Chapter 2: The Curse of the Slave

Her hand! It was cool and surprisingly gentle, calmly investigating my most private of parts, her eyes full of treacherous innocence. I gasped and for a few blissful moments lost control again, believing this to be some sweet dream: Pleasured by a hopelessly beautiful woman.

Then she suddenly removed her hand and laughed, and there was a sting in that laugh that woke me up.

"You have potential," she said, whispering into my ear. "But you must be bigger, and more responsive. Much more responsive."

Then her hand returned, and she began pulling. Pulling hard! I screamed in agony.

The pain was unbearable as her small hand and slender fingers pulled at my shaft with an intense force of the iron claw of an eagle. I pleaded with her to stop and I threatened her, but the look of pure delight on her face told me that she did not care.

"Excellent," she said after some excruciating seconds, releasing me. "Much better."

I looked down, sobbing. It had grown. Thicker. Longer. How was this possible? What was happening to me?

"Let's see," she murmured into my ear. She teasingly flexed her fingers in front of my face, and then the hand floated down there again, even thought I feverishly tried to move my body away, to bite her, to scream at her. No more pain!

But her touch was gentle this time. She stroked slowly outwards, her fingers enclosing my shaft. I could feel, despite my fear and agony, that my balls were contracting and that precious blood was pumping with greater and greater force into my member.

Soon I was hard and quivering, and my resistance was all gone, replaced with that curse eagerness all men are thralls to. Her slow stroking continued up a shaft that was a full foot long, and as thick as her slender arm.

I began yearning for release, some humongous explosion of mind and body, that would allow me to howl in satisfaction. But she remained calm and did not speed up her light touches.

"What?" she said, looking at me, stopping her motions.

I did not answer, just gasped.

"What did you say?" She waited for an answer, her hand an inch away from my massive trunk.

"Please..." In the end I had to whisper the answer, as she refused to touch me, and just looked inquisitively at my with those big, blue eyes.

"Yes..." she breathed. "But if I do that for you, then you must do something for me."

"W-what?"

"You must..." she licked her lips, "find pleasure when I call you

'slave'."

"Huh?"

I was bewildered. Slaves were property, the unhappy fate of so many prisoners-of-war, debtors, and criminals. What was she talking about?

"You must find pleasure when I call you 'slave'."

"Y-Yes," I replied. "Touch me, please!"

"You want to be touched, slave?" A finger brushed against the shaft. I jumped.

"Yes!"

"So you are my slave?" Another finger.

"Yes!"

"You will obey me, slave?" Brushing, brushing, bringing tears to my eyes.

"Yes!" I didn't care what she said.

"Call me Lady, slave."

"Lady?"

"Yes, slave."

"Yes, my Lady!"

"Good," she said, removing her brushing finger. A curious gleam came into her eyes, a gleam I ignored in my throe of passion.

She readied her hand.

"Sssslave..." She let her hand glide along the trunk as she whispered the word.

"Slave. Slave." Each time she spoke, the hand pleasured me. When the last lingering breath that uttered the word was silent, the hand was removed.

"Slave. Slave. Slave. Slave. Slave. Slave. Slave."

"Yes, my Lady. Yes, my Lady. Yes, my Lady. Yes, my Lady. Yes, my Lady. Yes, my Lady. Yes, my Lady."

Faster and faster she said that word, and faster and faster her hand moved. I could think of nothing else but her voice and her hand, and my replies came as short bursts, trying to make each interval between the strokes as short as possible.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh!!!" I began roaring, waiting for the imminent intense pleasure and release.

But it didn't come. She removed her hand just as I was about to spill myself. My member jerked and jerked on its own, sending droplets everywhere on the ground of the forest. No! Such torment! The agony of being denied pleasure!

I yelled at her to touch me, to please me, to not let me go to waste like this! But she had closed her eyes, a distant smile upon her face. Around her was what looked like a shimmering aura, and she purred in satisfaction as I suffered under my ruined orgasm.

Then it was done and I stood there gasping, my chained hands aching from fighting to free myself, my manhood flaccid. She stepped on tip-toes and kissed me soundly on my lips. I did not join in, or resist. I was spent.

"Very good," she whispered. "Very good. I have not fed that well for a long, long time."