Chapter 1

My Darling Slave,

First, you are probably wondering why you are again hobbled with your wrists secured behind your back. Luscious slave, there was little choice. I just learned how you came into my possession, and, since I promised there would be no secrets between us, I must tell you. On the other hand, I have also learned that you do have a wonderfully violent temper. You could consider your bonds to be an element of self-defense on my part.

At any rate, my love, a short time ago my chamberlain told me the whole story. Although much of it took place outside of your hearing, from a few comments you made last night I don't believe it will not come as a total surprise. Your former master turned you over to me in payment for a couple of dog licenses. He also wanted credit on the licenses for a couple of spayed cats but after looking at your filthy body my chamberlain refused. His refusal benefitted both of us, I believe.

You see, my darling, you were brought to the castle in chains. Your wrists were cuffed behind you, your ankles were hobbled, and there was a long chain down your back connecting your iron collar, the wrist shackles, and your hobbles. (At any rate you shouldn't be upset. Clearly being restrained as you are now is not a new experience for you.)

But back to the story. You were, in a word, filthy. In spite of being held in chains you were cursing and spitting at anybody or anything within your range which, I learned, is considerable. My chamberlain asked about you: why was your master essentially giving you away? The answer, it seems came back to his dogs. They are pure-bred Irish setters, and allegedly quite valuable. Even though you were kept chained and, we learned, kept in the dog kennel where the head room was only three feet, you kept off the dogs and ate most of their food. As a result his valuable dogs were wasting away.

He determined that he couldn't keep both you and the dogs, and he loved his dogs. Although being kept in the kennels was certainly degrading in the extreme, even that made no apparent impression on you, and certainly did nothing to curb what we learned was your often-violent behavior.

Because my chamberlain would not provide the additional credit — for spayed cats, yet! — your former owner stripped off the rags you were wearing leaving you standing naked in your chains. It is this event that changed the outcome. You see, my chamberlain was planning to use you as a field slave, or a scullery maid at the very best, when your rags were stripped away. Only then did he see the pale perfection of your skin and the auburn beauty of your pubic patch. Until then your hair, utterly filthy with dirt, appeared to be just dark and grungy: totally nondescript.

It was at this point that he did something that will earn him a large bonus from me: Instead of sending you out to the fields, he sent for my senior handmaiden and gave her instructions. She led you off to the baths where she and others began to attend you. But being the fierce woman you are, after taking off the iron collar and the hobbles, when she freed your hand from one of the cuffs you swung hard. A small girl did not duck quickly enough and the end of your heavy chain caught her in the head. She dropped to the floor like a stone.

While the other women were screaming, you dropped down on your knees and hugged the little girl closely to your breast. Using your lips you proceeded to suck at the cut on her head while ordering another woman to obtain butterfly bandages. When they were produced, you used them to close the cut in the girl's head and then you gently bandaged it. On your knees with the small girl's head on your shoulder, you so-tenderly stroked her body. When she regained consciousness, you turned her head and kissed her gently.

The injured girl just wriggled her body and snuggled closer to you. Then she raised her lips for another of your kisses.

Later she told the others that no one has the lightness of touch or the ability to convey love that you do. This was remarkable for another reason. I learned that she had never spoken a word to anyone while awake, although she did talk extensively in her sleep. Her name is Julia and this morning, on her knees, she begged me to allow her to serve as your handmaiden. I told her that your position in the castle is very tenuous; you might yet end up as a field slave.

Julia, although just five feet tall, ninety-five pounds soaking wet, and barely thirteen years old, said she, too, would serve as a field slave to be with you. "I only want to serve my golden-haired goddess!" she pleaded. (What were in the kisses you gave her and in the touch of your fingers on her tiny body?)

I told her that you might be hung on the wall of my bedroom, hanging by your hair. Tears came to her eyes as she knelt on the floor. She begged to be allowed to substitute for you and to accept the punishment in your place. When I pointed out that she was much shorter and her hair not as long, she just shook her head.

"But Julia," I protested, "your toes won't even reach the floor! You will be hanging by your hair all night long."

She just shook her had and insisted it was for her golden-haired goddess who was utterly perfect! I am permitting her to be your handmaiden, by the way.

Of course, when they bathed you and washed your hair, your physical magnificence became apparent. My senior handmaiden said that never have she and her colleagues enjoyed anything more than working on your hair and seeing it revealed in its red-tinged golden beauty. Julia, incidentally, just knelt before you cleaning and kissing and loving you in any way she possibly could, while the more experienced women worked on you.