Revenge under a lucky star

Chapter 4

He is dead. So am I.

The plan was very simple and structured.
Step one: Grow hair back. Almost accomplished, since I had stopped to shave the day I first met Cohn. Now I began serious grooming. The normally dull, matted mass was transformed into my original unruly shimmering chestnut locks that invited touches.
Step two: Change duties. More of a challenge. As a precaution I kept my best tunic at the stable. The next time master appeared, I quickly changed clothes, ruffled my hair, obeyed his demands in my best submissive behaviour and flirted just the tiniest bit. He noticed me. I registered that he came for the next ride after a week, which was unusually fast. Then another three days later.
Third time's the charm.
His new fucktoy, Timmons, had a hard time competing with Cohn. I pitied him, because he stood no chance at all. It was like drinking week-old beer after champagne. Master used his other slaves frequently these days, though as it seemed seldom more than twice. So one night, three months after Cohn's death, Timmons had to sleep in the cells, and I was summoned.
Step four: Seduce him. I bowed, than waited for the command to strip. He still sat behind his desk. I doffed my tunic as nimbly as possible. I knew this was a crucial moment. After all, even though I had been considered handsome, I was twenty years old, way past my master's preferences. What Timmons didn't know, though, contrary to me thanks to a firsthand informer, were some particularities. So, after presenting myself, I approached my master, sank to my knees, and softly (always softly) asked:
"May I speak, master?"
He was taken aback by my boldness, but maybe also a bit fascinated.
"What is it?"
I had calculated that I had three sentences before he would lose interest - or patience.
"I am grateful for this evening, master. I very much wish to show you all my skills to please you, but I fear that my master will be bored with me if I perform like all the others. So I thought, maybe master wants to try something - more?"
He was not hooked yet. But the game wasn't over.
"What did you have in mind, you little whore?"
I dared to lean nearer. I stretched so my mouth almost touched his ear and whispered my hot breath onto his skin.
"Would my master like to spank me? I get red quite easily, and it was said I squealed quite nicely! I would love my master to punish my dirty little ass, and then fuck me until I scream. Would you like to whip me? You could mark me as yours. I will cry, or I will scream, or just try to be quite like a good little boy. Whatever you want, master. Would you like me to lick your feet, every time you want, all of it, thoroughly, cleaning them with my slutty tongue. Or maybe you want to see me bound like a sacrifice..."
"Stop."
Success, audible and visible.
We started with the spanking. It had been less ridiculous when I had been twelve, considering my height now. But I squirmed, and wriggled, squealed and sobbed as advertised, and he nearly came from that alone. The fucking hurt, though I had prepared myself. It was very hard to get aroused, but I had to, since I had promised a world-class pain-loving little slut. I fantasised about Cohn, which did the trick. Didn't mess up the names, either.
He called me two days later, this time it was the whip. He wanted me to be brave. Of course he knew I could only take so much. He didn't follow through, completely, I think there was some habitual barrier. Depending how long our game continued, it would wane.
When I was summoned the next evening, I had the privilege to clean his feet with my tongue. Gods, he really followed my script. I was curious what would happen when we reached the end.
When I encountered Timmons on the corridors, he cast sullen looks in my direction. After all I was a groom. Maybe the boy had really liked being masters pet.

Sure.

Maybe he was scared to be sold. More likely. I did not tell him.

Chapter 5


Within ten days I had achieved to become the masters new fucktoy. Timmons had to yield his pallet to me, which annoyed him to no end. He had tried to emulate my special services but could obviously not compare to me.
Within another three weeks the opportunity I had prayed for presented itself. The master's family had departed that day for the country. Since Copius had some business to finish up, he planned to follow them in a day or two. On another level that meant that he would spend the whole night with me, which might have been the real reason he delayed his trip.
Never have I awaited a master as eagerly as that evening. I feared he would be too drunk and brought to his official bedroom, or would choose another slave this night, or summon me to another room. Then I firmly banished these thoughts.
I had lit the fire in the hearth. The ropes were already fixed to the bed. I had laid out the whip and a gag. The deep red wine he liked so much was breathing in the decanter. Besides it stood a smaller bottle of grappa. I was bathed, oiled and ready.
My mother had been right, I was born under a lucky star. My master appeared even sooner than I had hoped. I attended him immediately, cooing and panting over the honour he bestowed upon me, eagerly slobbering his feet. His voice was hoarse as he commanded me to the bed, let me lay face down, fastened the ropes. Though I could not see him after that, I imagined his greedy hands taking up the whip.
"Master, please, don't gag me tonight," I whined, knowing full well that it had the reverse effect. This time I would scream as loud as possible.
He whipped me enthusiastically, opening barely scabbed wounds and adding several new ones, but the oils I had used numbed the burning so I did not pass out. When he tired, he dropped the whip, removed the gag and accepted my many thanks and begging for his wonderful cock to fill my dirty, slutty hole. He fucked me after he released me from the ropes, and I did my best impressions of passion for him. After that he was almost out. I offered him some wine, which he downed while playing with my nipples, squeezing and pinching. I moaned and tried to sound excited. Then he fell asleep.
I had put a light sleeping potion into the wine. I wanted him awake for the important part, after all. I waited for maybe one candle mark, then carefully bound him with the ropes. Next came the gag, sufficiently salivated by me. At that time he came to his senses. I saw in his eyes that at first he thought I was playing a game; he looked annoyed. The fear started, I think, around the time I showed him the branding iron with his own mark.
Looking down at him as he began to scream, quite muffled by the gag, I felt the urge to explain myself while retrieving the sharp, thin knife I had secured under the bed the day before.

"I want to thank you, master. Thank you for being so vile and degenerated that I don't feel any guilt or doubt. Thank you for being so gullible and predictable that my plan had a chance to succeed. Thank you for ripping my heart out. Sincerely thank you that I will soon be reunited with my love.
I will pray that you will survive this, so no other slave has to die in retribution. What you do afterwards is not in my power. I hope you take your own life, but somehow I doubt it. Farewell, master."

His screams reached new dimensions when I first gelded him, than sealed the wound as expertly as I could as I had done with the stallions that had been mutilated during my years as a groom. It was time for the grappa; I drank two glasses to be sure.
The branding iron was hot to hold, and I handled it with two rags. He had passed out by then, which was fortunate because otherwise he could have lost an eye due to head movements. I placed it on his right cheek, as I remembered he slept on the left and it didn't really matter. The stench almost made me puke, but I managed.
Then I opened the door, screamed for the guards and healers, and sat down on a padded chair for the first and last time in the three years I had belonged to his household.
The poison, which to obtain had been step three, cramped my stomach. With my last awareness I saw the first guards arrive, shouting at each other, at me, frantically and inefficiently tucking at their master on the bed.

Cohn, here I am.