BREEDING A LADY, BREEDING A SLAVE:

TWO TALES FROM THE BARBARIAN EMPIRE

By Celia Demure

Copyright: 2013 Celia Demure

All rights reserved

Series: Erotic Tales of the Barbarian Empire

Contents

Breeding a Slave

Breeding a Lady
Breeding a Slave
I found her at the slave auction at Kymeira Square. An acquaintance of mine, the Lesser-Lord Elonis Gal, pulled me along to
the place, as he wanted to survey the load of petite blonde Kyssan pleasure-girls that had just arrived. I had business with him,
and grudgingly obliged to accompany him out of courtesy.
I watched the small ladies led onto the stage, stripped, displayed. Some of them were pretty enough, but I was irritated and
tried to push my business with the boorish Gal. He was, alas, more interested in finding a Kyssan girl with a tight bottom he
might enjoy reddening with his whip…
Gal had already made several purchases when one of the final groups of females was brought to the front.
And then… SHE was there.
I am not sure how she came to be mixed with them. She was of a sturdy build, yet generously curved—as I could see even
under the bulky robe she wore. The slave-masters led her onto the stage with two of the petite Kyssans, then pulled the loose
robes from all three so that their features might be fully displayed in nakedness. It was a chill morning with a mist of rain, and
the two small Kyssan girls shivered… but she stood steady and proud, oblivious to the cold.
And she had reason to be proud. My eyes grew wide as I admired her body. Shoulders squared and strong, yet arms tapering to
hands that were almost dainty. Proud breasts with nipples standing out in the cold like tiny pink fingers. Below them, the curve
of her soft, rounded belly … Her hips flared wide, dramatically so, and my gaze was drawn to them and the image of feminine
fecundity they seemed to represent, the dark curling hairs between the softly padded thighs…
One of the slave masters turned them, and I had a good view of her broad back, body tapering towards her waist, then broad
again at her full and luscious buttocks. Her long brown hair hung in a braid, down to the small of her flawless back.
When the slave masters turned the females ‘round again, I saw her face.
Dearest Goddess! If my loins had been stirred before, this was the moment my heart jumped.
Those eyes, big, wet, some color I almost couldn’t name, maybe grey? They were downcast, but just once I saw them turn up,
quickly scan the audience, and I imagined they met mine…
They were set under bold eyebrows and a flawless forehead. A delicate little nose, and a mouth … Ahhhh! The mouth was
wide, lips full and pouting, suggesting pride and vulnerability at once. Lips I HAD to kiss. There was no choice.
A slave master held his open-palmed hand above her head, signal for the bid.
My arm shot skyward and I placed a bid of 20,000 Gessae. Gal looked shocked at my sudden intensity and willingness to
spend; the bid was indeed rather high to open. I did not care.
My bid was not challenged, and in a few moments she was mine, only a few debit papers to sign. While I waited to collect her,
a slave master handed me her pedigree, and I read it with hands strangely quivering.
It said she was a Lady from a minor house of the island of Knelle, a nation defeated several years before on the Grand Fleet’s
Quincentenary voyage of conquest. I recalled that most of the people had been destroyed in earthquakes and a rain of fire which
our naval mages brought down …
Still, for a Lady, 20,000 might not be so bad a price. She’d formerly been owned by an Outland estate, the name of which was
not given. A scrawled note from her former master noted her as fairly obedient, but too withdrawn for his tastes.
He also stated that her response to the whip was indifferent. For some reason, the idea of those strong shoulders and soft back
under the lash coiled my stomach. Of course, there would be no scars, as the slave-masters employed expert healer-mages to
polish up their wares and hide evidence of such previous use…
I had almost forgotten about my “friend” Elonis Gal, until he met me at the holding pens, where I was to collect my new
acquisition. He had two tiny little Kyssans on either side of him, being fitted with traveling-chains. One of the yellow-haired
girls was red-faced and crying.
“Hush!” he barked. “When I get you home, I’ll bend you over and give you good reason for that. Save your cries for when I can
relax and enjoy them.”
He turned to me, his pudgy face studying me as if I were a mad beggar on the street. “20,000 for a plump Knellian wench? My
friend, I do hope you find some use for her.”
A slave-master called my name, then opened a side-gate.
There she was, my newly-bought beauty, clad in her rough robe again. She stepped forward slowly, her head low. Yet there
was grace in her step—a strange surety—and she did not hesitate to walk towards me, accepting her fate, her new master.
“Look at me,” I commanded.
The face turned up, those wet grey eyes met mine, darted away as if looking at something in the distance, then locked on mine
again …
She extended her arms, hands palm up, a surrendering gesture. Her full lips quivered a moment, then she spoke, a melodious
and unmistakably feminine voice, trembling only slightly.
“I am… ahhh… yours,” she stated, the traditional submissive greeting of slave to a new master.
Her voice was heavily accented, and her cadence was odd, hesitating, as if she had memorized the words phonetically.
“Use me gently if you will, ahhh—Master.”
I stayed close by her side as she was fitted with traveling-chains. The slave-masters told me she would be delivered shortly, as
they had a few others to escort to new owners in the high manors first.
I nodded, and locked eyes with her before heading home, only hoping that they would hurry, wanting to see her again—and
touch her—as soon as I was able …
#

When she first arrived at my house, she was skittish and tense, flinched at my touch, turned her head ever so slightly as if to
deflect my kiss.
She bore my attentions quietly and obediently, but she did not enjoy them, those grey eyes always wide in some state of mild
panic that never left while my touch was upon her.
Something in those trembling eyes touched me, yet I tried to shrug it off. She was, after all, purchased for MY pleasure, to be
used as a vessel for MY lust.
Why need I concern myself with her fears or discomfort?
I did not think myself to be an imposing man. I am tall, and keep my body firm and strong through swimming and running, but I
am hardly a brute. My greying, close-cropped hair and dark, small eyes give me a somewhat severe appearance, I’ve been told
… But numerous females had found those very features enticing in the past.
So why did she flinch at my touch? And… Ye Gods… Why did I care so much what she did or thought!
I had my servant Azul purchase a padded collar for her neck, and a gilded chain. I myself fitted the collar on her, and secured it
with its tiny golden key. As the lock clicked, she closed her eyes … then opened them slowly, those wet orbs open wide,
staring at me.
She knew her fate was in my hands now…
Her cell was a small closet off of the hallway close to my bedroom, fitted with silken cushions and a high barred window
through which the moon could shine brightly on many nights. I had used it for some rare meditations previously; now, it would
be her home.
That night, I visited her cell. As I ran my hands over her voluptuous body, enjoying the softness of her skin, my touch wandered
up across the exquisite pillow of her slightly curved belly, towards the proud breasts… each the size of a ripened sun-fruit, not
too large but a firm handful, enticing and haughty somehow in the way they stood out. The areolae were a deep coral pink, and I
remembered how her nipples had stood out in the chill of the auction…
I slid my finger around her right nipple, slowly, teasingly, and felt her shudder.
But this was a different kind of shudder, deeper… and perhaps—just perhaps—not borne of fear this time.
I felt the nipple grow taut, extending. I slowly rolled it between two fingers, and she shuddered again, and moaned.
I leaned down and took her left nipple into my mouth, suckling like an infant. Her legs kicked in an involuntary motion, her eyes
going wide.
Her former master had called her withdrawn? What rough touch had he used on her?
I pinched one nipple while continuing to suck on the other, then nibbling … The slightly salty taste of it teased my tongue, and
there was something else, a scent in my nostrils, musky and primal and pungent.
Had she become aroused that quickly?
Sliding my hand down from her nipple, down over the soft belly, I guided it over the soft curls between her thighs, felt a sticky
dampness, then softness as my fingers slid over the lips of her sex …
She moaned again.
I slid a finger inside, slowly. The tightness of the spongy passage was amazing, conforming to my finger as I slowly slid it
deeper.
I had heard of women who maintained a natural tightness sometimes exceeding that of virgins, and was retained with
experience. But this was new to me, and incredible.
My finger fully nested, I used my thumb to slowly rub her clitoris, hidden under the pink flap of her prominent clitoral hood.
She gasped and let out a series of rhythmic moans as I continued to fondle her there… all the while her taut nipple still in my
mouth.
I had to have her!
I pulled my hand and mouth away, and she let out a soft sigh, as if of disappointment.
I pushed her to her back, pried her legs apart. My phallus stood before me, hard and angry and red … Dripping with lust,
burning with need, my heavy, dangling seed-sacs full and tight with the essence of lust which she had elicited.
I knew that my lustful male ‘serpent’ was larger than most. But she’d had her share of cocks, surely?
I saw her womanhood glistening in the moonlight with her sticky flowings, and aimed for that vulnerable target…
I had intended to be gentle, the civilized part of my mind still fighting against my lust.
But when I moved forward and those soft, wet nether lips of hers kissed the head of my male weapon, my hips responded to
some low instinct…
With an animal grunt, I thrust my maleness fully into her, sinking into the embrace of the tightest silken sheath I could ever
imagine.
She let out a pained gasp, like a soft scream, and her face contorted, eyes closed, teeth clenched and brow wrinkled in pain.
One part of my wanted to keep thrusting, to use this flesh without regard as I should rightfully do with my property. But another,
more tender part won out.
I stopped thrusting, feeling myself nestled deep up in her warm belly. I stroked her cheek and softly kissed her forehead.
Her eyes opened, and she looked at me as if questioning.
“Shhh,” I said.
I felt her relax under me, and slowly I began thrusting again, so very slowly. The friction of her tight passage was still amazing,
I could feel the soft contours massaging every inch of my member as it slid in those moist confines… So slowly, tenderly, I
moved in and out.
Her mouth parted, and she began a series of soft gasps, enjoying herself now.
I picked up my tempo slightly, thrusting full in at the end of each stroke. I pulled her legs up to my shoulders to get as deep as
possible, wanting to experience as much of her as I could, wanting the head of my phallus to kiss the mouth of her womb.
Her climax came without much warning, starting gently and shortly growing more violent. Her moans took on a sharpness,
became louder, her face and shoulders suddenly flushed.
And then the squeezing commenced.
I felt a low throbbing around my member inside her, as if her womanhood was conducting the pulse of her heart. The throbbing
became a sort of churning, as her eyes flew wide and her mouth opened and she loudly began a melodious moan, a single
utterance of pleasure broken only by the breaths she was forced to take, growing in loudness and pitch.
I stopped moving, buried deep inside her.
Her passage churned around my phallus, kneading it, milking it, like a thousand silken fingers stroking every spot, from the
base to the flared head, and I felt my moment approach. My balls clenched in their sac as my body prepared to deliver the
issuance which would complete the coupling.
I was fighting now, her spasming passage so tight that at times it seemed it might almost force me out. I would not let that
happen; the male animal part of me was quite determined complete this mating in the proper manner.
I grabbed her shoulders, and held her close and tight, feeling her breath on my ear as she moaned, tasting the sweat on her skin.
I thrust harder, deeper than before, and began to shake as my climax hit.
I felt the first pulse as a pressure building in my loins, then an ecstatic fire coursing up my member. Her moans had been
growing more soft, but as she felt me throb inside her she made a loud noise, and I swear I saw her smile…
Gods, I thought as the pleasure-spasms wracked my body, it’s as if she craves my very seed!
With each spurt inside her, my head jerked slightly, muscles jerking down the length of my body, the climax overwhelming me.
One, two, three spurts… My entire body working for only one purpose: to fill her with my seed.
I could feel the increased moistness as I added my male essence to her fluids, and I kept emptying myself, shaking, panting.
Four heavy spurts, five, six, the ecstasy unbearable as my member pulsed and spat again and again … Until the seed
overflowed and began to run out of her, and I felt it warm and sticky on my ball-sac as it ran out of her to puddle on the silken
cushion under her fine posterior.
When it was done, I lay there inside her for some time, as if in a stupor.
Only after a time did I become aware that she was softly stroking my cheek, and smiling up at me.
She let out a disappointed sigh as I pulled my flesh from hers, my maleness disengaging from her sheath with a soft, wet sound.
We were both soaked in sweat, the smell of our mixed fluids pungent in the air.
She was still smiling. I kissed her softly twice, once on her luscious lips, and once on the forehead.
Azul soon brought moist cloths and a rams-bladder filled with warm water.
I think he was startled when I insisted on cleaning her, inside and out, myself.
She sighed as wiped her soft flesh and cleaned her outside with the cooling cloths.
But, when I moved to rinse out her feminine depths with the water-bladder, she shook her head vigorously, her lips moving in
whispers, pleading with me not to do so.
So he wanted my seed to stay in her womb?
I nodded and relented, leaving her be “down there.”
Afterwards, as she settled into sleep, I left her, retiring to my own bedchamber with a feeling of sadness. Some part of me
would not have minded spending the night with her in that cell …
It would have been undignified for the Lord of the house, I knew, but I still wished I had stayed.

One night, a few weeks later, she sang to me.

After an intense session of pleasure with her, we had collapsed onto the cushions, still soaked in sweat. My copious seed still
dripped from her.
I had used her well, yet tenderly as I had become accustomed. And in exchange for my two spewings inside her, I had given her
innumerable moments of climactic ecstasy, wonderful to me, seeing her shake and moan and smile softly just after each …
I did not get up to clean myself or her, yet she didn’t seem to mind.
She lay with her back to my chest, breathing softly. One of my arms was draped over her breasts, and she clasped my wrist
tightly with her dainty hand.
She made a small noise, like a whispered hum, and she started to sing.
It should have startled me; after all, she had rarely even spoken before. But I felt so at peace with her, the flood of moonlight
soothing our souls, and her singing seemed like something I had longed for, the missing element I did not know was needed.
The words were Knellian, mostly unknown to me.
But the rhythm, her emotion carried them… The song turned from happy and light to somber, the melody becoming discordant
then harmonious again… and certain words were repeated, savored, then the song moved on… Atrellus, Gnorlleian, Reni …
Names, I suddenly realized. They were names!
I had seen Imperial lineage lists, of course; I was keeper of my own family’s records, sketchy though they were, since the
Brillean conflict had destroyed our records at Korsus.
I wondered; was this something similar? Certain words of the song, repeated with the names, must mean married, begat… The
entire song was a lineage list! How many generations, fifteen, twenty? If it was like the Imperial lists, it must be going forward
in time…
Cathissa, she sang softly, then words of joy, an etheric melody.
Then, after a minute, her voice broke for the first and only time, and the song turned dark, her voice more low and rumbling
than I could have imagined. I felt her clutch my arm even more tightly, and she seemed to shake.
The melody lifted slightly again, still the song centered on someone called Cathissa, and now another name, at first
unrecognized in her lilting song, but then… I realized…
It was MY name. This part of the song was about HER life.
SHE was Cathissa!
“Cathissa, ” I said softly. “Your name is Cathissa.”
She nodded.
She sung on still, another verse, a repetition of the last, perhaps? Her name, then my name, and another word… Padri?
Poduri? Something in Knellian that I didn’t understand.
The song ended abruptly. She released my hand, and rolled to face me.
Her face was streaked with tears, her lips quivering. I kissed her gently.
I couldn’t say what I wanted to then. What I felt. I was much too afraid. I gazed into those wet eyes, stared at those quivering
lips, and she reached out and stroked my forehead as if I were the one needing comforting.
“Cathissa,” I told her. “I will always take care of you. I swear to keep you safe.”
She nodded again, but her lips stopped quivering and there was the trace of a smile. Then, for the first time, she leaned close
and softly kissed ME.
After the kiss, I asked her, “Who is Poduri? Love, is there something else you want me to know?”
She seemed to get my meaning. She took my hand, and guided it down to her rounded belly.
“Poduri,” she whispered. “Yours… Poduri. Yes?”
“You mean …?” I was startled by what she was suggesting. But I’d always heard some women could know such things very
early with certainty. “Poduri is… baby?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, choking up again… But smiling, sobbing in joy. “Bay-a-bee. Yours, Master.”

That night, I slept in her cell at her side. Azul commented on it later, and I told him I’d had too much drink and had expired
after enjoying my slave.
I couldn’t let my servant, or anyone, know the truth, not yet: that the pleasure slave Cathissa had sung a song of generations, and
stolen my heart just as she had taken my seed.
It would take some doing, but I would ask favors… I would see her raised in status and make her my concubine, so that our
child could be recognized as my own.
And then, I would always be able to take care of them both.
Breeding a Lady
My name is unimportant, and I doubt you have ever heard of me. I am employed as a naval mage, a thaumaturgic fusilladier in
the service of the Empire, if you must know.
The magic is powerful in my blood, but it is usually the aristocratic officers who bask in the glories and rewards of battle. I am
no Lord; I am but a human weapon, alas, my fire-balls and rending spells splitting ships’ hulls and ending men’s lives in return
for a steady wage.
On one occasion, however, my sorcerous blood—and the magic in my seed, which allows such power to be passed down to
offspring—led me to one of the most touching, and unexpected, pleasures of my life.
During one of my stays in port, my uncle, who was a member of the Interior Ministry, needed a confidential messenger to one
of the Kyssan courts. I accepted the mission with pleasure, grateful for the unexpected distraction… and the rare chance to
wallow in luxury.
The business took me but a few days, during which I mingled in the festivities of the court. The Kyssan Mage-King was very
gracious to me, as a fellow wizard; his spouse I did not meet—though it was said she was above us in the gallery of the dining
hall during one of the banquets at which I was present.
On the evening before I was to return to port to board my vessel, just before nightfall, I received the following note:
A lady sends her compliments to Mage Meister R. Feldan, and begs that he will call at Number 300, the Elm House,
Oakenfall Street.
Intrigued and only a bit nervous, I placed my ember-wand in my pocket and proceeded to the place named in the note.
It was a small sandstone townhouse on a respectable street. I was received at the door by a nice elderly lady and ushered into a
well but plainly furnished room.
The old woman thanked me for being so kind as to come. “I have received you at the door myself,” she said, “because I could
not trust my servants with this. In fact, they have been sent away for the evening.”
“Well,” I told her, “thank you, madam, for attending to me, but I’m afraid I don’t understand the reason for your summons.”
She nodded. “Yes. Well… It is a strange request I have to make of you— but the reputation the Naval Mage Corps has for
discretion is known to me. May I rely on your honor to keep this matter secret?”
I assured her she might. “My foster daughter, whom I dearly love,” she said, “is married to an older man, but the union has,
alas, not been blessed with children. Nonetheless, her husband demands an heir. He blames her unjustly and is making her life
wretched. I have known it was not her fault, and I have advised her to do whatever is necessary to conceive an heir. Now,
good sir—have I give her the correct advice, do you think?”
“Perhaps so,” said I, “but what can I do about it? I am about to leave this city tomorrow, and I may never see it again.”
“That is the reason,” she said, “that I have invited you to come here to meet her. She has seen you before, though you did not
know it. You bear some slight resemblance to her husband, and she wishes her child to inherit your noble and—enchanted—
blood and, this once accomplished, never to see, or be seen, by her seed-donor again. For the desire for an heir, and not
wantonness, has solely influenced her. Do you consent?”
I was stunned. Was she truly asking what she seemed to be?
It was an intriguing offer, but dangerous … Perhaps for all of us, if the husband found us out. The house, the old lady’s bearing
… All had the air of wealth and aristocratic manners. The foster daughter’s spouse might be a powerful man, indeed.
“I, umm… Might I at least see the lady, first?” I stammered.
“She would die of shame if you should reject her,” said the old lady, “but there is truly no fear of that, I think. If you are
pleased with her, go up and kiss her hand when I present you.”
She then conducted me upstairs and opened the chamber door.
A petite lady was standing in the center of the room, looking timidly at me as I entered.
As soon as I saw the lady, I loosened my grasp on the ember-wand which I had in my pocket. All fear of treachery vanished
from my mind. I wouldn’t be needing to blast anyone to ashes, after all.
No, suspicion was gone … And another sentiment immediately took its place.
I approached the young woman and kissed her hand. The old lady shut the door and retired, leaving us alone.
I was alone with a woman not in fact beautiful, by classical standards … But very interesting in appearance regardless.
She was small in stature, as Kyssan females tend to be … Her figure was fine and her features, though irregular, were pleasing:
large, pale green eyes, a downturned nose, and curiously elongated ears that poked through the strands of her long blonde hair.
Her gaze fell to the carpet; the blush of modesty warmed on her cheeks, receded and paled, then showed again more rosy than
before.
Her hand trembled in mine.
She was dressed in plain muslin, without any ornament, and her pale yellow hair was straight and plainly brushed; but there
was that in her bearing which convinced me that she was a true noble Lady—and one in an embarrassing position.
“Fair madam,” I said, “your choice has fallen on one who can appreciate your delicate beauty… Let us forget for the moment
the strange circumstances which brought us to this, and try to enjoy this… task… which we will share.”
A grateful smile graced her delicate pink lips— but she involuntarily averted her cheek from the kiss I pressed upon it.
“You are all right, Lady?” I asked.
She did not reply to me, remaining meek and quiet.
By this time I felt that the task of getting her with child would be the most agreeable one that had ever fallen to my lot to
perform. Despite my battle-hardened nerves, I felt my own skin warming with blood, and a throbbing urgency and a fiercer
warmth growing at my loins, where my manhood was already straining at my trousers.
She stood passive in a deep, dreamy reverie, looking almost unconscious while I unfastened her dress and let it fall to the
floor.
Her under-garments were of the finest lace. The stud that fastened her chemise was a large diamond, which only confirmed my
opinion she was a Lady of high station. I kissed her beautiful, small white bosoms which were now partially exposed to me,
the areolae, peeking from over the top of the lace, almost as pale as the rest of her skin.
She awoke from her reverie with another deep blush and, going to the other side of the bed, she took off her silken shoes with
her back to me, so that I did not get a glimpse of even one pale ankle.
Such modesty!
I had not known the Kyssans to be so shy… But then, their high-born Ladies were said to be held to higher standards than the
rest.
Then she dropped off her under-things and got into bed, covering herself up … face and all.
I soon undressed, removing my coat, shirt, trousers and shift, and followed.
I slid my arms under her slim form, took her into my embrace, and kissed her tenderly. Though she allowed my tongue to
explore her pouting little mouth, her lips did not move to return my kisses.
My hands wandered over all parts of her fine, delicate form.
So long as they lingered on her bosoms she was passive… but when I played too wantonly with the downy-soft curls at her
loins, she grew restless.
There was a warmth down there now, and the curls were dewy with her moisture …
Still, she feigned indifference to my touch, her eyes squeezed shut.
I was excited by her modesty to the highest pitch of desire.
I drew her unresisting form beneath me and, parting her thighs, my straining, swollen cock-head entered her damp and fertile
womanhood.
Ye Gods… Such Bliss! Indeed, the promised joy of the Eighteen Heavens would not have tempted me to withdraw it at that
moment!
My male ‘serpent’ had entered a delightful cavern where it was surrounded by moist, clinging tissues alive with affinity to its
sensitive touch.
Still, my lady lay passive, without a moan or cry.
I put my arms under the small of her back and, holding her firmly, gave a plunge which sent my crest plowing deep—
—until it touched the rim of her very womb.
“Aieee!” she cried, her voice melodious in pleasure. “Gods, your prick feels so deep… Fie, I come! FILL ME!”
She could no longer refrain from manifesting her delight; she wrapped her arms around me, and her tiny hands clawed my back
in wanton ecstasy.
At the same time, her taut womanhood began to pump and milk the entire length of my cock like the silken fist of a goddess.
“Thy seeding comes indeed, my Lady!” I cried.
I gave another thrust which unsealed the fountain of my glans, and then another which planted the gushing sperm in the midst of
her loins.
She held my face between her hands and gazed entranced with her eyes … While I held my cock deep, and the life-giving fluid
dashed against her womb, spurt after spurt pumping deep into her tiny body to fill her completely.
The spasms of the seeding seemed to last for an eternity, wracking my body, paralyzing me with shaking pleasure as the
deepest male instinct worked to pump every last drop of life essence out of me—and into this fragile female vessel.
She melted while she gazed into my eyes, and put up her lips for the first and only real kiss she exchanged with me.
Our lips were glued together till the last drop trickled from my crest, and the thrilling rapture slowly faded … and left me
nearly lifeless in her arms.
The seed which she had milked from me could hardly fail to quicken in her womb … She stared deeply into my face, as if
wanting to stamp the offspring with my features.
We lay perfectly still for a long time; then the door opened and the old lady called me.
I got up to see what she wanted.
“You must go NOW,” she said. I told her I could not bear to leave my charming Lady just now …
“You will undo what I hope you have done if you stay longer!” Then she whispered, “I do not wish to startle her, but there is
danger of discovery. Lie perfectly still on your back, darling,” she added to the lady in bed, “and it will be a fine boy. And a
sorcerer, I do not doubt!”
I dressed and stepped to the bedside. The sheet was drawn; her pale, sweat-drenched forehead alone was visible.
I kissed it and withdrew. The old lady soon followed me and put a ring into my hand as she dismissed me hastily from the front
door. “She begs you to accept it in token of her respect. That is ALL she gives you, sir. Her love is for her husband.”
I should not have accepted it if I had seen, as I did on reaching home, that it was a diamond worth thousands of Gessae. On the
inside of the ring were engraved the words, IN HONOR…
Alas, I left the city, as had been expected, on the first morning coach.
Before proceeding far, however, we met with an accident involving a fallen log and a broken wheel on the coach. No one was
injured, but we would have to wait for the afternoon coach.
I hitched a ride on a market-wagon and rode back to the city rather than kick my heels on the country road where the coach had
broken down.
As we approached the main street we could not cross. We had to pause, to allow the cortege of the sovereign, the Mage-King,
to pass. By his side was sitting his fair and esteemed wife.
It was the lady with whom I had lain the night before!
She must have supposed me far along on my journey, or she would not have left the seclusion of her palace. She rode on
display in front of her subjects, unconscious of the presence of the man whose seed was even then germinating in her womb!
It has been six months since then…
The news-scrolls which we received at port a few days ago announce that there is great rejoicing in a certain capital city. The
wife of the Kyssan sovereign is in an interesting condition…
I felt myself tearing up a little at the news, but told myself that it was only pride I was feeling, the tears due to joy in my …
accomplishment.
Respectful of my Lady’s position, I never visited Kyssan lands again … Though her pale face and form would haunt my
memories for years to come.
 Table of Contents
Breeding a Slave
Breeding a Lady