Short Story by Lady Nazzirah

I sat in the corner in my luxurious Queen Ann chair in the dark and watched him struggle under the dim torchlight from across the room. The air was chilled and the room empty. The Stone floor must have been quite uncomfortable as he sat there, waiting, desperately  wanting someone to communicate with;  a warm hand in his telling him everything will be okay, to take him from this cold lonely hell which became his home for countless days.

I never spoke a word to him in the first few days until a week had passed and his angry screams became a plea for freedom. The door to my right was his only exit to the freedom for which he so desperately strained against the chains. But he could not see the door, he could only hear as it was opened and slammed shut again. Sometimes I would open and shut it again and sit quietly in my chair watching as he called out in vain for someone to answer his calls.

    Every day one of my slaves, covered from head to toe in a black robe, their head dipped under the cowl would serve him a meal. They were instructed to say one word only "kneel" and wait for him to do so before serving him one of his 2 meals per day. If he did not obey, he would not eat. It was simple and effective. Of course, sometimes he would go without but as he grew hungry and weak, finally he would succumb to his body’s fragility and do what was wanted of him. On occasion it looked as though he could hardly bring himself to kneel as his body trembled from the lack of energy.
    I rose from my hidden place and crossed to floor. My black high heel boots must have felt deafening to his ears as every step echoed through the empty room as I approached. Hearing a new sound must have sparked his curiosity because slowly he raised his head to meet me.  The leather from my boots creaked as I stopped to shift my weight and placed both hands on my hips. I stopped barely shy of the light so a shadow was cast over my slender frame. Five foot 6 and dressed in black leather, I must have looked like a demon spawn, a succubus, ready to make short work of the weakened man. My black leather corset with black lace overlay was strung tightly around my chest, supporting ample breasts, and was sharp contrast against my silken white skin. My long blonde hair was brushed to one side, nearly covering one breast.
The robed man dropped to his knees and lowered his gaze further in my presence; he knew better then to stand as I entered the room.
    My captive male looked shocked, his attention was drawn to the slave who now knelt at my feet. Part of his robe had parted, revealing his bare chest and steal collar, fit snuggly around his neck.

“Remove your robe” I command to the slave.  He obeyed. “Yes Mistress” he answered, slipping the heavy woven cloth garment from his arms and placing it before him. He rested his hands on his muscular thighs. He was taller then my captive, with short black wavy hair brushed backwards, tanned skin and very little body hair.  It pleased me to see him naked and kneeling before me..     In clothing walking on the street or heading to his favorite coffee house, I would not have given him a second look.  He was an average male with no striking features except for his muscular frame; but kneeling before me, he was very appealing.
    A grin started to play about my lips until my captive broke the silence by asking who I was.
    My bright blue eyes darted to him like daggers piecing their mark. “He has a lot to learn” I though as I unhooked my whip from my belt and let the end uncoil, dropping to the floor.  I noticed my boy flinch a little as the very end landed near his knee. He seemed to cringe not knowing if the end of the whip was for him or our new captive.
    Several strikes with the braided leather end, and his screams of pain rung out, unable to hold it in any longer. Blood seeped from the open wounds, four of them to be exact. He would have been whipped longer if he had tried to hold back his screams.. I wanted to hear him wail. Beside commanding my slave, I had not spoken a word to him, he would soon learn when to speak with every bite of the whip. It was a harsh punishment for such a simple question, but ultimately he would come to learn who I am without me speaking the words.
    The pain running through his back must have been intense as he knelt there, his hands on the floor and hunched over. From the flickering flame of the torch I could see sweat glistening from his flesh and beads running from his forehead, down his nose and dripping to the floor. I could see his chest rising and falling with every breath he took. His body weakened and now in pain I was sure he could not take much more of this torture. Mentally it must have been draining, not knowing why he was being treated like this; what would become of him?
I coiled up my blood-soaked whip and commanded my boy to feed the captive and into the darkness I walked, leaving him in his pain and despair.

Everyday I would enter with one of my slave boys and utter single commands; my slave would demonstrate by positioning himself in various poses so my captive could easily learn what was expected of him. He was never told to address me as Mistress, that was reserved for later.
    Some days he would resist, fighting to keep his will and demanding to be released. Of course this amused me immensely, for I would use my whip to remind him, disobedience is not tolerated. He was not the first boy I had trained and would not be the last.
    Admittedly I found his tolerance to pain and punishment refreshing. He was incredibly bold and on occasion tested my patience. There was something about this man that sparked my interest besides his attractive facial features. Perhaps I liked how spirited he was, always struggling for freedom - Trying to hold on to what was left of him. Everything eventually would be torn from him, it was just a matter of time.

    Two months had passed, he had earned the privilege of having his wrists unchained and his tether lengthened. He knew by now to kneel as he heard the door open and not speak unless spoken too.  I entered and strode to the back of the room where my captive waited for his meal. Since the winter had been weighted in snow most of the deliveries had not made it in, so my slave was finishing up something he had thrown together.
On his kneels, head down, palms flat on his thighs he waited, not moving, silent and relaxed. I stopped at the same place I always did, just shy of the ring of light casted by the torch which hung on the stone wall. Something about his manner felt wrong even though he was doing everything he was taught to do. I followed the chain with my eyes, it was snaked in all directions and fastened to the wall. Suddenly I noticed the extra coiled chain near the back of his toes and stepped back in shock. I gasped as he lunged like a wild animal, grabbing my throat and arm jerking me like a rag doll to him. Stumbling forward, he spun me around and threw me against the wall with such power the wind was knocked out of me. I couldn’t scream, only gasp for air on the cold stone floor. How stupid I felt, vulnerable and alone. As I attempted to crawl out of his reach I could see the shadow move upon me. Just as I was able to breathe, a wail of pain escaped my lips feeling  his hand on the back of my neck, squeezing both sides of my throat. I reached up to his hand trying to pry his fingers open to no avail; He was strong, and before I knew it he had wrapped his other arm around me, grabbing my left wrist and painfully forcing it to my own chest. I shrieked trying to wiggle myself free only to feel his forearm press against my larynx cutting off my supply of air.   I felt his cheek against my ear as he growled in an ominous tone “I’m going to squeeze the life out of you”. My eyes grew wide with fear as I felt my colour starting to fade. Franticly my eyes searched the room for someone to help, but I saw nothing but darkness. Alone with a man who wanted to kill me, my heart started to beat through my chest. Something must have made him shift his weight because suddenly feeling his foot against the heel of my boot I remembered my stilettos. My only hope, I raised my leg and stomped as hard as I possibly could on his bare foot. With an angry growl of pain he released me to only to turn me around and grab my throat again. Under the glow of the light I could now see the whites of his eyes. Like a hungry wolf he glared at me, stared me down. “ You bit-ch…….” He started to say only to pause as he too, for the first time saw my face.
    From that point on, all was a blur. I saw two men struggling as my legs gave out and I fell to the floor. It was hard to breathe and my throat felt like I had swallowed a hot poker. Dizzy and disoriented I started to crawl a  few inches at a time until an arm wrapped around my waist and lifted me to my feet, then the other arm under my legs now holding me in the air. I found myself in the arms of my slave boy as he rushed with me through the door and down the dark hall to the next room. I heard the raging calls of my captive, echoing down the hall just before we crossed the threshold and closed the door behind us.
    It was there I saw his face, bloodied and swollen in some places. I could see he had fought hard. His body, too, was stained with blood. Gently, as though I was a porcelain doll, he lowered me into my daybed. In a state of shock, confused and dumbfounded, I stared at my slave. He had a look of concern as he knelt beside the bed. “Mistress, are you okay?” he said finally. Still in a haze, I couldn’t answer him as my own question arose. “Why did he save me?” I asked myself over and over. He lowered his gaze waiting for my response.  “Water” I commanded coldly unable to think of anything else to say, he obeyed. It was hard to drink but honestly it was the last thing on my mind as I looked at my boy kneeling before me, waiting to serve my every need. The question didn’t come easily; I almost stumbled through the words. “Why did you save me?” I asked and secretly, eagerly I waited for his response. He looked at up me managing a smile, his eyes seemed to light up with happiness as he spoke “Because I love you”.


    My throat is still quite tender, sore to touch and I’m only able to speak a few words at a time before my voice goes horse. My ordeal had been frightening, and I had learned a valuable lesson. I have ice wrapped in a cloth to soothe the swelling around my neck. I write in my journal with one hand for this story must be told. What I thought was not possible is now contrary. I look at my boy who kneels beside me, my champion slave who saved me and loves me through all evils I have committed. I see him through different eyes now and, I love him……