Following on from last femdom story series that appeared on my blog ‘The Farm Slave’, here is a new six part series called ‘Athelnia: Mistress of the Hunt’ written by ‘R’ the same very talented submissive author of mine. This is my favourite series to date and I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I did!
It was the aftermath of the battle in which our army had been totally decimated. The ridge where we had made our stand and had attempted valiantly to defend was scattered with the bodies of the dead and gravely injured. I found a shallow ditch in the shadow of an oak tree, my intention being to lie low until nightfall and then attempt to escape under the cover of darkness. It was almost dusk when they came. A troop of men sweeping the field systematically looking for fugitives, mercilessly the wounded were dispatched with sweeps of their broadswords. I held my breath as they approached. They had found one relatively un injured man a few minutes earlier and I had watched as the soldiers had bound his arms roughly behind his back before leading him away. A rope was looped around his neck as one of them led him off to a fate as yet unknown. A few minutes later they found me. I decided that my best, my only, chance was to neither run or resist.
It was now my turn to be bound. A heavy knee in the small of my back pinned me to the ground as he wound the rough rope around my wrists and drew it tight before cinching it. I could feel from his actions that he was enjoying the process, binding me cruelly and unnecessarily tightly. For some reason, maybe my physique, maybe just on whim because he enjoyed inflicting the humiliation he then felt the need to make me more secure. A second rope wrenched my elbows together until they touched before a third length connected wrists and elbows. They were taking no risks with me, the following morning I would find out why.
There were six of us held together in their camp. The following morning broke with bright early autumnal sunshine. We were given a bowl of porridge like gruel before being loaded on to the cart. The road was rough and rutted and eventually a small town appeared in the distance set on a rising piece of ground. As we got closer it gained features. We entered the edge of the town. Houses, in reality little more than wooden shacks lined the road on either side, their inhabitants curious to see the spoils of war watched us as we passed. From the direction that we had been heading my guess was that the town was not far from the coast, and this would indeed turn out to be the case. We talked amongst ourselves about what would be likely to happen to us. One of our number had heard rumours that those captured after an earlier skirmish between our two towns had been crucified in the central square as a barbaric form of entertainment for townsfolk and that women who had lost husbands in previous battles had been allowed to castrate the prisoners as they hung on their crosses. After this our journey was completed in a stunned silence.
The town had a carnival air about the place. Clearly the victory celebrations had gone on all night after the battle of the day before. As we arrived in the central square fear rose inside us as we saw the raised timber platform that had been erected. It had the look of a place of execution.
As we were unloaded from the cart the tension grew, not relieved in any way as soldiers ushered us up the steps to stand in line on the platform. The only reassuring factor was the absence of any timber crosses on which we could be nailed or any makeshift gallows. A soldier with a bucket and a brush passed along the platform. As he did so each of us had a different mark painted on his bare chest with a purple dye. He laid down the bucket and drew a dagger before systematically slicing off the remaining garments that we wore until all six of us stood naked and bound in a line.
Now people began to arrive in the square in ones and twos, the crowd gradually building up until there was barely any space at all. We heard the tolling of the church bell above the hubbub of conversation, clearly a signal that something was about to happen. An older white haired man, well dressed and wearing a gold chain of office mounted the platform beside us. These people spoke the same language as us, albeit with a very heavy dialect and I soon caught on that this man was probably the town mayor and that his duty today was that of an auctioneer, we were to be sold as slaves. It made perfect sense. Torturing and killing us would provide a morning’s entertainment but enslaving six fit men would provide a huge amount of valuable labour.
I had been the final man to have been marked and sure enough the bidding began with the man at the far end. It went up in tens until at three hundred and seventy Reals the man produced a gavel from his pocket and rapped it loudly on the timber frame. Each successive man was sold for a slightly higher price until only the man next to me and myself remained. He was knocked down for six hundred and forty. Now it as my turn. I was pushed to the front of the stage where everyone could study my naked body. The bidding opened at five hundred and quickly rose to six. Now my future was in the balance. An elderly man with a kindly face bid six hundred and twenty. Then my eyes fell for the first time on the lady I now know as Athelnia. She stood at the back and, as our eyes met, a shiver ran down my spine.
She was of average height and possessed a slim, svelte body with a mass of auburn hair that flowed over her bare shoulders. Unlike all the other women who were wearing simple dresses, some barely better than rags, Athelnia wore most unusual garments crafted from black leather.
A tightly fitting laced bodice was cut away in a deep vee to display a cleavage between small, firm breasts. She raised a leather gloved hand in the air to register a bid of six hundred and twenty. The rival bidder raised his hand and a bidding war ensued. Eventually at nine hundred and eighty Reals the auctioneer took out his gavel, pointing at the man.
” Are there no more bids for this fine slave? Look, there are many years of hard work in him.”
He cast his hand out towards me. ” One thousand Reals.”
Her voice was cultured, clearly not one of the ordinary women, but one who had undergone considerable education. Her rival looked sad but raised his hand again. But this time it was not a bid. He waved towards the auctioneer to acknowledge that he had finished as he turned away. The gavel rapped the timber frame and for the sum of a thousand Reals I was the lifetime property of Lady Athelnia de Faverley, the widow of a baron who had fallen in one of the long series of wars and skirmishes between our two provinces that had ensued longer than the lives than even the oldest person watching the auction.
The crowd dispersed and Lady Athelnia, having produced a small velvet bag from the front of her bodice, handed over the considerable sum of money in gold fifty Real pieces. She then came to collect her purchase. Now that she was no longer hidden by the crowd I could appreciate her full beauty. But what my eyes fell on first were her boots. Made of the finest black leather they had clearly been made by the most skilful craftsman in the province and must have cost a small fortune. They had unusual built up heels that raised her possibly as much as the length of her index finger. Around these heels were fitted a pair of exceptionally fine silver spurs, again the product of the finest silversmith in the province. A wide leather belt encircled her already slim waist, buckled tightly to draw it in still further, it held a short dagger with a jewelled handle, an item both decorative as well as functional.
She approached me walking purposefully, almost a strut that spoke of her confidence as a powerful and independent woman. I cast my eyes down to the ground, deciding that displaying deference was the wise course of action, given the fact that this woman was now my legal owner in the laws of this province.
” Follow me slave.”
The words were spoken purposefully but, I was gratified to note, were in my own language, not the heavy guttural dialect of her own people.
We walked from the town square towards an inn. A much larger building than those it surrounded, it was built of heavy timbers weathered by many years and handsome in a bucolic sort of style with diamond leaded windows and a wide jetty to the first floor. Cooking smells wafted from inside and I suddenly felt the pangs of hunger that the breakfast gruel had done little to assuage. The innkeeper’s wife met us at the door, her husband appearing moments later leading her horse, a magnificent pale grey stallion. Lady Athelnia unbuckled the saddle bag and removed a set of irons comprising a heavy steel collar, fetters and manacles, all connected by lengths of chain. I was quickly shackled, the ropes from my arms now used to tie my collar to the saddle of her horse. In this manner I was led away from the town.
The path through the forest climbed gently but steadily from the edge of the town. I was grateful for the shade as the sun had now reached it’s height and the steel shackles weighed heavily on my limbs as I walked behind Lady Athelnia. I was still naked and my occasional glances up at my new leather clad owner were having an effect on me, my cock responding as I studied her slim body seated astride her mount, her boots with their silver spurs glinting in the occasional shafts of sunlight as they penetrated the forest canopy. She slipped from the saddle and ran a leather gloved hand through her long auburn mane as she drank from the flagon that she had taken from the saddle bag. She cast her green eyes in my direction and handed me the vessel.
” Drink, we will be travelling another hour or more.”
The water was cool and refreshing and she watched me as I drank.
” Did you kill any of our soldiers?”
The question came as something of a shock. It brought back the vision of the man, blood spurting from his neck as my sword sliced through his carotid artery, ending his life in seconds.
” No”.
I guessed from the slight relaxing of her frown as she studied me that my answer, although untruthful, was the correct one. I thought that I even detected the merest hint of a smile before she remounted her horse. I wasn’t at all sure whether my shackles had been applied in the interests of security or to restrict my freedom of movement as a form of humiliation. Following her horse and watching her figure as she rode, upright in the saddle, the black leather of her outfit contrasting with the very pale grey of her stallion my cock began to stir again. Whenever my eyes fell upon her boots and the gleaming silver spurs my nascent erection firmed. I consciously looked away, aware of the embarrassment that would ensue should she turn and notice the state of sexual excitement that my situation was creating. I was confused, never before had it crossed my mind that being subservient to a female would be arousing.
Surely, I reasoned, females were there for the purposes that I had been raised to accept. To cook our meals, clean our houses and raise our offspring. They certainly were not expected to ride fine horses with a man traipsing behind them manacled and fettered. But somehow finding myself in such a position and the woman in question having handed over a thousand Reals for the legal document that she now carried in her saddle bag stating that she enjoyed legal title over me stirred something dark and strange inside me. My feeling of powerlessness was both overwhelming and absolute. If Lady Athelnia decided to dismount and bind me to a tree trunk and either torture or abandon me to die of thirst then she was within her right to do so. The horror that the thought brought to mind was in no way diminished by the knowledge that, having parted with a vast sum of money, she wasn’t likely to do so. Nevertheless contemplating my powerlessness was overriding my senses. I glanced up again at her slim, feminine form as it swayed gently with the movement of her horse. A shaft of sunlight pierced the canopy and fell upon her, myriad mobile pools of light gleamed on the black leather of her bodysuit as my cock firmed into a full erection that I was unable to prevent.
We exited the forest and now in the distance stood a magnificent castle. The afternoon sun illuminated the pale stone. As we drew closer I could hear the gentle sound of sea waves breaking and I realised that this was the place that I had once seen from the deck of my grandfather’s fishing boat. It stood several miles across the border that had been the source of all the skirmishes and battles over the past century as our two provinces had fought bitterly over land boundaries. Of course at that time, some fifteen years earlier as a youth, I had no idea that one day I would visit this castle, not a victor, but vanquished and enslaved, the legal property of Lady Athelnia, Baroness Schanzenberg.