A Slave's Journey Begins Ch. 12

"Open and over, slave," Liam commanded and Tara obediently bent over, spreading her legs and extending her arms to grip the post in front of her. Liam pulled out the small plug and before the hole could close again, pushed the head of the larger plug in. Tara gasped but remembered her training and relaxed her tight muscles around the new invader, letting Liam push it all the way in. Tara struggled to breathe through the pain as she realized that unlike the first one, this one did not get any easier to take once the head was in, as its inch-wide neck continued to stretch her protesting asshole, and with the harness holding it firmly in place, there was no way to escape it for even a moment.

"I understand your journey home will take three months, is that right?" Liam asked. He looked to the boy-slave still on his knees, but it seemed the Princes understood him without any translation.

"Yes," the Artist replied. "Three months by sea to reach home."

Liam pulled the two remaining plugs from the bag and gave one to each Prince. "A few hours each day starting with the one inside her now, then that one," he said, pointing to the two-inch wide plug in the Artist's hand, "Then that one," pointing to the three-inch wide plug in the Warrior's hand. "By the time you reach your destination..."

"... You should be able to use the slave as you please without damaging her," Thomas finished the sentence as he entered the Training Room. "I trust you are pleased with the trade your father has brokered?" Whether they understood him or not, the Princes nodded in unison, pressing their palms together in the gesture of respect customary in their country.

"We...take her now?" the Artist asked.

"Not yet, my friends," Thomas replied. "There's one more thing I must do before she leaves."

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The Backsmith was a short man, gruff of voice and steady of hand. He kept his own cottage and workshop on the grounds of Blackmore Estate and had served the family well for many years. He had been just about to head to the main kitchen for some lunch when he saw the Young Master himself coming down the path towards him - with a naked slave in tow.

"'Afternoon, Sir," he said. "This the one who it's for then?"

"Yes, is it ready?"

"Aye, it is."

"Why don't you make little Tara here comfortable on the throne and then we'll go take a look."

With a brisk nod, the Blacksmith took the girl by the collar and pulled her into the back room of his shop. It was a cluttered space, hot from an ever-burning fire, and filled with all manner of tools that made Tara nervous despite not knowing what they were for. Then she saw it. A forbidding looking black iron chair with wide set legs fitted with metal rings where one's ankles could be held in place, and perhaps most disconcertingly of all, a large black phallus jutting out from the seat.

"Sit," the Blacksmith said. Tara took a deep breath and began to slowly lower herself on to the cold metal rod, but between her dry pussy and her aching ass, the task proved too difficult. The Blacksmith watched her sympathetically. "First time on the throne, eh?" he asked. Then calling to Thomas, "She's havin' a hard time with it. A little oil perhaps?"

"No oil," Thomas' voice came back firmly. "Her cunt needs the practice."

The Blacksmith shrugged as if to say 'I tried,' then seeing the look on Tara's face, sighed and spat into his hand, quickly running the saliva up and down the shaft. "Now, sit," he said again, this time placing his hands on Tara's shoulders and forcing her down.

Tara winced and whimpered as her vagina stretched painfully around the intruder, but she had no choice but to accept it pushing into her, uncomfortably deep, until her plugged ass was planted on the punishing chair.

Tara's ankles were thin enough to fit easily in the metal restraints, but once the Blacksmith locked them in place, Tara was left splayed wide open, feeling exposed and overly full. Satisfied that she was properly seated on the throne, the Blacksmith left her as she was and returned to attend to the Young Master. Tara remained rigid, trying to stay as still as possible, as even slight movements caused a renewed rush of pain from one or both of her stuffed holes. She leaned her head against the chair back and closed her eyes, trying to focus on something, anything, other than what was happening to her body. The more she tried not to think of it, though, the more it was all she could feel - the pain, the stretching, the fullness. It was a little like when the Warrior had fucked her, impaling her on his massive cock. And if she understood correctly, he meant to fuck her ass as well! A tremor passed through Tara as she thought of what that might feel like, while at the same time, the memory of his tongue probing her asshole brought a sudden warmth to her sex. Her imagination conjured the Artist's dancing eyes, the Warrior's rippling torso, and all four of their hands all over her body. Tara didn't know how long they left her on the throne - it could have been an hour, or only a few minutes - but she did know that by the time they returned she was hot and wet and desperate to cum.

Thomas recognized the flush on the slave's skin at once and smiled. To the Blacksmith he said, "Go and have your lunch. I can finish up with her myself." The Blacksmith placed the box he held on the table across from Tara and with a quick bow, he was gone leaving Tara and Sir Thomas alone together once more. Thomas circled the chair slowly. "Your training has progressed well," he said. "I have decided that you shall remain a slave of Blackmore Estate. It's true that you are leaving us today to serve new Masters in a new land - and I expect you to serve them very well indeed - but no matter where you go or who you serve, never forget that you belong to this house." He stopped in front of Tara and tilted her chin up so that their eyes met. "Never forget that you belong to me."

Tara swallowed hard, her heart pounding, the Young Master's touch filling her with a heady mix of fear and desire. "Yes, Sir," she replied softly but clearly, unflinching under his icy gaze. "Thank you, Sir."

Turning away from the doubly skewered slave to retrieve something from the table, Thomas asked her, "How shall I mark you as mine? There are after all, many ways to show ownership." He turned around holding what Tara recognized as the brand of the Blackmore crest used to mark cattle, and, she realized with growing terror, perhaps slaves as well. He pressed the cool iron to the top of one breast, just hard enough to leave a slight imprint, then pulled it back and after a moment's consideration, pressed it to the soft flesh of her thigh. It was only when he turned back to the table that Tara realized she had been holding her breath and she expelled it slowly, only to feel her chest tighten again when she saw that in the palm of his hand he now held a small but very sharp piercing needle. Pinching a hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger, Thomas pulled it taut and touched the tip of the needle to the sensitive pink bud. Tara bit her lip and forced herself to remain silent, even though everything in her cried out to beg him not to do it. When he took a knee between her spread legs and none too gently pulled back the hood protecting her clit, Tara could no longer suppress a sob, but she clenched her fists at her sides and tried to still the shaking that had overtaken her. For once, she was thankful for her shackles, for without them, she would not have been able to hold her position.

"Close your eyes, slave," Thomas commanded and Tara obeyed, tears slipping helplessly down her face, as she awaited whichever torture he chose to inflict on her. He was beside her now, his face close to hers. "Still so afraid," he said, brushing a tear from her cheek and letting her lick it from his fingertip. "But you are learning to control your fear so that it doesn't hinder your obedience. That pleases me." Tara heard a click and then to her great surprise, felt the steel collar she had worn for the past year release its familiar grip on her neck. She heard Sir Thomas' footsteps and then he said, "Open your eyes."

Standing in front of her, Thomas held the box the Blacksmith had left. He opened it and Tara saw that inside was a finely crafted silver collar, studded with small blue gemstones and beautifully engraved with the Blackmore Crest. Taking it from the box, Thomas fitted it around Tara's neck and locked it closed.

"There are many ways to show ownership," Thomas repeated. "A collar befitting the house to which you belong will suffice." Thomas pulled her head back sharply, "For now." Looking down at her, he felt his cock twitch. Toying with the girl had made him half hard. Fear had that effect on him.

Without releasing his grip on her hair, Thomas opened his pants and brought his cock to Tara's mouth. "It seems we've come full circle," he said as she parted her lips to take him in. Holding her head in place, Thomas drove his cock fully into her throat and held it there until Tara's face turned red. He pulled back just enough to give her a few gasps of air before pushing in again. Long rivulets of saliva escaped from the corners of her mouth, her eyes filled with tears, and her throat contracted painfully again and again, trying in vain to expel the hardness that choked her. He throat-fucked her mercilessly until he was on the verge of cumming, then pulled out and made her suck his heavy balls until he was ready to fuck her mouth again, which he let her know by slapping her face with his hard cock until she opened her mouth wide for him. He repeated the pattern three times over, savouring the build-up, waiting to see if the slave would break, but Tara held her own, using the skills she had learned in her time at Blackmore Estate to please the Young Master as best she could.

When Sir Thomas' cock finally exploded in her mouth, Tara was ready. Spurt after spurt of thick, salty cum filled her mouth and Tara swallowed quickly, not spilling a single drop. Thomas stepped back from the girl and she bowed her blonde head.

"Thank you for using me, Sir. May I be of any other service to you?"

Thomas thought of the mess she had made the night of her arrival and smiled. Such a big improvement in such a short time.

"No, slave," he replied, bending to unlock her ankles and offering his hand to help her from the throne. "Your collar suits you," he said as she took his hand in hers and holding it tightly, slowly lifted herself off the phallus that had filled her. "I think you may just prove worthy of it."

The creaking of the door turned Thomas' attention away from Tara. "Come in!" he called to the Blacksmith who poked his head into the back room and said, "I can leave you be if you want more time with her."

"No, we're through here. I think you and I have a few more things to discuss though."

"I'm at your service, Sir."

To Tara, Thomas said, "Return to the slaves' quarters. Mistress Leanna has packed what you will need for your travels and I expect the Maharaja's caravan will depart shortly."

"Thank you, Sir," she murmured and with shaky steps, walked out of the back room and then out of the workshop into the afternoon sunlight.

Tara's jaw ached and her throat felt raw, her legs were stiff from being held in place, her sore pussy protested with every step she took and the plug in her ass still burned as it forced her open, never letting her forget what was in store for her. And yet, as she ran her fingers over her new collar, Tara couldn't help but smile. An adventure she had never dreamed of lay before her and a home she had never imagined would await her return. The slave's journey had just begun.

THE END

(Or the beginning!)