Chapter Two – A Morning in the Forge

After Killertrees finishes getting dressed for his day’s work in the forge he summons tyki to follow him. The slave girl heels her Master, following behind him on the left. Her senses still keenly aware of his presence. She inhales deeply as they step into the sunlight in the backyard, and her nostrils are filled with the mingled smell of worn leather and the smoke of a wood fire. Killertrees leather tunic has protected his stomach and gut from the fiery embers in the forge for many years, the leather absorbing his perspiration and molding itself through frequent use to cloak Killertrees as if it were a second skin.

Killertrees unlocks the door of the blacksmith shop and tells tyki to bring in some fresh wood for the forge. Tyki loads her arms with wood logs from the stack beside the door and steps into the warmth of the forge. Killertrees has already opened the windows and light fills the room. The coals in the forge still glow hot from yesterday’s work as tyki sets the split logs next to the forge for Killertrees to feed into the hungry forge. She returns to the door of the shop and lifts the leather camisk from its hook and slips the supple leather over her head. Killertreees has always shown concern for the safety of his slave girl, the leather tunic protects soft flesh from the scarring hot embers of the metal-working that will be taking place today. There is much to be done to finish up the goods to take to the fair.

KIllertrees load the hard wood logs into the forge and points to the bellows. “Yes Master,” says tyki as she stretches up on tiptoes and grasps the handle of the large bellows. She slowly and deliberately draws the handle down and fans the flames in the forge, then releases her pull but keeps her hands on the handle, arms rising above her head, her belly drawn tight, the muscles in her thighs and claves stretching taut before she again slowly draws the bellows down.

Killertrees smiles as she watches the fluid movements of his kajira before turning his attention to finishing up some of the pieces he was working on last night. He measures the silver and gold chain lengths for siriks, the shorter, heavier iron chains for bindings and hobbles. He sits at his workbench connecting the chains to the shackles with connecting rings. He glances up from time to time. The heat in the room rises as the fire in the forge intensifies, the bellows breathing life into the fire in the forge. The girl’s flesh glistens with perspiration, fiery auburn tresses cling to the sides of her face. The leather camisk clings to her torso, rising up over the roundness of her bottom as she stretches up on tiptoe, the light tan of the tabuk leather darkening with the girl’s perspiration.

“That will do for now tyki,” he says and the girl lets the handle of the bellows rise slowly once more before releasing it. “Yes Master,” she replies.

“Finish packing up the bina and ribbons girl, then we will get started on the last items,” says Killertrees as he steps over to the forge with a bar of iron and his hammer. Turning on her toes tyki heads out to the front room of the shop, the area seen by most of the customers and gathers several small boxes with freshly fired ceramic bina and rep cloth packets of silk ribbons in rainbow colors. The bina have been tyki’s task for several months now. While kneeling at her Master’s feet each evening, her hands have worked and kneaded clay, mixing in various ingredients to create a variety of colors, forming the clay into beads and then placing them in the kiln to be fired overnight. Stringing the bina onto the ribbons will keep tyki busy on the trip to the fair and while at the fair while she assists her Master with his booth. She gathers these boxes and packets together and pack them into a worn satchel and carriest the satchel back into the forge room and sets it near the doorway.

The corners of Killertrees’ lips turn up and his gray eyes sparkle as he steps out from behind his workbench. “Okay girl, it’s time to finish up these last sets of sirik,” he says. The girl lifts the leather camisk up over her head and hangs it from the hook near the forge. She pads across the pressed dirt floor and stands before her Master with feet parted at shoulder width, her back slightly arched, her smooth shoulders rolled back lifting the fullness of her breasts between outstretched arms, her wrists extended for the manacles, as she waits for her Master to place her in full sirik bondage.

Killertrees picks up the first pair of fine steel manacles and a clasps them around tyki’s ankles, and then draws his fingers up along the curve of her clav, circling behind her knee as he stands back up and a shudder courses through the girl. Next he picks up a matching pair of bracers and fastens them around tyki’s slender wrists. The girl takes in a shortened breath as the cool steel wraps around her wrists, her thoughts momentarily jumping ahead to wonder about he girl who will eventually be locked into the sirik that Master is building. The steel around her ankles and wrists reinforces what she knows in her heart and belly, she is an imbonded slave girl, owned property, her Master’s beast. She turns her wrists within the bracers, the polished fine steel smooth against her wrists, she shivers slightly as Killertrees moves around behind her and slips the light steel collar around her neck, her knees nearly buckling as she hears the distinctive click that is the signature craftsmanship of her Master’s locks.

Killertrees chuckles to himself, he has noticed his girl’s response to be bound in sirik, even without the chains in place, his girl is captured within the very concept of being bound, her senses alive to every touch. Her nipples have swollen to twice their normal size.

Killertrees grasps a handful of chain and steps behind tyki, and let’s the length of chain slip though his fingers, playing out of his hand and gliding over the swell of her breast, finding the valley between ivory mounds of flesh, the chain trickles down over her belly and down between her thighs, forming a pool of fine steel between her feet. He turns tyki’s chin to the side and connects the end of the chain to a ring in the center of the fine steel collar. The fine steel chain shimmers as it hangs in the cleft of her breasts. Killertrees opens a link in the chain just below tyki’s navel, leaving the length of chain dangling from her collar, its cool caress brushing over her belly. Killertrees then wraps the light chain around tyki’s waist loosening the chain so that it slips down onto her hips, yet keeping it taut enough that it can’t slip down over the hips, and opens a link in the chain to size it. He adds a locking clasp to the ends of the chain. The clasp has a decorative ring on its face, through which Killertrees draws two more lengths of chain. The fine steel chain begins to take on a voice as he pools the lengths of chain between tyki’s feet again. He connects tyki’s wrist bracers to one length of chain and the ankle manacles to the other length of chain, temporarily biding the links with leather straps.

“Okay tyki, time to make the steel sing,” he tells the girl. “Yes Master,” she replies. She steps out into an open area in the workshop and begins by stretching out one arm and then the other, the steel links slipping through the ring in the waist chain. Then she reaches out with both arms testing the restriction of movement imposed by the chains. Killertrees snaps his fingers and she freezes her movements. He steps forward and shortens the length of the wrist chains by three links and then steps back and tyki continues the fluid reaching movements, her outward reach now shortened and restricted, the chain caressing the fullness of her breasts as she lifts her arms above her head. She spins on her toes and feels the heaviness of the chain draped between her legs to her ankles. As she stops her spin the chain swilngs lightly, swirling around her lag and a small pool of steel chain rests atop her feet. Killertrees snaps his fingers again and tyki frees her movements. KIllertrees shortens the leg chain significantly and then steps back and nods for tyki to continue. The girl strides around the workshop, the taut chains caressing and stroking her inner thighs, the shimmering chain dangling from the neck piece caressing the valley of her breasts. As she moves and the cool steel caresses her flesh and swings around her curves it begins to sing. The links of the chain gliding through the ring broadcasting her every move, yet as she moves, tyki can hear and feel there is something missing, a piece of the song unsung. As she turns on the toes of her right foot and sweeps her left foot out around and up she realizes what is missing and stops. “Master, the ankle bindings are not yet complete.”

Killertrees smiles and dangles a length of chain from his fingers. “Yes girl, I have it here, but I enjoy watching your move in sirik restraint,” he says as he moves forward and attaches the last length of chain. The links of the chain are deceivingly light and delicate, while remaining strong bindings. The rattle of the chains as tyki moves taking on a voice of song in celebration of bondage. Sunlight filters in through the window shimmering on the polished steel and reflecting around the room in dancing lights.

Killertrees summons tyki over to him and she presents each manacle and bracer to him to be unlocked. Finally she lifts her hair from her neck so he can unlock the neck piece.

The next sirik they work on is a traditional circular sirik. Wrist, ankle and neck pieces are locked in place, each piece having a small ring. Killertrees takes a long length of chain and draws it through the collar, the right bracer, right ankle manacle, left ankle manacle, then draws the chain through these rings, back up through the left bracer and then secures the ends of the chain. With the circle of chain completed, Killertrees steps back and nods to tyki to test the movement of the chain.

As tyki lifts her left hand, the chain glides through the rings at her ankles. She lifts her right hand and the chain clatters back through the rings. She turns on her toes and the loose chains swirl out form her torso, becoming a spinning circle as tyki extends her arms. As she lifts her arms above her head the circle narrows to an oval. As she slows the spin, the shimmering chain wraps around her supple curves. She murmurs as the grasp of the binding chains tightens around her. The caresses of the chains make her flesh quiver with its chill. The embrace of steel against silky flesh reminds the girl keenly of her Master’s grasp and ownership. As the chains slip from her curves, she sinks to her knees at her Master’s feet. She lowers her head to the floor and presses kisses to his toes. She sinks further into surrender and submission as she presses her belly to the floor. She parts her lips to suckle her Master’s toes. Her ankles and wrists crossed as if for binding. “Oh Master, your female beast feels keenly the depth of her slavery today. This girl is la kajira, your property, here to serve your pleasure. She submits fully at Master’s feet in Master’s chains.” She whimpers softly as she writhes at her Master’s feet.

Killertrees smiles as he strokes the girl’s hair. Her spontaneous declaration of submission warms him as he sees the girl’s openness to her full slavery and her submission and surrender. Indeed, she is truly slave in her heart and her soul.