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The journey had taken four days, and all of it torturous.

She was at no point allowed to clothe herself. Her restraints were kept on for nearly every waking moment, released only to allow her to stretch now and then so as not to 'ruin the merchandise'. Every morning they woke early, marched all morning. A stop for lunch, then more marching until nightfall, whereupon they would make camp.

It was mostly during the lunchtime breaks that they would use her. They rarely had time for something very elaborate. Typically they would drag her off to the side, bend her over on her knees and use her however many times they could before the leader called for them to pack up and get on the move again. Quick, dirty sessions of hard thrusting to get their satisfaction. Thereafter she was be marched along with the train, a leash on her collar pulling her inexorably forward as seed dripped from her used sex.

She had not a moment of privacy. Her tail was forced up at all times, exposing her to any who wished to look. She was forced to relieve herself in view, a hand on her leash, to ensure no escape attempts. She was muzzled at all times except to eat or to please the men orally, the latter of which happening more frequently than the former.

The second night of the journey was the worst of them all. She had been made a spectacle of, paraded in front of the catcalling men, used over and over in every orifice. This had been a mistake on their parts; the next day she was too sore to do much walking and had to ride with the wagon train. Their leader was irate. So it was that every night following, Isma was brought to his tent to spend the night. Though this hardly spared her violations. Their leader, a man calling himself Gethson, had a fondness for her mouth, and availed himself of it whenever he liked.

Through it all, Isma had spied the princess once or twice. She was kept in the covered carriage, and though she looked depressed, she seemed physically unhurt. She was allowed to dress and seemed to have her hands free, but was under guard and kept in almost total seclusion. Her safety, though, was enough consolation for Isma to suffer the constant abuses that she knew were far from over.

The fallen kobold paladin stood naked in Gethson's tent, shivering; she hadn't eaten much, been marched hard, and the frequent rapes were having a toll on her body and spirit. Gethson was stripped to the waist, stowing his things. He rarely spoke to her but to give commands. She knew at that point that it was best to simply stand and wait; any action she might take only had negative consequences and rarely for any profit.

"Move to the bedding and lay your chest on it," he said, without looking at her.

Isma's feet shuffled; her chains secured to her ankles allowed for only awkward, humiliating small steps, but she was getting good at the technique after days of forced marching in them. Bending over, however, was painful; her tail had been forced up for so long that the muscles were aching and her shoulders throbbed. Still, she obeyed without a sound; she was stronger than to be already whimpering as though she were broken. She wasn't.

She laid her cheek on the soft blankets, her rump perked high in the air and exposed to the man who was just then turning around and loosening his pants. "Good girl. Mmh, look at that ass!" he exclaimed with a smirk, dropping his pants, his erection bobbing free of its confines. He stepped out of his pants, nude, and approached her. She flinched only slightly when his hand slid over her hip to her rump. "Whatever god made you kobolds, it was cruel of them to deprive you tits but your ass makes it all worth it."

Her body jerked slightly as a sharp crack rung in her ears, the man having slapped her rump hard and quick. He left her there stinging as he moved to his knapsack, removing a vial from it and pulling out the stopper.

"We'll be approaching Harolden tomorrow, probably around midday," he said conversationally, upending the bottle and pouring an oily substance onto his palm. This he brought to his cock, where he stroked it until his fleshy spire was glistening in the candlelight. "So this may be the last time any of us get to enjoy you before we pass you off for some considerable coin. You've been a good girl, though. Haven't had to lay a finger on the princess the entire journey." He applied more oil to his cock, and then he approached her writhing form.

"Shhh, no squirming now," he chided her, dousing two fingers in the viscous liquid and smearing the stuff onto her tailhole. She winced, tensing up as his fingers explored the tight, hidden little orifice tucked underneath her upraised tail.

She held herself still and silent as the man's oil-slicked hand grabbed her by the base of the tail, hiking up her hindquarters just a little bit more. The other found her hip and gripped her tightly. She felt the tip of his cock press to her forbidden entrance. She offered no resistance. Her tight, reptilian anus spread slowly, painfully, as the head of his cock penetrated her. She blinked tears from her eyes as he slid in deeper, and she squeaked into her muzzle when he bottomed out, four-fifths of the way deep inside her.

"That's as far as I can go, hm?" he chuckled, patting her on the rump. "Mh!" he grunted, giving her a little thrust. "I envy the man with the coin to buy you properly. But at least I get to have you when you're fresh."

The tent slowly filled with the noise of masculine grunting, feminine whimpers, and the soft wet sound of a well-oiled cock taking a hole a degree or two too small for it. He fucked her methodically, with even-tempo, straightforward thrusting. He was not flashy; not in it for the showmanship, but rather for the experience, which he knew would be ruined for too much indulging. He simply held onto her bound body, pumping his hips, committing to memory every little sound he fucked out of her, the feeling of every contour of her insides as he took her body.

Isma focused on the feeling of the blankets on her cheek as her tailhole was violated deeply, and not for the first time. It was horrible to think that she was even growing used to the once-foreign sensation of her asshole being spread wide and stuffed deep by a man's cock. The feeling of his head sliding deep into her bowels, the rim of her anus stinging despite the oil. The wet noise of him penetrating her again and again, the discomfort of feeling filled, crammed beyond capacity, and used.

Throughout, his hands roamed her naked, abused body. Stroking across her once-glossy scales, over her hips and rump cheeks, her undertail. Not an inch of her was private.

He finished with a strained sort of grunting. She whimpered sharply as he thrusted in too deep, testing the limits of her rectum. When he done pumping her with his seed, he let out a long contented breath and pulled himself free of her, cock bouncing slightly as it was withdrawn from her tight anus.

"Tightest ass I've ever fucked," he said, by way of compliment, before slapping her on the rump and moving away to clean himself off. Isma was left laying on the bed, shivering slightly as clear-white semen dripped from her tailhole, feeling the droplets caress the lips of her sex before dripping to the floor. She make a small noise and tried to pick herself up, but Gethson's voice halted her. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked. "We're not finished yet..."

She could still taste his seed on her tongue when he roused her the next morning. She was given a small bit of bread and water by way of breakfast before she was once again leashed to a cart and marched. Now, however, it was clear they were approaching civilization. The roads went from loose to packed dirt. The occasional farmer's house could been seen on the periphery, and those soon became small farming towns. Their caravan attracted little attention save for perhaps some curious children, more than one of which stared at Isma as she dejectedly trudged along.

The road widened, and they started passing other carts, horsemen and pedestrians with more frequency. Isma stared resolutely at the cart she was leashed to, her embarrassment growing with every new set of eyes she imagined crawled over her form. It was clear to her they meant to march her bound and naked into the city itself, a city of thousands. Every draft that graced her exposed cunt and tailhole reminded her of her hopeless, helpless state and twisted her inside to the point where she knew she wouldn't have been able to bear it, if not for her unbreakable will. She would NOT bend. She wouldn't.

Marching into the city was every bit as miserable as she imagined. As the ground beneath her feet transitioned from packed dirt to cobblestone, her feeling of exposure tripled. She now no longer had to imagine the eyes roaming her flesh; she could see them looking, talking, joking. She tuned out catcalls as best she could; comments about her ass, about her cunt.

They made straight for the market. Harolden was one of the few cities to support open slave trade. The kingdom and royal family was largely against it but Harolden was closer to a border state than anything, and thus enjoyed a fair amount of autonomy. The exclusivity of the trade meant a wide range of travelers passed through Harolden, from subsistence farmers to the wealthiest of eccentrics, royal castoffs, and landowners.

The slave auction itself was a large theater with a high stage. Clustered around the front were the regulars; mostly townsfolk who showed up more for the spectacle than to actually spend money, but valuable to the auctioneers in generating buzz for the wares. Further towards the back were various raised booths that were rented by those who could afford them, giving them added visibility for the auctioneer and providing shade from the harsh midday sun. Isma was separated from the cart by none other than Rikky, the male who had stolen her virginity so many days ago. Though he gave her a smug smile, she could tell he was a little upset he had to hand away the free sex he'd been enjoying.

"Looks like you've had the last of my cock, slut. Going to miss it?" he asked her. The only answer she could give him, muzzled tightly, was a murderous glare. He yanked hard on the leash, making her stumbled and jingling her chains, as she was marched towards a large tent behind the auction stage.

There were a few slaves already there. Mostly humans, though there were one or two exotics; she was the only kobold. She avoided all eye contact, especially with the fat man to whom Gethson was speaking. She was dragged to them, and left standing there while the fat human had a look at her.

"Can't be really her," he remarked, grabbing her by the horn and yanking her face up to look at him. She gave him as defiant a look as she was able, but he just scoffed. He had a sweaty complexion, an obnoxious goatee, and generally looked like the picture of the kind of person who shouldn't be wealthy, but in all likelihood was very much so.

"Then where did I get this?" Gethson asked, handing over what Isma noted to her shame was her sword.

The fat man took the weapon and looked it over with an appraising eye. Then he shrugged. "A replica, maybe."

"Sharp and well-made for a replica," Gethson replied.

"Look, this ain't the first kobold cunt been brought to me, folks've said is 'the' Isma. Alright?"

"Alright. Rikky, go to the carriage and pull back the sheet. Don't make a spectacle."

Rikky released Isma's leash and moved to the distant carriage. While the fat man watched, Rikky jerked the sheet once, closing it just as quickly.

"You're a fuckin' madman," the fat man said, his mouth hanging open.

"Found her guarding that one. I think we can agree I'm going to a remarkable length to con you for a measly kobold cunt, am I right?"

The Fat Man looked at Isma again, who avoided eye contact. He grabbed her by the horn and turned her face this way and that. Then he spun her around and bent her over a little, staring at her backside, before letting her go.

"Two thousand," said the fat man, handing the sword back over.

"Who's the madman, here? Seven," replied Gethson, taking it.

"Look you got me sold, but ain't nobody else gonna believe it. Thirty-five hundred."

"So I should sell for less because you're a shit salesman? There's other slave markets. Six."

"Not this side of the border there ain't, and if you flash that girl to anyone else they'll turn you in fer the coin and make a better profit. Forty-two, take it or leave it."

"I'll take five."

"Sold."

All throughout, Isma stood and stared at the ground as her life was bartered. She didn't see the handshake. She just felt the hand on her leash, pulling her towards and unsure future.

She was one of the last shown. The auctioneer had teased a grand reveal throughout the auction to boost hype and so when she was finally dragged onto the stage, it was to an expectant crowd.

In the interim she had been washed. Polished. Her chains had been switched out. She was still muzzled, but this time by a single strip of leather secured around her snout. Her hands were bound behind her back, her tail to her collar as before, but the bindings were fresh and softer; for this she was thankful in perhaps the simplest way possible. And though she gleamed brilliant in the sunlight, she twisted in misery for she was still naked, and now could see the hundreds of eyes on her form.

The laughter didn't help.

"A kobold?!" cried someone.

"Aye!" bellowed the auctioneer. He had a voice natural for the job. He was a younger man, handsome and fit. He had a serpentine smile and an eloquence that could moisten a cake and turn a cloudy day into a sunny one. His hand held Isma's leash as she shivered, clenching her eyes shut and turning her head as her nude body was displayed for all. "None other than ISMA! The paladin hero from the Kingdom of Roday, captured by scouts and brought here for your purchase!"

"That's just some kobold cunt!" bellowed someone, to general laughter.

"Is it?" the auctioneer asked with a snarky smile, and he gestured. To the side of the stage, a white sheets was pulled from a standing object that turned out to be a mannequin with her armor draped over it. Isma made a small noise as she spied it; her custom-fitted plate, her helmet, her chain; the vestiges of her former life, displayed to grant authenticity to the man looking to sell her into a life of bondage.

"It's a fake!" shouted someone, but the tone had shifted in the crowd. Eyes returned to her, more critically this time.

"Gentle people! Look at her, and know! See her physique! How many kobold slaves have I shown you with her muscles, with her size? Look at her scars, look at her shy away from you! Is this not the shame of a paladin brought low? Is this not the very form you would expect? Spy, if you would, the symbol on her armor, the craftsmanship! Would I stake MY reputation on selling you false goods? If I were some back-alley peddler, perhaps, but gentle people, I am known to one and all!

"This is indeed the great Isma," she auctioneer continued. He grabbed her and sharply spun her around. "Her body can be yours! Or her ransom! See this tight paladin cunt, this fresh warrioress pussy that can be yours to warm your nights as many times as you please!"

She was spun back around. The world had ceased to make sense for her. She was in hell.

"She is untrained, I warn you! This bitch is dangerous, so purchase at your own risk! Experienced masters only need apply but gentle people, For a cunt of this quality, who can--"

"Two thousand!" cried a voice from the crowd.

"Two thousand pieces, surely she is worth more than that! Ladies and--"

"Twenty five!"

"Three thousand!"

As the numbers climbed, the crowd seemed to embrace that she was, indeed, the real deal. Among the betters were some of the upper class residents, and all knew that were they crossed, the auctioneer would indeed pay dearly; if he was encouraging them to continue, then it must be the real thing.

The great and feared Isma, paladin kobold, a slave. The bids rolled in.

"Five!"

"Five and a half!"

"Six!"

"Sixty-five!"

"Ten."

The crowd went silent. The man with his hand raised was not a man, but rather a lizardman. They had a word for themselves, the Keth, but the humans merely referred to them as 'the lizards' or 'lizardmen'. Nominally a primitive race, they integrated into society when and if they could, as hired help or mercenaries, but this one was different.

He was tall. Young. Robust. Glossy scales. Fine clothes. And from what Isma could tell, commanded a reputation. His green hide glinted in the light, his slitted pupils locked on Isma's quivering nude form. The auction was over.

Isma stumbled as the new hand took her leash and pulled. She mind was swimming, her world unmoored. She was led away from the last vestiges of her old life, her armor and weapons no doubt sent to be melted down or sold to collectors. She had nothing, not even her own body. She was marched through the throng (and was more than once groped by an unseen hand), staring at the trailing tail of her new owner. Nothing made sense anymore. She was adrift.

They came to a carriage. The Keth male turned to her and took out a flask. Her muzzle was unsecured, and he said, simply, "You are thirsty. Drink."

She was thirsty. As the flask was brought to her lips, she drank. And then all went dark.

***

From the Journal of Xyver Swampborne

Slave Trainer and Retailer

12, Orthras, Year 228

I have acquired a young female kobold at rather high price; the suspicion is that she is Isma, renowned paladin from the neighboring kingdom, though hardly sworn to them in any real capacity; all told a safe purchase if true. The authenticity of this slave is relatively strong, though I have not ruled out the possibility of clever forgery of identity. I consider myself a peerless judge of character and I feel her reactions on the slaver's block to be one consistent of a female used to respect, brought as low as could be. If nothing else, my own salesmanship will recoup my investment, if she the authentic article or not.

Her body is certainly authentic. Hard cords of muscle, well fed and well balanced. Scales glossy, some scarring here or there and rougher patches where armor would have chafed. A warrior for a certainty, if not the genuine paladin of note.

After giving her the solution and securing her in the carriage, I helped myself to her body while she slept. I have had only one other female kobold in my day, and that did not compare to this. I took my time, mounting her slow so as not to damage my goods. I was able to penetrate curiously deep inside her, with the aid of some oils. Her sex was tight even in her utterly relaxed state. I spilled far earlier than I had intended, gasping in my privacy and filling her deep after a mere few dozen strokes within her. She will net me a fortune when properly trained up.

She came to after I had affixed her in her lodgings. The look on her face was delightful. Surely she expected some hideous dungeon; as if I would sully my estate with a room like that. Light and airy, I made sure her room had all the comforts she could possibly need. Silk blankets, pillows, soft furnishings. I could see her eyes darting about looking for glass or small metal objects even as I spoke to her, a warrior's eyes looking for weapons and avenues of escape. She was clearly unschooled in captivity. Of course the only things in her room are soft; surely she will fashion weapons out of the wooden furnishings or a hidden eating utensil or so forth, but she will learn quickly that my regimen will not allow for any of that heroic silliness.

Escape would be quite impossible. The windows are high and barred, and freshly installed; a mere decade has passed and I service them regularly. They are wide enough to let in generous light, but she is a kobold; the dark do not bother them. The door cannot be picked; there is no latch on the inside, nothing to be picked or fussed with. I have a mechanism I keep on me at all times to open the door from the inside, but if she were to overpower me and take it, well, then it is hers. But she will do no such thing.

Her proper training starts tomorrow. I am eager. Strapped her to her bedding (a precaution that will hopefully outlive usefulness in time) and left her to her thoughts.

13, Orthras, year 228

Introduced my new slave-in-training to her daily routine. An early wake-up, dragged naked out of bed and forced to her knees in front of me. Her first time seeing The Boys. My two male kobold slaves. I could see her appeal to them with her eyes for but a moment until she realized that they were utterly loyal to me. Their nudity and collars also gave them away. Their erections cowed her into obedience.

She refused to call me master when demanded. Did not repeat the command. Informed her that resistance to commands warrants no action other than deprivation of reward. Reward in this case being that she goes the morning not being taken anally. Tied her muzzle shut to stifle her protests and watched as The Boys took turns until they were spent. Note: will need to restock on Fehlian oils.

Left her in room with food until evening.

Upon return, fended off violent attack from sharpened wooden spike she had fashioned. If not convinced before she was really Isma, am now. Was able to easily disarm her. No doubt peerless with a steel blade, she is somewhat less intimidating at half my size and naked.

Introduced her to my core slave training technique. Bound her on back with legs spread and lifted, exposing her sex. Brought her to orgasm with fingers and tongue. Her response to orgasm leads me to believe she has never had one before. Tears, heavy shaking, laboured breathing, a wild look in her eyes, mewling into her gagged muzzle.

Logged five orgasms in total. Last was difficult to extract. She was a quivering mess at the end. When unbound, just remained splayed out and twitching. Left food in room and locked up for the night.

14, Orthras, year 228

No attack this morning coming into slave's room. Ordered to be called master. Order refused. informed her breakfast was intended reward and thus is witheld. Randomizing rewards helps keep slave feeling out of control and powerless.

No sexual training today. Slave etiquette and public humiliation. Paraded slave around in the nude on a leash. Spoke at length about how fetching her figure was. Never understood trainers who break down the entire psyche of their slaves. Breaking down their former lives and building up their new ones far better in my opinion.

Slave 'accidentally' knocked over vase during course of day. Ignored behavior. I don't display anything worth real money for that very reason. Ignoring negative behavior adds to feeling of powerlessness on the slave. Leave them with two choices. Work for reward, or nothing.

Brought slave to my chamber in evening. Did not deliver the hard rape she doubtless expected. Took my time. Applied oils. Massaged her. Complimented her. Used demeaning phrases; "Good girl", "nice cunt", so forth. Mounted her with her hands unbound. Was successful in forcing her to cum around my malehood. Only day two and already making good progress.

I filled her with my seed and brought her dripping back up to her room. No words exchanged. Left her for the night.

***

Skipping ahead a few pages...

***

23, Orthras, Year 228

Her willpower is impressive. Indeed, the flesh may be weak, but the spirit is strong.

Again she refused order to refer to me as 'master'. "Day off" reward not applied. Look of disappointment on her face palpable. Making progress there. Soon she will rationalize using the word to reward herself. After all, what is in a word?

Everything, dear Isma.

Brought her into town, leashed. Bound arms to back, muzzled, tail affixed to collar to force it up. Displayed her to friends and business relations. Allowed Garthric, Vexis and Markanel to mount her at cost. They were rough and did not properly prepare her cunt; no damage done, of course, but the juxtoposition between that and my kind treatment should be effective.

After second mounting, was pleased to see her aware of and shamed by the sound of spent seed dripping from her cunt as we moved through the streets. The reminders of how her life is not even a shadow of its former are constant and I can see her resolve chipping. Drew her attention to every leering glance and informed her of how much I could make charging for commoners to have a turn at her. That I did not do so will not go unnoticed.

Affixed a ring-gag and had her pleasure me in an alleyway like a common whore. She swallowed on command. Turned her around and brought her to orgasm as reward. Called her a good girl. Could watch her loathing herself. That will pass.

Back home in the evening. Mounted her in the dining room on impulse.

***

A few pages more...

***

38, Orthas, year 228

Have started new routine of forcing slave to pleasure me before morning 'pleasantries' are exchanged. No fanfare or 'point' being made. Ring-gag was affixed before protest could be levied and took my time in her mouth. The ring-gag will be nice to lose but have learned through the examples of unfortunate peers that slaves cannot be trusted orally unless coerced or utterly compliant. I find coercion distasteful and counterproductive to my positive-reinforcement strategy.

She is improving. Was able to thrust into her mouth much more easily and she swallowed without having to be told. Does she even notice that anymore?

Did not call me master. Denied breakfast.

Housekeeping training during course of day. Nude, of course. She has not been allowed clothing and will not be. I have informed her that I do not dress my chairs or my lamps. Why would I dress her? She is naught but property as well. Clever girl mentioned tablecloths. Told her my dining table cost more than she did.

Inspiration struck and I dragged her up onto that table and brought her to orgasm with my tongue. Tablecloth soiled, commanded her to clean it. No smart-mouthed remarks followed.

***

A few pages more...

***

15, Ythras, year 228

Her resolve continues to crumble. Violent outbursts are almost totally eliminated. Lack of punishment and ignoring her negative behavior has forced her into alternative strategy. She thinks she is playing the long game. I can see it in her eyes.

Morning blow-job with ring-gag as is routine. She can take me to hilt now without gagging. Refused to call me master. Had The Boys take turns on her tailhole. Then took her myself. Exercise regimen and good diet is keeping her tight, smooth, rounded, prestine.

Commanded her to relieve herself in front of me. She complied. Watching seed from her tailhole as well as water from her cunt pass into the bucket, and the abject humiliation on her face, was very gratifying. Fed her breakfast, ate with her.

Complete sexual training in afternoon and evening. Suspended her from ceiling and worked every inch of her body. Multiple orgasms; count possibly in the dozens, not counting any smaller ones that are difficult to detect. Had her in every orifice. Spent myself on her face this time. Her looks of defiance are now ashamed glances away.

***

A few pages more...

***

25, Loras, year 228

Success at long last. She used the word 'master'.

Morning began as normal. The Boys took her out of bed, brought her to her knees. She opened her mouth for ring-gag, as she has been doing, and was calm and compliant when I took her mouth. I no longer just fuck her face; instead, I wait until she is working my malehood with her tongue, and only then allowing myself to climax. She is getting good at it. Swallowed without being told.

Took ring-gag off, asked her who I was. Said I was her 'master'.

Obvious ploy, of course. We are now in the stage where she is saying the word, having convinced herself it has no meaning. So foolish. Rewarded her anyway. A rich breakfast and a book to read instead of chores for the entirety of the morning.

Afternoon given over to more normal sexual training. Had her please The Boys simultaneously with her mouth. Instructed her on how to balance their arousal and to make them climax simultaneously. She failed, of course; first try. Had the un-spent slave mount her with the spent one's seed still dripping down her face. She does not know it, but the constant sexual training is paying dividends. She rolls her hips now and has learned what sounds to make to coerce her suitors to cum faster. Still only has authentic orgasms on my maleness, and only after considerable work. Still, only been a couple months.

Speaking of, took her to my chambers, spent time with her. Took her face-to-face, her legs in the air. Made her call me master when she came.

***

A few pages more...

***

39, Loras, year 228

The Boys no longer have to get her out of bed. She was waiting on her knees for me this morning, and offered to please me without the gag. I refused, telling her honestly that she was still not trustworthy. Had her mouth with the gag. Her moans of pleasure are getting better, but a quick check of her sex revealed she was not wet; still, a decent fakery. Today was the last day I rewarded her for calling me master. Informed her it would take more going forward. Reward was an afternoon's extra exercise outside.

Training today included chores, cooking, and etiquette.

***

A few pages more...

***

8, Hurvas, year 229

Five months and still more progress being made every day.

Morning routine remains unchanged.

Slave now works harder for rewards. Offers to do chores. Is faster on the word 'master'. Asks every morning (and elsewhere when applicable) to please me without the ring-gag. Am still not convinced of authenticity. Five months feels like a long time, but she is renowned and could still be playing a long game. At the very least, it is clear to her that no rescue is coming for her, and no escape attempts have been made.

I can recognize the signs. She will be in heat soon. The Boys have been growing restless. They have been very good, and will be rewarded.

Sexual training tonight was very successful. Slave came authentically on one of The Boys. Was rewarded with the rest of the night off and a tasty dessert after dinner.

***

A few pages more...

***

20, Hurvas, year 229

Slave went into heat this morning.

Could tell she was uncomfortable around The Boys when we came into her room. The scent was powerful for them; barely detectable for me. They were hard before we'd even entered the room.

Informed her that I had no intention of breeding her. Look of disappointment was palpable and authentic as far as I could tell. The Boys were clearly having trouble containing themselves. Informed her that she would be giving them her tailhole. She replied 'yes, master'. If only she knew how far she had come.

She was compliant in every respect. Presented herself like a proper cunt in heat. I had The Boys apply oils to her tailhole and observed closely as they took turns with her. The application of a faux penis in her cunt by the waiting slave assisted in her cumming even while being taken anally, a first.

Though she is still very tight in her tailhole, she is skilled in controlling her anal muscles so as not to be ruined during extended periods of anal sex. I must admit, watching her proud warrior face contort in an orgasmic cry as the kobold slave on her back arched and declared his own orgasm, knowing that her backside was being filled with slave cum, was deeply erotic.

When The Boys were fully spent, she could hardly walk. I positioned her on the edge of her bed, face-down, legs dangling off the sides with her rear positioned for me. There I took her, harder than I ever have. I held nothing back, thrusting into her with authentic passion. She wailed and cried in sexual bliss, and I could feel on her insides that they were not faked; I plundered her tight, heated cunt utterly and when she came around me, she screamed for her master without having to be told.

I fucked her through two orgasms, slapping her on her rump and commanding her to cum around my phallus. I was utterly impassioned and used the foulest language that came to mind. When I took my pleasure I roared my climax for all on my estate to hear, and noted the jealous looks on the two spent Boys, as they witnessed their master taking what they themselves were denied. The in-heat cunt of the former Isma.

I brought her to her knees in front of me and commanded that she clean me. She obeyed without hesitation. The cleaning turned into a session of oral sex. She did not even notice the lack of the ring-gag. She pleasured me fully, with her hands, her tongue, her lips. Took me in to my hilt, twisted her head, moaning around my phallus. I did not even need to touch her. And when she coaxed my seed forth she drank it without complaint, and gave the tip of my malehood a parting lick before settling back and awaiting command.

I gave her the rest of the day off, which she slept through. The next day I will focus mostly on very minor chores.

***

A few pages more...

***

41, Porvas, year 229

Nearly a year has passed since I purchased Isma. She is adapting well into her new life.

Morning routine is unchanged. She is waiting on her knees when I come to her room. She orally pleases me. Lately I have been stopping her to mount her. I often give her the option. She nearly always chooses her cunt. The sound of her voice asking that is precious. "My cunt, please, master."

Most of the time I indulge her. Today I did not. After all I must be sure her holes are both at their best. I utilized my tail to help her cum while I had her anally. Even after all this time, she is a delight to seed in whatever orifice. She will fetch a very high price.

She spends almost no time reverting to behaviors from her former life. She does her chores now with a dutiful work ethic. Her exercises are now more comprised of outdoor play and routine exercise, less so her martial routines she used to utilize. She no longer tries to hide her nudity from others on the estate. I had a business associate over for wine this afternoon, and on a whim, commanded her to present to him. She obeyed in an instant, setting aside her tray, stepping in front of him, going down on all fours, then pressing her face to the carpet and lifting her tail. My associate started talking price for her immediately, without even knowing her history. I humored him, though he has nowhere near the capital.

I commanded her to remain there until he left, whereupon I mounted her.

She kneels under my writing desk as I pen this entry, my pride in her mouth. I have cum a few times already today and it is taking her a while, but I have instructed her to go slowly, and she is a good girl and complying.

I hold no illusion that she is 'broken', because I do not 'break'. I rebuild. Isma is a perfect example of this. When I brought her in one year ago, she was in shackles, defiant to a fault. Now she kneels, pleasuring me with no complaint, no order denied. She knows that obeying grants rewards such as food, rest and leniency. Disobedience warrants nothing 'out of the ordinary' and gets her nowhere and rewards her only her own inconvenience. Perhaps her future owner will fail to respect this and spoil her. But is I have told many before, if I were a carpenter, I can only sell you a chair in the current condition. If you do not maintain it and treat it properly, it will break down and I am not at fault. My more discerning customers know the quality of my goods and are willing to pay for that quality.

I can now feel my pleasure approaching, so I will be brief in closing this entry. I will send out noticed tomorrow that my newest slave is available for purchase. Oh, how I will miss these lips, this tongue. That tight cunt, that soft rump, her tight tailhole, mine whenever I please. But, onwards and upwards. Ah, and here it 'cums'~~

***

End of Part 2