Slave and mistress (Foxy Lady and Lowblow Emma)

The doctor came first with his cold, clinical examination. Then came the overseer, who was more practical and brutal. I’d been expecting them; I knew she’d send them. It’s easy to recognise the serious buyers when you’ve been around as long as I have.

At first, she was just one of the crowd watching from a distance. Just one of the ladies with their fancy clothes and parasols to protect their pale skin from the sun. You could tell she was a serious buyer and not just one of the gawkers and gropers who crush around us for a look and a feel. She scanned all the men several times, but then she picked on me. Oh, she was discreet about it. No overt staring, nothing so common for a lady like her. But her gaze kept flitting back to me, just for a moment or too, but it was intense, not like the casual glances she gave the others.

I affected not to notice, just stood there proud, proud of who and what I am, proud to be myself, proud. Some get upset at being on display, standing here naked to be poked and prodded like meat on a slab. But I’m used to it. It’s not going to get me down. No good hiding what I’ve got or what I am.

Then, I saw her talking to the auctioneer, getting my background. That obviously didn’t put her off, so I knew it would be just a matter of time before the inspection. She’d left before the bidding started, but I knew who’d bought me. The only question was: what was she planning to do with me?

It was a poor display, which made him easier to spot. He stood out with his pride and confidence. Tall, muscular, well-toned, a rich ebony with dazzling white teeth that showed when he snarled at the people who came too close or even dared to touch him.

I could tell that he was reading the room, checking for the interested buyers and ignoring the rest with distain. He affected not to notice me, but it was obvious that he had spotted me and made sure he looked his best from every angle. He grew taller and prouder when my doctor and overseer examined him. That showed I was interested. That made him feel special. Sheer arrogance that would have to be beaten out of him.

To be so savvy, he had to have been sold before, and several times. It was no surprise when the auctioneer told me the trouble he’d caused his last owner and the ones before that. He was in his early 20s now and had been rebellious since his early teens. No wonder he was always sold on quickly. It didn’t bother me. It’s the same with stallions. The wilder they are, the more satisfying it is to tame them. My men checked him out and said he was healthy and fit. I left them to buy him. With his record, I picked him up cheap. Now all I had to do was to break him.

The overseer bundled us into a cart, where he manacled us to each other and the benches. Five of us in all. Three rough guys obviously destined for farm work and a girl of about eleven, probably just sold on and away from her mother for the first time. She sat withdrawn into herself, sobbing quietly, occasionally wiping her nose on her arm. I tried to talk to her, to reassure her that she’d be fine, but she didn’t respond.

At the estate, the farm workers were driven off to their barracks, while the girl was welcomed into the warm embrace of the cook. I was told my duties: to be a sort of footman, at the mistress’s call whenever she needed me. First, though, I needed my uniform and for that I was sent to the seamstress. A friendly middle-aged woman, she measured me for my black leather trousers and cream linen shirt. She took her time to make sure they fitted me well, leaving me enough space in just the right places, as she put it. By the time we had finished, she had explored those places thoroughly and we’d agreed to meet. Although the buildings were secure and guarded, the household slaves were not manacled, so we were free to meet that night, and the night after, and the night after that. She was demanding but appreciative and I welcomed the companionship, and the fucking of course.

My duties were light. I just stood in the hallway until called, which wasn’t that often, and did whatever I was told, which wasn’t very much, leaving me plenty of time to recoup my energy from my nightly visits to the seamstress. The rest of the time, the mistress ignored me, or pretended to. I noticed she walked through the hall a lot, though, for no obvious reason or purpose. I looked straight ahead.

He stinks. Every time I walk past him I can smell her on him, the cheap whore. It’s as though he is flaunting himself and his potency at me. This is too much. I didn’t pay good money for him so that he could fuck around with the female slaves. This has got to stop.

She’s gone, my seamstress, taken in the night by the overseer. No one will admit to seeing or hearing anything, but they all know what happened. No one wants to get involved, because that would put them at risk too.

They must have known about us. We were discreet, but there are no secrets among the slaves. There are always eyes watching, everywhere.

Everyone blames me. They don’t actually say anything, but they are shunning me and whispering behind my back. Wondering what will happen to me. I am wondering that too, when my mistress summons me.

I am reading when he arrives and waits patiently for me to speak, looking straight ahead. He is too wily to fall into the trap of speaking first, but he cannot avoid being an intimidating presence that towers over me. After a while, I put my book aside and speak.

‘How long have you been a slave?’

He still does not meet my eyes.

‘All my life, Mistress.’

‘Then you know that I own you and everything about you. Even the crap you shit is mine to fertilise my fields.’

My shit is used for the same purpose, but I do not mention that.

‘Your sperm too. It is not yours to waste.’

He says nothing. Is this studied insolence or just ignorance?

‘Do you understand what I am saying?’

He nods.

‘Yes, Mistress, I think I understand.’

‘You think, so you are not sure. Well, let me spell it out. You will not fuck the other slaves, unless I choose to breed from you and if I do, I will choose your mate. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, Mistress, I understand.’

‘You will not even ejaculate without my permission. Is that clear?’

The last point catches his attention and his eyes flick to mine for a second before he nods.

‘I am not a cruel mistress. I understand that men need to expel their seed. Even my husband needs to do that, occasionally. But you will not do it without my permission. Is that clear?’

His face registers what this means for him.

‘If you feel that you must masturbate – and I mean must, not just that you would like to – then come to me and I will treat your request sympathetically.’

I smile and pick up my book.

‘You may go.’

He bows and backs towards the door.

The heat gets to all the women eventually. They’re not used to it and they make it worse by wrapping themselves in all those layers of fancy clothes. Add that to our exposed flesh, our size and power, and our exotic black bodies, and they’re barely able to control their feelings. Once they’ve got our scent, they realise how inadequate their pale and pathetic husbands are. Why, she as good as told me hers wasn’t up to it, not man enough for her. The maids have heard them fucking and all she does is give a little whimper at the end. She’s doesn’t know what sex is like, real sex, with a real man.

No wonder she liked talking about sex. All that stuff about shit and seed and fertilising fields. She was getting turned on talking dirty to a man. She’d never dare talk like that to her husband. She’s all sweetness and light to him, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth when she’s with him. that’s what the maids say. But it’s different with me. She owns me, so that makes it different. I’m not human, not to her.

She wants to demonstrate her power over me. By controlling everything I do and by getting me to respond to the way she spoke to me. She wanted to arouse me by talking filthy to me like that. Why else does she dress me in these tight trousers, except to see my cock and balls. I saw her eyes, flicking downwards, because she thought I couldn’t see where she was looking. I deliberately let myself get aroused. I remembered what it was like with that warm welcoming seamstress lying with her legs wide open, pulling me into her hot cunt. That got my cock throbbing. She saw it too, the Mistress. How could she miss it, I felt like I was going to burst out. That’ll have got her hotter.

I bet she’ll be counting the hours before I go and ask permission to wank. Well, she’ll have a long wait.

He’s an animal and deserves to be treated like one. He was almost thrusting his crotch into my face, forcing me to look at it. That’s how they treat their women, no respect, just raw sex, like a stallion at stud. How dare he get aroused when I am reprimanding him. How dare he flaunt himself like that. That’s probably how he behaved with that seamstress. I’m well rid of her.

It won’t be long before he’s begging me to be allowed to masturbate. He won’t be able to last for more than a day or two, if that; it’s not in his nature. And then I’ll make him pay for his impertinence. I’ll make him crawl. I’ll break him.

It was easy at first, for the next few days. Normally, I wouldn’t go that long. If I can’t find a fuck, I have a wank, just for the sake of my health really. But this was different. I was determined to show her that I could master my needs and desires. She tried to make it worse for me, constantly hovering around me, brushing me with her skirts whenever she went past, letting her perfume waft towards me. It was so obvious that she was trying to stir my feelings, forcing me to ask permission to masturbate. Well, I showed her.

But then it got more difficult. It’s just not natural for a man to go that long, holding in his seed. As I stood to attention waiting for her orders, my balls felt like weights dragging between my thighs. And whenever I moved, the touch of the leather trousers aroused my cock. She knew, I’m sure she did. Kept stealing glances and then making me follow her around so I’d be even more uncomfortable.

I could have wanked without her knowing, in the latrines, or in the privacy of my bed at night. But she’d have realised and worked out some way to make me suffer and I’d have deprived myself of the pleasure of the victory over her. For a slave, even small victories are worth having. And they were victories – she was getting frustrated at my control, snapping out her orders, having me rush back and forth for no reason. And the more frustrated she began, the greater the pleasure I got from tormenting her.

It was difficult for me, though. My hand kept drifting down, easing my balls when she wasn’t looking, adjusting the lie of my cock to ease the pressure from the tight leather of my trousers, slipping over my thighs at night. But I was strong.

Until … in the end, it got into my head and then I knew I was lost. I was too distracted to concentrate, asking her to repeat her orders, forgetting what she had said. She knew; I could tell from the sly little smile she wore when she spoke to me. So one day I went to her when she was alone.

‘Mistress,’ I asked, ‘may I have permission, please?’

She put down her book and stood up. I expected her to tease me by asking what I wanted permission to do and making me explain why I needed to do it. But she didn’t. She just picked up her fan and told me to follow her. This was not something I had expected. Where was she taking me?

He was so proud of himself, holding out for as long as he could, thinking he was winning some pathetic little victory over me. That’s how slaves think. Well, he was wrong. He was the one who suffered and I had the pleasure of watching him. He was so unlike my husband, who can control his urges. I only had to look at his expression to see how frustrated he was getting, more and more, day after day. Like an animal who is tied up and can’t get free.

I led him into my garden, my private garden where we would not be disturbed. I settled on my favourite seat in the shade and fanned myself as he stood patiently before me.

‘Well,’ I snapped, ‘what are you waiting for? You wanted my permission to masturbate and you have it, so get on with it.’

He looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected that I would watch, but he couldn’t restrain his impulses any longer. He unfastened his trousers and his cock flew out, like a tree trunk, gnarled and thick. He grabbed hold of himself and began frantically rubbing. The tip began to glisten almost immediately and then a thread of his juice began to dribble from it like the first thread of a spider’s web.

‘Wait,’ I cried, but I was too late to stop him. His seed sprayed, again and again, huge gushes flying through the air in an arc before landing on my immaculate lawn.

‘How dare you?’ I scream. ‘I gave you permission to masturbate, not to ejaculate and make a mess on my lawn.’

I smacked my fan hard on his cock to make my point.

He stood shamefaced as I struggled to control myself. Eventually, I was calm enough to speak.

‘You behave like an animal. Very well, you will be treated like one. Report to the overseer. He will give you duties that are more suited to your nature.’

I stormed away to give my instructions to the overseer.

She took me by surprise, wanting to watch like that, but I shouldn’t have expected any different. She’s like all her kind. Frustrated and desperate for a real man. I didn’t mind, let her see how inadequate her husband is compared to me. Let her understand how little she knows of the pleasures of sex compared to the seamstress.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to last, not after so long. There was no point trying to prolong it, building up the pleasure slowly, withholding myself for as long as I could, teetering on the brink of exploding, until I could hold it no longer.

She went mad. What did the bitch expect? Did she really think she could settle down for an hour or so watching me wank? Was she so naïve about men to understand how I might be feeling? And then she wacked my cock with that bloody fan. It stunk like a wasp and I was afraid she had done me damage, but I dared not show it. I just stood waiting for her to calm down, but she didn’t. Just carried on ranting and raving about her previous fucking lawn.

That overseer missed his calling as a torturer. He left me to sweat, literally, by manacling me in the outdoor slaves’ barrack. Barrack so-called, tin shack really. Next day he had me digging out the slaves’ latrines. Stinking, back-breaking work, up to my balls in shit. At the end of the day, he threw a few buckets of water over me. The other slaves kept their distance. Apart from the stench of their own shit, they didn’t want to associate with a slave on punishment. No way did they want to bring any punishment down on their heads. I couldn’t blame them; their lives were miserable enough as it was without me making them worse. The next day, it was back to the shit. Dragging it in carts and spreading it this time over the fields. Not so dirty this time, but still exhausting work.

The following morning, the overseer told me to clean myself up and report back for my normal duties. His face said he knew he’d be seeing me again before long. One of the kitchen maids, Melissa, offered to wash me off, but I sent her away in case she found herself in the hands of a slave dealer or brother keeper, like my seamstress. The stink of my fellow slaves was still in my nostrils and their taste in my mouth as I resumed my duties in the hallway, waiting my mistress’s pleasure. Every muscle in my arms, legs, shoulders and back ached. I longed for Melissa’s long fingers to ease away the stiffness, but that would have been fatal, for both of us.

It was a couple of hours before my mistress appeared and then she sailed past as if I wasn’t there. Eventually, she summoned me and I went to find what her whim held for me today.

I let him wait a while before I spoke.

‘Now you know what happens when you behave like an animal: you will be treated like one.’

I wrinkled my nose. I had ordered my overseer to ensure that he was thoroughly cleaned before resuming his indoor duties, but a slight odour still seeped from him when he stood close.

‘You are mine to command and you will do as I say, precisely as I say. You do not have licence to behave as you wish. In all things and at all times, you will do what I say and no more than what I say. Always think what I would wish and, if it doubt, do nothing without my permission.’

I paused for this to sink in.

‘Is that clear to you now?’

He nodded and even that slight movement sent a waft of shit in my direction. I stepped back.

‘Not only do you behave like an animal, you smell like one. No, you smell worse than one. I suppose that’s what attracts that Melissa to you, is it? I am told that she would like to breed with you. Very well, we need to replenish our stock of young slaves.’

I rang the bell and waited for my butler to arrive.

‘Send Melissa here, right away.’

Melissa entered timidly and stared in surprise when she saw me standing beside our mistress, who dismissed the butler with a flick of her wrist, before turning to Melissa.

‘This slave,’ she said, pointing her fan at me, ‘wants to breed with you and I have given him permission.’

Melissa looked bewildered, unsure of what was happening and what was expected of her.

‘Bend over that chair,’ the mistress pointed her fan at a dining chair, ‘and lift your skirt.’

Melissa obeyed, slowly as if in a daze, throwing a questioning glance over her shoulder in my direction. She was naked under her thin cotton skirt and her plump ass smiled at me.

The mistress turned her attention to me. She grabbed my crotch and squeezed hard. I winced.

‘Your balls feel full. Get on with it.’

I didn’t know what was expected of me and was afraid to incur punishment for both of us by being presumptuous, but my mistress interpreted my hesiation as disobedience.

‘Fuck the bitch,’ the mistress snapped.

I unfastened my trousers and my cock slipped out. Normally, faced with an inviting ass like that, I would have been rock hard in an instant, but this wasn’t normal. My cock waved around at half mast and rubbed to get myself hard as I approached Melissa. My mistress was right that I wanted to fuck this woman, although I have no idea how she knew, but I’m not used to performing for an audience. Melissa must have felt the same. I could feel her trembling as I rubbed my cock across the lips of her cunt. She was dry, so I eased myself in a little at a time.

‘No, no, get on with it. You’re not here to play. She has work to do, and so do you. Just fuck her and get it over with.’

I clenched my buttocks to make it look as if I was straining, but tried to be as gentle as possible. Soon she was wet enough for me to slide in easily and I set to with gusto. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught glimpses of my mistress as she moved around us; she was flushed and breathing heavily.

Suddenly I felt a sharp cut across my buttocks: she was hitting me with her fan, like she would encourage a horse with a crop.

‘Faster, boy, faster,’ she shouted, hitting me harder. ‘You were quicker than this last time. What’s wrong with you?’

Melissa was now responding discreetly to my rhythm, obviously enjoying herself although trying not to show it. I had no option but to obey my mistress and soon was on the verge of cumming. With a loud bellow, I let my seed fly deep inside Melissa.

The mistress immediately brought proceedings to a halt.

‘That’s it. Get out of her and dress yourself. And don’t make a mess on my carpet.’

I hastened to fold my still engorged cock inside my trousers, while the mistress spoke sternly to Melissa.

‘No fucking about with other slaves, girl. If you’re pregnant, we need to be sure of the pedigree. Now get back to your duties.’

Melissa fled and I awaited the mistress’s next instructions.

That was disgusting to watch. They were like animals rutting. No tenderness, no finesse. She was probably aroused by the smell of shit on him. I don’t understand how they can behave like that. Still, it doesn’t matter, I suppose, so long as they produce more slaves. I need to replenish my stock. If it’s a girl, I will have her trained as a seamstress.

I wonder if he knows who that girl is. She is the daughter of the seamstress he was fucking as soon as he arrived; the one I had to sell. Maybe I should tell her why I sold her mother. That would be fun, to see her reaction to knowing that he had penetrated both of them. I hope her mother wasn’t pregnant. I would never forgive myself if I had sold a pregnant slave without realising it. The buyer will have got two for the price of one. I wonder if the sale would be void for mistake if she had a child. I’ll have to ask my lawyer about it.

After that, I need some fresh air. A ride in my carriage will be just the thing. And rather than waste the energy of my horses, I will let my slave pull me. He’ll be fit after all that manual work. But I’d better make him change; I don’t want his indoor clothes getting spoilt.

I reported to the stables and found a groom who found me a pair of shorts. I’m bigger than most of the slaves around here, so they were a tight fit.

‘That’s good,’ he said, ‘you’ll need some support.’

Then he showed me the carriage. It was more like a small pony trap really. There was a harness designed for a man – well, for a slave. The straps over my shoulders helped to distribute the weight and there were belts around my chest and waist. Two thick reins were fastened either side at my waist. A thin rein led to each of my nipples where it was attached by a metal clip and a wide strap was fed between my legs and attached to the front of the trap.

‘She’ll use the nipples reins to control direction,’ the groom explained, ‘and the wide strap as a brake.’

He paused to let that sink in.

‘Be careful,’ he warned, ‘one slave slipped, tipped the carriage over and broke both his legs.’

‘What happened to him,’ I asked.

‘She refused to have the legs set and then freed him.’

We both knew what chance he had of surviving.

‘Oh and she broke another’s balls with the brake.’

‘Thanks,’ I moaned.

A loud crack sounded by my ear.

‘She’ll use this to make you go faster.’ He pushed the whip into rings beside the side and sent me on my way.

It was easy to get the carriage moving with no one in it, so I was able to set off at a trot around to the front of the house. With the mistress’s weight as well, it was less easy to manage.

‘We’ll try some easy manoeuvres first, just so you get used to it,’ she told me as the whip tickled my back.

I was glad of the chance to practice as we drove around the gravel paths that led to the mansion. Every so often I caught a glimpse of Melissa watching from a window. I was sure the mistress wasn’t just practising; she wanted to show Melissa that I was no more than an animal to her.

She was gentle at first, tugging only lightly on the nipple reins and using the braking rein only occasionally. But even still, my nipples were getting sore and my balls tender before we finally set off at a trot around the fields on her estate.

I raised my parasol to protect my pale skin from the scorching sun and let the whip tickle his back. Off he set at a gentle trot. I watched his muscles ripple as he pulled my carriage smoothly along the paths between the fields. The outdoors slaves all watched discreetly, pretending to continue working while following our progress.

The way was relatively straight, so there was little chance to use his nipple reins or the brake. I steadily but cautiously increased the pace, not wanting a repeat of the previous accidents when I had been deposited in the dirt. That was not my idea of a relaxing drive in the fresh air, as the slaves had found out to their cost.

Soon I began to feel drowsy. The heat of the sun, the rhythm of carriage jolting along, the hypnotising effect of the rippling of his back muscles and the rise and fall of his buttocks like the haunches of my favourite stallion. A sudden toppling feeling as one of the wheels dropped into a pothole woke me from my reverie. The slave responsible for the upkeep of this stretch of road would pay for that. Instinctively, I jerked on the brake rein, eliciting a howl from the slave that caused the carriage to sway violently from side to side. I pulled on both nipple reins and laid a sharp lash across his back to improve his concentration, which just led to the carriage jolting erratically. I applied increasing pressure on the brake rein and drew to a halt. Why did I have to spell out everything for this slave? Had he no sense.

‘You must learn to be more observant and to avoid potholes. I require a smooth ride. Is that clear?’

He was doubled over and moaning, his hands cradling his crotch. Which gave me an idea.

‘You’re so proud of your precious tackle, aren’t you? Well it won’t be much use if I have to keep applying the brake. So it’s in your own interests to drive smoothly. Is that clear now?’

His only reply was a low groan as he doubled over again. I applied the whip across his back, drawing blood that trickled down towards his waist and soaked in his trousers.

‘Is that clear?’ I repeated.

He nodded and managed to gasp that it was.

‘Good,’ I told him. ‘In that case, it is time to see how manoeuvrable you can be. We’ll get up to speed along the next stretch and see how you manage the bends.’

I settled back into the carriage and applied the whip again and again until he was running and the carriage was bowling along.