tagGay MaleThe Slave Boy 01

The Slave Boy 01


*Don't worry!

I've had some problems with taking a long time to complete series, but this is one story where you don't have to worry. The entire story is completed as of now, but I am releasing it in two chapters for sake of length. I'll release the next chapter next week.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my new 'series' The Slave Boy.

All Characters are 18+*

It was very dark in the slaves quarters. It was always dark. Most rooms in the Keep tried to have high vaulted windows for natural light, but the slaves weren't worth the windows, so our sleeping place was a long low-ceilinged hall under the grand hall. It was only five feet from the rough cobbled floor to the thick creaking ceiling, and the thick pillars that kept the floor above our heads never seemed like quite enough.

Cave-ins had happened in the past, so every night we slept in the fear that we wouldn't wake up, or that we would wake up screaming with a jut of splintered wood in our stomach, like that poor old woman not two moons ago.

We didn't have separate rooms, only the main family, and honored guests got private rooms. Lesser guests, like visiting peasants and infantry slept on the thick straw in the main hall. We slept in the thick straw under them.

I could tell it was morning by the foggy clang of the slaves bell. It rung at the very crack of dawn all year round, so in winter we got to sleep in a little. However, in winter there were more feasts and celebrations because there was no open war in the winter and the only way to pass time was to get drunk and sing and impregnate the slave girls with bastards.

I was a slave, so this is a list of all of my possessions. Two linen shirts, white. One thick cloth vest, brown. One light pair of summer trousers, brown. One heavy pair of winter trousers, brown. One winter cloak, black. One pair of felt boots, black. One pair of light slippers, brown. Three pairs of thick woolen socks, white. Three loincloths, white.

Those were all of my possessions. My food was given, or withheld, every day. I could not carry weapons, and even in the kitchens, I was allowed one knife during the day to chop vegetables and meat. Every night, when all of our masters and those we served finally fell asleep; we were thoroughly checked by the cook, who doubled as the slave-master.

I had been captured when I was fourteen, and I was one of the lucky ones. Yes I worked longer, yes I got less food, and yes I got very little sleep, but I worked in the kitchens. It was hard work, but I worked in a place where only theft or laziness could get me whipped, and I was a boy.

Slave girls were free property to any freedman who wished to have a roll in the hay. Many of the slave girls were so cowed by now that they were afraid to go to the market. I knew a girl of sixteen that had already borne three bastards. The slave-master had to use girls as house and kitchen slaves. They were heavily desired by the crowds at feasts, and they generally worked better in the kitchens, but they did need a few males as well, they could go outside without the near-certainty of being raped by a passing soldier.

I was lucky because when I was fourteen, I was cramped and weak and filthy from over a month jammed in the hold of a viking ship. The crops-master proclaimed me too weak to work in the fields. I may have gone to a quarry or a mine, an even worse fate, but one of my slavers, the man who had captured me when I was cowering under a bed in the loft above my father's shop, recalled that I was a baker's son. I still remembered him, a tall fierce man with reddish hair and pale eyes.

I was sold to the kitchens of a rich general named Boris Strong-hammer, and I had worked there for four years now. I supposed I would work here for the rest of my life, maybe even live to the ripe age of fifty. Slaves could grow old in the kitchens, as long as they worked hard enough.

I put on a fresh loincloth, my heavy trousers, socks, felt boots, linen shirt, padded vest and warm winter cloak. I put my slippers in my pocket, those are what we wore inside. Me and a scrawny man named Colin were the only men in the slow trudge of house slaves. We crawled out of the tiny hatch that had been unlocked by the slave-master, and he counted us out and tallied our names as we came out.

Today we were all awake, but woe to any girl that had slept past the slave bell and not been awakened by her fellows. That had happened to me just once, and the slave-master had stripped me naked on that freezing cold morning, tied me to a post and poured buckets of water over my head till I was half-drowned and my skin turning a dull purplish-blue from the cold. He had whipped the warmth back into me, and then told me if I liked to sleep so much, that he would give me a reason to stay in the quarters.

It hadn't happened again.

The house-girls trudged over to the great hall above the hatch we had just crawled out of. They would clean the mess up as quickly as they could in order to dodge the letch of an early-rising drunkard.

Four house-girls and eight kitchen-slaves, including myself and Colin. It was hard work keeping up for not only the family and guests, but for all of the field slaves, who spent their winter rebuilding and fortifying the keep walls, and tending to the animals.

We worked for an hour, making porridge with honey for the guests and family, and porridge without honey for the slaves. In the brief time when no dishes needed to be scrubbed and no food needed to be made, we all ate a small bowl of porridge and a shriveled apple.

In no time, we were working again.


It was in the noontime lag when we saw them.

The sun had come out, so despite the cold we were eating our afternoon meal of pottage (thick soup of vegetables, grains, onions, and a few scraps of pork) outside to enjoy the brief sunlight. The courtyard was white with packed snow, except in places where hooves and feet had churned it to frozen mud. The wooden keep door opened, the watchman was blowing an excited call on his horn, when they came in.

We got up and huddled against the wooden kitchen (kitchens needed to be built far away from large homes, even stone homes because of the wooden supports) and watched them come in, over fifty men on horses, with a small herd of remounts following them. The horses were laden with clanking bags of metal armor, for the men were only wearing the leather pads worn under the armor, and each man had the livery of their home on it. It was fifty land-owners, back from some crusade or war, here for food and wine and girls.

I watched long enough to see Boris Strong-hammer come out and clap one of the men on the shoulder, but then I fled back into the kitchen, eating my pottage as fast as I could. Fifty men meant we would have to work until the break of dawn.


Colin and I were the slaughterers. Boris wanted to make this into a feast, so Colin, me and several of the field slaves were ordered to slaughter and butcher two fat hogs, a fat calf, three goats and a dozen fat geese.

We were all exhausted after nearly two hours of slitting, boiling, skinning, butchering, and plucking, but the work had barely began. All of the animals were too big to be slow-cooked with this little time, so they would have to be roasted. The twelve field slaves were digging pits and chopping wood, while the kitchen slaves were spicing and preparing the animals, shoving sharpened poles all the way through them and cutting slits in the meat to rub spices and oils. The organs of the animals were cut out and cooked as sweetbreads.

We always felt overworked, but even with the help of the field slaves we were dying. We were working so hard that we were all allowed a chunk of bread spread with soft cheese and a slice of onion. I wept with gratitude. It hadn't been ordinary hunger of the belly, we felt that every day. It had been the deep, all-consuming hunger of the flesh, where I could feel myself growing stronger with every bite of the soft nutty bread and soft flavorful cheese and pungent onion.

We still had to cook fresh bread and roll barrels of wine and mead out of the cellar. We had to grill fish and greens on a flat scrap of tin. Had to make beef stew with wine in it and rich-man's-pottage, a mixture of herbs and grains and pork so tender it melted into the stew.

My eyes were blurred and my hands were raw with work. It was finally time to serve. The men were to carry in the whole bodies of the hogs and the goats and the calf, served on giant wood platters and garnished with greens and stuffed with herbs and gleaming with juices and gravy. My hunger was so great that I had to swallow over and over to stop myself from drooling. My knees trembled with weakness and I nearly dropped the platter of goat that I and another young man were bringing in. When we set it down, he asked me if I was alright. His eyes were so beautiful. I looked down and mumbled that I was okay before hurrying back to the kitchen to help.

The men sat at two long wooden tables, and those poorer, or with less status sat on stools or the floor. They tore into the meat like animals and ate it with their fingers and teeth. They were like wolves, pushing us out of the way and lunging at the slave girls trying to pour their wine.

Ten girls were too little for nearly a hundred men. Some of the local nobles had brought their girls, and that brought it up to maybe thirty, but it still wasn't enough. They fucked them in plain sight, in corners, covered by cloaks, or even just on the tables. Freewomen were there too, and they satisfied their men, and some men they weren't with, but there was no one to serve the food but me and Colin and a few of the field slaves.

We had to duck and dodge to avoid flying food and utensils, I saw Colin get hit by a metal plate and he fell unconscious. Two field slaves dragged him out before one of the barbarians started to piss on him, or kick him, or something equally cruel and degrading. One of the Freewomen had gotten up and was doing a lewd dance to the music of a trio of men with a drum, a brass horn, and a fiddle. I thanked God for her presence, she distracted the men and allowed me to serve platters of stew and fish and refill the wine jugs without being disturbed.

I was rushing out of the room to grab a big pot of stew to replace a spilled one, when a man grabbed my forearm. I froze and turned to him attentively, hoping he wouldn't kick me, or tell me to lick wine off his boots. Both had happened before, many times.

I looked right into the eyes of Haagan the Fierce. I knew this man and that froze me even more. He was the man who had captured me, and proclaimed me too weak to work in the mines or quarries or fields.

I still remembered what I had seen him do. All of the captured slaves had been in a barn, and I had seen him fuck a boy. The boy was older then me, a scared farmer boy with big muscles and a simple frightened face. Haagan had turned the boy on his stomach and taken his penis and shoved it first in the boys mouth, and then the boy's ass. The boy had whimpered piteously with pain and humiliation.

I remembered this feverishly, I had been sick and weak and I had seen it through pounding and throbbing eyes. All I remembered was Haagan's name, and his red hair. His hair was a thick rich dark red, and his beard was trimmed short, most of the men left their hair and beard long, but he kept both short. I remembered why. He was a legendary fighter, and he got right in, fierce and close, he kept his hair shorter so no one could grab him and pull him in.

I wondered if he remembered me.

I stood there in front of him, and then in a moment of panic I realized that I hadn't heard what he said. His eyes were the color of ice, coldly amused.

"Forgive me sir." I babbled hoarsely, casting my gaze to the floor. "Forgive me, I...I did not hear you." I looked at his big leather boots with the lines of metal buckles up one side, cringing and waiting for a blow.

His voice was deep and rolling and amused. "This wine is watered to make it last longer, I want you to bring me some of your master's French cognac, I know the greedy bastard keeps a few bottles hidden away." He saw the naked fear on my face, and he pulled a small bronze token from his fingerless leather gloves. "Bring this to the cook, and you will be vouched for."

I relaxed a little, bowed deeply and fled to the kitchen.


The little bronze token had an imprint of a sparrow-hawk on both sides. When I showed the token to the cook, the big man froze and then sighed.

"I guess I'm going to be rid of a good slave for the rest of the night." He saw the confusion and fear on my face. "If Haagan has given you his token, that means he likes you. He's going to force you off into some corner and fuck you until dawn breaks. I hope the other men will be done with my girls soon!"

He crossly got me a glass bottle from the cellar. The cook had never given me a word in my life, unless in command or complaint or punishment, but now he was giving me advice. "Haagan has never used a boy from this Keep before, but I've heard that he's a thousand times better to his boys then most of the rest of these pigs treat my girls. Listen to him and try to play along, and he might even give you a trinket or something."

I took the bottle and slid it under my vest. The bronze token in my palm felt like it was cutting lines into my flesh and my breath was a tight little wheeze in my chest. Had Haagan known somehow? Been able to guess that I had felt stirrings for Colin and the field slaves and men my whole life, stirrings that I should have felt towards women? Had he known somehow that I wouldn't resist? That I had never disobeyed an order in my life? Or had he just seen me as the only slave boy in the room that was small and skinny enough for him?

I knew almost nothing about what happened when men used other men like women, except that they liked smaller, more womanly men. I stopped at the duck pond for one second, and in the smooth ice I could see a distorted image of myself, scrawny, dark-haired and dark-eyed. What on earth could possibly be attractive about me?

I hurried into the great hall, memories of that frightened farm boy filling my eyes and ears.


I slid behind him and he turned in his heavy wooden chair. I caught his eyes for a moment before turning submissively down, and the flash of his icy eyes made me flinch, and made my groin throb once, so hotly and powerfully that I gasped. I timidly gave him the bottle, and he took it from my hand. I flinched when his rough calloused fingers brushed mine. I was trembling like a mouse and my knees felt so weak that I might collapse.

He smiled broadly and I was surprised at the flash of white teeth. "You look feverish boy, come with me." I suddenly did feel feverish, with the wave of heat that pulsed through my body when he touched my forehead with the scarred knuckles on the backs of his fingers. My knees did buckle and he caught me as he stood up in a fluid motion. He put on his red cloak with the black designs on it, and swept me down the narrow hallway, while I followed, dry mouthed and confused and suddenly terrified.

This man was going to fuck me. I still remembered the bawling sounds the farm boy had made, first of pain, and then delirious shameful pleasure. Sometimes, when I jerked off in the darkness I played guiltily with my asshole, only it was so dry that even with spit I could only work one finger inside. How would a man's cock fit? I remembered those hurt screams that the boy had let out, the look of hurt on his simple face. I felt so scared.

Suddenly, we were in one of the private rooms. I had never been in one of the private rooms before. It was a stone room with a wooden floor and ceiling. A small fireplace burned brightly and warmly. There was a chest filled with Haagan's belongings and a small table with a small mirror of highly polished bronze. A ceramic basin and pitcher of water stood on the table. Instead of straw and a blanket, like I had always seen, there was a wooden frame with strings pulled tight across it, and resting on the strings was a thick woolen sack filled with straw and fresh herbs to make it smell nice.

The woolen blanket on the bed was dyed in bright colors, and over that, a thick sheepskin covering. He even had a shuttered window. The floor had a thick red rug covering it, and my slippered feet sank into the softness.

I turned to see Haagan, watching me with those unsettling bright eyes. I looked down, trembling and weak in the legs.

I felt so... there was no other word for it... feminine. I felt like one of the very young slave girls about to get raped for the first time. Sometimes eventually the girls liked it, especially if the man was gentle, but the first time it was always rape. I felt very aware of my body underneath my clothing, especially my cock, which was slightly erect. I had never felt this way before, hot and flustered and scared and eager all at once. More scared then eager. Sometimes, those girls who got raped for the first time came in and they would be bleeding and crying. Some even hanged themselves.

I remembered the cook's advice. To listen to every word he said, and to try to play along. I took a deep breath and slid out of my padded vest. I took a few trembling steps and placed my vest on a bit of bare floor near the wall. I didn't dare look at him, any moment, and he would jump on me like the men that women told stories about. My fingers were trembling, and I was having trouble untying the laces that kept my shirt tied tight at the neck and chest.

I flinched and gave a panicky little cry when his rough hand touched my trembling hands at my throat. His hand wrapped slowly around the neck of my shirt and pulled me in close. His chest, clothed in a horsehair vest and a sweat-stained lined shirt, was right in front of my nose, and I could smell the thick masculine smell of him. My knees weakened a little and for a moment he was holding me up.

My hands were on his chest and I was shaking, standing so close to him that his smell filled my nose and the tips of our footwear touched and when I swayed a little from weakness I could feel the tip of his erection brush my stomach through all of the cloth.

"So frightened..." He murmured, and his free hand was suddenly stroking my hair, petting me. I could feel my eyes close slightly, and a small moan escape my mouth. It felt very good. I felt a moment of humiliation, at being soothed like a frightened animal, but I just closed my eyes tight and tried to focus on how good that felt. My mouth felt so dry, I swallowed.

"Has another man ever had his way with you? Laid on top of you? Or forced you to touch him? Has another man maybe, put his mouth or hands on you?"

I shook my head, not daring to open my mouth or look up into his eyes. My cock twitched inside my pants. I was having thoughts, thoughts about Colin, and the field slave with the beautiful eyes. Thoughts about Haagan. Oh God, what was he going to do to me? And why was I aroused?

"Such a good boy though, yes... You are going to remember this night for a long time. Look up at me boy."

I was able to look up as far as his chin, covered with short dark red hair, and with a slight dimple. He put his hand under my jaw and made me look up the rest of the way. He didn't hurt me with his hand, but I could feel the strength of his hand, and knew that if he wanted to, he could have me screaming for mercy, my clothes torn open, cowering on the floor at any moment.

He had a new scar on his right cheek, a thin line that went right under the bone. That hadn't been there the last time I saw him. His eyes were pale, and full of a mixture of lust and curiosity, and a lazy sort of warmth. I could feel his heartbeat under my hands and his shirt, powerful and steady, like a horse. I jumped and cried out when a soft knock came from the door.

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byCruel2BKind© 11 comments/ 93304 views/ 100 favorites

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