A Slave's Journey Begins Ch. 12

Tara felt dazed, her body long since past the point of pain, now approaching the point of numbness. She had lost track of how many men had used her, she only knew that she had served them all as she should have served the Young Master and now she could only hope that he had seen her, and would reward her efforts. Tara had thought she was ready to take anything, but now she realized that her training with the slaves and Stewards of Blackmore Estate was only the beginning of her journey. The last man to fuck her had turned her over so that she was on her hands and knees, her ankles still cuffed to either end of the metal bar, keeping her legs spread, her hands left free to support herself. Her head drooped, her eyes heavy. Her body and mind were exhausted and she hoped she would be allowed to return to the slaves' quarters soon.

She was startled when she felt the water jug press against her lips. The paiges on duty had allowed her sips of water all night, but it had been a while since anyone had noticed her and she was grateful to quench her thirst.

"Thank you, Sir," she murmured as the water was withdrawn, but it was then she noticed that the hand holding the jug was the colour of brushed mahogany. Amazed, Tara raised her eyes and looked into the strangest and most beautiful face she had ever seen, if a man's face could be described as beautiful. Warm brown pools flecked with gold set in dark skin atop finely carved cheekbones, a straight nose, and a full, sensual mouth, looked back at her. In her sheltered little life, Tara had never seen a person of colour before and for several moments, she and the Eastern Prince simply stared at each other, mutually transfixed.

Finally remembering herself, Tara dropped her gaze, but the Prince lifted her chin and shook his head. "These...," he said, running his jeweled fingers over her eyelids, "I like."

Tara felt as if she could look at him forever, everything from the silk tunic he wore to his long black hair rippling over his shoulders, to the way he touched her with his soft hands, fascinated her. When another dark skinned man joined him, Tara wondered if she was imagining things, but as they spoke to each other in their foreign tongue, she realized that no, there were indeed two of them. A stolen glance at the second Prince told her that although their faces were similar, he sported shorter hair and a close cropped beard. When he removed the richly embroidered overcoat he wore, Tara's eyes widened as another difference between the two men became clear.

The Prince laughed, Tara's reaction to his sculpted, heavily muscled body not an unfamiliar one to him. "I am...Warrior," he said, miming drawing a bow. "He is..." He paused, searching for the word.

"Artist," the other Prince filled in, his mouth curving into a smile. "And you," he said, pulling gently on the chain connecting her collar to her clamped pink nipples, making her gasp. "You are... roses blooming in snow." Tara felt herself blushing, not fully understanding the words he said, but understanding well the meaning behind them.

The two men circled her, taking her in from every angle, until the Artist stopped in front of her again and the Warrior took up position behind her, between her spread legs. The water jug was passed from one man to the other over Tara's back and then she felt the contents being poured over her ass and pussy. She shivered at the sudden cold and then gave a small sigh as the felt the globs of congealed cum that had been left on her thighs and sex by those who had previously used her, wiped away. The simple act of being cleaned seemed to Tara a great kindness and she hoped they would not find her wanting.

Once again, she had to fight back the panic that threatened to overtake her as her ass cheeks were pulled apart and she prepared herself to be fucked. Tara opened her mouth for one cock and tried to open her asshole for the other, although if the size of the rest of him was any indication of the size of his manhood, she already knew this was going to hurt. She was utterly unprepared when it was not the Warrior's cock she felt pushing into her, but his tongue. The unfamiliar, yet intensely pleasurable sensation of him rimming her ring of flesh, coaxing it open and then plunging in and out left Tara breathless. Losing focus, she choked and sputtered as the Artist forced her mouth open wider around his shaft.

A joke was shared between the two men and they both laughed as the tongue probing her ass was replaced by what Tara recognized as a fat thumb, while a hard cock slid slowly into her waiting pussy. As she had expected, it was bigger than she was used to and despite being well used, Tara still struggled to take all of him in. He seemed to be taking his time, testing her for depth and tolerance, penetrating her deeply until he finally bottomed out, causing her to wince as he nudged against her cervix. Satisfied with his findings, the Warrior pulled back and then began fucking her with short, fast thrusts, moving in tandem with his brother who was at the other end, fucking Tara's mouth at the same speed.

The three of them fell into a rhythm, moving together as a single unit. Although their dusky skin was a novel sight to Tara's eyes and their velvety voices a foreign sound to her ears, Tara felt oddly at home serving the Princes, and as her body became more accustomed to them, she began to genuinely enjoy their combined mastery over her. They carried themselves with the same natural air of power that the Young Master had, but with none of the menace she so palpably felt from him. Tara tasted salt on her tongue and a wave of disappointment came over her as she realized that once they graced her with their cum, she would likely never see them again. She looked up at the Artist's striking face, drinking him in, completely unaware of how pretty a picture she made with her wide blue eyes, blonde curls tumbling down, and lips stretched tightly around his dark rod.

"My sons have found something they like," the Maharaja said, seating himself next to Thomas at the head of the Banquet Hall.

"I'm glad," replied Thomas. There were only a few particularly enthusiastic groups left, the Eastern Princes still playing with Tara among them. Another pair had Siara in challenging predicament bondage and despite her strength, Thomas could see the slave was reaching her limit and was considering bringing the night to an end.

"What would you take for her?"

Thomas looked at the old man still watching his sons use the fair haired, fair skinned slave and shook his head. "She's only a novice," he replied. "She has some potential, yes, but she requires much training before she would be worthy of any price I could name for her."

The Maharaja nodded thoughtfully and then said, "If not a sale, may I suggest a trade?"

He clapped his hands twice and as if out of the shadows themselves, two dark skinned beauties appeared, naked except for the delicate golden collars and matching anklets they wore that chimed softly as they knelt before their Master. Thomas took in their soft curves and exotic features, and imagined both luscious mouths serving his cock at once.

"You flatter me, Sir," Thomas said. "But my one novice is hardly a fair trade for two treasures such as these."

The Maharaja chuckled. "The world beyond our shores is still new to my sons and if they intend to pluck flowers from every garden we visit, then they must also be willing to leave some behind," he said. "These two have served my court well and now they will be pleased to serve you until we meet again. What say you?"

Thomas hesitated only a moment before he answered, "I accept."

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Tara's dreams that night were filled with images of the Eastern Princes that were so vivid that when she awoke in her bed the next morning, she was surprised that she was not in fact impaled on one cock and licking cum off the other. The sound of voices drew her to the bathing room where she found Siara and Katya in the stone pool together helping each other wash off the mix of sweat, spit and semen covering them both from the night before.

Seeing Tara staring longingly at the sweetly-scented bathwater, Siara laughed and climbed out of the pool. "Well, don't just stand there, get in," she said. "I'm not drawing another bath just for you!"

Tara gratefully sank into the water and sighed with pleasure as Siara's strong hands went to work washing her hair. The three slaves chatted amicably, comfortable in each other's company, as morning sunlight flooded the room. Even Katya seemed a brighter version of her usual stormy self and Tara smiled as she realized that for everything she thought she had lost to become a slave, she had gained a great deal as well.

"What a lovely picture you three make." Tara turned her head to see Mistress Leanna watching them. Her words were kind, but her voice was tinged with sadness and Tara felt a flutter of worry in her belly. Something was wrong.

"Mistress Leanna...," Tara began uncertainly, but the Slave Mistress clapped her hands and said, "Alright, that's enough, I think you've all had sufficient time to recover from your exertions. The Young Master wishes you to know that he was very pleased with your service last night." Then looking directly at Tara, "He was very pleased with all of you." Tara beamed with pride. So he had noticed her after all! Was it to be made official then? Was she to remain the property of Blackmore Estate? Before she could ask, Mistress Leanna was already giving instructions for the day. "Siara, my dear, it seems you made quite an impression on some of the Young Master's guests, as you always do, and they have paid handsomely for the pleasure of your continued service this afternoon. I trust you will be ready to accommodate them."

"Yes Mistress," Siara murmured in reply.

"And you, Katya," Mistress Leanna continued, "Sir Lucas has reported that he has noticed some... troubling behavior on your part and he has been given leave to punish you as he sees fit. You will prepare yourself and a room for his use and I don't want to hear any more about this again, do you understand me?"

Katya's face coloured, but she bit back the sharp retort poised on her tongue and muttered instead, "Yes Mistress."

"And you, Tara..." Mistress Leanna paused and for a moment a look of concern knitted her smooth brow. Then just as quickly as it had come, it was gone, and she said, "You will also prepare your body as you have been taught and then present yourself at the Training Room. Sir Liam is waiting for you there... along with your new Masters."

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Tara's head spun. She barely noticed Siara braiding her hair, or gently cleaning and oiling her orifices, or pushing the cold, steel plug into place between her ass cheeks. She had pleased the Young Master, but not well enough. She was not to be a slave of Blackmore Estate. She was to be sold to strangers. And then what? Where would they take her? What would they do to her? What had Mistress Leanna said... there are cruelties you cannot imagine outside of these walls... Tara felt sick, too stunned even to cry, as she knocked mutely on the Training Room door.

"Enter," Sir Liam called, and Tara obeyed, keeping her eyes down and her hands clasped neatly behind her neck as she sunk to her knees. "This position is what we call 'presenting.'" Liam said. "This is how she will present herself to you for service - unless you prefer something else?"

Tara heard a voice she did not recognize speaking in a language she could not understand. After a pause, Liam continued, "Very good. She is trained in other positions as well, what we call 'slave positions.' Would you like to see?"

Again, the unfamiliar, youthful voice seemed to translate what Liam said and the more he spoke, Tara realized that although she did not understand the words, she had heard the language before. Without thinking, she snapped her head up and found herself looking straight at the dark skinned brothers from the Banquet - the last ones to use her and the ones she had not been able to stop thinking about since.

The slap across the face that came next caused Tara more surprise than pain and she quickly bowed her head once more, murmuring, "I'm sorry, please forgive me, Sir."

"Please don't take offense," said Liam. "She is not usually so disrespectful, but then we have only had a short time to train her so you must expect she will make mistakes and be ready to provide correction and punishment as appropriate."

The young translator repeated Liam's words to the Princes and Tara listened as they spoke quietly to one another, the Artist's voice a lilting harmony to his brother's commanding baritone. "Please show these positions," the Warrior said.

Liam began calling out the positions, just as he had when Tara first arrived at Blackmore Estate and began her training with him in this very room, and Tara's body answered gracefully, moving fluidly from one position to the next, as if she had known them all her life. On her second pass through the series, Liam began pointing out the various ways the slave could be used in each position, punctuating his demonstration by pinching, prodding and penetrating Tara throughout. Tara felt the larger Prince's gaze keenly and tried desperately to focus on the task at hand, but she was distracted by the Artist and his translator moving to the post behind her. When she finally managed to sneak a glimpse in their direction, she gasped at what she saw. The Artist had removed his clothes and was watching Liam's tutorial with his arms wrapped around the post, while the boy who had been translating - a naked, collared slave Tara saw now, perhaps even younger than she - knelt behind him with his face buried in the Prince's ass.

It was too much to take in. Were these to be her new Masters? And was it possible they kept female AND male slaves? Did the male slaves serve their Masters in the same way females did? And if there were male slaves, did that mean there could be female Masters? Tara had so many questions and no one to ask. A particularly hard pinch to the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh brought Tara's attention back to where it should have been and she cringed inwardly, awaiting Sir Liam's rebuke, but instead, she heard a rumbling laugh.

"The slave has..." the Warrior paused, searching for the word, and then said, "... Curiosity."

Liam flushed with embarrassment. "I apologize for her behavior," he said. "I'll see to it that she's punished in such a way that she will not make this mistake again."

The Prince cupped Tara's face in his massive hand. He was at least as tall as Sir Thomas and twice as broad with a raw kind of power surging through him that Tara found frightening and magnetic at once.

"If the slave wants to see... Let her see," he said, taking Tara by her collar and leading her to the post. "Rope," he barked, and Liam brought him a coiled length of it from the corner where it was kept. He looped the rope around Tara's waist, binding her body to the smooth wood, but leaving her hands free. Tara stood nearly nose to nose with the Artist, the post the only thing between them, and began once again to lose herself in the depths of his eyes, the beauty of his face.

A mop of black curls popped up behind him and Tara got her first good look at the boy-slave. He shot her a dimpled grin before spreading the Prince's ass wide apart and then shoving his cock into the waiting hole. Tara's eyes widened. It had never occurred to her that men might fuck each other like this. The force of his thrusts pushed the Prince closer still to Tara and seizing the opportunity, he captured her mouth with his. Moaning softly into Tara's mouth, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the pleasures both his slaves had to offer. He guided Tara's hand to his half-hard cock and not needing any further prompting, Tara began stroking it in time with the boy's thrusts while at the same time, tentatively returning the Prince's kiss, her lips sweet and soft under his.

Tara barely noticed that behind her, Sir Liam had continued giving the Warrior his tour of the Training Room, showing off his wall of instruments and explaining their uses, and then showing the Prince the room's antechamber and the contents therein. Liam didn't know how much of what he said the Prince understood but his interest was clear in the way he listened intently and Liam was proud to share his expertise.

Returning to the wall, the Warrior selected a heavy leather paddle studded with small spikes. Liam noted with some satisfaction how he ran his hands over it, admiring its craftsmanship. Approaching Tara, he dragged the studded side of the paddle across the slave's back sending shivers up and down her spine, over her buttocks and thighs, and back up again. Then without warning, he spanked her, the paddle making painful contact with her ass, the spikes digging into her flesh, some even drawing tiny pinpricks of blood. Tara screamed, pulling against the rope that held her in place as tears filled her eyes. She looked pleadingly at the Artist but he only said, "Don't stop," and she continued working his cock with a shaking hand.

"You might want to start with the other side," Liam advised, turning the paddle in the Warrior's hand. "Her ability to take pain is limited. You'll have to build her tolerance over time if you wish to use her that way." The Prince studied the paddle carefully and then ran his hand over Tara's red ass, his touch surprisingly soft.

"She is small," the Warrior said. "She will need...opening."

"Her backside has already been prepared for you, see?" Liam replied, spreading Tara's cheeks so that the handle of the small plug in her asshole was clearly visible. "You may use her now if you wish."

Tara's breath caught in her throat. No, he can't, she thought, her heart beating faster and faster. He'll tear me apart! But the Prince didn't need Tara to tell him what he already knew. Unbuttoning the crotch of the silk pants he wore, he casually pulled out his cock for Liam to see. Even flaccid, it was something to behold and it was all the Steward could do to keep his jaw from dropping.

All he said was, "Yes... she will need opening."

Casting a sidelong glance at the Warrior's cock before he returned it to his pants, Liam disappeared into the antechamber. While he was gone, the Artist came in Tara's hand, coating her fingers with the sticky seed she had swallowed the night before. He turned to lean against the post so that Tara inhaled the incense-sweet scent of his hair, while the boy-slave dropped to his knees and expertly licked the Prince's cock clean. The Prince patted the boy's head, as one might do to a faithful dog, and left him kneeling in place as he dressed himself and joined his brother. Tara noticed that although the boy's cock was still painfully erect, his face revealed none of the frustration he must have felt and when she caught his eye, the look that passed between them was one of understanding shared between slaves; two blades of grass at the mercy of powerful winds.

Liam emerged a few minutes later with a leather harness and a small cloth bag in hand.

"May I?" he asked the Princes before loosening the rope tying Tara to the post so that he could fit the harness to her body. The thin straps went snugly around her waist, parting in the front so that her pussy could still be used, and coming up the back through her ass crack, leaving a hole where a plug could be inserted and held in place. From the bag, Liam pulled a gleaming silver egg, similar to the one already in Tara's ass, but with a bigger head and a wider neck. The bag also contained a vial of oil, a little of which Liam poured on to the plug before threading it into the hole in the harness.