Slave to a Sinful Empire Pt. 01

Nathalie lay down next to her, spooning the slave girl, letting her hands run over her red braids and soft tits and ample ass, kissing her neck and cheek and ear. Annie turned to face her, kissed her again deeply, and in between tongue-play whispered about love.

Nathalie knew that if she let her, Annie would gladly lay here all night kissing and cuddling, until Fyrio returned to inflict some horrible punishment on both. Rising, she brushed her hair back into place with her fingers. "You still have dark deeds to do tonight," she reminded Annie, whose soft face filled with a tragic mixture of fear and resolve. "Still up for it?"

"I'll do it," Annie replied, trying to sound brave. "For you."

"Do it for yourself," Nathalie replied, and pulled her into one final blissful kiss.

Then Nathalie pulled away, smiled, and went to the door. "Take any clothes you want from my wardrobe. Wait for him behind the door. Courage!" she said, before hurrying away and down the stairs.

*****

Killing Fyrio was easy, so effortless that it was almost dreamlike, thereby doubling the shock and surreal horror of the event to Annie's mind. Fyrio had come in, swaying and groping for the coat hook, and Annie had stepped out of the shadows behind the door and plunged the knife into his ribs wordlessly, her eyes wide and staring and her mouth pressed into a thin bloodless line. "You-" Fyrio had croaked, and then she slipped the knife out of him and plunged it in again, and again and again and again, the thin little stiletto blade slipping in and out with no resistance. Then Fyrio had wheezed sickly, stumbled forward, and fallen to his knees with blood soaking his fancy shirt and welling between his fingers. He tried to take a wet, gasping breath, but blood drooled from the sides of his mouth, and he pitched forward onto the hardwood floor, dead in a slowly spreading pool of crimson.

She hadn't been able to tell the rest of the household slaves, four in number, what had happened, but her bewildered eyes and the blood-slicked blade of the dagger had told the tale eloquently, and the need to escape was obvious to all. Over the rising, panicked voices of the other slaves, she had finally spoken up. "I know where to go," she announced.

Sending the other four to find supplies, Annie had run up to Nathalie's bedroom, tossed away the blood-stained black shift she had worn for the killing, and opened the fragrant cedar armoire to find some suitable clothes. She selected the darkest and most functional-seeming items: a black velvet tunic, black leather trousers which clung tightly to her wide hips and round ass, and soft black leather riding boots. She did not bother with the large collection of fancy dresses, for with her neck tattooed with her owner's mark there was no way to disguise herself as a free woman. The fetish clothing, outfits of leather strapping which seemed likely to cover nothing and reveal everything, she ignored in disgust.

Now dressed in black, Annie went downstairs once more to gather the slaves for the escape. Her companions in bondage were a butler named Hodges, the middle-aged cook and maid Matilda, the carriage driver Terren, and Nathalie's handmaiden Zelle, a lithe blonde girl a little younger than Annie. Only Zelle didn't seem to be overwhelmed by shock and fear, and had in fact packed a bag and found boots and a lantern somewhere. Annie suspected she had had some advance warning of the plan from Nathalie. Terren wouldn't stand still, but strode anxiously up and down the room. Matila kept looking out the windows and then shrinking back in fear of being seen, and Hodges was muttering to himself and taking slugs of liquor from a crystal decanter taken from the formal dining room.

"Is everyone ready?" Annie asked, surveying the room. Zelle nodded firmly but the rest would not meet her eye.

"Where are we going? You know what they do to runaways. We'll be caught, tortured, and crucified for this," Terren said darkly. "You're throwing us out into the night with no plan. Stupid girl, you've killed us!" he spat.

To Annie's surprise, Zelle walked over to Terren, and kicked the older man hard in one shin. "Idiot!" she cried in his face ad he hunched over a grabbed at his wounded leg. "Annie is saving us! She's taking us to freedom! Be grateful! Say thank you!" she shouted, boxing Terren's ear.

With a grimace, the old coachman straightened and looked at Annie. "Thank you," he muttered between clenched teeth. "I hope you have a plan?" he added, and Annie nodded. "Let's not waste time then," he said sullenly.

The slaves all rose, gathered their few belongings, and followed Annie out the back door, into the fragrant night air of the garden. It was a pleasantly cool spring night, and the other villas and manor houses of the nobility glowed with warm yellowish light, here and there on the terraced and wooded hillside. Below, the city of Jaron burned with its own lights, towers and smokestacks rising out of a city like a bed of smoldering coals.

Annie led the small group of fugitives stealthily through a gap in the back hedge and down a slope to an artificial drainage stream at the bottom of a ditch. Through this they wound between the estates of the nobility, some of whom employed watchmen or used slaves as lookouts. Keeping quiet and low, the group came upon a gravel road, and looking both ways and listening for horses or motors, suddenly ran across to the tree line at the other side. The runaways now found themselves on a forested slope. They descended as quietly as they could through rustling and snapping brush, once disturbing an owl which flew hooting away. The moon was large and Zelle's lantern also lit their way, and soon the group found itself on level ground again, looking out from the trees at the edge of a residential neighborhood.

The houses here were smaller but closer together, and here and there a figure still walked the midnight streets, often carrying a torch or lantern. Annie made the group wait for a long time at the edge of the trees, until the streets seemed to be clear. Then with a whisper she led them, quickly and furtively, out onto the cobbled streets and between the sleeping houses, taking turns and alleyway shortcuts she knew well from previous excursions.

She was leading the way out of an alley when Annie was stopped in her tracks by a bright light and a gruff voice. "Oy, who's this then?" a man asked, and put his big paw of a hand on Annie's chest.

"I—we're—it's an emergency, please just let us—" she stammered as she peered past the bright lantern and into the wrinkled and pock-marked face of an old man.

"Slave, are ya?" the man asked casually, touching the tattoo on Annie's neck and causing her to recoil. He grinned, showing an incomplete and yellowed set of teeth. "All o' ye?" he asked, surveying the group. His eyes particularly lingered on the young, lithe body of Zelle, who tried to meet his gaze only to find it sliding over her supple young form.

"Yes, sir," she murmured seductively. "Oh, please, sir, don't turn us in," she pleaded in a voice more girlish than was normal. She sidled up close to the old watchman, rolling her hips. She wore a tight dress of midnight blue velvet, which clung to her slender body, and white stockings on her long legs. "Our master is a very nasty man," she said as if imparting a dirty secret. "If you'll let us go... I'll be very grateful..." she cooed, pressing up against him slightly.

"Oh, I can help ye," the old lecher muttered, wrapping an arm around Zelle's waist and resting a callused hand on her small girlish ass. "In here, all o' ye," he ordered, and led Zelle back into the alley, with the rest following reluctantly.

"Now, girly, against the fence," the old man said with his rotten grin, and gently but insistently pushed Zelle up against a board fence. Then he lifted her dress to expose the white cheeks of her small ass, the tiny lacy panties between, and the lacy ends of the stocking clinging to her thighs. Annie looked away, but found Hodges and Terren staring at the lewd display, and glared at them until they averted their eyes in shame. Matilda stared at the ground the entire time, horrified.

The lecherous old man set his lantern down and kneeled in the mud of the alley. "Been some time since I've had such a fine young ass to play with," he said in his rasping voice, and lowered the lacy panties down to Zelle's calves. Then with his lascivious, slurping mouth and tongue, he sucked loudly at one white thigh, then the other. Zelle whimpered slightly, and Annie couldn't resist looking back to see what was happening.

The old man was pulling Zelle's cheeks apart with his hands, and burying his face in her young slit, licking and slurping like the disgusting old pervert he was. He took one hand from Zelle's ass, and fished his limp wrinkled cock out of his trousers. He began to furiously pump his flaccid organ, as he licked ever more furiously at Zelle's cunt. She began to moan softly, but whether this was genuine or acting Annie couldn't say. The old man slid his tongue up to lick at Zelle's other hole, and the moaning went up an octave.

Now his cock seemed semi-stiff, and he rose shakily to his feet. He seemed about to stick his filthy old cock into Zelle, and Annie almost cried out to stop him, but he only rubbed the fat thing across her ass and the lips of her pussy, as he continued to pump it. With his other hand he squeezed and rubbed her thigh and ass.

Suddenly the old man let loose a spray of cum across Zelle's ass and thighs, as he grunted in pleasure. Then, tucking away his softening cock, he turned to Annie. "Lick it off 'er," he sneered, pointing at the thick jism on Zelle's pale skin.

Annie took a shaky breath and obeyed, sinking to her knees in the mud and bringing her face to Zelle's exposed ass. Timidly at first, and then more quickly, she licked the disgusting white slime off the taut buttocks and soft thighs. One thick rope of it lay across Zelle's perfect young pussy lips, and Annie hesitated before sliding her tongue up that soft slit and cleaning the filthy cum from the nubile pussy. Then rising to her feet, she turned to the watchman and showed him the mouthful of cum.

"Swallow," was all he said, and she did. The old man laughed cruelly. "Well, I'd reckon tonight's me lucky night," he chuckled. "Got to taste one young whore's cunt, watched another swallow me spunk, and now I'll collect a reward on five runaways!"

He didn't get a chance to laugh again. Annie's knife was in his throat, red warmth running over her hand as his glassy eyes stared in disbelief. Some of the same sick horror from the killing of Fyrio washed over Annie, but not nearly as much. Killing was easier the second time, it seemed.

Annie let the old man's body drop to the mud, then picked up his lantern. "Let's go," she said to the group, then realized something. "Where's Terren?" she asked. But with the molestation of Zelle and the killing of the watchman, their attention had been occupied, and no one had seen him slip away into the night.