Message-ID: <5965eli$9711291249@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: endemoniada Subject: The Master's Castle -- 1/2 (M/F, Fantasy, D/s) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: endemoniada69@hotmail.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-Id: <199711291441.PAA09574@mail.force9.net> =============================================================== The Master's Castle 1/2 (M/F, Fantasy, D/s) by endemoniada69@hotmail.com ============================================================== The serving hall of the lodge lay still and quiet as the evening emerged, the Master of the house long departed with his party of warriors on a wolverine hunt, and the first beams of moonlight cast their soft, ethereal glow through the stone carved window. Tufted furs from many beasts slain by the Master lay scattered across the cold stone floor of the hall, where he had earlier bid his slave to serve him. Upwards, the hall's high roof strutted with heavy oaken timbers, and, below, the curve of its arches, alcoves and corners lay veiled, half-hidden in wispy, flickering shadows as the torches lined upon the walls burned low. A lone girl, Miranda, the Master's beloved slave, sat in the centre of the serving hall. She rocked herself gently to and fro, her knees tucked up against her breast, her head resting thoughtfully upon her knees. She blinked suddenly and stirred, drawn from an idle thought; the yellow embered torchlight flickered against the surface of her dark, wet eyes. Her exposed skin, pale and delicate, took upon the opalescent glow of the torch light and drew the fiery warmth in towards her. She sighed, warmed, yet still cold and alone within the domain of her thoughts. Her Master had left her, that was her only thought, was all that was worth considering. A low, sad murmur escaped forth from her soft lips, realising as she did, that long fretful hours awaited her before her Master's return. He had bade her goodbye, with a lingering kiss to her lips. His tongue had searched out her mouth as only a Master could, his hands had slipped downwards, toying with her breasts, then caressing her firm bottom through the sheer cover of her silks. It was a kiss she craved. Her Master, with his overwhelming masculinity--a true man of the kingdom of Arandis, all about his person was muscular and well sculpted, beautifully proportioned, truly, exquisitely male; his voice deep and commanding; she smiled at the thought--the only one who could set a humble slave girl's heart aglow. She would not let go of her Master, pressing her slight body tightly against his, wrapping her arms protectively around him, afraid for him as the wolverines awaited. Yet, she knew, to her Master, a skillful warrior renowned throughout the land, the wolverines' claws would be as much a threat as her own weak arms that lay around him. A girl could not help but worry. Should her Master fail to return she would be all alone, unable to serve him, no longer having any purpose to her life. Miranda, like all slave girls, lived to serve, her very being and joy of life being borne from her Master's pleasure. "Girl, release me." A sharp word from him, from those same strong lips that had lovingly kissed her seconds earlier, and she released herself, stepped back a pace, her eyes lowered respectfully. Her Master smiled as he saw his beloved's disappointment, her pretty face crinkling in concern for him. "Don't fear, Miranda, your Master shall return to you soon." He reached out his hand and stroked her cheek, sweeping back a lock of her silky black hair, to wipe away the tear that had fallen from her eye. "I wish you to smile for me, Miranda. A girl should always be beautiful for her Master. Never let a tear spoil your beauty." "Yes, Master," said Miranda, raising her lips to a smile. She felt at once reassured, her Master had spoken and she would always obey his command. "A girl wishes you to return with haste, Master," she said, smiling once again. "Don't fret, Miranda," her Master said as he turned away from her, "your Master shall return." "Take care, Master," whispered Miranda sadly, as her Master strode away from her out from the hall. Thus remembering her Master's sad departure, Miranda rose from the floor and walked over to window. The moonlight cut across her face as she stared, yearning, outside, towards the far distant sprawl of the forest that her brave Master and his retinue journeyed towards. * * * The morning came, streaming sunlight through the window to fall upon the huddled up, sleeping slave girl. She stirred, yawning as the first light of the day woke her. She pulled her curled form up from her sleeping fur and stretched out her tight limbs, tossed her long hair to and fro, and wiped away the last remnants of hazy sleep from her eyes. She blinked--once, twice--and the sight of the serving hall lay clear before her. Then a sudden, terrifying thought: Her Master, where was her Master? Her mind raced in a blur of panic, recalling the past night and her fears for him. She ran from the serving hall, her heart beating wildly in anticipation--nervous, excited--out into the corridor, searching the outward chambers for any sign of her Master's presence. Minutes later, her heart sunk in dismal gloom, Miranda returned to the serving hall. Her Master had not yet returned. All morning she busied herself with her work in the kitchen, preparing for her Master's return. Surely he would be hungry after his long night away from her. The hours passed slowly, until the sun reached its afternoon peak. Just then, she heard a noise from the courtyard and rushed to a window to look down. There was her Master, she could see him riding towards the castle. In moments she would be in his arms once more! She hurried from the kitchen, making her way to the serving hall to await her Master's arrival. Footsteps resounded from the corridor, and through the archway came her Master. He called to her, "Miranda, come here," upon catching sight of her. The slave girl sprung to her feet and, smiling all the way approached her Master. She wrapped her arms around her Master's broad chest and held herself close, hugging him warmly. "A girl is happy to see you again, Master," she said smiling, her face so bright that it seemed as if the tears of the previous night had never been shed. "The hunt was a success, Master?" "The wolverines will bother us no more, they are all slain," he replied. Miranda gasped in horror, seeing a patch of blood stained upon her Master's tunic, obviously a blow from his fallen adversaries. He head bested them, but not without a price. "Oh, Master, you are wounded!" she shrieked in horror. He shook his head, barely appraising the wound. "'tis nothing, girl; a mere scratch." "Please let a girl tend your wounds, Master. She can see that you are hurt." Her Master did not answer, did not even look upon her. Instead he paced away from her and settled himself, cross-legged, upon the serving furs. "A girl loves you, Master. She worries for you. Please permit her to tend your wounds," asked Miranda in a soft whisper, kneeling before him. She shivered all of a sudden. Had she been too bold? she thought. A girl cared for her Master, but she knew that she must know her place and not step an inch from it. "Ambrosia." Miranda nodded; the issue was at an end, her Master had spoken. "Yes, Master. It's this slave's pleasure to serve you." She rose to serve her Master, strode gracefully towards the bar. She took her Master's goblet--the finest of them all, befitting of his status--from the rack and rubbed it with a soft cloth, so that it may be fit to touch his lips. The image of his handsome face came to her. His long, dark hair and his well defined features, harsh but beautiful; beautifully, captivatingly male, she thought. The skin of ambrosia hung from a wooden peg above the bar. She stretched up on her toes, extending her short height as far as possible, and took it in her hand. She knew that her Master was watching her. He looked up as she returned to him, and Miranda smiled warmly, fully and openly, all her slave beauty revealed for him. His face was indeed just as handome as she had visualised it. She then kneeled, took the goblet in her hand, uncorked the skin of ambrosia, and carefully poured a measure into the goblet. The last droplet dripped into the goblet and the smooth surface of the sweet drink rippled reflectively against the light. Miranda raised the glass to her breast, held the cold metal against her skin, imparting in the gesture the love from her heart. Then she placed the goblet to her soft lips and kissed, slowly and surely, all around its rim, so that her Master may taste her devotion with each sip. Her eyes again lowered respectfully, she offered the drink to her Master. "May this serve and this humble slave girl please you, Master," she whispered. Her Master reached out and took the goblet from her, pausing for a second to appraise his slave's service. Miranda lay deathly still, the blood drawing away from her already porcelain complexion, as she awaited his word of approval or disapproval. In this moment of judgement a slave girl knew her place; she must wait to see if she had pleased her Master. They were agonizing seconds, stretching out before her, seeming like endless hours, until her Master nodded and smiled at her. A girl had served well. She had pleased her Master, she would not be disciplined. She kneeled before her Master, watching him drink from the goblet. Several minutes passed in silence, every second her awaiting his command, ready to serve him. Often she wanted to speak, break the silence and speak to her Master--'A girl loves you, Master,' in her gentlest tones--but she knew that she must hold her tongue until he bade her. "You will come with me to the tavern tonight, I have business there with Master Hawk," he said, at last breaking the long silence. "Yes, Master," said Miranda, gladdened that her Master would not spend another night away from her, "this slave will be pleased to accompany you. May she ask what Master's business is?" His expression became questioning, "Why? What concern is it of yours?" "No reason, a girl is just curious, Master," Miranda said defensively, not wishing to appear intrusive. He smiled mysteriously. "You shall see, my girl." Miranda waited for her Master to continue his explanation, but he said nothing more. He looked at her for a few moments, his gaze lingering over her body thinly veiled beneath her silks, and brought himself a little closer. He sipped thoughtfully at his ambrosia, then after a time said firmly, "Disrobe." Miranda nodded. Her lowered eyes stared down to the modest peaks of her breasts--inwardly she frowned, perhaps her Master would not be pleased with her, she was slender, lacking obvious curves, not as voluptuous as other girls--and began to pull at her silks, slowly revealing her climes to her Master. Then, in mid flow, her hand clasped over her left shoulder, clutching the soft material, she paused and blushed demurely. A few seconds passed, the slave girl standing impassively, frozen like a statue. "Miranda, you will disrobe," her Master repeated, his tone unwavering, no more insistent than before. Yet she knew he would not ask her a third time--and she dared not make him. A slave could not refuse her Master's wish. "Yes, Master," she said. Never had a man, the weeks being short since her training as a slave had began, seen her fully naked, never had her femininity been completely exposed for male pleasure. She drew in a breath, her stomach became taught and flatter, and her silks slipped gently from her body to gather around her feet. She stepped away from them, drawing a pace closer to her Master, her body now as bare as her always uncovered feet. Modestly she lay her arm across her breast and turned away slightly, her thigh obscuring the dark curls of hair below her navel. "Miranda, uncover yourself at once!" "Yes, Master," Miranda said in fright, almost jumping at the command. She hesistated briefly, then she lay her arms by her side, slowly uncrossed her legs, revealing herself, and turned to face her Master. "Stand up straight, girl. I wish to look at you." "Yes, Master," Miranda said obediently. She straightened herself; the slight muscles beneath her slim frame rippled with movement, her breasts jiggled almost imperceptibly. She knew her Master could see every part of her slave body, those once private parts now uncovered and vulnerable, wholly for his pleasure. She stood fully a woman before him. "Turn." Miranda turned around, pacing in a small circle so that her Master could view her--his property--at his leisure. Once she had completed a full circle she stopped and stood silently before him. "Did, I tell you to stop?" his voice came. Miranda shook her head, lowered her eyes from him. "No, Master, you did not tell a girl to stop." "Then turn, and don't stop until I tell you." Miranda paced around and around, walked back and forth in a line as her Master commanded her, all the while displaying her naked body for his pleasure. She could not tell if he was pleased with her, his face lay still as he drunk deeply from his goblet. Her limbs, her back, started to ache, yet she held herself gracefully, her pert breasts thrust forward, her stomach sucked inwards, her bottom enticingly displayed, and her head held high and proud. 'A girl should always be beautiful for her Master'. Yes, this was the truth. A girl should always be beautiful for her Master, she repeated to herself, willing it so. Eventually, he nodded to her, called out: "Kneel." "Yes, Master," said Miranda. She slipped down to her knees, glad of the opportunity to rest her aching muscles. "Master..." she hesitated, spreading her knees a little wider apart, "are you pleased with this girl?" "Yes," he said looking upon her, "you are a beautiful slave. Your Master is pleased with you." Miranda knelt before her Master. She smiled, filled with pride in the knowledge that she had pleased him. "We are leaving soon for the tavern," he said. "Go prepare yourself, girl." "Yes, Master," said Miranda. She rose and slipped quietly from the serving hall, away from her Master. * * * A flurry of diaphanous red silk, the motion of a sister in the middle of her dance met Miranda's eyes as she stepped inside the tavern, trailing a respectful distance behind her Master. She strained her ears to listen above the rising clamour, the shouts and merry-making of the evening, anxious to serve her Master should he call her. "Greetings, Hawk," said her Master to another, one who Miranda did not recognise. "Good Evening, Blackcrow," he returned, though he did not address Miranda, casting only a perfunctory glance in her direction, aimed at the curves beneath her immodest costume. "Greetings, Master Blackcrow," she said, picking up the name. They walked towards the serving furs, all the way engaged in conversation. Miranda followed behind him; she glanced across to glimpse Master Hawk's slave. She was indeed a beautiful girl: dressed in red silk, tall and slim, dark haired like her, with full, luscious breasts--her glance was jealous at that--her waist tapering narrowly, her hips equally shapely and pleasing. A thought, one often visited her mind, came to Miranda. She blushed, knowing what she was thinking, that she desired to touch a sister, kiss a sister, hold a sister in her arms. Could it be that is was so, that this girl desired another? Only at night, when she slept, dreams overtaking her, would she allow herself to think such thoughts. In day time, when she looked upon her Master and felt the passionate stirrings of a slave girl, she would allow no such thing to cross her mind. She was a woman, and a woman only. She must be for her Master only, and all else, the beautiful girl who walked beside, she who she shared the bond of servitude with, should remain an unrealised dream; safe and untouched. "Greetings, sister," the beautiful slave girl said. "Greetings, sister." Miranda stared at her again as they walked. She looked to her waist, the sharp points of her generous breasts, looked to her meagre own, and then turned her head away. Still, those thoughts... The slave girls followed their Masters over to the serving rugs, both kneeling close by whilst their Masters talked of their business. The red silked slave whispered to her, "This one is called Aurora." "Miranda, sister," said Miranda, smiling faintly. "You are just beginning your training?" Aurora asked. "Yes, this slave has served her Master only a few weeks. She is still learning." "It is the same for all us girls. You must trust in your Master," she looked up briefly and smiled towards Master Blackcrow, "he will show you the way." Miranda nodded, taking heed of the advice. They sat by their Masters, able to talk no longer as the tavern grew busier and the noise increased. "Girl, serve me," a voice called out above the others. "I must go," said Aurora, smiling again at Miranda. She rose and walked over to another Master, kneeling before him as he instructed her. Miranda waited too, staying carefully alert should she be called to serve a Master. She would serve another Master with the same pride and diligence that she would attend her own, he who was so very special to her. She worried that she might not be able to remember the correct way to serve. Could she remember exactly how to serve lemon tea correctly, mulled spiced fruit, in a goblet or a warmed bowl? Her thought hazed as she recalled conversations with her sisters, snippets of information here and there, carefully listened to and stored away for later use. She knew, even in the days to follow when she was an experienced slave that, a girl should always strive to learn more, so that she may serve her Master ever better and please him. Girls walked to and fro, serving their Masters, carrying food and drink, and the night drew on, her Master still engaged in deep conversation, until suddenly: "Come to my lap, Miranda," he called. In an instant, Miranda rose from her knees and padded softly over to her Master, perfectly poised and straight all the while, aware that the other Masters were watching her. She must not disgrace herself, and thus her Master--for which she would be swiftly and severely disciplined--in public. She settled herself gently on his lap. "A girl has missed you, Master," she said sweetly, adoration shining in her eyes. She laid a soft kiss upon his neck, leaned close to snuggle her head into the pit of his shoulder, and cuddled him. She felt safe and protected, sitting close to her Master on his lap, his mouth whispering sweetly into her ear. She could happily stay like this forever, just her and her Master, locked together in their loving embrace. He turned her head in a harsh movement, so that she trembled unsteadily, and kissed her hard, fully penetrating her mouth with his tongue. Eagerly, Miranda ground herself closer to her Master and opened her mouth as much as she could to receive his kiss. Even with this small touch, she could sense his raw, unfettered masculinity, how powerful and strong he was, and, in comparison, how small, weak, and dependent upon him she was. Her desire for Aurora seemed now a distant, ghostly memory. His hands rose to the nape of her neck, swept away her long locks, and massaged her with firm but gentle strokes. They continued to kiss, her Master taking the lead, Miranda kissing back when he allowed her to. He pulled his mouth away from her, and with his arms on either side of her waist, threw her over his knee in a clean, swift movement. She giggled, balancing herself upon him. He stroked her back, running his hand up and down its length, and swept her hair away so that if tumbled over her head, down to the floor. She lay bent over her Master, her weight completely supported by him, her stomach flat across his lap, breasts squashed underneath. She flushed hotly, aroused yet embarrassed, knowing that he could feel the hard arousal of her nipples beneath him; the legacy of his kiss. Her swathe of black, shiny hair cascaded to the floor, falling over her Master's muscular thighs, hiding her face from view. She could only stare downwards at the flagstones upon the floor, reflecting a glint of flame from the the hearth, as her breath came in short, sharp pants. Her Master's grip was tight around her neck, pinning her fast with his hand and restricting her breath. A girl should not be even allowed such a simple luxury as air if her Master would not permit it. She felt his free hand play over her silks, massaging her gently from the small of her back, sweeping down with his fingers to explore her plunging contours, beneath which lay hidden the all enveloping chamber of her slave heat. She moaned under her Master's probing touch, his hand now cupping, stroking, and squeezing her buttocks as if they were a piece of ripened fruit. As that same fruit, sweet and fragrant, delicious, she felt a moistness trickle from between her tingling thighs, dampening her silks. She willed him to probe further, to penetrate the source of a slave girl's passion and bring her joyous relief. She wondered, did this girl, this lowly one who was surely not the most beautiful of all her Master's slaves, please him? It seemed that a girl would not be permitted relief at this moment; her Master withdrew his hand and pulled at her silks, drawing them away from her, revealing the full roundness of her slave bottom to his roving gaze. Then, with shock, she realised...everyone else could see! All of the other Masters, all of her sisters in the tavern, could see her lithe, naked slave body. "Please, Master. Please don't, Master...everyone can see," she whispered, trying to control her rising panic, her flushing embarrassment. "Indeed, and such a pretty girl, too," he remarked, laughing. Miranda heard a voice call out; although from where, prone as she was, slung over her Master's knee, she could not tell. "A fine little wench you have there, Blackcrow!" Laughter erupted around the tavern as the assembled patrons looked on at the helpless slave girl thrown across her Master's knee. Miranda blushed, feeling as if her cheeks were consumed by a raging hellfire. Never had she been so humiliated, the only mercy was that she could not see anything but the floor, did not have to face the others. Her Master delivered a sharp slap to her bare buttocks, and she squealed aloud and squirmed. Again laughter exploded around her, the other Masters obviously enjoying the entertainment. "A Master thinks he shall spank his slave. Eh, what do you say, little one?" he said playfully. She could only manage a faltering, moaning, "Master, no Mast..." kicking her legs in vain, trying to wriggle free of his iron grip as he slapped her buttocks again. It stung just as sharply as the first time, and she cried out again, this time biting her lip to stifle herself. Her Master spanked her again and again, each time she cried out loudly, and each time the crowded roared in amusement. Her buttocks now ached--the sensation growing in stature from a sharp sting to a distinct pain--glowling pinkly, the same colour that her burning face flushed. But then, his hand coming down upon her again, the sensation seemed to transform itself. Yes, pain at first, stinging as always, but then an equisite warmth sunk into her, and she groaned quite wantonly, sluttishly, sounding as a whore being used, knowing that what she was feeling was pleasure, not pain. She pressed herself against her Master, and in seconds the pink buds of her nipples were more fiercely erect than ever, they too pulsing with the same wonderful feeling. Her arousal continued to build as her Master dominated her ever more, and she moaned ever louder, feeling as if the intense sensations would tear her apart inside if she did not cry out to release them. Finally the spanking stopped and she lay, breathing heavily, over her Master's lap, her slave girl's passion half-spent, her eyes tear stained. Miranda wept not from pain but from gratitude. She knew she had come close, her Master with his control of her had almost allowed her to feel the orgasm of a slave girl. It would come, she knew -- her Master would see to it. One day. Then as easily as her had forced her down, he pulled her upright, smoothing her silks over her, covering her tender, glowing bottom. "Master," Miranda whispered, wiping her wet face. That was all she could say, she could find no words to express the depth of her emotions. All her feelings she had expressed through her cries. Her embarrassment too, was gone. All she felt was contentment, so close had she been to being satisfied. She leaned close to her Master and snuggled herself into him, laying still and quiet for a moment. He kissed her forehead and held her to him against his chest. end of 1/2. ----------- -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /