It had once been white, but there were the brown stains of dried blood covering much of it.It had once been white, but there were the brown stains of dried blood covering much of it. "You see," she said to me, her foul breath washing over me, "The last toy we had misbehaved. We've not cleaned her things off since then. That will be your task." The lock on the collar was small and brass, but I could never break it. Styur smiled as he regarded me. "You will need to wash, Mosh." I was to find out that "mosh" is a word in their language meaning "toy." It was my new name. I was consequently washed and then taken back to Uma and Styur's hut. I was shown my sleeping cloths on the floor, then given a basket and told to collect the cloths scattered throughout the house and wash them. I did as I was told. I had no choice. There was nowhere to run, nobody to feed me. I was alone, the only slave alive in the Centaur camp, the plaything of their warrior-leader. I was assured that they had others at time, but the war and their movements had caused them to lose most of their slaves. I asked if those slaves had died on the trip. "No," Styur replied, smiling. "They were eaten." The days and nights passed as winter came closer and closer. I was taught to make the fire, to raise the heat, to cook for them. And every third night or so Styur would tie me down to his bench and have his way with me. He was creative in his foul way, tying me face down and then placing bricks under one side of the bench to lift my buttocks into the air, making his entry easier. I hated him. And every time he raped me, I climaxed. I drew my pleasure from hating him, from the knowledge that I could have this pleasure, that it was mine, it belonged to me, I made it despite him. He could never take it away from me without taking away his prick, his own pleasure at his human girl. |