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From: endemoniada69@hotmail.com (endemoniada)
Subject: The Master's Castle -- 2/2 (M/F, Fantasy, D/s)
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The Master's Castle 2/2 (M/F, Fantasy, D/s)

by endemoniada69@hotmail.com
===========================================================

Miranda turned her gaze to the open floor of the tavern, and
watched as a girl stood on the floor, her legs splayed, her head
bowed.  It was Aurora, Master Hawk's slave--she was about to
dance.

As the music began Aurora spun around, lifting herself en pointe
as her red silks flashed through the air, fully revealing the
shape of her thighs, the intricate design of her slave brand.
She raised her hands above her head, fully extended, fingers
tapered in the middle, so as to shape herself gracefully as she
moved.  She twirled around in this position, her face beautiful
and smiling in the joy of dance as the Masters surveyed her.
Then she stopped, remained so for a few seconds, bent herself in
the middle and threw her dark mane down to the floor.  She paced
backwards, trailing her hair along the floor, eyes facing
downwards, indicating her subservience, before again throwing
back her head and spinning in a blur of red silk.  The music
played on, rising to a frenetic pace, and she danced; her breasts
strained at their thin cover, moving slightly as she skipped over
the floor.

Miranda turned her gaze downwards at this moment, feeling
confused. She could see that Aurora danced beautifully, but was
that all she saw?  She couldn't understand it.  Why should she
feel herself drawn, with all the unrestrained passion of a slave
girl, towards another. Her lips were not those of a Master, her
face not that of a Master; not strong and handsome, but still she
desired a kiss, perhaps even a touch.  No, she decided resolutely,
it could not happen.  She was her Master's girl, and thus she
would serve, and serve her Master.  Miranda returned her eyes to
the dance, but focussed distantly, a glassy expression upon her
face as she pondered.

A peal of applause broke out and Miranda saw that the dance was
over. The Masters turned back to their slaves, and again girls
obediently fetched food and drinks, gliding gracefully across the
tavern floor.

Master Hawk looked up, called out to his slave as she returned to
his side.  Aurora glistened with sweat from her dance, her
breathing a little laboured, her breasts quickly rising and
falling.  "Slave, you are to go with Master Blackcrow.  You are
his now," he said.

Aurora nodded, showing little emotion as she understood that she
had been sold by her Master.  It was the fate of a girl to be
bought and sold many times over, to serve many different Masters
as their whims dictated.

"This girl is pleased to serve you, Master Blackcrow."  At that,
Aurora turned to Miranda and gave her small smile.

Master Blackcrow rose and strode towards the door.  "Come, it is
time to leave.  Miranda, bring my cloak."

"Yes, Master."


* * *

Miranda scrubbed the floor, carefully working the soapy mixture
into the tiles, washing away the deeply ingrained grime.  She
looked around herself, the hall was large and she had barely
begun to clean it; this task would take her many hours, until the
night fell.  But her Master had commanded her to serve him, and
serve him she would, serve until her fingers bled, her back ached,
and she could scrub no more.  She scrubbed again at the tile with
her brush, with each small stroke serving her Master, and with
each stroke a little flicker of joy in her heart.

An hour later, almost a quarter of the hall had been scrubbed
clean. Miranda had worked hard, eager that her Master should be
pleased with her upon his return.  It would shame him if guests
to his house found it slovenly and disorderly--they would see
that he had failed as a Master, failed to control his slaves in
the proper manner.  Miranda stopped to rest for a minute, needing
to ease the cramp in her legs and the ache in her back.  She sat
resting, with her back against the cold stone of the wall, the
beads of perspiration cooling off against it pleasantly.
Suddenly there was a loud clatter, and Miranda looked up to see
her bucket upturned and a great flood of dirty water wash over
the freshly scrubbed flagstones.  Aurora stood nearby, a shocked
expression on her face.

She came to Miranda, cried apologetically, "Oh, sister, this one
is sorry...she did not see your bucket!"

Miranda felt rage rise within her.  Her work had been spoiled and
now her Master would surely punish her for failing him.  She
cried out in complaint, "You should watch where you're going,
Aurora!"

"Yes, sister," said Aurora apologetically, "a girl is sorry,
really she is.  She'll tell Master that it was her fault.  He
won't punish you for it if a girl explains to him."  They both
knew that wasn't true.

Miranda said, "Thank you, sister, but a girl can't let you.  It
was this one's task to scrub the floor."  She reached out and
hugged Aurora, pressing herself lightly against her.  They stayed
like that for a moment, then, somehow Miranda found that her lips
touched Aurora's, kissing her.  Ever since that moment last night
in the tavern when she had first seen her, her thoughts had been
concentrated upon Aurora.  Her skin was soft and smelled of
perfume, just like her very own; her hair was soft and shiny just
like hers, her waist was slim and narrow just like hers.

Why was this so?  A strange sensation seemed to pass through her
whole body as the pair wrapped their arms around each other.  A
cold tingling shiver; her senses awakened, subtly but definitely
arousing her.  Aurora stroked Miranda's face and smiled softly at
her.  She did not smart from the kiss, was not horrified by the
advance.  She pushed her tongue between Miranda's lips and
tenderly kissed her, brushing her tongue against her teeth, then
pulled back, teasing with tip of her tongue.  Miranda kissed her
back, her own tongue entwining with Aurora's, stretching out to
the back of her throat.  She had imagined it would be soft and
passionate, feminine -- and it was, but there was something more,
too.  Something she couldn't quite define.  It felt good.  This
was pleasure, this was a touch, this was what it was like to
connect, intimacy and emotional understanding flowing through
their joined mouths.

They finally parted.  Aurora said softly, "Thank you, sister.
This one will make it up to you, sister."

Miranda nodded and looked into her sister's pale blue eyes,
feeling close to her in that moment.  The small touch they had
shared was enough, and Miranda knew that all else would stay
within her dreams. She picked up her scrubbing brush and set
back to work as Aurora slipped away.  She must work hard before
her Master returned.


* * *

"Miranda!"  She heard her Master's voice roar from behind her.
He rushed towards her, grabbed her, dragged her by the hair.  She
followed, staggeringly painfully behind him.  "You have disobeyed
me, Miranda!"

"A girl...," she stopped, crying out loudly, "...uhhhh...a girl
is sorry, Master."

"You will be punished, Miranda!  I am displeased with you, I told
you to scrub the floor.  Look at it, it's a disgrace!  Come with
me!"  She had no choice but to obey as her Master dragged her
roughly along.

"Master, Master...a girl," she sobbed, failing to find her voice.

"I am going to punish you, Miranda.  You are mine, all mine.  I
will show you who is the Master.  You shan't fail me again,
girl," he breathed imperiously.

"Yes, Master," she managed to say between harsh breaths,
tottering along by the leash of her extended hair.

Her Master led her down the corridor from the serving hall,
through to a smaller room at the side.  "Stand still," he told
her.  He searched in his pocket and pulled out a coloured strip
of material.  Miranda could not see properly what it was, and she
dared not strain forward and break her taughtly held position.

Her vision faded out to black out as her Master tied a veil over
her eyes, advancing on her from behind.  He ordered her to walk,
which did she did unsteadily, and he led her over towards the
wall.

"Raise your arms."

Miranda raised her arms in the air as her Master had told her.
He pulled them higher, straighter into the air, correcting her,
and she winced slightly, feeling an increased pressure upon her
arm sockets. She felt something rough slip around her wrists and
grow tighter, much tighter.  She was being bound, she realised
suddenly, and felt a tremor of panic churn through her stomach.
Her Master worked with equal haste upon her ankles, securing them
just as tightly.  He could discipline her now, she was bound and
vulnerable, totally under his control.  Yet there was a quiet
thought at the back of her mind, barely breaking through her
panic, but still calling out to her: only when bound did she feel
at her most liberated; the paradox of bondage yet freedom for a
girl.

She waited expectantly, nervously, hearing the only the breath of
her Master as he stood by her, seeing nothing but the panorama of
darkness before her.

Roughly he tore away the flimsy covering of her dress, then
grabbed at her nipple; at first he pulled sharply, then gently in
alternation, so that she moaned pleasantly, the small ripples of
sensation washing over her like a warm, slow tropical tide. Then
he pulled her nipple more forcefully and suddenly twisted it hard
beneath his rough, thick fingers.  Miranda cried out, quickly
gasping for breath. It hurt her terribly but only for an moment;
she would have dropped to her knees had she not already been
bound.  She could feel her distended nipple burning painfully
from her Master's touch, sink back slightly in repose, and it
started to tingle pleasantly, recovering from its assault.  It
seemed that pain produced pleasure.

Her Master reached up to the wall and removed a half-burnt taper
candle from its mount.  He stared at its wavering flame for a
moment, deciding upon his purpose before turning to Miranda.  Her
stomach leapt as she heard his foot steps approach her,
resounding with a click-clack upon the flagstones.  Quickly, she
turned her head from side to side, thrashing, trying to peer
through the dark veil that covered her eyes.  An icy, creeping
sense of vulnerability took hold of her, clenching all her
muscles tight for a second before she shivered in release.

Her Master held the candle above her, until the clear fluid
welled, overflowed, and dripped down spattering over her breast.
It dripped downwards to cover her nipple completely and slid down
the underswell of her breast, solidifying as it neared the slight,
furrowed undulation of her ribs below.  It was so hot, burning
hot, and Miranda could do  *nothing* to resist the sensation!
She could not hold herself protectively, nor wipe the wax away.
She simply had to submit to its will.  It would burn into her
skin, warming her, and she would be forced to respond as a true
slave girl should.  She panted and cried as it burned her,
further arousing the passions of her breast.

How she wished her hands were free so that she might massage
herself, soothe the sweet, scalding sensation in her breast.  It
burned, it burned, but it was a sensation forced upon her body by
her Master.  Oh, it was an incredible pleasure! she thought.  She
squeezed her legs together, desperately trying to draw forth the
rapturous passion that lay always locked away, never to this day
released within her slave heat, now engorged and moist from her
Master's attention.  If only she could have relief, if only her
Master would allow it.  If only he could show her the way.  A
girl could not find release for herself, only her Master could
release those pleasures for her.  She sobbed in frustration,
shaking, pained and aroused, tears welling in her reddened eyes
as more wax dripped on to her body.  This time her stomach, her
thighs, thin trails of white wax dripping downwards, forcing
blissful satisfaction from the slave girl's body.

She recalled her nakedness when she had disrobed, her hesitancy
at revealing herself.  Now her Master had bound her and removed
all of her inhibitions.  He may pleasure her (or punish her) in a
way she would never freely admit to enjoying, and her body would
not lie; the true lusts and desires of a slave would be revealed.
Her Master was to tame her, to bring her to total submission.

"Stop that!" her Master barked, quite ferociously, noticing her
movements.  He put the candle back on the wall, then returned to
stand right by her, speaking close to her ear.  "Did I say that
you could pleasure yourself?"

"Well, did I?" he said again, a second later, barely giving
Miranda time to raise her voice.

"No, Master; you didn't say a girl could."  She gulped, and an
icy tremor slid down her spine.

"I didn't say what, girl?"  He paused again for a brief moment,
"Well, I'm waiting...."

"No, Master, you didn't say that a girl could pleasure herself."

Her Master stepped closer to her.  He told her, "I will decide if
this slave--" he broke off, and moved his hand to the swollen,
hot mound between her legs.  "You're a little slut, aren't you?"
he asked, caressing her -- Miranda groaned in response.  "This
slave is her Master's little wet slut, aren't you?  You want to
rub yourself, don't you?.  You want to rub your clit and get all
wet and sticky inside, don't you?"

"Yes, Master.  A girl..." Miranda stammered, struggling to find
her voice.  Her need, the voracious sexual desire of a slave girl
almost overcame her as her Master plied his fingers inside her,
penetrating her up to the knuckle, spreading the sensitive inner
lips of her sex wide apart, "A girl is her...her...her Master's
little wet slut," she finally managed to say, her voice broken by
the strength of her arousal.

"You want to touch yourself, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," Miranda admitted.  She blushed, embarrassed by so
openly revealing her sexuality.  She was very shy and modest by
nature, she hated to bring attention to herself in any way at all.
Everything lay inside of her, her thoughts and her desires, those
lingering looks at so many men, all locked away underneath her
long black curls.  But here she was, telling her Master of her
desires.   "This slave wants to touch herself.  She wants to rub
her clit and put her fingers inside herself.  She wants to have
an orgasm, Master, she wants..."  Her cheeks burned as she heard
herself say the words; it was *she*, not I--slaves were never
permitted to refer to themselves in the first person--but it was
all true, every single word.

She wished he would say more to her, say those filthy words that
would never pass a modest girl's lips.  She wanted her Master to
use her, thrust his fingers deep inside her, open her wide until
she was slick and wet with her syrupy sexual fluids; until she
was frenzied, maddened, painfully aroused, calling out to him,
grinding her hips against him, seeking final penetration and
submission; until the bud of her clitoris was swollen, hard and
erect, peeking out its fleshy hood, pulsing against the cold air
of the room with its hellish glorious heat, threatening to
explode and release all of her pent-up desires in a single,
ecstatic, lingering primal scream.  She wanted him to use her as
an object for his pleasure.  She was his slave, she had to serve
him.  And then his penis, oh his penis...how she wished that he
would take her, enter her with his penis, long hard strokes deep
inside her body, thrusting again and again into her clasping
ravenous womb, crushing her body under his weight, controlling
her completely...

Her wild thoughts were interrupted by her Master's voice:

He strutted around her, keenly inspecting her body. "Stand up
straight, my little slut.  You're slouching.  And keep your legs
apart," he ordered.

"Yes, Master," said Miranda.  She straightened her back and
spread her legs apart as he had told her to.

He lay a hand on the small of her back and pushed her forwards,
forcing her straighter, accentuating her feminine curves.  Her
chin, he adjusted just as roughly--leaving her in no doubt that
she was really his, he was not playing with her--until its
position pleased him.

Suddenly the veil slipped from her eyes, and her gaze met her
Master's own beautiful eyes for a split second, flashing past,
her own bound image reflected as he adjusted her head.  It was
forbidden, she may not look into his eyes without his express
permission.  Instantly he took a leather riding crop from his
belt and struck her bare bottom with it.  "Uhhhhh..." she smarted,
and jolted spasmodically as it struck her flesh.  A thin pink
line with the faintest trace, a sliver of blood upon it, welled
up on her bottom and throbbed hotly, her quickened pulse racing
through.

"Now, who will decide if this whore is allowed her pleasure?" he
said, replacing the crop in his belt.  He then secured the veil
back around Miranda's eyes, blinding her again.

"Master will decide," Miranda replied.  She stared into the
darkness of the veil once more, the sense deprivation making her
more aware of her body, of the red welt upon her bottom.  "This
girl is his slave, he owns her.  It is for Master to decide what
his slave will do."

"Yes, that's right, little one," her Master said.  He cupped his
hands around her cheeks and forced his tongue into her mouth,
kissing her deeply.  Miranda could do nothing but accept the kiss,
stiffling her breath until he at last released her.  Then he said,
running his hand quickly across her breasts, teasing her already
painfully stiff nipples,  "I will decide if this little slut is
allowed her pleasure or not."

"Please, Master...please let a girl have her pleasure,"  begged
Miranda.  "Please, Master.  Please...this slave really needs you;
she loves you."

Her Master stared at her, seeing the need that burned deep within
her flicker from her dark, sweet eyes.  She seemed so innocent,
so beautiful to him.  Moments passed as he contemplated.  Miranda
stood bound, her Master by her side.  She felt herself wrenched
up before falling quickly to the floor as he released her bonds.
She lay on the floor, unmoving whilst her Master paced around her.
His hands worked at her head, pulling away the cloth, uncovering
her eyes.  The sudden brightness pained her and she squinted
against the light.  Her Master walked away from her, over to a
large fur in the corner of the room.

He called over to her, "Miranda, come."

She came to him, rubbing her freed wrists and staring at the red
friction marks caused by the leather as she padded across the
flagstones.

"I want you, Miranda."

"Yes, Master."

"Come to me."  He beckoned her closer, and then pulled her down
to the fur when her fingers clasped his.  "Come to your Master,
girl."  She knelt by him and he kissed her, this time tenderly,
lovingly, not as when he had punished her.  Her heart beat faster,
her need rising again as her Master kissed her.  She needed him,
needed him as a woman needs a man.  Her hands clambered down his
chest, rubbing him, stroking him, feeling all of his hard,
masterly body.

"Girl, you will take me into your mouth." her Master said.

Miranda blushed at the thought of what she was about to do.  She
was about to pleasure her Master, pleasure him as a slave girl
should.  She touched the rising stifness of his groin, hurriedly
loosening his clothing, grasping excitedly as she freed him.  She
could only stare, transfixed at the vision before her.

It was just as she had imagined it, her Master's beautifully
erect penis, standing hard and proud.  A girl's need could only
be sated by this alone.  She reached down between her Master's
thighs, tentively touching him with gentle fingers.  Then, braver,
delighting at that first touch--oh, it was truly beautiful, the
most beautiful thing she had ever seen!--dwarfing her small hand,
standing proud like a spear, she wrapped her hand fully around
its wide girth.  Her Master pushed her head down hard, making her
swallow his bulbous crown whole, the thick length of his
throbbing, hot penis; then deeper he pushed until he was all
inside of her, thrusting at the back of her throat.

Miranda struggled to breath, her whole body pulsed as if charged
by a powerful surge of electricity.  Between her thighs, those
fleshy pouting lips now engorged, yearning to be filled by her
Master, she was enflamed and soaking wet, oozing her feminine
fluids as he thrust his hard penis up into her mouth, filling her
once again.  She could hear her Master's pleasure, his cries, his
calls to her, him moving faster and more urgently all the time.
She lowered herself even more, giving all of herself to her
Master.  Then he seemed to freeze, his body jerking rhymatically,
and Miranda felt a rush of bitter, salty fluid fill her mouth.
She swallowed hungrily, drinking deeply on his semen as it
continued to spurt into her; she had received her Master's
pleasure, received his love for her.  He reclined, groaning, and
moved his hands to her breasts and squeezed, kneeding her nipples
whilst she still eagerly tasted him, swallowing the last drops of
semen, licking away the white, thick dribble on her lips.  Her
Master placed his arm around her waist and her whole body shook,
trembled equisitely in the knowledge that she had served him.

She raised her mouth once more, finally free, taking a first
breath of air, and her Master pulled her towards him, back
against the fur.  She drew herself closer, becoming entwined
within her Master's protective embrace.  They lay together,
silent, in the afterthrows of their passion.   A warm satisfied
glow coarsed through the slave girl's body as she relaxed.
Tonight she had pleased her Master and would sleep safely in his
arms.  Tomorrow, with the dawning of the new day, she would arise
to serve him joyfully once more.

end 2/2.

comments etc. to: endemoniada69@hotmail.com

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