Centaur's Slave

Centaur’s Slave

By Elliot Silvestri

Smashwords Edition

Copyright ©2015 Elliot Silvestri and Green Bush Publishing

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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Contains adult material that might not be suitable for all audiences.

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Chapter One

She looks beaten down. Are you sure she’ll breed? The buyer was an oily, overweight man who was despised by everyone in the manor house. However, he was an expert at buying slave flesh and was respected for his abilities.

She’s the seventh daughter of ten sibs, the slaver replied. He was a bard man accustomed to hard deeds. His once black hair was fading to gray. She’ll breed.

Captured her in a raid, I suppose, the buyer sniffed. Raiding the outlands again? His disdain for the slaver applied only to his techniques, not his profession.

Not at all, Dorval, the slaver replied. I’ve gone respectable. She’s a fine piece of flesh. I bought her outright from her parents.

Dorval scratched at his ample belly and arched an eyebrow. She’s a little old for that, don’t you think? You expect me to believe you?

The slaver kissed his three right fingers—the pinky having been severed in a sword fight years ago—and raised them to the sky. My lips to the five gods’ ears. It’s the truth. She’s a miller’s daughter. He couldn’t afford her any longer.

A loud barking laugh issued from the fat man’s wet lips. I don’t believe you or your appeals to the gods. He half turned to one of the slaver’s assistants. Strip her.

That was a good sign. The slaver hid his smile under his hand as he rubbed her chin that sprouted a scraggly beard. The buyer wouldn’t want to see the slave’s skin if he wasn’t interested.

The girl—young woman, really—barely reacted when the assistant pulled the loose tunic from her body, exposing her to the men’s eyes. The slaver had seen many and more just like her. His eyes barely slid over the woman’s flesh. The buyer took his time, taking in every inch of her body, not for some lascivious purpose, but because he knew how to do his job.

The girl was tall, not extremely so, but it was notable. She was much more muscular than any city girl. She might very well have been a miller’s daughter and accustomed to hard work; that was good. The duke would appreciate a slave of good constitution. Her hair was blond, typical of those from the northern