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Origins of Kesha Firehair

(This story is the backstory for an Earthdawn character, the Swordmaster / Elementalist Kesha Firehair).

My name is Kesha Firehair. As you can see, I am 5 foot 6 inch, not very tall, but taller than average for a human girl. I am rather slim but still well muscled. On a foggy day like today my hair is light brown, but in the right light it burns with a copper, even red shimmer. Sometimes it even seems to move and flicker like a fire, which is where the second part of my name comes from.

And this is the beginning of my story.

I was born in the village of Nineoaks which lies in the Deepgreen valley in the eastern foothills of the Delaris mountains. Nineoaks is not a big village but it still holds almost two hundred souls. About half were humans, one third are orks and the rest dwarves, apart from one pair of elves with their daughter.

It is a quite unusual village, consisting of only a single large farmstead. During my childhood, I thought it perfectly normal, of course, not having known anything else. The farmstead was square, measuring more than 40 paces along each side. In the center was a big yard with a few separate houses for the village headman and his closest aides, our resident mage, an Elementalist, and a shrine to the passions.

As raiders and the like are a fact of life in a remote area like this, the farmstead was built like a fortress. The outside windows were small, particularly on the ground floor, and barred by heavy shutters. The doors were thick and sturdy. Of course now I know that it was not a true fortress, a determined enemy would have breached the gates quickly enough, but against raiders who were more interested in plunder or slaves rather than a costly victory it was protection enough.

Especially since every able-bodied Name-giver had a weapon and knew enough to use it. True, almost none of us were adepts, but we were as well trained as most city militias. Gralthuk the ork was a Beastmaster and considered one of us, though he spent far more time in the forest rather than in the farmstead. Time and again he (and his animal friends) warned us of approaching strangers, so that we had time to return from the fields, bar all the gates and windows and prepare for combat.

I must have been about five the first time raiders (or more likely slavers, as if there was much difference between the two) tried to raid us. I did not really understand much of what was happening and did not see anything, of course. My mother gathered us (my three brothers, two older and one younger than me) and led us into the headman's house in the center of the farmstead. I remember seeing my father hastily put on a heavy leather jerkin and pick up the spear and shield that leaned in the corner of the room and then hurry outside.

The grownups with us were tense but not really afraid, that much I remember well. We had to stay inside for what seemed forever until we were finally allowed go outside again. At least to the yard, it was another two days before we were allowed to leave the farmstead.

Much later I learned what had been going on. The slavers had charged out of the forest, hoping to surprise those of us working the fields. But since we had been warned in time, they found no one. When they approached the farmstead, a volley of arrows had wounded one of them and they had retreated. Then they had milled around for some time before they decided that the cost of an attack would likely be higher than the profit to be made and had retreated. Gralthuk had shadowed them for a day to be certain that they had really left.

We were attacked a few times more during my childhood, but not often. Thankfully our defenses held each time and we suffered no casualty, though there were a few wounded now and then and about half a dozen raiders were killed during attacks over the years.

Like all the other adolescents I began to train with the others when I turned twelve. Of course we youngsters were not expected to fight, except in a desperate last ditch action, before the rite of adulthood on our sixteenth birthday. I learned to shoot with a short bow and how to use a spear and shield or a staff. I received my share of sores but on the whole I think I gave better than I received, certainly better than most other girls. Apart from the ork girls, of course, they were bigger and tougher than us humans.

Now that I have seen the splendor in which many citizens live in larger towns and cities I realize just how poor we really were. As a child it did not bother me much, of course. As poor as we were, we never lacked for anything important. There was always enough to eat, except for one lean year when I was ten. It was an unpleasant time. None of us starved, but by the time we brought in the first bountiful harvest half the village had to use suspenders in addition to a belt to keep up their trousers or dresses.

The clothes we wore marked us as peasants, of course, but they were warm enough on all but the coldest days. And it could get very cold where we lived. Most of Barsaive has only warm weather, of course, but we were high enough that it snowed a few times every year. The snow usually thawed after a few days or a week or two at most, but still.

And we had little iron and even less steel, which forced us to make do with the things that we had in plenty when it came to choosing our weapons. Only the village headman had a sword (I know now that it was of rather dubious quality, but as a child the way the edge captured the light never failed to fascinate me whenever he used trained with it) and we had about a dozen axes, though these were used for lumber way more often than for war. For armor we had leather and hides and those and wood for the shields. Bows and staves were made of wood, of course, and the spears needed only a small spearhead of iron or rock.

But back to my childhood, on the whole it was a happy one. In addition to my brothers I had more than a score of cousins to play with. In a village as small as ours and after more than four centuries in the kaer I suppose I was related to everybody else in the village, if only distantly. In truth we considered everybody in the village a cousin, aunt or uncle, even those of other races, who could not possibly have been related to us by blood.

As everybody knows a Name-giver can't give a child to a spouse of a different race, but that did not stop the occasional rumors when a particularly ugly or short child was born to a Human mother. Or when a Dwarf grew particularly tall or an Ork was unusually fair skinned. As best as I could tell these rumors were more idle gossip than meant to be truly hurtful, but at least some of the targets or these rumors took them badly.

Slowly the carefree spring of childhood gave way to the summer of adult life and (like everybody else) I had to spend more and more time helping with the work. In addition to training with weapons I received lessons from Shanna, the Elementalist. She taught every who showed interest and aptitude for her craft, but only very few progressed far enough to learn actual magic.

I don't want to boast, but at least to her I was one of her most promising students. Had fate not intervened, I suppose I would have learned her craft, married and born children soon enough. There were a few lads who had caught my eye, but I was not quite ready to marry yet.

And then, a little more than two months after I had become an adult with my sixteenth birthday, came the fateful (and dreadful) day that turned my life upside down.

On that day I tended the fields. I had the bad luck to be part of the group that worked furthest from the farmstead. Early in the morning, less than an hour after we had started our work the horn that warned of an attack sounded. Most of those working in the fields could flee to the safety of the farmstead, but the warning came to late for us. I had barely run more than a dozen steps when riders crashed out of the forest and galloped towards us.

I tried to dodge, but the slaver was apparently experienced in such matters. He swung a whip at me and hit my calves, tangling my legs. I plowed into the ground face first, which dazed me a little. Before I could do anything, he jumped on top of me, kneed me in the back and then hit my head with a sap. I did not quite pass out, but the sudden pain made me weak and helpless. Before I knew what was happening he had tied first my wrists and then my ankles together. A few moments later he mounted his horse once more and rode off.

The pain from my head and back was so bad that I could only lie there at first. Then I began to struggle with my bonds weakly, but he had tied them well enough that I could not escape, at least not in the short time I had.

A few minutes later, presumably when they had caught everybody they could find, one of them returned to take me away. He crouched next to me, rested a knee on my back and shoved my face into the muddy dirt. I struggled feebly and began to panic quickly when I could not breathe. He held me like this for a minute before he finally pulled my head up by the hair, hurting me badly.

He let me catch my breath for a moment and growled, "Give me any trouble and you will feel the whip or worse. Do you understand?"

I doubt that my whimpered "yes" was truly intelligible, but it seemed to satisfy him.

"When I tell you to, stand up slowly and then walk."

I managed a weak, "Yes".

He untied my feet and then let me struggle to get up. Before I could even think of trying to resist, he grabbed my right arm and squeezed hard enough that my eyes filled with tears. He led me towards the woods and the road that connected our village with the rest of the world.

When I looked around I saw that several others of us were led in the same direction. After a few minutes we reached a small clearing where I had to kneel. From what I could see, they had caught seven of us, a boy, an older man and a male ork, in addition to an old female ork, two female humans, a mother and her daughter and myself.

They made sure we had no chance to escape. One of them checked the rope that tied my wrists and knotted it tighter. Then he locked a heavy iron collar around my neck. A short chain (about two foot) was connected to the front of the collar. I did not notice it right away, but at the back of the collar were three knobs or dull spikes. They did not hurt normally but made it extremely painful to resist when someone pulled the chain. Finally he gagged and blindfolded me and then I had to lie down on my belly. They warned us not to move, not even an inch, unless we wanted to feel the whip.

One by one the others were restrained the same way as I. At least I assumed so from what little sense I could make of the noises as I could not see anything. And then most of the slavers left. I think two or three remained to make sure we did not try to escape.

The sudden swish of a whip made me flinch. Thankfully it was not aimed at me, but a muffled scream to my right left no doubt that the threat of getting whipped had not been an empty one. After that I barely dared to breathe, let alone move and so I escaped the whip. Not all of us were so lucky, the muffled cries of pain attested to that.

It was difficult to tell time, but I think that we lay there for perhaps half an hour. It was horrible, in addition to the constant fear of punishment the damp coldness of the ground seeped into me and it did not take long before I began to shiver.

Eventually the other slavers returned. I did not know what they had done, but I assume that they considered the merits of trying to assault the farmstead but eventually decided against it. At least they had not captured anybody else.

Suddenly one of them touched the edge of his sword to my neck hard enough that I expected him to break the skin at any moment. But he did not, he just told me to stand up. I struggled to my feet and he led me to where his horse stood and locked the chain attached to my collar to the saddle of his horse. I waited while they did the same to the others and then we set out.

As I stood there, I realized that the cloth they had used to blindfold me was not all that thick and that I could see a little. Later, when I thought about this, I became certain that it was by design. The little I could see allowed me to walk without tripping all the time while at the same time disorienting and demoralizing me and making it impossible to run away as I would not be able to see enough to avoid obstacles if I moved too fast.

We walked along the path (the road to my village barely merited the appellation "road"; only the smallest and sturdiest wagons could use it, most of the traders that visited us used only pack animals) for a long time. It was a thoroughly miserable time. I was cold and frightened and the crude banter between the slavers only made things worse. If one believed their words (and I had no reason not to believe them), there were much worse things in store than just a whip. Particularly for us females and especially for a pretty young thing like me. I shivered every time my guard touched me or tussled my hair and hinted at the things he would soon do to me.

Eventually we reached a bigger road along which we walked for a few minutes. We walked down a sunken lane until we came to a small clearing, where the rest of the slave caravan waited.

(I did not notice everything described below right away, but gradually over the next few hours and days). There were three wagons, one that looked like a small house on wheels, where the leader of the caravan lived and two others that carried supplies and the like. Behind each supply wagon trailed two heavy chains, each about ten paces long. The the chain connected to each slaves' collar were locked to the long chains.

The male slaves were tied to one wagon while all the female slaves were connected to the other. I did not count them, but there were about two dozen slaves there, about half male and the other half female. About two thirds of the slaves wore smocks or slave shirts. These were spun of very rough wool, sleeveless, about knee length and they all looked dirty. The rest of the slaves were completely naked. All the slaves knelt with their heads lowered, some even had their face pressed to the ground, and their wrists were chained up behind the back. Countless welts covered every inch of their exposed skin, giving mute testimony to the vigor with which the slavers punished even the smallest disobedience.

All in all there were about three dozen guards, most of them Human, though there were a couple of dwarves, a pair of Orks and two Elves. The last two seemed to be the officers. The wagons were arranged in a "U", with the leaders' wagon at the apex and the kneeling slaves at the ends. In the center of the area between the wagons was a small campfire.

One of the officers, the one who had led the raid, commanded, "You lot will stand where I tell you to. You will not move a finger without permission and you will not make any noise. You will not speak unless you are spoken to first. Am I clear." The sudden thunderous crack of a whip sent a shiver of fear down my spine and I nodded.

We were arranged in a line between the wagons, facing away from the leader's wagon. They finally removed the gag and the blindfold, but I had to lower my head until I looked at the ground directly between my feet. I (and the others) had to stand with my feet almost to foot apart. I raised my eyes for a moment, but quickly lowered them again, looking at the grinning slavers with their whips only made things worse. We had to listen to the occasional crude jokes of the slavers while we waited.

One of the slavers had entered the leader's wagon (I had heard the steps and the door open and close). They returned after a few minutes, this time I could clearly hear the steps of two people.

"So this is what you found? I've seen better." Something in his voice made me shiver. It seemed strangely flat and emotionless. From his accent he sounded like a Theran. He slowly walked behind us, giving some (more or less disparaging) comment about each of us.

"Nice hair." I shuddered when his hand touched my neck. The comment about me had been the nicest so far, for a moment that made me happy but then I remembered the crude comments by the slavers and I realized that if they found me pretty, it would likely make me a more attractive target for their desires. It was a struggle not to turn my head and to look at the man who held my life in his hands.

And then he finally stood before us. I raised my eyes to look at him and then wished that I had not. He was the thinnest elf I had ever seen. Perhaps emaciated was a better word. And he was not just pale but had a sickly pallor, just like my grandmother in her last days before the sickness finally claimed her. Or perhaps even the pallor of her skin on the day after she died. His eyes met mine for a moment and I shuddered. They were dull and lifeless and yet they bored into me.

"Let's see what we have here. Look at me." This was directed at the first in line. Soon it was my turn. He put a finger under my chin and forced me to look him in the eye. His touch made my skin crawl and I shivered. I was glad when he allowed me to lower my head once more.

When he got to Grenda, the old ork woman, I saw him make a curious gesture with one hand. A moment later he said, "I doubt we'll get anything for that one. Take care of her." It took us a moment to realize what he meant. Grenda gave a strangled cry and tried to run, but the guards were ready for her and stopped her before she could take a second step. Apparently the gesture had been meant for the guards, warning them to be ready.

She managed to spit at him once before they dragged her away. Not very far, just to the edge of the clearing, where we could easily see what happened. Two guards held her motionless while a third pulled out a dagger. He cut her several times and then stabbed her in the belly.

At that point Throgga, the male ork, could not take it any more. I have no idea what he hoped to accomplish, but he gave a battle-cry. Of course the guards were ready for him as well. They restrained him and hit him on the head with their saps until he collapsed.

After a long moment the guards released Grenda and she toppled slowly. It took her quite a while to die, we could hear her gurgling grunts for at least a quarter of an hour before she was finally silent. Just before we left two slaves had to dig a shallow grave for her and drag her corpse there.

At a command from their leader, the guards dragged the dazed Throgga away. We heard them do something directly behind us, but I could not tell what.

After a minute or so the head slaver commanded, "Turn around and watch." Then, to the kneeling slaves, "You watch as well."

The slavers had tied Throgga to the leader's wagon. Two shackles connected his feet to the wagon wheels, forcing him to stand with his legs spread wide. His wrists were shackled as well and the shackles attached to a rope and a crane-like device at the top of the wagon. They pulled on the rope until he had to stand on his toes and then tied off the rope.

One of the slavers drew a knife and cut away Throgga's clothes until he was completely naked. He was none to careful and cut him several times, perhaps deliberately.

The head slaver said, "Show them what happens to slaves who disobey." The empty tone of his voice made me shiver more than what he said.

One of the guards carried out the sentence. He swished his whip through the air a few times and then laid into it. At first Throgga managed to stay silent, then the mounting pain made him scream and at the end he fell silent again. The whipping was brutal. The slaver worked him over from top to bottom and back up again. He whipped him with so much force that the whip cut the skin quite often. And that even though orks have a much thicker skin than other Name-givers. The worst was one blow delivered between the legs, so that the tip of the whip wrapped around and hit him right in the family jewels. Throgga gave a high-pitched strangled cry and passed out.

They dumped some cold water on his head to wake him up again and then the whipping continued. I flinched with every blow and desperately wanted to close my eyes or look away, but I did not dare to, afraid that I would be punished if I did. They whipped Throgga until he passed out.

Then we had to turn around once more and the slaver continued his inspection as if nothing had happened. After he had reached the end of our line, he returned to stand before us and asked, "Does anyone of you wish to join one of the two?" Here he gestured in the direction of the dying ork woman who still twitched and grunted occasionally.

I shook my head fearfully and so did the others (at least I think so).

"Very well. Then you had better behave." He cracked his knuckles, they made a horrible sound, and declared, "Let's get started. You, come here." He pointed at Toma, the older man, who obediently took a step forward. The slaver looked him up and down and then asked, "Do you wish to be my slave?"

Toma did not answer right away. We all flinched at the sudden crack of a whip, wielded by a guard that stood behind him (and us). Toma gave a little scream of surprise and pain.

The slaver considered him for another moment and asked, "Well?"

After another stroke of the whip Toma submitted, bowed his head and answered, "Yes."

"Yes, what?" After another blow of the whip he explained, "You will always address me and your betters as 'Master'."

"Yes, Master." When that got no reaction he tried again, "I want to be your slave, Master."

"Hmmm... I am not sure if I want someone as troublesome as you. But if you really mean it, you may kiss my feet and beg."

It took another long moment before Toma could bring himself to abase himself like that, but then the fear of further punishment or death won out. He went down on his knees, bent forward and kissed the slaver's shoes. He begged to be accepted as slave. When that brought no reaction, he repeated the humiliating ritual several times until the slaver finally relented.

"Well, if you really want to be my slave, then so be it."

At the slavers expectant look, Toma said, "Thank you, Master."

But since you appear so eager, I will expect you to obey perfectly and punish you extra hard should you fail. That's only fair, don't you think so?"

Toma gritted his teeth but answered, "Yes, Master."

"Good. You will now be untied. I don't think I have to warn you not to do anything stupid?"

"No, Master. I will obey."

"Good." One of the guards stepped behind Toma and untied his wrists. As soon as his wrists were free, he began to massage them. By now my wrists hurt a lot as well, as did my hands. The slaver watched him for a long moment and then commanded, "Take off you clothes, slave."

Toma made a displeased sound, but fear won out quickly enough, "Yes, Master." He slowly took off the boots and his shirt and trousers. It took another blow from the whip to convince him to take off his underpants as well and then one more for him to stop trying to cover himself and move his arms to the side.

The slaver, who had been standing directly in front of Toma so far, stepped to the right (my left). After a moment I realized why: Now Toma's naked body was exposed to all the female slaves who (had to) watch the proceedings. A few of them began to blush, but none dared to look away.

"Turn around." Once he had done that, the slaver began to examine Toma's backside, touching, and from the look on his face, also squeezing him. Try as I might, I could not completely look away from his male parts. I knew what those looked like in principle (I had to help care for babies and we had often played in the nude during summer when we were small) but I had only seen those parts of an adult male a few times, and then only briefly. I could not tell if the whole thing aroused Toma or if it was the embarrassment but a single look was enough to tell that what happened affected him deeply as he stood quite proud.

The slaver's face showed not a single emotion during the examination. Almost every trader I had watched had showed more emotions examining livestock! Somehow that lack of emotion scared me a lot.

After a few minutes Toma had to turn around once more. At first the slaver examined his arms. After that Toma had to raise his arms above the head, touching each elbow with the other hand. He was warned not to move without permission. And then the slaver examined his front as well. I hear Toma wince a few times, apparently the slaver pinched him several times. He even looked at his teeth, as if he was a horse.

The last part was the worst. The slaver reached between Toma's legs. My eyes bulged when I realized what he was doing. He was feeling up the slave's male parts! The shivers that ran through him and the deepening blush I could see on some of the female slaves' faces left little doubt about that. And the slaver mocked him as well, "You like that, don't you?"

"Yes, Master." Toma's voice was strangled.

The slaver smiled at that. To me it seemed an entirely artificial smile. And then the examination was over, "Not as young and fit as I would like, but you will do. You may serve me."

Toma chocked out a, "Thank you, Master."

"Do you want a shirt? You may beg for one."

After a moment pride lost to practicality and he knelt, kissed the shoes of our captor and begged until our master 'relented'.

One of the guards handed Toma a slave shirt which he put on. Then his hands were tied up behind his back. This time they used iron shackles connected by a very short chain (only two or three links), Then he had to kneel with the other male slaves and a guard locked him to one of the long chains.

And then, one by one, the rest of us received a similar examination. After the punishment Toma had received we were all suitably cowed and afraid of getting whipped and submitted quickly to our new master.

Mara, the mother of Silaluna was the next one to be examined. While her age (and the fact that she had born six children) was beginning to show and she was a little stouter than she had been a few years ago, she was still an attractive woman. She bowed and begged and submitted to the humiliating examination with a resigned grace that impressed me. This time our master stepped to the left (my right) so that the male slaves could see her naked body. Only one or two of them blushed. It shames me a little to say this, but I could not avoid looking for other signs and almost all of those where I could see those signs (because they were naked) showed clear signs of arousal.

The master spent what seemed like several minutes examining Mara's most intimate parts and I could clearly her her breathing heavily. When she turned around to accept the shirt afterwards, her face was bright red and her breasts were noticeably perkier than before, a clear sign that she was aroused. As I said before, I had not been with a boy before, though I have to admit, that I had been sorely tempted to agree to meet a particularly charming boy in the hayloft for a quick tumble. And I had a few dreams or daydreams (very pleasant ones) on what might happen on such an occasion, so I did have at least some idea what signs indicated arousal in a female.

On the other hand, despite the fact that he had examined a helpless and very naked woman's most intimate parts for so long, our master's face remained as expressionless as before.

Mara joined one of the lines of kneeling female slaves and then it was Boron's turn. After him came Silaluna, Mara's daughter and then it was my turn.

I suppose I should feel honored that I came last. It was of course possible that the order in which our master handled us was entirely by chance, but to me it seemed that he had picked us from the least to the most attractive. In another year Silaluna would most likely have won that contest, but at the moment she was still a too young and at a rather awkward age and her true beauty had not really begun to shine forth. Her face was much softer than mine, her long hair was the color of honey or even gold if the light was right. And if she took after her mother, she would end up quite well endowed.

On the other hand, while I was certainly far from ugly, though my face was more angular and I was not particularly well endowed in the chest. I was certainly not flat, but more than once a stranger had taken me for a lad when I wore a tight shirt and bound my hair in a ponytail.

While the others had submitted to the humiliating examination, I had considered my options. While I would never claim to be a fearless hero, I am not a coward either. I have stood in the line of battle and faced down a group of raiders not long ago (thankfully they had retreated without a pitched battle, but still).

Perhaps the outcome of my deliberations was a foregone conclusion, but I like to believe that I truly considered the matter. Two main points led to my decision:

For one, the slavers had demonstrated that there was practically no limit to their cruelty. I might endure through one whipping, but could I survive two or five or ten without breaking? Or whatever indignities and tortures they would inflict on me? And even if those failed, the Therans were said to know many magics to break a Name-giver's will and turn her into little more than a shambling corpse while she was still alive.

And two, I had no hope of escaping or fighting back, at least at the moment. There were more than thirty slavers, all armed and ready, certainly more than enough to restrain one girl. And right now, they were ready for me to try something, perhaps even expecting me to. If I tried anything, they would react swiftly and harshly. And afterwards I would be watched twice as closely. My only chance for escape would be to lull them into a sense of security and make them think I was as meek as a newborn lamb. Whatever I tried, I would have only one chance.

And so I submitted, abased myself, kissed the slaver's boots and begged to be "allowed" to become his slave. It was the most humiliating thing I had ever done. And our master did everything to make it worse. I had not really noticed it before, but once he turned his face to me, there was a mocking grin, not even a proper grin, just a slight curling of the lips and the set of his expressionless eyes, that seemed to say that only a weak-willed coward would submit to this and that any true or brave woman would die rather than abase herself like this.

The actual examination was the worst and even that got more and more humiliating with every minute. It was not too bad while he examined my back, but even then I had to deal with almost a dozen leering guards. They all wore clothes, most wore light armor and even so at least half were very visibly aroused. With most of the others I simply could not tell because of the cut of their clothes or armor. And while they did not say anything, they licked their lips or winked when my eyes met theirs, leaving little doubt that they intended to use me for my pleasure at the first opportunity.

My master's fingers made my skin crawl wherever they touched me. Their touch was bone-dry and at the same time as slimy as a snail's foot. And despite how much his touch creeped me out, my skin also seemed to heat up at his touch and burn. And somehow the heat seemed to travel to my center and lit a fire deep in my belly.

My face was scarlet, of course, but soon my rising arousal began to show. My breasts began to perk up more and perhaps even my lower lips began to puff up a little (I did not look down at myself, but I had observed those effects after a particularly interesting dream, and the way my body felt now was similar to how it had felt then). And the faces of the watchers left little doubt that they noticed as well.

My embarrassment became even worse once I turned around so that my master could examine my front and then worse still when I had to hold my arms above the head. Before less than a dozen guards had looked at me, now it was my master, almost two dozen guards and more than a dozen male slaves.

Looking at them only made things even worse. Five of the male slaves were naked and by now they were all unmistakably aroused. It might have been only my imagination, but it seemed that they already proud male parts grew another inch as soon as they beheld me. That my eyes kept returning to their engorged parts despite my best efforts embarrassed me no end. The naked ork slave at the rear of the right chain drew my eyes more than any of the others as his organ was bigger and taller than those any of the others.

Most of the slaves tried their best not to show their interest too openly but even those who were clothed could not hide their interest in me. And the guards certainly did not try to hide their interest and intentions, rather the opposite. The only one who did not show any sign of interest in my charms was my master who examined me with seemingly dead eyes.

And though my master's touch disgusted me more with every touch, it also aroused me further and further. By the end of the examination I was panting hard and I my heaving bosom only gave the lechers even more to enjoy.

The master delivered the final blow to my self-esteem at the end of the examination. He looked at the fingers that had just examined my most intimate parts and my insides. They glistened with the juices of my arousal. He chuckled, a very strange sound, and declared, "What a slut? She's wetter than a swamp!" And then he wiped his fingers on my face and especially my nose and poked them into my mouth, so that I had to smell and taste my own arousal.

And with that the worst part of this ordeal was over. I was almost glad when he "accepted" my service and gave me permission to kiss his feet and allowed me to beg for a shirt. The shirt I received was dirty and greasy and smelled as if its last wearer had been a pig (and an unusually dirty one, at that). Despite that I was heartily glad to be allowed to put it on. I allowed my arms to be shacked without resistance.

And then I knelt where I was told to and was connected to the outside of the left chain. I shared that side of the chain with a female ork who was naked (at the head of the chain) and a female T'skrang (behind me).

I noticed that they had split us up as much as possible, the two males were on different chains, one at the front and the other at the end. I was on one chain while Mara and her daughter were on the other, on different sides with Mara at the very end and her daughter near the front.

Once I thought about that, I realized that they had split us so that there was no chance to talk to someone we could trust and perhaps receive some help if we attempted to flee or anything. Our master's next instructions confirmed my suspicions in this direction.

He turned to us and began, "Those who have served me longer will already know this, but since there are new faces here I will repeat this: You have all agreed to serve me to the best of your abilities. This also means that if you notice that one of your fellow slaves falls short of the perfection expected of her, be it because she is too weak or weak-willed or he forgets what is expected of him or, passions forbid, disobeys willfully, that you being it to my or my men's attention, that we may encourage her to do better. By doing this, you display exemplary service and you will be rewarded."

He let that sink in for a moment before he went on, "To allow you to fulfill this duty, you are allowed to speak to bring it to somebody's attention. Say, 'Master' in a questioning voice and wait for someone to ask you for details. If you were not heard then you can repeat this after a bit. But do not abuse this privilege. Do you understand?"

We all nodded. His meaning was clear enough: Any one of us who so much as wanted to whisper to another slave risked punishment, even if no guards were around to hear as we could not be sure if the other would keep her mouth shut or betray us for some, likely small, reward.

With that our master returned to his wagon and began dinner. One of them built up the campfire and two of the female slaves were disconnected from the chains so that they could help prepare the meal. The slavers took no risk and ate in shifts so there were always enough on duty to make sure none of us tried anything.

We had to kneel there with the scents of food wafting in the air and watch them eat. We did not get anything. Mine was far from the only stomach that rumbled loudly. As bad as it was for me, it must have been a lot worse for the two who helped them cook, they even had to taste the stew they prepared, just with the tip of the tongue, but did not get anything.

Towards the end of the meal we received a little water. The two slaved placed a bowl on the ground in front of each of us and filled it with water. Then we had to wait a bit before we were given permission to "drink". Since our arms were tied up behind the back we could only lap up the water like animals.

The two slaves washed out the bowls the guards had used for their stew and then they returned to their place at the chain. Then we waited a few more minutes while the slavers hitched the horses to the wagons and got everything ready.

They gave Throgga a few more licks with the whip for good measure and then released him from the whipping post. They took no chances doing that, first they blindfolded him and then they shackled his wrists before they unlocked the shackles that held his legs apart. And then they promptly shackled his legs again. The chain between the ankles was long enough that he could walk (though probably with some difficulty) but he would not be able to run. Then they led him to his place at the end of one of the chains.

They blindfolded the other two ork slaves as well. I was appalled when I saw the back of the female ork in front of me, it was covered with so many welts and scars that I had to wonder how she could still be alive. And once I looked, I realized that their feet were shackled as well. After a moment's though I realized why they did that. It was a prudent precaution, at least from the slaver's point of view.

Orks made good workers, they were tough and strong and worked harder than just about anyone else when they did put their mind to it. But they made problematic slaves at best. And even the most pleasant ork could fly into a great rage at the slightest provocation. I had seen it happen often enough at the farmstead. But we had learned to live with it. For one you quickly learned what set off those you worked with or counted as friends. For another, they considered us part of their family so the explosive rages rarely lasted more than a few moments and rarely caused more damage than a black eye or a smashed chair.

But the main reason orks made poor slaves was that the desire for freedom burned hotter in them than in all other Name-givers, for they had all been slaves ages ago and they could never forget that. They would be the first to rise up and they might even assault their captors when there was little chance for success, preferring to die to a blade than live under the whip. So the slavers punished them even harsher than they did the rest of us and restrained them more severely to keep them helpless and docile.

And then we were told to stand up and told to relieve ourselves. For a moment I wondered if I had heard wrong, but then I followed the other's lead. Those who were naked crouched while those with clothes stood with their legs far apart (so as not to soil the shirt they wore any worse than it already was) and did their thing. It made me feel like an animal relieving myself like this while the guards watched. I did not like that I could not clean myself up either.

After a few minutes we set out. The order of travel was always the same, first our master's personal wagon, then the one to which we females were chained and finally the wagon with the males trailing at the end. About two third of the guards had horses and rode them, surrounding us on all sides to squash any hope of escape or resistance before it could even form.

The rest traveled on one of the wagons. At least two of them always sat at the rear of the wagon in front of us and watched us, whips in hand. They were not shy about using the whips at any real or imagined disobedience on our part. They did not hit us all the time, but I felt the whip at least twice during the march on that afternoon. And they never let us forget that they desired us and would soon have their way with us, whether we wanted or not. They concentrated their attention particularly on those who had to march naked.

But that came a bit later. First we had to return to the main road. Since the path from the clearing to the main road was rather bad, the wagons moved at a crawl and it took perhaps a quarter of an hour before we reached the road. I realized quickly that walking barefoot was no pleasant. I was surprised when we stopped after less than a hundred yards.

I was even more surprised when our master suddenly looked at us from the back of the supply wagon to which we were chained. He began speaking in a foreign language which I could not understand. I felt a strange and unpleasant sensation. Before I could make sense of it, he ended the short 'speech' with a forceful "March!".

Suddenly my feet began to walk forward on their own! As did those of the other slaves. He had cast some spell on us! The wagon in front of us began to move as well, moving just fast enough to keep the chain to which we were locked more or less taut. I found that I could direct where I put my feet, but I could not stop walking, I had to put one foot in front of the other. Since I was connected to the chain I could not really do much except walk straight ahead. And trying to do anything else would only bring harsh punishment down on me.

One effect of the spell was that I did not feel pain. I still felt it when I stepped on a pointy pebble, but less than I should have. As glad as I was for that, the fact that such magic had been used on me frightened me, particularly since I was quite certain that our master had not cast the spell to make life easier for us.

I saw our master wait at the side of the road while we marched helplessly past him. I think the cast the same spell on the males that followed behind us, but I could not be sure. After a few minutes I saw him ride forward and then I did not see him again until we stopped for the evening.

I wracked my brains, going through the bits of magical lore Shanna had taught me during my (now aborted) apprenticeship, trying to identify the spell. Eventually I remembered something that fit and what I remembered was bad, really bad. Questors of the mad passion Dis (the passion of bureaucracy, slavery and the undead) could force their victims to tirelessly perform some simple task for hours, perhaps even days on end, never feeling tired, until the spell ended, when they would collapse or even die as the exertion suddenly caught up with them. Needless to say this almost scared me shit-less.

At first I tried a few mental exercises Shanna had taught us, thinking that perhaps one of them would help me resist the spell, but I soon gave up again. For one I found it extremely hard to concentrate while walking and for another I realized that I had better pay attention to where I put my feet. The spell might prevent me from feeling pain when I stepped on a sharp rock, but I doubted that it would prevent the damage to my feet.

To my dismay I found out soon that while the spell prevented me from feeling any pain in my feet, it did not do anything for the rest of my body. As I mentioned previously, the slavers used their whips from time to time and as far as I could tell none of us escaped their attention completely. Of course some where punished more than others, the ork female who walked in front of me was a favorite target and to a lesser extent the other nude slaves.

I heard the swish of a whip and suddenly pain blossomed on my upper arms and my back. I screamed, from the sudden pain and also from surprise. The pain was horrible and suddenly my senses reeled. Without the spell I would have fallen down without a doubt, but my feet just kept moving even though I felt like passing out for a moment. I had given my parents few reasons to punish me, but there had still been a few memorable occasions. Once my father even spanked me with his belt until I could not sit for a day. I thought it horrible torture and had hated him for a while but compared to the whip the punishment had been nothing.

I have no idea if I did anything wrong to earn that or if the slaver whipped me just for fun. Suddenly I was really, really glad that I had submitted without a struggle earlier.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a kind of daze. Perhaps daze is not the right word, I could think without problem, but I had little sense of time. Had someone suddenly asked me how long I had been marching, I would not have been able to say if it had been a quarter or a whole hour or five hours. With some thought I might have been able to make a rough estimate based on events and things I had seen but I had no feeling of the passage of time. As long as I concentrated on something, I could, say, tell how long ago I had passed a particularly memorable tree. But if I let my mind wander or concentrated on anything else for a few moments, then I would not have been able to tell if I had passed that tree moments or hours ago.

And so we marched. We put one foot in front of the other. And then we marched some more. There were a few notable events during that time, but apart from those it was a featureless monotony. And not a pleasant one, at that. After the first blow of the whip I was in constant fear of the next blow, flinching whenever I heard the tell-tale swish or crack.

Apart from marching, marching and yet more marching, two things of interest happened.

The first one happened not too long after we set out, but I could not say how long to save my life. We met a small trader's caravan. Perhaps a dozen pack animals, the trader and a few guards and helpers passed us, going the other way.

As the trader passed us, I looked at him and recognized him. He had visited our farmstead regularly, about twice each year. For a moment I wondered if he would recognize us and then he did. I think he looked at Mara when he did. He tensed suddenly and his hand went for the sword he carried. A wild hope that he would rescue us filled me for a moment. But only for a moment. His face still showed outrage but he forced himself to relax.

For a moment I hated him with all my heart, but once I thought about it, I had to forgive him. Even had he wanted to help us, he would not have accomplished anything. He and his guards were outnumbered at least five to one. Had he tried anything, he would have only found death. Or had he been taken captive, he would have been enslaved as well. Still the quenching of that sudden flare of hope left a bitter taste in my mouth.

And the second was that I saw up close and personal the treachery among slaves for a slight personal advantage. I shared the chain with six other females. I was on the outer side of the left chain, with an ork in front and a T'skrang behind me. On the inner side of the chain were a dwarf and then three humans. The second human, who was locked to the chain to to my right and a little behind me, was an very well endowed and ripe looking red-head, who was naked. As best as I could tell (and which was later confirmed through my own experiences) meant that she had earned a punishment for some reason (or none). And she was apparently eager to earn her way back into the slaver's good (or at least better) graces at any cost (to someone else).

While the spell forced us to march and it did its best to keep us on our feet, there were limits. The girl in front of her stumbled suddenly (I think she overlooked a piece of wood lying on the ground), she almost fell forward, bumped into the dwarf in front of her and cried out. She managed to get back on her feet and that should have been it. Even the guards that watched from the wagon less than three paces away thought nothing of it.

But then the red-head suddenly asked, "Master?"

One of the guards rode up between the two chains and turned to look at her and asked, "What do you want, slave?"

His tone made her hesitate for a moment, but then she answered, "The girl ahead of me stumbled deliberately and whispered something to the dwarf."

"I see." He considered her and looked at the guards who sat facing us and thought about it for a moment. I think that he did not believe a word she said, but he answered, "Thank you, slave. You will be rewarded." Then to the guards riding the wagon,."She has earned a shirt. Find me one or two."

"Yes, Sir!" One of the guards who sat on the wagon jumped down and set about finding a shirt for her. He found them on the two slaves she had just accused of disobedience. He commanded them (first the dwarf and then the human) to take off their shirts and unchained them for a moment so they could obey. Both of them did as ordered and took off their shirts without missing a step, though both of them managed to turn their head for a moment to glare at their accuser for a moment. Once they were chained again (now naked) the guard handed the two shirts to the rider (who seemed to be an officer of some sort).

He looked at the two shirts and then handed the grubbier one back to the guard who unchained the red-head for a moment so she could put it on. They chained her again and then the rider left.

The guard jumped back on the wagon, sat down, picked up his whip and set about punishing the two luckless slaves. He (and his replacements) whipped them all through the rest of the evening. Not all the time, but they rarely had more than a minute of rest between licks of the whip. They licked every inch of skin they could reach, both front and back. I shivered every time the whip swished through the air, and I shuddered with terror when the whip hit them on the breasts or between the legs. Their screams and grunts became a constant horrible reminder of how much worse things could get for me at a moment's notice.

But no matter how much pain they were in they never missed a step. And the human girl's head drooped so much several times that I had to wonder if she had passed out from pain a time or two. By the time we stopped for the night both of their skins were covered in welts from the calves to the neck.

As I considered the matter (shivering with fear every now and then), I realized that the slavers did not care at all if the accusations had any merit, they just wanted us to betray our fellow slaves to prevent any chance of collusion.

The sun was still up, but it was beginning to get dark when the wagons suddenly turned off the road to the left. This time the clearing where we stopped was right next to the road. The wagon slowed and I saw our master appear next to the wagon. He looked at us in a strange way and commanded, "Stop!"

For a moment nothing happened and then my feet exploded with pain and my legs cramped up. It felt as if my soles had been flayed off. I screamed and collapsed. Similar screams and howls of pain came from all around me. I lay there for a while, whimpering, panting and groaning in pain.

I barely noticed when the second wagon stopped near ours, but I could clearly hear our master's voice commanding the men to stop and their howls of pain a moment later.

They let us rest for a few minutes. The pain receded a little and the cramps stopped, but I could tell that my feet were in a bad shape. I could smell blood and when I looked I saw that the ork girl's feet oozed blood and the soles looked like they had been cut.

Then we were commanded to kneel. It was a struggle to move and my feet and calves hurt terribly whenever they moved or touched anything. Eventually we were kneeling to the slavers' satisfaction, with the chain straight and us properly spaced along its length. I was really glad to be allowed to kneel, my soles hurt more than any other part, I shivered at the very idea that I might have to stand up, let alone walk.

After a few more minutes three girls were unlocked from the chain, the two who had been so badly punished during the afternoon and one more from the other chain, who was also naked. They had to help set up the campfire and do the cooking. I pitied them, I could see and hear them wince with every step they had to take, see them try in vain to put as little weight as possible on their tortured soles.

We waited while they cooked the meal. Just like at lunch, the slaves sometimes had to taste the food they prepared but never got any. During the wait a few of us were moved around from one place on the chain to another. For example, the red-head opposite and a little behind me moved a little further forward on the chain, while the dwarf girl who had been at the front was moved to the rear (once she returned from her kitchen duties).

This time we were fed at the same time as the second group of guards. Of course the food we received was very different from theirs. Just like before bowls were placed in front of us and filled with a watery gruel-like substance. It smelled bad, more often than not the swill we had fed the pigs at the farmstead had looked more appetizing. Despite the unpleasant smell my stomach rumbled eagerly.

Some received bigger portions than others, the two who had been punished this afternoon received small ones, while the red-head who had accused them had her bowl filled to the rim.

Several guards sat down behind us and I quickly realized why: To lap up the swill we had to lean forward which forced us to raise our rear high and gave them something to look at. To give them a better view of those who wore a shirt, sometimes one of the guards would push a shirt further up so it didn't block his view of a particularly appealing rump. I should probably have not been very surprised to find that I merited that "honor". My face must have been bright red but I did my best to ignore the eyes I could feel on me while lapped up the disgusting slop as I did not dare to protest.

The guards had dug jacks and we were led there to relieve ourselves one by one. Using them made me feel a little bit less like a piece of livestock, but apart from that it was just as humiliating. We did not get the slightest shred of privacy, in fact at least four and often six guards watched closely while we crouched to do our thing.

By now the light was beginning to fail but it was not dark yet. Once we had all returned to our places and knelt our master appeared. He moved to stand in front of the red-head next to me and said, "I have heard good things about you from my men. Is it true that you selflessly helped them root out disobedience among your sisters?" The almost-smile on his pallid and almost skeletal face dripped with mockery and scorn, he obviously knew perfectly well that her actions had been anything but selfless.

Judging by the note of fear in her voice she was quite aware that his attention was at best a two-edged sword. But it was clear what he wanted to hear and so she answered, "Yes, Master."

"I am pleased to hear. As reward I will allow you to be the first to beg to warm my bed tonight. Would you like that?"

She turned her face a little and from what I could see she was far from happy with the idea. But she was neither stupid nor brave enough to refuse the implied command, "Yes, Master. I would like that a lot. Please, Master." She bent forward and then kissed his feet and begged until he finally agreed to accept her services.

A guard unlocked her from the chain and once she stood up also unlocked her arms. Our master said, "I don't think that you need to wear those rags tonight."

"Yes, Master." She blushed harder but quickly took off her shirt.

He considered her for a long moment before declaring, "Yes, you look acceptable." He did not say it, but somehow I (and from their faces, so did everybody else) almost seemed to have added, "If just barely." After a moment that seemed to last for minutes, he commanded, "Follow me." With that he walked away and she followed him. They climbed into his wagon and closed the door.

And that was the signal to the rest of the guards that they could start with their own debauched amusement. Unsurprisingly enough, we were the main target of their attention. The whole thing quickly turned into a horrible orgy. But, no matter how wild things got, they never ceased their vigilance. At least a third to half of them always remained on the sidelined, watching carefully for either attackers or trouble from our direction and used their whips at the slightest sign of disobedience.

Thinking back on it, I became quite certain that at least some of it was planned, who was used by the guards for their pleasure or who received particular attention. If nothing else our master must have declared who was off-limits, at least on that particular evening. All the slaves that were naked were targeted, for example. The whole thing started slow with only one and then a second guard (ab)using us and then more and more joined in.

Most of them took us right there in full view of everybody else, but a few guards (especially the higher ranking ones, from what I could tell) seemed to prefer some privacy and led the target of their lust further away from the main camp before they used them. They were careful, of course, from what I could see they only took females and always blindfolded them. Some, but not all, also shackled the slave's legs for the occasion.

Mara became the first victim. One of the guards pushed up her shirt until it was bunched above her breasts, feeling her up as his hands moved up along her body, completely exposing her body. Then he forced her to lie on her back and spread her legs, dropped his trousers, shoved his manhood into her gaping slit and proceeded to rape her. From her whimpers and gasps he was quite rough. I could clearly hear the pain in her voice. Despite the horror of her situation, the pain was quickly joined by lust. And when he came with a loud grunt she cried out in ecstasy.

He pulled out, walked around her and crouched above her head and asked, "You liked that, didn't you?"

I could see the tears flow from her eyes, but she knew what answer he expected, "Yes, Master."

"Slut! You are a slut, aren't you?"

"Yes, Master."

There were a few cruel laughs at that, just as there had been cheers and lewd advice for her assailant earlier. He wiped his cock on her hair, pulled up his trousers and walked away without another word or look. After a minute she struggled back up on her knees.

I was surprised when one of the guards approached a male. My surprise turned to horror when I recognized the male as Toma. The guard tried to push him down, but Toma resisted. But not for long, a second guard arrived quickly to help his comrade, he hit Toma's head with a sap and a few moments later his face was shoved into the dirt. My eyes widened in shock when the first guard lifted Toma's shirt to reveal his buttocks. He slapped the cheeks a few times before he dropped his trousers. He massaged his pole a few times until it stood proud and then he grabbed his victim's ass, pulled the butt cheeks apart with his thumbs and positioned the head of his pole at the rear entrance.

I was horrified, but also entranced and could not look away, even though I desperately wanted to. The guard forced his manhood into Toma's ass with a loud grunt. His victim screamed, the brutal assault must have been very painful. And then the guard fucked him harshly. Toma grunted and groaned with each thrust, but slowly the pain seemed to give way to lust.

He gave a strangled cry of lust and shame when the guard came with a loud grunt. He pulled out after a few more thrusts and then humped his victim a few more times, squirting his juices all over his back and as far as his head.

Then he stood up, pulled up his trousers and buckled his belt. For a moment I breathed a sigh of relief, but Toma's humiliation was not over. They forced him to stand up so that everybody could see the large wet spot on his shirt above his belly. And when they pulled the shirt up a bit we could see that he still stood proud.

The second guard grinned at him, smacked him on the rump in a mockery of camaraderie and asked, "You like taking it up the ass, don't you?"

Tears of shame ran down his cheek, but at least Toma knew better than to invite further punishment, "Yes, Master."

"Slut." The two guards walked away and after a moment he knelt, no doubt happy that he was not the center of attention any more.

I was a bit surprised that none of the guards really abused either of us younger slaves. Neither Silaluna, Boron nor I were raped. We did not escape their attention completely, but none of the slavers did more than touch us in a very (and usually very humiliating) manner. Since I was quite certain that at least some of the interest the slavers had shown in me (or more likely, my body) and I noticed several looking at me with what I could only describe as longing on their faces, I became quite sure that our master had declared us off-limits, at least for the moment.

While I was of course happy that none of the slavers forced himself on me, I could not help but wonder what that meant for the future. Unfortunately the most likely reason was that he intended to be the first to abuse me. Just looking at him made me shudder in terror. Had I been given the choice, I would gladly have served all of them rather than our master. But I was not likely to be given a choice in the matter. Or if I was given a "choice" it would be to serve him or get punished until I served him. And once he tired of me I would have to serve all the others anyway.

Just because we were not raped today did not mean that they did not hurt us, just that the pain was mental rather than physical. Silaluna had it worst as her mother was one of those specifically targeted. As she was chained at the front of her chain, she knelt facing away from Mara. While she had not watched her mother getting raped, she could hardly have missed the noises or failed to recognize her mother's voice. She had not moved so much as an inch during the ordeal, but I could tell that the whole thing affected her badly and I had seen her tremble and shudder more than once.

None of the slavers had bothered to ask if any of us were related to one of the others, but one look at their faces must have been enough to tell that the two were closely related. And they took advantage of it. They left her just enough time to think that the worst was over before they forced Silaluna to turn around and kneel facing her mother. They even moved the other slaves on that chain a little apart, so her view was completely unobstructed.

An then while Silaluna watched they raped her mother at least twice more. The first time a slaver made Mara lie on her back and took her in the normal manner. As far as I could tell he was not even particularly rough. Like the first time Mara came with a loud cry and the slaver filled her womanhood with his seed and squirted some more over her belly and face. Then he got up and left, not even bothering to mock her.

Either the slavers were the most virile lovers ever or they had done something to us (perhaps a potion in the food or a spell) that made us climax every time. I certainly knew that men sometimes failed to give the wife they loved pleasure, even when they tried their best, I certainly had heard enough gossip to that effect in the kitchen.

Mara had perhaps a minute of rest before the next slaver abused her. This time he forced her to kneel, pushed her face into the mud and forced her to raise her buttocks. And then he raped her ass. Her howls of pain when he first forced himself into her left little doubt about that.

My heart went out to Silaluna when I looked at her. She did not dare to move or look away, but she was trembling and the tears running down her face almost formed a waterfall. I had not noticed it before, but suddenly I realized that despite how horrified I was by what I saw I was also aroused. Very aroused. It was not quite a fire yet that radiated from my center, but the heat in me was not far from there. My breasts were swollen and nipples were hard, I could feel them move against the rough fabric as I breathed hard. And my legs had slid apart a little. Suddenly I was deeply ashamed of myself.

Mara may have been (and probably was) raped again during the evening's "festivities", but if so I did not notice because then the most horrible spectacle began right before me. By that time the light was failing and the guards lit several light crystals attached to the wagons to keep the area well lit. It may have been only my imagination but it seemed that the crystals always bathed the slaved used for the guard's pleasure in a brighter light while those who were left alone (for the moment, at least) were left in the shade.

Moments after Mara returned to a normal kneeling position the slavers turned their attention to the ork girl in front of me. She struggled for a moment but to no avail. Within moments three, four guards grabbed her and subdued her. Two guards grabbed her legs (one each) and one her head while the fourth punched her in the belly a few times. They forced her to kneel facing away from the chain, so that her left side was positioned towards me. Then they forced her legs wide apart and bent her back until her head met the ground. This bent her back in a bow as her buttocks rested on her heels.

The guard who had just punched her tried to shove something in her mouth, but she refused to open it. But she could not hold out for long, the two who held her legs apart began to pinch her female parts. She managed to restrict her reaction to groans for a long moment, but then pain became too much for her and she screamed. The other guard had been waiting for that and shoved the thing in her mouth and tied it in place with two straps. Later I saw that it was a kind of ring that kept her mouth wide open.

As punishment for her resistance they gave her several strokes with the whip. She screamed when the whip caught her between the legs or across her breasts.

And then the slaver standing between her legs dropped his trousers, crouched down, pushed his manhood into her widely spread slit and began to fuck, rape, her. I watched in horrified fascination as his pole slid in and out of her. And I had a perfect view of everything, my eyes were no more than five feet from her crotch. And try as I might, I could not tear my eyes away from the spectacle.

And a spectacle it was. Brutal, horrible, but also arousing. Despite the complete hopelessness of her situation, she still struggled against her tormentors. I could see her muscles bunch and flex (she was quite well muscled even by ork standards) and her bosom (and a quite impressive one it was) heave. Sometimes the slaver who held her shoulders down held her head by the hair but sometimes he released it (usually to pinch her nipples or some other part of her) and then it whipped from side to side. Soon her whole body glistened with sweat and other juices in the harsh light of the light crystals. Sometimes our eyes met and whenever they did my heart went out to her, they were will of pain, rage and shame. When she looked at me I saw that they had put a kind of metal ring into her mouth.

She tried to remain silent, but she could not (for some reason none of us could) as her body reacted to the forced mating. Suddenly her body seemed to freeze for a moment and then it shook with a massive climax and she howled loud enough that she could probably be heard for miles (or at least that is what I judged). A few moments later the slaver came with a grunt and pulled out moments later. He squirted his juices all over her from the belly to the face and hair (and further, the guard who held her shoulder had wisely positioned himself to one side).

The slavers seemed to enjoy doing that, probably (and correctly) thinking that it would humiliate us further. Especially since we could not clean ourselves with the hands tied behind the back. We could only clean those spots that we could reach with the tongue. Of course that became another source of humiliation as they mocked us for sluts and worse for enjoying the taste. And we quickly learned to pretend to enjoy the taste, if we showed our disgust and refused to lick it up they quickly found some way to make us regret it.

The slaver stood up, buckled his belt and left. A few moments later another took his place and forced himself on the unlucky ork girl. Two, three, many. I soon lost count of how many of them raped her. Sometimes they just left, sometimes they changed places with one of those who restrained her so that they could have their fun as well.

And I watched helplessly. Each forced mating disgusted me more than the one before, but they also aroused me more and more. Soon I was panting almost as hard as she did and every now and then extremely embarrassing little noises escaped my lips. And the heat at my center felt like a raging bonfire.

I almost jumped out of my skin when a voice from right next to my left ear suddenly asked, "You like to watch, don't you?"

My head whipped around and I found one of the elves, one of our master's lieutenants, crouching right behind me. I shivered in sudden terror and quickly looked forward again.

"Well?"

My face suddenly burned with shame but I knew what I had to say, "Yes, Master."

He chuckled and suddenly I felt his left hand slip under my shirt and touch my left thigh. I froze, barely daring to breathe. Of course, as aroused as I was, I had been breathing heavily, panting even, and I could not suddenly stop doing that. And the fingers on my thigh only fanned the flames of my ardor higher, particularly once I noticed that they slowly moved closer to the joining of my legs. They stopped when the fingertips were no more than an inch from my lower lips. He asked, "If I slide my fingers a little further, perhaps a little into your sheath, how will it feel?"

I blushed furiously when I realized what he asked. And even more what I had to answer. What he wanted to hear and what I had to answer if I spoke truly. And to my eternal shame the two answers were the same. For a moment I felt so faint that I thought I would pass out any moment. But I did not and had to answer or risk punishment, "Hot, Master. Hot and wet."

He chuckled and asked, "Should I slide my fingers a little further."

"Yes, Master. Please, Master." The worst was that I had to admit to myself that the answer was more than half true.

"Slut!."

Something in his voice told me that he wanted to hear a confirmation of that statement, "Yes, Master." When I noticed at least half a dozen slavers watch us, me, I prayed that the earth would open and swallow me. Unfortunately it did not, of course.

The elf's fingers slid a little further until the tip of one finger dipped into me. An indignant sound welled up from my throat when the hand suddenly slipped out from under my shirt. A moment later I heard a slurping noise and he said, "Tasty."

The hand returned to my thigh. He teased me mercilessly for a long time, sometimes he withdrew his fingers, sometimes he massaged my wet lips gently and a few times he poked a fingertip a little further into me. But he never did more than that. The reactions of my body shamed me, more than once I realized that my hips had moved, desperately trying to feel his touch a little more, to get his fingers to slide a little further into the sheath between my widely spread legs. It was terrifying but also exciting how easily he controlled me. Had he asked, I would have begged him to take me in any manner he wanted, not because I was afraid of punishment but to satisfy the desperate craving of my body.

And while the elf tortured me so sweetly, much worse was in store for the ork girl. But first she got a little respite of sorts.

The slaver who had just used her for his pleasure cleaned his slimy organ with her hair (he was hardly the first to do so) and then stood up and buckled his belt. And then he suddenly began to complain, "That stupid pig's slimy cunt is more disgusting than a sewer! I think I have to puke!" I had hear that insulting term for orks heard used once before by a shifty trader who had visited the farmstead once. He had barely escaped a beating and our headman had made it very clear that it would be a good idea if he left quickly and didn't return. I did not know the other term, but from the context it seemed clear enough that it was an insulting term for a woman's private parts.

I found the complaint quite unfair. First, he just done his part to fill her with slime. And strangely enough he had finished his fun before he issued that complaint. But then I found pretty much everything they did to us vastly unfair, but I did not dare to complain.

At least they did not punish her for "her" failing, apart from slapping her a few times. They forced her to turn around the kneel facing the other way with her legs wide apart. The one who had to fix the problem was the naked girl on the other side of the chain, the luckless human who had already been whipped all afternoon.

One of the slavers grabbed the woman's head and forced her to look at the ork girl and commanded, "Clean her cunt!" When she looked at him, not sure what to do, he added, "Use your imagination. But hurry!" To give her a hint, he licked his lips.

She looked at him and then at the ork's crotch. I was watching her face and could tell the exact moment when she made the connection. Her face turned green and she made gagging noises and for a moment I thought that she would puke, but she managed to keep the contents of her stomach inside, even if only barely. She looked back at the slaver, her eyes pleading. But when he put a hand on the whip that hung from his belt, she gave in.

She leaned forward, gingerly extended her tongue and began lapping at the ork girl's female parts. Every now and then her eyes flicked my way and they were full of disgust. At least at first, soon the disgust was joined by lust. Getting licked down there also aroused the ork girl. It was a different kind of arousal as when the males used her, she was panting just as hard, but instead of sharp cries when she climaxed, she let out long draw-out moans.

While I could understand why the ork girl enjoyed getting licked (I could hardly deny that getting touched down there felt good), I had a hard time understanding why the other girl enjoyed sticking her tongue in there, particularly since doing that clearly disgusted her. Or maybe I could, at least a little, the very idea disgusted me, but the longer I thought about it, the more curious I became about the whole thing.

And I was far from the only one who noticed it. One of the slavers bent down and touched her and then showed off his glistening fingers as he mocked her, "Can you believe it? This carpet-muncher actually enjoys licking the disgusting cunt of that pig!" I did not know that term, but from the context it was clear that it was meant to be insulting.

Eventually the she was finished and they allowed her to return to her previous position, her face bright red from embarrassment, after one of the slavers had examined the ork girl's private parts and declared that she was clean enough.

She (the ork) had to stand up. One of the slavers grabbed her wrists and pulled them up so she had to stand bending forward, with her upper body parallel to the ground. And this time two slavers used her at the same time. The first one grabbed her hair with one hand to hold her head motionless and then shoved his organ into her mouth. Meanwhile the second one had massaged his manhood until it was hard, grabbed her hips, spread her buttocks and rammed his shaft into her rear entrance.

She howled in pain, which the first slaver seemed to enjoy a lot. After that the two fucked her until they came and she as well. Her cries were muffled, of course. But then she choked on the seed and began to cough horribly. The slaver pulled out and squirted quite a bit of his seed into her face. They mocked her a bit, particularly for enjoying, as they put it, "taking it up the ass". And then the two swapped places.

I almost threw up when the slaver who had just used her nether hole shoved his (undoubtedly disgustingly dirty) cock into her mouth. She made strangled choking sounds but could not do anything else. Her rear entrance must have been somewhat stretched, because the second guard could enter her even though he was clearly not very hard. And then they fucked, raped, her again. This time it took quite a while before they came, the one who used her mouth came at least a minute before the other one. She got another face-full of male slime and then the other slaver wiped his soiled organ with her hair.

By now the ork girl was so exhausted that she could not put up more than token resistance when they returned her to the original position.

The elf, who had teased my body so tortuously suddenly pulled his hand away. To my aching body it felt as if a part of myself had been cut off and an unthinking, "No!" escaped my lips.

"So", I could hear the malicious grin in his voice, "does your sheath yearn for my sword?"

"Yes, Master."

"Want me to fuck you?"

"Yes! Please, Master!" It was what I had to answer, but truthfully, I would have answered the same, even if I had not been afraid of possible punishment. My body ached for his, any, touch. Needless to say, I was deeply ashamed of myself once the words were out of my mouth, even disgusted with myself.

"Not today, my little slut. You need to learn a little more humility." He kissed my neck, which elicited a long drawn out moan from my throat as my lust rose even higher. I almost began to cry when he stood up and left, while the other slavers laughed at me.

Three more slavers raped the ork girl and then the "festivities" finally ended. I had not paid much attention to the males, or mentioned them before, but while the slaves greatly preferred to use us females for their pleasure, several of the males had been raped as well. From what I could remember, every slave who was naked had been raped at least once.

And then it was time to sleep. The slavers allowed us to curl up together, but likely less from any goodwill on their part, but from simple necessity. Since we did not get any blankets or the like, we would have most likely taken ill rather quickly without a warming body to keep us from freezing. To make sure we could not talk to each other they gagged us. The gags consisted of a large (for the purpose, more than an inch in diameter and perhaps five long) piece of wood that was held in place by a piece of string tied around the neck.

I lay down on my side (we had to face towards the wagon) and I hesitated before I curled up with the ork girl. She stank!

Orks are generally rather "fragrant", even at the best of times. The ones at the farmstead were generally quite diligent when it came to washing, but even so their odor could get quite strong after a day of hard work (and say what you want of them, but they were not lazy, when they worked, they worked harder than anyone else). I can't say that I found the smell pleasant, but I was well used to it. There had been a lot of orks at the farmstead and I had been friends with many.

But even compared to that she stunk terribly. I had of course noticed it before but up close it was a lot worse. Not only had she not washed herself in a while (probably since she had been enslaved) but she also stank of cold, rancid sweat, piss, shit and worse. And her body glistened with the juices that the males had squirted all over her and smeared her hair with.

I hesitated, but only for a moment. For one, I knew perfectly well that I would need the warmth. And for another, my heart went out to her after what she had been through. Had I been allowed to, I would have hugged her, but as it was, pressing my body against her was the only thing I could do for her.

At first I had trouble breathing, but I slowly got used to the stink. The gag only made it worse as it forced me to breathe through the nose. She moved her hands in a strange way where they rested against my belly. I think the signs she made were supposed to mean something, but I had no idea what. As best as I could tell she was glad for my company. A few moments later the T'skrang curled up behind me.

It was a very unpleasant night. Even with two bodies to help warm me I was cold. It must have been a lot worse for those at the outside of such a group, particularly when they were naked, like the ork or the human on the other side of the chain. The gag that filled my mouth was really unpleasant and made me drool like crazy. And my feet still hurt a lot. I did sleep, but not not well. Despite how tired I was it took a long time to fall asleep and I woke up several times during the night.

The ork girl tried her best not to cry or show how badly she had been hurt, and while she was good at hiding her emotions, I could tell anyway. The sudden changes in her breathing, the occasional shivers and trembles or the sudden tensing of her whole body were clear enough signs.

And I did not even know her name. Somehow that angered me greatly. The slavers treated us like animals. No, even worse, at the farmstead we had treated our livestock with a lot more respect, even when it was time to slaughter them.

I did sleep some, but I also lay awake for long stretches of time. I knew perfectly well that they would rape and torture me like they had the ork girl, for any reason, or perhaps no reason at all and that scared me. But it also angered me. And the longer my thoughts circled around the matter, the more my anger grew.

I swore that I would try to escape or at least try to hurt them, if given a chance. Or at least half a chance. But I had to bide my time until then and be ready to do whatever I could. The though of getting punished still terrified me. Of course, I had no idea if my captors would ever get careless enough to give me a chance to try anything with even a minimal chance of success. For the moment the only thing I could do was to keep my anger hot, look for a chance and pray to Lochost, passion of freedom and rebellion.

The next day started as unpleasant as the last one had ended. A guard woke me with a kick to the legs. As far as I could tell everyone was kicked, those who woke up too slowly were kicked repeatedly. They screamed at us to get back into position, which meant kneeling in neat rows with the chain more or less taut. I scrambled to obey as quickly as I could, but that was not fast enough to suit them. They used their whips to make us hurry and I was glad that I only caught one blow, quite a few of us were much unluckier. And then I knelt there, cold and miserable. The pain from the whip had dispelled the drowsiness from being awoken suddenly, but that was about the only "good" thing about the morning.

This time I was among the three female slaves chosen to help them prepare breakfast. They ungagged the others but left us three gagged, presumably so there was no way we could snatch even a morsel of food. We built up the fire and soon the wonderful smells of warm food filled my nose, making my stomach grumble loudly. I was still glad to have been chosen for this task as the work and the closeness to the fire helped warm me up a little.

The red-head who had shared our master's bed appeared and fetched breakfast for him. The look in her eyes gave me the impression that she had not enjoyed the night, far from it. I could not shake the feeling that she would have preferred to freeze on the cold ground rather sleep in his warm bed, but of course she did not dare to say anything, let alone complain. Once she had delivered the food and a mug of tea she joined the other slaves.

The slaver's breakfast smelled wonderful, but ours was anything but. We received the rest of the slop we had eaten for dinner yesterday. It had been bad, horrible even, when it was warm and freshly cooked yesterday and now it was ten times worse. It was cold and had partially congealed. Just looking at the goop made my stomach turn. But we did as told and distributed it among the slaves.

And only then, once we returned to the chain, did they remove our gags. Lapping up the disgusting goop was a struggle (and keeping from throwing it up again an even harder one) but I was so hungry and knew that I would need every bit of food I could get to keep going, that I somehow managed it. After breakfast two other slaves were chosen to help clean the dishes and such.

The slavers broke up the camp and soon we were off. Our master did not use whatever spell or power he had cast on us yesterday, but apart from that not much changed. We trudged after the wagons and occasionally felt the slaver's whip.

On the whole I was glad not to be affected by the strange magic or curse, but that also had its downsides. I felt all the small and large inconveniences much more than yesterday. When I stepped on a rough patch of ground or a sharp stone I felt the pain much more and it did not take long before every step hurt. The night had healed the worst wounds that my feet suffered yesterday but they were still quite tender. The timelessness that the spell induced had also lessened the tedium of walking hour after hour without any interaction apart from getting mocked and threatened and worse by the slavers. It was not much a problem in the morning, but in the afternoon thirst and exhaustion also took their toll and made marching more and more unpleasant.

We stopped relatively early, it could not have been much later than mid-morning when we turned off the road and stopped in another small clearing. At least by this time I was not cold any more and the temperature had risen considerably since the morning. We had to kneel and soon a part of the slavers, about half of them, left. Presumably to hunt for more slaves.

We waited for a long time, perhaps two hours as best as I could tell from the movement of the sun. We received a little water at some point, but it was barely enough to wet the mouth.

Eventually the slavers returned from the hunt and they seemed less than happy. They had captured a pair of human travelers (or so I reckoned them to be). They were not quite middle-aged, but definitely not young any more, and not particularly attractive (but also not ugly).

But if our master was displeased, he gave no notice, but then he hardly ever showed any emotions. The processed them much as he had done to us yesterday, first the man and then the woman. Both of them were quite defiant, which earned them a whipping. And they did not get shirts, our master just informed them that they had to learn to behave and obey before they could earn them. The woman was attached to our chain, behind the T'skrang female.

We received a bit more water while the slavers ate their lunch and then we started out once more. This time we marched much longer than in the morning and by the end of the day my feet throbbed, my whole body hurt and I was completely exhausted. We stopped a bit earlier than we had the day before. I was almost grateful when we were told to kneel. All in all I was glad that our master had not used his spell on us, marching had been more unpleasant without it, but the crash and sudden overwhelming pain when the spell ended had been horrible.

After a short rest the routine of the camp began. Three female slaves had to help cook the evening meal. We were fed much as before. The slop we got was a little better than what we received yesterday but still hardly fit for pigs, let alone Name-givers. I had to wonder if it was really better or if it just seemed that way because I was just so hungry and getting used to it.

And then dinner (such as it was for us) was over and the evening festivities began. Of course the activities were only festive for the slavers who could slake their lust and cruelty on our defenseless bodies, not for us slaves,

A shiver of fear and hatred ran down my spine when the door of our master's wagon opened and he emerged. He looked us over and then he suddenly stood in front of me. He grinned down at me and mocked, "I heard that your sheath lusts for any man so much that it flows like a stream? Does your sheath crave my sword, slut?"

I knew what I should have done perfectly well, I should have bent forward, kissed his shoes and begged for him to use me for his pleasure. But a wave of disgust and hatred for him swept over me and all I could was glare at him defiantly. I knew perfectly well that I was making a huge mistake, but I just could not help myself?

"No? Well, then if you don't want to feel my sword, perhaps you would rather feel my whip?" He waited another moment to give me a last chance to submit, but I just could not do it. Not until it was too late. He turned around and commanded, "Bring her."

A slaver unlocked me from the main chain, forced me to stand up and follow our master. We ended up next to his wagon and as it became clear what was about to happen to me, my defiance suddenly drained away, when it was already too late.

Our master looked at me and asked, "If I untie you, will you obey or give me trouble and force me to punish you?"

I swallowed hard and answered in a small voice, "I will obey, Master."

"Good choice." At a gesture from him the slaver who had held my arms unlocked my shackles, or perhaps I should say disconnected them. I still wore the shackles, but now I could move my arms. I did not, of course, but I just let my arms hang down at my side. Fear of the punishment to come rose up in me, but also the certainty that any wrong move would only increase my punishment. Fleeing or resisting was not an option. True I was not restrained, but at least a dozen guards stood ready to restrain or hurt me at the slightest provocation.

"Take off your shirt."

"Yes, Master." My face began to heat up even before I moved. And not just my face. I pulled the shirt over my head, held it out for a moment and then dropped it when no one seemed interested in taking it. And then stood there in all my glory.

Exposing my body to my master and his servants felt even more humiliating than it had the first time. I could feel their eyes bore into my skin and even deeper. Despite, or perhaps even because of, the humiliation and embarrassment I felt, I also felt a strange kind of excitement. All of the feelings, but especially the excitement, increased significantly when my master raised his hand slowly. It seemed to take his hand an eternity to cover the distance to my body.

I was a bit surprised when his fingers touched my face and traced the lines of my cheek bones. As before his touch disgusted me, but only a little, more than anything else, I found the touch exciting and arousing. When the fingers touched my lips I kissed them. His hand moved downwards, caressed my neck before they reached my breasts. He caressed my breasts for a bit and I could feel them harden with every touch. By the time the hand moved on I was panting hard.

He followed the lines of my flat stomach and then the fingers reached the top of the small patch of hair just above my center. With more than a little shock I realized that I had moved my legs apart to give him easier access to my most private parts, that I really longed for his touch.

I can't describe how it felt when his fingers finally reached my lower lips, it was disgusting, humiliating and glorious at the same time. The fingers slipped into me for a moment and a little noise of protest escaped my lips when they slipped out again, leaving me suddenly painfully empty.

He sniffed the glistening fingers and grinned at me, "You really like that, don't you?"

"Yes, Master." I breathed more than spoke the answer, leaving no doubt that I really meant it.

"Slut!"

"Yes, Master."

"If your body wants me, then say so. Do not lie to me again."

"Yes, Master. I am sorry."

"Do you agree that a little punishment is in order?"

I cringed at having to give the answer I knew I had to, but saw no way out, "Yes, Master."

"Good. Stand there." He pointed at the ground right between the two wheels of his wagon.

"Yes, Master."

"Here, put these on your ankles." Two guards held up shackles attached to ropes coming from either end of the wagon. For a moment I considered deliberately misunderstanding their orders, they had not said which shackle to put on which foot, but then I reconsidered. If they pulled the ropes taut, like I expected them to, I would be forced to stand facing away from the wagon. Which meant that they would whip my front rather than my back. And given that they would most likely see it as an act of defiance, they would only whip me harder, rather than go easy on the much more sensitive spots on my front, like my breasts.

"Yes, Master." I put the shackles on my ankles and engaged the little hooks that held them closed. Once I had done so someone pulled on the ropes until I had to stand with my feet more a good four foot apart.

Another guard handed me a set of blinders that I had to put on as well. They were similar to those I had seen some traders put on their horses to keep them from spooking. They did not blindfold me completely, but as I stood facing the wall of the wagon, I could not really see anything.

Finally someone lowered a hook from the crane above me and I had to hang the chains attached to my wrist cuffs from the hook. They pulled it up until I stood on tip-toes. It angered me that I had to participate like this and help them tortured me, but there was little I could do and I certainly did not want to make things even worse.

And then I stood there, my body stretched taut. Nothing happened for a few moments.

Then I heard someone turn around and walk a few steps away and a moment later I heard our master's voice ask, "Well, do you want to feel my sword in your sheath?" (the question was aimed not at me, but at someone else).

"Yes, Master. Please..." Loud kisses and further begging followed. After a moment a shiver ran through me as I recognized the voice: It was Silaluna! Not only was my defiance going to get me whipped, but it had also brought misfortune on my friend. I had little doubt that our master had chosen her deliberately to punish me further. Suddenly I was deeply ashamed of myself. A part of myself knew my actions most likely had not made much difference, if he had not forced her to serve him today, then he would have taken her tomorrow or in a few days at most. But I could not shake the feeling that I had made things worse for her and hated myself for it.

He let her beg for quite a while before he finally "agreed" to her "wishes". I heard the clinking of the chains as she was unlocked from the main chain and then their footsteps as they returned to stand somewhere behind me.

Our master said, "If you really want to, you may show me how pretty you are."

"Ummm. Yes, Master. Please let me show you all my charms."

"Very well."

"Thank you, Master." Silaluna tried not to show her fear, but I could hear it in her voice clearly. There were more clinking noises as the cuffs on her arms were unlocked. I could even hear the rustling as her shirt dropped to the ground.

"Hmmm, yes, you are quite pretty. May I touch you?"

"Yes, Master, please touch me as much as you like."

And he did, or he must have, as I could not hear much, but soon I could hear her react to his touch as her breathing became heavier and little noises began to escape her lips.

"Wonderful. So young and already hot and wet like a whore."

"Thank you, Master."

"Are you eager to serve me?"

"Yes, Master."

"Have a little patience, little slut. You will serve me. But first we need to teach this stupid slave a small lesson."

I shivered in fear and tried to brace myself for what I knew was about to come. A whip swished through the air a few times before it suddenly connected with my back and ignited a line of fire that reached from my right shoulder almost down to my left buttock. The sudden pain was too much for me and I screamed.

Blow after blow rained down on my naked body, each more painful than the one before. They varied the pace sometimes to keep me off balance. It felt as if they did not spare a single inch of my skin from my elbows down to my knees. The pain was incredible. If you have not been whipped or suffered through a similar torture, then you simply won't be able to imagine it. One can't even compare it to a lesser punishment, such as the spankings I received from my father on occasion.

The worst blows were the ones when the whip wrapped around my limbs or my body. Sometimes the tip even landed on my most sensitive parts like my breasts. I didn't know it then, but from what I learned later, they must have used a relatively soft whip. Not because such a whip would cause less pain, but because it let them whip me hard and often and cause much pain without permanently scarring my skin. I almost passed out several times, but they were experienced enough to give me a little respite whenever I came too close. I would have welcomed, the relief of sweet darkness, but it was not to be.

And then the whipping was suddenly over and they let me rest for a minute or two. The slavers and our master had spoken and mocked me and the other slaves during the whipping, but for most of it I had not paid the words much attention. But then he suddenly felt his fingers touch my buttocks. The lightest touch was enough to make the smoldering pain of my tortured skin flare anew.

With a shock I realized that despite how faint I felt from all the pain, another fire still burned at my center. For a moment the shame almost overwhelmed me. And the flames deep inside me flared higher with every inch the fingers moved closer. A shiver of disgust and excitement ran through me when his fingers reached the spot at the joining of my legs. A moment later the fingertips slipped into me for a moment before they withdrew again. Once more I could not stop the little noise of protest that welled up from deep inside me.

"Still wet and hot after a whipping? What a magnificent slut you are!" Our master's voice dripped with mocking scorn. "Want me to scratch your itch?"

"Yes, Master. Please take me!"

He leaned closer and whispered in my ear, "I want to take someone in the ass tonight. Well?"

For a moment I wondered what he meant before the coin fell. If I refused or failed to beg, then he would do that to Silaluna. Of course I had no guarantee that he would not use her that way as well, but I had little doubt that he would abuse her worse if I refused. And despite the horrible pain I was still ashamed that my defiance had brought this upon her. And so I began to beg, "Yes, please take me in the rear, Master!"

"Really? You like to take it up the ass like a whore?"

"Yes, Master, please!" He made me beg some more before he finally "agreed" to "pleasure me".

I barely managed not to scream when he grabbed my hips and ass cheeks. I could not say if he deliberately squeezed me where my skin was covered in the worst welts, or if there was simply no place where he could touch me without inflicting horrible pain (not that he would have tried to find less sensitive places).

I felt the head of his manhood touch my rear entrance, causing further pain as the whip had caressed that spot more than once. He grunted and lifted my body a little. Suddenly his organ slipped into me. I screamed and sagged. And screamed even harder when my whole back exploded with pain as my master's body slammed into me, particularly where his clothes had hard bits like buckles or buttons.

The first thrust was the worst by far. At least my rear entrance stretched and got used to the intruder rather quickly, but my tortured skin did not get used to the abuse all that much. I could not think clearly at the time, but when I thought about it afterwards (and it was a long time before I could stop thinking about it, could stop reliving that moment of pain and utter humiliation) I was astounded how quickly the pain was joined and then hidden by the lust that welled up from my center.

It was horrible and wonderful at the same time. And try as I might, I could not hide how much getting taken excited me, it did not take long before I panted and moaned. And when he stopped thrusting for a moment I even pleaded him to continue.

And then I climaxed suddenly. For a glorious moment the most wonderful feelings washed over me and I screamed out my joy to the world. But the wonder lasted no longer than the blink of an eye and then the pain and humiliation was back, stronger than ever, made worse by the memory of the wonder that had filled me only moments before. After a few thrusts I climaxed a second time. And then a third time. He stopped thrusting for a moment and then my growl of protest turned into a shriek of joy as I came when his hot seed suddenly filled me.

He pulled out almost immediately after he came and squirted his seed all over my back and as far as my hair. I could feel and smell it faintly for hours.

Our master patted my head, slapped my butt cheeks and asked, "Did you like that?"

I breathed the answer as much as I spoke, "Yes, Master."

He chuckled and declared, "What a magnificent slut! She'll make a fine whore!" That brought a round of laughter and crude comments. I sagged in the bonds, totally exhausted, shamed and humiliated. He leaned close and whispered, "You might want to think about your behavior and serve me more eagerly in the future." That was a clear enough warning.

He stepped away and a moment later he asked, "Would you like to taste me, slave?" The slight emphasis he put on the question left no doubt that refusing would be a very painful choice.

The asked slave made a gagging noise but managed a, "Yes, Master." To my horror I recognized the voice as Silaluna's. During my ordeal I had all but forgotten about her and the reminder what my refusal to serve him had brought upon her filled me with fresh shame.

Without thinking I turned my head their way to see what was going on. I had barely begun to move my head when my back exploded with pain and I screamed. One of the slavers, probably the one who had just used the whip, growled, "Eyes forward, slave!" I quickly looked straight again, not wanting to invite further punishment.

"Enjoy. Only touch me with your tongue and lips."

"Yes, Master." I could hear the disgust in her voice but she apparently managed to do what he wanted. I could hear the occasional slurping and gagging noises from her and pleased noises from our master.

After a while he commanded, "Enough. Follow me." A few moments later they entered the wagon, which moved slightly with every step.

And with that the evening "festivities" began. I was kind of glad that I didn't have to watch, though I can't deny that I was a little, perhaps even more than a little, curious. Too curious, I could not help trying to look more than once, which earned me another blow of the whip or two each time. My back still hurt a lot, but most of the time, when nothing touched the tortured skin, the pain was bearable. The slavers touched me several times, but generally more to feel me up, squeeze my breasts or slip a fingertip into my (supposedly) private parts, rather than to cause pain. The most painful touches were when they squeezed my buttocks.

And they always mocked me for the weakness of my body. Despite the pain the sounds of (forced) intercourse excited me, much as they had yesterday. It did not take long before I was breathing hard. The fingers that examined my most sensitive parts just added to my arousal.

But the worst part of the evening was having to listen to our master and Silaluna. They were inside the wagon, but just on the other side of a thin wooden wall. The bed was on my side, hardly more than a foot away. I could not make out much of what they said, only an occasional word here or there, but I could hear all the other noises she made quite clearly.

In between the moans of lust and the occasional shriek of joy were a lot of other noises and many of them left little doubt that Silaluna did not enjoy much of what he did to her. Each whimper or grunt of pain hurt me as much if not more than the whip had, reminding me of my culpability for her situation. It filled me with shame but also with anger.

I could not say how long the "festivities" lasted, but it felt like forever. I was heartily glad when they finally ended.

Then they finally let me down. A scream welled up from my throat when they grabbed my wrists and pulled them behind my back to tie them together. Not because they were all that rough, but my arms scraping along and then pressing against the tortured skin on my back caused horrible pain. They only removed the blinders and freed my legs after my arms were tied up. They gagged me with a wooden piece just like last night. Only this time the wood stank and tasted terribly as if it had spent the last few hours in somebody's asshole.

Then they led me towards the chains so I could be chained up for the night. I did not return to my old place, but they put me where Silaluna had been before, at the front of the other chain. The place was most likely chosen deliberately to make the night as unpleasant for me as possible. For one I had only one person to curl up with, rather than sleep between two warm bodies, meaning that I would freeze even worse than the night before, particularly since I was now naked.

And since the other slave, a woman who I estimated to be in her mid-twenties, was behind me (since we had to lie facing the front I couldn't turn to her), I had to press my tortured back against her body. Which of course caused me a lot of pain. But even the pain was better than freezing to death.

Needless to say the night was unpleasant, to put things mildly. I slept a bit, but most of the time I lay there shivering with tears running down my cheeks.

The next day began as horrible as the last one had ended. I was glad when they finally "woke me up". I had been awake a long time by that time, shivering with cold. Since I did not dare to move I could not do much to warm myself. Of course I couldn't do much afterwards either, but at least I could shift around a little without attracting attention since I knelt less of my body touched the cold ground. I prayed that they would chose me to help with breakfast, but unfortunately they did not.

When Silaluna fetched breakfast for our master our eyes met. I couldn't quite tell if the look she gave me was accusatory or just really unhappy. After thinking about the matter, it was probably a mixture of accusation because my actions forced her to offer herself to our master and pity at the punishments I had received.

Eventually we were fed and I had to struggle to get the disgusting goop down into my stomach and keep it there.

And then, rather than set out, a part of the slavers rode off. Now the fact that we had stopped so early made sense, we had apparently reached the point from which they wanted to start todays hunt for more slaves. Unfortunately this meant that we had to keep kneeling rather than walk, which would have given me a chance to warm up.

The rest of the guards, about a dozen were left, watched us and occasionally amused themselves at our expense. They did not rape us but forced us to humiliate ourselves and they touched, squeezed and prodded us with their fingers, unsurprisingly targeting our buttocks, breasts and private parts.

They particularly liked to gang up on us in pairs. They concentrated particularly on those of us who were naked, but by then end of the morning they had "played" with almost all of us, even most of the males. I was one of the first to be targeted for this.

One of them suddenly stood in front of me and asked if I wanted to clean his boots. The look he gave me and then tone of his voice made it clear that any answer other than "Yes, please, Master." would bring a painful punishment.

I ground my teeth and glared at him but then I submitted. I think that my aborted defiance only pleased him more than if I had submitted meekly. By "cleaning their boots" they meant that I should kiss and lick them, of course. To do that I had to bend forward which raised my rear end up into the air. Which is where the second slaver came in. While I polished the boots with my tongue he squeezed my buttocks and poked his fingers into my privates.

Needless to say, it was an intensely humiliating experience. But the fingers that touched me and explored my insides also aroused me, which only made the humiliation that much worse. And they mocked me, of course.

But when it was over, I had to admit that I was almost grateful for it. Not that I enjoyed the experience, but the abuse had finally gotten my blood hot and had dispelled most of the chill that had gripped my body since the evening.

I doubt that many of us enjoyed doing things like that, but it must have been a lot worse for the males, particularly as some of the slavers enjoyed squeezing their family jewels with excessive force.

It was late morning by the time the slavers returned from their hunt. Glee filled me when I saw them. Not only had they been unsuccessful and found no slaves, but at least three of them were injured (the others might have had small injuries that were not obvious). One of them had a bandaged head and he had been tied to the saddle. He was still alive but stunned so badly so that he could not ride normally. One of them had his left arm in a sling and the third one had a bandage around his upper right arm that oozed blood.

They ate dinner (as usual we slaves only received a little water) and then we were off.

I had been very pleased by their misfortune, but that happiness did not last long once we were on the road. The injuries and the unsuccessful hunt put all the slavers in a bad mood and we were the ones who had to suffer for it. Even under normal circumstances they whipped us for any or no reason but today they used their whips at least twice as often as they had yesterday. And I received well more than my fair share of the abuse since I was already in trouble with our master and since I walked right behind the wagon. By the time we finally stopped for the evening uncountable new welts had joined the partially healed ones from the whipping I had been subjected to yesterday.

As usual we had to kneel and wait until the food was done and we were fed and then we lapped up the barely edible slop they gave us. And then it was time for the evening "festivities".

Our master appeared and walked around considering which of us to chose for his entertainment tonight, or at least pretended to consider. I was not very surprised when he stopped in front of me. He hooked his hands into his belt and asked, "Well?"

"Please let me serve you, Master." Of course I did not want to serve him for his pleasure, but I certainly did not want a repeat of last night's punishment, or more likely, an even worse one.

I was just about to bend forward to kiss his shoes when he suddenly asked, "Do you want me to fuck you?"

The question stopped me in my tracks. My surprise and consternation must have been clear on my face. I did of course know that word, but it was one I did not even use in my private thoughts, let alone say out loud. I had once used it in earshot of my mother and she had not only spanked me with the big spoon she had in her hands at that moment, but had actually forced me to wash out my mouth with soap. That was not an experience I wished to repeat and so I had never used the word again. Finally I managed, "Yes, Master."

Sensing that using the word was unpleasant for me, he gave me a mocking grin, "You don't sound very eager."

I felt my face heat up, took a deep breath and forced myself to say, "Please fuck me, Master." For a moment I could actually taste the soap again. Just saying the word made me feel dirty. I was about to lean forward again to begin begging. At that point I would have preferred to kiss his shoes to look him in the eye.

But he stopped me, "Look at me. So you really want me to fuck you?"

"Yes, Master, please fuck me."

"Should I fuck your cunt?"

Another word that made me feel dirty just from thinking it. But I answered as I had to, "Yes, Master. Please fuck my cunt." Saying that made me feel even more unclean. Had anyone offered, I would gladly have washed my mouth out with soap. Several of the slaver snickered and others gave lewd comments.

He made me beg to be fucked in the ass and the mouth as well and then I had to lick and kiss his shoes and beg for several more minutes before he finally "consented" to consider my services. I had been humiliated constantly since I was taken, but somehow just using those few crude words brought a new level of humiliation for me.

I was unlocked from the chain and my wrist cuffs were disconnected. I had to present my charms to our master and let him feel me up before he finally "agreed" to let me serve him and then I followed him meekly to his wagon.

At first I was a little surprised how sparse the interior of the wagon looked, but in truth it was constructed quite ingeniously. It looked and felt much more spacious than the about ten by six foot size would seem to allow. There were four windows, one in the door behind me, one on the right side and two on the left and a little slit forward, though that was closed by a shutter. The two windows on the left side were a bit unusual, but I quickly realized the reason why the wagon was constructed like that: This was the side on which I had been hung for my punishment, like this the slave that was punished could only look at the wall of the wagon, while the inhabitant could look out at her from either side.

The rear side of the wagon was taken up by cupboards, apart from the doorway. Two more shallow cupboards were affixed to the right wall and two more narrow ones to the front wall on both sides. Between the two cupboards on the right side, below the window, was a small table. Like the bed on the other side it was currently folded away, which kept the interior from feeling too cluttered. Two wooden chairs stood there, designed in such a way that they could be put together so that they occupied only as much space as a single chair when they were not needed..

At the center of the forward side was another table. I had to help my master fold it out and was impressed by the simple but ingenious construction. The table consisted of three wooden boards, one for the top and two vertical ones that supported the top of the table when flipped away from the wall. In the center of the top board (it was a little too shallow to be properly called a table), about two inches from the forward edge was a small hole. My master opened one of the cupboards and withdrew a wooden stick which he showed to me for a moment. The longer part was about an inch in diameter and about five long, then there was a disc about twice that wide and then a thinner part that was about two inches long. The smaller part fit into the hole of the table, making the bigger part stick straight up.

He grinned at me, pointed at the table and commanded, "Sit here."

I stared at him, wondering how I should sit on the table, given it's function it should probably be called a seat or just a board, with that piece of wood occupying the center. "How, Master."

"The stick goes in your asshole. You might want to lick it, the stick goes in easier when it's wet."

I glared at him. For a moment I was about to refuse, but then the fear of punishment won out and I submitted, "Yes, Master." I turned around and bent down. I gagged when my nose got close, from the smell (and taste) mine was far from the first ass in which that stick had been inserted. But since I did not dare to resist, I licked the loathsome thing to get it as wet and slimy as possible.

Then I turned around. My master showed me two grips that I could use to pull myself up far enough to position my rear entrance above the tip of the stick before I let my body sink down. I had to balance and pull my ass cheeks apart before the tip slipped into me. I cried out in pain when my body suddenly slid down and impaled itself on the stick. Just like getting taken in the ass, it was quite painful, at least at first. My master just watched, enjoying my pain.

And then I perched there. After the initial shock the pain faded quickly as my rear adjusted to the intruder. With the stick up my ass there was no real danger of sliding off, but I held on to the grips anyway.

My master watched me for a few moments and then asked, "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Invite you in?"

"Into your cunt."

"Sorry, Master. You are of course welcome to enter my cunt. Please fuck my cunt."

He did not say anything but looked pointedly at my lower body and my legs. It took me a moment to realize what he meant. I was sitting with my legs close together like I usually did (my parents had drummed into me that only a very loose woman sat with her legs apart, at least when in company).

"I am sorry, Master." I moved my knees apart a little. And promptly began to blush in embarrassment. My master did not say anything, but his lips formed the barest hint of a smile as if saying, "Better, but not good enough." In response I moved my knees a little further apart.

Sitting like this and showing off my most intimate parts like this made me feel dirty and my face got redder with every inch that my knees moved apart. But it also excited me, at least a little. My master was not satisfied until my legs were practically parallel to the edge of the board on which I perched.

But even that was not enough. He made a strange gesture with his left hand, he held it out, pointing down, and then spread moved the index finger away from the others. I blushed even more furiously when I got what he wanted. I lowered my left arm, placed the fingers to either side of my nether lips and then pulled them apart.

And then he was finally pleased, "Not bad. Wet, hot and eager, aren't you, slut?"

"Yes, Master." With a little shock I realized that it was mostly true. Perhaps not eager part. Most of me wanted anything but to be touched by him, let alone feel his manhood inside me, but a small part was indeed eager, perhaps even desperate for him. "Please fuck my wet and hot cunt, Master." I certainly did not enjoy saying things like that, but knew that I had to. The more I abased myself like that, the better my chances of escaping punishment would be.

"Have a little patience, little slut." And then he began to undress. He moved with deliberate slowness and folded up and put away each article of clothing carefully. He took off his trousers first and then the underpants. From the moment my master's manhood was revealed my eyes were practically glued to it. On his gaunt body body it looked impossibly large. It disgusted me but also fascinated me. Looking at it made me feel dirty like the worst slut ever since a part of me was fascinated by the sight and even eager to feel it inside me. Eventually he stood naked. Without clothes he looked almost like a skeleton, so gaunt was he.

He walked closer until he stood almost directly in front of me and the tip of his manhood was just inches from my entrance. He made me beg several times, closing the distance by fractions of an inch each time I pleaded for him to fuck me or something similar, and each time I spread my entrance a little wider.

When my master's manhood finally touched me a shiver ran through my body. Disgust and lust mixed in almost even parts, disgust at his touch and at my body's reaction to it. When he pulled back a little my hips tried to follow him, but since the stick held me in place they could not move more than a tiny fraction of an inch. Tiny as the motion was, he noticed it and I could see it in his mocking eyes.

He waited a moment and then slowly pushed forward again and the head of his organ slipped into me. Into my all too eager cunt. He took my left wrist gently and lifted my arm and I grabbed the grip with my left arm as well. He touched my eyelids lightly, indicating that I should close my eyes.

My whole world suddenly contracted and all I could concentrate on were my female parts and the little part of his male parts that touched me. And of how much of me was still empty and longed to be filled by him. I could still feel the rest of my body, but it was strangely distant and seemed of little importance. Except for the intruder in my rear, I could still feel that clearly, but it was still much less important than the other one.

"Do you like that? Want me to go deeper?"

"Yes, Master! I love it! Impale me!" There was way too much truth to my pleading for my liking, but there was nothing I could do anyway.

He pushed a little further into me and made me beg again and again until he finally filled me completely.

He commanded, "No more talking." And then he began to pull out a bit and thrust back into me again, but with agonizing slowness. The feeling of his organ inside me was incredible and also horrible. But as much as I hated it, and however his touch made my skin crawl, my body craved the touch of his flesh a little bit more. I began to pant almost before he finished the second slow thrust. And even without talking my body voiced its needs. Whenever he pushed deeper into me my breathing noises became pleased and excited and when he pulled out they signaled distress. Even through my eyes were closed I could tell that he was mocking me for my body's weakness.

My master's slow thrusts teased and excited me but left me longing for more. Suddenly he grabbed my buttocks and then he increases the speed and force of his thrusts slowly. During the whole intercourse he only touched me with his manhood and kept the hands on my buttocks. I think that his hips brushed against my thighs a few times, but I could not be sure if I really felt it or just imagined the contact.

I was sure that I could feel every dimple and fold on the male organ in me. With every thrust my world contracted further until I was barely conscious of anything but my cunt and the male organ that teased it. And my whole body screamed out my need for him silently with every movement and sometimes not so silently with groans, moans and other noises. In a way I had become little more than an animal, a pet that my master played with as he liked. A small part of me was aware of everything and was deeply ashamed of myself and my body's betrayal.

I thrust my breasts towards him and suddenly I became aware that my legs had wrapped themselves around his hips and tried desperately to pull him closer and get him to thrust deeper into me, but they were no match for his strength.

It took much too long but slowly his thrusts became more forceful and then he began to really fuck me. Suddenly a wave of pleasure washed over me and I howled out my joy loud enough to rattle the windows' shutters. But that wonderful feeling lasted only a moment and it left me drained and humiliated. But the continued thrusting reawakened my lust quickly and I climaxed a second time. And then a third when he suddenly squirted his seed into me.

I groaned in protest when he pulled out a moment later and then I felt his hot seed splash all over my front, from the belly button to my brow. Some of it even got into my mouth and before I realized what I was doing, my tongue was licking as much as it could reach from my nose and chin. For a moment my master's seed had seemed to taste like the nectar of the passions, but then it suddenly disgusted me. I could taste it and feel it wherever it clung to my skin or deep inside me where it filled my womb.

My master put his hands on my thighs and gently but firmly pushed them apart. Obediently I unclasped my feet and spread my legs wide again. He stepped back and said, "You may open your eyes again and talk."

I opened my eyes and asked, "Thank you, Master. Did you enjoy fucking me?" It seemed like the thing to say, even if it made me blush. And somehow a part of me was desperate to know, desperate for his approval.

He considered the matter for a bit before he answered, "You were not bad." For a moment his apparent approval filled me with delight, but that turned to ashes with his next sentence, "But I've had much better."

"Please let me try again." I could not tell why his approval was so important for me. A part was of course my fear of getting punished if I failed to please him, but that was only a small part.

"Very well, I will give you another chance. Now get up!"

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master." I was still very exhausted and it took several tries before I could lift my body far enough to get down from the board on which I was perched. Since the stick was far more firmly wedged in my ass than in the board, it stayed in me when I stood up,

"Take the stick our of your ass. Clean it and put it away."

"Clean it? How, Master."

He gave me a nasty grin, "You have a dirty mouth, don't you, slut?"

I shuddered at the thought but it was clear enough what he wanted to hear, "Yes, Master."

"Then putting the stick in your mouth won't make much difference, won't it?"

"No, Master."

It was a bit of a struggle to get the stick our as it was wedged in pretty firmly. And once it finally slipped out my rear entrance suddenly felt unpleasantly empty. I gagged at the smell and almost threw up when my tongue touched the loathsome thing, but I forced myself to go on. My master's face showed no emotion as he watched me lick and suck at the soiled stick, but I was sure that he enjoyed the disgust I could not hide.

And to make things even worse, once I had licked the stick until it was (mostly) clean did he reveal a rag and a bowl of water in one of the cupboards that I used to clean the stick. He did not say anything but when I glared at him he just grinned.

Once I had put the stick away we stood there and looked at each other and he asked, "Well?"

For a moment I wondered what he wanted, but then I remembered what I had asked a few minutes ago. "May I try to serve you better? Please, Master."

"Hmmm..." He pretended to consider before he answered, "Fine. Your cunt wasn't all that great. Maybe your asshole will be more fun..."

"Yes, Master. Please fuck my asshole."

"Very well. Here," he pointed at the second wooden stick laying next to the one I had just used, "this screws into the wall there, " he pointed at the wall above the board on which I had just sat was, "and then goes into your mouth."

"Yes, Master." I picked up the indicated piece. At the bottom was a wooden screw, then a disc two inches thick and almost five inches across and then a "stick" about three inches in diameter and five long. The stick part was actually hollow and there were several small holes just above the disc and also on the outer side of the disc.

The screw-hole in the wall was about three inches above the board. I did not enjoy doing what I had to, but I knew refusing would only have brought punishment. And so I bent forward, opened my mouth wide, wrapped my lips around the stick and then slowly pushed my head forward until the tube like thing filled my mouth completely. Near the base were a couple of indents into which my teeth fit.

It was not a pleasant feeling to have something that big in my mouth. And the wood tasted bad. I hoped it was only from scores of other girl's (and perhaps even boy's) dirty mouths and not because it had been shoved into somebody's rear entrance. Just the though made me shiver, not because of the disgusting stuff it would have imparted on the wood, but because it was so big. Shoving the much smaller stick into my ass had been very painful, something as big as this would surely have ripped me apart.

I had to stand with my face practically shoved into the wall and my ass sticking out at the other end. Which was undoubtedly the point of the whole contraption.

"Do you want me to fuck your ass, slut?"

"Um mm!" Since the wood was hollow I could make noises easily enough, but I could of course not speak.

"Won't you invite me in?"

"Mmmm..." I spread my legs a little, grabbed my butt cheeks and pulled them apart to expose my nether entrance to my master's view.

"Better." But his tone also said, "but not good enough." so I pulled a bit harder and shook my rear, hopefully invitingly. It seemed to be enough and a few moments later I felt his member press against my rear entrance. He asked once more, "Are you sure you want me to fuck your ass? It may hurt a little."

"Um mm!" I put as much pretense of eagerness into my voice as I could and bobbed my head up and down to indicate a nod.

"Well, if you really want to..." He waited another moment and I indicated my eagerness once more before he finally pushed forward. For a moment nothing happened but then the head slipped into me. It hardly hurt and I realized that I must have been still be stretched from the stick I had inside me just minutes ago.

Once he was inside he commanded, "Hands on the grips." I obeyed quickly as I could, found the grips after a bit of searching (I could not see what I was searching for) and gripped them tightly. With my arms raised so far above my head my position suddenly felt a lot more precarious and it suddenly seemed like my head was positioned much lower than my rear end, making the stance even more humiliating than before.

And then my master proceeded to fuck my ass. In this case that crude word might even have been the right term. His thrusts were forceful right from the beginning and only became more so as time passed. The actual thrusts caused me surprisingly little pain. Much worse was the pain that he caused to my face and nose by slamming them into the wall with every thrust. With my arms so far above my body I had no leverage to brace myself against the thrusts. Of course, compared to the pain of the whipping what I experienced now barely counted as an inconvenience.

The pain was bearable but the humiliation I felt was extreme. That he used my wrong hole for his pleasure was degrading and disgusted me. But the worst was my body's reaction to the whole thing: Getting taken like this excited and aroused me, even more than getting taken the normal way had. My master's hands gripped my buttocks and squeezed them. Often very hard and a few times his nails even dug into my flesh painfully. But rather than bank the fire burning deep in my belly, the pain only fanned the flames higher.

I think that his fingers touched me between the legs sometimes and caressed the hot and wet flesh there, but if so his touch was so light that I could not be sure.

And with my mouth so wide open I could not hide how aroused I was. Whimpers, moans, groans and cries, some of pain, most of lust, filled the wagon. And cry, shout and even howl I did in profusion. I can't even remember how many times I climaxed, it must have been at least a dozen times. I came at least twice, by then I was in a kind of daze, when his hot seed filled me and one last time after he pulled out when he squirted his seed all over my back. For a moment I could feel every drop, from my buttocks all the way to the back of my head. For that eternal instant each drop burned me with an incredible heat, yet pleasant not painful.

But only for a moment. Suddenly the lust and passion that had filled me drained away, leaving only emptiness and exhaustion. And shame and humiliation and disgust with myself, I felt like the worst and dirtiest slut ever. Suddenly I hated myself and my body's weakness. But also my master for forcing this on me.

He let me rest for a minute before he commanded me to stand up. Even with that rest my legs almost failed me when I tried to stand up. At his command I unscrewed the tube and cleaned it with a rag before returning it to the cupboard.

My master pointed at the floor and commented, "Look what a mess you made."

There was a blob of gunk where I had stood, apparently some of his seed had dribbled out of me. The expectant look he gave me made it clear that he expected me to do something about it. After a moment's thought I asked, "May I clean it up, Master."

"Of course."

"Thank you, Master." I went down on my knees and licked the floor carefully, I didn't want to get a splinter in my tongue. When the spot was as clean as it would get I stood up again, slowly, my legs were still more than a little wobbly.

Next I had to fold away the "table" on which he had ravished my helpless body and then I had to fold out the bed. It was constructed similarly to the table with three boards that folded out to support the main part. The main difference to the table was that the main board with the mattress was secured to the side as it folded down rather than up.-

As soon as the bed was ready my master sat down. He spread his legs wide and pointed at the floor in front of where he sat. After a moment I realized that he wanted me to kneel there and I did so. My legs still felt so weak that I was almost glad to be allowed to knee. I was much less pleased once I noticed that this put my nose quite close to his soiled member and realized that he probably wanted me to lick it.

And he did, "Slut, do you want to taste me?"

Anger and hatred for my master welled up in me. I doubt that it would have amounted to anything, my fear of punishment was still greater. But it probably showed in my eyes.

He considered me for a moment and then he began to speak in a mild and conversational manner, "Just so you know, I have plenty of healing potions and similar magic. They will easily heal wounds. Or keep someone from dying."

A shiver of fear ran down my spine when I parsed that bland statement. The meaning was clear enough; if I did something stupid, like bite him, it would cause him some pain, but in the end it would be hardly more than an inconvenience. On the other hand, he would torture me to within an inch of my life. And then he would heal me and then do it again.

Before I could indicate that I understood the implied warning, he went on, "I have a good friend in Vivane. She is an accomplished Nethermancer and studies how Name-givers interact with magic. For some reason she always needs new subjects for her experiments."

Suddenly my blood froze in terror. The slight stress he had put on "new" left little doubt as to the meaning: the subjects of her experiments did not live long. He did not say anything on the matter, but I was certain that they died in a horrible manner. It was quite a fate quite possibly worse than death, hardly better than getting corrupted and killed by a Horror.

Since my master seemed to expect an answer, I had to answer, but I found it hard to speak, "I... I... I understand, Master." Even in my own ears my voice was quaking with terror.

The eyes of my master lit up for a moment, he obviously enjoyed my terror. For a moment I could even hear the glee in his voice, "Then enjoy. A slut like you enjoys the taste of shit, doesn't she?"

"Yes, Master." My hatred for him and myself grew with every humiliation but for now it was almost completely smothered by fear, no, terror.

I extended my tongue gingerly and began to lick the soiled member. It tasted just as vile as I imagined it would, if not worse. And yet, almost from the first lick the fire in my belly, that had been momentarily quenched by my terror, ignited again and was fanned higher with every lick.

The taste grew less disgusting and more pleasant with every lick, though the disgust never stopped completely. But soon the taste and scent aroused me so much that I stopped caring.

I licked and then sucked my master's male member with growing gusto. Afterwards I could not even remember taking it in my mouth, but I did. I even climaxed once just from licking it, and then once more when he suddenly filled my throat with his seed, even though I almost choked on it. He pushed my head away suddenly and the later squirts hit me full in the face, covering it with his seed completely.

When he grinned down at me, I suddenly became aware what I had been doing. I had been touching myself, my left hand was between my legs, and the fingers were covered with my slimy juices while my right hand had been massaging my breasts. I begun to blush furiously in total embarrassment and humiliation.

My master only voiced what I was thinking myself, "Slut!"

I lowered my head and agreed, "Yes, Master. I'm a total slut."

"Did I give you permission to pleasure yourself?"

"No, Master."

"Should I punish you?"

"Yes, Master. Please, Master."

He pointed to the corner to the right of the entrance, "Stand there, facing the corner."

"Yes, Master." I struggled to my feet, and hurried there.

"Move your legs two foot apart and grab your ankles."

"Yes, Master." I did as ordered and looked at him from between my knees.

He looked at my rear for a long moment and then licked his lips. In response I blushed a little harder. Then he stood up and fetched a kind of paddle from a cupboard and showed it to me. It was a stick about two foot long with a oval wooden board about the size of a men's hand at the end. He turned it over and I saw that one side was flat while the other one was covered by irregularly sized knobs. He asked, "Would you like an easy punishment," here he showed me the flat side, "or would you prefer a harsh punishment? One fit for a dirty slut?", and then the other side.

It was clear enough which he wanted me to chose, "A harsh punishment, Master. A dirty slut like me deserves nothing less, Master." While I did not relish the idea of getting punished, at that moment a part of me hated myself for my body's weakness so much that it actually looked forward to the pain.

"Very well." And then he brought the paddle down on my raised buttocks and I squealed in pain. He really laid into me, but as painful as the beating was, it was still a punishment and not torture. A harsh punishment, perhaps, but a far cry from the whipping I had received yesterday, which had easily crossed into the realm of torture. He stopped several times and asked if I thought that I deserved more punishment and I begged for more each time as I was pretty sure that he wanted me to and I was afraid to cross him on this.

It was a strange experience. I did not enjoy the pain at all, but the spanking still did me good of sorts. I had been disgusted with my body's weakness and what I could only see as betrayal and at least a small part of me felt that I deserved to be punished. In a strange way the spanking hurt my ass but healed my soul and the self-hatred I felt dissipated a little with every blow.

Eventually my master decided that I had been punished enough and put away the paddle. By then my buttocks burned as if I had sat on a stove. And not just my buttocks, a small fire still burned deep inside me, or perhaps again, I found it hard to tell.

He let me stand up and asked, "It's getting late, but if you want we could fuck a little more before we go to bed. Well, slut?"

I only considered for a moment before I answered, "Yes, Master, I would like to fuck." To be honest, I was too minds about it, I was exhausted and would have liked to sleep, but a part of me wanted nothing more than to get fucked, to put it crudely.

He gave me a mocking grin and chided, "Slut!" Then he lay down on his back, crossed the arms behind his head and looked up at me expectantly.

"Ummm?"

"I'm sure a slut like you can figure our how to ride a man. Unless you're really stupid."

The word "ride" did the trick and suddenly I remembered a few whispered conversations with older friends who had talked about their amorous encounters with certain males. I forced myself to smile, "I think I have an idea what to do, Master."

I climbed on the bed and crawled forward until my head was just above his crotch. I licked my lips and then lowered my head until my mouth found his now mostly flaccid member. I kissed and licked it. And like they had told me it would, it slowly grew, became harder and began to stand up. When my master's member stood proud, I stopped licking, rose up and then crawled further forward until the junction of my legs was just above his pole. I used my left hand to spread my lips a little further (probably not really needed as my legs were wide apart anyway) and used my right to to guide the head to my entrance (touching it carefully lest I cause my master pain and give him a reason to punish me).

I let my body sink down and impaled myself on my master's member, moaning quietly as it slid into me. But then I almost screamed in pain when I reached the bottom and the tortured skin of my behind met my master's body.

My master smiled at me in a very condescending manner, as if I was a pet that had just mastered a difficult (for an animal) trick.

"Cross your wrists behind your neck."

"Yes, Master." I did as ordered.

He considered me for a bit, concentrating particularly on my breasts, "If you want, you may lower your arms again. But holding them like this shows off your tits beautifully."

That was another crude word I didn't like. But it was clear what he wanted, "If you like the view then I will gladly keep my arms like this, Master."

"Good. I like the view. Now show me what your cunt can do, slut!"

"Yes, Master." And so I began to ride him, raising up until his member almost slipped out of me and then lowering my body again. I'm not sure how much it helped, but I also tried to contract the muscles in my lower body every now and then. It was quite exhausting work, but also a very arousing. My body enjoyed the sensations of a male's pole sliding in and out of me a lot. Under better circumstances I would likely have enjoyed it a lot. As it was, this activity excited me a lot, but it I could never quite shake the disgust I felt for him and myself for doing this.

But as I said, my body enjoyed it and I came several times. But each climax tired me more and towards the end it was a real struggle to keep going. I knew that I had to get my master off, if I stopped before he did, he would certainly be very angry with me. When he finally filled me with his hot seed I collapsed as soon as the short, sharp climax ended and I collapsed on top of him.

My master only let me rest for a moment before he commanded, "Get off me, slut and lie here, facing the wall."

"Yes, Master." I struggled to obey his command and was fast enough not to incur a more serious punishment than a few smacks on my rear (though even those hurt quite a bit).

"Raise your arms above your head." As soon as I did as commanded, he grabbed the chains attached to my wrists and locked them to the headboard. Then he got up and left the wagon for a few minute, probably to use the jacks (he had taken a robe I had seen hang near the door). I looked around a bit and saw a key lying on the headboard. I might just be able to reach it. But then I thought better of it, I didn't know if it was even the right key or if he had just put it there to tempt me. And even if I freed myself, what could I do?

I turned my head back and waited for him to return. It did not take very long before he did. He did some more things, but I just from the noises I could not tell exactöy what and since I faced the wall I could not see him and did not dare to turn around.

I barely suppressed a scream of surprise and pain when he smacked my rump. It was not a hard blow but my skin was still extremely sensitive.

"Do you like it when I touch you?"

"Yes, Master."

He smacked my ass once more and then doused the light crystal and lay down behind me. I hissed in pain when his belly pressed against my buttocks and then I felt his organ poke me.

He covered both of us with a blanket though he left me partially uncovered, either by design or just because he simply did not care. Still, even partially covered I would freeze much less than on the previous nights.

He put an arm around me and felt up my breasts for a while, squeezing them more or less gently. His touch quickly rekindled the fires in my belly. His hand slowly moved south and he explored my most private place for a bit.

"You like that, don't you?"

"Yes, Master. I love it when you touch me."

"Slut! Have a pleasant night."

"Good night, Master."

And with that we went to sleep. Perhaps he did, I could not really tell from his breathing if he did or not. Even though the activities of the evening had tired me out a lot, it took a while before I fell asleep. His hand had not moved and the fingers touching my lower lips kept me aroused. That I could clearly feel his organ poke my rear end did not help either.

Since it took me a long time before I finally fell asleep, I had a lot of time to think. And the longer I thought about the evening's events, the more my anger shifted from myself to my master. It was clear that he had forced and manipulated me to play an important part of my own humiliation. I could not completely shake the feeling that I had cooperate too willingly but for the most part I had little to no choice in the matter. He might not have punished me had I been less cooperative, but I was almost certain that he would have found a way to make me regret it.

My terror at the implied threat to sell (or give) me to a nethermancer to use in her (for me most likely fatal) experiments lessened. It did not, could not, disappear, but transformed into just fear and the certain knowledge that I had at most one chance to flee or get at least some measure of revenge. If I failed I was as good as dead (though it might take me a while to actually die).

My master's fingers touched my intimate parts the whole night. I think he woke me up by fondling me a little more intensely on several occasions, but I can't be entirely sure. Most of my dreams had been quite erotic but some had also been deeply disturbing, humiliating or all at once. Whatever he had been doing to me (or perhaps not doing), I was extremely aroused and already breathing hard when I woke up.

I had barely made sense of my surroundings when he asked, "Do you want to get fucked?"

"Yes, Master! Please!" I felt a tiny pang of shame, but mostly I was so horny that I could not have refused. Most likely I would even have begged had he told me that I would be punished if I agreed.

"Slut!" He got up on his knees and quickly moved me to the center of the bed and turned me face up. When he grinned down at me I spread my legs even before gave any indication that I should do so. That seemed to please him, though his face was very hard to read.

He accepted my invitation quickly and entered me. And then he fucked me with a lot of vigor. My legs wrapped themselves around him and urged him on. Though our faces were only inches apart, he never kissed me. I could not help myself and kissed him a few times while in the throes of passion, but it felt more like kissing a statue, rather than a person.

Our intercourse was short but intense. I climaxed several times before he suddenly filled me with his hot seed. Like he always seemed to do, he pulled out quickly and squirted more of his seed all over my front from the belly to my hair.

And then he got up without another look, put on his robe, folded out the table and sat down and read some scroll. He completely ignored me and that hurt. But since I didn't know what else to do, I just lay there and waited.

He released me a while later so I could fetch his breakfast. I went outside with a tray and collected a pot of tea, a bowl of hot spiced oatmeal and some bread and ham. The wonderful smell almost brought tears to my eyes and my stomach grumbled loudly, but I did not dare to take anything. I carried the tray back to the wagon and put it on the table.

My master grinned at me and asked, "Want to taste me?"

I barely managed to suppress a growl, and answered, "Yes, Master."

He gave me a mocking smile, "Enjoy. But remember, nethermancer experiments."

I shuddered, deliberately exaggerating the motions and that pleased him. I would really have loved to bite him, but did not dare to. I had to crawl under the table and lick him while he ate his breakfast. He tasted a little strange today and then I realized that it was the taste of my own juices. I can't say that the taste was bad, but it still disgusted me while the smells of his breakfast tortured me.

At some point he made me take him into my mouth. I did not lick him all that intensely, so I was completely surprised when he suddenly filled my mouth with his seed. More than just a little got into the wrong hole, choking me. I coughed like crazy, so I was again surprised when he pushed my head back and squirted the rest of his seed all over my mouth and into my left eye. That hurt even more.

He wiped his slimy member with my hair and then waited until I had recovered before he told me to stand up.

He considered me for a minute and then began, "You have really beautiful hair and a pretty body. Your breasts are a little small, but nice and perky and your ass just begs to be spanked. I had high hopes for you." At that point he paused for a moment, "But in the end you are nothing special, just a common slut."

I knew perfectly well that he just wanted to humiliate and degrade me, but that verdict still felt like getting stabbed in the belly. My eyes watered a little, but I managed not to actually start crying, "I'm sorry, Master. I tried my best."

He gave me a condescending grin and said in a sad voice, "I know" He did not add the, "you tried your best but a cheap slut like you just can't do better." but I could practically hear it.

After a few moments he went on, "You did serve me reasonably well. I guess you are wondering if your services earned you a shirt?"

"Yes, Master?" To be honest, I had not really thought about it much, but now that I did, I certainly felt that I had earned at least a little reward.

"I guess you earned that much. If you insist, you will receive a shirt." Then he added the "but" that I had already know would come, "But as I said, your body is quite pretty. And my men could really use something pretty to look at to raise their morale. And other things." When I realized what he meant by that I began to blush furiously.

"And a slut like you probably wants to raise those things. They wouldn't be much use to you if they were soft, after all, wouldn't they?"

I realized what he meant. He was done with me. Soon, probably tonight, his men would use me for their pleasure, whether I wanted or not. I did not want that at all, except for a tiny part deep in my belly, that craved a male's member inside me.

"You want them to want to fuck you, don't you?"

I did not, but I did not dare to say that, "Yes, Master." He looked at me curiously and I added, "Yes, I want them to fuck me."

"Good. So do you want a shirt?"

"No, Master. I will gladly inspire your men with my charms."

"Very good. You may go."

"Thank you, Master." When he did not say anything more, I left.

Two of the guards confronted me only moments after I left the wagon. One of them asked, "So, did you earn a shirt?"

For a moment I wondered if I should lie about it, but only for a moment, "I did, but I agreed not to wear it to give you something to look at."

They both looked me over, undressing me with their eyes (or would have, had I not been naked already) "Nice. You're eager to get fucked, aren't you, slut?"

"Yes, Master."

They tied up my arms behind my back, feeling me up while they were at it. One of them said, "I look forward to fucking you tonight. You want me to fuck you, don't you, slut?" I felt a little shiver of excitement, but mostly I was scared and disgusted by them and the fact that I was not fully at the mercy of these horrible men.

Then they led me to the jacks to relieve myself and then returned me to the chain where I lapped up the disgusting slop that was our breakfast. I barely managed to finish eating (or perhaps I should call it feeding, eating pig slop by lapping it up made me feel like an animal) when they broke camp.

Soon we were on the road and marched chained up as we usually did. More than half a dozen slavers promised to fuck me soon or do similar things to me. They all stared at my naked body and more than a few bent down to feel up my breasts while riding alongside.

Each time I felt a little thrill run down my spine and a little fire began to burn at my center. But mostly my anger at them grew with every passing minute. I tried my best not to show it, but I could not stop myself from glaring at them completely. Thankfully my anger amused them more than anything. Their amusement was of course humiliating, but probably better than a painful punishment. But their disdain fanned the flames of my hatred. Every now and then I prayed to Lochost to help me escape or at least let me hurt them.

We marched only for a relatively short time, an hour or two before we stopped again to wait while a part of the slavers went hunting. As before the remaining slavers entertained themselves by humiliating us and feeling us up. Even more than yesterday I was one of their main targets and I had hardly any time to rest. If you wanted to look for a silver lining, then their attention meant that my blood stayed hot and I wasn't cold.

This time the slavers were more successful than yesterday, though one of them was wounded. They had caught six people, simply peasants by their dress. There were two women, a human and a dwarf and four men, two humans, a dwarf and an ork.

Our master examined them and made them submit to him. Like he had done before, our master had the ork stripped and whipped, without giving him more than a token chance to submit. After that the others were suitably cowed and submitted to the humiliating ritual without resistance. I think the dwarf woman was with child, but I could not be quite sure as she was only just beginning to show (or she could have just been a little fat).

Once the new slaves had been added to the chains, the slavers ate an early lunch and then we were off again. Since we had started quite early we marched for a long time before we stopped for the night. As it had in the morning, my anger grew slowly with every passing minute, but I could not do anything but grind my teeth in impotent rage.

We turned off the road and stopped in a small clearing. We had to wait while the evening meal was prepared and then we were fed the usual slop. It did not taste good at all, but it disgusted me less than it had before, apparently I was getting used to it.

Our master selected the human woman who had been captured today for his entertainment and then the evening's "festivities" began.

As I had feared, I became one of the main attractions. The first slaver, one of the higher ranking ones, made me lick his boots and beg to be fucked and then he took me from behind (though thankfully not in my rear entrance), grinding my face into the dirt as he did so. As before the male organ thrusting into me excited me a lot and I climaxed with a loud squeal when he filled me with his seed.

The next slaver made me ride him and then two other slavers made me kneel and bend back and took me from the front. Like before their touch disgusted and excited me and I came at least once with each of them.

And then one of the other higher ranking human slavers desired me. He apparently liked some privacy while doing his thing, I had noticed this before. He blindfolded me, disconnected me from the chain and led me away. Since I could not see anything, it was difficult to say how far we went, but it must have been at least two dozen paces. I could still hear the others, but from some distance.

Suddenly a strange tingle of excitement went through me and I realized that this was my best chance to escape yet. I began to pray feverishly to Lochost to help me flee and tried to escape the shackles that bound my wrists, though they resisted my attempts. And I had to be careful not to be too obvious about trying to escape.

The slaver forced me to kneel, opened his trousers and made me beg to taste him. I licked his disgusting organ until it was hard. And then, rather than use me in a normal manner, he commanded me to open my mouth, grabbed my hair and began to fuck my mouth. It was a very painful and humiliating experience.

I redoubled my efforts to free myself. And somehow Lochost must have heard my prayers because suddenly the chains that connected the shackles parted. Even with my arms untied I was still at a disadvantage compared to this much bigger male. Whatever I did, I had to overwhelm him almost instantly to have a real chance to flee.

And then I had an idea: a male's organ was very sensitive. With the next thrust I bit him with everything I had. It was enough, I bit his organ clean off. Suddenly hot blood drenched my face and I was lucky to be blindfolded or I would have been blindfolded by the stream of blood. He gave a high-pitched scream and released my head.

I spat out the disgusting piece of flesh that filled my mouth, ripped off the blindfold and struggled to my feet. The slaver had toppled and lay clutching his privates, desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood. I grabbed the hilt of his sword, pulled it out of the scabbard and slashed him across the throat and then I ran.

Well, it was more a fast walk than a sprint, it was too dark to move that quickly. Even the with just the fast walk the chance of a mishap was too large, especially considering that my feet were bare but I had to put distance between myself and the slavers quickly..

Luck was with me. The high-pitched scream of my captor must have sounded more like a female's scream and the others did not realize that anything was wrong at first. By the time they did I had already covered several hundred paces.

Several, four or five, of the slavers gave chase. They had light crystals, so they could move much faster than I could. But on the flip side, the bright light hurt their night vision and they had trouble seeing me as long as I was far enough away. The darkness was my friend and they only caught occasional glimpses of me. Every now and then they had to stop to listen for the sounds my movements made.

While they were faster than me, I managed to keep the distance open by changing directions every now and then, widening the gap until they could locate me again.

And then I almost lost the race for my life and freedom. I stepped on a sharp piece of wood that was hidden under the leaves with my full weight. My howl of pain gave me again. After that anguish filled me every time my right foot came down. I gave it everything I had, but I just could not move as fast as I had before. It was all I could do not to cry or pass out from pain.

Once more Lochost came to my rescue, it must have been her. Suddenly the wind picked up and the rustling of the leaves hid what noises I made and the flickering light made it more difficult for them to see me. I chanced upon a thicket, circled it and turned hard to my left. They did not notice that I had changed direction and soon their noises faded into the distance.

Despite the horrible pain a need to keep moving filled me and I struggled on. Until I came to a strange, long clearing. I stumbled over a branch (or or perhaps a rock). As soon as my body hit the ground the strength of desperation left me and I passed out.

Luck was with me. When I woke up I found myself in a bed in a trader's wagon. A middle-aged dwarf woman was watching me. I was more than a little scared at first, but her kind words quickly dispelled my fears. She introduced herself as Matilda Swiftrock. She and her husband Marrax were the leaders of this trading convoy and they belonged to House Mikul (one of the wealthiest trade houses of Throal; even I had heard of them).

They had found me this morning when their wagons had passed by the spot where I had collapsed. Apparently the "long clearing" had been a road a mile or so downhill from the one the slaver's caravan had used (I had fled mostly downhill, mainly because I could move faster in that direction). I must have been really out of it, I had only barely woken up when they had picked me up and carried me to this bed. I faintly remembered someone carrying me, but it felt more like a fever dream, half remembered, than a real memory.

They had removed the collar and the shackles, but my hands still gripped the sword I had taken from the slaver. Apparently, despite being practically unconscious I had gripped it with desperate strength and they had given up trying to take it away. I could remember taking the sword and killing the slaver clearly, but I could not say that I remembered carrying it while I was fleeing.

When I raised the sword to look at it, I found that they had found a scabbard and sheathed it. Probably a good idea or I might have wounded myself or at least damaged the bedding. I drew it to look at the blade and found that it was a broadsword with a single-edged slightly curved blade more than three foot long. I sheathed it again and then I could finally unwrap my fingers from the grip, though I had to keep it close to me. I could not say why, but it almost felt as if the sword was a part of myself.

Just that little activity tired me out. Matilda had cleaned the wound on my foot as best as she could and packed it with a poultice, but I had gotten so much dirt into the wound during my flight that it turned bad. She fed me and cared for me like a mother. I fell asleep soon and slept most of the next day as well. The fever made me weak. Thankfully the fever broke towards the end of the next day.

We talked when I was coherent and not too sleepy and I told her some of what I had gone through. There were a lot of things that I could not talk about, some were so painful that I could not even bear thinking about them and others shamed me so deeply that I could not speak of them. Matilda listened and did her best to console me. She never asked for those things I did not tell, but I could see in her eyes that she learned as much from what I did not say as from what I did.

She also told me about herself, her husband and the rest of the caravan. She was actually a fourth circle Warrior adept, though now mostly retired, except when called upon to defend herself. She had met her husband while adventuring and they had faced a lot of danger together. She did not say what discipline he followed, but mentioned that he had unlocked my collar and shackles. Once I thought about it, I realized that he was most likely a Thief adept. I really wanted to ask, but did not dare to. She clearly did not want to say anything on that matter, and as I (quite possibly) owed my life to her, I definitely did not want to press her on such a sensitive and private matter.

On the next day I felt a lot better, but by no means good. I could even leave the wagon for short times with some help, though walking was very painful. Since the wound was near the heel, I could walk so long as I kept on my toes, but even that was not fun.

Matilda invited a human Wizard to listen to the story about the spell the slave master had cast on us (after getting permission from me), thinking that he might shed some light on it.

Hanuman was quite old, not quite grandfather material yet, but getting there. He listened to my description and asked a few questions and then he sat there stroking his beard for at least a minute before he said anything, "Yes, lass, what you experienced sounds exactly like a power attributed to Questors of Dis. I suppose it is also possible that a Theran Wizard or Nethermancer developed a spell that creates a similar effect, but I would not know about it."

"I see. I suppose I won't ever know for certain."

"I would have to observe the casting to be certain. Or at least observe your pattern while the spell was active or right after it ended. But by now all traces will have dissipated." He considered me for a few moments, "Did you notice any other spells he he cast on you. Or other strange effects?"

I struggled with myself for a bit before I answered. I was so ashamed of my body's reactions that I found it hard to even hint at them, let alone speak openly. But I sensed only a willingness to help me from him. And I kind of did want to know, "Perhaps... Some of the things they did to me were painful and disgusting. And yet they also excited me."

"I see. Do you still have the slave collar? I could at least tell if it is enchanted."

"Yes." I nodded at Matilda who found the collar and the wrist cuffs.

"This will take a bit. I need to re-attune my spell matrices."

"I understand." It was something I had watched Shanna (the Elementalist from my village) do sometimes. The Wizard sat back and closed his eyes. We waited quietly while he meditated on the task for several minutes. Once he had re-attuned his spell matrices he cast a spell and then examined the items. He put the shackles away quickly and focused on the collar, examining it closely and casting two more spells.

Finally he turned back to me, "The shackles are just normal items, but the collar is enchanted. It affects whoever wears it, but from what I can tell the effect is quite subtle."

"So it weak magic?"

"Yes and no. Like I said, I can't say exactly what it does, but I think it changes how the wearer feels certain things. The effect may not be strong, but it is insidious and over time it could affect the wearer very strongly."

"I see..." He gave me a strange look and I became certain that he had found out more than he was telling me. At first I wanted to press him, but then I decided to drop the matter. I certainly did not discuss exactly how the collar's magic had affected me (or how I suspected it did). It was a shameful topic and a much too raw wound for me to talk about. Instead I asked, "But why not just force us to obey with the collars?"

"Most likely because that would be too expensive. If the collar forced you to obey, your spirit would struggle against it and to keep you bound for long would require strong magic. You could do it, but I suspect that an item that could do that would cost more than a dozen slaves. A slaver could use such an item for one or two special slaves, adepts for example, but it be much too rare and expensive for general use."

"I understand."

"By using such a subtle and insidious magic, your spirit would struggle much less. If there were pleasant aspects to it, you might even welcome the spell. Not in your mind, but in your heart, and then you could even end up powering the spell that enslaved you."

"Really?"

"Yes. Items like this are quite rare. I have never heard of slavers using anything like this." He stroked his beard for a bit before he went on, "Yes, it would make sense if he was a Questor of Dis. Catching slaves would not be just a business for him, but an act of worship for his mad passion. He might approach the act like an artist and he would delight in the act of enslaving someone and bending her to his will. Also in making you an accomplice in your own enslavement by forcing you to abase yourself to gain favors or avoid punishment."

I thought about it for a bit and the very idea made me shiver. I thanked him. He cast a spell to invigorate me and then he left. I did feel much better for the next few hours and according to him the spell would also help my wounds heal faster.

I thought about what Hanuman had told me for a long while. It angered me that I had been manipulated like this, but on the whole what he had told me made me feel better. If the collar had, as he had implied, increased my ardor so I enjoyed it when I had to allow my master or the slavers to use me for their pleasure than it was not my fault. Or at least less so.

By the time we stopped for the evening the increased vitality had mostly left me, but I could leave the wagon with the help of a staff to lean on. Every step still hurt, but it felt good to sit around the fire with the others. Matilda had found me some clothes, trousers, a shirt and a jacket and sandals. The clothes did not fit me all that well, but they were still fancier than any but the best clothes I had at the farmstead (which I only wore for important occasions).

(It took me a few days to learn all the information on the caravan). There were twelve wagons in total, the one in which Matilda and her husband lived (at the moment they slept in a tent so that I could have a warm bed while I recovered), one which carried supplies and such and ten wagons with the merchandise. Each wagon had a teamster, seven dwarves and six humans (one extra to spell the others at need), there were five people who traveled with the caravan (including the Wizard Hanuman) and twenty guards. I was a little surprised to find that the three leaders of the guards were ork adepts. The rest of the guards were about evenly split between dwarves, humans and orks.

The three adepts were siblings (half siblings actually, they had the same mother but different fathers). Wurhan, the eldest was a fifth circle Swordmaster and a female. Her brother Raggo was a fifth circle Warrior and the youngest sister, Ellaren was a fourth circle Archer.

The wagons formed a circle during the night and a quarter of the guards kept watch at any one time. After dinner Wurhan and her brother sparred for a time. I was fascinated by what I saw. Just the way they moved! Raggo used his Warrior talents to move at an incredible speed while Wurhan seemed to dance more than just move.

I felt a lot better when I went to sleep. Watching the practice fight had been inspiring and the company of so many others had helped me stop thinking about the horrible things that had happened to me (and were still happening to my friends).

The next morning I still had to use the staff to walk, but my foot hurt less than it had yesterday. I had thought about what to do once I healed and had decided against returning to my village, at least for now. Mostly because I still could not walk without pain for more than a few steps (let alone for the several days it would take me to get there) and I did not want to make that journey alone. But I was also a bit ashamed that I had not helped my friends (even though I knew perfectly well that I had been lucky to escape alone, trying to rescue the others would have been completely hopeless). And this was probably my only chance to see the world and see all (or at least some of) the things Troubadours sang or told stories about.

So I asked Matilda (and her husband) if I could travel with them for now. And once they agreed I insisted on helping in some way. They had done so much for me that I felt that I had to do something in return. And I could not just live off their largess. They agreed but insisted that I be careful and stay off my wounded foot as much as possible.

They were quite surprised when I asked to help then defend the caravan. At first they refused, but with a bit of fast talking I managed to convince them that I could shoot a bow and could do that while riding a wagon.

But they insisted that I had to show that I could actually shoot the bow. Marrax found a short bow and a target for me to shoot at: a little bush that clung to a steep slope some fifty paces away.

The first arrow I fired fell embarrassingly short of the target, apparently this bow had a heavier pull than the ones I was used to. I quickly drew another arrow and this one came much closer, missing the bush by a foot or so and then the third arrow that only missed by inches.

Marrax told me to stop and declared himself satisfied with my skill. One of the guards jogged there and retrieved the arrows.

I took a deep breath and turned to the leader of the guards, "Wurhan, will you teach me how to become a Swordmaster?"

She looked surprised but answered, "You want to be a Swordmaster? Why?"

"I want to be able to fight slavers. I never want to be that weak and helpless again."

"And why a Swordmaster?"

"I saw you move, I want to be able to dance like that. And..." I drew the sword, just a few inches, but enough to indicate why. I had also considered asking her brother to train me to be a Warrior but decided against it. I barely could admit it to myself, but after what had happened, I was less than comfortable in the company of a male.

"I will teach you to use your sword. But as for teaching you to be a Swordmaster..."

"Yes?"

"That is a different matter. To earn that, you will have to impress me."

"What do I have to do?"

"After you know the basics on how to handle a sword, we will spar. If you can hit me, then I will try to teach you."

"Try?"

"Not many Name-givers can become Adepts. And even if you are among those that can, I may not be able to teach you. Sometimes a master and her student just don't mesh and she can't grasp what her teacher is telling her. That does not mean that she couldn't learn from a different teacher. This is just something you have to accept."

"I understand. When will we spar?"

"It will be a few days at least. If you want to learn to dance, then you must be able to dance. There is little point in trying when you can hardly walk."

"I... understand." I was less than happy at having to wait, but I could understand her reasoning.

I moved out of the wagon (and its comfortable bed) but they gave me a bedroll and a thick woolen blanket (just in case it got too cold). They had enough tents for everybody, but most of the time we did not bother to set them up as it was warm enough to sleep outside. A few people set up tents, mostly to have a little privacy for being intimate with a partner. Of course the tents did little to muffle the noise, but that did not bother me, noises like that had been a constant at the crowded farmstead and I had almost missed hearing them when I went to sleep.

I helped with the chores of the camp, mostly with cooking and the like. Wurhan kept her word and showed me how to use my sword. Most of the time she made me use a wooden practice sword. It galled me a little as I longed to use the sword I had taken from the slaver. But I could see her point, that using a sharp sword with little skill could be dangerous, but my hands itched to close on the hilt of a real weapon. Somehow I felt better whenever I did, more sure of myself and able to take whatever life could throw at me. Sometimes I also practiced with the bow until I felt comfortable with it.

Sella, a female dwarf teamster, invited me to ride with her. So I kept her company and listened to her (usually quite entertaining stories) while I kept my bow ready and was on the lookout for trouble. Wurhan often kept us company, riding next to our wagon for a time. I still found it difficult to talk about my ordeal but I slowly opened up to the two and began to spin my own stories, mostly about the life at the farmstead and the trouble my friends and I had gotten into. It did not take long before I began to consider the two as friends and I became especially close to Wurhan.

On the third day we reached a small town early in the afternoon. After some negotiations the caravan was allowed inside the stockade and we stopped on the commons. Once we had cared for the horses and helped set up a couple of stalls for the goods most of us were allowed to explore the town. Matilda even gave me some money, just a few coppers and three silver coins, not much, but more money than I had ever seen before except during the meetings where our village discussed how to spend our extra money.

Wurhan, who had to stay to guard the caravan, told me to return well before dinner so that we could have our little contest. And then I left together with a group of teamsters including Sella. We visited a tavern and drank a few mugs of beer (I only drank one, I wanted to be fit for the match with Wurhan). The beer tasted strange, very different from what we had brewed on the farmstead or from the one the caravan carried. But after a while I decided that it wasn't bad.

We walked around some more and visited a shrine to the passions where I made a small donation and thanked them, especially Lochost, for helping me escape, and Garlen, for keeping me healthy.

There was a artist who sold amulets, basically carved stones hanging on a string. I almost bought one, a pretty dark pink stone, but then I remembered how our master had told me how pretty I looked and suddenly the idea that a jewel like this would make me more pretty disgusted me so much I almost threw the amulet to the ground. I barely managed to control myself long enough to put it down and then I ran away and began to cry. Sella followed me and comforted me and after a while I began to feel better. I told her that it was a bad memory. I'm sure she knew that there was more to the story, but she did not press me.

Once I had calmed down we resumed strolling through the town. Eventually we stopped at a smithy and suddenly one of the knives he had on display practically jumped into my eye (metaphorically, not literally, of course) and I just had to get it. It was actually a throwing dagger and quite expensive. It took all our haggling skills to get the price down to where I could afford it (and even that only because Sella loaned me a few coppers).

We kept strolling around for a bit but soon I decided that I had enough and returned to the caravan. I sat down in the shade and let my thoughts wander. As I should have known they went in a bad direction and soon I was remembering the night I had spent at our master's wagon. And how he had praised my hair. And suddenly I hated my hair so much that I could barely make it to the trash heap before I pulled out the dagger and loped it off. I am sure I looked anything but pretty after that, but then I did not want to, and that made me felt a little better.

By then Wurhan had left and so I waited. I was not bored, there was plenty to do.

She finally returned about an hour before dinnertime and quickly set up for our match. She cleared a space for us and produced two wooden practice swords, letting me pick one. I did not notice much difference between the two so I just pointed at the closer one.

I had been very excited for this fight, but now I was less than keen. She was a much better fighter (I wouldn't have asked her to train me if she wasn't after all) and I realized that I would likely not look good (fighting her) and there were at least a hundred people watching us, if not more. "Ummm..."

She grinned at me, "You don't want to be shown up in front of all these people, do you?" I did not say anything but the look I gave her must have been clear enough. "Well, that's up to you. A smart fighter will do her best to find the best ground for a fight. But sometimes you just have to meet the enemy on his home ground. You want something from me, not the other way around."

"Yes."

When I did not move she went on, "We can stand here all evening, but if you want to win, you'll have to come and hit me. So you'd better attack me."

Seeing no way around it, I approached her cautiously and swung at her. And missed her by a mile. I attacked her several times, with more effort and a little less caution every time, but she easily avoided or parried every time.

Wurhan began to taunt me, "Come on Kesha, my grandmother swings her walking stick with more elan than you."

I increased my efforts but without much success. At first the words hurt a little but did not change much, but then one of the barbed taunts suddenly made me practically see red. Strangely I could not even remember what she had said afterwards. In any case I suddenly charged her and attacked with all my might. She parried several times and when I lunged forward she suddenly stepped to the side and slapped me across the buttocks with the flat of the blade. That hurt, but it hurt my pride a lot more than my body, particularly as many of the spectators laughed at me.

I redoubled my efforts but with little success. Wurhan parried or avoided all my attacks. When I attacked cautiously I did not even get close to piercing her defense and when I put everything I had into my attacks she counterattacked. Sometimes led me around like a blind bull, sometimes she smacked me across the ass and several times she tripped me so that I plowed head first into the dirt. The laughter from all around infuriated me more and more. She always made it clear that had this been a real duel she could have skewered me easily, but she always let me get up.

I almost had her once. I circled her and a sudden quick attack must have surprised her and she jumped back at the last moment but lost her footing and landed on her rump. But I had overextended myself in the attack and by the time I could try to hit her she was back on her feet.

Most of the times she let me attack but at other times she forced me to retreat.

She kept taunting me mercilessly. I couldn't say afterwards how long we fought, to me it felt like forever, but it could not have been much more than a few minutes, perhaps a quarter of an hour. But the uneven fight tired me out as did the many painful hits she scored on me. I was close to tears. Not so much because of the pain, but because I had been so close to my goal.

Another blow from her sent me sprawling yet again. I managed to get back up, but only barely, I had been going on fumes and willpower alone for a while now.

Wurhan stepped back, lowered her sword and declared, "Stop. That's enough."

Without anything to fight for, my strength left me suddenly. I dropped my sword and while I did not crumple I sat down hard.

Wurhan approached me and held out her hand to help me up. For a moment I felt like refusing her help, but decided against it. Even if she would not help me become a Swordmaster, I did not want to offend her and so I took her offered hand and let her help me up. She gave me a big grin and declared, "You really impressed me. It will be a pleasure to train you."

For a moment I could not believe my ears and then I was a little confused, "But you said that I had to hit you..."

"True, but that was mostly to give you a reason to attack hard. If a Swordmaster required any hopeful student to beat her, then soon none would be left to carry on our discipline. I also said that you had to impress me, and that you did."

"Really?" Without thinking I wrapped my arms around her neck and kissed her.

Her eyes widened. Once the initial surprise wore off she pushed me away, but gently. "Whoa girl! I like you, but not that much!" That got a lot of laughs.

Realizing what I had done, I blushed furiously, stepped back and stammered an apology.

Thankfully she did not seem offended, "Don't worry, I'm not offended. Come here." She led me away and we sat down together, resting our backs against a tree. Hanuman the Wizard, who had watched our contest came over and cast his invigorating spell on me and I felt much better afterwards. Wurhan refused the offer. While I had been close to passing out she looked barely winded.

When he had left again I asked, "So what did I do to impress you? Most of the time I staggered around like a drunken bull. When I did not try to take a bite out of the ground, that is."

She chuckled, "The fact that you can joke about it tells me that I was right about you. One thing that impressed me was that you did not give up, even when I embarrassed you. And if I had not stopped you, you would have kept at it until you passed out. Many hopeful prospects give up when the going gets tough. True, I did everything I could to make you look bad, but I was watching you carefully. And you have the right spring in your step, the lightness of foot needed for the dance of swords."

"I see. So what now?"

"Today we rest. For now we continue as before, you still have to learn the basics of swordplay and the like. But I will drive you harder and I will expect you to work harder than before."

"How long will it take?"

"The training? It could be a few weeks, it could be a year or more. One can never tell in advance. I have seen some very promising students who took forever and some others who managed to become Swordmasters in a few weeks."

"Why?"

"I doubt that anybody really knows. The problem is that the first step if the hardest by far. My mentor always said that the becoming an adept is just one step. But you start at the bottom of a well and that one step needs to get you out of the well. Using the magic is just a knack, but it is so difficult to get it right the first time. After that everything else is easy."

"Oh."

"Yes. And now..." she pointed at the cooking fire, "I think the food is almost ready. And since you are now my squire, it's your duty to bring me food."

For a moment I bristled at the command, but then I stood up, bowed to her and grinned at her, "Your wish is my command, Mistress." I found that I was practically skipping as I headed there. I picked up a tray (really just a thin board), two bowls of stew and some bread, cheese and bacon.

When I returned Wurhan had me put the tray on the ground and sent me to bring two mugs of Hurlg.

"Hurlg?"

"Yes. It's really good. At least we orks like it. But we aren't allowed to drink it on the trail."

"Alright." I went to fetch the indicated drink. I almost dropped the mug when I sniffed it. It smelled bad and it was so strong that I felt a little dizzy just from smelling it.

I returned to the tree and handed one of the mugs to Wurhan and sat down beside her.

She grinned at me and held out the mug for a toast, "Let's drink to your success. May you become the second best Swordmaster in Barsaive."

"Only the second best?"

"As your teacher I'm obviously going to be better."

"Oh, ok." The infectious grin on her lips dispelled my misgivings about the toast. And to be honest, I did not really care if I was the best Swordmaster or not, I just wanted to be able to defend myself and others against slavers. To be honest I would really have preferred not to drink this strange concoction, but I could hardly refuse a toast like that. "To becoming the best Swordmasters in Barsaive."

We touched the mugs. I had only wanted to take a sip but got a little too much into my mouth. It burned! I barely managed not to spit it out (that would have been rude) but by trying to keep it in my mouth it got into my windpipe and then my nose. I started coughing, sneezing and worse. Wurhan must have expected something like that because she managed to pluck the mug from my shaking hands before I could spill everything, even though I did not notice that until later, until I stopped coughing and could breathe again.

Once I had calmed down and could see again (my eyes had filled with tears) she handed the mug back to me. She grinned, "The Hurlg is good, isn't it?"

For a moment I wanted to throw it in her face but then I settled for saying, "But it's a little strong." Something in her face told me that this was really important to her, so I took a careful sip. This time I was prepared and managed to get it down without incident. I can't say that I liked the taste and it was way too strong for me.

We ate dinner and I managed to get the drink down in small sips. By the end I was more than a little tipsy. Wurhan who had drunk another two mugs seemed completely unaffected by comparison. I had more than a little trouble walking in a straight line when I carried the empty dishes back but I managed to stay upright and walk in a mostly straight line.

But I overbalanced when I tried to sit down again, but since the trunk of the tree was right behind me I did not really fall but slid down in a rather ungainly manner.

Wurhan gave me her best grin and asked, "So, want to kiss me again?"

"Kiss you? But you're a girl?"

"That didn't stop you before..."

I blushed furiously but could not think of anything to say.

"Kesha, I'm not asking you to marry me. But I think we could have a little fun together. So what do you say?"

I looked at her helplessly at first, but then she began to smile in a way that just melted my heart and filled me with warmth. And not just my heart, mind. And so I put my arms around her neck and kissed her. And I quickly decided that I liked kissing her.

The rest of the evening was a little hazy but we spent it together and kissed often. We were not alone, but the others came and went while Wurhan stayed with me. We drank more of Hurlg and while I can't say that I ever liked the taste, I minded it less with each sip. The later it got the hazier my memories became.

Wurhan woke me up and I found that I apparently had spent the night in her arms. It was much later than I usually got up, well past dawn, and yet much too early. My head pounded, it felt as if a mad Windling was sitting on my shoulders and kept hitting my head with a small hammer.

Wurhan who seemed to be in a much better shape than I was became a merciless taskmaster. She forced me to get up and attend to my morning ablutions and drink some water. And then she insisted that we spar. I could barely stand straight, let alone hold the practice sword but she left me no choice but to defend myself from her attacks. Whenever my defense faltered she smacked me with the sword, painfully and often in embarrassing places. Truth to be told, I was hardly in a position to really defend myself and when she hit me depended more on her mood than my ability to avoid her attacks.

Between the painful hits, the horrible taste in my mouth and my pounding head, I wished more than once that she was using a real sword and would just finish me off and end my pain. But if nothing else the exercises woke me up.

When she finally ended the farce, I asked, "Why couldn't we sleep a little longer?"

"Look around. We will be leaving soon." When I did, I realized that the convoy was indeed preparing to leave. The work was going slower than usual and I was far from the only one who seemed a little (or a lot) under the weather.

"Why did we not stay another day? To let us sleep it off?"

"If we stayed another day, do you think you would be in a better shape tomorrow?"

I wanted to say that of course I would, but then I could see her point. If we stayed (at least) some of us would drink way too much again and the next morning would likely not be much better. "I see your point."

We went to get a little breakfast just as the cooking utensils were being packed up. I drank some hot tea with herbs that helped my headache a little but my stomach was too queasy to eat more than a bit of dry bread.

We were finally ready to leave about halfway to midday. The rest of the day was less than pleasant but at least the headache receded slowly.

After that my training intensified. Wurhan trained me practically whenever we stopped. Not just in how to use a sword, but also in how to move and other things. She always referred to the way she fought as a dance and I could easily see why. Even though she was much more massive than I was, she moved with a grace and speed that I found hard, if not impossible to match. Come to think of it, she actually was not all that fast, but the way she moved made it seem much faster.

It was hard and exhausting work, especially at first. I was never really clumsy, but trying to match her was very exhausting as I just could not match the efficiency of her movements. But I became better, if only slowly. And the continuous training did build up my strength and stamina.

Marrax did not mind much that my training left me less time for my other chores, but he insisted that I attend to at least some of them. Which meant that I had practically no free time. The only times when I could rest were at night, and when we were on the road. While on the road I rode with Sella, as before. I still had my job of protecting the caravan then, of course, but until we were attacked that consisted on sitting next to her and listening to her stories and keeping watch. During the night Wurhan had to keep watch for a few hours and I kept her company when she did. We did not talk much at that times because we had to listen for suspicious noises.

I'm not sure what to call our relationship. I cared for her a lot, I think I even loved her, but I would not quite call us lovers. We had a lot of fun, but we both knew that our intimate relationship would not last forever. I certainly hoped that we would stay friends, or at least part as friends, but as much as I enjoyed what we had I also wanted to have a family at some time in the future.

Our eventual destination was Bartertown but we took our time getting there. The point of this caravan was not to transport goods from one place to another but to trade while we did so. And so we made a lot of detours to visit towns and large villages and stayed there, usually for one day, but in the bigger towns we sometimes stayed longer.

As my training progressed I could sometimes feel the magic she was trying to teach me but it always stayed just out of my reach. At first I was excited but the longer this went on without further progress the more frustrated I became. It felt like trying to revive an almost burned down fire. I could blow at the embers and sometimes I could even get a little spark, but no matter how hard I blew I just could not get it to flare back to life.

Wurhan did her best to console me by pointing out that it took most students longer, sometimes much longer, to learn how to use the magic of a discipline. Her assurances that I would learn it "soon" helped a bit, but I still grew more and more frustrated with my lack of progress.

About two and a half months after I had joined the caravan (and with another month to go before we reached Bartertown) we were attacked by bandits. At the time we were on the road through the fringes of the Servos jungle.

Suddenly a horn sounded out somewhere ahead of us. It must have been Pierrin, who usually rode point to look to spot ambushes or the like and (hopefully) give us a little warning. I quickly strung my bow and drew an arrow while all around me the guards drew their weapons.

The bandits had chosen a good spot for an ambush. We were on a narrow road so we could not even turn the wagons around, let alone make a wagon fort. The only thing we could do was to stop and bring the wagons as close together as possible.

Sella's wagon was the fourth in line today and the road curved a little, so that I could see what happened at the front of the caravan. I heard galloping from ahead and a few moments later Pierrin returned. He leaned strangely and when he turned around I saw that he had an arrow sticking out of his left shoulder. It did not look like a life-threatening wound but he would probably not be much use in the fight.

Several guards moved forward to protect the front of the caravan (most of the bandits would likely attack from that direction) but the rest, me included, stayed where they were in case some of them attacked further back. A few moments later a small throng of the raiders appeared on the road ahead of us and attacked. For now at least the narrow road worked against them as both Wurhan and her brother took up positions at the forefront and easily beat down the first bandits who attacked them.

I loosened several arrows at the bandits but stopped when the melee became too chaotic and I feared that I would hit one of our own by mistake.

Suddenly three bandits jumped out of the forest nearby and charged towards us. One of the guards, a human swordsman interposed himself between them and the wagon. I shot at one of the bandits but the arrow bounced off his hastily raised shield. My attack did no damage, but at least it distracted the bandit for a moment.

The guard, Marken if I remembered his name correctly, fought skillfully but with three against one he was hard pressed to defend himself. Several more bandits had joined the fight around us so that none of the other guards could help him. One of the bandit stabbed him in the thigh. Not a crippling wound, but painful and it slowed him down. And then another bandit nicked his shield arm.

I can't remember what I was thinking, but I dropped the bow and drew my sword, grabbing it in both hands. I jumped down from the wagon with a shout, raised the sword high and swung it at one of the bandits with all my strength. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and suddenly I could feel the magic trying to surge up. I grabbed it and suddenly it flared brightly. I put everything I had into the attack and suddenly I could feel the magic rush in to guide my hands. The bandit had interposed his shield but at the last moment my blade twisted, evaded it and bit deeply into his shield arm, directly into the small gap between the shield and his leather armor.

The bandit screamed, staggered back and fell over. Time resumed its normal flow and one of the other bandits turned to face me. Now with two against two we could hold our own. The wounded bandit fled rather than rejoin the flight, I must have wounded him pretty badly.

Our swords clashed together several times and I quickly realized that I was as skillful as my opponent, if not better. But he had a shield and armor while I had only a padded jacket that offered a little protection, which was a big advantage for him. I was fighting for my life, but strangely enough I felt more excitement than fear.

I never found out who of us was really the better fighter for suddenly an arrow protruded from his chest and he crumpled a moment later. When I looked I saw Ellaren draw another arrow. The third bandit turned and fled. Ellaren sent an arrow after him but he was already disappearing between the bushes and I could not tell if she hit him or not. Probably not as she cursed loudly.

I looked around to see if anyone else needed help, but before I could decide on what to do, the fight was over. One of the bandits gave a loud shout and a moment later they all turned to flee. There were still quit a few of them and, had they pressed the attack, they might have still won, but apparently they had expected their ambush to give them a bigger advantage and fled rather than fight to a costly victory.

It had still been a costly fight, but thankfully more for them than for us. We had killed eight of them and lost one ork guard. One human guard's hand had been cut off, but we managed to save his life if only barely. And quite a few of us were wounded. Marken was in a pretty bad shape, having received several wounds. I didn't know what to say when he thanked me for saving his life. I helped him to the Swiftrock's wagon, which once more became the infirmary. Hanuman cast his invigorating spell on anyone who asked. I felt well enough that I declined.

But when the excitement wore off, I suddenly felt quite exhausted and worse, I got a really bad headache. It was not quite as bad as it had been after drinking so much in the first town we visited, but only by a little. I returned to Sella's wagon and picked up the bow.

We wasted no time getting ready for travel once more. We had to stop soon when we reached the tree that the bandits had felled. Several of the guard rolled it to the side of the road while everybody else watched with weapons in hand. And then we started moving again. We traveled as fast as we could and continued until quite late to put as much distance between us and the bandits as we did not want to risk getting attacked during the night.

I wanted to tell Wurhan that I had managed to access the magic, but it was a while before I could do so. We were all too busy watching for trouble while we were still in the forest. She rode up and down and we shared a few words but neither of could concentrate on something like that, our eyes darted around trying to spot danger. It was late afternoon when we finally left the forest and we could relax a little. Sure, an ambush was always possible, but out on the plains it was much harder for a large number of enemies to stay hidden only yards from us.

Wurhan came to ride next to me and grinned at me, "I hear you saved Marken's life, is that true?"

"Yes. Three bandits attacked him. When they wounded him I just had to help. I drew my sword and jumped in. And suddenly I could reach the magic. I put everything I had into my blow and I could feel the magic guide my sword. It evaded the bandit's shield and I almost cut his arm off. He fell and then he fled. I fought one of the other bandits and then Ellaren put an arrow in his chest and then the others ran."

"You could really touch the magic? That's wonderful."

"Yes. But why now? I trained so long and nothing happened."

"Actually that is not so surprising. It is quite common to break through when you are in danger."

"But I wasn't really in danger or even really afraid."

"But someone you cared about was in danger. Many animals that would normally flee will fight to the death if their kits or their pack is threatened."

I thought about that for a bit, "I think I understand. But when the fight was over I got a really bad headache. Will that happen every time I use the magic?"

"No, that should not happen. Does your head still hurt?"

"Yes."

She thought for a bit and asked, "You said that you put everything you had into your attack, right?"

"Yes. I felt the magic and I... I'm not sure how to describe it, but it was like... I felt a little magic guide my sword and then I poured more in and..."

"I see. I think you have what is usually called a Karma hangover?"

"Karma hangover?"

"Yes. Karma is a special type of magic that an adept can use to exceed the usual limit of her skill at need. You use a ritual to turn your normal magic into Karma and 'store' it for later use. Normally you can only use as much Karma as you have stored, but in some cases you can still use a little more when you are out if you are really desperate. That's a bit like spending somebody's else's money. And the headache is the result of the universe's attempt to collect what you owe it."

"I see. What can I do to pay that back?"

"You need to perform your 'Karma ritual'. Now that you have access to your magic, you should be able to do this. But we can't do that while traveling. I will show you what to do once we stop for the night."

"Thank you. I hope we will stop soon. It really hurts."

When we finally stopped for the night Wurhan finally showed me how to perform the 'Karma ritual'. We moved outside the ring of wagons because there was not enough place inside. She drew her sword and explained, "What you do is to fight a duel with an imaginary opponent."

"How does that do anything?"

"The fight itself is not the important thing. We are Swordmasters, the dance of swords is what our magic is all about. The 'fight' is just a way to clear your mind and get in touch with your magic. Feel it flow through you, that kind of thing. While you feel the magic you can also collect it and condense it into karma. A bit like filling a bucket with small berries. You have to pick them one by one, but eventually the bucket will be full. Do you understand?"

"I hope so."

"Then let's start." Wurhan stepped away from me, brought up her sword as if saluting an opponent and began to move, just as if she was fighting a duel. I watched for a minute and then I drew my own sword.

At first pretending to fight a duel made me feel a little silly, but then I began to feel the magic guide my step and my arm. And soon I could feel an opponent fight me. Of course there was not anybody there and I could not see anything, but I could almost feel him. A few times I could swear that I felt a jarring sensation as our swords met. And I could feel the magic collecting.

I'm not sure how long I sparred, but suddenly I felt my opponent miss a parry and I touched him with my sword and then it was over. I looked around and suddenly I realized that the headache was gone.

We returned to the caravan and ate dinner. Marrax spoke praises to all those who had done well in the fight. Unsurprisingly Wurhan and her siblings came at the top of the list, together they had been responsible for six of the eight killed bandits. And he also praised me for saving Marken's life. The praise filled me with pride, but being singled out like this also embarrassed me.