The Slave Palace: Wulf and Locke (Kingdom of Slaves Book 1)

by Wendy Rathbone

  a Kingdom of Slaves book

  The Slave Palace:

  Wulf and Locke

  by

  Wendy Rathbone

  The Slave Palace: Wulf and Locke Copyright © 2019

  by Wendy Rathbone and Eye Scry Publications

  A publication by:

  Eye Scry Publications

  www.eyescrypublications.com

  Cover by: Della Van Hise

  ISBN:

  TITLE: The Slave Palace: Wulf and Locke

  Author: Wendy Rathbone

  © All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced wholly or in part without prior written permission from the publisher and author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages. Neither may any section of this book be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or other, without prior written permission from the author, except as exempted by legitimate purchase through the author's website, Amazon.com or other authorized retailer.

  Address all inquiries to the author at:

  wrathbone@juno.com

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to give a special thanks to Della Van Hise for this book’s stunningly gorgeous cover.

  Also, a thousand thank yous to Christina E. Pilz for a wonderful beta-read of this novel.

  And last but best of all, another thank you to my partner Della Van Hise for help with formatting and uploading my books. I couldn’t do this without you.

  A Teensy Bit of Background Before You Start

  The Kingdom of Slaves series of standalone novels is set in a contemporary, fantasy version of Earth, present day, where the selling and owning of pleasure slaves is legal in most countries.

  Avilan is the largest and wealthiest country in the contemporary world. It has three hundred and twenty-one slave palaces. But the largest and greatest sits in the center of the capital city of Lirangel. The palace has its own helicopter pad, security force, computer internet, hospital, mall, and small college.

  There is no king of the Slave Palace. It is run by a board of trainers. The highest trainers, known as Eminent Masters, over-see all. They form a board of trustees who maintain the palace economy, its rules, and its ways.

  The Slave Palaces produce Avilan’s largest commodity. Pleasure slaves. While anyone may own a pleasure slave, only the truly wealthy can afford Slave Palace trained slaves.

  Untrained slaves are bought and sold in the marketplace every day. Some offer themselves willingly to be trained. Some are in financial trouble, or are criminals. Some are prisoners of war. The more violent offenders considered dangerous are sold as One-Night Thralls, meant to be sexually used in any way the owner decides before they are put down for the good of society.

  While societal rules demand pleasure slaves never be permanently harmed, One-Night Thralls are not subject to this law. It is, in fact, Avilan’s version of a death penalty.

  Chapter One – Locke

  “Parcival never cuts corners, I’ll give him that,” Malik said.

  Locke looked up at the towering building before him.

  New Venture Hotel.

  Not all pleasure slave brokers from the streets of Lirangel, the capitol of Avilan, were the same. Parcival had the best reputation for acquiring and dealing in the cleaner sorts. They included those who had nowhere else to go, or who were in extreme debt, but weren’t exactly criminals, addicts, or carriers of diseases and STDs most people in the civilized world had been vaccinated against.

  All of Parcival’s slaves were completely willing, choosing to give themselves over to training instead of going to prison, or in the case of debtors, to camps where they worked menial labor until their debts were paid.

  As an Eminent Master, Locke bought slaves from Parcival fairly consistently, and brought them to the Slave Palace to be trained and sold.

  The Slave Palace had just finished another round of its own auctions, and again there were rooms to be filled.

  “Yes.” Locke agreed. “A high-end meal. A free bar. Today he’s selling at the hotel’s wedding garden. The weather is perfect. He certainly treats his customers well.”

  There were slave brokers who dealt out of musty bars or smoky backrooms in tenements and warehouses. Locke had found some gems in those places, but he detested that scene. But this! This was more like it. And one of the better perks of his job.

  As Locke and Malik entered the hotel lobby, cool air wafted over their faces. It had a faint floral scent, clean and regulated.

  Lavish couches and lamps decorated the lobby. The floor was terracotta, pretty but not as luxurious as the Palace’s marble decor. Still, the hotel sat in the nicer section of downtown. The humming song of the casino to the right thrummed in his ears. Much as Locke enjoyed gambling, that was not where he was headed today.

  A sign at the front of the lobby greeted them.

  Parcival’s Extraordinary Slave Auction 2pm – 4pm.

  Main Wedding Garden

  Beneath the words, a large red arrow pointed the direction.

  Locke and Malik found their way easily. They’d both been to the New Venture many times.

  When they came to the garden entrance, a man in a black tuxedo with white gloves and a top hat took their entry tickets. A woman in a black suit and red tie then greeted them and showed them to their seats.

  Today everything was arranged like a formal banquet with tables sporting lacy white cloths, chairs with tall backs, and fondue fountains in the center of every set-up.

  Locke and Malik were given the choicest table, center-front, with the best view of the small white stage where weddings were performed, and on off-days, where slaves were sold.

  Malik smiled and rolled his eyes. “Oh my, I’m already bored.”

  Locke laughed. It was true Malik was jaded, but he was much more of a snob than Locke. He liked being spoiled. And he had a sadistic streak, enjoying the trembling and fear of new slaves who had no idea what was coming next for them.

  While Eminent Masters did not partake in training sessions as often as regular daily trainers, what with all the paperwork and meetings required to run the Palace, they were allowed to take on choice projects. They wouldn’t be Eminent Masters if they did not enjoy their work. And they were the best at what they did.

  Malik was not an Eminent Master, and still trained slaves every day. Locke preferred to oversee general training, and had not taken on a personal trainee in over a year. Neither Malik nor Locke were as bored or jaded as they often pretended to be.

  While they waited for the show to begin, Locke ordered white wine. Malik had a martini, shaken-not-stirred. He’d been a Bond fan from way back. He even spoke with a posh Bond accent, although it was faked. He’d perfected it back when they were in college together. These days, Locke was the only person who knew the accent was not authentic.

  More guests arrived. Wealthy businessmen and women, mostly, or freelance trainers looking for stock. Locke recognized two. They didn’t directly compete in business with the Palace, but they did all right for themselves selling trained slaves to the middle class.

  As long as your credit was good, Parcival did not care who he sold to.

  When the tables were full, appetizers came. The caterers kept the plates coming. Green salad. Vegetable soup. Quail. Red potatoes. Fresh sourdough rolls.

  Locke ate little. He mostly enjoyed his wine. And waited for the main attraction.

  Chapter Two - Wulf

  Wulf fought harder than he ever had in his life. But it was already too late. The chains were too thick. If he hadn’t been
bruised and exhausted, he might’ve outrun the slavers.

  Slavers.

  For that was what they were. Not soldiers as they called themselves. Not operatives. Not people who were trained in the dignity and art of being a warrior as Wulf was. No. Wulf had learned from school-age on, these were thugs. Kidnappers. And all they cared about was profit.

  Oh, they claimed Wulf’s country of Rille was an enemy to Avilan, that Rille sent terrorists to Avilan to do unspeakable deeds. Wulf had been taught this was propaganda. The truth as he knew it was all Avilan wanted when they came to another country to fight was new bodies to enslave and torture.

  Commander Auffit had taught all the men and women in Wulf’s unit well. Told them all of the evils of Avilan. Of the debauchery in the streets. The sex fiends that ran the country. Avilan citizens had no respect for themselves, or the sanctity of marriage and monogamy. Or the purity of virginity. Their actions were impure. Evil. He taught that Rille was a victim of the wealth and greed of a country filled with devils. All the lies and gossips about terrorists from Rille were an excuse for Avilan slavers to come into their little country and steal its citizens for profit and gain. Take them and make them into slaves. Pleasure slaves.

  What a concept! It was sick. Twisted. Wrong.

  But now Wulf was caught.

  Well, if there was nothing more for him than this, he could at least go down fighting. And maybe take a few of these evil bastards with him.

  Even chained, he had options. Strength. Force. Weight. He’d trained hard, learned that a fight never really ended. One could pretend to surrender, then play the long game. He would observe, distract, deflect. Wait for his moment.

  The slavers used box trucks with benches in the back to transport their prisoners to their base camp.

  As two men shoved Wulf into the back of a truck at gunpoint, one said to the other, “Watch that one. He went ape-shit on Bax. Broke his arm. And Pontrose is still unconscious in the med van.”

  “What happened?”

  “Crazy mother-fucker. That’s what happened.”

  Wulf had only defended himself. He wasn’t crazy. He was proud of the fact that it took half a dozen slavers to take him down and chain him. Gag him. It wasn’t just his size that intimidated. He knew precise moves. He’d practiced to be a warrior for his people since he was ten years old. It was all he could think to do to gain the approval of a cruel father. He moved fast. He thought fast. He had never lost a fight.

  “He’s a big one, I’ll give him that.”

  Now the man who spoke turned his full attention onto Wulf.

  “Hey, giant!”

  Wulf glared, every muscle in his body tense, ready. The gag in his mouth tightened as he tried to sneer.

  “Don’t you know,” the guy continued, “that you’re going to a better life?” Then he laughed. “What are you afraid of? Because you fought so hard, me and the guys here decided you won’t go to an ordinary prison.” He held out a tablet with some writing on it. “See here? We forged your papers with our signature saying you volunteered to be sold to the pleasure farms. You’ll be sold, trained, then sold again. All for pleasure. You’ll be taken good care of. It’ll be a nice royalty for us. A guy with your looks and muscles will go for a pretty penny. You’ll want for nothing.”

  Wulf wanted to scream. All he could manage was a muffled cough. These men were depraved, evil. Did they not know the sanctity of the body was everything? Did they have no shame? No sense of honor for the temple that encased human life?

  Obviously not. Avilanians had no souls.

  Avilan, Kingdom of Slaves, forced its ways upon the world. Besmirched the purity of the soul. Fighting them was his job. He had no other purpose.

  The back door to the truck slid shut on blue sky stained with smoke, a city burnt and ruined, the black silhouettes of dead trees along a range of mountains that turned purple at dusk.

  This was what Avilan did to countries that disagreed with their ways and fought them. He’d been told this. Now he saw it firsthand.

  Wulf’s last glimpse of his only home and the sacred lands he’d grown up in faded to darkness.

  Chapter Three – Locke

  Parcival, a short round man with tight red curls on the top of his head, took center stage.

  He wore a pinstripe suit that almost fit, and when he opened his mouth he sounded like a carnival barker.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome, welcome! All gather to see the greatest of slave stock, gathered from far exotic locales and as close to home as your own native city. Here you will find the tightest of virgins, the most obedient of servants, those looking to please and tease you, the shiniest, the prettiest, the finest in breeding, the strongest in stature. These slaves I am about to show you are untrained, it is true, but they are waiting to be molded by your very hands and minds, waiting to become the finest in pleasure you will ever know.”

  It was almost the truth. Parcival got his slaves the same way the seedier brokers did, by wholesale buying debtor contracts or the signed deeds of white collar criminals, or wheeling and dealing with the military for their prisoners of war. Or perhaps he even partook in the illegal gain of kidnapping by way of organized crime. Most brokers did. He simply liked to put on more of a show, and spent extra to show off his harems.

  Locke leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine.

  When Parcival was done with his opening speech, he waved at a curtained doorway to the left and behind the stage. The black velvet curtain shimmied. Something sharp poked it. Finally, it opened.

  A line of female slaves entered the room, all loosely chained in faux gold, their wrists bound, their necks collared.

  The women always entered first in Parcival’s shows. Naked and young. Wide-eyed and shy. Not the lewd sorts that came from backrooms on the seedier side of town. These were sold as true virgins, but Locke still doubted it. Where they came from—their histories—would all be in their paperwork. But for now, everything was about comportment, looks and health.

  To Locke they all looked far too skinny. But that could easily be remedied at the Palace where they would be served scheduled, balanced meals.

  Malik liked women better than men, so he would be the one to acquire the females today.

  Locke waited for the men. His forte was in training the males. They were often more stubborn and had a fight in them, but he enjoyed the challenge. And physically, he preferred them, their tight-muscled bodies, their hard cocks. Though he could take on female charges as well, and do the job, he’d always enjoyed the males the most.

  Malik took his time choosing who to bid on from the female line-up. He went onto the stage and examined close-up several of the slaves he would bid on.

  Satisfied, he came back to his seat.

  “I’ll be bidding on at least four,” he commented.

  Locke nodded, saying nothing.

  The men came next, and there were twice as many of them as there were females.

  Locke put his wine glass down and sat up.

  The first to cross the white wedding stage was a gorgeous youth with good confirmation and a big cock. The large nametag he wore around his neck said he was called Zale. Already, Locke knew from the man’s appearance that Zale would do well at the Palace.

  When Locke was a new trainer, still wet behind the ears, he took his laptop on buying excursions and made copious notes. Now as an Eminent Master, he knew pretty much at first glance who he was getting right away. He rarely went onto the stage to examine the prospects. And he memorized names easily.

  This first one, Zale, was a beauty.

  Two buyers approached Zale, handled him politely, then went back to their seats.

  The same routine occurred for the next twenty-three slaves.

  Locke made a mental note of six he would bid on before Malik leaned toward him and whispered, “You’re far too nonchalant today. Do you see nothing that intrigues you?”

  “They all intrigue me.” Locke turned to look at his friend. “They
all have stories, probably sad ones. But we only have room for so many.”

  “Yes, but you look far too bored. Don’t tell me you’re becoming like me, jaded and old.”

  Locke chuckled. “You’re old at 35? That’s pathetic.”

  “You’re only a year younger than me.”

  “No, I’m not bored. I just… the routines are all pretty much the same. I know my job and I do it.”

  “Yes, my dear, as I said,” Malik replied. “Bored.”

  After the men had walked off to wait with the women behind the curtain for the auction to begin, Parcival came back to the stage.

  “There is one last special item. I usually leave these items to the street dealers, but this one was too magnificent to pass up. Wulf is an acquisition I was lucky to come across from Avilan’s very own Special Forces unit. He’s from our enemy country, Rille, home to terrorist regimes to numerous to list and recently conquered as you have probably seen from every social media news source in existence. He is a trained warrior and was able to take down two Special Forces officers while chained and drugged. They both almost died. He is an amazing physical specimen of humanity, a beauty unclaimed, too dangerous to train, and it is such a waste that he must be put down. But before that happens, he is on the docket to be sold as a One-Night Thrall. All rules for the handling and fair treatment of slaves are forfeit with Wulf. I’m sure you all have customers on the side who favor this sort of item, so the bids on him will go high.”

  Parcival turned to the left of the stage. “So without further adieu, I give you Wulf!”

  The curtain parted and a large man in thick chains from ankles to neck, stumbled onto the garden path beside the stage.