Chieftain Ch. 02

Author's note: I highly suggest reading Chapter 1 of this story before continuing here. As before, there are elements of non-consent and slavery, though in a primarily fantasy setting. This chapter is an attempt to further develop the characters and setting, rather than advance the plot, necessarily. Comments are welcome. Thank you.

*****

Ata had been a slave for as long as she could remember. But the Empire didn't raise children as slaves. Indeed, she had been born free, as was everyone under Imperial rule. But her life before now was lost to her. She was now a different being entirely from that long lost free woman. Her survival depended on this dissociation of identity, this compartmentalization within herself; so thoroughly had she been broken. That free-born woman was gone. She...was a slave.

As such, she couldn't remember the last time she had been on a horse. Her hands had been lashed to the saddle, so she was far from being in control, but her new master seemed quite the lenient sort for even allowing her to ride. His sheepskin was still wrapped around her shoulders, and she could feel the strength in his one arm that held her before him, while the other guided the reins.

She felt a sense of security in his grasp. He would keep her safe. But his was an unfamiliar world. Thankfully his people spoke the common tongue, but their culture was foreign. The younger of his two companions, the one called Karvol, seemed to strongly disapprove of her presence among them, while the elder, the one called Kirtuk, seemed mostly amused. She wondered what it would be like when they came to his village. She had been told it would be at least one day's journey after this.

...

The girl...the slave...was suprisingly quiet before him in the saddle. This was not out of the ordinary for barbarian people, yet the chieftain had expected more from this outlander. She had asked no questions, and seemed content to simply be taken wherever they were going. The Imperial guard had insisted on binding her to the saddle, if she were allowed to ride at all. Sakara had wanted him to make her walk behind the horse, but the girl was barefoot, and this would have surely slowed their progress. He thought of how strange a place this Empire of theirs must be.

The girl...the slave...was slender. He could have crushed her tender frame with the one arm that held her, but instead felt the need to protect her. She was truly a victim in this game they were playing, and Karvol seemed to lack the sympathy to realize that in accepting her as his property, he was freeing her from oppression.

The men of the tribe did not own their women. They took care of them, with sharply divided gender roles, but the concept of a person as property was a whole new idea among them, even if Sakara had said that she was not truly a person at all. It was clear that Karvol did not like it, but Kirtuk was almost too enthusiastic in his amusement. The chieftain had to be sure to be careful, even among these, his most trusted warriors.

"We should make camp," Kirtuk declared, "No need to press on, and darkness will be upon us soon."

Karvol's horse rode behind Kirtuk, without its rider, for Karvol was behind the others, driving the wagon of provisions sent by Sakara.

After riding for a few more minutes, they came upon a rocky outcrop in the hillside, forming a natural shelter underneath. Small hunting parties used the spot often, and it was littered with the scorched remains of old camp fires and the bones of discarded meals. The chieftain slid from his saddle as Karvol set to unhitching the horses of the carriage team.

"Kirtuk," said the chieftain, "We need a fire."

"Aye," the grizzled warrior replied.

"I can make a fire, Master," Ata said. It was the first she had spoken. Kirtuk smiled.

"Very well," said the chieftain.

...

She was surprised when he cut her bonds rather than untying them from the horse. How was she to be bound again? But it was not her place to question. Ata slid from the saddle, and set to gathering wood for a fire. They were travelling a well worn path...not quite a road...at the edge of a thick pine forest, and fallen limbs were not hard to come by. She dragged several loads back to the outcrop. It was hard work, and left her with many small scratches, but she moved hurriedly to beat the ever-fading daylight.

Her feet had not seen shoes for many a day, yet still she stumbled on the pebbles under the outcrop. The sheepskin fell from her shoulders as she lost her balance, and she dropped her load of lumber on top of her already smarting feet, causing her to cry out. She nervously looked towards the barbarians, but they paid her no mind.

She was naked once more aside from her collar, though she scarcely noticed. This was a natural state for her. She arranged the wood for the fire. Then she picked up the sheepskin and carried it with her as she kneeled once more before the chieftain, knees spread wide, back straight, head lowered in submission. She was well trained.

"Master," she said, "May I beg use of flint and steel?"

The chieftain seemed startled. He had been helping Karvol hobble the horses, and had not seemed to notice her approach.

"What is flint and steel?" he asked.

"For the fire, Master," she said.

"You said you could make a fire," Kirtuk said.

"I...I can, sir. I...I just need the right tools." She dared not look up at the warrior. He did not seem pleased.

"Here," Kirtuk said. He dug in his pack and threw a pile of wood on the ground in front of her. There was a curved piece that looked like a bow, as well as a long...was it an arrow? Then there was a flat piece...

"Master..." she said, her voice hesitant.

Her face grew red...

A chill built in her chest, and she felt felt light headed...

Her chest rose and fell with her increasingly heavy breaths...

She was going to be punished, certainly...

Her voice broke, "...I do not know what this is."

"It is a bow drill," said the chieftain, "Karvol, show her how to use it. They must make fires differently in the Empire."

...

In the end, it was Karvol who started the fire. Ata had made many an earnest attempt, but use of the bow drill required more strength and stamina than she was accustomed to. The chieftain had erected a travelling tent found on the cart, with Kirtuk. It seemed as though some of these provisions would be useful, afterall. Perhaps it was foolhardy to dismiss the Empire.

It was now decidedly dark, and the fire presented a warm and welcoming glow. The chieftain picked up his sheepskin from where Ata had left it and approached the fire with Kirtuk by his side. It sounded as if Ata were actually speaking with Karvol. But as soon as she heard the footsteps behind her, she was silent.

Her demeanor changed entirely, and she behaved in a most unusual fashion. She got on her hands and knees, as a dog or small child, then lowered her head and forearms to the ground. Her knees were spread wide, with her back arched, presenting her ass.

Her voice shook as she spoke, "Forgive me, Master! Please, your slave deserves to be punished!"

The three barbarians were shocked. It was Kirtuk who broke the silence...with a roar of laughter.

"Surely, this is a jest!" he boomed. He clapped the chieftain on the shoulder as he shook with laughter.

"What do you expect me to do? And why?" asked the chieftain.

"Beat me! Whip me, Master! I have failed you! Your slave begs forgiveness!" Ata cried. Kirtuk's laughter continued.

"Is this about the fire?" the chieftain asked, "If so, I see no failure. There is a fire before me."

"Karvol started the fire, Master. I could not."

Ata seemed truly frightened. She did not move as the chieftain left the sheepskin and paced around her to squat by her face, turned to the side and pressed to the dirt. Still, she averted her gaze.

"Look at me," he said.

"Yes, Master," she said, and she moved her eyes to meet his. Her body remained in position. The chieftain realized that this was the first command he had actually given his slave, and she had obeyed, instantly and submissively. As he looked into her eyes, he saw wetness on her cheeks. Tears. For a brief moment, he saw into her, and despite any rational judgment, he felt a surging in his loins. He owned this girl, and they both knew it. She was his.

Her breath slowed.

"Ata, get up," Karvol said, "No one is going to beat you or whip you just because you didn't know how to start a fire. The bow drill takes practice. Even I have trouble at times."

Ata did not move. Her eyes remained fixed on the chieftain. Realizing that she had ignored Karvol's command only made him harder. ...But he was the chieftain of his people. He was in charge, here, and he had to lead.

"I am not going to punish you for so trivial a fault," he said, "I was in truth returning the sheepskin for your warmth. Surely you are cold."

"The fire is hot, Master," she said.

"And yet you are made of flesh and blood," he said, "Gather the sheepskin and warm yourself."

"Yes, Master," she said, "Thank you, Master."

She scampered to gather the sheepskin, and returned to the fire. He felt himself throbbing.

...

The light from the fire danced on their faces. They shared food and drink, laughter and song. Throughout, Ata was silent. It was her place to serve, not to celebrate. She was far from home, and her mistress had recklessly given her away. She had been discarded like the useless slave she was. And it was no wonder. She had failed at the only task she had attempted to perform for her new master.

And yet there had been no punishment. Why was he treating her so?

"Ata was telling me of the Empire," Karvol said, "She does not know the ways of the wilderness, but she says she walked for countless days to reach that camp. They have been there for a ten day."

"I'm sorry, Master," Ata said, "I should not have spoken to him."

"Don't be ridiculous, girl," said Kirtuk.

The chieftain regarded her, "Ata, no harm will come to you here. I am a virtuous and honorable man, as are all of my people. You need not supplicate yourself so."

"I am your slave, Master," Ata said.

"So I have been told," he replied. "Karvol, take first watch. I fear I must retire."

He rose with sore muscles and turned toward the tent. Ata followed.

"I will warm your bed, Master," she said.

Kirtuk patted his lap. "I don't know, girl," he said, "This fire is burning low. I could use some warming myself."

Ata regarded the chieftain. "It will be as Master commands," she said.

"This is too much," said Kirtuk.

The chieftain paused. "Do as you wish," he said, "I have told you. You are among friends." He continued toward the tent.

Ata was left standing by the fire, wrapped only in a sheepskin. Kirtuk leered.

"I must go to my Master," she said, and she ran towards the tent.

Within, she found him removing his armor by lantern-light, his back to the entrance. She saw the muscles of his back as he stretched. He was the essence of masculine pride. She let fall the sheepskin, leaving her naked once more. She walked toward him slowly.

"You have told me that I am among friends," she said. She pressed herself against his back, her breasts compressed by his muscle. "And I have told you," she continued as she reached into his breeches, "I am your slave."

She felt the weight and the warmth of his sack, and the heavy meat of his manhood as it swelled within her grasp.

"Allow me to please you, Master," she said.

He sighed as she began to stroke his length from the rear. He had girth and length, and felt as a rod of pure heat and power within her hand. Had she been a less experienced woman, she might have been intimidated. But Ata was well trained.

"Your slave begs to serve you, Master."

Abruptly, he turned. He grasped her upper arms in both hands. She felt a chill of fear that she had again wronged him. She looked away.

"You will look at me," he said, "And you will serve me."

She looked into his dark brown eyes. "Yes, Master!" she said.

She sank to her knees before him. As she removed his breeches, she noticed he was uncut, like a true man. In the Empire, circumcision was one of many marks of shame carried by male slaves.

She took him in her mouth, using her tongue to lick his underside as she guided him in and out. He moaned above her, and while she used one hand to hold him, the other found its way between her own legs. Her breathing increased as she sucked and slurped. Slobber mixed with his fluids dripped from her mouth and rolled over her breasts, pooling in her navel.

Then she felt his hand in her hair, roughly. He pulled her back. She stopped pleasuring herself, and panted as she looked into his eyes. Her flung her backwards with ease, and she landed with a thud on the ground beneath her. Then he was on top of her. She spread her legs like the bitch she was. She felt him poised at her entrance.

He paused, and his face contorted with thought. Who was this man? Then all thought was discarded. He plowed into her with force. She felt him deep, his length pressing at her cervix. Then again. And again. He was not gentle. He was a man in rut, and she was helpless beneath him.

"Master!" she cried.

He slowed.

"Master, tell me your name," she said.

"I am-" he started.

Just then, Karvol entered the tent.

"My chief!" he exclaimed, startled at the debauchery before him.

The chieftain, startled, pulled out of his slave, just as he reached his climax. His seed shot forth, covering her from face, breasts, and belly.

She arched her head backwards to see Karvol behind her, and licked her lips as she panted. She did not know his name, but she did not care. She lay in his drying wetness, content. She had pleased her master.