He bent and attached a chain between my heavy iron ankle cuffs. I could walk, but I couldn’t take big steps. No way would I be able to run.
And without anyone telling me, I knew I wouldn’t be able to change. I’d heard people talk about how slaves in Faerie are installed with a magical drain, so their power goes to someone else. I’d only recently had my power levels increased, but I’d gotten used to having so much magic available. This felt awful. I’d had more energy as a swan.
I got to work, but filled my basket of imperfect onions when the other was only half full. I walked them to the table and struggled to lift the heavier one high enough to put it onto the table.
And then watched as he looked through them and started moving them from the bad basket to the good. “This isn’t bad! It’s dirty! That’s what happens when it comes out of the fucking dirt! Stupid fucking birdbrain swan!” He proceeded to call me every name derogatory to swans, birds, and shifters, and it was everything I could do to keep my mouth shut. I was here to learn to control my temper, and I hoped if I showed control, Aaron wouldn’t leave me here long.
This was also when I began to suspect Queen Mab had fixed it so everyone would only see my swan shifter status. No one knew I was also a dragon.
A guard approached, and he looked at my throat before telling the man at the table, “Make a note of slave M3629’s need for discipline, and why.”
The guard connected a hook onto an attachment at the back of the ring encircling my waist, and I gave a small scream when I was yanked into the air. A pulley system of cables carried me to a hillside overlooking the fields, and the guard floated up to join me on a small platform.
And then I screamed when he lifted me and set me down hard, so a cold metal phallus was shoved up my ass. My butt muscles squeezed around the unyielding, coarse metal. It got fatter and fatter towards the bottom, which meant it was going to split me open if I came down off my tiptoes.
The chain attached to the back of my waist drew up, and I soon learned I could lean forward to make it taut when I was about to lose my balance, but the position made my calves and back and hip muscles even more tired.
I was there at least two hours before I was given baskets and expected to work again. I didn’t bother asking for something to drink, though I could tell I was dehydrated.
I was a nervous wreck the next time I took my basket to be looked over. I noted only a few of us had to do that. Most of the slaves just dumped their baskets onto two large piles while someone looked on. I tried not to fidget while the field-hand looked through my onions. He made a signal to the guards, and I was walked to the side and handed a metal tumbler full of water. I downed it in two drinks. “Can I have another, please Sir?”
The guard slapped me. Hard. The metal tumbler went flying, and he slapped me again. “Pick it up, slave.”
I scurried to retrieve it and almost fell when the chains wouldn’t let me open my legs up to walk properly. I handed him the tumbler without apologizing. I vaguely remembered the first guard telling me slaves don’t speak unless asked a direct question.
I saw the guards using the other slaves sexually — male and female. Sometimes, the slave kept working while they were fucked. I got horny from the activity but didn’t dare stop working to watch. Still, the sights and sounds of a dick fucking a pussy or an ass always gets me wet, and in this instance, with guards and helpless slaves, I kept hoping someone would come fuck me, too.
But no one did.
The day dragged on forever. Onions and thirst became my world. And heat. A blister formed on my right hand, but I kept snipping. It eventually broke and bled, but I didn’t stop.
Fuck, but I was miserable. I didn’t dare slow down even a little, though.
We were fed a disgusting goulash and more stale bread around noon. I finally felt as if I got enough water, so I thankfully wasn’t dehydrated anymore. Most of the slaves were taken away, and only a handful of us had to keep working. When the other slaves returned, I was certain they’d been allowed a nap. The rest of our day involved boxing up the morning’s harvest and loading the crates onto carts.
I assumed we’d be there until the sun went down, but we were ordered into six lines and then marched about a mile away to a small compound of buildings later in the evening. They released the chains between our ankles, but ran a long chain through the back of our waist-irons, connecting the six people who were side-by-side in the six lines. If someone slowed, guards on horseback were quick with a bullwhip to encourage them to speed back up.
Based on the position of the sun, I thought this was maybe six o’clock. Give or take.
We were given another unappetizing meal and then lined up and bent over a bar. My wrists were connected to the corresponding ankles.
And then, without warning, something was crammed in my ass and I was given a large damned fucking enema.
Without a doubt, receiving enemas had been one of the least pleasant parts of my time with Able, and this one was so much worse. They filled the line of slaves and expected us to empty while we were bent over, and this was especially demeaning and humiliating. It underscored the fact that the slaves in this place weren’t people. They weren’t even animals. I wasn’t sure what we were, other than property.
I hadn’t fully evacuated the first enema when the nozzle was inserted again and water flowed back into me. This one was a much higher volume and I thought I might be sick, but I didn’t dare say anything. They gave me a little longer to evacuate before giving me a third enema with even more damned water, but it still wasn’t enough time. Finally, we were marched around a sandy track for twenty minutes, and we were expected to evacuate the rest while walking. When I tried to go around a pile of shit, a whip snaked out and caught me on the ass. When I needed to go and slowed down to release, the whip caught me again.
Next, we were lined up, and another slave walked down the line with a soapy sponge to clean our genitals, knees, our feet, and our armpits. Finally, we were hosed down with cold water. I flinched and took a few steps back, and felt the whip again — nonstop until I took my place back in line. I’m pretty sure the hose was directed at my clit and then nipples longer to make a point.
I was in line with the slaves, waiting to board some kind of magical bus when the castle guard arrived beside me, grabbed my arm, and teleported us to a horse stable.
No. Not a horse stable. These were people dressed as horses. I’d seen pony play before, of course, but never anything so elaborate.
“No one will fuck your ass or pussy here,” the guard told me. “Your throat is another story. Unlike the fields, you’ll be beaten here whether you’ve done anything wrong or not. You’ll most certainly be beaten — or worse — if you aren’t a perfect pony.” He pointed to the ground and I wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it seemed smart to drop to my knees. He pulled his cock from his trousers, pissed all over me, and poked his member back through the slit in the fabric. Her Majesty gave them uniforms with easy access, apparently.
I sputtered a little, but it wasn’t the first time I’d been pissed on. I remembered the punishment I’d received when I’d fought Able that first time. It’d been bad, but I had a feeling it would be much worse in this place.
“Filthy slave,” the guard said with a shake of his head. It seemed he waited a moment to see if I responded before he teleported away. Another test? I’d glared at him, but I hadn’t said anything. Had I passed? Failed? I wished I knew.