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belt around my waist to which my wrists were manacled so I would be
comfortable on the journey, but hobbled my hooves together with very
little chain so I couldn't run even if I managed to remove the collar
which was chained to the side of the wagon. I was still wearing the
bit and bridle, and the only way to remove that was to have someone
remove it for me. My clothes, weapons, and armor were in a cubbyhole
in the Cerulean. Escape was a pipe dream.
That evening, as they were making camp and tending to the rest of
the slaves in the caravan, Syrin came into the wagon where I sat and
took off the bridle so I could speak, even though it wasn't feeding
time.
"How are you feeling, slave?" he rumbled, a toothy grin on his
face.
"As well as might be expected." His glare began to intensify, so
I quickly added, "Master." That satisfied him.
"Good," he said, grabbing the chain that held my legs together
and dragging me along the blankets, pushing me back so that I lay
down. He straddled my waist, sitting on me, sliding his long, thick
tail between my legs. I had no idea what he was going to do to me,
leaning over me, reaching with his clawed fingers for my chest.
He cupped his hands over my flesh, and ru
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