The Slave of Lidir Read online

  When this was done, then Ildren would be filled with love; his lordship would be, of course, redundant. The Taskmistress would be rid of him as quickly as she could. She would stroke the woman's forehead very gently, and then address the lord.

  "This poor girl is exhausted now," she would say. "She has given her all, to bring pleasure to your lordship."

  Upon that point, his lordship would certainly agree.

  "Her training has been long and hard this night; we hope that in some way, our simple efforts pleased you."

  His lordship would then heap thanks upon the women, especially upon Ildren, for taking so much trouble just to satisfy his wants.

  "I thank your lordship, most humbly, for your kind remarks and gentle consideration. The slave shall, in due course, show her gratitude in kind ..."

  His eyes would light, and Ildren, with a deferential arm, would lead his lordship in the direction of the door, then whisper in a tone of confidentiality: "Perhaps her training could be extended in ... er ... some particular ..." She would not need to find the word; her meaning was quite lucid; his lordship's eyes would widen in delighted anticipation. "We would discuss the details, perhaps, in private ... possibly tomorrow ..." she would add as she closed the door behind him, leaving his lordship to his idle dreaming and, as chance would have it, leaving Ildren to the girl.

  And whilst the girl slept peacefully, in Ildren's bed or upon her couch, with Ildren's furs to keep her warm, the Taskmistress would plan the means whereby, close upon her awakening, the girl should be delighted further. However, Ildren never would disturb the slave in slumber, even if she slept till dawn, for Ildren's joy would be the greater for her waiting, her plan of action would be that much more precise, and Ildren loved to hear those heartfelt cries of girlish pleasure rise to greet the dawn - that is, if Ildren did not decide to gag her.

  The Taskmistress had many little devices garnered about her apartments - aids to pleasuring for the slaves and masters, and, it was certainly true, for Ildren also, who, despite so many of their lordships' fond beliefs, was herself by no means averse to the delights of physical pleasure. It was merely that Ildren preferred to take it slowly, with due consideration, not like their lordships, whose cry was always, "Instant satisfaction!" In truth, Ildren held these silly creatures far lower in esteem than she held the slaves, who supposedly were beneath everyone. She knew that the slaves, unlike their masters, could always learn new ways and that their lowliness of station was not of their own choosing; she could respect the slaves even as she was bound by duty to tame them to her will. She loved the slaves. She loved to bend them to her pleasure, even more than she loved simply to play with them.

  Ildren would spend long hours, well into the night, in sifting through her storehouse. She loved to touch those things, those harnesses and chains, those masks and gags, those moulded, polished lengths of wood and intricately carved bone, those tiny tongues of softened leather, feathers, rabbit's tails, and metal clamps, those knotted cords, and little balls-and-chains, those phials of strangely smelling oils and salves, with mysterious sensual properties, those angled mirrors, spoons and brushes, and very tiny scissors.

  One of Ildren's favourite toys was carved, from pure white marble, into an arching curve like a man's erect appendage, though simplified in form and possibly marginally smaller. She liked to heft it in her hand, her palm curved round the tight-curved double bag, to feel the way in which the polished stem expanded smoothly upwards to a plum, then tapered to a rounded point, so that when Ildren closed her fingers round the stem, it felt tight - and when she pulled against the bag, the stem would not slide out. She loved to slip into bed beside the slave and introduce this tapered stem into the woman's body, as a precursor to their early morning lovemaking.

  But Ildren's favourite toy of all was one which Ildren liked to use upon herself. It came in two parts, the first of which was a golden chain, secured round Ildren's waistline. The critical part, however, was a polished pear-shaped pendulum of gold which dangled from a second chain. This golden fruit was for insertion into Ildren's sex, or sometimes, depending on her mood, Ildren's anus. This insertion would normally be performed by Ildren herself in the night, while she was in the midst of sorting through her things, as a preliminary to any lovemaking which might involve equipment. She preferred to use a mirror, so she could watch the way her body spread to take the golden pear. Its shape was quite important. It meant that Ildren could contract repeatedly against it without it slipping out. If in time, she chose to have it taken out, then this could certainly be done with comparative ease, by means of the integral chain. Ildren might care to leave the latter dangling, so its coolness would brush against her inner thighs and constantly remind her of its presence; alternatively, items could be attached to it, or Ildren could, in rare instances, allow her body to be chained to stationary objects in this peculiarly intimate way whilst a favourite slave was permitted to pleasure her. Quite commonly, however, the chain would simply be looped upwards, with Ildren's fleshy lips around it, and fastened to the chain round Ildren's waist, so that each contraction of Ildren's sex would draw the chain up tight against her nubbin.

  She would try to wear the golden pear at all times when she worked a woman with the aid of her equipment. It gave her so much greater pleasure to feel it move within herself at some critical juncture - at the height of a woman's pleasure, perhaps, or possibly when Ildren, having worked the woman to the precipice of delight, would at the very last second decide instead to turn the woman back. Ildren loved to have a woman enjoy herself, repeatedly, in this way - especially a woman who, to some misguided eyes, might be considered more beautiful than Ildren. The Taskmistress had two special devices on which she preferred such a woman to be disported. She loved to bend a particularly beautiful body to the Horse, or more exquisite still, she loved to have that body mould its inner self about the Rod, so she could simultaneously love and work that body in its secret moulding - that the slave's training thereby be advanced, as her duty so required of Ildren.

  5

  A Punishment Ladled Out

  Anya had to help Marella down the steep flight of steps, through the overburdened suicidal servants who kept rushing up and down between the kitchens and the banquet. The smell of fresh-baked bread greeted the women as they passed the bakehouse; then they were enveloped by the mouth-watering aromas which drifted through the entrance to the kitchen.

  "Marella! - What have you brought me? Not another wench with thoughts above her station?" The short and fiery woman frowned and prodded Anya's ribs with the handle of her ladle, making her jerk away in fright.

  Marella laughed. "Cook - don't be rude! Anya is a guest tonight; she isn't here on duty. So feed her well and be very kind to her, for she is feeling very lonely." And she looked at Anya and then at the cook. "This is her first night at the castle," she added.

  "Ah - fresh and tender," said the cook. "But not for long, I'll be bound. You'll soon be sporting airs and graces, like the rest ... Yes," the cook went on, though Anya shook her head, "you will - and then you'll get sent to me. And when that happens ..." she puffed her chest out, "mark my words, my girl - I'll knock you down to size." The woman shook the ladle in front of Anya's face, and by now seemed quite excited. Anya could not understand what was making her so irate. "That's the trouble with them upstairs - their lordships ..." She jerked her head back contemptuously, which made Marella frown. "... No, it's true Marella, they let the bondslaves get away with it, and then Cook must sort them out. I'm here to run these kitchens, you know, not to chastise wayward hussies!"

  "Calm down, calm down," Marella said. "You only need to feed her. And anyhow, the slaves are sent to help you, as their duty. Their punishment ..." and then she lowered her voice as if she'd said too much in front of Anya, "lies in our domain ... But Anya shall not need it," she added, as reassurance.

  "Ha! So you tell me now, Marella." The cook moved very close to Anya and stared up into her face, as if trying to read the f
uture in that innocent expression. "But take this as a warning now - if you, my girl, should present yourself in my kitchen, for correction or chastisement, then it's that for you - before you start your duties," and she pointed to the corner. From the tone of the woman's voice, Anya knew it had to be bad, whatever it was.

  It seemed to be a trestle, a support from below a large table perhaps, just a single thick oak bar attached at each end to a triangular arrangement of poles. The bar was padded. Anya wondered why. "The Horse," the cook said ominously, and Anya then knew. It made her shrink back, but Marella put her arm protectively around her.

  "Stop frightening the girl," she said. "She's done nothing wrong, have you Anya?" Anya felt like crying now. "And when are you going to feed her? This girl has had nothing to eat since she set foot here in the castle - and probably nothing to eat all day."

  That seemed to be the magic spell, the key to the woman's heart. The cook was suddenly transformed into a completely different person.

  "Why, they've been starving you, my dear. How could you do it, Marella? You should have brought her to me straight away, and never mind the banquet! Those greedy gluttons there upstairs, they don't know when to stop, why they ..."

  "Yes, all right Cook, I know," said Marella. "You've told me ... many times before. So I'll leave Anya with you for now." Oh no, Anya thought, and she was very apprehensive; this woman seemed unbalanced. "You'll take good care of her?"

  "Of course I will, won't I dear?" Cook said, yet Anya was not reassured.

  Anya sat alone to eat, away from the steam and clamour of the cooking, and the heat of the five great fires, at the far end of a very long table. A steaming bowl of soup was brought by a kitchen boy, who eyed her shyly and did not speak at first; he waited beside her and nervously fingered his apron, until Anya relented and tasted the soup.

  "Mmm - good," she said. It was; it tasted rich and aromatic, though she could not decide what was in it. The boy perked up and smiled.

  "Would you like some bread?" he asked. He was admiring Anya's breasts, she knew, for her cloak had fallen open, and yet his glance was innocent and frank, not evil like the guard's had been. For once, she did not feel vulnerable; she found she could relax and smile back.

  "Mmm - yes please."

  The bread was hot and crisp outside and soft and warm within; it tasted yeasty, just fresh-baked, not hard and sandy like the bread to which she was accustomed.

  "I made the bread myself," he said and intertwined his fingers.

  "It's very good; I'd even say it's the best I've ever tasted." Her compliment turned him red, and now he wouldn't look at her.

  "Oh, I forgot your beer," he said and suddenly was gone. Anya smiled because she knew he was only escaping from his embarrassment.

  Though most of the banquet fare had been prepared and shipped up from the kitchens, there was still much activity, with servants bringing trays or plates of left-overs, and refilling jugs of wine, and others cleaning out the pots and stoking up the fires. Anya noticed that everyone allowed the cook a very wide berth, as if they did not trust her. She had started shouting now, at the far end of the kitchen, and was trying to club a servant with her ladle, though whether he had been guilty of any wrongdoing, Anya could not tell. She felt sure the cook was demented. So when the woman finally approached her, Anya felt like hiding underneath the table.

  "Is everything to your satisfaction?" the cook asked very quietly, surprising Anya, who had been expecting her to shout.

  "Yes - I really liked your soup," she said, which was true, although Anya might well have said it anyway, for the cook still clutched the ladle.

  The woman smiled, then just as quickly frowned and shouted, "Didn't he bring you beer? The little - I'll box his ears!"

  "No - he asked - I didn't want it," Anya interrupted. "Unless you had brewed it, that is ..." she risked, very diplomatically.

  "You know what you like," the cook said. "I like a girl with spirit. Perhaps I misjudged you earlier." She turned her head to one side to look at Anya. "You're not the same, you know - not selfish, like the others." The compliment surprised and flattered Anya, coming as it did from a woman she had thought demented.

  Loud scuffling sounds and muffled sobs made Anya turn her head to see a grey guard dragging two bondslaves down the steps into the kitchen. They were a male, and a female; each was nude and wore golden chains like Anya's; they looked a very sorry pair. Anya's heart reached out to them; it seemed she saw in them her own innocence and her helplessness personified, as if they were a mirror of her inner self, as if the hopelessness of her situation were now made clear to her for the very first time by the state of their dejection.

  "Aha!" The cook looked gleeful now. "See what I mean - two jumped-up friends of yours."

  "But -" Anya tried to protest. Yet in her soul she knew the woman was correct; for she would gladly draw these poor defenceless creatures to her bosom if she could, though she had never even met them; she loved them in their simple fragile state; she neither knew nor cared about the nature of their transgression.

  The cook was quite oblivious to anything but the two bondslaves; her eyes seemed set to fiery points and she was slapping the ladle against her palm as if she meant to use it. "What's this, guard? More idleness for Cook to deal with? And one of each, I see ... Good! We'll have the one chastise the other. They shall earn their punishment for a change," she said with satisfaction, "... instead of sitting back and letting others do the work, you idle good-for-nothing wasters." The bondslaves prostrated themselves upon the floor while she heaped abuse upon them, until at last her cheeks had turned a very deep shade of purple.

  "They've misbehaved - they disobeyed an order," the guard explained. "They would not entertain their lordships by -" he changed his mind, "in the way that was requested." At this the bond-girl burst into tears and the young man hung his head. "So the Prince instructs that they be assigned to yourself for a period of one week." He seemed to hesitate as if trying to remember his directives. "To help you with the kitchen tasks, howsoever menial they may be ..." his brow furrowed in concentration, "... and that thereby they may learn their lesson - not to disobey." The guard seemed relieved that he had managed this speech.

  "A week?" the cook screamed. "Am I then to have these layabouts under my feet for a week?" Anya thought Cook might now explode.

  "Those are my orders ma'am," the guard announced quite curtly.

  "Right! You two - you'll learn a lesson which you won't forget in a hurry!" Then suddenly she stopped, took two deep breaths and closed her eyes and swayed. When she opened her eyes again, her voice was very much quieter. "Guard - you'll have a mug of beer with us, for your trouble?" she smiled. How could anyone change mood so quickly, Anya wondered? This woman surely could not be normal.

  The guard had noticed Anya; he was eyeing her with a sidelong look.

  "Why, thank you ma'am," he said, and pulling a chair up, sat by Anya.

  Anya now felt very uncomfortable indeed, with the guard sitting very close beside her, and Cook still on the loose. True, this guard did not smell like the one on the stairs had, yet he still seemed coarse and lecherous. She hoped Marella would come to collect her soon, for if she were forced to stay much longer, then she feared that Cook might turn on her, regardless of her promise.

  "Bring the Horse over here," the cook instructed the servants, "so our guest may witness their chastening." The bondslaves flinched in unison at the mention of that contraption; it was clear to Anya that they must be well acquainted with it as a punishment; either they had been sent here for discipline on previous occasions, or such devices were to be found elsewhere in the castle. Whatever the reason, it gave Anya cause for great concern, for it indicated that such punishment was not in truth the rarity that Marella had implied.

  "Now" the Cook pointed at the man, then at the woman, both of whom still crouched upon the floor. "Which of you shall take your measure first?" The two looked down, and the girl began to sob very quietly, which
only made Cook even more determined. "Well - who is it to be?" And she prodded each of them in turn with the handle of her ladle, until at last the girl started shaking, sending ripples through the long blonde curls that spread about her shoulders, and tender shivers through the underbelly of her breast. Anya wanted to reach to stroke her hair, to reassure her, to take the poor girl's hand in hers, as Marella had done with Anya, to calm her fears, to show her that she had a friend who really cared. And yet she was too afraid to make any move which might incur the cook's displeasure.

  The man their rose without a word and stood before the cook; his head was bowed and his wrists were crossed before him, in what Anya took to be a formal gesture of submission. How brave, she thought, to sacrifice himself to save the girl, if only for a while; to shield her from her inner fears, when perhaps he did not even know her, when probably they had been thrown together by the vagaries of fate and forced against their will to engage in the most intimate of couplings, as entertainment for the entire assembly of banqueters. And if Anya were made to do such things, she knew that she would die first, of shame and degradation. Yes, even with a young man such as this, whose body seemed so firm and muscular, with smooth bronzed skin which looked like it was polished, whose dark brown hair was matched in darkness by his eyes, whose gentle chest curls thinned down to his belly, then thickened again to blackness down below his golden chain towards his ... No, not that way, even with this man, who was beautiful in soul, a man who gave himself to save a woman, a man so utterly different from the one that Anya had known, and come to hate, her erstwhile husband - if indeed he could be termed a man at all. But in private - yes, that might be admissible; she could if needs be give herself to a real man like this one, whose strength was tempered with inner beauty and gentleness of nature ...