1 comments/ 5021 views/ 2 favorites Barbarian Ch. 01 By: MasterOfShe Author's note: This story is the continuation of the series "Chieftain", which I recommend you read first, before continuing here. The nameless main character's title has changed with this entry, to show his changing circumstance. As usual, the story contains strong elements of slavery and non-consent, set in a fantasy setting. I hope you enjoy, and openly welcome all comments. Thank you. ***** "Where is Kirtuk?!" the barbarian shouted in fury. The tribe had emerged victorious from the woods, proceeding then to swarm into the Imperial encampment. Sakara and the remaining soldiers had fled, and like the procession of the tax collector before this, the encampment was now engulfed in flame. Two victories. Two fires. Yet only one enemy leader had been slain. The other, the more dangerous of the two, was now missing, as was one of the barbarian's most trusted warriors. Kirtuk had not been seen since the battle in the woods began. "We fought side by side, my chief," Karvol explained, "Back to back. But these soldiers are very strong, with good weapons, and armor such as I have never seen. He... We were both overwhelmed, my chief." "And yet where is he? You stand before me! You are certain he is not among the slain?" the barbarian asked again. "The tribe may stand when one warrior falls," Karvol said, "The two of us were surrounded...beaten. I do not remember what happened. I found myself alone, lying in a circle of slain foes. Kirtuk was gone." The barbarian's rage was scarcely contained. He had won! And was he now to find himself defeated? This was a most grievous injury. "My chief," Karvol began, "Others are also missing." "How many?" the barbarian asked. "A dozen, in all. Another score fallen." "How many fallen enemy?" "Beyond count, my chief." "Kirtuk was to be chieftain after me," the barbarian mused, "That mantle now falls to you, Karvol." "Thank you, my chief," Karvol said. "Do not thank me. You carry a great shame upon your shoulders. He was your tribesman. He fought by your side, back to back, and now you cannot remember what befell him. This brings suspicion, Karvol. You will carry this for the rest of your days." Karvol did not answer. He simply looked the barbarian in the eyes, and nodded. He accepted his fate. ... The hard stone floor scraped her knees as she knelt and cowered before her mistress, the Lady Sakara. Her long hair was tied back in a braid that carried a noticeable weight on her back. Though a warm fire burned in the fireplace before her, Ata cringed. "Do you know why you have been brought before me, slave?" Sakara asked. She stood high and regal, with straight back and penetrating gaze. Ata made sure to keep her eyes on Sakara's bare feet before her. Had she ever seen her mistress wear shoes? "No, Mistress," she answered, "I have tried to do everything you have commanded of me. I do not understand." "Yes, you have done as you have been told," Sakara said, "Yet still, I am displeased." She began a slow pace, ominously circling around Ata on the floor. The slave girl tried her best not to move, but she couldn't stop a slight turn of her head and eyes. She didn't know what she was supposed to say. "As a slave, you know your body belongs to me," Sakara said, "And I will do with it what I please." "Yes, Mistress," Ata said demurely. "And what of your mind, slave? Your heart? Your soul?" "Mistress...?" "There is fire in your eyes, Ata, born of Feylar, Governor of the East," Sakara said. She had known exactly who Ata was the moment she had seen her naked and chained at the slave market in the Capitol square. It was humiliating. "This is unbecoming in a slave." "I...I am sorry, Mistress. I beg forgiveness." Sakara stopped her pacing behind her. Ata dared not turn to look, though she did continue to try to sneak a glance. "Undo your braid, slave. Let loose your hair." "Yes, Mistress." Slowly, Ata did as she was told. Her hair fell forward over her shoulders, nearly touching the floor in front of her. "I understand that among your people, your hair is a sign of status," Sakara said. Ata knew she had no status here. She saw where this was going. "...Not...exactly...Mistress. It..." "Oh...yes. It is your power. It is your very spirit." Tears began to well in Ata's eyes. What could she say? "Answer me, slave." "Yes, Mistress." A single tear ran down Ata's cheek. "Hair is power..." A thought! A hope finally struck her! "But I have no power, Mistress!" Her hands went to her naked sex, and she bent over to try to see. "I am shaved, Mistress, as a slave. My people would shun such a person! I am nothing! See?" "Your words do not match your voice, slave. You cling to hope. Tell me you do not still dream of freedom." Ata's words caught in her throat. "A true slave suffers no such illusions, my pet. And let's be honest, shall we?" A smirk crossed Sakara's lips. "You don't have what it takes to escape, or to overpower me. Now, it is true that the slavers took the power of your sex. That is a mark born by all slaves." A sudden fury then unleashed itself. Sakara strode forward with purpose, clasping Ata's hair in her fist and jerking the girl upward to stand on her toes, trying desperately to relieve the pressure. Her scalp was screaming with pain. Unthinking, her hands went to Sakara's, to try to loosen the grip. But the mistress was stronger than other women. Ata flailed helplessly as she gasped and moaned. She danced on her toes, but nothing would stop Sakara's rage. "I see now that in your case, more extreme measures need to be taken!" Sakara called then for the slave handler, an old eunuch whose cruelty Ata had learned to fear here in this house. He came at once, seeming to emerge from the shadows themselves and into the torchlight. The eunuch, though a slave himself, wore thick leather boots and rough hewn leggings. He was naked from the waist up, revealing the monstrous scars that covered his chest. He wore a whip at his side, and though he was lean and bald, his face betrayed an inner bitterness and ferocity that was not to be questioned. Ata saw him out of the corner of her eye. She looked desperately back to meet Sakara's gaze, pleading for mercy with her tears. Her body was exhausted and her muscles ached from trying to fight. Sakara didn't seem at all fatigued. How did she do this? "Get your shears, old man!" Seemingly prepared for the occasion, the eunuch pulled an old, rusty, heavy pair of scissors from the pouch at his side. Sakara hurled Ata to the ground. She landed with a thud, scraping herself and knocking the wind from her lungs. She heaved with exasperation and tried to crawl away. Sakara chuckled sadistically. "Cut off that ridiculous hair. I want it short. Like a boy." The eunuch strode to Ata's side and placed his foot between her shoulder blades, pushing and forcing her back to the ground. She caught enough of her breath to grunt as he then sat on the small of her back. He reached his hand around to grab her throat, painfully arching her back and pulling her head upwards. "NO!" she screamed, "Please! I will obey! Please, Mistress! NO!" He ignored her, keeping her pinned on her stomach. She heard the scraping of rusty metal, and her hair began to fall in patches all around her. She sobbed. Then she was roughly thrown forward, hitting her face on the stone. Her cheek and brow ached. Her head throbbed. Then she saw her hair, and knew she was beaten again. They had butchered her spirit! She was powerless! Sakara walked before her. "Kneel, slave." Slowly, Ata drew herself up to kneel before her mistress. She sighed. "Your body belongs to me, and I will do with it what I please," Sakara said. "Yes, Mistress." "Know also that I own your mind. You will think and act as I command. You will derive pleasure only from knowing that you have pleased me. I alone will occupy your thoughts. Everything you do should be to please me, and that alone. When you eat, you shape your body to please me. When you sleep, you rest so that you may better please me! When you fuck, it is to please me, your owner! Me, your mistress! Do you understand me?" Her voice raised to a bitter inferno, and then settled back to icy coldness. "Yes, Mistress." Ata could feel her heart catching in her throat. "...and your soul? You have no soul. You are a slave." Ata did not answer. "Masturbate." "What?" Ata raised her eyes for just a moment before she felt the crack of the eunuch's whip across her back. She cried out, arching and falling forward onto her hands. "I said, masturbate." "But, why, Mistress?" Again, the whip. Ata cried out, but before Sakara could give the command again, the slave's hands were on her sex. She sat back on her heels and looked down at her hand working between her legs. "Because I command, and you obey." Sakara walked forward to within inches, and bent forward to whisper in Ata's ear. "Tell me...are you wet?" She hadn't been. She had been hurt and scared. But at the breath on her ear, Ata suddenly found that she was indeed, very wet. She gasped. "Answer me," came another whisper. "Yes, Mistress," she whispered in reply. "This is what happens when you yield to me, Ata. I can give you great pleasure. All you have to do is please me. And you do that every time you submit to my word." Ata's hand worked faster. She was confused. She...couldn't think. She could only... "Please me, and please yourself," Sakara whispered. "Ah! Ah! Yes! Yes! Mistress!" "Now I want you to take that ugly pile of hair off the floor, and offer it to me while you touch yourself." Ata reached for the hair with her left hand, offering it up as Sakara stood once more to her full height. She took it from the slave and cast it into the fire. Ata massaged her swollen and aching nub as she watched her spirit burn. "Now..." Sakara said, "Cum." Waves of pleasure overcame her as she heaved, twitched, and moaned...for her mistress. ... Days passed, and many moons. Winter came, and went. Life was good for the tribe. Many of them never knew there had ever been anything amiss. They knew nothing of the Empire. Only of their chieftain's exotic new wife. Kirtuk had been slain in battle with a neighboring tribe, some said. Others said he had been lost on a hunt. He was mourned, but this was not an unusual circumstance. Warriors were often killed or lost. Yet the barbarian himself knew better. His thoughts could not be swayed from the loss of one of his most trusted companions. He spent many hours plotting strategy against an enemy he knew yet escaped defeat. He trained with his sword and shield against Karvol, and he fucked his wives. Wife, and slave...? He wasn't sure about that, either. Did he even know the difference...? Ata still called him... "Master!" "I see it." He stood on the steps of the Hall of the Ancestors. He heard her bare feet padding against the stone as she ran to him from within. In the village below, a crowd was quickly gathering around a lone figure on horseback. He was easily visible from a distance, as his polished plate armor shone in the sun. "I'm going down there," he said, descending the steps towards the scene, and the throngs of his people. "Do you think...? I mean, have they...?" Ata blurted as she followed him. "Silence," he said, "We will soon learn." "Yes, Master." She stopped and stood about halfway down the steps of the great building. As he reached the bottom and began walking towards the crowd, the two of them were framed for a moment together. Though she was physically elevated above him, she stood at the very center of his influence, on the building that itself served as testament to the might of his people. The crowd parted before him as he approached the rider, who then dismounted and turned to regard him. The rider removed his helmet. The barbarian was given pause. "...Kirtuk?" "My chief," came the response. It was undeniably Kirtuk. And yet, the grizzled warrior was changed. His once long hair was cut short, and his beard was shaved. He still stood straight and regal, with broad shoulders. He was older than the barbarian, but looked now much closer in age. Years had vanished with his beard. The barbarian laughed, striding forward to clasp his friend in a firm hug. "Welcome home, my friend!" He kept his arm on Kirtuk's shoulder as he turned to address the crowd. "Our warrior returns! A feast will be held this very night, on this very spot, in his honor! The blessings of the ancestors shine upon us all!" On the steps above, he caught sight of Ata, as she quickly turned and ran back up the steps, undoubtedly to spread the news and order the necessary preparations on his behalf. That woman knew how to serve. The crowd began to disperse with excitement. The barbarian ordered a young boy to escort the hose to the stables, and walked Kirtuk up the great steps before them. "You have much to tell," he said. "My chief," Kirtuk said, "There is much to be done." ... That evening, as the fires burned and the festivities surged beneath them, the barbarian sat at his table atop the Hall of the Ancestors, with Leila to his right, as his first wife. Ata had a chair to his left, but insisted on standing behind it, refusing to eat but morsels. It was only his command that kept her off her knees at his side. It was a great honor to dine here, with the chieftain, than down in the street with the crowd. Yet still, she didn't make it seem as such. "Something is very wrong," Leila was saying, "He is changed." "Are you always to be my word of caution?" the barbarian asked. "You also told me to deny the throne they offered." "And by your grace, you heeded my warning," Leila said. "I know Kirtuk is your friend." "He is one of my most trusted warriors." "That is not Kirtuk. He is changed." "Master," Ata said. She seated herself in the chair next to him, in an attempt to draw his attention. "My sister speaks truth. His story...it does not make sense. The Empire does not behave as he has described." Kirtuk had told them that he was taken captive at the battle in the woods. However, in honor of his fighting prowess, he was offered a commission as an officer in the Imperial legions, much as the barbarian had been offered the throne of governor. He was struck by the majesty of the Imperial capitol, and had asked leave to remedy the relationship with his people, and offer them another chance at peace. Serving as messenger, the hope was that the barbarian would trust the words of his friend. And as truth would have it, the barbarian was tempted once more. "Yet both of you see that there he stands," the barbarian offered. Kirtuk was drinking with Karvol below, with two women, one under each arm. "That I do not contest," Ata said, "But, Master, I speak from experience...as a slave. He is lying to you." "And so what would you have me do?" the barbarian asked. "Master...I beg your permission. Let me speak with him. Give me your authority." "What do you mean?" Leila asked. "You can trust me, Master. I will start by talking to Karvol. You will know the truth," Ata said. The barbarian took a drink, and thought. Finally, he answered. "Leila was right before. I will trust her again. And now I am trusting my second wife as well." "I am your slave, Master." "Do as you wish," he said. "You speak with my authority." ... Late that night, Ata knocked on Karvol's door. When he opened it, he found her without...naked. He himself was wearing only a simple loin cloth, having been soundly asleep. "Ata?" he asked, groggily. "May a girl enter?" she asked, placing her hand on his chest. He took her wrist and drew her within, closing the door behind her. "What do you want?" he asked. She sauntered closer to him, cupping him through his loin cloth as she pressed herself against him, and stood on her toes to whisper in his ear. "I need your help," she said. He pushed her away. "You are the wife of my chief," he said. "Of course I will help you." She redoubled her efforts, untying the band around his waist and revealing his manhood. He responded, despite his better judgment, and she noticed. She once more took him in her hand, reaching also around to grab his firm buttocks. "You will not like what I am asking," she said. "Why? Does the chieftain know?" he asked. She noticed that he was no longer pushing her away. She turned her back to him, grinding her ass against his undeniable firmness. She arched her back to grab his neck and look into his eyes. "In a manner of speaking. He has given me leave to speak with his authority," she said. "He should speak to me himself," he said. She moved away from him. When she turned to face him once more, she could see the conflict within him. His body was telling him to step forward and take her. "Karvol," she said. "Without Kirtuk, you were to be the next chieftain." "Yes," he said. He looked away, briefly. Yes, he was conflicted. He was loyal, but jealous. He was happy, but disappointed. He was angry, and lustful. She crawled into his bed, uninvited, and turned to open her legs to him. He turned back, and saw her shaved sex. She began to finger herself. "You want to be chief," she sighed. "He has many privileges, you know." "Are you trying to seduce me?" he asked. She put her arms at her sides, and laughed. "Of course. You've distrusted me from the start. But you are a man, after all." "That is not the issue," he said. "I am a slave, Karvol. You cannot change that. I serve your chieftain. But tonight, I am here to serve you, in exchange for your help." He walked to the bed. His manhood was at full attention. "I ask you again," he said. "What do you want?" "Why don't you lie down with me and find out?" she asked. His body made the decision for him. He moved between her legs, and brought himself to his hands and knees above her. She pulled him close, and their mouths moved together, exhaling and inhaling. She wrapped her legs around him, and pulled him inside. He began to move on top of her. "I need you to kidnap Kirtuk," she whispered in his ear, "And bring him to me in the depths of the Hall of the Ancestors. I have some specific instructions."