Tonight was different than all the other nights. We were alone, Boheme deep in troubled thought all through the soup, duck and potatoes. Not until we were served the fresh greens did I hear him speak to me.
“You told me sometime ago that you envisioned Darthganton’s death?” he questioned me.
“Yes, I did,” I replied.
“In your vision, how did he die?”
“I saw him walking in a marketplace with his body guards. His bride, my …” I stopped realizing what I was about to say, “his second wife was at his side. The bullets pierced his chest, knocking him off his feet. His face was contorted, his eyes looking as if he just couldn’t believe …” My voice trailed off. Boheme didn’t have to say a thing for me to know what had happened to my father.
He shared my dumbfound expression as he responded to my vision. “The papers are reporting that Darthganton died that way in the Prussian quarter of the marketplace. Last night.”
“Then he’s gone?” I said. My heart felt as though I’d swallowed lead, and that it was descending to the pit of my stomach. I’m sure my face paled. Instantly correcting my attitude, I added in an even voice, “Well, that’s good, the bastard deserved to die.”
Boheme noted my vehemence. “Such views for a slave.”
“You said yourself that I am no mere slave,” I reminded him, reminded at the same time that I’d never offered my opinions or raised my voice to this master. Thankfully, he didn’t appear bothered by my bitter appraisal.
“How long ago did you see this vision?” he asked.
“When you first brought me here.”
“The name Ruel has also appeared in the papers, a youthful reformer from France who has invaded Prussia. Perhaps there is something to your visions after all.”
“I never claimed there was, I’ve only reported what’s appeared to me.”
“But we’ll have to keep these visions coming.”
12/29 - There have been more days, many of them, where my master binds me and draws the mysterious pain out of my limbs and those sensitive places associated with my sex. Each time, my mind parades a battalion of pictures through my head. After each session he tells me to write down everything, having given me my own desk in his offices to do this. He reads the results while I watch his face light in recognition of the names and events that I see. Sometimes he smiles, often he scowls, but rarely does he comment on the content. He does make certain that I am bereft of any news about the world outside his house, so those things won’t contaminate the product of my sexual mission.
In recent days, he’s taken to abusing my dark channel. Every morning I rise to begin a routine meant to set the mood for my day. I work out vigorously at Boheme’s command. He says he doesn’t want my muscles to atrophy from so little activity. For nearly an hour my body is limbered with deep stretches and then I continue with a repetitious series of exercises, which leave my heart beating fast. At the end, he gives me a tonic to purify my inner body, and then my sphincter is penetrated with a thick rod from which a stream of water flows to cleanse me thoroughly. I hold the waters within me long past the point where the sensation is excruciating and the pressure to eliminate them engages every activity of my consciousness. If I show any distress with the process, he paddles my ass hard, instilling a little more courage in me to hold on. He says the pain without will take my mind off the discomfort within. When he’s assured that the treatment is complete, I rush to take care of the great need, and find myself admitting every time to a feeling of purification.
After my morning workout, Boheme encourages me to write for several hours, even if it is something not particularly associated with my visions. He must be intuitively linked with me to know that there will be remarkable results. I have been fashioning a treatise in my mind about the true nature of human sexuality, and how this joyous gift has been prostituted, suppressed, institutionalized and perverted for the purposes of power and old men’s fears of losing it. I revel in these words, knowing that it was my own father, the despot Darthganton, who championed the manipulation of the sexual energies of youth for his own political advantage. I am relieved that I have now turned my hatred into the constructive pursuit of the truth he squelched.
Boheme reads my words with his eyebrows raised in curiosity, while at times peering through his reading glasses at me with a narrow stare. He says little, then with a wave of his hand bids me return to my chambers. Once my writing period is over, I’m ready for his ministrations. For days, I’ve been forced over the horsehide saddle with my thighs stretched out wide so he can take full advantage of my posterior orifice. He’s made it his devout purpose to stretch the tight opening, so it becomes as willing for penetration as my pulsing vagina. Rods of thicker and thicker width are pressed inside. I scream with pain when he thrusts hard. Though slowly, I’m becoming more accustomed to the assault, my body naturally allowing these foreign things inside. Boheme abuses me, sometimes several times before he’s finished, cracking paddles, canes and whips against my ass, so that place is perpetually marred and bruised. As one set of bruises begins to heal another fresh set appears. Looking in the mirror during my bath, my body warms happily seeing these marks. I wonder sometimes if some day a welt or two will become permanent. I think that would only be just, considering this occupation.
Once the punishment to my rear is complete, I’m raped by whatever men Boheme can rouse for the activity. Because he often has houseguests staying with him in his bawdy environment, it’s easy to find cocks willing to do his bidding. Yesterday, because there was no one else available, he brought the gardener to my chamber while I was tied over the hide.
“She’ll take you in her ass,” my master told him.
The burly hulk of a man was pleased. His erection was as bold a one as I’d ever had in that dark region. He opened me wide, and a great burst of pain and passion overtook my brain—which had become bored with this endless process of abuse. I struggled to accommodate the man, since I was eager to please both my master and the gardener’s vigorous cock. Our joined cries were guttural, like the copulation of two animals in heat.
Duly inspired, so too were my visions that poured through me this morning like a hard pounding rain of summer.
12/30 - Boheme tells me of the carnivals marking the beginning of the new year. I looked at him longingly as I was about to sit down to write this morning. There seems to be an unspoken connection growing between us that doesn’t require words.
“Don’t worry, you’ll not be disappointed with the start of the year. And you’ll not disappoint my friends.”
“You’ll be giving me away?”
“It is my right,” he reminded me, sounding haughty.
“I know.” Actually I was pleased.
It seemed that there was more work to my days than carefree enjoyment anymore, especially since my master finds my visions and my writings are essential to our daily lives. Thoughts of a stage where I dance, where men come to me and suckle at my breasts and fondle my pubis and rings with their tongues was triggered in my mind. I wonder if it was another vision.
Today Boheme sat down in his chair as he usually does while he waits for my freshly delivered messages to the world. Normally he’s quiet as a mouse reading a book while I work, but not this morning.
“I’ve published your treatise on sexuality,” he told me, just as my hands were poised to begin.
I jerked around in my seat. “Published where?”
“In the underground paper, though it’s hardly underground anymore. Most people are reading it above the others because it tells truth where the others try to cover up the facts.”
“What truth? What’s happening?”
“You already know. As you predicted there’s a general uprising in the wake of Darthganton’s death. A regular war for power. I’m afraid it’s been very bloody, though it is exciting.”
“I would have thought he’d have aides and ministers who would step in?”
“They’re weak. I’m
afraid our supreme lord populated his ministry with knaves and unimaginative dullards. They are dying like flies after a freeze.”
“Did Darthganton’s family die with him?” I asked.
“No one knows for sure. There are rumors that they are in exile, but it’s all speculation. Some say his first wife was murdered in her sleep, and his bride escaped in the commotion that reigned when the bullets took him down.”
Boheme’s answer generated a profound sorrow in me. I’d seen it all, but not my mother’s death.
“Then there is anarchy,” I said, knowing before he replied what answer he’d give.
“Just as you saw.”
“And the names, Ruel, Rigor and Epsentium?”
“All warring rebels, generals of the various factions.”
“And how was my treatise received?”
“There are hundreds of people clamoring to know who you are.”
“You’ll tell the world about me?”
“Oh, not yet. I’ll keep them guessing.” There was a devious smirk on his face, as if he was thoroughly enjoying the game we were playing with desperate masses in the outside who craved some explanation for this twist in history.
“I suppose that’s safer,” I commented.
“For now,” he replied. I wondered what was on his mind to look so cagey, but it wasn’t my place to ask. “Perhaps we’ll unveil you at one of the pagan feasts. That would be appropriate, don’t you think?”
The minute he mentioned the pagan feasts I saw myself in that milieu, another vision perhaps, naked and dancing before the fire pits, bringing on men to copulate with me. Boheme saw the way my eyes locked him out, knowing that I was in the middle of a reverie.
“What are you seeing?” he asked.
“Myself, my future,” I answered him. Though at the moment I didn’t really want to speak too much about that future, the way a trail of fear was winding its way around me like the vine on my flesh, though this vine seemed to have the power to tighten so it would strangle me.
1/3 - Three days to recoup and I’m still reeling. Oh, my master had great plans for me, taking me down to the brothel district. It was too cold for me to cavort as I would have liked, in some sexual costume to show off my vine and the jewelry. While we celebrated in the street, after the bells tolled the new year, we stepped inside the old monolith, which was used a century ago as a church. Disrobing me, he filled me with wine, succulent rich wine that dripped down my chin and down the vines. He set me free into the orgy, where my body commingled like a fairy sprite with the unclothed bodies of the debauched guests at this festival of carnal appetites. Two things linger with me from that night, so I’m hardly able to keep the images out of my thoughts. Then, of course, why would I try to drive them from me? I remember happily being tethered to a high bench. Used as a dining table for a feast of food, my flesh was as delicious as the morsels of meats and breads and chilling custards and sweet pastries that filled the stomachs of the revelers. Someone ate cherries from my opened portal. Someone tugged my rings until I screamed, and someone drew fancy lines down my body with raspberry sauce. I only know the flavor because they started with my mouth so my lips could taste the pleasure.
As I enjoyed their feast of me, I remember thinking that I’d have to comment on this in my next writings. If these thoughts made the papers perhaps someone would recognize who I was. What a delightful idea being known as the paragon of sexual excess, better than being a purveyor of excesses in violence and judgment. My father saw his death because of that.
At the end of the night, perhaps at dawn, perhaps it was even hours after the dawn, I wouldn’t have any way of knowing, I found myself in the middle of a luxurious bed in a candle lit room. The bed was draped with golden gauze around its high posts, and a dozen feather cushions teased my skin with softness. Joined there by two men, perfect specimens of manhood with glistening muscles and erections, these two would stretch my imagination to have them as much as they’d stretch the orifices they’d use. Flying high on spirits and the Devil’s Spice, which regularly made its way into my system through one portal or another, I could think of nothing more than having these two within me at the same time. Taking their flowering stalks in my mouth to make them fully charged, I took turns keeping them firm until I was ready for the finale. The two fine mouths at my cleft with two fine pair of lips kept my hips dancing as they brought forth the juices that would soothe the way. First came the long, hard stalk in my vagina. Draping my body over this flaxen haired vision of perfection, I then felt the dark man pressing himself against my backside. Ooo, he was an impatient rebel. He would have forced me if I hadn’t been so willing. I liked the force of course, knowing that I had no choice but to give in to these men. With the blonde already securing his place, a slow and steady penetration of the rear door began. At that point, I could be thankful for my lessons from Boheme—he’d made me ready. Even so, the breach between my thighs was an instant of agony, especially when both cocks drove to the very furthest reaches.
I know there were protests on my lips, though none were answered.
This pair made me full, made my heart beat fast, my temperature rise degree by degree, and my skin feel as if it would burst. They used me as though they had plans to destroy me, but I turned that destruction into their greatest hour. Pumped, fucked and taken, I fought back until the two were more weary than I was. Limp afterwards, we passed out and I dreamed all the visions that eluded me, my slumber tying up loose ends of a revolution in my brain.
I’m still reeling now, my only worry is that I’ll be quick enough to put these things on paper before they disappear and I can’t find them in my thoughts again.
Chapter Seven
I was going to be branded, and the days crept along to the end of my trial period and that fateful moment. The closer it got, the more I wished that the court hadn’t given me a way out of my contract. Not that I wanted to change my mind, as they hoped, because I know I wouldn’t. It was just more stressful to have to make the decision one more time, after I’d already made it a dozen times since I first decided to meet Sergei. So far, being a sex slave, there was little different in my life. Sergei called me once, and I spent the night with him while he and his friends played dice to see who’d screw me. Every time a man won, I was taken into a bedroom and fucked. Nothing pretty, though I did like being used as a prize. One man winning twice couldn’t get it up the second time. I tried helping him out, and then just to preserve his ego, I managed some good sex sounds that his friends could hear beyond the thin door.
The second time I did my master’s bidding, I met a man in the bar that Sergei frequented. The out-of-towner took me to his hotel room and screwed me.
I had the feeling that Sergei was waiting for these weeks to be over before beginning anything important. Waiting didn’t suit me though. I would have much preferred to keep my body busy every night or know that I had something to look forward to for the week’s end.
Arriving at Sergei’s quarters on the appointed day of the branding, I was taken from his house in chains as though I’d never left. The strange rituals of government never made sense to me. He’d instructed me to wear a dress nothing else. My legs were nearly frozen that cold day, but that wasn’t my master’s concern. Led into the courthouse on a tether much as I’d been led out, I stood before the same magistrate, this time not required to sit and listen to another lecture. My counselor stood behind me some distance off, though I had the feeling that this was just part of the script. She wasn’t obliged to even speak to me, and she’d make no effort to do so. Sergei stood at my side instead.
“Your final signature is required to complete the document prior to being recorded. Are you prepared for that?” the man asked.
“I am.”
Turning the papers to me, the manacles at my hands were unlocked and I bent down to initial and sign in three additional places on the contract that already bore my signature. Following me, Sergei did the same.
“Remove th
e manacles and clothes and take her for branding,” the magistrate’s voice boomed. Like passing sentence, the truth rang out loudly as though he wanted the whole world to know.
My first thought was that they’d remove my clothes right there with the counselor, magistrate, witnesses and the clerk looking on. Though that wasn’t the case, it was almost as bad. They moved me into a vestibule to strip me. Then I was led naked and tethered at the neck, into a room where the branding iron was heating. There, the same witnesses and the magistrate himself were sitting as my audience waiting to view the ceremony. Only my counselor was absent, apparently I didn’t need her anymore. Sergei stood behind the three that looked on, having already given the brand master his iron.
The brick room was as cold as ice at its fringes, heated in the center by a furnace of coals. My bare body shivered even in the heat, the chilling edict and the damp weather outside the fire’s warmth moved into my bones, so I thought they’d rattle against each other. Gazing at the fire and the glowing rod, my eyes began to water from smoke and tears.
“Might be better not to look, miss,” someone whispered in my ear—either that or I said it to myself. Unfortunately, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t look away from the hot coals or the fiery red intertwining circles that made the symbol of Sergei’s dominance.
“Kneel,” the command was given, and I knelt.
A padded bar was provided for me to rest my knees, and the two lower limbs were quickly secured with straps so that they couldn’t budge. I was pulled down against a sloped wood panel about five inches wide, the wood fitting between my breasts though it cut into the skin. My arms were drawn forward and secured as tightly as my legs, and a wide leather strap was affixed about my torso. There was no way even one muscle could budge an inch.
“If she’s secure, proceed,” I heard the magistrate’s voice again. I’d turned my head so I could see no ones eyes and let my cheek press against the wood while I grit my teeth. Shuffling sounds around me, and the sound of the bellows fanning the fire made me believe that the rod was being readied. Though I had no real desire to see the glowing metal again, I made the mistake of opening my eyes to discover the rod in the branding master’s hand. He moved away from the furnace toward me. Seconds later, the searing heat shot through me and my cry lifted into the air. Though I was surprised that the pain I expected did not materialize.
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