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Tocarear steeled himself before approaching the shop owner's desk. At a seasoned one hundred and thirty years old, he had composure and experience enough not to need to look over his shoulder at his Master, who was waiting outside. So he didn't. Instead he dug deep into his reserves of courage, dropped any semblance of self-respect (he wouldn't need it where he was going), and approached the desk to buy the items.

"Thank you sir," said the goblin in a distracted monotone that suggested he said it dozens of times per day. He looked down at the items Tocarear'd deposited on the worn wooden desk top to calculate how much to charge-

And did a re-take.

Tocarear wasn't surprised, but he wished all the same that he had the ability not to blush. Eighty-seven years in the herbalism business hadn't appraised him of a way to stop that from happening. Shame, he thought, considering he knew his long, pointed ears turned as red as his face at times like this.

Maybe that was why Master Rlukh liked elves so much.

The goblin paused. His slitted pupils bore at the elf over the items. Then, slowly and deliberately (A bit too deliberately, Toc decided) the goblin said as if by rote, "One large carrot, one tub of goose grease and one pack of goat, stomach, condoms." He tilted his head, flared his upturned nostrils in a subtle sign of contempt and added. "That'll be six limpet shells and twenty-five cockles. Please."

Tocarear set his jaw hard and reached into his satchel, and then handed over the money.

The merchant paused as he took the shells. If goblins could blink, Toc presumed the shopkeeper would take the time specifically to do so. "Thank you sir," he said disdainfully and went to sort the shells into his money box. "Would you like a hessian bag for those?"

"No thank you, I'll put them into my satchel," Toc answered and then did so, although he had an odd feeling the conversation they'd just had was actually about something else entirely. Taking his time so as to retain something approaching a sliver of a speck of dignity, Tocarear turned and left, his satchel lumpy against his hip. He saw Rlukh through the bubble-filled glass, the dwarf facing away him and his hands clasped proudly behind his back.

"Have a nice day, sir."

"Thank you," Toc threw over his shoulder, and wondered again exactly what the conversation would have sounded like if they'd both been honest with each other.

Rlukh deigned to half-glance to the side to see Tocarear. His beard bunched up a little against his powerful shoulder as he did. He didn't ask whether Toc had bought what he'd been asked to - there was no need. He simply moved off in short but proud steps, his chubby hands swinging by his hips.

Tocarear followed his stout little Master.

These were times he always enjoyed, whether simply or by the principle of anti-enjoyment: that delicious dread a bottom felt when he knew he'd be punished at a later time. But on this occasion he relished it for another reason. Now that he was away from the green glare of the goblin, the faces he saw now were neutral and friendly. The faces of strangers walking the opposite way down the cobbled street, a dozen species out shopping or stretching their legs. Their ignorance felt like a fresh breeze by comparison.

Toc creased the corners of his eyes as he tried to decide whether to ask Master Rlukh if they'd be using the supplies or whether the exercise had been done purely for its own purpose. He might be punished for asking.

The punishment might be enjoyable.

But no, Toc thought, visualising his Master rather than glancing down at the top of the dwarf's head. He likes complete subservience. And so it shall be.

He smiled secretly to himself, a pull of the muscles too slight to be seen by any of the casual observers walking towards him. But he felt it, he felt it.

I hope he'll be in a dominant mood when we get back.

xXx

Ah, the familiar sights and smells of home. The bloody depth of steel and wrought iron and the soft, sweet aroma of yesterday's milk pudding. The slight smell of rot that came from under the floorboards. Shades of brown: the house was full of them. Flooring, panelling, the dull brown-green of dried herbs. Flecks of golden straw from the bales used as seats and which shed everywhere.

Rlukh clicked his fingers as soon as they passed the threshold and flattened his hand. Toc understood what he meant: Give me the satchel. He obeyed and then went down onto all fours and paced through the parlour, his delicate knees rough from walking this way and his hands padding with elfin elegance.

Hands and knees: such a cliche but so perfect for a short Master and tall slave. It redressed the uncomfortable stature of the pair and Toc certainly appreciated it. And it worked all the better as a degradation for a refined elf.

Rlukh walked on ahead to the kitchen in total ignorance of his slave, the leather of the satchel limp compared to the firm strength of his hand.

The elf paused, one hand poised to take another step, and then demurred as he saw Rlukh put the satchel down on the table, fetch a goblet and dip it into today's bucket of drinking water and take a sip. He took a seat at the table but didn't pay any further attention to the satchel, or its contents.

Toc had to stop himself from drumming his fingertips on the floor in anticipation... but his self-control turned out to be for nothing. The Master didn't want to play, and it wasn't Toc's place to try and make him. Toc sank back onto his haunches and thought about what he wanted to do.

Stand up and attend to some of my own chores, perhaps? he thought, drawing circles with his finger around a knothole on the floorboard. There was always book-keeping to do, and he was short of dragonmint so could go and gather some, and the black marjoram needed drying. Really, I should get on with it.

But the apothecary floor was swept and most of the supplies plentiful enough to deal with the following day's customers. When Toc was in such a mood he was in today, mundane chores could wait.

He doubled back on himself to the side table by the window, and reared up onto his knees. On the table was a box. Toc's freedom box. He opened the lid, smiling slightly at the creaking sound it made (creaking wood. What better sound to accompany the revealing of secrets?), and reached inside for a slip of paper.

He settled back down and unfurled the parchment. The ink was plenty thick enough to read but in places it thinned to a watery grey. The calligraphy - Rlukh's own angular hand - gave him an instruction.

MARKER

It said: WEAR HARNESS TYPE 2 FOR THE REST OF THE DAY. TAKING IT OFF EVEN TO DE-ROLE FROM SLAVEHOOD WILL RESULT IN HORSE DUTIES.

Horse duties were usually outdoors. Toc would avoid them if ever he could. Well, he had his instruction now and he couldn't put it back.

Master Rlukh, Toc knew, had worded his instruction precisely: taking the harness off was forbidden. Putting clothes on over it to cover it up was acceptable (although the Master could, of course, change the rule at any time).

Just like Rlukh to build in a subtle allowance like that. He waggled his ears with pleasure at his Master's skill and then posted the slip of paper into the Completed box. A some point in the next few days or weeks Rlukh would check how many freedom duties had been done. He couldn't be expected to stoop to the demeaning task of remembering them all as they happened.

But this task he would see even as it was completed. Tocarear walked gracefully towards and up the steps, watching the wall through the gaps as he went up, up, up. His shoulders rolled like those of a stalking cat.

More straw upstairs, strewn along the landing and prickling the palms of his hands. The doorway to the bedroom and finally... Master Rlukh's storage box.

Tocarear sat on his feet again and peeled off his tunic. With deft movements of his fingers he removed his boots and socks, then loosened his trous and swivelled his legs around to remove them completely. They were followed by his loincloth.

The elf stretched in glory of his nudity. It was wrong to be proud of his nakedness as a slave, oh so wrong, but how could he help it when he knew his lithe, hairless elegance had turned his Master's head in the first place? His stretch changed from a C-shaped vertical affair to a V shape across the floor as he stretched his arms out ahead of him. Beautiful, he thought. Then, not quite daring to look up in case Master Rlukh had caught him being vain, he stopped the nonsense and reached into the box for the ropes.

Not his ropes, never his. Always the ropes.

He cleared an area of the floorboards of straw, laid the ropes down and drew them into a star shape with his fingers. Two loops up, two loops down, the two ends over there, he thought. He wondered how many submissives sometimes had to tie their own ropes and whether they, like him, found the practice calming. Over - south-east, over - north-east, over - north-west, over - south-west.

It already looked so beautiful. But it still had to be tightened.

He held the various parts of the Good Luck Knot in place and pulled it tight, uniformly, methodically, peacefully.

He held it up: already he had his chestpiece.

He put the arrangement back on the floorboards and tied a Square Knot half-way down the loose ends, and threaded them between his legs. The ropes, soft enough yet coarse, cradled his scrotum and settled into the crevasse of his ass cheeks.

Holding the Good Luck Knot to his chest he reached around for the right hand end, and fed it through the same side of the Knot. And then with the left. He pulled on the ends just to feel the beginnings of the binding. Pressure at the top insides of his legs and just a touch against his back: bliss.

Funny how the scent of straw became stronger at times like this. So did the gentle trill of birdsong outside.

Now came the tricky part: to tie a Square Knot behind his back. Tocarear's primary perception switched from sight to touch as he fingered his way blind around the simple knot. Dexterous work.

He fed the loose ends over his shoulders and felt a thrill of excitement as the whole thing began to come together! Good thing there's space for my cock, he thought as he felt it swell. He opened the two rope lines covering his groin and allowed his organ to pop out at the front. Had anything ever been so beautifully framed? He smiled with pleasure and satisfaction.

The ends went through the top loops of the Good Luck Knot. Tightening the whole arrangement so that it hugged pleasurably, he brought the ropes back again over his shoulders. He felt his smooth pecs stretch as he fumbled with coiling the ropes around the top of the X at his back. The final knots, as ever, proved tricky but he knew the final result was worth it!

At last he was ready. He replaced the straw and lowered down onto all fours so that he could slink downstairs. His rear opened slightly and allowed the ropes to dig satisfyingly in. The weight of his cock hung between their ropes and the harness hugged his chest.

If he looked as good as he felt, Master Rlukh would be a happy dwarf indeed!

THE END.