A tawny man was led to the block, his golden eyes narrowed angrily at what was happening to him. His light brown hair hung in tangles to his shoulders. He did not fight as he was paraded back and forth across the block, on display for the throng of people. His face looked haggard, devoid of hope, and very close to despair.

The auctioneer stopped him in the center of the stage and began advertising him to the crowd. "What we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is a genuine nobleman! As you can see he's well-endowed." The man used a crop to lift his limp cock.

The slave-to-be ground his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

"We will start the bidding at one hundred fifty gold ... cheap for a lord!" the auctioneer laughed.

Echoing laughter rippled through the crowd surrounding the block and the murmur of voices lifted at the opening offer.

At first, no one spoke, then a male toward the back of the crowd nodded toward his man-at-arms who promptly shouted out. "One hundred fifty gold!"

"Two hundred!" another voice chimed in and the heads of the crowd turned to see the competition. He was a short man, portly, and smiling widely as the first bidder turned to look at his own lord for confirmation.

He nodded crisply, his long hair flowing loosely about his shoulders. The retainer sent the smaller bidder a deadly glare and shouted out again. "Five hundred!"

The auctioneer, seeing the shorter man debating about another bid, quickly shouted, "Sold!" and pulled the former noble, Lord Richard, off the block, moving the auction along before either bidder could change their minds.

Richard's leash was passed to one of the handler's, the man-at-arms stepping forward to make payment. Taking the leash a moment later, he pulled Richard behind him wordlessly, maneuvering the larger man through the crowd toward his lord. "I think after a cleaning, Rarick," he commented casually, "this one should do nicely. Better than the last I would imagine."

Rarick, who Richard finally got to see up close, nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose with a long sigh. "By the gods, I hope so, Jarron. I don't know if I can take the harping much longer," he whispered before turning away.

The man-at-arms tugged at Richard's leash and pulled him the rest of the way through the crowd before shoving him roughly into the back of a nearby wagon. He did not speak a word. He did not hear much of what they said because his mind was still encased in a red fog of anger. Jarron said not a word as he bound Richard's hands and ankles, and looped his leash around a bolt. He climbed into the seat and nodded.

Rarick rode up on a massive warhorse and gave Richard a once over with his deep blue eyes. "Be warned slave, any escape will be dealt with harshly," he said in a deep rumbling baritone.

It did not occur to him to fight, since he was an honorable man and had been legally sold into slavery. His shame at allowing himself to be taken in the first place helped to keep him docile. In a way, he believed he deserved whatever lay in store. He glowered at his new owner.

Jarron clucked to the horses and they rumbled off.

The ride, to wherever they were going, was silent save for the creak of wood and the smell of horse sweat. By the day's end they'd reached their destination. The wagon rumbled over a drawbridge and into the opulent courtyard of a large castle. The bridge was raised after they entered, and loud shouts of happiness rang through the air as servant and soldier alike welcomed home their lord.

No one paid any attention to him in the back of the wagon until he heard Rarick's voice commanding a few of the nearby servants to remove him and give him a good cleaning. Four men came forward and manhandled him out of the wagon, cutting the ties from his ankles before two led him away.

They moved him across the courtyard and into a bathhouse where he was pushed into a steaming tub and left alone. Eventually two women showed up and washed him from head to toe, not bothering to free his hands.

"Do you think he'll pass?" one asked the other.

"I should hope so," the second woman said, speaking in a soft whisper. "The last one was such a mess to take care of."

The hot water felt good, and he welcomed the opportunity to rid himself of the filth he'd accumulated since his capture. Of course, the attendants could not know this from his grim expression. He looked like a man who had lost everything and was unhappy to be alive--which was exactly what he was.

They remained silent as they finished up, helping Richard stand, and drying him off before disappearing out of the room again. One of the first men returned and looked him over with a critical eye before nodding and picking up his leash.

They moved back across the courtyard, where life seemed to have returned to normal. The Grand Hall. was just as opulent inside as it was outside. Beautiful tapestries, golden candle sconces, and hanging chandeliers gave the room a warm glow.

He barely noted his surroundings as he was led through the large hall, except to note bitterly that his own family's wealth was probably not worth one of the tapestries.

He was across the foyer without a word and a few moments later pushed to his knees in front of a large dais. He sank to the floor without a struggle, his head bowed, hair partially hiding his face with its look of complete despair. He realized the man would probably use him. Before his capture, he would have been appalled at the thought, but now it was par for his miserable course.

His guard stood next to him, leash looped around a meaty fist. Rarick appeared from a side door and came forward with commanding steps, taking a seat on the lion armed chair.

He'd changed while Richard was bathed, and wore something more casual now. He'd replaced his traveling finery with soft, white leather breeches tucked into knee-high boots. He was shirtless, the rock hard planes of his chest glinting softly in the candlelight from the high chandelier. He sighed again as he spoke. "For whatever reason you ended up on the auction block, I have a proposal for you, young lord. One that could benefit us both." He hesitated, then spoke calmly. "My ... wife has some rather unusual tastes in this world and I will make you an offer. If you can survive her for a year, I will give you back to your family. Do we have a deal?"

When the man made his offer, a glimmer of hope sprung to life in Richard's heart. Only a year of servitude, then he was free to go? It sounded too good to be true, but what options did he have? He lifted his head to meet the man's ice-blue eyes. He ground out his words, the bitterness emanating as he spoke. "Under my present circumstances, Lord Rarick," he said despondently, remembering the name from the other man speaking it, "It appears your generous offer leaves me little choice. I accept."

Rarick smiled and hung his head just a bit. "Very well." he said. He rose from the chair and moved off toward the same door he'd entered. "Be warned, slave, my wife has gone through many of your kind in the last years. It may not be as easy as you think," he tossed over his shoulder. "Take him below. I will inform my wife she has a new plaything."

Richard's guard pulled him up by the leash and led him out of the Grand Hall, toward a set of dank, smelly stairs. Picking up a torch from a wall sconce, the guard wordlessly directed Richard down and along a series of twisting catacombs until they came to a large room.

He followed mutely as he was led to what, for all intents and purposes, was a dungeon. The old Richard would have been mortified that he was being held captive in a place without daylight, but now he laughed inwardly as he thought the scenery matched his mood.

Torches of all shapes and sizes hung from the iron rings and cast dancing shadows on the cold stone and wealth of equipment. He was led into the center of the room and his simple leash was tied off to a hanging chain. The guard disappeared into the shadows and Richard heard a loud, fumbling clank of metal and chain.

The guard returned, dropping a pile onto the floor with a thunk before reaching to his belt for a short knife. He spun Richard about and cut the ties from his wrists, then bent to the pile and lifted a pair of heavy looking cold shackles, locking them in place. Short links allowed him some movement of his arms, but not much.

The guard bent to the pile again, picking up a second pair and locked these around his ankles. He connected a heavy chain to the short hobble and ran it to his wrists pulling them tight to ensure he was going nowhere.

He reached up and pushed Richard's hair away, undoing the collar from the slave auction, tossing it toward a shadowed corner before replacing it with one of heavy steel. It covered his neck completely from shoulder to chin and locked in place. The guard lifted the end of the chain hanging from the ceiling and attached it to a ring in the front of the collar and left without a word.

Richard stood uncaring as the guard put him in irons. Where the hell did he have to go, anyway? He felt apprehensive when the thick collar was placed around his neck, but was too apathetic to care. He tested the limits of his movement and found he couldn't move his head. He knew fear flickered in his eyes, but was quickly drowned in despair.

Richard wasn't alone for long when the rustle of silken material reached his ears. Someone entered the room and came up behind him quietly. Eyes bored into his back and something touched his flesh. He wanted to jump, but restrained himself.

"My, my," a cold voice whispered. "Such perfect skin," it added from beside him.

She came around in front, giving him his first look at the mistress of the house. She was pretty by royal standards. Her cheeks were high, her jaw line delicate but well formed, and her upper chest well-endowed beneath the hard boning of a corset. Her stomach was flat and her long golden-white hair swayed gently against her back. She took a step away, giving him a long once over look with her cold green eyes.

It was her eyes, green as the depths of a stormy sea, held a deadly glitter that was unidentifiable. He saw cruelty clearly written in them, and this time the fear in his own did not disappear so quickly.

When she was done she reached up and gave the chain on his collar a hard jerk, sending him to his knees. He landed with a soft grunt of surprise. He did not speak; he expected she would not like it if he did so before she gave him permission. His father's slaves had done so out of courtesy, but he now felt that to speak out of turn would only invite punishment.

Without comment she pushed his lips back and inspected his teeth like an animal. He patiently accepted her examination as she looked at his strong, straight teeth, opening his mouth for her.

Nodding, she walked around him, more slowly this time, poking here and there, testing muscle with a rough probe of her fingers. She poked and prodded, and the prospect of being treated like an animal was strangely arousing. He felt a slight stirring in his cock.

From behind she gave a shove to his shoulders and bent him over so his ass was high and fully exposed. He landed on his elbows and felt a sharp jabbing pain. Without warning, she stuck a finger in his rectum and pulled it out. He inhaled sharply in a gasp of surprised pain

"Hmmm ... I see my servants forgot something," she muttered in a lyrical sounding voice. "We will have to do something about that."

He had no idea what the servants had forgotten, but the prospect did not sound pleasant if it involved anything like her small violation of him.

She came back around, jerking hard on the chain of his collar, pulling him back into a kneeling position. "Let me explain your purpose here, slave," she said. She took a step away, folding her hands at her waist. "You are here for no other reason than to ensure an heir to my throne. It seems my husband was not blessed by the Gods to bear fruit," she growled. "So it has fallen to those of noble birth, whom we purchase, to do so. Once I carry a child, providing you survive that long, my husband has promised to release you back to your family."

She came closer and wrapped a delicate hand into his long hair, giving it a hard pull. She tilted his head back as far as it would go against the collar, and looked down into his eyes. "But be warned. It is ultimately up to me whether that happens or not," she whispered with a slow, deliberately evil looking smile. "Please me well, and your life here will be easy enough. Displease me, and I will make it a living nightmare. Do you understand?"

He watched, listening to her expectations, his eyes troubled when she got to the part about surviving. She came to him, jerking his head back by the hair, and he moaned slightly, half in pleasure. He had never experienced a woman who treated him so bluntly. He was fascinated by her--and afraid of her--but the fear was intoxicating.

He listened to her words, promising him heaven or hell. Or both. He wanted to start out on the right foot ... or more likely knee, as she'd already shown him.

His eyes held more emotion than they had for weeks as he gazed up at her and spoke. "I understand, Mistress."

She dropped his hair as quickly as she'd wrapped her hand in it, pushing his head away roughly. "Good." Her voice dropped as she moved away, her skirts rustling. "I am pleased to see you have learned your place quickly."

She spun, raising a hand and sending it across his cheek. A loud crack echoed off the stone, followed by a dark laugh before she moved over to a shadowed crook in the wall.

Richard had not expected the slap, and his head rocked sideways when the back of her hand connected with his jaw. He looked at her like a bewildered animal, eyes blazing. Obviously her husband had understated her odd tastes--the woman was a cruel bitch!

She came back with a riding crop thumping lightly against her skirt and moved around him again. "Let us see what you can take!"

She reached out and wrapped a hand into his hair again, pulling his head back against the cold steel of the collar as she spoke, "Make a single sound and I will make sure your life gets worse, well before it gets better."

She stared into his eyes then dropped his hair and took a step away.. She brought the whip up underneath his manhood and lifted it off his thigh then swung it down again with a hard flick. She followed with five quick swipes and laughed softly as she looked into his eyes and waited to see what he would do.

He'd tried to steel himself for the abuse. He stared defiantly into her icy green eyes. So this was a test. Her eyes blazed to meet his but while his revealed his unchecked emotion, hers held only malice.

His heart began to pound as she lifted his cock again then viciously slashed it with the crop. He released his breath in a hiss of pain, gritting his teeth so that he didn't make a noise. He flinched as she rained stinging blows on his manhood, clenching his hands into fists.

Every muscle on his body stood out in definition as he strained to be silent. When she paused, to his embarrassment the rush of blood and the fading sting made his cock stir and lengthen. His mouth relaxed from its grimace of pain and he glared at her.

She laughed softly, more of a growling purr than a real laugh, and nodded. "So the slave boy likes that, does he?" she commented casually. "Let us see just how much." Leaning in close she cruelly took his mouth in a hard kiss that held no love or passion. She took his lower lip between her teeth and bit down hard, but not enough to draw blood as she swung the crop this time.

She pulled away and let the crop land rapidly four times to either side of his rising manhood, giving him little time to recover. She stood back and smiled, watching his reaction.

She was lifting her hand to do more damage when a softly cleared throat from the doorway grabbed her attention.

"WHAT!" she bellowed, anger lacing her tone.

A young woman scurried into Richard's line of sight and curtsied gracefully. "Pardon me, ma'am," she said daintily. She bowed her head to her chest, eyes on the Mistress' feet. "The Master requires your presence above stairs," she whispered slowly, flinching as she said it.

"By the gods! the Mistress bellowed, tossing the crop to the ground. "Will that man never learn!" she growled, flipping her skirts out of the way, heading off toward the stairs.

She paused at the base and spun back toward the girl. "Have him prepared when I return, if you know what is in your best interest," she said coldly then was gone with a swish of her skirts.

Richard felt his cheeks grow hot as she laughed at him. When she kissed him, his erection throbbed just in time to be hit with the crop. The next four blows were a confusion of pleasure and pain, and he struggled not to make a sound. The interruption was welcomed, offering the break he needed to prepare himself for what pain lay ahead.

The young woman turned toward him with a look of pity in her shadowed eyes, moving forward to unhook the chain to his collar. For a moment, she left him on his knees and stared at him. A soft hand came up and touched his strong cheek. She sighed softly, rubbing the knuckles of her hand over the plane.

"Are you hungry?" she asked in a softly jerking whisper, as if it were some great conspiracy that she even spoke to him. "I-I can sneak you some food later ... if you are," she added.

Richard did not know what he was being prepared for as his Mistress left, but the gentle touch of this new female almost brought him to his knees. When she offered him food, he was starving, but realized that by saying yes he would risk being caught by the evil bitch who had just left, or having this sweet woman risk the same

"I am hungry, lady, but would not risk her wrath just yet," he said, giving her a small grin.

She helped him to his feet, pointing him toward a shadowed corner of the dungeon. She led him over to a high backed, stiff looking chair guiding him into it. Unhooking his wrists she re-chained them behind it.. She passed a heavy strap across his chest, another over his waist, a third over his thighs and one over his calves, buckling them tightly before she threaded the chain from his wrists to his ankles underneath. She shortened the chain pulling his feet back and up off the floor.

He gave her a small grim smile. He did not like the fact that he would be able to move even less in this new contraption when the Mistress came back.

When the girl was finished, she leaned up and smiled a genuine smile that reached her eyes. Her face was lit by a torch behind the chair and he could see her fully. He saw the remarkable resemblance she bore to the woman who had just left.

Her green eyes were not filled with the same cruel malice, but instead with gentleness as she, again, reached up and touched the strong plane of his cheek. When the light touched her face, he was about to ask who she was when she spoke, answering the question.

She stared into his eyes, her own searching before she leaned in close to his ear and spoke softly. "Please be strong," she whispered. "My mother will tire of you soon enough," she added giving his cheek a gentle peck of her lips. Her hand trailed along his chest with a soft caress of her perfect nails as she gently bit along the line of his jaw.

It tickled along his waist, a gentle touch compared to what he'd just experienced. It dipped to his burgeoning manhood and slowly caressed it.

All thought fled as she touched him. She took it skillfully, slowly teasing along its length with the tips of her fingers at first, continuing to peck along his jaw line with feather light kisses. Her hand took him fully, stroking until he was fully aroused. She came to his lips finally and took them in a much gentler kiss than that of her mother's.

Her hand enveloped his half-hard manhood, her lips sweet and soft, and his tongue gently prodded her mouth for more, which she gave.

Her tongue delved into his mouth, roaming sensuously over his teeth as her hand continued to caress his erection. When he was fully hard, she lifted her skirts with her free hand and slowly straddled him, replacing her hand with her wet heat. He moaned softly.

She smiled, her hands coming up on either side of his head, gripping the back of the chair. She stared into his eyes, her own gentle and kind as she leaned in and whispered against his lips. "I-Iam ... sorry," she stammered, rocking against him.

She slid up and down the length of him with patience. She leaned her forehead against his, staring into his eyes. "I-I hope you ... you can forgive me ... someday," she said, a soft smile on her face.

His cock throbbed inside her. Intense pleasure flooded his whole body as his cock was stroked by her warm, tight cave and his mouth was plundered by her tongue.

If the Mistress was the hell, this must be the heaven...

When she apologized, he wondered why. A shadow of doubt crossed his mind as he wondered what the consequences would be if she continued, but he had no control over her so he pushed the doubt away and enjoyed her use of him.

His haggard voice whispered into her ear. "Sorry for what, lady? You are at this very moment giving me a reason to live!" He felt an orgasm building slowly but surely as she worked her magic, and only prayed he would spend before this girl's bitch of a mother came back...

She buried her head in the crook of his neck, continuing to rock against him. She pulled back to stare into his eyes, smiling gently, watching him. A moment of indecision passed through the shadows dancing on her face, but it disappeared quickly and she suddenly stilled her movements.

Leaning in, she gave his lips another gentle kiss, one of regret and pity, then rose off him to balance just out of his reach. Her fingers came up and slowly traced a light pattern across his bottom lip and she apologized a second time.. "I am sorry, Richard," she whispered softly. Leaning in she brushed a feather light kiss against his lips before swinging a leg over the chair again. She moved behind it, leaving him hanging just on the edge of an orgasm.

He realized what she was sorry for when she pulled away from him, just when he was ready to explode. Pain, rage, and disbelief crossed his face as she apologized again. "No!" He sobbed in need as she promised to return. "Please, come back! Don't do this to me!" His voice held a begging desperation he hated.

"And do not bother me again!" the Mistress' bellow reached him even in the dungeon.

Discretely, the daughter reached out from behind him and softly touched the nape of his neck in assurance, bending close to whisper in his ear. "Be strong," she breathed. "I promise to return later." She moved into his line of sight again and curtsied as her mother appeared in a swish of heavy satin and silk.

"Damn man!"

She was muttering, a crop thumping against her thigh as she stormed across the dungeon toward where he sat.

"Just who in the blazes does he think he is," she ranted, the crop punctuating each word with a flick, "calling for me ... when I am busy!" She finally came to a stop and took a deep breath.

Her eyes took in the scene, roaming the length of him and her quiet daughter a step or two in front of the chair. She glared at him like a predator preparing to enjoy the hunt before it devoured its prey.

"Leave us." She flipped the command toward the young woman, who nodded wordlessly, and silently disappeared into the shadows.

"Now," she paused, her eyes glittering darkly toward him. "Where were we?"

She pursed her lips and tapped a nail against them in thought. "Oh yes," she snapped her fingers. "We were experimenting with you, slave boy."

She brought the crop across his lap with a hard swing, catching his full erection across the tip. She laughed maliciously and swung the crop back and forth several times, catching him squarely with each blow. A glittering of pure madness flashed in her eyes as the crop swung back and forth and her dark laugh rang off the stone around them, bouncing back and forth like church bells.

He closed his eyes tightly, grinding his teeth as the pain coursed up and down his body while she continued to relentlessly whip his sensitive member. He could not stop the shameful tears that leaked from the corners of his eyes. His whole existence seemed to disappear except for his giant erection, and the pain of her crop. Coupled with the unfulfilled yearning, he broke out in a cold sweat.

She swung the crop endlessly, slapping each time against his erection for what seemed like hours, but was probably no more than five or ten minutes, laughing all the while. When she grew bored of the game, she moved off into the shadows, carelessly tossing the crop to the ground. A rattle and clank of chain followed and she returned moments later, arms laden with equipment. She stepped toward the chair, her eyes still full of dark intent.

A ragged gasp of relief escaped his throat when she finally stopped. His cock was stinging from the crop, so sensitive and sore from the thrashing he'd received, he knew he would spill his seed at the least provocation. When she came back he knew the ordeal was far from over.

She picked up a rough piece of rope and looped it around the base of his cock and balls, pulling it tight, then wrapped the rest of it around his hard erection, ensuring the blood was trapped within. She tied it off to the strap across his thighs. He felt horribly vulnerable and ashamed when it bucked against her touch, begging for release.

She moved around behind the chair and unbuckled the strap across his chest and waist, then the chain from his feet to his wrists. Lifting the shackles over the back of the chair, she put a hand between his shoulder blades and pushed, bending him slowly toward his thighs. When his wrists cleared the chair, she hooked a chain that hung from the ceiling to the short links and turned toward a crank set into the wall.

Click...

Click...

Click ... rang out in the dungeon. She turned it slowly, pulling his wrists up and behind him, bending him ever closer to his erection.

Click...

Click...

Click ... the crank turned again, tightening and pulling his wrists higher in the air.

He did not know what she was doing when she unstrapped him then pushed him forward with his arms raised over his head. He realized her intent as she secured his wrists to something. When he heard the crank, he felt his body being pushed forward, erection squeezed tightly. His whole being seemed to have disappeared except for the maddening throb of his trapped, blood-filled penis.

When his chest touched his knees she finally stopped, her malicious laugh reaching his ears as his body compressed his erection.

Her feet came into his line of sight, the dainty slippers looking out of place compared to her inner darkness. She wrapped a hand in his hair and gave it a hard yank backward so she could look into his eyes as she spoke.

"Be warned ... if you cum, slave boy, without my permission ... the consequences will be dire indeed," she whispered. A long, slow, and evil grin darkened her face.

He panted harshly. His eyes were filled with raw need and pleading as they stared into hers.

She reached over, picked up another chain and hooked it to his collar. Pulling it to the floor, she locked it to a ring near his feet and was gone with a swirl of blue skirts. "Enjoy your afternoon," she taunted in a sing song voice, heading up the stairs.

His erection throbbed with each beat of his heart. His breathing was enough movement to tease his painfully swollen member, and he did not know if he could prevent himself from coming. He tried to think of anything else, but could not take his mind from the painful need raging through his body. He thought of her daughter's warm wetness and it nearly pushed him over the edge. He sobbed into the darkness, wondering how many men she had broken this way, and how long his mind would last.

"Are you harmed?" a deep voice asked softly.

"Nay, father," Alaya answered just as softly. "She has not harmed me in some time now."

Rarick walked forward and laid a gentle hand on his daughter's shoulder. "That is good to hear." She could tell he was doing his best to keep the anger from his voice.. "How fares the young lord below stairs?" he asked with genuine concern.

She turned slightly and looked up into her father's eyes, smiling as best she could. "I know not. I left him in the chair some time ago and there is no telling what she did to him afterward."

She sighed, turning away again to stare out over the lands and fields they owned. She was silent for a long moment. "Why do you let her do these things?" she questioned.

It was Rarick's turn to sigh. He turned away, presenting her with his large back. "Your mother..." he began then took in another breath before he could go on. "Your mother and I were pledged to one another a very long time ago. I-I did not meet her until the day we were married," he whispered. "I-I had no idea she ... she was the way she was."

He was silent for awhile then continued. "For years everything was as it should be," He gulped, hard. "We found out she was with child, you, my dear, and we were happy for a time."

"Until I was birthed, yes?" she asked.

"Yes, until the day of your arrival in this world," he conceded. "That was when it all began to change."

She heard him take a step further away.

"She wanted a son for the first ... still wants a son and she will do whatever it takes to get one."

Alaya turned and addressed her father's broad back with a shake in her voice. "Have you not tried again?" she begged. "Will you not try again with mother?"

Rarick spun, his ice blue eyes glittering in anger. "Do you not think I have wanted to? Your mother was ... is very beautiful ... when she is not gripped by the madness that has consumed her these last years ... and ... I-I still love her deeply." He spun and stormed away a few steps before letting his shoulders droop. "She will have nothing to do with me," he said. His own voice shook softly, but he said nothing more, just disappeared back into the castle.

Alaya watched him walk away, then turned and leaned against the balcony in front of her. She thought of Richard, enduring God knew what below stairs, and wanted to go to him ... to ease his pain in whatever small way she could. There wasn't much she could do. She knew all too well the consequences of disobedience to her mother. Her back would always bear the marks of the past, but still ... something about Richard made her want to go.

There was something more, something different about this one, this Richard. She'd seen it when he'd arrived at the Castle that day. It was the way he carried himself. Despite the circumstances, he still walked proudly, head high. He was noble-born; she knew that much.

The soft pleading she'd seen in his eyes was endearing. Most nobles, her mother being a prime example, were snobs. They believed themselves to be above and beyond reproach, no matter how they acted.

But Richard was different and she wanted to protect him.

She wanted to be with him.

Most of all, though, she wanted to free him.