Unveiled

"Move it, boy!"

The crop lashed at the backs of his legs and Peter grit his teeth, not allowing the trader to see one shred of pain flicker in his eyes as his skin stung and welted from the blow. He did, however, grunt a small laugh at the command. Boy. Hardly. At his age he'd fought more wars and seen more of the world than any sniffling boy would ever dream of. The scars on his chest were faint but jagged, while his back remained untouched. Warriors like him never allowed the opportunity for an enemy to see his back long enough to mark it with steel.

So how did he end up bound at the wrists, naked and being yanked along in a line of slaves? It seemed surreal, like a horrible nightmare that refused to end. As he scanned the slaves around him and grimaced to the drivers who were too fat for any other occupation, images of his recent past flashed in his mind. Of his brothers, his men who fought by his side until only a handful were left. Of the intoxicating enchantress who promised his people victory if he only pleasured her in her bed. Of waking up in chains, stripped and gagged and gawked at with giggles and hushed whispers as he was sized up and humiliated in front of his enemy.

That's how it happened. He let his lust blind him into the chains of the very position he once ruled. Peter the Slaver, who trained and sold only the best slaves in the land, who was a force to be reckoned with, whose legendary prowess made virgins swoon and older wives blush behind their veils. Peter the Warrior, who cut down men like vines in a jungle only to claim their women and children as plunder, taking a few sweet girls as temporary bed warmers until they were broken enough to sell to a household.

Nameless the slave, stripped of clothing, title, home and everything he once held dear. The only relief he could find out of this horrible turn of events was that he had no family to worry over him, no woman to cry herself to sleep or children to beg in the streets after his vanishing. Was it a relief, or a stroke of sorrow? He quickly shook his head and narrowed his eyes at the gathered crowd.

"Ten gold pieces for this lovely young lass!" The driver nudged a girl barely in her womanly years to the front of the platform for the buyers to see. "See how ripe and beautiful this one is! No scars, no blemishes, and a good soft figure sure to warm your furs!"

The crowd chuckled and a few men called out meager prices for the shivering girl, who seemed both grateful and hurt by the lack of enthusiasm for her purchase. Peter sighed and restrained himself from shaking his head. He would have given her at least a few weeks to accept if not embrace her status as a slave before marketing her off to the wolves. At least she kept her eyes down, for to look a free person in the eyes meant immediate death.

"Did I mention she is a virgin?"

Suddenly the men swarmed and threw coins at her in fervor, and this perked her plush lips up in a small smile. The driver grinned greedily and accepted the highest bid of two hundred gold coins from a middle-aged warrior and nudged her into the man's arms. Next was an older woman in her prime, full figured and slightly scarred from carrying children. The piercings in her ears signified a slave bred to be a slave who apparently also bred slaves.

The sale of one was perhaps the saddest of the trade, even to a hard slaver as Peter, for despite her status she was still a mother. Even though she never carried parental rights over the young, she would always love them. He did not deal with breeding slaves for that very reason, telling those who tried that he does not train or sell used goods. It would have ruined him if people learned of his soft spot.

A crash of pottery clattered in the air and yanked Peter's attention to the stalls of the market, where a man in a black cloak and silver bracers grinned lecherously at a young woman backed against the table. Normally this would seem nothing, for it was common for men young and old to make advances both genteel and brash on beautiful women, but something was different here. The man grabbed the woman's arm and mumbled something with a sneer, but instead of gasping and huffing, the woman gritted her teeth and lashed her nails at him. With a howl the caped man stumbled back and grasped his face, a few drops of blood seeping from the welts.

"You little bitch!" He cried in a roar as he lunged at her, and when she stepped aside making him trip over himself, he growled and snatched her basket.

Something wild and fierce flashed across her face and in an instant her dagger was pressed against the man's throat. Peter couldn't hear what it was she was snarling through gritted teeth, but it was enough to make the man's face pale and his arms slowly and gently set the basket back down at her feet.

"Twenty pieces!"

His attention snapped back to the crowd before him, and Peter realized he was being auctioned off. Fingers reached at his legs to poke and prod, women gaped at the size of him, men nodded and muttered and sized him up as an asset and threat to their households and beds. He could not help the corner of his mouth from curving in a slightly amused smile. Of course no free man would want him as their slave, he would quickly replace them in the wife's affections and bed. As charming as all this was, he felt pulled to see what was of the woman and her basket.

She sheathed her blade and took a few deep breaths, then bent down to the basket. Her hood fell back and Peter took in a sharp breath at the sight of her bright auburn hair, sun-kissed waves of copper and gold that spilled over her shoulders but were pulled back from her face. Oh, and what a face. Round in the cheeks but slender at the chin, with an expressive brow and bright green eyes, but the most intoxicating feature were the plump pink lips that curved in a gentle smile as she gazed at the contents of her basket.

When she lifted the bundle and a sharp cry gurgled out, Peter felt a shiver run through him at the realization that she was a mother. A young, new mother who gave hell to anyone who threatened her babe.

Her face showed relief as her soft lips kissed the cheeks of the squalling little one, but her eyes were worried and uncertain as she held her babe to her breast and looked over at the platform. Slowly she picked up her basket and made her way into the crowd, ducking her head and weaving between the noisy people who argued and bid over the former warrior up for sale.

A sudden burst of laughter and gasps emerged from the sea of faces, and Peter swallowed hard but kept his face still. Damn it. In his naked study of the woman he had neglected to remember his own virility and now his mast stood proud and tall for all to see. Oh well, better that they know just what exactly they were buying.

"There's no way in hell I am allowing him near my woman!"

"Oh, I could definitely use him at my feet!"

"Do you think he'd make a good breeder?"

"How much for him?"

Peter felt another shiver when he heard the strong but very feminine voice call out above the crowd, and risking it all he gazed at the woman cradling her baby. She returned his gaze, meeting him in the eyes, unwavering as she not only allowed but encouraged this forbidden exchange between free and slave. Again she called out, "How much for this man?"

The driver scoffed. "He's no man! He is in chains and fifty gold pieces will put him in yours! Do you make a higher bid, Lady?"

She closed her eyes with a sigh. They both knew she did not have such a large amount of gold on her person, if at all. Peter felt his heart grow heavy and even though he did not know why she suddenly mattered to him, the fact was she did. He watched her rock her little one and bite the corner of her delicious lip, and was that a tear forming on her long lashes? Upon further examination better done up close as she was, he saw no ring on her finger and no sign of any caretaker or ownership of a slave. Her gown was a lovely gold but slightly faded, and the cloth bundling her infant was soft but darkened with age. She wasn't here to buy a slave for leisure. She was here for help.

"Seventy pieces! Sold to the Lady in blue!" The driver nudged Peter in the back, but he refused to move. "Go on, boy," the man hissed in his ear. "You are bought. Accept your fate and go."

Peter clenched his jaw and kept his gaze on the lovely young woman, who was now looking at him with longing. He set his feet firmly on the platform and would not budge. When the crop lashed at his legs he fell to his knees, bent down at the waist and touched his brow to the platform.

"I submit to you, my Mistress."

Silence fell over the crowd, aside from the loud hiss of disappointment from the wealthy woman in blue. Peter knew as a slaver the rules of submission, that when a slave freely gave himself or herself to a free, it was acceptance or death. Since the only other people directly in front of him were men, there was no mistake that the woman he now offered his life to was the young mother in the faded gold gown, who slowly walked up to him with a furrowed brow. The sale was now invalid, and the only thing keeping him from the blade was her final decision to take him home or leave him.

Her slender hand shakily reached out to him, and it took every ounce of control to hold himself in when her fingers brushed through his hair. She tilted his face up but he kept his eyes down, and her voice was like music to his ears. "My name is Gwena. This is my son, Troy. You are welcome in my home."

A grin broke out across her face when the lead of the rope binding his hands together was placed in her own, and she gently guided him away from the platform. Peter clenched his fists to restrain himself from touching her, chanting in his head that he was her slave, no longer a free man, not allowed to just grab and hold that soft, slender, luscious body with rounded hips that swayed side to side as she walked....

"Are you all right?" Gwena cut his binds and he looked around. They were inside a small cottage, filled with bolts of cloth and warmed by a fiery hearth. How long had he been daydreaming about holding those curves in his arms? Blinking hard he saw that the home was nestled in a valley, just up an old paved road from a small village. Wow. She was certainly much better in seduction than the slimy enchantress for him to completely miss what must have been hours of walking.

"Aye. I mean aye, my Mistress." Peter cleared his throat and quickly sunk to his knees at her feet, keeping his back straight but eyes down. He was grateful she did not notice the shiver of pleasure that coursed through him at the touch of her fingers. Or was he disappointed? Gods, this woman confused him. "How shall I serve my Mistress?"

She went to the kitchen and poured a goblet of cold mead, cursing under her breath when a few drops splashed on her fingers. "I'm sorry, I'm not used to.... Well, let's just say I'm not your usual mistress or free woman or anything for that matter." She picked up the goblet, cradling it in her hands as she walked back over to him and offered it with a slight raise of her arms. If he dared to guess, she was once a slave herself. No free woman could or would serve with such grace or at all to a slave. "Are you thirsty?"

Peter took the goblet and smiled. "Aye, thank you my Mistress." The mead was sweet, heavenly nectar in his throat and he drank it back with a moan. His eyes watched the droplets of the amber liquid cling to her fingertips and before he could stop himself his tongue lapped at them.

Oh sweet, sweet gods, she tasted divine. He tugged them into his mouth with his lips and sucked greedily on the slender digits, growling in his throat when he heard the soft moan emit from her chest. Warm and wet, his tongue teased and played with her hands and he felt himself swell and throb with desire to make her realize just how talented his mouth was on every part of her body. But a small cry and then a high pitched wail emerged from the cradle by the fire and his mistress quickly abandoned the growing pleasure to tend to her child.

"My Mistress, may I be allowed to kennel?" Peter grit his teeth in agony and anger at himself and the powers that be for tantalizing him into a fantasy that was not to be. For now. "Unless you need my services...."

Gwena smiled at him warmly as she cooed to the babe. "Aye, it's been a long day and you look very tired. Sweet dreams, mine." She walked over to him and placed a soft, sweet kiss on his brow, then as an afterthought pressed her lips to his cheek. Before either of them slipped, Peter smiled and quickly rose and strode into the room beneath the stairs reserved for slaves.

The fur tickled his back as he lay in the dark room, and all he could think about was her. Gwena. Suddenly slavery didn't seem so bad, in fact it seemed this was going to be a blessing. If being on his knees meant being allowed to gaze at those tantalizing legs and firm round buttocks and oh, those full, heavy breasts laden with milk for her young one.... He was going to like being a slave very, very much.

"Gwena," he breathed as he wrapped his large hand around his equally large phallus that throbbed and pulsed with desire. As he stroked himself into a pumping frenzy, his hips bucking and lunging into the air, he imagined his sweet soft mistress straddling him as he plunged into her hot core, his mind filled with the cries of ecstasy her intoxicating lips would utter as he buried himself inside her womb. With a guttural groan and tensing of every muscle of his body, Peter felt the hot wetness of his seed as it splashed on his thighs and hands. Oh gods it had been so long. With nothing but the fur to clean himself, he settled for rubbing it into his skin. His mind saw his hands rubbing it into her creamy thighs and he gasped as he hardened again.

Slavery was either going to be heaven or hell.

"Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods Master!"

He gripped her hips firmly, almost painfully as he slammed himself into her quivering pussy, relishing the squeals of pain and pleasure that the girl let out between gasps. Her compact body writhed and wriggled under him as she met his thrusts, her firm small breasts bouncing back and forth as her swollen vaginal lips clung to his slick shaft. With a grunt he tangled a hand in her golden hair and snapped her head back. "Take it, girl! Take your Master's cock!"

"Aaayyyeeee!" She clamped hard on his throbbing shaft and screamed, her orgasm urging him to his own. But he wasn't done with her yet, and he pounded through her spasms causing her to wail and sob in wracking pleasure. Her small fingers clung to the furs as his hand kept her from burying her face into the cushions, arching her back so he could sink deeper into her womb.

Only a few months ago his hand would have gripped the auburn waves of his beloved Gwena, his cock would have been buried and worked inside her heavenly heat. At the memory of her sweet perfume and soft skin he slammed into the girl and groaned, his balls clenching and pumping his thick seed inside her. "Oohhh...." Oh Gwena, he thought as he shuddered through his release.

It was his own fault for his temper, for his foolishness, but never would he admit that. He should have never left her alone in the valley with their children. He should have never blamed her for the horrors that happened to their family while he was away. He should have never beaten her and chased her away from their home and bed, and now that he wanted her back she would not have him. It was his own fault she no longer trusted him, with her or their son. It was his pride that kept him from admitting his mistakes to her, and his pride that threw the blonde slave girl onto his bed and plunged between her open legs.

Draco grabbed the girl's breasts and pulled her up against him, keeping his length deep inside her despite her whimpers. Her soft sounds of spent energy ignited him, and she shuddered and groaned as he hardened within her. With closed eyes he ran his calloused hands over her smooth body and caressed her, wishing and willing it was Gwena's body so pliant in his arms. The girl reached up and touched his cheek, stroked the scratches on his face absently as she reveled in being used. Kneading her firm breasts and rolling the hard nipples in his fingers, he chuckled as the girl slowly began to rock her hips on his cock. "That's it, girl, ride me. Give me your passion."

Their lips met and he kissed her deeply, entwining their tongues together. He swallowed her moans when his fingers found her sensitive clit and rolled it along his cock, making her tremble and work her hips faster. With eyes closed he made love to her, drawing out orgasm after orgasm from her flushed, sweaty body until he drained himself into her, onto her and everywhere in between. With eyes closed he gave her his passion, imagining it was his beloved wife in his arms.