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Yielding To The Centaur
Elliot Silvestri
Copyright © 2016 Elliot Silvestri and Green Bush Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this work 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. This work is a fantasy; in your own life be sure to follow safer sex practices.
All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
Table of Contents
Centaur’s Slave
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…