A Slave's Journey Begins Ch. 01

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Tara remembers her past and contemplates her future.
2k words
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64.5k
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Part 1 of the 12 part series

Updated 10/31/2022
Created 12/03/2014
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Tara woke with a start. The cart must have hit a bump in the road. She shifted uncomfortably on the thin blanket between her and the hard planks of wood carrying her through the countryside and pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders. Around her, the furnishings that had filled her home rattled and creaked and she could only hope that everything had been tied down securely. Although not tied down herself, the steel collar around her neck clearly marked her as much a possession as the trunks of china and linens with which she shared the cart. But belonging to whom? Tara closed her eyes and tried not to think of her uncertain future ahead.

In her dream, Tara saw herself as a young girl, bathing with her mother in the cool lake not far from the Master's estate. She had traced the scars on her mother's body many times and knew the story of her escape by night, pregnant and alone, by heart.

"It was a brave thing you did, mother," she had insisted many times. "The right thing!"

"No, Tara," her mother had replied time and again. "Running away is a shameful thing for a slave to do, no matter how cruel the Master may be."

Tara knew nothing of the cruelty her mother spoke of. When she conjured her childhood, she remembered only days spent in the sun, playing with the children of the villagers and running free. Her Master had been an old man for as long as she could remember, but he had a kind face and sometimes when he returned from trips to the city, he would bring her little gifts - a doll, a dress with a lace hem. She could recall trips to the market where she had seen slaves being auctioned off in the square. Sobbing and struggling, the naked bodies for sale to the highest bidder had held a strange fascination for Tara. Her mother, with collar carefully hidden from prying eyes beneath her shawl, had always hurried her away.

"Disgraceful," she had muttered. "We're just lucky it isn't us."

Tara had never seen any real connection between herself and the slaves at the market until her eighteenth birthday. A fine robe in a rich crimson arrived for her and joining some twenty other girls in their robes, Tara had spent the following weeks beginning her slave training. It was the first time Tara had ever been to the city and as she listened to the excited chatter of the other girls in the expansive home of the Village Slave Mistress, it was also the first time she realized how very little she knew of the world. Snippets of conversations came back to her in fragmented dreams - talk of lavish parties and castles across the sea. And then there were the lessons in the correct positions to assume, the correct words to say,

"Every Master's tastes are different," the Slave Mistress had said. "It's your job to discover them and mold yourself to be all that he desires. He may whip you mercilessly, punish you unfairly, use you until you are sore and give you to men you find vile. All of this you must accept gracefully. Learn to delight in the marks he leaves on your body. You must be open always, pleasing in sight, smell, sound, taste and touch to your Master, and ready to serve him in whatever way he requires. This is who you are and who you must be."

Tara was a dutiful student, although the Mistress had little time for the likes of her. With her gawky limbs, pert breasts, freckled skin and mop of blonde curls (cut short by her own hand much to her mother's dismay), Tara was not exactly the kind of slave on which fortunes were spent or wars were waged. She had none of the exotic beauty or natural charm possessed by other girls. In those first weeks, she had often wondered if she was truly meant to be a slave at all. Plus, there were constant whispers about her - that her mother was a runaway, that her Master was an eccentric with no other slaves other than the one he had stolen.

"Training that girl is a waste." Creeping past the Slave Mistress' room one night, Tara had heard her speaking to an unseen guest and instinctively known they were talking about her.

"Sir Thomas is an old man now and I hear he is unwell. He rarely comes to the city anymore. His son manages Blackmore Estate, while he hides away in that miserable cottage. The girl and her mother might as well be common housemaids."

Tara had never forgotten those words and back home with her mother, scrubbing the floors, she heard them ringing in her mind with renewed truth.

"We're barely slaves at all!" she had complained. "Why, we're... we're just common maids!"

Her complaints had earned her a stinging slap that had left a red imprint on her cheek.

"How dare you say such things?" her mother had seethed at her. "You have no idea how lucky we are. What do you imagine would have become of us if Sir Thomas hadn't taken us in? You should be grateful for what you have. My poor girl - I can't bear to think what will happen to you when we are gone."

Tara had retreated to the garden to sulk, and creeping back in after sunset, had heard her Master's voice, uncharacteristically harsh.

"I won't do it! How can you even ask me? She's like my own daughter, for god's sake."

"Please, my love, I'm begging you," her mother had replied. "You may see her as a child yet, but the world will see her as a woman and an unclaimed slave. What will happen to her? What will people say?"

"Of course I will claim her," she heard her Master say. "Tara will always wear the collar of my house and be taken care of. I don't need to touch her for that. Isn't that enough?"

"What if it's discovered? What if it becomes known that your collared slave remains unopened? Everyone will think that my daughter is defective and displeasing. I fear when you are gone, the world will not be kind to her. You know as well as I do the price a virgin brings at auction. To think of her paraded in front of the crowds at the market..." There her mother's voice had trailed off into weeping.

After a long silence, her Master had said, "Tonight, then."

Even in her dreams, Tara still felt the flutter in her belly and the goosebumps on her skin that she had felt that night. In her eighteen years, she had been inside the Master's chamber only a handful of times, but she loved the feel of the thick rug, soft beneath her feet, and the faint smell of tobacco mixed with sandalwood that hung in the air. That night, she had entered quietly, naked under her slave's robe, and knelt as she had been taught, knees slightly apart, hands clasped behind her neck, eyes downcast. Sitting at his large writing table, she heard her Master sigh and felt him approach her.

"You can stop all that, Tara," he had said. "There's no need for that here."

She slowly dropped her hands and looked up at him. She remembered the warmth of his hand as he had cupped her chin.

"You have such a sweet face," he had said.

Tara had felt her skin go hot and her eyes fill with tears of shame. She had heard stories of men going wild with desire for a slave, of paying huge sums to be the first to claim them, of nights filled with every kind of pleasure imaginable. But not for her. A sweet face stirred no one's passions and she felt herself woefully lacking. Misunderstanding her tears, her Master had been quick to wipe them away and murmur soothing words to calm her. Taking her hand, he had led her to his bed and gently pushed her down until she lay on her back. She felt his hand slip beneath her robe and come to rest on the inside of her thigh.

"Open," he said, meeting her gaze directly. His voice was quiet, but no less commanding for being so. Tara remembered the Slave Mistress' words - always be open, be pleasing, be ready to serve. She took a deep breath and parted her legs. Her Master's fingers stroked lightly over her most private places and her breath quickened. Parting her folds, his thumb found a most sensitive spot and Tara gasped when he pressed it. In her training at the Slave Mistress' house, there had been times when she had felt the beginnings of excitement between her legs and as he continued to work his thumb in small circles, she felt a familiar wetness and a new heat. She closed her eyes and allowed the sensation to wash over her. Involuntarily, her body tensed as one of her Master's long fingers pushed for entry. Then he was inside her, applying a firm but gentle pressure. She felt something inside her give way and she cried out as his finger pierced her fully. He withdrew and slid back in, picking up speed as her body responded. His thumb began hitting its mark in time with the thrusts of his thick finger and Tara felt the first waves of electric pleasure rippling through her body. A second finger joined the first one and she whimpered as they entered her, stretching her untried opening almost to the point of pain. But the feeling radiating from her core was overpowering and she could sense it building, pushing her to the edge of an unknown climax that she desperately wanted to reach. And then suddenly, the fingers were gone. Tara opened her eyes and in the flickering light of the candles that lit the room, she saw her Master's hand, glistening with her wetness and with her blood.

"You may rest here for some time if you like," he had said and had retreated to the papers strewn about his desk. Tara didn't know how long she had lain on his bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling empty and alone. When she finally stood, she had been uncertain of what to do. If she followed her training, she ought to kneel before her Master, thank him for using her and offer herself for further service, but all she wanted to do was run back to the safety of her own room. She waited hesitantly by the bed for some cue from him, but he seemed utterly disinterested. He neither looked at her nor spoke a word and she finally left, full of the sense that somehow, she had failed.

In her bed that night, Tara had wept uncontrollable tears. Was she so hideous that her Master would not even use her as a Master should use his slave? In the morning, she had searched her own wide blue eyes in the mirror and come to a decision. If she was to be a slave - a true slave - then she would begin to act like it. She would ask her mother how best to please the Master and devote herself to fulfilling his needs and desires. As these thoughts ran through her head, her mind also strayed to the night before, to the fingers moving inside her, to the pulsing heat that had spread through her body. It wasn't long before her own hand found its way to the soft curls between her legs and began an exploration with a featherlight touch. A soft sigh of pleasure escaped her lips before the Slave Mistress' voice in her head wrenched her back to reality.

"Your body is not your own. Your mouth, your sex, your backside, your breasts, your hands - these all belong to your Master and are to be used for his pleasure and with his permission only. A slave who takes her own pleasure disgraces herself and dishonours her Master."

Ashamed, Tara had quickly set about practicing her slave positions as she was supposed to do every day, and after washing and dressing, went to tell her mother of her new resolve. But she never got the chance.

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3 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousabout 9 years ago
Deliciously...

compelling! Thanks and bravo...

AnonymousAnonymousover 9 years ago
Confused

So her mother ran away while pregnant only to, what, volunteer for another master? And then raise her daughter to be a slave as well? Not making much sense.

AnonymousAnonymousover 9 years ago
Interesting

Has potential, even though we only got a tiny hint of the story here. I'll keep an eye out for the next one

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