I dropped the
glasses of siolat; the men at the table looked at me with disgust and
mocking contempt. The man to Dryhten's right sneered.
"we go off to battle and take our live sin our hands, and when we
return we can't even get a drink without a stupid vaec spilling the
drinks".
"We'll sort her out later", asserted the man to Dryhten's left, the
words being hissed through his teeth.
I sat mumbling panicked apologies over and over
under a torrent of lurid abuse, until the siolat master came over.
After first apologising to Dryhten's company, he ordered me to my feet.
"Are you responsible for this mess, Sophie-Lou?"
"Yes sir", I replied.
"And how are you going to make amends?"
"I shall clean it up right away, sir."
"Indeed you shall. Take off your most personal slave silks and mop up
the mess with those".
"Yes sir". To the accompaniment of jeers and lewd comments, I lifted my
skirt and removed the smooth silky undergarments, and set about
clearing up the spilled siolat. As I was on all fours, the nearest
soldier reached across and flipped up my skirt, exposing my branded
bottom. I had to resist every inclination to replace the thin fabric,
and carried on with my task with my rhadus exposed to the whole tavern.
"What a pathetic creature she is", remarked one of the men. This
prompted my master to speak.
"She looks no more pathetic now than the first time I saw her". The
men, and indeed the whole tavern quietened, such was the gravity and
respect afforded to my master.
"For this shameless slattern was formerly the infamous coward
Dylan ap Sion, who hid like a timid girl as his far worthier comrades
faced me in honourable battle. Indeed, such was his cowardice that he
did not dare look me in the eye; when I spotted him, I dare say a
girlish tear came to his eye; that said, it may have been womanly lust,
for although his city properly administered such an abhorrent disgrace
with Ruk's serum, he was unmanned there and then."
Throughout this speech, I continued to clear the spilled siolat from
the floor, as I fought back the tears that welled in my eyes. They
finally fell, mixing with the siolat, as my master continued his speech.
"Of course, such an application of the serum was merely the
feminisation of a so-called man who was already in his heart a female.
To be lowered to his present state, he was strapped to a table in the
public square, and gaired thricely by myself and others in front of his
shamed family. It was his mother who entreated him to devote himself to
me; although, given the fact that he, unabashed, immediately offered up
that rhadus you see before you for another gairing, I don't think he
took too much persuading. Despite their public disgrace, his mother has
kept in contact with me, and she has a curious interest in her son's
antics in the silks. She laughed out loud when informed that he was now
a lowly siolat girl.
I had by now finished mopping up the siolat, and had
replaced my silks, the filthy, saturated material sticking tight
against my groin and the material gathering between my buttocks as I
resumed the slave's normal kneeling position. In such a position, I was
subjected to the curses, expressions of disgust and threats from the
men once Dryhten has finished his tale of my degradation. They soon
quietened as my master spoke again.
"Men: I have laboured long and hard on the battlefield with you all,
and I understand that this tale in an insult to our shared ideals of
bravery, strength and manliness. It is right that a man who cannot live
as a man ought to be considered a disgrace; and of course we ought to
look on wretched slaves like this slut with contempt and scorn.
But since he could not act as a man, so shall she serve as a
woman. And not just me, but all true men; and not just serve men, but
do so with grace and womanly relish. Let us have our fun with her; we
certainly deserve it."
With that he turned to me.
"You, slutty wench. Before this night is out, you shall have pleased
each man at this table; and you shall have done so as a woman, with a
smile on your face, showing to all your lusty nature. You may now
remove your silks."
I stood, forced my face into a smile, and steeped out of my dress. I
then peeled off my sodden undergarments , and stood nude. A man of the
company beckoned to me, pointing to his exposed twyll. No sooner had I
seen the long, thick shaft than I with a wide grin straddled the stud
and impaled myself on his dagger. Before long, my enthusiastic
exertions brought forth their reward, as my saer was filled with balm.
A pair of thick, horned hands reached under my arms, lifted me off my
stallion, and lowered me onto a twyll which, although so thick it
strained the walls of my saer, slickly slid in and out of my body all
the same. So the games continued, until the men tireless in battle had
been sated and rendered weary by their toying with my body. After the
last staff had deeply probed my abdomen, I was thrown on the floor like
a cheap doll. I of course had been rendered light-headed by my
performance, but not so much that I did not realise that I continued to
smile; what had begun as a pretence, a mask for my self-disgust at
allowing myself to be almost rent apart by a troupe of men, had
resolved itself into satisfaction at having a body sore with spent lust
and heavy with thick lumps of masculine discharge. The cat that got the
cream, indeed.
So heavy was my mood of contentment that I did not
at first grasp the meaning when the eldest of the warriors spoke
to Dryhten. It was only slowly that I realised what he was saying.
"My lord, we have had our fun with this slut; yet while she has proved
herself to be an excellent love slave, her existence remains an insult
to all right thinking Zhorians. Indeed, while her punishment may be
fitting, the relish with which she performs her filthy tasks
constitutes as great an insult to man as her former cowardice in
battle. She is your slave to do with as you please; I entreat you, run
her through with your dagger, and end her pitiful life."
The bond between the assembled men ensured that at such words,
dispensed by a respected elder warrior, they left their slumber and
pulled me nude and vulnerable to my feet. My arms were bent behind me,
and my head was pulled back, my hair wrapped round the fist of the most
vigourous of the men, as all demanded that Dryhten plunge his dagger
into my exposed womb.
Dryhten remained seated, and was amused at the spectacle.
"You are quite right, sirs; as her owner, I could quite lawfully end
this slut's life right now, not that the courts would be particularly
concerned with the legality of such an action."
His words were spoken over my shallow gasps prompted by equal parts
fear and anticipation. Dryhten continued.
"But, as I have told you men, I have already run this wench through
with my lance. And so no single thrust shall end her life; instead, her
punishment shall be to be lanced by men forever , just as I pierced her
before. Only then, she whimpered, screamed, and protested. Now, she
must undergo her punishment with the grace and enthusiasm she has
displayed tonight; and each night that she spends without some weapon
lodged in her, she will spend contemplating that her whole life's
purpose is contained within, and her happiness dependent upon, the
pleasure that she may give to a man".
At these words, the grip of my restrainers relaxed, but I was still
held tight as Dryhten prompted me for a response. My head was held so
that I could do no other thing but look at my master in the eyes.
"I know I failed as a man. I know my family must live with the shame of
knowing that their son, the boy they brought up and hoped to be a great
warrior, is rarely found without his legs wrapped tightly around a
man's muscular torso, or his lips wrapped around a throbbing twyll.
They had to watch as their son, clad in slave silks and smothered in
slave paint was tied down and mounted by the sort of men they thought
their son to be. At least my father and brother remain ignorant
that that although their son and sibling is now a weak woman, she
is also a lusty slut. As I have learned, my mother knows this.
But that is of less consequence, for I shall serve Dryhten or any man
as my mother serves my father. I shall be true to myself: I love to be
used by men, to choke on thick byth, to feel my rhadus stretch as a
stranger uses me for his pleasure. I love to feel between my legs, and
to think about how, where once there stood a lance with which I
conquered women like a stud, now there is only my saer, and how I am
now the pretty filly to be surrendered to the burly stallion. So
while I must forever be a low slave, a mere thing to be brolled and
gaired, at least now, my instincts prompt me to do what I could not do
as a man: perform my duties towards true men."
The End
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