Given as a Gift (Journal)

I wasn't expecting the turn of events that have brought me to the house of Master Dor, and Mistress Gina. I have, on several occasion, had the honor of serving the Mistress, but I had no idea she had found me pleasing enough that she had mentioned her wanting to rent me. Her companion, Master Dor, appeared at my Master's door one evening inquiring about the possibility of my being rented. He wanted to present me as a gift to Mistress Gina for their renewal of their companionship.

Master Canoos, who is one of My Master's most trusted guards, was more than pleased to 'unload' me onto someone else and the prospect of earning coin while doing so was just to sweet a deal to pass up. He had been left in charge of me when Master left.

After realizing that it might be some time before I am reunited with my beloved Master I began to wither. Master Canoos tried to force me out of the apartment, and when I was out I did fairly well. Yet, as soon as I returned to the house all the reminders of Master, Agrippa, came rushing at me like a drowning wave. His chambers, his favorite chair, his desk, the balcony on which he branded me, the scent of his furs...everything...every room held something that made me feel a profound lose.

So, renting me out was like Canoos telling me to swim for my life. I would have gladly drowned in that wave of reminders, but there was something deep in my soul that told me he, my Master, would be so displeased if I did so.
Serving Master Dor, and Mistress Gina gave has given me the opportunity to honor him, and his collar that encircles my throat. I am the branded property of my Master...that will never change.

Master Dor, when he told me to pack my things, did not allow me to take any of my belongings save for the silks that I wore that day. He did finally cave and told me I could bring the small stuffed larl that my Master had won at one of the fairs. I still remember that cool evening like it was yesterday. I don't think he ever realized what it meant to me when he gave me that little token of his affection.

I was presented to Mistress Gina that very night when Master Dor brought me to their home. Since then I have became quite close to the Mistress. She allows me to sleep on a couch at the foot of her bed. I am in most respect her handmaiden. I tend to her needs mostly, and take care to pay attention to every little detail. Serving her, and Master Dor has allowed me to breath once again, and eases the pain of missing my beloved Master.

I'm So Lost Without Him (Journal)

My worst fears have come true, and I feel like my world has been torn asunder. What I had overheard in the library that day was true, but I could not begin to fathom to what extent. My Master had been appointed to a secret mission; by whom I did not know. It all happened so fast, and I was not privy to most of what was going on about me.

His selling of Iris to the slaver, Master Hagan, should have clued me in that things were going to be far more difficult to endure than I had imagined. Master was always pleased with Iris. He would not have branded her with his personal brand if he hadn't been. That was only the first of my hardships that I had to suffer. When he was away on long assignments it was iris' body that kept me warm at night. Now, I had neither of them.

Before he left he sat me down, and explained the danger of what was about to take place. He didn't explain to me why he sold Iris, but now I believe it was to reduce the chances of her being killed, and also--he needed my skills as a scribe. It was better to have my being watched by Canoos while he was away so that he could have easy access to me without having to go through others.

I arose one day to find him gone. The hand wasn't so difficult, but the second one began to have me worrying. It was two hands before he made contact with me. He was garbed in the robes of a scribe, and he found me at the paga den. Fortunately there was no one about but me, and the kitchen Master. He whisked me through the den, through the kitchen, and into the back alley. I didn't know it was him because he had the hood of his robes drawn down about his visage.

I had lifted my arms as he pressed my body against the wall. With forearms flush, and body crushed under his weight he reached down to run his fingers through the plush folds of my pussy. He found me moist which is somewhat a constant state of being for me. "Whore," he uttered against the shell of my ear. "I've been told that you are a good fuck," he continued.

My face was turned to the right, and I was unable to look back, but his voice I would know anywhere. Then there was his scent; unmistakable, and so intoxicating. "Master?" I questioned even though I was certain it was him. He proceeded to assaulted me right there in the alley. I can't remember ever going that long without feeling his touch, and I can assure you that I came, and came, and came for him.

When he was done he lead me out of the alley onto the street. There were people bustling about, but no one seemed to take notice of the scribe with the slave scribe. He told me if I needed to make contact with him how I was to do so. He reiterated the danger, and told me that what he was going to have me do in the near future could have both he, and myself killed. I would certainly be killed without question. Then he departed. It was the sweetest half ahn I had ever known in my life. It left me with hope.

Our next encounter was when he had me hooded, and chained, and brought to a cylinder by scribes. I was left standing before a desk, and I could hear the movement of sandals as I was circled and the hood was removed. He remained behind me, and instructed me to fetch a particular book from the shelf. Again the sound of his voice was music to my ears. I exclaimed, "Master!" He smacked the curve of my ass, and told me that I must never act, or show excitement when seeing him. I was to act as if I had just seen him a few ahns ago; like all was normal.

The third time he came to me was at the apartment. He had brought a book to me, and had me memorize a page from it. Then he explained that he needed me to duplicate the document I had just been shown down to the last detail. He was sure with my skills as a scribe I would know exactly what type of rence or velum, and ink to use. I told him that I knew of ways to age the copy to make it look exactly like the original. I was given further instructions, but before I knew what was happening he was all over me. Neither of use could keep our hands off one another.

The electricity between two human beings should never be so impassioned. What he did to me, and always does to me, drives my mind into another dimension and every touch, every caress, ever kiss feels utterly sublime. He is my drug, and I knew that he was about to leave me once again. I never cry, and beg for him to stay which one might find unusual, but I know this is as hard for him as it is for me. To say I am not left broken hearted each time, and do not cry hysterically once he is gone would be a lie--I do. The pain is felt physically throughout my entire body until eventually I am numb.

It has now been nearly five hands since my last encounter with him. I have, on several occasions, went to where I was told I could find him if it were urgent that I contact him, and never once have I seen him. With each passing day I fear that something tragic has happened. Was he caught? Has he left the city, and gone abroad? I will not even allow myself to question if he is even still alive, or not. I have become a wandering soul, and I fear that people are beginning to notice that something is amiss. Canoos is growing more, and more agitated with me because I have become a kajira that seems to have lost her way.

I have lost my way. Agrippa Pontus was the light that I followed down any path.

The Gift of His Brand (Journal)

When I arrived home last night the furniture was in disarray, and I could smell something burning. A wave of panic washed through me that something terrible had happened. The curtains were billowing into the main room like some phantom ghost floating through the air, and of course this meant that the doors to the balcony were open. When I went to close them I spied him, my Master, standing there gazing out over the vista of the city. From our balcony one can see the whole city, all its high bridges that are strewn with lights. It truly is a glorious sight to behold.

I asked him if something was wrong, and he turned, and took several steps, and snapped his hand out to grasp a fistful of my hair. He reminded me that I must kneel before I spoke to him. This is a lesson I learned long ago, but in my panic I was thinking only of him, and if he was alright. He forced me to my knees, and expressed that all was well. He released his hold on my hair, and again looked out over the balcony. From my knees I could see the same thing he spied through the thick columns.

After a moment I asked what I smelled that was burning, and he moved to the corner of the balcony, and drug a pot filled with incandescent coals across the tiles. The sound of the feet of that metal pot sounded much like someone scrapping their nails across a chalkboard, and it sent a shiver up my spine. My first thought is that he had branded my beautiful chain sister Iris! I asked hesitantly if he had done such, and he replied with a rhetorical question. "Would I brand your sister before I branded you?" Oh Kings how that question caused my stomach to flutter, and an overwhelming feeling of desire came over me.

How long have I begged for his brand? Many times over the turnings that he has owned me. He always told me that there was no need to brand me because he knew I was not going to run away. Of course he was right...I'd rather throw myself off of the cliffs than leave him. He is my world, and I love him so much that I do not think it is even possible to put into words, or express how much I do. He is like a drug to me, and I am a hopeless addict.

He lifted the branding iron from the pot, and let if drift down between my parted thighs so I could feel the heat emanating off of the white hot end against my inner thigh, and cleanly shaven mound. He was watching, observing my reaction, judging what that feeling did to me. My hands slipped down between my splayed thighs, and I covered my sex protectively. I believe he spied a spark of trepidation flash across my visage for he turned, and shoved the iron back into the hot coals. He said something to the effect of that he supposed that he was wrong about me, that I still held some hope of someday being a free woman again.

The pitch of my voice must have went up several octaves as I told him how wrong he was! I know my Master is never wrong, but on this point he was so terrible mistaken! I crawled to him, and begged piteously for his mark; his brand. He proceeded to test me, to see just how far I'd go...what I'd do to prove to him that there was truth behind my words. He degraded me as he has never done before, and I didn't flitch away. I accepted what he did to me; welcomed it...reveled in it. There have been times when he has made me orgasm so hard that I swear I felt as if I was going to pass out, and he did this to me once again. Each time I am left with a feeling of amazement that he can bring my mind, and body to such an explosive high.

When he was done testing me, he tangled his hand in the mess of my hair, and pulled me up to my bare feet. He pressed my body to a new ornament that was on the wall of the balcony; a Victorian cross. Deftly he strapped me down, my wrists, ankles, calves, knees, and my waist so that I could not move. I was still so intoxicated from how he had just made me feel that blinding ecstasy that I didn't even realize what was happening. He then turned, and as he walked to the iron pot, stripped his tunic off so I could gaze at the way each muscle rippled under that brown flesh. Kings if Goreans believed in mythology one could compare him to a Greek God, or at least that is what he is to me.

Returning to me with the brand in hand, he pressed his free hand against the plane of my feminine belly, and waved the white hot end of the branding iron before my face so that I could see the beautiful, and intricate little dina flower. He allowed the hot metal to again float down so that I could feel the heat against my inner thigh then without warming he pressed it into my supple flesh, high on my left thigh. The blood curdling scream that escaped me must have made anyone that could heard think that I was being killed, or perhaps they would recognize the sound of a girl being branded.

The pain shot through me like a electric fire, and he seemed to hold it there forever. In that very moment I knew I was a branded slave. I had been given his mark; branded by his hand. He finally pulled the iron away from my burning flesh, and tossed it to down, and it clattered across the tiles. The scent of my own burnt flesh wafted up to my nose, and I breathed it in as if it was the sweeties ambrosia I had ever smelled. I was now more his than I'd ever been, and I simply didn't want to come down from that euphoric plane of existances. Again he used my body, and told me that I was his forever now. Had he not known I always had been his? That I would be his until I passed to the city of dust?

He has told me that the brand was nothing special...that I wore the same brand that a thousand other girls wear, but he is wrong. Yes, it was a beautiful little dina, a brand seen on many slaves, but he had branded my body, and my soul with his own hand. It was incredibly special!

I can't stop glowing, and I have found myself many times looking at the brand in the mirror, admiring what I had dreamed of having since the day he placed his collar about the column of my throat. I am now the branded, and collared slut of Agrippa Pontus. No longer do I consider myself a slave scribe, but merely just a slave.

I have emerged from the cocoon to open my wings as the creation of my Master...An ethereal beauty with the soul, and a mind of a molten whore.

The Lily Dancer (Journal)

A few nights back, while at the Paga Den, the girl who I have come to call my lily came to my Master, and begged the lick of his whip. She said that her Master told her to do so, and to tell my Master that he may use her body anytime he wished.

Lily is the beautiful slave of the Slaver....Master Hagan. He scares me, and I don't think he much likes me, but I am enthralled with his slave. She is sensual, and for the love of the Kings she can dance better than any girl I've ever seen! I am somewhat jealous that I cannot move as she does, but I have been practicing.

Of course my Master punished her, but he added me into the mix. He bound us together with binding fiber. It was tied about her wrist behind her back, ran down between her thighs, then through mine, and back up to tie to my wrist behind my back. He made us ascend the steps to a dancing dias, and commanded that we dance. As we began to dance, or rather undulate our bodies together he moved to the wall, and took down a single tailed whip.

He struck lily with the whip over, and over, and over again until she had hot tears streaming down her soft cheeks. The tail of the whip caught the side of my breast on once. Yet, it was she that was being punished, not me. I feel great empathy for others, especially when I think a woman, slave or not, is being hurt. I must have been insane, but I looked to my Master with a flash of anger in my eyes as it to say she had, had enough.

When he was done he made us descend the dias, and then forced us into one of the alcoves. He stripped his tunic off, and sat in the chair in the room as if a Ubar sitting on a throne. I could sense that he felt a flash of pure power at having so much control over what he could do to us, or make us do to one another.

He didn't sit in that chair long as he arose, and made his way to us. Using first my mouth well for his pleasure, he then using lily's, and released his pent up seed into her mouth.

"Don't you dare swallow, slut!" he commanded. Then he told her to kiss me, which she did. In our sultry kiss there was an exchange of his fluid from mouth, to hot mouth. At the moment I didn't worry about lily, but rather partook of her sweet lips.

With a chuckle spilling from his lips he told us that we were to figure out how to get out of our bonds, and then he left. We spent the better part of an ahn immersed in the caress of the bindings between our thighs before we finally managed to free ourselves. By the time we had though, our bodies did not separate. We enjoyed each other, rolling in the furs, and kissing passionately, caressing softly. My Master knows I love the soft sensuality of women as much as I love the brash humiliation of men.

I find it odd that my to favorite sisters are named after blooms....lily, and iris. Everyone knows that I have a passionate love of flowers of any kind, and here I have two of the most beautiful of florets in the human form of soft feminine women. I feel as if the Kings have smiling upon me.

The Return of Iris (Journal)

I am thrilled that my chain sister has returned to us safely! From her account she had been stolen, and held captive in a cave high in cliff wall. The bastard had placed his personal brand on the back of her neck; a dragon. Poor iris had brought a knife to our Master, and wanted him to cut it off. Master refused, saying that it would only mar her, and leave an ugly scar.

I had been looking for iris everywhere. I spoke to a Master in the arena that noticed that I seemed to be looking for someone, or something. I told him that my chain sister was missing, and he said to begin my search with the Slavers...that, that was my best hope. He explained that if she had been stolen by someone for their personal use, and desires, that I would probably never see her again. His words nearly broke my heart.

It has not been since glory that I have had a chain sister that I adored. There was the free woman raona that he collared, but she and I never got along. I've never admitted it to my Master, but when he traded her for me when Master Cyrus captured me, and stole me away from the falls, I secretly prayed that she would not ever be returned. Master did fight Master Cyrus for her twice, and I was scared for his life, and angry at her because he was fighting for her return. We even ventured, by way of the old well, down to the underground tunnels that led to the old fortress in an attempted to find, and free raona. Yet, we never found her. Soon after Master Cyrus vanished from Port Cos, and he took her with him. Then I was guilt ridden for hands because I knew what a sinister man Master Cyrus was, and I felt somehow responsible for her fate. One: because I prayed that she never return, and two: because our Master had traded her for me.

I have digressed.

Iris explained that the Master became tired of her rejection of his advances, and he simply dumped her in the middle of a field with his collar about her throat. She made her way home, and since we were not there I was horrified to learn that she sawed that collar from about her neck. Her throat was marked with scrapes, and cuts! She was so frightened that our Master would be angry with her, and not once again place his collar about her throat.

As harsh of a Master as ours can be he drew her into his arms, and soothed her. He told her that everything would be okay, and that she was safe now. That is what I adore about our Master, he can at times be the most gentle, and loving Master...making one feel safe, and protected, and special.

At any rate my iris is home. She is safe, and I have been pleased to have the warmth of her body when we sleep together when our Master goes away on the weekends, or even sometimes for a full hand.

Flawed (Journal)

I have many flaws, but the most glaring is my constant begging of no when my Master issues a command. It happened again the other night at the Paga Den. He told me to prepare myself for usage, and in my panic I begged piteously, 'No, Master!' No sooner than the words slipped from my lips had I realized my transgression. I wanted to suck the words back into my mouth, and swallow them hard, but it was to late.

Again duty has called him away, and I am left to wonder what my punishment will be; my angst clinging to me like a spider's web. Why did I not think before I tried to deny him of what he wanted?! It wasn't the fear of being used in the Paga Den, this I have been through before, but it was the thought of those that were present. I feared being humiliated in front of the scribe, and his slave Madeline.

Perhaps I have not completely submitted myself fully to what my Master has in earnest tried to mold me into; a wanton whore who writhes at the sight of him...that will do anything he commands. Why can I not take the full plunge into my slavery? I thought I had, but on further examination I find that I have been fooling myself.

I am aware of what he can do to me. Like no Master before him he drives me to such sublime heights. It isn't only what he can do to me physically, but emotionally. Yes, he makes my pulse race a million miles a minute with the mere sight of him, but it is knowing that he can command me with a look that makes my insides quiver with anticipation.

After long soul searching, and meditation I have finally decided it is time to server that last thread which seems to bind me to my old sensibilities. I must cut myself free, and tumble into the abyss of my Master's will. I will become what he has fought so hard to make me. Fully, and without looking back I will no longer think of myself as a slave that was once a scribe, but merely as a slave that was created for the pleasure of men.

How many times have I confessed that the Priest Kings made me purposely for him to mold to his vision of perfection? It is time that I let my Master finish his work, and revel in his final creation.

A Set: Midnight and Flaxen. (Journal)

It has been to long since I have scribbled my thoughts to the pages of my journal, but I can no longer put off doing so. Master has taken a new slave. I am so delirious in love with him that when I first saw that he had placed his collar about my new chain sister's neck I felt a wave of panic wash through me. A torrential cascade of questions ran through my mind,
'Why? Was I not enough? Is he tired of me? What have I done wrong?' is just a smattering of the thoughts that rushed at me.

He, nor does she, know that I spent the remainder of the day hold up in the attic crying hysterically. My hands trembled, and I could not shake away the feeling that he was looking to have me fade into the tapestry of what has been his chain of slaves; to become one of the faces that once was, but is no more. When it felt as if the four walls of the small room were trying to close in on me, and I rushed to the window, and flung the pane doors open so that I could feel air swirl in to caress my face. 'Breath,' is what I kept repeating over, and over.

By time the tears stopped, my head throbbed; my eyes ached, and were swollen. Then I realized my selfishness. Did I not breath for him? Was not his contentment, my contentment? The center of my universe loves blondes, and I am not a blonde. So why was I not overjoyed that he had attained a girl which pleased him greatly?

For now we call her Iris. I would be lying if I said the first hand that she was in the house that I was not jealous. I was... insanely so. I learned not only is she a vision of beautiful, but she is smart, and has a vibrant personality that those around her are drawn to. I decide I would have to overcome my inner turmoil, and learn to embrace my chain sister. This did come, and what dissolved the apprehension I had of Iris was when she tended to my welts after my Master...Our Master...whipped me.

I had been distracted, and through my distraction I was failing to do exactly as instructed... was not answer question directed to me. For my indiscretions I was punished. Iris applied a damp cloth to the burning welts, and soothed me with her words. Ironically she told me to breath. The exactly thing I had been trying to do all hand. She is gentle, and has the touch of a soothsayer.

Iris, by what I have learned, has traveled a hard road. I feared she would be like the last chain sister I had, but she is nothing like her. She is soft, and sensual. She is someone I can confide in...lay next to when our Master is away. She is like me... a slave to our Master.

It all went so terribly wrong! I planned, and prepared for this night for so long, and I thought he would be pleased! I suppose I suspected he might be cross with me at first, but then I thought he would see the lengths I went to, to get him special gifts. I've never seen him so angry at me! It scared me, and broke my heart into a million pieces. I can't bare when he looks at me with such disgust.

He made me tell him how it was I was able to obtain such gifts, and I told him everything. He told me that I had no right. He was brutal in the way he spoke to, and his punishment was not light. Her spat his venomous words at me, and raped me with the whip. He continued to tell me how disgusted he was with me.

He barely looked at the compass, or the pendant of the sailor's star. I didn't get to explain to him that the compass was so he would always be able to find his way home to me when he went away, or how that each of the eight points of the sailor's star pointed to the cardinal, and intermediate directions, and that the heart in the middle was mine.

After he calm down he asked If I understood why he was so outdone with me. He explained that when I let those Masters at the docks use my body for coin, that He was not the one in control, and that he wanted control over ever aspect of my life. I understand now that I am to never do anything without his knowledge again no matter how well intentioned my actions are.

I can't stop sobbing, even now as I write this I am crying. I do not think I could bare to have anyone but him touch me. I want to feel possessed by only him once again. There's a physical pain in the center of my chest, and I think it is because my heart is breaking. I just need him to forgive me. I need him to draw me into his arms, and tell me that he still loves me.