0 comments/ 10653 views/ 2 favorites The Slave and his Mistress Ch. 02 By: too_ie 2. "Really, Solande he's not much to look at - not what I've come to expect from you at all. He's not quite up to your usual standards, is he?" This was true: Gyorg was not a handsome man. The slave's face was too thin, the skin still sallow from his time in the mills, and though clean-shaven, there was little sign that he had ever been able to grow much of a beard. And he was quite bald: apart from his brows and eye-lashes - which admittedly, were rather fine, there was scarcely a hair on his head. But his features, if over-large, were regular -- and under all that flour, Solande thought, arranged pleasingly, in a pleasantly expressive face. For it was clear he had never learned to conceal his emotions: Gyorg's feelings were easy to read and in the weeks since she obtained him Solande had come to derive a deal of quiet amusement from watching the expressions changing over his face. She had been finding the mill-slave an agreeable companion, his degenerate origins notwithstanding, and frowned a little in spite of herself, slightly irked by her guest's reaction. Solande's visitors that evening were sisters, cousins of her late husband's, and, because the most aristocratic bloodlines in this part of the country all ran to some extent inbred, also her own kin: distant relations from Solande's side of the family. While her husband Gurund was alive, when she was still one of the inmates at his crumbling country retreat, a keen intimacy had developed between Solande and the sisters, all three being more or less contemporaries, certainly in terms of age and social position - if not at once in personal tastes. Though bearing the technical status of house-guests, even on Solande's first arrival at her husband's home as a new-wed bride the sisters Lavinda and Esadora were already residents of such long standing as to be counted permanent fixtures at the estate. The ageing Gurund had no closer female relatives than his unmarried cousins and the women, having come to consider themselves rightful ladies of his house were initially resentful at being displaced by Gurund's new wife. Solande's first impressions of the pair had been just as unfavourable; Lavinda and Esadora were similar, sharing the same coarse attitudes and bawdy sense of humour -- and of greater concern, a definitely cruel streak that was evident in both their natures, which was never quite completely masked by their usual vulgar bonhomie. Relations between the three women at first were stilted for a time, but eventually -- and largely due to the numerous marital difficulties Solande soon found she had to face - the trio had come to share a number of common interests. The sisters had been instrumental in inducting Solande into her life of sexual adventuring, the pleasures of which currently, she was in such avid pursuit. Before Lavinda and Esadora took her under their wing Solande would have never have dreamed of using a slave's body to satisfy her carnal desires but to the sisters, such relations were as much a part of aristocratic life as breathing -- and they simply could not understand why Solande should consider them degraded or debased. But then of course, Solande thought, considering the attitudes of her younger self with keen contempt, she had been an utter innocent and pathetically naïve with it, back then. Even though the sisters' influence had lessened substantially since Gurund's death, after Solande returned to own ancestral home, she did feel obligated to the women -- who had after all, helped her through some dreadful desperate and harrowing times. Lavinda and Esadora's approbation, their good opinion, still mattered to Solande -- and that, naturally, was why she had invited them to give her their appraisal of her most recent acquisition. Yes, the sisters' opinions still carried weight with her. Unfortunately, what they said still mattered to her a great deal. The slave Gyorg was mounted on a low table that stood directly under the cluster of oil-lamps hanging from the vaulted ceiling in the middle of Solande's private sitting room. It was late autumn and even at this early hour already dark outside, so the Lady had had to take care to select a position for her showing that would present her subject - quite literally - in the best possible light. The flickering lamplight played over the flat planes of the mill-slave's muscles, highlighting his maleness and his wiry strength, but also revealed in stark relief the ugly lash-marks that scarred across his shoulders, the backs of his thighs, his buttocks and his back. For while Solande usually allowed her slave the indulgence of covering his nakedness, tonight her aim was for him to be properly displayed. Apart from his iron slave-collar and the manacles that were permanent fixtures about his wrists, he wore only a single flap of rough leather that hung from his waist like a loin-cloth, concealing his manhood. His hands were currently fastened behind his back even though Solande was by now quite confident of his continuing obedience, for no reason other than because the Lady enjoyed seeing him held in this position. It reminded her of the day when she first viewed him, chained in harness with the other slaves; reminded her of that first encounter, before she quite set her mind on him. Yes, in memory of that now when the fancy took her she often had Gyorg bound before he served her -- often had him kneel before she made him use his mouth to pleasure her. Sometimes to further restrict him she occasionally fitted the slave with a blindfold -- but not as often lately, for she had come to realize how utterly Gyorg relied upon his sense of sight. That night however she had for reasons of her own decided to keep his eyes covered, and there was a narrow binding of black fabric tied tightly round Gyorg's head. The overseer in the tithe-barn had been wrong when he claimed the mill-slave's wits were not all they should be. Gyorg, in fact, was far from being stupid - and yet occasionally and despite his apparent willingness to serve he was at times undeniably slow to react. Solande was quick to discover the reason. There was a peculiarly intent way he had of watching whenever anyone was speaking -- with his look focussed always on the speaker's lower face and mouth -- that reminded Solande of a great-uncle of hers, of whom she had been especially fond in her early girlhood. She soon realized that in common with that elderly gentleman, Gyorg's hearing was badly impaired; but in the slave's case had been so since early in his youth, rather than being a side-effect of old-age. Raised in a charitable institution as a foundling, Gyorg, unusually, had not been entered into serfdom until the very brink of adulthood. Still slim and limber at the time, the young man had been tasked with setting blast-charges in the narrowest and least-accessible tunnels of the mines, when an accidental detonation of one recently-placed cartridge brought down a section of the roof. Barely far enough from the blast-site to avoid being crushed by falling debris, Gyorg had been caught by the pressure-wave following the explosion. The noxious, heated vapours emanating from the blast permanently singed most of the hair from his upper body and his head, and at a stroke rendered him in one ear completely stone-deaf. While there was a little recovery of hearing on the other side, that also suffered irretrievable damage and he was left able to perceive only a very limited range of sound-notes as audible. How Gyorg learned to compensate for this as well as he did -- which he accomplished mainly by reading movements of the mouth and lips as they formed words - was remarkable, and yet following the explosion it was not enough to prevent him being categorized as a mental defective. Following the accident the overseers in charge of the slaves saw only that the formerly quick-thinking Gyorg now lagged behind his work-mates, regularly mistook his orders, and seldom responded even to direct speech. Caring little for the true causes of the slave's difficulties, brain-damage from the cave-in was at first suspected -- and soon after passed from mere opinion into universally accepted fact. Ironically enough however, it was this very impairment that had led Gyorg to develop his keen powers of perception: the slave's ability to anticipate (and fulfil) Solande's wishes was uncanny, and was one of the attributes that made him such a perfect foil for her. But their relations had quickly become something of a two-way street. While the Lady had no wish or desire for forming any kind of emotional entanglement with anyone, she couldn't deny that in some ways she had begun to feel the first inklings of a personal attachment to Gyorg -- although, as she told herself, it was only the kind of mild and generalized indulgence that any mistress might express towards a lower creature; a pet lap-dog perhaps, or her favourite horse. Still, knowing Lavinda and Esadora, Solande had been reluctant to allow her slave any awareness of what they might have to say about him -- as they would undoubtedly relish not so much speaking their true opinions as having the opportunity to continuously find fault. And so that night she bound his eyes; a kindness, did Gyorg but know it for in a way really, it was for his own protection. Since taking charge of the slave Solande had taken great pains over him, and to expose him to the sisters now, she felt, would be to risk undoing much of the careful groundwork that to date, she had only been partially successful at putting into place. Because on his arrival it was soon apparent that the slave had been too well-broken, in fact. He had been curbed and controlled so rigidly and for so long that the spirit was all-but squashed out of him: he was scared of his own shadow; a useless, nervous wreck. Every aspect of his life had been regulated so stringently in the mills that at first he would neither sit nor stand, or eat his food or even try to clean himself without express instructions to tell him he should begin to do so. In her attempts to gain the slave's confidence then, Solande had exhibited degrees of patience and perseverance that were really quite uncharacteristic for her. Not because she had any sympathetic feelings for the man, of course, but because a level-headed, well-motivated slave was most efficient, and therefore always to be preferred. But he did look awkward, perched blind and bound up there half-naked. The Lady realized that the short, apron-like garment she'd draped around his hips was not quite sufficient to cover Gyorg's genitals at the front, and that the unfortunate slave also knew it, for he was trying to hide his manhood by means of the difficult feat of keeping his legs closed around it. She should have berated him for insubordinance -- since a slave's physical person was not, of course, counted as his own property -- and yet to her surprise Solande began to feel a slight pang of conscience, an unfamiliar emotion that she dismissed as inappropriate, and then, in turning her attention back to her guests, duly forgot about at once. "Now, Lavinda!" Esadora, the younger of the sisters, exclaimed. All evening, she had been watching Solande's reactions closely, and had not missed the fleeting frown that had just flickered across her relative's face. "You're upsetting dear Solande -- why, anyone can see she seems terribly taken with her new pet! This one's strong point may not be the way he looks about the face - but let's not judge him too hastily, shall we?" She circled Gyorg on his little platform, regarding him appraisingly. "It's a shame. The slave's figure could be quite striking, but his manner of standing is almost bow-legged. And must he always crouch hunch-backed like that? The way he carries himself makes him look half-stunted - like some kind of ape!" Actually, Gyorg was tallish. If he was ever to get into the habit of straightening his back properly he would perhaps have had an inch or two of height over Solande (who was unfashionably tall for a woman) but of course his posture had been shaped by the constant, straining muscular effort he had expended in the mills. Chained into position with the rest of the slave-team, Gyorg's labours had been unrelenting, as he and the others toiling beside him drove their mill wheel round and around, with no option but to shuffle out the same weary circular route, retracing their steps over and over again. A single session on the wheel lasted around twelve gruelling hours, and was followed by only a scant four or five hours rest before the dog-tired men were required to resume working again. Recently there had been no respite for them even at night, for at this time of year the mills ran continuously and had to be powered with no breaks in service. This mindless, repetitive work had dulled the mill-slave's wits and deadened his senses even as it altered the natural configuration of his body, and now when he stood it was as if he had never been released from his harness. Gyorg customarily held himself head-down and shoulders rounded, with his knees bent, and stooping forwards slightly from the waist. It was as if he was still braced for strenuous work and awaiting only an overseer's shouted order -- or the lash from a whip to fall across his back as a signal that he should begin his labours again. Not that he spent very much time on his feet. In the early days especially, Solande saw to that. Part of what the overseer had told her of him was true, as Gyorg himself confessed: he had never once joined in carnal union with a woman. Unless questioned directly he said little on the subject, but it seemed to Solande that even for a slave Gyorg had led a life of unusual repression and duress. Given his evident maturity (for like Solande, the mill-slave was in the middle-age years of his life) she might have doubted what Gyorg told her - had corroboration of what he said not been plain to see in the scars and other marks he carried over every surface of his body. And as well as that, his initial reactions to her seemed a unfakeably honest confirmation of his virgin state. He might have never coupled with a woman, but when Solande first unbuttoned her dress-front and stood before him with breasts and pubic hair exposed, the blush on his face and his gaping mouth suggested that apparently, he had never even looked upon one when she was in the barest state of undress. And although Solande did have him penetrate her, with his tongue or sometimes his fingers buried deep in her cunt, working her to regular peaks of orgasm, Gyorg was still a virgin in the most conventional or accepted sense. Possibly it was a pity, but given her own prelidictions, Solande's intention was to keep him that way. At first, before she was sure he could be trusted, whenever she had need of his services she had Gyorg's hands as well his genitals tightly bound and confined. Solande had the ring in the mill-slave's nose removed and replaced with one worn through the end of his male organ. The ring in his cock entered through the slit at the tip and came out in a piercing slightly to one side of the head the member -- an arrangement, as was explained to Solande by the artisan who carried the work, that would allow the slave to retain his foreskin intact. This ring could be used to draw the shaft of Gyorg's sex back between his legs where it could be fastened harmlessly against the underside of his body, by means of an attachment that secured it to a thin belt worn about his waist. Gyorg of course, was unable to have his member stand up or harden properly when he was restrained like this, and the constrainment seemed to cause him some level of distress. Solande was not an especially cruel-natured woman and when it became clear that whenever she had him lick and kiss her sex Gyorg was becoming genuinely aroused also, she took to letting his member go unbound. Because she was pleased, as well as surprised by his reaction; it was rare for a male, in the Lady's experience, to find such pleasure solely in stimulating a woman with his mouth. And yet he did seem to enjoy it -- was always keen to serve her in this way. Following a few points of basic instruction from Solande, Gyorg's ministrations soon became near-perfect and his labours for her pleasure were tireless - unstinting. Solande was so pleased with his efforts that on occasion she even took to allowing the slave to find his own release - eventually. Recently however, Gyorg's excitement and arousal had also begun to contribute to Solande's own response. There had always been keen enjoyment for her in straddling a slave's hips and riding him there till she climaxed -- allowing his member, of course, only ever to touch to the outside of her sex -- but in this particular slave's case, lately she was finding her pleasure was multiplied if at some point she brought Gyorg to completion also. The previous morning she had bound him hand and foot on her bed and amused herself by working his organ between her breasts, working the helpless slave writhing under her hands until he began to ejaculate - and at that point Solande had experienced a fluttering little climax of her own, too! The quick series of contractions in her cunt had gone on and on - for as long as she watched Gyorg's cock continue its spasms in fact -- and all without a trace of finger or a tongue or lip laid on her! By rights Solande should have had him satisfy her properly then, should have made him open his mouth then straddled his face and suffocated him, while she ground herself onto his tongue and his lips and came to her climax again and again - for after all which was the slave, and who was the mistress, here? But inexplicably, the Lady had not claimed her rights just then. Feeling relaxed and pleasantly sated she had simply lain down on the bed to rest - and then when she felt Gyorg's mouth -- with disgusting presumption! -- begin moving in her hair, gentling her brow and the top of her head, in her drowsy, forgetful state for a moment she had actually begun to return the slave's caresses! Only onto his sickeningly scarred and naked chest -- thank God! -- though that in itself was bad enough. Afterwards, while rubbing her lips and the inside of her mouth raw with a wash-cloth and harsh soap, she felt nauseated by what had happened. It was one thing to take a slave and use his body, but especially for a well-born woman of her pedigree, utterly reprehensible to even consider treating that slave as if he were her lover. Since her husband, Solande had always kept the tightest possible rein on her sometimes traitorous emotions, her suppression of them being so absolute that she had almost tricked herself into believing that human feelings, for her, did not exist. And so she did not understand what could possibly have overtaken her that morning; even considered for a wild moment that she might by some night-demon have been devilishly possessed. After the shameful incident she dismissed Gyorg from her presence immediately and had not been alone with him since. And she sent for Lavinda and Esadora's assistance at once. Both sisters' attention was all on Solande as they waited, slyly, to see how she would answer them. With a glance at Gyorg, she arranged her features into an easy smile. "It's not for his face or his figure that I chose him," she said smoothly, crossing the room with a few light steps to stand close beside the slave. "This slave's 'strong point' as you call it Esadora, in fact is here beneath his breech-clout as anyone can see. It's so obvious indeed, I'm surprised that neither of you has thought to notice it before." She picked up the front of the slave's leather garment and flirted the lower edge up and down, allowing Lavinda and Esadora a brief but fully-revealing glimpse of Gyorg's large, tumescent cock. It was only halfway hard, but even this was enough to sway the sisters, apparently; Solande though pleased by that was irked when she saw that against her express wishes, Gyorg had already lost some of his erection -- the erection she had specifically instructed him to keep! Just before her guests arrived that evening she had had him face the wall and strip, then ordered him to take himself in hand and masturbate until his manhood stood erect. Admittedly, it had taken longer than usual for this to happen but when he seemed fully hard, at last, she'd taken the precaution of tying the base of his cock and balls off with a tightly buckled strap, hoping to maintain him in that state. Unsuccessfully, it seemed, though what was left was still was impressive to Lavinda, as least. The Slave and his Mistress Ch. 02 "Good gracious, Solande!" she cackled, "Dora, did you see the size of him! It's against God's nature, this!" "I've hardly had the chance, yet, my dear," Esadora told her sister, "but from what I did see cannot understand how we ever came to miss that." Lavinda gave out a delighted, chortling crow. "It is, after all my sister, the first place we usually think to look!" "So!" Esadora continued, "I take it back Solande! Your slave seems a rare creature, indeed. Now. Then if we are all friends again, perhaps Solande will be kind enough to favour us with a -- less fleeting -- chance for observation." Of course they were both exaggerating - flattering her with an utter lack of subtlety, but Solande was mollified enough to be able to feel generous. Obligingly she loosened Gyorg's loin-cloth and let it fall to the floor. Esadora was on him in an instant. "May we examine him, Solande?" she said, obviously only as a courtesy, for her busy fingers were already twirling in the slave's cock-piercing and playing with the buckle round his sac. She had her hands round Gyorg's scrotum and manipulated the balls skilfully, squeezing them one after the other till they pressed tight against the glossy surface of the skin. As she did so Solande saw the slave's hands bunch into fists behind his back, but otherwise she was pleased to see him hold himself stock-still -- just as he'd been trained. "I see you keep him shaved, Solande," Esadora said, "Lord! He is so very smooth! I dearly like to see a slave like this, but I sometimes wonder, is it worth the effort? They hate to sit still for it, as a rule." "Gyorg naturally has very little hair," Solande replied complacently. "An accident in the mines, you know. It's really quite a boon!" Now Esadora was tugging on the slave's cock-ring, stretching his member to stand up from his body and straight, then letting it slap down back against his groin. "And this is nice workmanship," she observed, "very good, Solande, I can honestly say it's top notch. Are you planning to have anything else fitted in him?" "You should see what was fitted in him when I found him," Solande replied, describing the ugly little nose-trinket -- and the reason it had been fitted - for the sisters. "I've never heard of that!" exclaimed Lavinda excitably. "Can he still wear it, do you think? Will it really make him look like a pig?" Solande shrugged. "I'll show you if I can find it. I think I still have it in a drawer, somewhere." "Solande!" Esadora interrupted sharply, frowning. "I think there's something wrong with your slave. Look how much his cock has softened. It's gone positively limp! And I've simply been trying everything! You said he lets men fuck him down his throat. Are you sure he also likes to lie with women?" "He was standing hard enough for Solande when we got here," Lavinda snorted. "Perhaps he doesn't like us. Or perhaps he's feeling shy. We'll soon help you put a stop to that!" "Make him show us more," Esadora demanded. "I have a better idea," Lavinda said eagerly. "Solande, won't you let us borrow him?" TBC The Slave and his Mistress Ch. 03 Gyorg had had his first encounter with Solande's esteemed pair of guests earlier that day. As his capricious Lady had no use for him that morning, Gyorg had been sent to take his instructions from the overseer of the domestic slaves, who had set him to scrubbing down the walls, woodwork and masonry in one of the lesser-used corridors upstairs. It was in a remote wing of the house, far from the rooms usually used by the family. Working alone there, Gyorg had stripped to the waist to protect his outer garments from the water, when his mistress, who was personally escorting her guests to their apartments, had come upon him. He immediately assumed a suitably subservient position, dropping down in the soap-suds on the wet floor and stayed where he was, head-bowed as the trio approached. Taking their cue from Solande, at first neither of the new women openly acknowledged him, but both appraised the kneeling slave in detail as they passed by, taking note of the strength in his long, exposed limbs, and examining with interest the network of scars and old whip-marks that criss-crossed his back. This immediately piqued Esadora's interest. "It seems we have a genuine work slave among us!" she exclaimed. "Can it be true, Solande? And how could such a creature have gained this high promotion? I had not thought to find such a one labouring in your guests' very living quarters, no less!" "On your feet, Gyorg," Solande instructed coolly, making her way back towards the kneeling slave. The Lady was sorely irritated; Gyorg knew his mistress well enough to be acutely aware of that. "Get up! And make your answer to the Lady Esadora at once!" she snapped, tapping him abruptly with her ivory-headed walking-cane. "You have permission to speak!" "What is your provenance, slave?" Esadora demanded. "Those marks on your back tell me you were not born a house-servant, I think." "I was raised in a monastery, milady," Gygorg answered, directing his words towards the floor. "Did you hear that!" the other sister, Lavinda, cried. "He said he was raised amongst the monks!" Esadora smirked. "And yet you chose slavery over entry into that brotherhood? All in all a wise choice, I should say!" "I understand that his Grace the new Abbot gifted Gyorg to my father years ago, in part-payment for the Abbey's outstanding mill-fees," interrupted Solande, impatiently. "Details that can be of no possible interest to you, Esadora. What difference can any of this make?" "On the contrary, Solande," Esadora replied. "I find it all quite fascinating, really. We've seldom had the chance to listen to such a - colourful – biography, have we, Lavinda?" At this her sister shook her head, vigorously agreeing Esadora's point. Solande sighed. "He was first sent to the mines; afterwards to the mills," she abridged. "And from there I selected him for house duty myself, as a curio, of sorts. Is that not the long and short of it, Gyorg?" "That can't be all of it," Esadora stated. "Can it, slave? Quickly now! Answer me!" The mill slave glanced from one woman to the other. "To beg your pardon, milady," he began, and swallowed rapidly, trying to moisten his dry throat. "After the mines and before the mill I spent many years as a field worker on his lordship's estate." "That confirms it, you see," Esadora nodded. "From first sight I guessed that this slave's rude health, and strength of limb, could only have been attained in an outdoor environment. Not as one would find down in the dark of your family's silver mines, Solande." "Really, I don't much care," Solande retorted, fixing Gyorg with a withering glare. "Dora, Vinda," she continued a moment later, in a much more cordial tone, "let us continue, now, and I will show you your rooms." The three women left. But Esadora, as she departed, directed a long, speculative look over her shoulder, back towards the slave. It was the unspoken interaction between her friend Solande and her vassal, as much as anything that had been said that intrigued her; Solande was typically the coldest of fish – absolutely implacable – and yet when addressing the slave she had shown flashes of quite uncharacteristic – if antagonistic - warmth. Esadora wondered what it could be about this unprepossessing-looking fellow that could have caught her friend's interest; what could have had a chance to grown up between them - and was determined to get to the bottom of it. Gyorg watched them go, a knot of apprehension roiling in his stomach. Having spent all his adult years in varied roles as a slave, he had had ample opportunity for learning about the worst in human nature and had determined very quickly that the two sisters, Esadora in particular, were of a typically malicious – or even sadistically-inclined - type. If not high-born, the pair would perhaps have gravitated towards careers as slave-overseers or prison-wards; any roles that would have granted them dominion over their fellow-creatures. It had been a grave mistake, then, for Gyorg to risk Solande's ire by contradicting her in front of her guests, but he was a simple, honest character and when he answered Esadora's question he had done so without thinking clearly of the possible consequences. And it was also true, whether Solande cared to notice it or not, that he spent the bulk of his life as a field-hand! It was an experience that Gyorg could not so easily forget about, nor edit from his past. The longest period in his life as a slave was perhaps also the time when Gyorg had been happiest – or rather, most content. Through the changing seasons, out in every kind of weather in the fields, the farm-hands worked in close contact with one another, and the mill slave's peers had soon realized what the mine-overseers had not – that despite his loss of hearing Gyorg was still a capable, and thoughtful man. After the day's work was done, the field hands and other outdoor slaves were left much to their own devices. The male and female enclaves were separate but close enough together to allow easy evening visiting and though Gyorg, officially, had been denied his sexual privileges, supervision of the slaves at night was lax enough to allow him occasionally to slip through along with a party of his mates. From the first the women slaves however, wanted little to do with him. For all that his average looks and unremarkable behaviour gave him every appearance of a normal male, the women had all had heard it whispered that there was something not right about Gyorg, and superstitiously fearing that his hidden affliction would somehow infect or corrupt them they invariably gave him a cold-shouldered berth. On one disastrous occasion a mate of Gyorg's persuaded his particular girl-friend of the time to take Gyorg to her bed, but the look of fear and shuddering distaste with which the woman received him was enough to wilt his eager manhood, making it shrivel between his legs – and as after that no further attempts of his - or hers - would make it harden again, the young Gyorg soon left her, his chastity intact. But then the slave girl – still little more than a foolish maid herself, at the time – proceeded to spread gossip, speaking in intimate detail and embellishing Gyorg's failings far and wide, and for a while the mill-slave became a well-known figure of fun. If he had persevered after this in time no doubt the women, like the men, would eventually have grown to accept him, but after that mortifying early set-back the slave, sorely embarrassed, withdrew all efforts to socialize with the opposite sex. Gyorg's loneliness and his bachelor state pained him sometimes, but he threw himself into other pursuits to fill his free time, and when the ache in his balls grew deep enough, well, there was always solace in the friction and stimulation he could bring himself at his own hands. Though he pleasured himself sparingly; raised among an assortment of deeply religious women and men, Gyorg had learned to masturbate only of late, and was still on some level convinced that only hellfire and damnation could follow, should he regularly partake of such solitary pleasures of the flesh. More practicably, privacy was impossible in the shared slave dormitories, and try as a man might to keep quiet under the bedclothes during the course of his personal indulgences, his neighbours in the adjacent cots - if more often than not the whole sleeping-hut - would invariably have a good idea of what he was about. A level of ribald heckling and jesting usually followed a slave's groaning completion - or attended him on the following morning – though this was not usual where Gyorg was concerned. For his colleagues had sympathy for his unmated plight, and by unspoken agreement rarely mentioned this subject to him. It was yet another means by which his affliction had set Gyorg apart from his peers, and it too, grieved him. Still, Gyorg certainly did not lack for friends among the men of the field slaves during this period. In the monastery he had received years of tutoring in languages and was able to both read and write the letters of his own tongue, and even had some understanding of the Latin texts. Hard, manual labour had not yet deadened Gyorg's intellect or his interest in learning at this time, and he was happy to share his knowledge with any of his peers who showed an interest – and though not many of them did, often in the evenings, when the other men of his age were off carousing in the women's compound, Gyorg and the older slaves, together with the very young would gather and he would recite for them and write - by scratching letters in the dirt, passing on the basic lessons and scriptures he had learnt as a boy. An especially promising pupil of Gyorg's had been a much younger man named Devrin. Born a slave on a distant property, this fellow had been sent in trade to Solande's family estate, and when he arrived was not much older than Gyorg had been when he was first indentured. Sympathising with the inexperienced youth's plight in a strange, new place where he would forever be divided from his boyhood friends and family, Gyorg had very much taken the young Devrin under his wing. Over the years a close companionship had grown up between the two men and despite their differences in age and outlook, they had come to regard each other as brothers, almost. The middle-aged Gyorg, with his stoic nature and steady habits had long received the privileges of a senior or well-trusted slave - whereas despite the older man's calming influence, (or perhaps because he had grown over-confident, having lived for years under Gyorg's protection) Devrin was a youthful hot-head, who was forever insinuating and encouraging his fellow workers in revolt. It was not that Gyorg could not understand his young friend's reasoning, which was based – as he himself had been taught by the enlightened scholars of the abbey so long ago - on the fundamental equality existing between all men, but when Devrin stood up and argued for an overthrow of the existing system of indentured serfdom - by violent means if necessary - he began to feel genuine fear for him. For unlike Devrin, Gyorg had seen at first hand the swift fate dealt to agitators among the slaves before: any hint of rebellion in their ranks, if it reached the overseers, would be quashed in the most merciless and brutal fashion, and the repercussions for the remaining slave populace were equally severe, and long-lasting. The after-effects of a failed revolt persisted long after the actual event, costing years of untold misery, in terms of the increased levels of slave-control, punishment and imprisonings that would be inflicted afterwards; retribution that would be meted out even upon those slaves who had not themselves been directly involved in the uprising. In addition to the standard mark of his owner's estate that was branded onto his right shoulder, front and back, Gyorg, for example, still bore a pair of faded white scars, one on the upper surface of each wrist; symbols that had been burned into him shortly after his arrival on the estate as a punishment for slave revolt – notwithstanding that the rebellion in question was not one in which it would have even been possible for Gyorg to have participated, since at the time it took place he was neither physically present on the estate nor technically, yet even a slave. He counted himself lucky to have escaped worse, however. The aftermath of that long-distant uprising found dozens of men and women dead, undoubtedly many of whom were innocent of any crime, and this brought home to Gyorg perhaps more forcefully than anything else could have the reality of his reduced new status as a slave. His masters, and by extension, the overseers acting under their jurisdiction had quite literally the power of life and death over him, as they held this power over all the slaves under their control. In this kind of environment, compliance was of paramount importance and the young Gyorg had rapidly learned to assume a facade of servile docility and submission, attitudes that despite his native spirit had eventually become ingrained in him over his long years as a slave. But argue as he might with Devrin, for the younger man to show or at least speak with caution and restraint, Gyorg's pleas went unheeded. There were invariably a few spies or informers present in any group of slaves and he feared that perhaps one or more of them was even included in Devrin's trusty clique of confidants – a cadre of like-minded young men and youths who, ever on the look-out for what they called 'excitement,' were always keen to stir up trouble. More and more over the final harvest season that Gyorg was to pass among the field-slaves did Devrin turn towards his group of rebel confidants and ultimately, it was one of these boys who betrayed him. A daring feat had been planned among them that would coincide with the end of the harvest; grain wagons were to be overturned and set alight - the estate's produce for the whole year ruined - but the slaves' plot was uncovered before it had any real chance to take hold. At the first sign of difficulty most of the agitators scattered far and wide leaving only Devrin and few of his companions standing firm; as Devrin, who had been singled out as ringleader (no doubt on some anonymous informant's advice) was surrounded and brought to task by the chief of the overseers, even those few faithful compatriots of his then fled. Although a growing distance – something of a rift - had opened between Gyorg and his protégée over that last summer, the older man still cared deeply for his friend and was mindful of his welfare - whether Devrin liked it or not. Aware that some mischief was being planned and ever watchful on Devin's account, he had however been unable to discover any details of the plot, and so it happened that Gyorg was working on the far side of the barley fields when the abortive sabotage attempt began to unfold. Quickly roused by the yells of the overseers and cries from the dispersing slave-men, he covered the distance between himself and Devrin at a frantic pace, only to find the young man at the centre of a circle of onlooking overseers and trusted field-hands, lying all but insensible at the chief overseer's feet. Yet still the larger man continued to belabour his victim with his heavy cudgel; his intention seemingly was to continue and beat poor Devrin to death. Breaking throught the ring of spectators Gyorg flung himself at the overseer, grappling with him. Though inexperienced in hand to hand combat, Gyorg's work-hardened muscles and sinews - and moreover his absolute sense of desperation – lent him an unusual and tenacious strength. Clawing and gouging at the larger man furiously, he beat him around the head with the haft of the plough-shovel he was still carrying, and, when that came loose kept on hitting him using his feet and knees, pummelling him again and again with his bare fists until at last the heavier man began to sag down unconscious; it had taken as much to halt his attack on Devrin. The strength and ferocity of this assault – coming, astonishingly, as it did from the ever-reliable Gyorg - had momentarily stunned both onlooking overseers and the other trusted slaves, who otherwise would have been far quicker in their respose; but their reaction, if slightly delayed, was in no way diminished for all that. Gyorg was swiftly beaten down – beaten senseless - by the mob. On reviving, chained to the whipping post, his formal punishment was continued under the lash and he received a prolonged and brutal thrashing that left the whole of his back, sides and flanks red-raw. From there he was then sent for questioning on the rack and confessed, under minimal duress, to having been the main instigator and chief mastermind of the failed revolt. Whether this transparently false admission of guilt was ever enough to save Devrin, Gyorg never knew, for he was never to resume his old life among the field slaves. Following a slow and painful recuperation from his injuries – a miserable convalescence that took place over long months of solitary confinement in the slaves' prison – his duties were transferred to the grain-mills. Only his long years of dependable service as a field-slave had stood between Gyorg and more immediately effective death-sentence; though conditions in the mills were of course such as made the actual benefit of any so-called 'leniency' that had been shown him highly questionable in point. This, then, was the crime for which he had been sentenced. As it was an offence of violence he was shackled as a matter of course - which added an extra dimension to his plight, for with his hands bound behind his back Gyorg was left utterly reliant of the good-will of his fellow mill slaves. He was tied in place of course, and without their help he could not leave his post at the grinding wheel; could not take in food or other much-needed sustenance during a work break; couldn't, as he was soon humiliated to discover, even pass his water without another man's express assistance. While aiding him grudgingly, Gyorg's compatriots in the mill complained bitterly to their superiors about the additional burden that he – and the other violent offenders like him - represented. Their grievances were taken seriously; the mill overseer soon promoted a new assistant from the ranks of the existing trusted inmates. Among this man's duties would be the day to day tending of the rebel field slave and others of his ilk. Gyrog was dozing on his feet, head-down, in the traces when the new overseer's assistant reached him. By this time he had no qualms remaining; with scant few opportunities for relieving himself he had learned to empty his bladder whenever the chance presented itself. Placing his nosisesome slop bucket down on the floor, the assistant took hold of Gyorg's member to help him aim properly, for which the slave was inordinately grateful. Few men in the mill would have bothered with this, and as careful as Gyorg tried to be it was impossible to piss standing up without a greater or lesser amount ending up splashing his legs or his feet: if that happened to be noted by an overseer, he would invariably receive punishment for it. This man held him until he was finished, solicitously shook the last remaining drops out of him, and seemed to keep hold for a little while longer than usual, after. He came to the narrow stall where Gyorg was chained that night, and worked the sleeping slave up to an easy orgasm. It had been so long for Gyorg, who in his drowsy torpor was already half-hard and wanting, that his ejaculation came on almost as soon as the new assistant began masturbating him with swift, efficient strokes; barely roused from slumber it was too quick for the mill slave to properly feel the pleasure of it, almost. Over too quickly or not however, the man had then expected payment in kind. Forcing Gyorg to his knees, with one hand on his jaw he had made the slave open his mouth then began trying to fuck him down his throat. As his assailant set to work the rank odour and foul taste of the man's unwashed organ made him retch and want to vomit, for Gyorg was not a fancier of men by nature; and though by instinct of self-preservation he tried to force himself receive him willingly, it was all too much. After a few hideous moments of fighting for air, choking on the stinking member thrusting for his mouth Gyorg bit down by reflex - and then his new admirer's cries had roused up everybody. The Slave and his Mistress Ch. 03 Life for Gyorg, since then, had grown significantly worse. Marked as a trouble-maker by the twin badges of his chained hands and the punishment ring new-placed in his raw and bleeding nose, he became an easy target for abuse. The overseers whipped him, beat and kicked him when he was in the traces; his fellow mill-slaves, while largely eschewing such overt methods suspected collusion with the overseers (why else otherwise, would Gyorg have been singled out for the intimate attentions of the new assistant?) and suddenly became forgetful of him, often neglecting to feed or water or otherwise succour Gyorg when he was tied in his place. Regularly left chained in position at the end of a shift, he often had no choice but to work several sessions on the wheel successively. Though secured in place primarily by the straps that ran from his harness to the spoke behind him, a narrow chain also connected Gyorg's collar to the spoke directly in front and so inevitably, when the exhausted slave slipped and lost his footing towards the end of one of the double, or triple shifts he was forced to work he would continued to be dragged onwards by the wheel's movement by the throat; luckily at a slow enough pace, or it would surely have strangled him. With no end in sight – no end left even thinkable – other than a lingering death from exhaustion eked out in days and inches under the wheel, this punishing regime soon brought the unfortunate Gyorg to the brink of physical, and mental, collapse. It was from this miserable condition that Solande had retrieved him. A particular overseer in the mill, a fair-minded man who had received a favourable account of Gyorg from one of his former work-chiefs, had come upon him broken in the traces, trembling with exhaustion and parched from thirst, caked in his own filth and vomit and quite unrecognizable as the quiet, steady-eyed, stoic who had been brought to the mills not six months previously. Gyorg's pitiable state had roused even that hardened overseer's compassion. This man knew that the mistress, Lady Solande had recently sent a request to view a selection of heavy labourers at her pleasure and in recommending the mill-slave to be sent to her for interview, had, by giving Gyorg the narrowest of chances, done what little he could to try to assist him. TBC