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Moments Of Passion (Passion St. John)


Moments Of Passion by Passion St. John

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This is the kind of book many look at, wonder about, and later wish they had purchased - so be warned.

The author sums up this story with her dedication:

To the one who has encouraged me in all things,
Who has taught me the true pleasure of passion, and
Who has given me the passion to write.

You can be sure of a satisfying, erotic read with some hard scenes and lots of sexy action - a GREAT read.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 09 / 2004

We do not recommend this book for readers under 18 years of age

No. words: 36000

Style: BDSM/Bondage - Content: Very Mild -    General Erotica, Spanking and Bondage

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  MS Word  Text  RTF  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

Current all-time sales ranking: #3015


Excerpt..

They came in the early spring. The thunder of hooves echoed through the small village and those that had even the slightest warning fled. The soldiers rounded up the rest and brought them to the village green. The men were separated from the women, taken to the church and locked inside with a guard.
Inga would all remember it well, the clear sky, the fading crisp of winter air and the soldiers with their swords. The youngest and the oldest were separated out from the women, leaving the best huddled together.
“Strip down,” shouted the leader from atop his stallion. No one moved. He gave a slight nod and two of the men grabbed the nearest woman and cut off her dress as she screamed. They threw her naked body to the ground.
“I don’t want to ruin what little clothing you have; but if you resist, I will cut it from you and possibly - you to little pieces,” his voice was cold with boredom.
The midwife, practical as ever, removed her head covering and her dress and stood proudly in front of them, as if daring them to do more. Shakily the rest followed her lead, until all were standing naked.
The air was cold and they stood shivering, nipples hard, faces red as they were examined like cattle. The leader made rude comments about most of the women...too old, too flabby, pockmarked...and then he came to Kyndra. Her hair was long, the colour of clear honey. Even clothed, he would have known her to be a great beauty. She was even beautiful standing there sobbing. They pulled her away from the group.
Many of the women focused gazes on the horizon, telling themselves this would all be over soon. The leader rode past Inga and moved to the end of the line, selecting two other girls, Lotta and Lila the twins. The women were starting to dress when he came back. He reached out with his riding crop and lifted Inga’s chin. There was a beauty there that could not be denied despite the almost painful thinness caused by a winter’s hunger. She stood frozen like a deer in the woods.
“This one, she can be fattened up,” he gave her a nod, indicating she should move to where the other chosen girls stood.
Inga did not move, her mind refusing to accept what the man said. She narrowed her eyes in anger thinking that she would die before going willingly with these men. She was engaged to be married that midsummer; the cloth for her dress waited on the loom at home.
When the Captain motioned for two of his men to take her, she bolted.
With several brothers, Inga had learned early how to run. Unhampered by the long skirts of a woman, she fairly flew over the ground toward the woods. The curses and shouts of the men only seemed to push her to run faster, to not looking back.
One moment she was running, the next there was pain as the air was knocked out of her. The Captain swung the girl by her hair over the horse. He must have been very skilled at his work, for by the time the horse slowed to a walk, he had her hands bound behind her back, a loop of rope from them to her neck. If she struggled, she would begin to choke myself. Lying still, she could still breathe. He shoved a foul cloth in her mouth to keep her from cursing him and his men.
“Please Captain,” an older woman pleaded, “Take me, I will serve you well, Please free her, and we will give you what little gold we have. Please!”
He laughed as he spurred the horse. For a few brief moments Inga could see her mother running after them and then stopping in the dusty road, sobbing.
It took all her concentration to stay balanced and not to choke herself. She prayed they would stop soon for the night, and she would have a chance again to escape. They rode hard, stopping only briefly at midday to water the horses.
They did allow the others to dress again, but the Inga’s dress law back in the village on the dirt. She ached so much she truly didn’t care about her nakedness. Her wrists and neck felt raw from the bindings. She was grateful when the Captain removed the gag and allowed her to moisten my lips before gagging her again. Each girl was taken to a bush to relieve herself and then they were on the move again.
At some point just before dark, they brought the women to a clearing where more soldiers waited. There was loud yelling as the group rode in. The men made appreciative noise as Kyndra and the twins were lowered to the ground. They had not had to ride like a bag of flour and looked much better for the ride than the other girl must have looked.
The Captain swung off his horse and carried his captive into a tent, dumping Inga on the ground with little care for gentleness. Taking out a knife that looked like it was several feet long, he moved toward her. She tried to move away from him, but was numb and could not move. He cut the ropes, chuckling at her fear and sheathed the knife. Movement was agony and Inga lay curled on the floor for some time, before she could move her arms and legs without wanting to scream.
Meanwhile, the Captain sat at a small table, reading over some papers, sipping wine and not paying much attention to her. As she gained movement, she inched toward the side of the tent, watching to see if he noticed her. He gave no sign he had, so she inched some more. She stopped when a young man came in with a tray of food and served it to the Captain. He ignored the naked captive.
The smell of the food made her stomach ache. It had been a hard winter for her family; they had not starved, but hunger was common. Still, she inched toward the tent wall slowly, until she felt the sturdy fabric against her naked skin. Pretending she was sleeping, she waited for her chance. She may have dozed in truth, for at some point she was aware that the Captain was gone from his table and she was alone in the tent.
Moving as silently as she could, Inga rolled under the edge of the tent and crouched on the cold ground. His tent was in the middle of the camp, but the darkness was complete and things seemed quiet. She moved toward the woods, wanting only to be free. She could get her bearings later and find something to cover herself. The darkness was her ally, hiding her from those who might have seen her otherwise.
She might have been a hundred feet from the camp when she heard a shout. Inga broke into a panicked run. She must have been spotted by a night patrol. Something flew at her from the right and then next thing she knew, she lay on the cold ground, pinned under the heavy weight of an armoured man.
“Looks like we found the Captain’s little rabbit,” he laughed as they brought her back to the tent. She was shaking from cold and fear, but tried to pretend that it was a righteous anger.
They threw Inga at his feet, naked and bruised. She looked up in defiance, to see his cold eyes.
“You will be punished, girl. I will make you a lesson to the others that you cannot escape. You are for tribute and I will be damned if I don’t come back with my quota.”
“You can beat me, but you will never break me!” she vowed haughtily.
He looked at his men, “Tie her up and wake the others.”
The guards took her outside and strung her up on a tree by her hands. She was not going to let them do this easily and fought and kicked. Perhaps the other women were like sheep, but she would not become an eager tribute girl.
Avoiding her flailing feet, they easily restrained her. She was tied in such a way, that she could not see the women approach, but could hear them shuffling in the evening cold. Then the Captain came out of his tent carrying a whip. He looked the girl in the eye with a look that sent shivers down her body. How could any man perfect such a look of anger, disdain and desire?
“This girl tried to run away tonight,” he announced to the gathered women, “You have all been chosen as gifts of tribute. Any attempt to run away, any disobedience from you will be punished. The first punishment for running, is twenty lashes to the back...or any other place I decide is best.”
There was an eternal silence as Inga waited for the first blow. She would not scream, she vowed to herself, she would not give him that pleasure. She would not.
*CRACK*
A scream shattered the silence and she knew it was hers. A river of pain erupted from her back and she swayed from the force of the blow. She steeled herself for the next one and managed only a moan of pure agony. Each blow went lower down her back, across her buttocks, her thighs and calves. Someone lifted her feet, holding them in an iron grip despite her struggles. He had only given the girl eighteen strokes.
*CRACK* *CRACK*
White-hot pain spiralled through her followed by soothing darkness.
Inga woke at some point, her body a throbbing mass of pain. Movement caused licks of hot fire through her body, and she could feel the warmth of morning sun on her still naked skin. Wood was beneath her and there was the steady creak and sway that told her that she was on a wagon. It took some time for her mind to deal with each sensation. She was blindfolded, gagged and chained. She could hear the movements and whispers of the other women. Inga faded in and out of this reality, until the cart stopped. The women were taken out and set about jobs to help set up camp and cook the food. Inga was left in the wagon.
She cried in hunger, cold and frustration. If she ever got my hands on the Captain, she would rip his flesh off his body with her own hands. The sounds of approaching horses made her abandon her plans of revenge. Inga heard his voice, the sobs of other women, and the lewd comments of the men.
She was not prepared for the gentle caress of a hand across her rear. Inga jerked away even as the movement made her cry out behind the gag.
“Easy now Hellcat, it was just a touch.” It was his voice, the Captain. “I have never failed to bring the most beautiful women as tribute -- women who define grace and sensuality. But you, Hellcat, are going to ruin my record. Luckily for me, I found quite a catch this morning, so I may not have to hand you over.”
Inga stopped struggling in relief and hope. Would he free her?
“But,” he continued with a soft chuckle, obviously reading her body like a book, still tracing his fingers between the marks on her back, “I have never been bested by a tribute girl. I have decided that I am going to tame you, girl. I am going to find a way to take your anger and rebellion and turn it into desire. I will have you begging for my touch that you so hate now. Yes, girl, I will tame you.”
An hour after his promise to her, Inga was in his tent, her hair still damp from the forced bath his men had given her. It felt good to be clean again, but the memory of the men touching her so freely, their voices and suggestions of what they would do if they could -- all caused her to tremble in fury.
Inga’s hands were bound behind her back with what felt like silk cloth and she knelt next to the table as her feet were too injured for her to stand. The Captain sat at his table, a plate of steaming food in front of him; the whip lay next to the plate. Inga could almost taste the food from here.
“Are you hungry Hellcat?” he speared a morsel of meet on a fork and held it up.
Should she answer? Would he think she was giving in to his will if she did? Inga shifted slightly and felt the throbbing ache of the lash marks from last night. The realization that he could and just well might whip her if she didn’t answer made her decision.
“Yes, I am.”
He stared at her and then prompted, “Yes, I am..?”
“Yes I am hungry.”
He gave a sign that indicated he was holding his anger in check, “Whenever you speak to me, you will call me Master.”
“I will not!” Inga moved back and looked at him in disbelief. “I am not a slave! I am a free woman.”
His hand moved in a blur, the whip coming down hard on her exposed naked breasts. Once. Twice. Three times. Inga curled toward the ground, trying to cover herself with the rest of her body, rocking with the pain. He pulled her upright by her hair and put his face close to hers.
“You stupid girl. A tribute girl is a slave. You may not be sold on a block, but you are no longer free.” He pushed her back hard enough that she fell to the tent floor. He jumped up and stalked to the door and told his boy something. Inga watched with worry, he still held the whip and as he came back toward her. Her fear of the whip had her trying to squirm away.
“YOU WILL HOLD!” he bellowed lifting the whip. Inga froze. His eyes narrowed for a second and he lowered the whip, brushing the tip over her thigh, “You look so lovely that way, the sheen of your skin in the candlelight. Now girl, how do you address me?”
The whip kept moving over her skin, sending odd pulses through her body. What use was fighting him on this so he would whip her more? “Master,” Inga whispered, keeping her eye on the whip’s movement.
“Louder,” he prodded the whip between her legs and Inga whimpered in fear.
“Master,” her voice cracked saying it.
“Good girl,” he moved back to the table and took a piece of the meat in his fingers and held it over her mouth, “Open up.”
Hungry, she didn’t argue. She savoured the meat, wishing she could have more.
“What do you say girl?”
“Thank you...” Inga had to force the last word from her, “Master.”
“Good girl. I have some rules, Hellcat. You have learned the first. The second rule is that you always obey me. I see you fear the whip, so I will use it for any disobedience for now. When you obey, you will be rewarded with food, a blanket, clothing, or more.
“When you are waiting for my next order, you will kneel like so.” He pulled her up and arranged her legs, straightened her back. “For the next few days this will be easy to remember because of your feet. Afterwards, I will not hesitate to beat them again to keep you in mind of your proper position.”
The boy came running into the tent with a wooden chest. He saluted, handed over the box and stepped outside. The Captain opened the box and took out a slave collar. Only the lowest and most common of slaves wore them. Inga must have moved, for she felt the sting of the whip on her thigh and he snapped, “Position!”
Inga tried to hold the position as he opened the collar and approached her. No! Her mind screamed, you were to marry and be a free woman, have children, a family -- not this!
The metal of the collar was cold and heavy as he snapped it closed around her neck. Inga started to cry silently at the humiliation. Even if she escaped, there would be no hope for her now.
“What are you girl?” he asked, his fingers brushing the edge of the collar and down her breasts.
“A free woman held as a slave, Master.” Inga spit out his title now with venom.
His eyebrows lifted in bemusement, “No, a slave. Tell me that you are a slave.”
Inga did not speak until he had given her five more lashes of the whip, “Slave. I am a slave, Master.”
“And who owns you slave?” he started the caresses of the whip again, and she squirmed, not knowing really why she did so.
“I suppose you do.”
*CRACK*
“Master,” Inga added, “You do Master.”
“Now slave, I am ready to sleep. Do you want a blanket for the night?”
“Yes, Master,” she swore the metal collar was heavier now than it had been moments before.
He opened his pants and pulled himself out. He was huge and thick, “Suck me then, slave.”
Inga leaned back in disgust and shook her head in refusal.
“Obedience or punishment slave, which will it be?”
She looked at him and then the whip. She couldn’t deal with more pain right now. Inga was cold and hungry and hurting. Fighting back her sobs, she leaned forward and tentatively licked him. It wasn’t so bad.
“Suck me slave, not lick.”
Inga glanced up to see where the whip was. It was still in his hand. She opened her mouth and took him in. After the first few sucks, she heard him give a sigh of pleasure. Inga doubted she did a good job. To be sure she was not skilled, but she continued, reminding herself that she would be grateful later when she had something to cover her nakedness in the cold. Inga was not prepared when he grabbed her head and pushed her down on himself, forcing himself deep into her mouth. She gagged and struggled frantic for air and release. He stiffened and moaned as if in pain and he pulled out, his seed spilling down her throat and into her mouth. Inga knelt coughing and spitting in disgust as he laughed.
He attached a chain to the collar and fastened the chain to his belt. He pushed her to the floor and tossed a blanket over her. Laughing still, he lay down on his cot. Within moments he was asleep. Inga cried herself to sleep, aching with lashes yet again. She had found hell and feared she was enslaved to the devil himself.
Several times in the night she woke cold, thirsty, hungry and hurting. Inga could not shift her position, nor wrap the blanket around her to trap in the warmth. Dawn came with agonizing slowness and the camp began to move.
The Captain’s boy came and unlocked Inga. He practically carried her to where she could relieve herself and then left her near the cook fire. The cook was a tall, thin man with a sallow expression and slurred accent of the western islands. He seemed not to notice her shivering nakedness, but ordered Inga to serve the women. She feared that any argument on her part would keep her from her share of the food, so she gritted her teeth against the pain and walked from the cook fire carrying bowl after bowl of steaming gruel to the women seated near the wagon.
Kyndra spat at Inga, “Whore!” Despite the captivity and harsh conditions she still managed to look aloof and beautiful.
Several of the other women spat and hissed the word too. Inga didn’t bother to defend herself. What else could they think considering her naked state and the collar around her neck?
When they were finished, she collected the bowls and scrubbed them. Inga was not given any food, but sent back to the Captain. The tent was already down and packed. He stood near his horse, giving orders to some of the men. Inga dropped to her knees at his feet, not out of submission, but exhaustion and pain.
When the men left, he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “I hear you served well this morning and without complaint. If you had complained, you would be walking the rest of the day. But I am pleased, so you will ride with me.”
“Thank you, “ Inga mumbled sullenly and remembered to add, “Master.”
He mounted the horse and swung her up in front of him, holding her between his arms, he secured her arms behind her back again. The company moved out onto the road and headed slowly toward the capital. As they rode, the Captain took out some bread and fruit and fed it to her bite by bite. As they rode, he talked to her, asking her questions about the village Inga had grown up in, the other women and general things. He made sure she said “Master” every time until she did not think about it. He then spent some time telling her about his childhood pranks.
There was a short break at lunch, where Inga was loosed and sent again to serve the women captives. Kyndra threw stones at her, but she tried to ignore her. The afternoon was more of the riding and talking, with bits of food fed to her like a pet falcon. It occurred to Inga as they pulled into the clearing for evening camp, that she easily said the word, Master now. She sighed, knowing this was not something she could fight easily.
Again, Inga was sent to serve the women. In the near dark, she did not see Kyndra’s foot. She hit the ground hard, the tray of dishes she was carrying flying hither and yon. Some of the women began to scream as the hot stew fell on them. Pandemonium broke out and the soldiers moved in to calm things down.
Inga found herself at his feet again, one of the men telling how she had been clumsy and spilled the food. He dismissed the guard and just stood there for the longest time. She just wished he would just get on with the punishment.
“Well, Hellcat? What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I was clumsy, Master.” Inga kept her face down. What else could she say? She could blame it on Kyndra. Inga was sure she had done it on purpose, but what proof was there? She was sure that she would probably get more lashes if she did try to shift the blame.
“Hmmm...” He paced some, “I am going to give you five lashes for wasting food. A slave must be graceful and careful of obstructions where she is serving. Fetch me the whip, girl. It’s on the table.”
Inga crawled to the table, got the whip and brought it back. She handed it to him and knelt, waiting. She closed her eyes, just praying to the hearth goddess that this would soon be over. She could feel him standing behind me, doing nothing. The wait was agonizing.
“Your feet are bleeding, girl.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes, Master.” Inga replied after a lengthy silence on both their parts.
“When did this start?” There was an edge of ice in his voice.
“This morning, Master, while I served the women.”
“I see.” She thought he was going to say something more, but he didn’t. He gave her the lashes all on her rump. Perhaps Inga was getting used to it, for they did not seem that hard.
“Go lie on the bed, girl. I will send the boy in to treat your feet. Later the doctor will be in. He is checking all the women tonight so we know what status you have. Do not fight him, or it will be a very cold night for you.”
“Yes Master.” Inga replied dutifully, crawling onto the warm and comfort of the bed. She was asleep before he left the tent.


Excerpt..

They came in the early spring. The thunder of hooves echoed through the small village and those that had even the slightest warning
fled. The soldiers rounded up the rest and brought them to the village green. The men were separated from the women, taken to the church and
locked inside with a guard.

Inga would all remember it well, the clear sky, the fading crisp of winter air and the soldiers with their swords. The youngest and
the oldest were separated out from the women, leaving the best huddled together.

“Strip down,” shouted the leader from atop his stallion. No one moved. He gave a slight nod and two of the men grabbed the nearest
woman and cut off her dress as she screamed. They threw her naked body to the ground.

“I don’t want to ruin what little clothing you have; but if you resist, I will cut it from you and possibly - you to little pieces,”
his voice was cold with boredom.

The midwife, practical as ever, removed her head covering and her dress and stood proudly in front of them, as if daring them to do
more. Shakily the rest followed her lead, until all were standing naked.

The air was cold and they stood shivering, nipples hard, faces red as they were examined like cattle. The leader made rude comments
about most of the women...too old, too flabby, pockmarked...and then he came to Kyndra. Her hair was long, the colour of clear honey. Even
clothed, he would have known her to be a great beauty. She was even beautiful standing there sobbing. They pulled her away from the group.


Many of the women focused gazes on the horizon, telling themselves this would all be over soon. The leader rode past Inga and moved to
the end of the line, selecting two other girls, Lotta and Lila the twins. The women were starting to dress when he came back. He reached
out with his riding crop and lifted Inga’s chin. There was a beauty there that could not be denied despite the almost painful thinness
caused by a winter’s hunger. She stood frozen like a deer in the woods.

“This one, she can be fattened up,” he gave her a nod, indicating she should move to where the other chosen girls stood.

Inga did not move, her mind refusing to accept what the man said. She narrowed her eyes in anger thinking that she would die before
going willingly with these men. She was engaged to be married that midsummer; the cloth for her dress waited on the loom at home.

When the Captain motioned for two of his men to take her, she bolted.

With several brothers, Inga had learned early how to run. Unhampered by the long skirts of a woman, she fairly flew over the ground
toward the woods. The curses and shouts of the men only seemed to push her to run faster, to not looking back.

One moment she was running, the next there was pain as the air was knocked out of her. The Captain swung the girl by her hair over
the horse. He must have been very skilled at his work, for by the time the horse slowed to a walk, he had her hands bound behind her back, a
loop of rope from them to her neck. If she struggled, she would begin to choke myself. Lying still, she could still breathe. He shoved a
foul cloth in her mouth to keep her from cursing him and his men.

“Please Captain,” an older woman pleaded, “Take me, I will serve you well, Please free her, and we will give you what little gold we
have. Please!”

He laughed as he spurred the horse. For a few brief moments Inga could see her mother running after them and then stopping in the
dusty road, sobbing.

It took all her concentration to stay balanced and not to choke herself. She prayed they would stop soon for the night, and she would
have a chance again to escape. They rode hard, stopping only briefly at midday to water the horses.

They did allow the others to dress again, but the Inga’s dress law back in the village on the dirt. She ached so much she truly didn’t
care about her nakedness. Her wrists and neck felt raw from the bindings. She was grateful when the Captain removed the gag and allowed her
to moisten my lips before gagging her again. Each girl was taken to a bush to relieve herself and then they were on the move again.

At some point just before dark, they brought the women to a clearing where more soldiers waited. There was loud yelling as the group
rode in. The men made appreciative noise as Kyndra and the twins were lowered to the ground. They had not had to ride like a bag of flour
and looked much better for the ride than the other girl must have looked.

The Captain swung off his horse and carried his captive into a tent, dumping Inga on the ground with little care for gentleness.
Taking out a knife that looked like it was several feet long, he moved toward her. She tried to move away from him, but was numb and could
not move. He cut the ropes, chuckling at her fear and sheathed the knife. Movement was agony and Inga lay curled on the floor for some time,
before she could move her arms and legs without wanting to scream.

Meanwhile, the Captain sat at a small table, reading over some papers, sipping wine and not paying much attention to her. As she
gained movement, she inched toward the side of the tent, watching to see if he noticed her. He gave no sign he had, so she inched some more.
She stopped when a young man came in with a tray of food and served it to the Captain. He ignored the naked captive.

The smell of the food made her stomach ache. It had been a hard winter for her family; they had not starved, but hunger was common.
Still, she inched toward the tent wall slowly, until she felt the sturdy fabric against her naked skin. Pretending she was sleeping, she
waited for her chance. She may have dozed in truth, for at some point she was aware that the Captain was gone from his table and she was
alone in the tent.

Moving as silently as she could, Inga rolled under the edge of the tent and crouched on the cold ground. His tent was in the middle of
the camp, but the darkness was complete and things seemed quiet. She moved toward the woods, wanting only to be free. She could get her
bearings later and find something to cover herself. The darkness was her ally, hiding her from those who might have seen her otherwise. />
She might have been a hundred feet from the camp when she heard a shout. Inga broke into a panicked run. She must have been spotted by
a night patrol. Something flew at her from the right and then next thing she knew, she lay on the cold ground, pinned under the heavy weight
of an armoured man.

“Looks like we found the Captain’s little rabbit,” he laughed as they brought her back to the tent. She was shaking from cold and
fear, but tried to pretend that it was a righteous anger.

They threw Inga at his feet, naked and bruised. She looked up in defiance, to see his cold eyes.

“You will be punished, girl. I will make you a lesson to the others that you cannot escape. You are for tribute and I will be damned
if I don’t come back with my quota.”

“You can beat me, but you will never break me!” she vowed haughtily.

He looked at his men, “Tie her up and wake the others.”

The guards took her outside and strung her up on a tree by her hands. She was not going to let them do this easily and fought and
kicked. Perhaps the other women were like sheep, but she would not become an eager tribute girl.

Avoiding her flailing feet, they easily restrained her. She was tied in such a way, that she could not see the women approach, but
could hear them shuffling in the evening cold. Then the Captain came out of his tent carrying a whip. He looked the girl in the eye with a
look that sent shivers down her body. How could any man perfect such a look of anger, disdain and desire?

“This girl tried to run away tonight,” he announced to the gathered women, “You have all been chosen as gifts of tribute. Any attempt
to run away, any disobedience from you will be punished. The first punishment for running, is twenty lashes to the back...or any other place
I decide is best.”

There was an eternal silence as Inga waited for the first blow. She would not scream, she vowed to herself, she would not give him
that pleasure. She would not.

*CRACK*

A scream shattered the silence and she knew it was hers. A river of pain erupted from her back and she swayed from the force of the
blow. She steeled herself for the next one and managed only a moan of pure agony. Each blow went lower down her back, across her buttocks,
her thighs and calves. Someone lifted her feet, holding them in an iron grip despite her struggles. He had only given the girl eighteen
strokes.

*CRACK* *CRACK*

White-hot pain spiralled through her followed by soothing darkness.

Inga woke at some point, her body a throbbing mass of pain. Movement caused licks of hot fire through her body, and she could feel the
warmth of morning sun on her still naked skin. Wood was beneath her and there was the steady creak and sway that told her that she was on a
wagon. It took some time for her mind to deal with each sensation. She was blindfolded, gagged and chained. She could hear the movements and
whispers of the other women. Inga faded in and out of this reality, until the cart stopped. The women were taken out and set about jobs to
help set up camp and cook the food. Inga was left in the wagon.

She cried in hunger, cold and frustration. If she ever got my hands on the Captain, she would rip his flesh off his body with her own
hands. The sounds of approaching horses made her abandon her plans of revenge. Inga heard his voice, the sobs of other women, and the lewd
comments of the men.

She was not prepared for the gentle caress of a hand across her rear. Inga jerked away even as the movement made her cry out behind
the gag.

“Easy now Hellcat, it was just a touch.” It was his voice, the Captain. “I have never failed to bring the most beautiful women as
tribute -- women who define grace and sensuality. But you, Hellcat, are going to ruin my record. Luckily for me, I found quite a catch this
morning, so I may not have to hand you over.”

Inga stopped struggling in relief and hope. Would he free her?

“But,” he continued with a soft chuckle, obviously reading her body like a book, still tracing his fingers between the marks on her
back, “I have never been bested by a tribute girl. I have decided that I am going to tame you, girl. I am going to find a way to take your
anger and rebellion and turn it into desire. I will have you begging for my touch that you so hate now. Yes, girl, I will tame you.”

An hour after his promise to her, Inga was in his tent, her hair still damp from the forced bath his men had given her. It felt good
to be clean again, but the memory of the men touching her so freely, their voices and suggestions of what they would do if they could -- all
caused her to tremble in fury.

Inga’s hands were bound behind her back with what felt like silk cloth and she knelt next to the table as her feet were too injured
for her to stand. The Captain sat at his table, a plate of steaming food in front of him; the whip lay next to the plate. Inga could almost
taste the food from here.

“Are you hungry Hellcat?” he speared a morsel of meet on a fork and held it up.

Should she answer? Would he think she was giving in to his will if she did? Inga shifted slightly and felt the throbbing ache of the
lash marks from last night. The realization that he could and just well might whip her if she didn’t answer made her decision.

“Yes, I am.”

He stared at her and then prompted, “Yes, I am..?”

“Yes I am hungry.”

He gave a sign that indicated he was holding his anger in check, “Whenever you speak to me, you will call me Master.”

“I will not!” Inga moved back and looked at him in disbelief. “I am not a slave! I am a free woman.”

His hand moved in a blur, the whip coming down hard on her exposed naked breasts. Once. Twice. Three times. Inga curled toward the
ground, trying to cover herself with the rest of her body, rocking with the pain. He pulled her upright by her hair and put his face close
to hers.

“You stupid girl. A tribute girl is a slave. You may not be sold on a block, but you are no longer free.” He pushed her back hard
enough that she fell to the tent floor. He jumped up and stalked to the door and told his boy something. Inga watched with worry, he still
held the whip and as he came back toward her. Her fear of the whip had her trying to squirm away.

“YOU WILL HOLD!” he bellowed lifting the whip. Inga froze. His eyes narrowed for a second and he lowered the whip, brushing the tip
over her thigh, “You look so lovely that way, the sheen of your skin in the candlelight. Now girl, how do you address me?”

The whip kept moving over her skin, sending odd pulses through her body. What use was fighting him on this so he would whip her more?
“Master,” Inga whispered, keeping her eye on the whip’s movement.

“Louder,” he prodded the whip between her legs and Inga whimpered in fear.

“Master,” her voice cracked saying it.

“Good girl,” he moved back to the table and took a piece of the meat in his fingers and held it over her mouth, “Open up.”

Hungry, she didn’t argue. She savoured the meat, wishing she could have more.

“What do you say girl?”

“Thank you...” Inga had to force the last word from her, “Master.”

“Good girl. I have some rules, Hellcat. You have learned the first. The second rule is that you always obey me. I see you fear the
whip, so I will use it for any disobedience for now. When you obey, you will be rewarded with food, a blanket, clothing, or more.

“When you are waiting for my next order, you will kneel like so.” He pulled her up and arranged her legs, straightened her back. “For
the next few days this will be easy to remember because of your feet. Afterwards, I will not hesitate to beat them again to keep you in mind
of your proper position.”

The boy came running into the tent with a wooden chest. He saluted, handed over the box and stepped outside. The Captain opened the
box and took out a slave collar. Only the lowest and most common of slaves wore them. Inga must have moved, for she felt the sting of the
whip on her thigh and he snapped, “Position!”

Inga tried to hold the position as he opened the collar and approached her. No! Her mind screamed, you were to marry and be a free
woman, have children, a family -- not this!

The metal of the collar was cold and heavy as he snapped it closed around her neck. Inga started to cry silently at the humiliation.
Even if she escaped, there would be no hope for her now.

“What are you girl?” he asked, his fingers brushing the edge of the collar and down her breasts.

“A free woman held as a slave, Master.” Inga spit out his title now with venom.

His eyebrows lifted in bemusement, “No, a slave. Tell me that you are a slave.”

Inga did not speak until he had given her five more lashes of the whip, “Slave. I am a slave, Master.”

“And who owns you slave?” he started the caresses of the whip again, and she squirmed, not knowing really why she did so.

“I suppose you do.”

*CRACK*

“Master,” Inga added, “You do Master.”

“Now slave, I am ready to sleep. Do you want a blanket for the night?”

“Yes, Master,” she swore the metal collar was heavier now than it had been moments before.

He opened his pants and pulled himself out. He was huge and thick, “Suck me then, slave.”

Inga leaned back in disgust and shook her head in refusal.

“Obedience or punishment slave, which will it be?”

She looked at him and then the whip. She couldn’t deal with more pain right now. Inga was cold and hungry and hurting. Fighting back
her sobs, she leaned forward and tentatively licked him. It wasn’t so bad.

“Suck me slave, not lick.”

Inga glanced up to see where the whip was. It was still in his hand. She opened her mouth and took him in. After the first few sucks,
she heard him give a sigh of pleasure. Inga doubted she did a good job. To be sure she was not skilled, but she continued, reminding herself
that she would be grateful later when she had something to cover her nakedness in the cold. Inga was not prepared when he grabbed her head
and pushed her down on himself, forcing himself deep into her mouth. She gagged and struggled frantic for air and release. He stiffened and
moaned as if in pain and he pulled out, his seed spilling down her throat and into her mouth. Inga knelt coughing and spitting in disgust as
he laughed.

He attached a chain to the collar and fastened the chain to his belt. He pushed her to the floor and tossed a blanket over her.
Laughing still, he lay down on his cot. Within moments he was asleep. Inga cried herself to sleep, aching with lashes yet again. She had
found hell and feared she was enslaved to the devil himself.

Several times in the night she woke cold, thirsty, hungry and hurting. Inga could not shift her position, nor wrap the blanket around
her to trap in the warmth. Dawn came with agonizing slowness and the camp began to move.

The Captain’s boy came and unlocked Inga. He practically carried her to where she could relieve herself and then left her near the
cook fire. The cook was a tall, thin man with a sallow expression and slurred accent of the western islands. He seemed not to notice her
shivering nakedness, but ordered Inga to serve the women. She feared that any argument on her part would keep her from her share of the
food, so she gritted her teeth against the pain and walked from the cook fire carrying bowl after bowl of steaming gruel to the women seated
near the wagon.

Kyndra spat at Inga, “Whore!” Despite the captivity and harsh conditions she still managed to look aloof and beautiful.

Several of the other women spat and hissed the word too. Inga didn’t bother to defend herself. What else could they think considering
her naked state and the collar around her neck?

When they were finished, she collected the bowls and scrubbed them. Inga was not given any food, but sent back to the Captain. The
tent was already down and packed. He stood near his horse, giving orders to some of the men. Inga dropped to her knees at his feet, not out
of submission, but exhaustion and pain.

When the men left, he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “I hear you served well this morning and without complaint. If you had
complained, you would be walking the rest of the day. But I am pleased, so you will ride with me.”

“Thank you, “ Inga mumbled sullenly and remembered to add, “Master.”

He mounted the horse and swung her up in front of him, holding her between his arms, he secured her arms behind her back again. The
company moved out onto the road and headed slowly toward the capital. As they rode, the Captain took out some bread and fruit and fed it to
her bite by bite. As they rode, he talked to her, asking her questions about the village Inga had grown up in, the other women and general
things. He made sure she said “Master” every time until she did not think about it. He then spent some time telling her about his childhood
pranks.

There was a short break at lunch, where Inga was loosed and sent again to serve the women captives. Kyndra threw stones at her, but
she tried to ignore her. The afternoon was more of the riding and talking, with bits of food fed to her like a pet falcon. It occurred to
Inga as they pulled into the clearing for evening camp, that she easily said the word, Master now. She sighed, knowing this was not
something she could fight easily.

Again, Inga was sent to serve the women. In the near dark, she did not see Kyndra’s foot. She hit the ground hard, the tray of dishes
she was carrying flying hither and yon. Some of the women began to scream as the hot stew fell on them. Pandemonium broke out and the
soldiers moved in to calm things down.

Inga found herself at his feet again, one of the men telling how she had been clumsy and spilled the food. He dismissed the guard and
just stood there for the longest time. She just wished he would just get on with the punishment.

“Well, Hellcat? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I was clumsy, Master.” Inga kept her face down. What else could she say? She could blame it on Kyndra. Inga was sure she had done it
on purpose, but what proof was there? She was sure that she would probably get more lashes if she did try to shift the blame.

“Hmmm...” He paced some, “I am going to give you five lashes for wasting food. A slave must be graceful and careful of obstructions
where she is serving. Fetch me the whip, girl. It’s on the table.”

Inga crawled to the table, got the whip and brought it back. She handed it to him and knelt, waiting. She closed her eyes, just
praying to the hearth goddess that this would soon be over. She could feel him standing behind me, doing nothing. The wait was agonizing.


“Your feet are bleeding, girl.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, Master.” Inga replied after a lengthy silence on both their parts.

“When did this start?” There was an edge of ice in his voice.

“This morning, Master, while I served the women.”

“I see.” She thought he was going to say something more, but he didn’t. He gave her the lashes all on her rump. Perhaps Inga was
getting used to it, for they did not seem that hard.

“Go lie on the bed, girl. I will send the boy in to treat your feet. Later the doctor will be in. He is checking all the women tonight
so we know what status you have. Do not fight him, or it will be a very cold night for you.”

“Yes Master.” Inga replied dutifully, crawling onto the warm and comfort of the bed. She was asleep before he left the tent.


Excerpt..

They came in the early spring. The thunder of hooves echoed through the small village and those that had even the slightest warning

fled. The soldiers rounded up the rest and brought them to the village green. The men were separated from the women, taken to the church and

locked inside with a guard.


Inga would all remember it well, the clear sky, the fading crisp of winter air and the soldiers with their swords. The youngest and

the oldest were separated out from the women, leaving the best huddled together.


“Strip down,” shouted the leader from atop his stallion. No one moved. He gave a slight nod and two of the men grabbed the nearest

woman and cut off her dress as she screamed. They threw her naked body to the ground.


“I don’t want to ruin what little clothing you have; but if you resist, I will cut it from you and possibly - you to little pieces,”

his voice was cold with boredom.


The midwife, practical as ever, removed her head covering and her dress and stood proudly in front of them, as if daring them to do

more. Shakily the rest followed her lead, until all were standing naked.


The air was cold and they stood shivering, nipples hard, faces red as they were examined like cattle. The leader made rude comments

about most of the women...too old, too flabby, pockmarked...and then he came to Kyndra. Her hair was long, the colour of clear honey. Even

clothed, he would have known her to be a great beauty. She was even beautiful standing there sobbing. They pulled her away from the group.




Many of the women focused gazes on the horizon, telling themselves this would all be over soon. The leader rode past Inga and moved to

the end of the line, selecting two other girls, Lotta and Lila the twins. The women were starting to dress when he came back. He reached

out with his riding crop and lifted Inga’s chin. There was a beauty there that could not be denied despite the almost painful thinness

caused by a winter’s hunger. She stood frozen like a deer in the woods.


“This one, she can be fattened up,” he gave her a nod, indicating she should move to where the other chosen girls stood.


Inga did not move, her mind refusing to accept what the man said. She narrowed her eyes in anger thinking that she would die before

going willingly with these men. She was engaged to be married that midsummer; the cloth for her dress waited on the loom at home.


When the Captain motioned for two of his men to take her, she bolted.


With several brothers, Inga had learned early how to run. Unhampered by the long skirts of a woman, she fairly flew over the ground

toward the woods. The curses and shouts of the men only seemed to push her to run faster, to not looking back.


One moment she was running, the next there was pain as the air was knocked out of her. The Captain swung the girl by her hair over

the horse. He must have been very skilled at his work, for by the time the horse slowed to a walk, he had her hands bound behind her back, a

loop of rope from them to her neck. If she struggled, she would begin to choke myself. Lying still, she could still breathe. He shoved a

foul cloth in her mouth to keep her from cursing him and his men.


“Please Captain,” an older woman pleaded, “Take me, I will serve you well, Please free her, and we will give you what little gold we

have. Please!”


He laughed as he spurred the horse. For a few brief moments Inga could see her mother running after them and then stopping in the

dusty road, sobbing.


It took all her concentration to stay balanced and not to choke herself. She prayed they would stop soon for the night, and she would

have a chance again to escape. They rode hard, stopping only briefly at midday to water the horses.


They did allow the others to dress again, but the Inga’s dress law back in the village on the dirt. She ached so much she truly didn’t

care about her nakedness. Her wrists and neck felt raw from the bindings. She was grateful when the Captain removed the gag and allowed her

to moisten my lips before gagging her again. Each girl was taken to a bush to relieve herself and then they were on the move again.


At some point just before dark, they brought the women to a clearing where more soldiers waited. There was loud yelling as the group

rode in. The men made appreciative noise as Kyndra and the twins were lowered to the ground. They had not had to ride like a bag of flour

and looked much better for the ride than the other girl must have looked.


The Captain swung off his horse and carried his captive into a tent, dumping Inga on the ground with little care for gentleness.

Taking out a knife that looked like it was several feet long, he moved toward her. She tried to move away from him, but was numb and could

not move. He cut the ropes, chuckling at her fear and sheathed the knife. Movement was agony and Inga lay curled on the floor for some time,

before she could move her arms and legs without wanting to scream.


Meanwhile, the Captain sat at a small table, reading over some papers, sipping wine and not paying much attention to her. As she

gained movement, she inched toward the side of the tent, watching to see if he noticed her. He gave no sign he had, so she inched some more.

She stopped when a young man came in with a tray of food and served it to the Captain. He ignored the naked captive.


The smell of the food made her stomach ache. It had been a hard winter for her family; they had not starved, but hunger was common.

Still, she inched toward the tent wall slowly, until she felt the sturdy fabric against her naked skin. Pretending she was sleeping, she

waited for her chance. She may have dozed in truth, for at some point she was aware that the Captain was gone from his table and she was

alone in the tent.


Moving as silently as she could, Inga rolled under the edge of the tent and crouched on the cold ground. His tent was in the middle of

the camp, but the darkness was complete and things seemed quiet. She moved toward the woods, wanting only to be free. She could get her

bearings later and find something to cover herself. The darkness was her ally, hiding her from those who might have seen her otherwise.
/>

She might have been a hundred feet from the camp when she heard a shout. Inga broke into a panicked run. She must have been spotted by

a night patrol. Something flew at her from the right and then next thing she knew, she lay on the cold ground, pinned under the heavy weight

of an armoured man.


“Looks like we found the Captain’s little rabbit,” he laughed as they brought her back to the tent. She was shaking from cold and

fear, but tried to pretend that it was a righteous anger.


They threw Inga at his feet, naked and bruised. She looked up in defiance, to see his cold eyes.


“You will be punished, girl. I will make you a lesson to the others that you cannot escape. You are for tribute and I will be damned

if I don’t come back with my quota.”


“You can beat me, but you will never break me!” she vowed haughtily.


He looked at his men, “Tie her up and wake the others.”


The guards took her outside and strung her up on a tree by her hands. She was not going to let them do this easily and fought and

kicked. Perhaps the other women were like sheep, but she would not become an eager tribute girl.


Avoiding her flailing feet, they easily restrained her. She was tied in such a way, that she could not see the women approach, but

could hear them shuffling in the evening cold. Then the Captain came out of his tent carrying a whip. He looked the girl in the eye with a

look that sent shivers down her body. How could any man perfect such a look of anger, disdain and desire?


“This girl tried to run away tonight,” he announced to the gathered women, “You have all been chosen as gifts of tribute. Any attempt

to run away, any disobedience from you will be punished. The first punishment for running, is twenty lashes to the back...or any other place

I decide is best.”


There was an eternal silence as Inga waited for the first blow. She would not scream, she vowed to herself, she would not give him

that pleasure. She would not.


*CRACK*


A scream shattered the silence and she knew it was hers. A river of pain erupted from her back and she swayed from the force of the

blow. She steeled herself for the next one and managed only a moan of pure agony. Each blow went lower down her back, across her buttocks,

her thighs and calves. Someone lifted her feet, holding them in an iron grip despite her struggles. He had only given the girl eighteen

strokes.


*CRACK* *CRACK*


White-hot pain spiralled through her followed by soothing darkness.


Inga woke at some point, her body a throbbing mass of pain. Movement caused licks of hot fire through her body, and she could feel the

warmth of morning sun on her still naked skin. Wood was beneath her and there was the steady creak and sway that told her that she was on a

wagon. It took some time for her mind to deal with each sensation. She was blindfolded, gagged and chained. She could hear the movements and

whispers of the other women. Inga faded in and out of this reality, until the cart stopped. The women were taken out and set about jobs to

help set up camp and cook the food. Inga was left in the wagon.


She cried in hunger, cold and frustration. If she ever got my hands on the Captain, she would rip his flesh off his body with her own

hands. The sounds of approaching horses made her abandon her plans of revenge. Inga heard his voice, the sobs of other women, and the lewd

comments of the men.


She was not prepared for the gentle caress of a hand across her rear. Inga jerked away even as the movement made her cry out behind

the gag.


“Easy now Hellcat, it was just a touch.” It was his voice, the Captain. “I have never failed to bring the most beautiful women as

tribute -- women who define grace and sensuality. But you, Hellcat, are going to ruin my record. Luckily for me, I found quite a catch this

morning, so I may not have to hand you over.”


Inga stopped struggling in relief and hope. Would he free her?


“But,” he continued with a soft chuckle, obviously reading her body like a book, still tracing his fingers between the marks on her

back, “I have never been bested by a tribute girl. I have decided that I am going to tame you, girl. I am going to find a way to take your

anger and rebellion and turn it into desire. I will have you begging for my touch that you so hate now. Yes, girl, I will tame you.”


An hour after his promise to her, Inga was in his tent, her hair still damp from the forced bath his men had given her. It felt good

to be clean again, but the memory of the men touching her so freely, their voices and suggestions of what they would do if they could -- all

caused her to tremble in fury.


Inga’s hands were bound behind her back with what felt like silk cloth and she knelt next to the table as her feet were too injured

for her to stand. The Captain sat at his table, a plate of steaming food in front of him; the whip lay next to the plate. Inga could almost

taste the food from here.


“Are you hungry Hellcat?” he speared a morsel of meet on a fork and held it up.


Should she answer? Would he think she was giving in to his will if she did? Inga shifted slightly and felt the throbbing ache of the

lash marks from last night. The realization that he could and just well might whip her if she didn’t answer made her decision.


“Yes, I am.”


He stared at her and then prompted, “Yes, I am..?”


“Yes I am hungry.”


He gave a sign that indicated he was holding his anger in check, “Whenever you speak to me, you will call me Master.”


“I will not!” Inga moved back and looked at him in disbelief. “I am not a slave! I am a free woman.”


His hand moved in a blur, the whip coming down hard on her exposed naked breasts. Once. Twice. Three times. Inga curled toward the

ground, trying to cover herself with the rest of her body, rocking with the pain. He pulled her upright by her hair and put his face close

to hers.


“You stupid girl. A tribute girl is a slave. You may not be sold on a block, but you are no longer free.” He pushed her back hard

enough that she fell to the tent floor. He jumped up and stalked to the door and told his boy something. Inga watched with worry, he still

held the whip and as he came back toward her. Her fear of the whip had her trying to squirm away.


“YOU WILL HOLD!” he bellowed lifting the whip. Inga froze. His eyes narrowed for a second and he lowered the whip, brushing the tip

over her thigh, “You look so lovely that way, the sheen of your skin in the candlelight. Now girl, how do you address me?”


The whip kept moving over her skin, sending odd pulses through her body. What use was fighting him on this so he would whip her more?

“Master,” Inga whispered, keeping her eye on the whip’s movement.


“Louder,” he prodded the whip between her legs and Inga whimpered in fear.


“Master,” her voice cracked saying it.


“Good girl,” he moved back to the table and took a piece of the meat in his fingers and held it over her mouth, “Open up.”


Hungry, she didn’t argue. She savoured the meat, wishing she could have more.


“What do you say girl?”


“Thank you...” Inga had to force the last word from her, “Master.”


“Good girl. I have some rules, Hellcat. You have learned the first. The second rule is that you always obey me. I see you fear the

whip, so I will use it for any disobedience for now. When you obey, you will be rewarded with food, a blanket, clothing, or more.


“When you are waiting for my next order, you will kneel like so.” He pulled her up and arranged her legs, straightened her back. “For

the next few days this will be easy to remember because of your feet. Afterwards, I will not hesitate to beat them again to keep you in mind

of your proper position.”


The boy came running into the tent with a wooden chest. He saluted, handed over the box and stepped outside. The Captain opened the

box and took out a slave collar. Only the lowest and most common of slaves wore them. Inga must have moved, for she felt the sting of the

whip on her thigh and he snapped, “Position!”


Inga tried to hold the position as he opened the collar and approached her. No! Her mind screamed, you were to marry and be a free

woman, have children, a family -- not this!


The metal of the collar was cold and heavy as he snapped it closed around her neck. Inga started to cry silently at the humiliation.

Even if she escaped, there would be no hope for her now.


“What are you girl?” he asked, his fingers brushing the edge of the collar and down her breasts.


“A free woman held as a slave, Master.” Inga spit out his title now with venom.


His eyebrows lifted in bemusement, “No, a slave. Tell me that you are a slave.”


Inga did not speak until he had given her five more lashes of the whip, “Slave. I am a slave, Master.”


“And who owns you slave?” he started the caresses of the whip again, and she squirmed, not knowing really why she did so.


“I suppose you do.”


*CRACK*


“Master,” Inga added, “You do Master.”


“Now slave, I am ready to sleep. Do you want a blanket for the night?”


“Yes, Master,” she swore the metal collar was heavier now than it had been moments before.


He opened his pants and pulled himself out. He was huge and thick, “Suck me then, slave.”


Inga leaned back in disgust and shook her head in refusal.


“Obedience or punishment slave, which will it be?”


She looked at him and then the whip. She couldn’t deal with more pain right now. Inga was cold and hungry and hurting. Fighting back

her sobs, she leaned forward and tentatively licked him. It wasn’t so bad.


“Suck me slave, not lick.”


Inga glanced up to see where the whip was. It was still in his hand. She opened her mouth and took him in. After the first few sucks,

she heard him give a sigh of pleasure. Inga doubted she did a good job. To be sure she was not skilled, but she continued, reminding herself

that she would be grateful later when she had something to cover her nakedness in the cold. Inga was not prepared when he grabbed her head

and pushed her down on himself, forcing himself deep into her mouth. She gagged and struggled frantic for air and release. He stiffened and

moaned as if in pain and he pulled out, his seed spilling down her throat and into her mouth. Inga knelt coughing and spitting in disgust as

he laughed.


He attached a chain to the collar and fastened the chain to his belt. He pushed her to the floor and tossed a blanket over her.

Laughing still, he lay down on his cot. Within moments he was asleep. Inga cried herself to sleep, aching with lashes yet again. She had

found hell and feared she was enslaved to the devil himself.


Several times in the night she woke cold, thirsty, hungry and hurting. Inga could not shift her position, nor wrap the blanket around

her to trap in the warmth. Dawn came with agonizing slowness and the camp began to move.


The Captain’s boy came and unlocked Inga. He practically carried her to where she could relieve herself and then left her near the

cook fire. The cook was a tall, thin man with a sallow expression and slurred accent of the western islands. He seemed not to notice her

shivering nakedness, but ordered Inga to serve the women. She feared that any argument on her part would keep her from her share of the

food, so she gritted her teeth against the pain and walked from the cook fire carrying bowl after bowl of steaming gruel to the women seated

near the wagon.


Kyndra spat at Inga, “Whore!” Despite the captivity and harsh conditions she still managed to look aloof and beautiful.


Several of the other women spat and hissed the word too. Inga didn’t bother to defend herself. What else could they think considering

her naked state and the collar around her neck?


When they were finished, she collected the bowls and scrubbed them. Inga was not given any food, but sent back to the Captain. The

tent was already down and packed. He stood near his horse, giving orders to some of the men. Inga dropped to her knees at his feet, not out

of submission, but exhaustion and pain.


When the men left, he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “I hear you served well this morning and without complaint. If you had

complained, you would be walking the rest of the day. But I am pleased, so you will ride with me.”


“Thank you, “ Inga mumbled sullenly and remembered to add, “Master.”


He mounted the horse and swung her up in front of him, holding her between his arms, he secured her arms behind her back again. The

company moved out onto the road and headed slowly toward the capital. As they rode, the Captain took out some bread and fruit and fed it to

her bite by bite. As they rode, he talked to her, asking her questions about the village Inga had grown up in, the other women and general

things. He made sure she said “Master” every time until she did not think about it. He then spent some time telling her about his childhood

pranks.


There was a short break at lunch, where Inga was loosed and sent again to serve the women captives. Kyndra threw stones at her, but

she tried to ignore her. The afternoon was more of the riding and talking, with bits of food fed to her like a pet falcon. It occurred to

Inga as they pulled into the clearing for evening camp, that she easily said the word, Master now. She sighed, knowing this was not

something she could fight easily.


Again, Inga was sent to serve the women. In the near dark, she did not see Kyndra’s foot. She hit the ground hard, the tray of dishes

she was carrying flying hither and yon. Some of the women began to scream as the hot stew fell on them. Pandemonium broke out and the

soldiers moved in to calm things down.


Inga found herself at his feet again, one of the men telling how she had been clumsy and spilled the food. He dismissed the guard and

just stood there for the longest time. She just wished he would just get on with the punishment.


“Well, Hellcat? What do you have to say for yourself?”


“I was clumsy, Master.” Inga kept her face down. What else could she say? She could blame it on Kyndra. Inga was sure she had done it

on purpose, but what proof was there? She was sure that she would probably get more lashes if she did try to shift the blame.


“Hmmm...” He paced some, “I am going to give you five lashes for wasting food. A slave must be graceful and careful of obstructions

where she is serving. Fetch me the whip, girl. It’s on the table.”


Inga crawled to the table, got the whip and brought it back. She handed it to him and knelt, waiting. She closed her eyes, just

praying to the hearth goddess that this would soon be over. She could feel him standing behind me, doing nothing. The wait was agonizing.




“Your feet are bleeding, girl.” It was a statement, not a question.


“Yes, Master.” Inga replied after a lengthy silence on both their parts.


“When did this start?” There was an edge of ice in his voice.


“This morning, Master, while I served the women.”


“I see.” She thought he was going to say something more, but he didn’t. He gave her the lashes all on her rump. Perhaps Inga was

getting used to it, for they did not seem that hard.


“Go lie on the bed, girl. I will send the boy in to treat your feet. Later the doctor will be in. He is checking all the women tonight

so we know what status you have. Do not fight him, or it will be a very cold night for you.”


“Yes Master.” Inga replied dutifully, crawling onto the warm and comfort of the bed. She was asleep before he left the tent.



Reviews

A collection of short stories. Pretty good. 4 out of 5

  Author reply: Thank you for the appreciation, I am glad you liked the collection - Passion St. John

Best Selling Books This Year By Passion St. John

Moments Of Passion

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Best Selling Books This Year By Passion St. John

Moments Of Passion

Moments Of Passion

Moments Of Passion

Moments Of Passion

Moments Of Passion


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