The Slave and his Mistress

1.

Today there were six of them: six men chained collar-to-collar, heads and shoulders bowed respectfully, kneeling in a row on the tithe-hall floor. They were awaiting her inspection - but, the Lady Solande thought - what an unprepossessing lot! The two youngest wore standard slave tunics - shapeless garments cut from homespun cloth that at once marked them out as field slaves of lower rank; woodcutters or charcoal burners, perhaps. One of them, a brown-skinned lad with a thick mop of glossy curls tossed his head and grinned as he caught Solande's eye. He was a good-looking fellow and knew it; much too cocksure and confident for the Lady's taste. She snorted, thinking she would have to have words with her brother. Solande had requested an assortment of well-broken slaves for today's viewing. He must have known by now that she had little use for anything else.

Four of the men were in heavy work-harness, identifying them as slaves from the mines or the mills. While they held various minor holdings in the lowlands, the bulk of the land owned by Solande's family consisted of extensive tracts in the mountains and for that reason mining had always been a particularly lucrative speciality of their estate. There were rich veins of metals and other materials to be found in those mountains and of especial interest -- given the nature of the yearly tribute required by the nearby Coven -- native silver deposits in abundance. A dependable source of wind or water power to drive the machinery required for these mountain mines was however lacking -- and historically, had always limited the scale of mining operations in the area -- although of course these days, forced labour formed a readily-available and easy substitute. At the turn of the last century changes in their country's laws -- initially imposed with a view to restricting the scale of peasant revolt -- had ultimately led to the creation of a new underclass in rural society, an itinerant strata of indentured serfs who were tied for life to a particular nobleman's estate; a slave workforce, in effect. One of Solande's none-too-distant ancestors had invested heavily in the design and construction of a number of mechanically powered workhouses based on the general principles wind or water mills, but which were driven by an entirely different source -- teams of slave labourers bound into the very bowels of the apparatus. The brute strength of these harnessed slaves could be transformed - through intricate series of manifold cogs and levers - into driving or grinding forces directed towards any number of uses; rock-crushers, conveyors and transport belts in the mines - and there were other applications, too. The milling of grain, for example. The estate now imported raw grain and other agricultural products from all over the lowlands and the flour-mills ran not only for a brief season after the harvest was gathered in autumn, but year-round -- and at a tidy profit.

Yes, the great, horizontal grinding-wheels, to each spoke of which as many as four mine-slaves could be tethered shoulder-by-shoulder were indeed a minor wonder of the age, one that visitors -- even braving the werewolf-haunted byways of the time - came from far and wide to view. Due to the foresight and efforts of Solande's great grandfather, her family was now one of the foremost, and certainly the wealthiest of any in the area. And all of this -- all of their power, prestige and privilege -- was based on the efforts of labourers like the miserable collection kneeling before her! It was almost too incredible for belief!

Proximity to these ugly, stinking, sweating, oafish workers came as something as a culture shock for the Lady, for in the past Solande had always chosen her candidates from a selection of indoor serfs (or garden staff - or at a pinch, even the stable hands). The problem was that by this time there were very few suitable men remaining among those ranks of whom the Lady had not tired long ago. Having exhausted the possibilities of the 'higher' classes of trusted slave, Solande had had to resort to the low-grade and disreputable castes of which the current assortment was so sadly representative. Though it was in its way a kind of education -- Solande had never been as close to a mine-slave before. She scrutinized them, intently.

They were of course all powerful-looking men; muscular, especially about the chest and shoulders, and quite well-built. Their work-harnesses interested her particularly; the straps and buckles crossing the mens' upper bodies made them appear more like cart-horses or draft-animals than human slaves -- and it was an effect that Solande found rather enticing. Each harness consisted of a broad pair of leather straps worn in an 'X' shape over the slave's shoulders and across his chest. A pair of large iron rings set into the middle of the harness, one at the centre of the chest and the other at the back, formed the main attachment points by which a slave was lashed onto the wheel of his work-apparatus - be it a rock-grinder, mill-wheel or conveyor belt. If his hands were free he might also take a helpful hold of the straining-spoke in front of him, but most of his pulling efforts were taken through the harness, and originated in the muscles of his legs, his shoulders and his back. The base of the harness was secured to the man's belt or his girdle and also incorporated a single strap or loop that extended down below his abdomen, to provide a pouch or support for the genitals. In the case of mill-slaves, a longer leather strap was also directed back between the legs and fastened to the back of the man's slave-belt so that it fitted as tightly as possible into the cleft of the his buttocks; this so-called 'hygiene belt' was designed to discourage slaves from evacuating their bowels at will while on duty in the mills; a necessary precaution for this category of workers was comprised of characters of only the most unsavoury and degenerate sort.

The three in the middle were slaves from the mines; big, bear-like brutes, with the scars on their exposed arms and flanks turned to greyish tattoos by constant exposure to rock powder and mine-dust. Below the waist they were fitted with long leather breeches that guarded their legs from flying rock-chips and also wore protective boots. Two of them looked enough alike to pass as brothers; they were bearded with broad chests and backs covered in curling mats of black hair. Like in appearance to her late husband, Solande considered, very like - and she shuddered a little at the unwelcome recollection. The third carried at his waist the coiled whip of a trusted slave or overseer's assistant. And he looked like a man who relished the use of it, Solande thought. As if she had not already had treatment enough of that sort!

The last one was obviously from the grain-mills. His rough, heavily-scarred hide was coated in white flour head to foot and the eyes in the ashen face were sore and weeping, coloured blood-red. After a few months in the mills, the dust from the grain and the flour became a dangerous irritant -- and though a slave was usually prevented from breathing this deadly sediment by means of a scarf or muffler tied over the mouth and nose, his eyes customarily bore the brunt of it: in the mill a slave's eyes leaked constantly. The runnels of tears and thin mucus mixed with the flour-dust on his face, quickly setting hard in the heat of the silos to cover him from cheeks to chin with a distinctive, flaking crust. With his dead-white skin and scaly-looking face the mill-slave's appearance was nothing but grotesque, though overall Solande cared little about that. One of the points against him was that few slaves lasted more than a year or so in the grain-mills -- two, at most - which meant that this type of work was reserved for labourers at the very end of their useful lives. And unlike the other men, the mill slave's arms had been shackled by the wrists to his harness behind his back -- the sign of an habitual violent offender. For no other reason than this Solande knew that she should discount the man immediately.

Apart from the straps of their harness, mill slaves went naked and as she drew abreast of him Solande noted with interest that this one was, frankly, hung like a plough-horse. The slave's balls were large and his male organ even while flaccid, protruded some way from the end of the leather harness-pouch that supported it. Uncircumcised, as all of these animals were, Solande noted, and she used the tasselled end of the long riding crop she was carrying with her to push back the loose pucker of foreskin, exposing the head of his member. Against the pallid flesh it looked a startlingly dark and red. Even this small degree of stimulation was enough to make the man's cock jump in its strap and begin hardening, noticeably. Of course with his wrists-cuffs locked to his harness as they were he would be quite unable take himself in his hands: could that be why he seemed so eager? The kneeling slave's response made Solande wonder, idly, for how long he had been pinioned like this. Slaves who worked well were rewarded with normal outlets for their sexual urges -- and of course this would generally be through contact with other slave of a similar caste. But only males were ever sent to the mines and the mills. When had this one last been allowed to find his release?

With the tip of her crop Solande tapped the slave's cock once again, making it bob and dip. Then using rapid, light strokes she chafed at the sides and the base of the shaft for a time until the blood-engorged organ was stiffened to its fullest extent. Supported by the straps of the slave's harness it protruded obscenely, straining straight out from his body. As the Lady continued to work on him the wretched man clenched his buttocks and began to writhe his hips away from the crop the slightest bit -- but why would any slave bother attempting to avoid what was so obviously inevitable? Solande now wished to see how much more -- or how little -- it would take to bring him to his climax and her personal attention was, if anything, a generous compliment. Instead she could have had the male overseer who was with her - or even one of the other slaves - masturbate him until he was compelled to ejaculate -- surely the mill-slave realized that? Because he really did seem to want to resist; the mill-slave was sweating, trembling with tension all over his body and Solande could hear him breathing shallowly, trying to control himself through set teeth.

"When was this animal last put to stud?" Solande whispered, close beside the slave's ear.

The overseer had been sent to accompany Solande for her own safety, and he stared straight ahead, knowing better than to watch the Lady when she was engaged in her - special kind - of sordid business. "That one? Never, so far as I know, Milady," he replied promptly. "Not fit breeding stock. Soft in the head we think - terrible slow on the uptake."

Solande bit her lips at the thought -- what a waste of one so generously endowed! She was herself aroused by now, could almost have considered mounting the kneeling slave right there in front of all the others, of using him to pleasure herself in the dirt down on the tithe-hall floor. A faint rush of pleasant sensation between Solande's legs came, unbidden, at the thought - but paradoxically it was her own response that kept the Lady in check. It was a promise she had made herself long ago, that never again would she allow a man to use her as a receptacle for his filthy organ -- since her husband, the Lady Solande had not allowed a man to fuck her like that in years. Why, the very thought of an erect male organ should rightly have disgusted her! And here she was, wet from the sight of a slave's animal reaction -- dripping wet between her legs for him and no better than a mongrel bitch in heat. Solande stepped back from the mill-slave, nostrils flaring with disgust. She brought her crop down in a great slicing stroke across his upper thighs and groin.

The mill-slave started wildly at the unexpected blow but must have been accustomed to similar punishments for though his mouth gaped open wide for a moment, he resumed his stoic stance directly and was even able to stifle his cry of pain in his throat. But with a bewildered look -- almost akin to reproach - in his blood-shot eyes he raised his head to look Solande full in the face for the first time -- and the Lady was astonished to see that he had recently been fitted with a broad iron ring through the nose. That in itself was not so unusual, for in the fields or the mines unruly slaves were often led and secured by a chain through the nose -- although this treatment was commonly reserved for new or unbroken workers, and everything about this fellow's miserable appearance and demeanour suggested that he had been indentured since youth, or very early adulthood. No, what was really curious here concerned the extra embellishments the nose-ring carried: there was a heavy plate welded across the bottom of loop, the upper side of which bore a fan of outward-pointing metal spikes. Each point on the curved plate's surface was around the length of the first joint of Solande's thumb, and all were wickedly pointed and needle-sharp. The combined nose-ring and plate hung down well over the mill-slave's lips, obscuring much of his wide, red, mouth. Solande could honestly say that she had never seen anything like it in her life.

"And why does the one on the end wear -- that thing?" she drawled, gesturing carelessly at him.

The mistress was known to be an impatient, quick-tempered woman and the overseer knew that an immediate response from him was now required. But rack his brains as he might, he could think of no other way to put this.

"Cock-sucker, Milady," he muttered at last, still avoiding Solande's eye. He then recounted the widely-held belief of the time that labourers of this caste were all chronic masturbators, and that to deny them regular access to sexual release was to dramatically increase their overall work output. Chained alone into their stalls at night, the slaves were also restrained by means of wrist-cuffs and hygiene belt -- which prevented the sins of Onan and Sodom - but despite these precautions, this slave had discovered another kind of outlet. He had been found taking a cell-mate's cock into his throat, caught in the act of fellating another male slave, and an example had duly been made of him. He had been fitted with the spiked device which would prevent any repeat of his deplorable offence, and had been sent to the mills which was of course a kind of a death-sentence.

Now Solande was really intrigued. She wondered if the slave was the type of man who would be a sodomite by preference or if circumstance had dictated the nature of his relations with the other culprit. But his response to her earlier ministrations had at first been quite positive; and now that she looked closer at him she saw that he was not perhaps quite so decrepit as her first impression had suggested. If he could be made to use his mouth properly then he might even be the most promising of the day's candidates.

She pushed the tip of her crop beneath the mill-slave's chin and forced him to raise his head up and look at her. Solande could see shame and despair - also the undercurrent of fear that was ever in a slave's eyes - as she compelled him to meet her gaze. But what she saw in his face was not, Solande noted with interest, at all like the vacant stare of an idiot.

"Tell me, what is this cock-sucker's name?" the Lady breathed. She would not allow the slave to look away and yet still he made no move to answer her.

"Milady asked a question!" the overseer shouted at last, and stepping up behind the mill-slave he brought his tawse-strap down in a hefty blow onto the man's exposed back. "You half-witted dog - speak up for yourself!" Solande watched impassively as the overseer caught the mill-slave by the iron collar round his neck and shook him back and forth, throttling him with it -- a rather severe, but fitting enough punishment for such disobedience she thought, and by the time he was released the slave was gasping, bent double over his knees. "Now tell her ladyship what you call yourself, slave!"

"Gy-org," he stuttered at last, the words distorted by the iron baffle over his mouth, "I am called Gyorg, Milady."

Gyorg. An ugly name, as befitted one of these animals.

Solande tapped her lips. "Have Gyorg de-loused and wormed," she told the overseer, "clean him and feed him and when he is ready -- have him delivered to my chambers."