Chapter 1

He pried apart the cheeks of her ass with one hand while reaching for the jug of olive oil with the other. She was on her knees, her head buried in the mattress, her ass up in the air. He had taken her this way every time since first coming to own her, just over two weeks before. It wasn’t that he didn’t like fucking face to face ― he liked it just fine ― but he wanted her to know that he was in control here. She was his to do as he saw fit.

The oil had been a necessity ― well, not so much a necessity as a small kindness ― although she didn’t realize it at the time. She was always dry when he took her, and although his plan was to ensure her complete submission, it didn’t include excessive or unnecessary pain. The sex was a necessary part of that plan, an extremely pleasurable part of that plan as far as he was concerned, but he had no desire to have her associate pain with his pleasure. It was his hope that sooner or later she would also begin to feel pleasure from their coupling. A willing and enthusiastic participant was much more desirable than an unwilling and recalcitrant one, and he was prepared to take as long as it took to achieve that goal. This time, it looked like maybe, just maybe, his plan was actually working.

Under the small, brown, crinkled star of her anus, he could see the soft, fleshy lips of her cunt; it looked like they were actually moist! Ignoring the jug of oil, he brought his hand back to gently trace those lips with the tip of his finger and smiled; they were damp! Slowly, he wormed the tip of his finger inside her and felt her body shiver, although she didn’t try to pull away like she had the first few times he had explored her. She was wet, not gushing wet but wet nonetheless.

“I think someone is starting to enjoy this,” he mused out loud.

“No,” came the muffled reply.

“Really? That’s not what your body’s telling me.”

She didn’t answer as he slowly worked his finger in and out, her natural lubrication wetting his finger more with each plunge. Bending down and craning his neck up, he let his tongue lightly lap at the exposed lips while still moving his finger deeper and deeper into her center. He found the taste of her hairless lips exquisite, a heady blend of musk and perspiration; she whimpered but didn’t say anything. At this angle, his neck was getting sore, so drawing back, he lightly slapped her on one ass cheek and said, “Turn over, on your back.” She gave a small sob and complied. What else could she do? Her hands were still bound, and besides, he had the legal right to do with her whatever he pleased.

She rolled to her back, and he gently but firmly pushed her legs apart until her quim was fully exposed to his gaze. Dropping down again, he began to lick at her open slit, his rasping tongue softly caressing her blood-engorged lips, dipping deeper to sample the juices her treasonous body began making even more copiously. No man had ever done this to her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, the inherent feeling of wrongness on so many levels battling with the new sensations emanating from her groin.

The feeling was extremely pleasant, and her legs involuntarily splayed even farther apart, opening her up even more to his gentle ministrations. The sensations increased as he delved deeper, his tongue touching every part of her channel it could reach. She fought to control her sounds of pleasure valiantly until the tip of his tongue rubbed the engorged button located at the top of her slit; then she gasped out loud, and her bound hands came up to rest on the top of his head, not to push away but with fingers entwined in his short hair to pull him down into her even harder.

“Oh, Powers!” she groaned as her hips bucked up into his mouth. She had lost all conscious control over her body. “Oh, Lords!” she repeated as he took her nub between his teeth and gently nipped it. Suddenly, a sensation completely new raced through her body, freezing her in a stiff rigor of pleasure and blanking everything else from her mind. She whined loudly, her hands pulling him in even tighter as her legs lifted, trapping his head in the smooth vise of her thighs.

It was some minutes before she recovered from the first orgasm she had experienced in her thirty-six years of life. Even as her head cleared, she felt his insistent prodding, and she again rolled over and lifted her ass into the air as his unspoken instructions demanded. Eyes closed and face pressed firmly into the pillow of the bed they shared, she felt his hands gently grasp her inner thighs and firmly move her legs apart, spreading her pussy lips and opening her up for his use. His hands moved to her hips, and the next thing she felt was the spongy head of his cock pressing against her lewdly splayed opening.

“No, Antal,” she protested weakly but offering no other resistance.

“Yes, Ilona,” he said firmly as he started to push his way into her wet embrace.

---

Initially, she didn’t know who her new master was when she was first bought. He’d had her bound at the wrists and hooded before he led her through the busy streets of Eregli. In some part, she was glad to be hooded, even though it caused her to stumble over the uneven cobblestones of the street. She’d lived in Eregli all her life, and the thought of her neighbors and friends seeing her reduced to bondage was one less thing she had to bear for the moment.

They had come for her and the house less than a week after Janos, her husband, had died. A grossly fat man thirty years her senior, he had passed suddenly while enjoying the pleasures of a young boy at one of the local whorehouses. Ilona was his second wife, as he was her second husband. She had felt compelled to remarry four years after her first husband died at sea during a fishing expedition. Janos’s preference for young boys was never an issue. He needed a wife to manage his household and be the hostess for the many formal and informal gatherings and parties he gave in the furtherance of what she believed was a thriving trading venture. Her first marriage had been arranged by her parents and, although loveless, was comfortable. Never having felt the touch of a true lover’s hand, she missed the sexual aspect of her second union not at all. Her only regret was her son, eight years old at the time of his father’s death and twelve when they came to live with Janos, never forgave her for the marriage. He left abruptly when he reached the age of sixteen, and she hadn’t seen or heard from him in the four years since.

After Janos’s death, it became quickly apparent the trading business was much less solvent than Ilona had believed, and the creditors descended almost before the body was cold and decently burned. As his wife, Ilona was held responsible for her late husband’s debts, and when the sale of the business assets, including their house, could not meet the obligations, the local court quickly ordered her sold into slavery to satisfy the remainder. Within days, she had been auctioned, sold, and her new master came to claim her.

Hooded, she could only hear the laughter and jeers of her former neighbors as she was led along the winding streets. Presently, she was guided out of the hot afternoon sun into the cool of her new home. She heard a door closing behind her, and just as quickly, she was pushed another few steps into the room and roughly bent over the back of something with padding, a chair, she assumed. She cried out once as her arms were yanked down and securely fastened. She couldn’t move them, and her feet could no longer touch the floor as she perched precariously over the back of the furniture. Again, she cried out as her short slave tunic was pushed up over her bare ass, but a sharp smack on her exposed bottom cut short the protest.

She had no time to think as the cheeks of her ass were pried apart, and a finger prodded her bone-dry cunt. Her assailant grunted once, and shortly, the finger returned, this time coated with something slippery. Her master swathed a great deal of this lubricant around and in her cunt before the finger left her. She heard the rustle of clothing from behind, and suddenly, what could only be a cock had replaced the finger and began to slowly but firmly drive into her. She felt only a little pain but no pleasure as the invading monster slowly filled her until its spongy head nestled up against the rubbery hardness of her cervix. She could only grunt as the fleshy invader began its slow sawing into her body.

Ilona had never derived pleasure from sex, and this time was no different. This was little more than her new master demonstrating he had complete control, using her for his own pleasure and confirming her new status in the world.

It didn’t take long before her master quickened his motion, fucking into her firmly without any regard for her comfort. At last, he thrust deep and expelled his seed into the mouth of her womb, giving a satisfied grunt as he did. Standing motionless for a few minutes, hands grasping her hips, his softening cock finally slipped from her gooey sheath, and he patted her bottom as one would a favorite pet. Soon, her still-bound hands were released, and she was pulled back to stand upright. The hood was pulled off her head, and she was finally able to see the face of her new master.

“Antal!” she screamed.

---

“Yes, Ilona,” he said as he pushed slowly into her.

“This is so wrong, Antal,” she whispered. She said the same thing every time he took her, which was sometimes as often as three times a day. “I’m your mother.”

“You’re my slave,” he grinned as he bottomed out, the head of his cock bumping up against her cervix. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with what we’re doing.” He began the slow in-and-out thrusting he normally did. But this time it was different; this time, he wasn’t using the olive oil to assist their coupling; this time, it was her own natural oils easing the mating.

“I think you like this,” he persisted.

“No,” she protested weakly, gasping and then moaning as he jabbed a short, hard thrust into her.

“Why can’t you admit you like it?” he asked, never changing his pace.

“Because it’s wrong,” she sighed.

“Our Herceg’s first wife is his mother,” Antal pointed out. The Herceg was the local equivalent of a duke or governor of the province. It was their custom that royalty take their mothers as first wives when they ascend to their positions. “The emperor’s first wife is his mother. Can it be wrong for me to take my mother for my first?”

“We aren’t royalty,” she answered through gritted teeth. His constant thrusting was driving her up the plane to another orgasm. “And I am your slave, not your wife.”

“You are my woman,” he grunted and began to quicken his thrusts. “You will always be the first woman in my life and will always be mine.” He stopped talking and began to seriously mount her as she grunted beneath him, bringing them both closer to their release. Finally, as they both approached their peaks, he thrust deeply one last time and began to spew his seed into her waiting womb just as she crested and her body began to shake with the release of her orgasm.

“Why, Antal?” she asked again after they had been resting for a while.

“Why what?” he lazed as he nuzzled her neck. She was lying on her side with her son spooned up behind her, one arm possessively around her chest, his hand cupping a breast.

“Why do you insist on fucking me?” she persisted. “Do you hate me that much?”

“I don’t hate you,” he insisted. “Well, not anymore, anyway. I hated you when you married that asshole. There was no reason for that; we were doing fine. We still had some money, and I was old enough to start working on the boats. We would have had plenty to live on, and if you needed a man in your life, I could have taken care of that too.”

“It wasn’t that at all,” she insisted. “It seemed like the best choice at the time.” Grunting, she continued, “Looking back, I suppose it wasn’t the best choice I could have made.”

“Not for you, maybe,” he said, giving her breast a gentle squeeze. “And certainly not for me at the time either, but right now, it sure turned out just fine for me. I think you actually enjoyed it today, and I think the more we do it, the more you’ll enjoy it.”

“That’s not the point,” she persisted. “I’m still your mother, and boys shouldn’t bed their mothers.”

“Who says?” he snorted. “Tell that one to the Emperor, and Milklos has been fucking his mother for years ever since that needle-dicked father of his couldn’t get it up. She sure hasn’t been complaining.”

“Milklos’ mother is nothing but a slut,” Ilona retorted. “She’d bed anything on two legs and some with four.”

“So? You’re my slut now, and sooner or later, you’re going to realize that the only place my cock belongs is in your cunt.”

“You should have a wife of your own,” she said, changing tactics. “A pretty young wife that can give you children and a home to come back to. What could you possibly want with an old woman like me?”

“You are beautiful and still young,” he said lazily, his fingers playing idly with her stiffening nipples. “You should have been mine four years ago, and now you’re where you belong. You should have been my woman when I turned sixteen; you should have waited. You should have given yourself to me, but no, instead, I had to put up with you being fondled by that fat bastard. You know I even had to threaten him with a knife to keep him from fucking my ass?”

“I am so sorry, Antal,” she whispered, turning to lay her head on his hairy chest, tears running down her cheeks to drip into the dark, furry mat. “If I had only known...”

“What would you have done?” he demanded. “He was your husband. Everything that was yours was his, even me. What would you have done? Left him? He would just send the peacekeepers to find and drag us back. I kept him away from me. He knew if he touched me again, I’d cut his little balls off and stuff them down his throat. You couldn’t do anything.”

“I am so sorry,” she whimpered again. “Please, are you going to keep punishing me forever?”

“Punish you?” he mused. “I suppose it is a punishment of a sort, but that’s not why I bought you. I loved you, Ilona. Loved you and wanted you from the time I understood there was a difference between boys and girls, and now I have you. In fact, I still love you. You are my mother, but you are now my woman, and soon you will realize that and grow to love me as your man.”

“I do love you, Antal,” she protested. “With all my heart, I do love you. But we should not be ... lovers. I don’t love you like that.”

“You will,” he said confidently. “You will, and if not, then at least I have what I want, and that’s all that matters.”

---

As the days came and went, Ilona realized that life as her son’s slave wasn’t all that much different than being a fisherman’s wife, or even a rich man’s wife for that matter. She cooked and cleaned, shopped for the groceries and whatever else was needed for their household. The first few days in the marketplace were difficult. She endured the taunts of former friends and the sellers in their stalls, but that passed quickly. Soon she hardly noticed the thin metal slave collar around her neck, and those she dealt with seemed to do the same.

It had to be common knowledge that her own son was bedding her, but the taunts and recriminations she expected never materialized. It would seem Antal was correct: Nobody cared. It was just a man using his slave as was expected. She soon came to realize that he was probably also correct that nobody would have cared if she had been bedding him, even if she hadn’t been his slave. Outside of royalty, it wasn’t a common practice, but it wasn’t completely unknown. Again, people had better things to worry about.

His attentions were fairly continuous and relentless. It was difficult to pretend she didn’t enjoy his frequent use of her body. Although she tried to never let him know, it was fairly obvious he wasn’t fooled by her weak and almost automatic protests. The fact was he was never rough with her and always did his best to make her orgasm during their intercourse, which was by now almost as frequent as her protests. The only time he left her alone was during his frequent “business trips” or when she hurt from cramping during her monthly flows. At first, when she discovered he would let her be if she felt bad, she considered feigning illness more often, but now she didn’t even consider it.

Other than being used frequently as a vigorous young man is apt to do ― although no more often than any other young bride would expect ― being her son’s slave was not unpleasant. She even derived some small status and respectability from being of his household. After all, her son was one of the most prosperous smugglers along their section of coast, and in their niche in society, smugglers were well respected and approved of.

“Why do you do it, Antal?” she would ask. “It’s so dangerous. You know what the penalty would be if you are caught.” He did: It was death.

“And what isn’t dangerous?” was always his answer with a snort. “Fishing? Tell that to my father. All I know is the sea, and what else would earn me the money I get for moving a little cargo past the Herceg’s docks? Besides, all the decent fishing grounds have been claimed by the big families since forever. I suppose I could earn enough for us to starve slowly rather than quickly, but starving is still starving.

“Oh, it’s not the taxes,” he had elaborated when she asked him why he didn’t do the safe thing and move his cargo through the dock as required. The ten-percent duty was stiff but not so onerous that risking one’s life would be worth avoiding them. “I’d pay the taxes without even thinking about it if that were all of it,” he responded. “It’s the bribes I can’t afford. I don’t begrudge our lord and master the one in ten he demands ― not much anyway. There needs to be some tax income if for no other reason than for the upkeep of the docks and warehouses. Even I know that, and so long as everyone pays the same, it keeps everything competitive among us shippers.

“No, it’s the three-in-ten or four-in-ten the damned Customs Master and his gang of thieves gouge on each shipment that makes it impossible,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d lose money each time I pulled into port if I had to pay that.”

“But how can anyone do it then?” she’d asked. “The big ships still pull into Eregli regularly. If they can make a profit, why can’t you?”

“Ah, there’s the problem,” he muttered. “They don’t pay the same in bribes that we with smaller bottoms have to. [In the lexicon of merchant shipping, the term “bottom” is used interchangeably with “ship.”] I’ve heard the larger merchants have been able to negotiate their bribes down to only an additional one-in-ten, and even with that, you may not have noticed, but there is far less trade coming through Eregli than just three years ago. Since the old Herceg died and his son took over, the corruption that had been creeping into the system has pretty much taken over.

“The idiots!” he snorted. “All you hear is them screaming about how smuggling is strangling trade and how their revenues are down to almost nothing. That part I don’t doubt, although I wouldn’t be surprised if a good bit of what little they do collect is being siphoned off into someone’s pocket, too. It isn’t the smuggling that’s doing it. There aren’t enough of us to make that big a difference. I know for a fact that I and the rest of my cohorts don’t move even a tenth of the trade that used to come through Eregli.

“Sure, it’s good profit, but I figure we’re moving just enough to keep the upriver villages from starving and not much more. As small as my boats are, I can’t carry even a twentieth of what one of the big merchants can. The Customs Master is choking the life’s breath out of Eregli and every village surrounding it, just as sure as if he tightened the garrote with his own hand.

“Why do you think we smugglers are as well-liked as we are? We’re performing a service for the people around here. Admittedly, we charge a pretty bronze nail for bringing the goods in and out, but it’s still a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to get it through the regular shippers. Shit! Almost nobody here in Eregli can afford what’s brought in through the docks. Most of that is going straight to Corum. They’re the only ones that can afford it.” Corum was the provincial capital and the Herceg’s seat. Eregli had once been a reasonably prosperous mid-sized seaport, but it had never been as rich as Corum and was much less so now.

“I worry about you,” Ilona admitted. “What if they catch you? I understand the Herceg has increased patrols in the delta.”

“He has,” Antal confirmed. “But for the most part, they’re from the naval docks in Batumi. They don’t know the delta and the channels like we do, and I know them better than most of the others.”

Ilona had learned about Antal’s life after leaving Janos’ house following their reunion. She knew it had been almost impossible to keep him in the house from the moment they had moved in. Even as a twelve-year-old boy, he had been out on the waters in his father’s old leaky fishing scow. He’d come home only when absolutely necessary and would often be gone for days at a time. At the time, it had bothered her to distraction, but other than restraining him, there was very little she could do about it. Now that she knew at least part of the reason he avoided Janos’ house, she felt guilty for not being able to protect him.

Consequently, he had spent the better part of his youth sailing the coastal waters in and around Eregli and poling the heavy wooden craft up into the various channels and estuaries where larger ships couldn’t go because of their draft. His youthful adventures benefited him in two very important ways. First, he came to know the ways and means that would later help him avoid the Customs Master’s agents in moving goods up and down the river. In fact, he came to know them so well that he could easily find his way through them even at night under a black moon. Which was good since that was when he normally did his “business” traveling past the Eregli docks.

Second, the vigorous activities led to a physical development of remarkable proportions. Antal was not a tall man. He tended toward his father in that respect and would be considered just short of average if one were feeling generous on any given day. However, his height served merely to accentuate his muscular development, which was considerable enough to be considered almost unnatural to some. What struck one about Antal at first sight were the shoulders that seemed to be made for a much larger man. They were broad and covered with slabs of muscle, as was his stomach and back. If that weren’t impressive enough, the sight of his bulging biceps and forearms of corded muscle that appeared about to burst through the taut overlaying skin each time they flexed would be. While the rumor that he could squeeze water from a stone was pure myth, the fact that he could bend solid rods of bronze the width of a finger into actual knots like they were soft rope was not. He had done it often enough for the entertainment of his fellow smugglers.

His body didn’t resemble the statues of gods and athletes found at the city’s arena, with their torsos narrowing from broad shoulders to narrow and well-defined waists. No, his was built more like a building block, dropping almost vertically to hips that sat atop heavily muscled legs. He had a pleasant enough face, neither homely nor overly pretty, and would be taken for any common laborer while covered with a tunic or cloak. It was only when he stripped to his shorts for heavy work that he looked more like a bull forced into man’s form than a normal village or city dweller.

His strength was one reason he never bothered to learn how to use a sword. Given the situations he usually found himself in, he found the lead-weighted cudgel he always carried or the thick push-pole half again as tall as he was to be far more useful. If it came to really close-in nasty work, there was always his sailor’s knife, half as long as his forearm and sharp enough to cut through sharkskin like a hot wire through soft cheese. More than a few self-appointed share-the-wealth ruffians had had their heads split open, arms broken, or guts slit to make the point to those who knew him that just because he didn’t carry a sword didn’t mean he wasn’t as dangerous as a sea snake.

His career as a smuggler hadn’t begun until he’d left Janos’ house for the final time when he turned sixteen. His first few runs had been made alone as he carried grain, metal goods, and livestock from Silifke, a small island two hours’ sail from Eregli, and under the authority of another of the Empire’s many Hercegs, upriver to Sile, a moderately sized village half a day’s march from Eregli.

He did this three times a week for two months, avoiding only the nights when the moon shone full in cloudless skies until he earned enough to trade in his father’s old fishing scow and buy a true smuggler’s boat. Six times longer than he was tall, broad of beam, and shallow of draft, it handled like a pig in open waters under sail but sat low to the water and was able to navigate the shallow channels required to circumvent the main river channel covered by customs agents. Taking on a small crew of boyhood friends, he quickly grew his trade until he now operated four small vessels and carried a respectable portion of the contraband moved in the area. He carried a mixture of regular consignment goods ordered from either end of his route or speculative merchandise he could pick up as it became available. He had a good business sense and, if it had been economically feasible, would probably have been a fairly prosperous legitimate merchant shipper.

It was his prosperity that allowed him to buy his mother after Janos’s death and the subsequent collapse of his stepfather’s trading house. His first thought had been to extract a humiliating and public revenge on his mother, whom he believed had abandoned him for the privileged life with the rich pervert. He had told Ilona the truth: He had desired her as a woman ever since his body told him there was something different and wonderful about women. He had grown up with the stories of the Emperor, the Herceg, and other royals who, as a matter of course, married and bedded their mothers when they ascended to their positions. If they could, then why not he?

Antal was an egalitarian at heart. He reasoned he had the same number of limbs as any royal and the same kind of cock, so why shouldn’t he have the same privileges they did? He was wrong in one respect: his cock wasn’t the same as any of the royals. While not blessed with over-great height, he had been blessed in other ways. His cock didn’t rival a donkey’s, but it was longer than the distance between the tip of his thumb and little finger when his hand was splayed out and thicker than a boat-pole. It didn’t hang down below his knees like some tried to boast theirs did, but it was more than adequate to please the whores and village girls he had to console himself with until the gods laid a surprising boon ― and his mother’s cunt ― in his lap.

---

Ilona knew all of this. She knew how careful he was and how resourceful, yet she still worried. It was just the mother in her, she told herself. That and the fact he was now her master, and she had no idea what would become of her if he were to be caught and executed. Gods only knew where she would be sold if that happened. That and nothing more.

Antal had come home that afternoon, dead tired. It had been a grueling run with foul weather, sheep that shit and threw up all over his deck, and to top it off, he was actually chased by a customs boat for three hours until the channel no longer allowed them to follow. He hadn’t even stopped to buy fish to bring into port like he normally did as a cover for his trips. He reasoned the storms over the delta would be enough reason for coming home with empty nets if anyone were actually out looking in this kind of weather.

He’d come home, bathed in the cool cistern water, eaten just a little bit, and gone straight to bed. Later, when she’d finished her duties, she’d slipped into bed with him, not even considering trying to lie down anywhere else. For the first time since he’d bought her, with the exceptions of her monthly cycles, he hadn’t rolled her face down and taken her from the rear. He’d woken momentarily as she rolled on her side, muttered something, and pressed up against her back, draping an arm around her and gently cupping a breast before drifting back off to sleep, nothing more. Ilona was surprised she felt a sense of loss at the lack of his sexual touch, although the feel of him holding her protectively was comforting.

She awoke later that night as he stirred restlessly next to her. He still lay on his side facing her back but had separated slightly sometime during the night, although he was close enough she could feel the heat of his body. That wasn’t all she could feel. Even though it was only half hard, she could feel the tip of his cock pressing into the crevice at the top of her thighs, pushing softly against her as he fidgeted and muttered in his sleep.

He’s worn out and just needs to relax, she thought to herself. Maybe, she rationalized, he just needs to have a release. Then he can sleep. Reaching back between them, she gently grasped his member and began to very slowly stroke it as it became harder and harder in her hand. Any mother would do this for her son, she told herself. Any slave, to help her master. I’ll just stroke him until he cums, she promised silently. But as if it had a mind of its own, her butt scooted back, and her upper leg lifted and spread back over his until his by now very stiff cock was lying between the lips of her cunt. She rocked back and forth, stroking him with her pussy like she had been doing with her hand. As she rocked back, the tip of his turgid member rubbed lightly over her clit, and she moaned in pleasure as small sparks of heat spread out from her nubbin throughout her body.

She didn’t know exactly when he woke up, but suddenly she realized he was gently thrusting back at her, and he was no longer softly snoring. Arching her back to give him the angle needed for penetration, she used her hand to position him at her entrance while again moving back until he sank about a third of his length into her.

“You want this, don’t you?” he whispered as his own hand came around to gently toy with one of her hardening nipples.

“Yes,” she admitted, not caring if he thought her a slut for wanting him in her. She’d given up the pretence; she was a woman who wanted her lover’s cock inside her. It no longer mattered if it was her son’s cock; she just wanted her man to take her and claim what was his.

“Good,” he whispered, and she could almost sense the smile on his lips. She smiled herself; it felt good not to have to pretend anymore. She wanted him to take her, and she was going to get what she wanted, what she needed.

“But not like this,” he said a little more loudly and pulled completely out of her. She whimpered, reaching around attempting to bring him back inside of her. She needn’t have worried; he quickly sat up and then his strong hands gently rolled her over onto her back.

Suddenly, he was between her legs; her son, her master, was now above her as her eyes fluttered open. It was dark in the room, the storm outside preventing any light, even starlight, from entering. Without realizing it, her hands were suddenly behind his head, and she could feel the heat of his body just inches away. He was between her legs, and she could feel the soft/hard head of his cock nestled between the parted outer lips of her cunt. Unconsciously, her legs came up to lock behind his back as he began to push into her. Each slow thrust drove him deeper, and she mewled at the pleasant sensation.

“You are mine now, aren’t you?” he asked. “You are my woman, and this is how I make love to my woman.” His thrusts were still deep and measured, but with each one, he began to speed up just that little bit.

“Yes, Antal, I am your woman,” she moaned. “I am your mother, your woman, your slave, your slut, or your whore. I’m anything you want me to be, just so you keep loving me.”

“I do love you, Mother.” It was the first time he had called her by that name. It sounded strange to her. Her man, mounting her as he was, brought them both the ultimate pleasure by calling her his mother. “I love you, and I will love you forever. You are mine, and this is where you belong.” And with his last words, he began to thrust into her vigorously, the spongy head of his cock banging against the rubbery, hard surface of her cervix with each push.

“Oh, Antal!” she moaned as she felt herself once again climbing that mountain leading to her climax. “Antal!” she screamed as her hands found his back and, with fingers digging into the sharp clefs of the muscle, pulled him down closer as she lifted her head and her lips eagerly sought his.

It was their first real kiss as lovers, and she almost missed it when, as their lips pressed together, he shuddered, thrust deeply into her, releasing his seed deep into her womb. As she felt his warm gift filling her, her own release took hold, and she broke her lips away from his, screaming. Her body trembled and vibrated as the waves of pleasure coursed along her nerves, causing her toes to curl and her heels to press against his buttocks in the vain attempt to drive him even deeper into her body.

Later, after he had rolled them over until she lay on top of him, she kissed and nibbled at his neck as they both began their slow descent into sleep again.

“I am yours,” she whispered sleepily. “You always knew that, but now I do too.”

“You will always be mine,” he confirmed as he pulled the covers over them. “And you will never go anywhere else ever again.”

Chapter 2

It had been two weeks since her final “submission,” and Ilona felt happier than any time since before she had been given to her first husband. She no longer felt like just another fisherman’s wife; she felt like a real wife: the kind of feeling every little girl dreamed being married would feel like but were mostly disappointed to find out it didn’t usually happen that way. Even though she still wore the collar of a slave, she felt like the woman of a man who loved, cherished, and provided for her. It was a heady feeling, and she enjoyed every minute of it as she drifted through the marketplace, picking up what was needed for the next few days. Antal had been gone for the last two nights but would be back that evening, and she was absent-mindedly daydreaming about what would happen later after they went to bed.

Her wanderings brought her to the end of the market that abutted the town’s auction blocks, the very same blocks she would have been displayed on if Antal hadn’t bought her privately through the court magistrate. Eregli’s slave market was relatively small since there was very little demand in the small city. Most locally procured slaves were either sold privately as Ilona had been or sent to the provincial capital of Corum or even possibly on to the imperial capital of Eskisehir where demand was higher as were the prices. On most days there were only three or four slaves chained to the blocks on display. Normally there were one or two unlucky seamen who had run afoul of the law while ashore, usually from drunkenness or inability to pay their bill at the local whorehouse. They would usually be picked up as extra hands by a ship in port and offered a chance to work for their freedom. Often, it was the same ship they had previously been attached to.

Other times one might find a burly farmer unable to pay his taxes although these were usually shipped inland for hard labor. Just as often it might be younger children sold by their families for the extra cash or the chance to reduce the number of mouths to feed. Most of these found positions of servitude in one of the richer houses of the local merchants or those in imperial service. Less often there would be women or older girls, but these normally went as private sales to the whorehouses or as concubines to the well-off in Corum or other larger cities.

Absently Ilona noted there were only two slaves on display today: a dark-haired woman about her own age and a younger woman ― girl really ― in about her mid-teens. Both were chained to the same block and naked except for their chains as all slaves were while on display. She turned to reenter the market when she heard her name being called.

“Ilona!” Ilona stopped and turned back. The call had come from the woman on the block.

“Barbala?” Ilona was shocked; it was Barbala! Barbala’s husband, Ferenc, had been a partner with her late husband, Janos, on a number of occasions, and they had become good acquaintances, even friends. Of course, Ilona hadn’t seen Barbala since her own enslavement, but that was to be expected. Ferenc had been one of Janos’ creditors and one of the primaries in the suit that ultimately led to her becoming a slave. It was unlikely that, even if she had wanted to, Barbala would have been allowed to associate with her after she had been bought. Ilona held no bitterness towards her former friend; the world is what it is.

“Barbala, is that you? What in the world are you doing there? Is that Catalyn?” Catalyn was Barbala’s sixteen-year-old daughter, a pretty young thing but spoiled and abrasive in temperament. It appeared slavery hadn’t changed that since, in addition to her chains, Catalyn also wore a gag tied tightly across her mouth.

“I’m afraid so,” Barbala sighed. “Ferenc lost quite a bit of money when Janos died ― not that the business was going very well even when he was alive. You knew they were losing money on every deal they made, didn’t you? Well, after Janos died, he started borrowing, trying to make it work, as if pouring money into bad business was going to turn it around. Oh well ... Ferenc wasn’t the brightest man around.” They had often joked between themselves that neither one of their husbands could win a battle of wits with a tree stump.

“Yes, but what happened, Bala?” Ilona asked.

“Like I said, he was pouring good money after bad, and it finally caught up with him,” she shrugged. “He began borrowing money to pay off the loans he’d lost ... Well, like I said, it finally caught up with him.”

“So why isn’t he out here instead of you?” she asked. In most cases, the party responsible for the debt was the one auctioned off if it came to that. In Ilona’s case, the responsibility had come to her after her husband’s death since she was the sole inheritor of his estate. Usually, the spouse and descendants of the debtor would be excluded from that form of punishment unless they could be shown to be equally involved in the decisions leading up to the debt. In Barbala’s case, any number of witnesses could have been brought to swear Ferenc allowed no meddling in his business by a “mere” woman; she should have been excused, destitute maybe but still excused and therefore free.

“The cowardly bastard killed himself last week,” Barbala hissed. “The eunuch wasn’t man enough to take his punishment for his own stupidity. The asshole even took the woman’s way out and poisoned himself! So with him dead and me the heir ... Well, you certainly understand. Here we are.”

Ilona nodded in complete understanding; then she had another thought. “But what about Catalyn, Bala? Certainly, she wouldn’t have been considered responsible for what happened?”

“Ah, yes. Catalyn, my darling daughter,” Barbala looked at the morose Catalyn with sadness. “My darling, precious, idiot daughter. Well, you know how she can be sometimes: quite a handful. She decided to have one of her screaming fits during the proceedings and so annoyed the magistrate that he fined her for contempt of court. Of course, she has no money, so ... Again, here we are.”

“I am so sorry, Bala,” Ilona said with genuine sympathy. “But you seem to be taking it well.”

“It is what it is,” Bala shrugged. “To whom am I going to cry? You? I could hardly do that considering it happened to you also. I’m told if they can’t sell us here soon, we’ll probably be sent up to Corum and sold to a whorehouse. At least I might actually get laid out of this. That piss-ant Ferenc hasn’t been able to get it up for years.”

“Oh, Bala,” Ilona held her hand over her mouth to hide the smile that came unexpectedly.

“Hey, what are you doing there?” came a shout from beyond the blocks. The city’s slavemaster strode up to them and looked down at Ilona. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t be talking to the merchandise and chasing off all my customers.” He noticed her slave collar and grunted disgustedly. “Shit, you’re just a slave. You can’t buy anything, anyway. Get on out of here before I tell your master and have you soundly beaten.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Ilona answered contritely as she lowered her eyes. “My master mentioned something about looking for household servants, and I stopped to see if these two might be what he’s looking for. I’ll be going now.”

“Wait!” the slave-master said quickly, then rubbed his chin. “Your master’s looking for household slaves, eh? Well, I’ll tell you what: There’s not much chance of selling these two around here anytime in the near future. In fact, I was going to go ahead and send them both up to Corum in the next caravan. If he wants a good deal, I can see what we can do. Prices even up in Corum aren’t that great nowadays, and if he buys now, I can save the freight, and I’d be willing to figure that into the price. When do you think he would be available?”

“He should be home this evening, sir,” Ilona answered respectfully. “If he is interested, I’m sure he could be down tomorrow morning.”

“Good. If he’s interested, have him see me then,” the slavemaster said dismissively and started to turn away.

“May I stay and talk to these two, sir,” Ilona said quickly. “Just to make sure they would be appropriate for his household?”

“What? Oh, sure. Talk to them all you want. Except that one,” he said, pointing to Catalyn. “The little bitch bit me this morning, and for all I care, she can stay gagged until she’s sold or drops dead, whichever comes first. The only reason I didn’t beat her to within a thread of her life was that I didn’t want to put any marks on her. But I was beginning to rethink that before you came along.

“I’m not selling any used boats here, so I’m not going to lie to anyone: That one is a real bitch, and she’s going to need some vigorous training.” Catalyn glared at him. “He’s going to wear out a number of whips on that one if he buys her. But hell, maybe he likes that. Takes all kinds. Have him come by if he’s interested. By the way, you can tell him I’m selling them together, not apart. I’ll give him a two-for-one deal, but I’m not putting up with that little cunt any longer than I have to.” With that, he turned and walked away.

“Your master might be interested in us?” Barbala asked Ilona after he was out of earshot. “Who is your master, by the way? I never did hear exactly what happened to you. I’d assumed you’d been sold up to Corum.”

“Antal the Smuggler ... My son,” Ilona answered, reddening slightly. She was sure Barbala would understand, correctly, that he had been bedding her.

“Antal? Antal the Smuggler? He’s your son?” Barbala said, looking at her expectantly as Ilona nodded. “I remember him; a sturdy lad if I remember correctly. I haven’t seen him for what... four years or more? He’s the one who bought you? That must be interesting. Is he good to you?”

“After I was suitably... domesticated,” Ilona said, reddening even more. “Yes, he has been very good to me. I don’t know if he will agree or not. I will ask him.”

“Ask him right after he cums,” Barbala chuckled. “They’re always more agreeable then.”

“I’ll... I’ll ask,” Ilona stuttered. “Until when, Bala? Hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow, but I have to go now.”

“Okay, Ilona, until when?” Barbala called to her retreating back. “And you tell him if he does buy us, we will be the best house slaves he could ever want.”

---

“Antal?” Ilona asked softly. Her head was resting on his chest, fingers idly playing with his chest hairs.

“Hmm?” he grunted, eyes closed and flat on his back. His homecoming hadn’t been anything exceptional. He had arrived just before evening meal, but his hunger was for something other than food. The meal was set aside for later as he took the master’s due from her body for the next hour and a half. Ilona certainly had no complaint as she loudly voiced her own pleasure through three orgasms. Twice she came as he took her forcefully from behind and then again as he lay on top of her, gently thrusting into her body as her legs wrapped around his hips, clenching him tightly.

She enjoyed being desired as a woman and no longer complained about any use he made of her. Not that complaining would have been acceptable in any case; she was still his slave and expected to accept whatever he desired. That she also found it pleasurable was only a bonus.

“Can I ask a favor of you?”

“You can ask,” he said without opening his eyes. “In fact, I’m feeling pretty generous right now. You felt wonderful tonight. I never thought I’d care one way or another about coming home to this after every trip, but I’m not ashamed to say I could get used to it.”

“I’m glad,” Ilona said, snuggling in even closer. She reached up and drew the hand that had been lying on her shoulder around until it was cupping her breast. “Not that it matters, but I enjoy it too.”

“Oh, it matters,” he mumbled. “Not that it would stop me, you hear, but I’m glad you also enjoy it.”

“I do, I really do,” she answered. “But back to the favor ... It’s a big favor, and I don’t know how you’ll take it.”

“All right, I’m intrigued,” he said, sitting up with his back against the headboard of the bed. He easily dragged her over until she was sitting on his lap and let his hands roam up and down her body as she moaned under his touch.

“Do you remember Barbala, Ferenc’s wife?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Faintly,” he said, looking down at her curiously. “Big tits, black hair; she always seemed nice, but Ferenc was almost as big an asshole as Janos.”

“You would remember her tits,” Ilona teased, but then moaned again as he cupped one of her breasts and gave it a firm squeeze. “Oh, that feels good. Anyway, I agree Ferenc was an asshole, but you’re right: Barbala was always nice to me. In fact, I’ve always considered her my friend, maybe my only friend. Well, I met her in the market today.”

“That’s nice,” he said noncommittally. “Or was it? She wasn’t nasty to you, was she, because you’re now a slave? I’m sorry to hear that, but there’s not much I can do about that.”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” Ilona hurriedly assured him. Quickly, she continued on to tell him of their meeting and why Barbala was now a slave.

“That’s a shame,” Antal shrugged. “Like I said, she was always nice to me, so I’m sorry this happened to her, but I still don’t see that there’s much I can do about it. It doesn’t surprise me that Ferenc was a coward as well as an asshole. It’s just a shame she got caught up in it also. Kind of like you, except I’m not sorry that happened at all. What’s this favor you wanted?”

“I’m glad it happened to me also,” Ilona smiled, hugged him, and then took a deep breath. “What I’m asking is if you would consider buying her. The slavemaster said the prices on slaves are very low now, and he’d rather not send her up to Corum, so he’d be willing to give you a very good deal.”

“What’s the matter?” he chuckled. “Am I working you so hard you need another woman around here to get the work done?”

“I’m getting everything done just fine, thank you very much,” she answered, slapping him lightly on the chest. “If I weren’t, I believe my master would have let me know of my failings until my bottom was so red I couldn’t sit down. No, it’s not that. But she was my friend ― still is ― and if I can save her from being sold as a prostitute in Corum, I would like to.”

“Well...” he mused, scratching his chin and pretending to think about it. “She was a fine-looking woman, and she did have those big tits...” Ilona just smiled and shook her head. “But do you really want another woman in your household? I mean, I just might decide she needs to be bedded too.”

“Your household, my master,” she answered with a small grin. “And what you do with your slaves is your will.” Still sitting in his lap, she stretched out her legs and gave a little groan. “Besides the way you used me, I don’t think I’ll be able to close my legs for a couple of days. Maybe having another woman around for you to ravage will allow my poor little pussy to recover now and then.”

He roared with laughter. “As you wish, my poor little abused slave,” he said, still chuckling. “If you want, I will talk to the slavemaster and see what kind of outrageous price he wants for your friend. But I warn you, if she causes any trouble, or you for that matter, I’ll sell her for fish bait quick enough.”

“Oh, Barbala would never cause any trouble, I promise,” Ilona said quickly. “But...”

“But what?” Antal asked guardedly.

“But she comes with a little something extra,” Ilona whispered, not looking up at him.

“Something extra? What is that? She has a third tit or something? Hopefully, she doesn’t have a cock too because that I’m not interested in at all.”

“No, nothing like that,” Ilona answered quickly. “Well, not exactly like that. No cock that I know of, but as for the tit... Not a third tit but two extra tits.”

“Okay, I’m intrigued again,” he said, scratching his head. “This I’ve got to hear.”

“It’s her daughter, Catalyn,” Ilona admitted. “He’s selling them together, as a pair. In fact, he said he’d give you both for the price of one,” she said brightly, hoping he wouldn’t delve into the reason why very deeply. That was one hope that wouldn’t be realized.

“Catalyn? I think I remember her,” he said. “Didn’t she come over a couple of times when Ferenc was over for dinner? A pretty little girl if I remember, but a spoiled bitch clear through to the bone. Treated me like shit even though she was only ten or twelve. In fact, she acted like I was some kind of fucking servant.” He paused and resumed musing, “I suppose that was to be expected since Janos treated me the same way.

“Anyway, why would she also be on the block? I can understand Barbala, but Catalyn should have been clear of that; she wasn’t the heir, was she? If she had been, then Barbala wouldn’t have been on the block.”

“Well...” Ilona hesitated for a second, sighed, and told him why Catalyn was also being sold as a slave. She decided to be completely honest and also told him about the gag and why it had been put in place.

“No shit?” he asked, laughing. “And you want to bring this hellion into our house? Why would I want to do that? I can see nothing but trouble in that future.”

“Maybe,” Ilona admitted. “I’m not so sanguine about it myself, but I really do want to help Barbala, and unfortunately, he was very clear he would sell them as a pair or not at all.” She paused for a moment and wiggled her bottom around on his lap, causing his cock to begin to fill with blood again.

“Are you trying to manipulate me with your feminine wiles?” he asked with a frown.

“Yes,” she answered with a grin. “Is it working?”

“Maybe,” he answered, breaking into a grin himself.

“It may not be so bad,” Ilona said. “Catalyn’s a spoiled brat ― of that there is no doubt ― but I believe with a strong hand ― and there is no stronger hand than yours, Antal ― she can be instructed in the error of her ways. If nothing else, maybe you can have her shackled and have Barbala beat her ass raw. That’s something that should have been done years ago.”

“I suppose,” he said, staring up at the ceiling, thinking. “Very well. I know I’m going to regret this, but I’ll go talk to the slavemaster tomorrow.”

“But you, my beautiful slave, will pay for this favor,” he said, pushing her down the bed towards his feet. “You will use your mouth to clean me up and harden my rod, then you will ride me until my pleasure is complete.”

“Yes, Master. A slave’s work is never done,” Ilona smirked as she scrambled to position herself between his legs. Grasping his quickly hardening phallus, she greedily guided it to her open and willing mouth to begin the less-than-onerous task of paying for her favor.

Chapter 3

Antal entered his house just before the noon meal with a scowl and was followed by his two new slaves. Apprehensively, Ilona met them at the door, wondering if something had gone wrong. Regardless of her son’s disposition, she rushed over to hug her friend.

“Barbala! You’re here!” she cried.

“Thanks to Master Antal,” Barbala sighed into Ilona’s shoulder.

“Did everything go well, Master?” Ilona asked, looking over at her son.

“Easy enough,” Antal answered with an exasperated snort. “As you said, the slavemaster was most anxious to be rid of these two. He didn’t even pretend to drive a hard bargain. I think if I’d held out for a while longer, he would have paid me to take them. The registration fees and taxes cost more than they did.”

“You won’t be sorry, Master,” Barbala said, releasing Ilona and walking over to kneel at his feet. “You have saved my daughter and me, and we won’t forget it. We are yours to do with as you please. I promise we will be the best slaves a man could have.”

“I’m already sorry,” he grumbled. “That one,” he said, stabbing a finger towards Catalyn, “can’t shut up! I swear if she bitches about one more thing, I’m going to choke her!”

“You wouldn’t dare!” the object of his displeasure shouted. “Mother, tell him! This has been a terrible mistake, and as soon as they realize it, we’ll be back where we belong!”

“Cat, dear,” Barbala soothed. “You must be quiet now. We belong to Master Antal now, and we must serve him as best we can. I know you don’t understand all of this, but it is the way it will be, and we must accept it. You just don’t understand how bad it could have been if he hadn’t graciously agreed to buy us.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t have really done that to us,” Catalyn said flippantly. “I know that horrible man said he would sell us as prostitutes, but that was just to scare us. I am far too beautiful,” she said, running her fingers through her long, coal-black hair. It was dank, dirty, and full of tangles now, but Antal could just see the little wench sitting in front of a mirror, primping. “Besides,” she continued, “Father had many suitors begging for my hand. One of them will come to rescue me once they hear what injustice has been done, and I will make sure they rescue you at the same time, Mother.”

As irritated as he had been with the little vixen who had begun complaining the very second the gag had been removed from her mouth, he began laughing uncontrollably, to the extent he had to stagger to a chair and sit down before he fell down. He just sat there chuckling at her seemingly unlimited ability to deny the basic truth of her situation.

“Stop laughing at me!” she shouted, stamping her foot, causing the pert young breast to jiggle under her shapeless slave’s tunic. “Mother, stop him from laughing at me!”

“Hush, Catalyn, please,” Barbala twittered ineffectually as she wrung her hands in front of her. “Please, Sir, she is just young...”