Adventures on Hor : Arrival

CHAPTER 2: MASTER

The man who had at one time been Andrew Frank gazed down on the approaching trade caravan as he slowly and carefully made his way down the sloping hillside. These caravans, like much of the actions of people on HOR, were consistent and predictable. It seemed to him to be a general lack of imagination and forethinking that failed to adequately consider or anticipate problems and danger. This world, as a whole, was primitive and violent, yet so many failed to think past the primitive instinctual reaction that mere numbers are meaningful and protective.

But he wasn’t interested in challenging the caravan. Not this time, anyway. His only intention was to resupply before the train reached the rendezvous oasis where caravan trains waited to travel across the most dangerous part of the route together. Safety in numbers, again. His needs were simple but he knew the best bargaining occurred before the caravans were settled and the masters were rested and feeling safe and protected. He smiled openly as he watched the guards retreat to the caravan instead of intercepting his path. These men lacked real skill in combat, though their number could present him with a challenge if it came to that.

As he often did, he glanced over his shoulder at the impossibly large moons in the sky now behind him. He was often curious why he did it so regularly. Was it as a reminder that he was on this primitive planet and not on Earth? Was it merely a focal point when his mind unconsciously wandered to consideration of what had become of the events of his past life when he left? Or, was it the magnificence of the spectacle like the view of staggering, snowcapped, jagged mountains? All were probably true at different times.

His past life… he had been on this rock for three years. Three years and he had no better idea how he came to be here. Three years and he had no better idea if it was possible to return to that life he had been taken from. That life… December 1864… a farm boy growing up in Ohio, the first of his family to finish school and go to college, even if it was an appointment to West Point due to contacts his uncle had with a politician. When war broke out, he had asked to be assigned to the US Army’s 10th Ohio Cavalry Volunteers. Though ranked as a Lieutenant initially, war and death had a way of rushing promotions and he soon became Captain leading a cavalry platoon with the 10th Ohio. A skirmish outside Waynesboro, Georgia, in December 1864 altered his life forever. They had bumped into a line of Southern defenses as both sides readied for what would become known as the Battle of Waynesboro. The skirmish was small units of both sides until the order came down that the way needed to be opened. Captain Frank rode behind the Northern line gazing intently across the open field at the men blocking the way of their main army unit. Captain Frank was well-known and regarded by his senior officers. He was known as a somewhat brash young officer who had an intuitive eye for analyzing a battlefield situation and took bold, aggressive action. As he surveyed the opposing line and the officers on the other side, he found the weakness he was looking for. He ordered heavy volleys after assembling his unit for a charge. He had a knack for finding the point in their lines where a cavalry charge collapsed a weak spot, this one volunteers on the west end that was ill-prepared and organized. Such a charge usually resulted in other units on the line rotating to block the charge which opened up several other openings.

The tactic worked the same way in this case. The outcome was dramatically different, at least for Captain Frank and the men of his unit who followed him without hesitation no matter what his orders. He was at the point of the charge, as usual, his hands filled with pistols blazing rather than the ceremonial lead of a saber. A cannon explosion ahead of him forced him to leap his horse through the cloud of dirt midway between the lines, which he thought might be advantageous. How more imposing than to have a leaping rider crashing suddenly from the cloud. The skirmish was quickly won as the Northern line charged after the cavalry charge.

Men died and seemed to disappear in battle all the time in that war. Hundreds, if not thousands, of combatants, died in major conflicts. Many men injured by cannon or volleys of bullets were unrecognizable. Others were trapped underneath other dead. What was different in the case of Captain Frank was that his men followed him in the charge, several almost alongside him as he leaped through the cloud of dirt. Captain Frank, though, never came out the other side. His horse did. They even found his hat and pistols, but the man… impossibly disappeared.

That was three years ago. Captain Andrew Frank found himself dazed and disoriented on HOR, though he didn’t know where he was at the time. Captured and enslaved by a warlord’s passing army, he was stripped of his unusual garments and given the loose garment of the enslaved warriors. At the time, he was 6′ 1″ tall and 190 pounds, and a youthful but seasoned 26 years old. The army he found himself in used slaves in the front lines, the initial probes against the opposing forces. He was to find himself in a brutal world where battles were fought as if it were the times of Roman armies and weapons of lance, blades, and arrows. Desperate to survive in the hope of returning ‘home’ and relying on the same intuitive sense of the battlefield around him, he did survive. Initially given a rusty, dull sword that didn’t slice into flesh as much as break bones, he fought with a brutality that surprised even him, all the while scouring the ground for better blades and weapons.

As in the war he disappeared from, his bold, decisive actions and success on the field drew the attention of higher and higher commanders. He was equipped with better protection and better weapons when they saw men who were assigned to follow him did so in brash probes and charges into the opposing lines. Something else was happening very quickly, too. It happened quickly enough that those around him didn’t much notice the change for he was only a slave intended only to sacrifice himself in the scheme of the battle plan. He bulked up to 240 pounds of raw, savage, powerful muscle. The rapid change in his body caused him to ache constantly, a feeling he wasn’t completely sure wasn’t the result of battle or like the growing pains of his youth on the farm. And, he didn’t understand why. His physical appearance was quickly so imposing that other slaves gave him a wide berth and deference, while the experienced warriors and commanders began noticing him, either as a possible tool or competition. He was left with the only possible explanation that HOR’s environment and the protein peculiar in the largely wild diet of the army induced muscle growth, agility, and strength in his Earth body that wasn’t occurring in those around him.

Eventually, he acquired his freedom. After a series of battles, he became regarded as a threat in the ranks, sold into the service of another, and accepting an assignment thought to be a suicide mission: infiltrate a warring stronghold and assassinate the battle leader. Despite the bulk and power his new body displayed on the battlefield, he found he had surprising agility, stealth, and the ability to leap higher and further than ever before, something he attributed to gravitational effects on his body of the large moons. After several days, he returned secretly and stood at the foot of his sleeping commander who awoke with fright at the shadow of the looming, massive warrior. Shedding light within the tent, his commander found him standing holding the severed head of the opposing commander and his gleaming sword. The head Frank presented to his commander; the sword he kept for his own.

Frank quickly became a feared but much sought-after weapon for both delicate and blunt actions men of power thought necessary to further appetites for power and control as a mercenary and assassin. On a brutal planet where death and control of others was the way of power and survival, Captain Andrew Frank became Goran, already a legend who brought death along with him.

So, it wasn’t the appearance of a lone rider on the rise alongside the caravan that caused the attention but the recognition that the lone rider was the one many never wanted to meet personally… the man only known as Goran.

Catherine James’s attention was drawn to the singular image descending the sandy slope just like every other set of eyes, free or slave. Even though she didn’t understand the reputation of the man’s appearance, his image and carriage were imposing, threatening, and intriguing. As the caravan slowed and the guards collapsed closer to the wagons, the man drew closer, coming up from behind the line of slaves Catherine James was attached to. She turned as she walked to appraise his approach despite the realization that the other slaves and most of the men diverted their eyes as if not looking at him might negate his presence.

So much was different about this place that she found it hard to be surprised for long. The animals pulling the wagons were like oxen but not quite as she was used to on Earth. The animals the guards rode were something like a horse but bulkier like a bull. What this man rode was entirely different and everyone shied away from it. Her attention was first drawn to the beast, which she was reminded of an American bison on Earth with several exceptions in size. It was half again as large with a shoulder height of nearly 10 feet and head to the rear length of about 13 feet. The legs were thicker and stronger looking. The head was as massive in proportion as she remembered but it had a main and tail similar to a horse. The horns were curved as she remembered but these were about 3 feet long. The hide was sleek and shiny like a magnificent horse from rear to head missing the shaggy hide at the shoulders and head.

If his ride was imposing, the man was equally so. He looked like a bodybuilder actor from a barbarian movie set. But this was real she had to remind herself. He wore tight hide pants and thick hide boots. A thick belt held several knives while another was strapped to the side of his calf. Two large swords were strapped across his back, the straps crossing his chest that were like massive slabs of beef. It might be a cliché of biceps the size of her thigh, but his were. Fibers in his muscles could be seen quivering with slight movement under the skin. It appeared that he might not have any visible body fat. He rode the beast bareback, his left hand wrapped in the mane. Under his left thigh was strapped a 10-foot long lance with a glistening curved blade pointing backward. Under his right thigh was a long recurve bow and arrows. Behind him was strapped several large packs. She had the impression the animal might not even notice the weight it carried.

As he moved casually, confidently along the line of wagons, he moved closer as if inspecting the contents. Catherine James noticed with amusement how the man crowded the guards tighter and tighter against the caravan line. As he approached her position, she noticed everyone had diverted their eyes. In her short time on this barbaric, brutal planet, she had been abused and dominated by man and slave and she had no understanding of the extent of her condition. Now, there appears a stranger who causes all of them to react in deference (in plain fear?) to him. Her subconscious reacted with delight at the turn of events for these people and a laugh escaped her throat as only she gazed up at the intruder and verbalized her curiosity, “Who are you?”

His head snapped down to her and she immediately recognized her mistake. She dropped her head but nervously tracked his movement by watching the lower legs of the animal. When the man passed, the slave in front of her turned and glared at her, a guard on the other side lashed out with his whip on her bareback and softly uttered a warning or threat… she didn’t know which.

With the train now at a stop, she moved to the side to see ahead. She saw the intruder sitting astride his beast looking down on the leader sitting in his wagon. There were murmurs along the line of the caravan but still within the levels of deferential tones. She smiled, again. One man can cause that reaction? Who is that man that draws such a response? She stepped further out of line to see ahead. She found him pointing back down the line, the leader turning to look at something, then animate talk, gesturing of arms, shaking of heads. The intruder suddenly turned away, then was called back. Then, it occurred to her… they were negotiating, bartering for something but what could the intruder have to offer and what was it he was needing?

When the leader jumped down from his wagon and walked alongside the intruder who remained on his animal, the entire line of people shrank away from them as far as they could. Catherine held her ground, impeding the movement of the slaves in front of her. She was not only curious, her natural character not to back down from any situation rose strong within her. She wasn’t a slave… not in character. They might treat her as one, but she would rather die than lose herself like that to men such as those in the caravan.

When they stopped alongside her, she impulsively took a step back, but immediately regained her original position, tugging the rope to force the next slave to yield some position. She not only held her ground but looked up into the eyes of the intruder and ignored the leader as more words were spoken. A guard approached her hesitantly and she responded by tensing her naked body in preparation of feeling the lash fall on her back, again. It didn’t, however. To her shock, and equal shock to everyone else around her, the rope at her wrist was cut and unwound from her body. She looked from the loose rope at her feet back to the intruder who held a faint smile at the corners of his mouth while his eyes held a menacing look over the guards nearby. His hand extended down toward her as he leaned over the side of the beast. Startled by the apparent offer, she reached her left hand up, grasped his wrist as he grasped hers and a combination of her leaping and his pulling, she found herself astride the animal behind him. It happened so fast and easily. On Earth, she could not have anticipated a movement like that being successful and nobody around them could believe it, either.

He turned the beast and walked it 100 feet from the caravan before turning again to point in the same direction as it. Soon, the caravan began moving, again, and the beast moved at the same pace in the same direction while men, guards, and slaves glanced tentatively at them. Catherine James tensely wrapped her arms around the waist of the intruder, her naked breasts pressed into the sheathed swords strapped to his back as the beast moved casually beneath them. Her entire focus was on settling herself on the beast without falling off while considering what had just happened might mean for her. If what had just happened was a shock, the next thing sent a jolt through her body.

Without turning or changing his composure, the intruder she was holding onto softly spoke, “Don’t overtly react and don’t utter a word.” Wait, she thought. She understood that. English? He spoke English! “You are my slave, now. They will not harm you further. I will explain everything but in private. For now, you must take my word for it that you do not speak except for two words: Ai Sar. In Horean, that means, Yes Master.” He felt her tense behind him. “Trust me. It is better to be my slave than a lowly slave sold in the marketplace.” He waited a moment, then, “Do you understand? For both of our safety?”

She looked at the muscled shoulders and back before her and felt the strength of his body under her arms. So… she was still to be a slave. She would have to be patient to see what that would mean. As he said, though, to be a lowly, common slave to be bartered and sold as an object… to be his has to be better, doesn’t it?

“Ai Sar.”

Andrew Frank smiled and the tension that had built up in his body released. This was a terrible risk to take. He had survived this long by not caring about anyone but himself. But how could he ignore her when he realized she was also from Earth? If they were careful, this might just work. If she wouldn’t cooperate, though, he would have to think only of himself, again. He hoped he could do that. He hoped she could accept the terms.

The caravan leader passed the word among his people and she could see immediate deference provided to this intruder she was now attached to. As he rode up and down the line of wagons and slaves, he barked out orders to the guards and those driving the wagons. She smiled inwardly at their reactions as they quickly corrected their position in line or place guarding the line. She also noticed with satisfaction the looks the other slaves gave her when no man was watching. Their jealousy told her enough. She was better off no longer being one of them.

That first night they were camped separately from the others. The beast had settled between them and the gathered caravan. She was told the beast might seem asleep but would react to the slightest sound out of place. They had eaten food supplied by the caravan and were settled at the fire.

He started, “I told you we need to talk. You may speak now but keep your voice lowered. Nobody is to hear us speak English.”

She nodded. Then, “Ai Sar.” She gave him a shy smile. Her easy use of the term surprised her and pleased him.

He asked her to describe herself, her background, what she did… everything. She did. It took a considerable time. He listened intently, seeming surprised at some points, curious at others, and smiled at still others. In the end, he asked many questions about the United States in 2019, about the outcome of his war, and was pleased to be able to ask about military strategy and how it had changed. He conceded there was too much to consider at the moment but he was very interested in hearing about jungle warfare in Viet Nam and the tactics the Native Americans used. She could see how those might fit with the current situation.

He looked intently at her. “So, you speak other languages?”

She nodded. “Spanish, Arabic, and Chinese. Three languages representing some of the most populous regions.”

He nodded, thinking. “Yes… good… smart.” He looked up smiling, “You will pick up Horean easily, then. Good, very good. We cannot use English except like this.”

“May I ask why you didn’t want me to eat the slave food?”

He nodded, still thinking about everything she had told him. And, he knew there was still so much more to learn from her. “Yes… slave food… they add an herb for slaves intended for the marketplace. It makes them compliant so they accept their fate better.” He saw the look on her face, “Yes, this is a brutal, harsh, and unforgiving planet.”

He then shared with her his story. She marveled at the description of war at that time, his description telling her the feeling of it that no book ever came too close to.

In the end, she murmured, “Andrew Frank.” It just felt good to repeat an Earth person’s name.

He looked at her sharply and in a firm, commanding voice warned her, “No! My name is now Goran, but you will not use it, either. What is my name?”

“Sar… Ai Sar.” Master… yes Master.

He nodded. “My name… Goran… I assumed it when I won my freedom with that assassination. That act was so bold, so cunning, so mysterious to everyone, they called me Goran. The closest in English would be Demon. I liked that. I liked that others whispered that. I have won an advantage when others encounter me thinking I am a demon. That is the way of this world. Find advantage and take advantage.” He looked over the woman who knew herself only as Catherine James and came to a decision. “I think you will be named, Cat. I think it will suit you. Short for Catherine… something for you to hold onto. But I believe your body will react as mine did. Have you noticed anything since being here?”

She had. She had more stamina, endurance. She felt stronger. She moved quicker when she had avoided something falling or moving toward her.

He nodded with a smile. “Yes… yes, indeed. I believe there is a protein in the meat and beans here that seems to react to my body in this way.” He held out his arms as if to show his massive chest and shoulders. But she had already noticed many times, especially when sitting behind him with her arms around his body. He had put on 40 or 50 pounds of raw muscle with nearly no body fat. “And, as you say, I can run forever. And you saw how easy it was for you to jump onto my borsin. Where they come from, that is what they are called. Anyway, I think that must have something to do with that.” He pointed lazily toward the huge moon now barely visible on the horizon. “Everyone else, those born here, anyway, seem to be immune to the effect. The gravitational difference from our world, I think.” Then he smiled broadly, “But you are the scientist, aren’t you? I will leave that analysis to you.”

“Ai Sar.” She smiled back at him.

“Cat… yes, it will be appropriate, I think. In Horean, it means something similar as it does to us. I think you might be like a cat… quick, nimble, strong, and fierce. Not a pet… a predator.”

Yes, he had ideas. He never wanted a slave. A slave would be a burden. In the city or village or even in the caravan, a slave can take care of you. But the way he lived… what he did… no, a slave would only have been in the way, a liability. But, Cat… Cat could be different.

“Were you trained? I suppose not if you have been here so short a time.”

She looked at him, squeezing her eyebrows together in curiosity. “Trained? Do you mean abused repeated? Then, yes.”

He laughed. “Abused? No, no, you can’t be abused, Cat. You are a slave and you will always be a slave.” She looked aghast with puzzlement. “You have been marked. If you didn’t feel it, it must have been done while you were unconscious. Low on your back, just above your pretty ass… a tattoo. You are marked as a slave.” She reached around and felt her back. There was nothing to feel. It was just ink in her flesh. “It is why we have to be careful… very careful. You must be an exceptional slave to avoid… well, if you are not, others may see it as a weakness in me and that can lead to challenges to my reputation… and possibly my life. And you would still be a slave… if you lived.”

Over the next days, he trained her in the ways of being a slave by the expectation on HOR. She was careful to never speak unless he determined it was safe for them. She found his assessment of the Horean language to be correct. It was easy for her to pick up. She paid close attention to conversations and practiced every chance she had with Goran. She thought his name even if she couldn’t utter it. She learned that he had bartered for her by giving his services to the caravan to protect them across the wasteland. Caravans typically gather together in groups of three or four before crossing to reach the cities of interest to them. However, if this caravan were to cross before the others, they would arrive at the market and realize advantage… the advantage of being the only sellers for a time.

It seemed that knowledge somehow preceded them. The knowledge that Goran, the Demon, was overseeing the caravan. Riders would be seen in the distance, but none ventured to challenge.

Those from the caravan found Cat’s transformation striking. From a lowly slave with no training and seeming stupid and brainless, she morphed before their eyes on the journey more and more into an owned slave. Goran preached the Horean rules expected of slaves and she realized how a slave could impact her Master’s honor as well as her very life:

• Slave Rule One – All Freepersons are to be addressed as either Master or Mistress.

• Slave Rule Two – Serve Every Master or Mistress as if your wellbeing depends on being pleasing… because it does.

• Slave Rule Three – While a Freeperson may not always be right, they are, by definition, never WRONG. Slaves always have the last word in any disagreement… the words “Yes, Master”.

• Slave Rule Four – Jealousy and Possessiveness have killed more slaves than disobedience.

• Slave Rule Five – Slaves do not use the first-person pronoun. There is no “I”, “me” or “mine” in a slave’s vocabulary.

• Slave Rule Six – Perfection of service and submission is the goal; only excellence is tolerated.

• Slave Rule Seven – The collar carries the honor of the owner. The slave’s attitude can make it as light as a feather or as heavy as a mountain.

• Slave Rule Eight – Slaves possess nothing not given to them by their owner, including their name. What is given can be taken away.

• Slave Rule Nine – The merest whim of the owner is the highest law. Lawbreakers are punished.

Cat was also instructed in the expected positions of a slave. Two were given as primary for her:

• Presentation: This is the first position a slave is taught. It is the general position of a slave when resting. The slave kneels before the Master or Mistress. The head is held high, but the eyes are downcast. The knees are spread widely so that the inside of the knees is a space as wide as the shoulders. The shoulders themselves are back with the spine straight or slightly arched. The breasts are thrust outward. The hands are placed on the thighs. The hips rest on the feet, which are turned in to take the weight off the arches. If the slave will be getting up and down often, it is permitted to change the position of the feet so that getting up and down can be done gracefully.

• Confined: This position is used when a slave is to be confined for some time while chaining them to a ring or restricted. Slave rings are common on HOR. Most rooms have several. This position is generally like presentation in general form except that the wrists are crossed behind her as if bound. When used for discipline, it is not unusual for the Master or Mistress to leave the slave in this position for quite some time, the slave chains used might be those “of the mind” but a well-trained slave feels as confined as if by iron links.

Goran treated her well, even around others, but her status could not be questioned or challenged. Failure on her part could be seen as weakness from him. Everything he was, how he lived, how he survived was based on the perception of what and who he was. If that should be challenged….

In the week it took to cross the wasteland and separate again from the caravan, Cat improved in every aspect of her new role of Goran’s slave. Along with her continuous training in language, history of HOR, description of society (especially the small city they were approaching), and general slave behavior, Goran gave reference to a future that could be different but it all hinged on the perception that would be created in the weeks and months to come. And her role in that perception was to become the ideal personal slave that turned the heads of other owners, Free people in general and created an example and jealousy from other slaves.

Her arrival on HOR had been an intense shock to Cat’s core of her being from the start. The forced confinement, abuse, and frequent forced fucking challenged everything she had come to believe about herself: strong-willed, independent, intelligent, and a strong leader. Those first days had beat her down, as was the intention she supposed, to make her compliant for any use of her that might be profitable for someone other than herself. A lowly, common slave to others for the rest of her life? The idea had seemed worse to her than the idea of death on the God-forsaken ground of HOR.

Then Goran came as if as a mirage of dominant independence and self-assurance in a world of subjugation, barbarism, and cruelty. She had marveled at the way his mere arrival had caused a commanding reaction. Merely seeing that gave a rise to her suffering soul. What followed by him taking her from the caravan continued to give her pause in reflection. For the first time since arriving, she felt safe though he had made it clear she was still a slave and the mark on her back guaranteed that would always be true on HOR. He also made it clear that if their future should be bound together depended on the perception of her as a slave and not just a slave but an exceptional slave. What jolted her psyche, though, was how she took to the training he led her through and how she adapted to her role. For a short time with him, she thought what she was doing was playing the role expected of her only to avoid being returned to a slaver, only to survive longer, to buy time for… something. What she quickly came to understand, however, was that something changed within her she could never have accepted or anticipated from her character. Her response to the training and Goran was not out of being forced or fear, role-playing, or any intention of biding her time. Something inside her was responding to the man… the dominance, the strength, and his assurance of a future and that he would protect her in return. What truly rocked her psyche on reflection was that she had submitted without conscious thought.

The training wasn’t only about language, rules, positions, history, and society. It was also about a key element of a personal slave… sexuality.

The first night she was with Goran she nervously anticipated that he would take her in the same manner she had been abused since arriving on HOR. He had instructed her to stand before him alongside the fire and he gazed on her body. He instructed her on how to stand before a Freeman, as himself. Her legs were to always be parted to shoulder width, her hands hanging to her sides, her head up but eyes down, and her shoulder back to make her breasts even more prominent. He had smiled and complimented her on her body and quick, ease acting on his instructions. Her breasts, he said, were magnificent. Of all the slaves he had witnessed on HOR, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen such a fine body, especially her breasts.

She had been naked since arriving and being naked had ceased to be a concern to her relative to the other concerns she had for her survival. Then, standing before him as directed, hearing his compliments, and seeing his open and intent gaze on her, she felt more exposed than when she was led through the camp of men. With her eyes downcast, she saw how her nipples had reacted, which caused her to realize how her entire body was reacting. She had been fucked and abused repeatedly in the caravan and, yes, she had orgasmed but only as a natural reaction to the fucking, not a psychological, emotional, desire reaction. For the first time since arriving, she felt the desire of anticipation, not dread.

When he announced she would share his hide bedding and blanket, she made the assumption… she was wrong. He held her securely in front of his body, his arm around her. Nothing more happened. His naked chest against her naked back, she felt his breathing slow. She slept soundly and securely for the first time in… in a very long time. Over the next days and nights, it was the same. He instructed her and gazed at her body. In the light of day while in ‘presentation’ position before him for lessons, she knew she was exposed to him between her thighs. Her concentration became difficult and with that difficulty, she noticed her body was reacting to him, to his presence, to his gaze. Her nipples were hard, her pussy lubricating without being touch. When she rode behind him on the borsin, she pressed her bare breasts into his bareback, breathing deeply to feel her nipples move over his skin. She had to tell herself not to allow her hands to move over his stomach.

The third night with Goran opened her to the new world she was being taken into. By the light of the fire, he had her present herself in the standing position. She was aroused. She knew it and she was certain he could see it in her. Her nipples ached they were so hard. Her pussy leaked her lubrication. She had wondered if he just didn’t want her, but she knew by the way he looked at her, gazed upon her that it wasn’t he didn’t want to. No, he was waiting. It hadn’t occurred to her until that moment of standing before him with her body screaming to him to take her that the waiting too may be part of her training. Standing before him with her pussy all but drooling for him to enter her, she perhaps needed to not only know and accept her desires but to also know and accept that her desires were not important. Her Master’s desires were. The slave rules and history and the submissive positions and accepting her naked exhibition through the positions and daily activity all became a building aphrodisiac in her mind that signaled her body.

Goran was leaning against one of the packs when he motioned to her to come. “Undress me, Cat.” It wasn’t a question or suggestion or invitation. It was a command. It was a command she immediately responded to. She took the several steps necessary and dropped to the ground at his feet. She removed his boots, then crawled to loosen the belt and the tight, hide pants. When she pulled on the waist, he raised his hips and the pants slid over his hips to expose him. She gasped, her eyes becoming large and her mouth opening without a sound escaping. Finally, words were formed.

“Master… you… it… my god!” She looked up into his face. He was smiling sheepishly. His cock was limp but huge.

He chuckled at her reaction. “Whatever it is that affected my body… it affected all of my body, it seems.”

She smiled at hearing the words but her gaze was fixed on his cock. She abruptly recovered and removed his pants, folding them carefully and placing them and his boots on the other pack. She returned and retook the kneeling presentation position with her knees spread as required. She was unconcerned about her exposure, being exposed was now her life, her knees required to be spread to make her pussy visible to him was suddenly exciting. Her hand began reaching for his cock, hesitated in the air between them and she searched his eyes for permission, finding it in a nod of his head.

She lifted his cock, slowly sliding her hand under it, then wiggling on her knees closer to his side for her other hand to join the first holding his cock. She held the member up with her left hand and stroked up the length with her right. It grew quickly showing his desire. She glanced sideways at him as she lowered her head to his lap. She licked the head, kissed it, then licked down the length and back up to the head. She opened her mouth and took the head between her lips, heard him gasp and groan, and sank her mouth over it. She pressed down, sucked up, and repeated it several times. His cock grew by the moment with her sucking and stroking. She noisily slurped the head of his cock as she pulled off it and look down. With both of her hands holding his cock, there were still several inches not covered and her hands no longer entirely encircled it.

Goran touched Cat’s chin and raised it to look into her face. “Are you prepared to please you Master, slave?”

Her smile was lost in the lust infused on her face. “Ai Sar!” She continued stroking his cock with both hands, marveling at the size of it. “How will you take me, Master?”

“I give you permission to choose.”

She didn’t hesitate. She swung her leg over his body and straddled his hips. She leaned forward, rubbing her breasts and nipples into his hard chest as she brought her mouth to his hungrily. They devour each other’s mouths and lips in passion. At the same time, Cat moved her drooling pussy over his hard, long, thick, throbbing cock. He gasped into her mouth as her pussy moved over him up and down, back and forth. In need, he reached around her and raised his cock when she was at the top. She gasped as the head penetrated her hole. She cried out in joy as she pushed back on it, taking more and more into her body. His cock stretched her and filled her as she had never experienced in her life… on Earth or HOR.

She looked between their bodies, saw the disparity of her large, supple, hanging breasts swaying and his expansive, hard, chiseled chest and stomach. She also saw, despite the feeling otherwise, she only had half his cock inside her. It had to be over ten inches long and two inches thick. She looked up. His eyes were glazed in lust as she knew hers must be reflecting to him. He was allowing her complete control of this first joining of their bodies. She wondered if he had been this patient, this considerate of all the slaves he had fucked on HOR. She felt she was different with him…

She sat upright, her pussy still almost half a foot above his body. She arched her back as she settled another several inch down his cock. She had glimpsed porn videos on Earth in the privacy of her room. She had seen cocks like this… dildos like this… and wondered what it might feel like. Now she was finding out. His cock head bumped into the top of her pussy. Crazed with lust, she had to have it all, she had to please him… him… Goran… Master. OH, GOD! What was this she was feeling, consuming her with desire and not just lusting desire of his cock but also submissive desire, a desire to be his and to be his completely? Had this submissive woman always existed within her but contained by her strong resolve and determination, had it been dormant but fertile waiting for the one man who could bring it out?

She moved her hips over him. His cock shifted inside the tight sleeve of her pussy as she pressed down. Her shifting allowed another inch, then another and another until her hips were on his hips. She cried out into the night blackness. It was a black night, the moons on the other side of the planet. The fire ebbing down to glowing coals and otherwise only a gazillion stars in the night sky. But her body felt like it glowed as an orgasm of shocking intensity began to consume her.

When her shaking, twitching, spasming body slowed, she was held upright by his hands on her breasts. She found her own hands entwined in her long hair, still alternately pulling and squeezing her head in response to the intensity of her body’s release. It had felt as if her body should have exploded, ripped apart at seams that didn’t exist. But she was still astride his body, his cock completely embedded inside her pulsing, quivering pussy. He was like a marble column inside her. He had not climaxed but she had exploded around him.

She leaned over him, searching his eyes and face in the flickering light of the dying fire. It rushed up through her, again. This feeling of complete submission to this man, this feeling of wanting… no, needing to please him, needing to be his. Did her orgasm before his displease him? She would never have worried about that before. She had always been a determined, strong woman in a man’s world and never concerned herself with the feelings of men above her own. Now, though, with him… Goran… yes, Master. ‘Ai Sar’, she said in her head.

“I am sorry, Master.”

He moved a hand from one breast to stroke her cheek. He was gazing into her eyes. No, she thought, he was gazing directly into her heart, her very soul. He smiled. “Why are you sorry, Cat?”

“I should be pleasing you and, instead, my pleasure came first.”

Her body continued to move up and down on his cock slowly and smoothly. His hand still on her breast shifted to pinch and twist the nipple. His fingers on her cheek moved to her lips. She opened them and sucked his finger into her mouth. They both sighed. They both felt the rebuilding of intensity in the moment.

“You are correct, slave. There are masters, many of them, who would have you punished for experiencing pleasure before his.” He removed his finger from her mouth and lightly held her chin between thumb and forefinger, pulling her forward to his face. They both felt her pussy move up his cock in the process until he kissed her, giving her his tongue and taking hers in return. When the kiss ended, “But, I am not one of them. You must be my slave, Cat. It is the way. But… inside… you are still Catherine James and I am still Andrew Frank and, in another time, and place…”