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From: endemoniada <endemoniada69@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Master's Castle -- 1/2 (M/F, Fantasy, D/s)
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===============================================================
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.
-----------

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