The Sweet Wind

Travel with me through time and to a far off distant land! I love this setting and I wonder why I haven't included it more in my writing.

I am standing on the shore of the Great River, the sweet Northern wind is rustling my hair and plays with my thin linen dress, makes it stick to my body, makes me feel naked. It is sweet to stand here, overlooking the river, overlooking the world.

The girl will not leave my thoughts. I can't understand why she lingers, why she won't go. I can't get her out of my head.

I have done my duty, I have many duties. I am the daughter of the high priest of the temple of Osiris and the wife of the Overseer of the King's Works. I have many duties. This morning I went to the temple of Isis. I paid the priest to burn the incense before the Goddess. I stood in awe at the beauty of Her temple. The columns grew like papyrus in the marshes at the day of creation. The coolness of Her shaded courtyard made me tremble with delight and the paintings on the walls made me shiver with desire for Her blessing. She is the Queen, my Queen and I am Her. In some small way, I am Her.

I went, then, to the market. I had things to buy, things I couldn't trust others with. The servants don't know good linen from bad and they can't smell the difference between the different brands of sandal wood. Some things I have to do myself.

The foul stench of the street assaulted my nose and the closer I got to the market, the worse it got. I looked at Little Girl but she seemed unaffected by it. She is sweet, Little Girl, and she is strong. I love her very much. She is very good to me and she carries my bags. I would not go to the market alone.

Then I saw her, the other girl. The one that won't go away. The girl I have in my head and who won't be swept away by the sweet wind from the North.

It was in the slaver's market. She just stood there. The street was bustling with life and the cries of babies and mad women and merchants but she just stood there. Her back straight, her weight on her left leg, one arm hanging free, the other at her hip. Her head was held up high. Her black hair tousled and hanging to her shoulders.

She was not beautiful but something in her stance told me she didn't care if she was. She knew she was beautiful. She stood there as if she owned the world and in some way I think she did.

She was naked. She was completely naked, except for the collar around her neck. The gleaming metal resting on her collar bones, hard against soft skin. The chain hanging down between her breasts, the softest and sweetest of breasts I have ever seen. Except for her bonds, she was naked, naked and beautiful. Her body the sweetest body I have ever seen. A proud body, a soft and sweet body.

By my Queen, I wanted to touch her. I wanted so badly to touch her.

As I drew closer she turned her head and looked at me. She was a slave, she looked down but in the short moment she looked me in the eyes I saw something. Was it Her? Was it beauty? Was it pride?

How could she be proud? She was the slave, she was the body owned. I was the free one, the daughter of a priest.

Still I knew, in that short moment, I saw in her eyes that she had known pleasures that I would never ever dream of. She had been touched in ways I would never be. I saw who she was.

My eyes lingered on her soft skin, saw the glow of perspiration on her sweet body, her sweet and proud body. She was naked and I was clad. She was proud and I was shaken.

Isis, how I wanted to touch her.

The wind is sweet and this is a good place to be. The River comes from the Gods and return to the Gods and it is a delight to see it pass by.

I could have bought her. I have the means. I am the wife of the Overseer of the King's Works. I could have bought her and brought her home. I could have had her naked in my chambers, I could have had her dance for me and please me and I could have touched her to my heart's desire. I could have had her enter my bed in the night with her proud body. Why didn't I buy her?

I guess, she was not mine to buy.

Capital!!

Dear Reader, I have had a great time reading your comments. I do appreciate hearing from you. Some of you I have met before and some not. It doesn't matter, really. I do enjoy knowing that I have readers. It makes me feel less lonely. Not that I am a lonely person in real life but sometimes I feel that my strange imagination makes me a little lonely. It is good to know that you enjoy what I write and that I am changing. Blogging is a journey for me and it is a very good one at that. Not always pleasant but always interesting and quite exciting. So thank you, Dear Reader, for commenting but more than anything for reading. Take care and be kind to one another!!

Love Our Lurkers Day

This is an idea that, I think, originates with Bonnie over at the My Bottom Smarts blog. the idea is to ask the lurkers to leave a comment.

I think it is a great idea. And please, feel free to say hi or just say something! But, please, please, don't feel intimidated by this! I am happy having you read even if you decide to stay quiet. You are still a Dear Reader.

Captive

This blog has turned into a rants and stories blog. I don't mind really but when I started it I sometimes just wrote about fantasies, images and scenes in my head without making them into stories. This is a return to that. I will tell you a fantasy of mine. Some may think that this is very much inspired by John Norman but I can tell you that I had those fantasies long before I ever read any of the Gor novels. I can admit that I have been inspired and it may show but, as I have said before, John Norman didn't invent slavery.

This is a typical parallel world fantasy. It starts with the girl, that is most often me, in her bed, sleeping. She is by some strange magic whisked off to another, parallel world (magically, not in this universe) and wakes up in this new world. Things look very similar to our world, there is a big plain and some woods and rolling hills and blue sky. So she doesn't really understand that it is another world at first.

I am dressed only in a flimsy but full length nightgown which makes me realise that something really odd is happening. (Did you notice my clever change from third person to first, there?) I start walking over this green lush plain towards a forest I can see below the rolling hills. I am completely alone beneath the clear blue sky.

I soon get company. A man on a horse appears and I am both glad to see someone and scared of this stranger. There is no place to run on the plain so I have to wait the approach of this man.

He is a strong man, not necessarily muscular and young but more of the kind with grey eyes, confident, with a will of steel. He is not a cruel man, just a strong man. He sits on his horse regarding me. He talks to me and I reply. There is some confusion. I don't behave like he expects and I don't understand his questions. He wonders where I am from and doesn't recognise the places and countries I speak of. He is not unkind but quite stern.

Then there comes an important point in the fantasy. The man shows that he has had enough of conversation and simply orders me to strip. I don't believe what I am hearing and does not comply. Disbelief is a good word to describe what goes through my mind. The order is repeated and I realise that he is serious.

This is a moment of fear. I realise the situation, how vulnerable I am and how powerless I am. I realise I have to obey him, out of fear if nothing else. I think that he is about to rape me and doesn't want to be bothered with my clothes. I talk to him, reason with him and even plead with him.

I do strip off my nightgown and I am suddenly naked, completely naked in front of this man on his horse. He is clothed, he is wearing leather boots, a cloak and a belt. He carries a sword and maybe even a shield on his back. I am naked and in that moment I realise that I have accepted his power over me. I can still argue with myself and say that I fear him but deep down I know I have accepted his power over me.

He dismounts and approaches me. At this moment my heart is beating with fear. Images of being raped flashes through my head and I resign to my fate, thinking: 'this is it, now it will happen.'

Instead of raping me the man ties my arms behind my back and fastens a rope around my neck, like a leash. He mounts his stead and rides off, with me on the leash, naked and bound. Without violence, without even overpowering me he has captured me and I am, suddenly, just a naked woman, lead away bound behind his horse.

Then the fantasy can go on and I follow this man, walking by his horse, always on the leash, sometimes bound, sometimes not but always naked. I am his captive, I have to serve him, cook for him and wait on him. Always naked. He binds me in the night and throws a blanket over me. The coarse fabric scratches my naked skin and I am helpless in my bonds.

He is kind to me in his own way. He is not a man who has to assert himself by humiliating me or demanding me to call him Sir or Master. That is beneath him. He knows his strength and he knows his power over me. He is patient and knows I will understand. He talks to me and is kind to me but there is never, ever any doubt about my status. I am his captive and I do his biddings.

Slowly I get to understand my status, understand who I am in this world. There are two things that helps me understand who I am. The first thing is his whip. He whips me whenever I don't please him, when I am too slow or makes too many mistakes. There is no cruelty in this. It is just natural to whip a captive when she is not doing it right. I am not defiant. I am too clever for that. I am obedient but still I have to be whipped at times. It shows me that I am, in every respect, a slave.

The other thing is what happens after a while. It is not the first thing this man does. He is patient and waits for when I am ready for it. When he thinks it is time he takes me. He uses me for his own pleasure and I have no say, whatsoever, in this. There is no malice, no want to humiliate me in his conduct, just that he thinks that it is time for him to use me this way.

The thing that makes me surrender to this man, finally give up my freedom and realise who I am is that I cannot hold back my own pleasure. I do come when he takes me. I have no choice and in some strange way, this liberates me. From that moment I can relish my captivity. I have no say and thus I am free to enjoy it fully.

I become devoted to this man but more than anything I become devoted to my own slavery.

A Letter

This is an experiment. I don't know if it works.

Dear Sir,

I still feel silly writing that. Sir sounds strange, distanced and pompous. You will always be my love, my dearest and my man. You will never be a Master. Maybe You will have to punish me for that.

I do miss You. There is still a big hole in my soul, something missing, something that makes my heart beat with pain. There is something missing in my bed and there is a touch, a caress that has been taken away from me. Return to me soon, my love, my Sir!

I have done everything you wanted me to do. I blush as I write this. No, that is not true. Yes, I do blush but I haven't done everything you told me to do. How can I punish myself? How can I possibly make myself suffer the way you do it. My will is not strong enough. I am too weak. My body says no.

I do light the candle every evening and I kneel by it. I am naked as instructed. I can almost sense your eyes on my body as I kneel. As if you were somewhere in the shadows regarding me. I do sit back on my heels, spread my knees wide. And I blush. I straighten my back for you, for your eyes that lurk there in the corner of the room, in the darkness. I hold my head up high and I straighten my back. And push my bosom out. Offering my body to you, as if you were there.

I blush as I do that. A free, thinking woman has to blush as she does that, to a dark corner. It is strange and I feel stupid, opening myself to you. I am naked and I am open and I am yours. That is what it means. It is strangely humiliating doing it while you are not there. Had you been watching me, then there would have been a reason. But not now. Now it is only to make me feel vulnerable.

I did the other thing. The naughty thing you wanted me to do. I donned the skirt, the one you like, the short one. And I left my knickers. No, I didn't. I brought them in my purse. Just in case. I was lucky on the bus to work. There were no seats left. I blushed as I came to the office. I felt as if it was very, very obvious. I suppose it wasn't. How often do you see a woman's knickers when she walks by?

It was mean of you to plant that thought in my head. It was worst with the scum bag down the corridor, you know who. When I thought of his disgusting fingers I was angry. I know I am proud but this is not easy for me.

I had to sit on the bus home. That was embarrassing. Had to think about how I was sitting, all the time.

I will stop writing now. I miss you terribly. Come back to me! Come back to me, soon!

J

Slave Story, part 4

Another installment of the long story about Calissa, the slave.

Sometimes the girls in the pen started to chant and someone would get up and dance. I was shocked at first as I saw them dance. Their dance was brazen and revealing and very daring. They moved their hips and made all sorts of sensuous and embarrassing movements. Miro was a wonderful dancer. She swung her hips and shook her chest as no other girl in the pen. She was a natural talent. I blushed as I saw her because I saw in her dance her needs, her desires and vulnerability. Deep inside me I envied her that ability to express herself so openly although I was ashamed on her behalf because she seemed to show everything, her inner secrets.

I was prompted to dance as well but I was stiff as a stick compared to the other girls. I tried to move a bit but I blushed and soon I sat down.

On one of those occasions I stepped out in front of them and this time I let the song take me over. I moved a little freer and I felt a kind of elation as I swung my hips. I lost control for a second and danced. I heard the other girls cheer as I moved.

I was blushing as I sat down because I felt I had acted silly. I had moved without thinking and I was sure I had looked terrible.

Miro looked at me as I looked up after a while. She smiled but looked very sincere at the same time.

'You have it in you,' she said.

'Don't be silly,' I said, blushing.

'I am not,' she said looking serious, 'you have it in you, just let go and you will be the best.'

I didn't answer but her words stayed with me.

I had been in the pens for three weeks and my misery still overwhelmed me although the presence of Miro and the kindness of most of the other girls made it bearable. I was happy having met Miro but I still wanted to be free and come back to my old life, although I knew it was not possible.

One day it all changed. The pens were only for safekeeping of girls waiting to be sold or transferred. There were always slaves coming and going. I was worried they would take me away or take Miro away and separate us but I tried not to think like that.

I was completely unprepared when the day, finally, came. Suddenly the guards slammed the door to our pen open and stood in the midst of us.

'Now, my little cat, it is your turn to be sold,' one of the guards said as he turned to Miro and held out his hand. She was immediately on her feet, an obedient slave girl. He took her by the arm and spun her round. He waved to another guard who brought a heavy iron yoke.

Miro looked miserable but determined as he put the heavy iron on her shoulders and locked it shut around her throat. She obediently held up her hands to be locked in the yoke. The man was the same brute who seemed to be most fond of Miro and I sensed a certain kindness in the way he treated her. He was very matter of factly as he fastened her to the heavy iron yoke but he showed no impatience or harshness. He even smiled at her.

There she stood in the pen locked in a heavy yoke that weighted on her shoulders and cut into her flesh. I was devastated and looked on in horror as I realised what it meant. My beloved Miro was to be taken away from me.

The brute slapped her buttocks and made her move forward. I rose to my feet and stood at the bars and watched as she was led to the big door in the big room. Just before she left she turned a little, as much as she could, and looked at me.

'Bye, Calissa, bye my love.'

'Don't leave me Miro,' I screamed as she walked out of the pens. The guards laughed at my outburst as I sank back on the floor.

I was distraught, I was devastated. I was unhappy and miserable. The only thing that made my life bearable in this hell was Miro and now she had been taken away from me. I cried in anger and frustration.

I had only to stay in the pen for three more days. Master Firul had, finally, decided what to do with me. The guards came for me one day but they did not bring a yoke or even a chain for me. They just put a rope around my throat and led me away. It was another day for them but for me it was the first time in almost a month I had set my foot outside the pens.

My body shivered as I followed on my leash. The men walked in silence. The daylight hit my eyes as we crossed a courtyard. It was lovely to see the sun again, though.

I was led to a building were water came in through a pipe in the wall and poured into a kind of pool in the corner. I was told to wash myself in the water.

In the pen we were sometimes given a little water for washing but it was too little and too seldom for a proper wash. Being able to cleanse my body was heavenly. The water was cold but I relished the opportunity to be clean again.

I felt like a new girl as I stepped out of the pool and for a second I was not aware that I was completely naked in the presence of men.

I was taken to a very light and clean room were I was ordered to kneel on the floor. Although we always greeted the guards in the pen on our knees and legs widely apart, kneeling like that in this room felt extremely embarrassing. Maybe it was because the room looked like a normal room and that I was, suddenly again, a part of the normal world, a world I had re-entered as a lowly slave exposing her body for anyone to see.

I knelt on the stone floor for a long time and at last an old man came in. He had me stand up with my hands on my head while he examined me. His hands pinched me and probed me and almost caressed me. He took my small breasts in his hands, pinched them and pulled at them, he pressed his fingers in my belly and looked in my mouth, examining my teeth. I felt like an animal at a market and in many ways I was.

Most degrading was his examination of my sex. He took his time probing my sex with his dry fingers. It felt intrusive, intimate and very humiliating. I suddenly remembered Miro's fingers and felt tears welling up in my eyes. I suppressed them as well as I could and tried to concentrate on the strange sensation of the man's fingers in my sex.

The thought of Miro made me almost aroused and I couldn't get rid of that feeling as his fingers felt their way inside me.

Finally he withdrew and I was blushing. He turned to the guards.

'She is still a virgin'

'Good.'

That was all that was said. Then I was led away.

I was taken to a small room with no windows. Down the middle of the room run a heavy iron bar raised from the floor some twenty centimetres. I was told to lie down on my back and put my ankles on the bar. Heavy shackles were produced and I was secured to the bar. Then they left me.

I was lying on my back shackled to the bar on the hard stone floor. I was alone and miserable and realised that I was probably to be sold soon or moved to a new place were I could serve as a real slave.

I had no idea what this meant although I could imagine it meant a lot of hard work and possibly that I would have to serve some man with my body. Miro had made me think of other things but now my head was full of fear of the future. I didn't know what would happen to me but I knew it was going to be horrible.

I spent hours at the bar and at last I fell asleep. In my troubled dreams I saw fat men who looked at me and drooled as they saw me. They told me they had bought me and I was to serve them with my body.

Ego

About a year ago I fell off my bicycle. It was a lovely day at the end of September last year. I was on my way to work. I was cycling along a cycle path. It is quite narrow and only bicycles and pedestrians are allowed there. Here and there there are bollards put up, to stop cars entering the path and to make the bike tour more dangerous.

I was approaching one of those bollards, slowly, being aware of the risk of hitting it. There was a group if teenagers standing close by and I remember thinking how embarrassing it would be to fall off my bicycle in front of them.

Still approaching very slowly the handlebar hit the bollard and my bicycle went one way and I the other. I hit the ground flat on my face. The teenagers asked me if I was ok and I lied to them and said I was. I scrambled to my feet and turned around and went home, walking this time, leading my bicycle.

The strange thing was that I had hit the ground flat on my chest but the very white shirt I was wearing did not show any sign of what had happened (except a tiny spot of blood). My black trouser (yes, I do wear trousers from time to time) were very dirty. I had fallen on my face but I could not find a scratch. Still my glasses were broken while I was still wearing them. I did wear a helmet, which showed signs of having hit the ground quite hard.

I managed to get home where I assessed my injuries. I had hit my ribcage on the left side quite badly and my right arm I had managed to twist in some strange way and it was in a bad state. I was in a great deal of pain for some weeks and could not do anything but lie on my back in bed. I know what you are thinking but even the lightest hug was an ordeal. After a month, I think, my ribs were getting better but my right arm I could not still straighten properly. It took at least six months before it was back to normal.

It was about that time I started my blog. Is there a connection? Anyway, I don't usually write just about myself like this. I still think that what goes on in my mind is far more interesting than a simple cycling accident. Still it is my blog so I can be a little free to tell my story.

Now I can laugh about falling off my bicycle but it was quite embarrassing at the time and I can't really understand how I managed to do that at that particular location. It was one of those really unnecessary accidents that could be easily avoided and I have no one else to blame but me.

So, Dear Reader, always remember to wear a helmet when riding your bicycle!