Desire's Slave

by Delilah Devlin

  Suddenly, yellow-green phospher-light illuminated the room. Drago found himself face-to-face with a very large, very angry woman—if the fierce scowl that pulled her black brows together was any indication.

  Drago forced a nonchalant grin. “How may I be of service to you, ma’am?”

  “You son-of-a-bitch,” the dark Amazon screeched, then rammed her fist into his bare belly.

  As Drago struggled to catch his breath, he realized he was in real trouble. He’d bet all the gold in his pocket that he was staring at one of Calandra’s friends. Another escaped convict who looked ready to commit murder.

  “Mary dear,” the male voice said, “have you blown off enough steam yet? We need to get down to business.”

  The woman atop Drago growled. “Five minutes. Just give me have five minutes.”

  Drago grimaced, expecting more of the woman’s powerhouse blows, and knowing it would be foolish to deflect them.

  Her scowl grew darker, but she shifted.

  His arms were freed. Not knowing if the man held a weapon, Drago kept his arms at his sides.

  Straddling him still, the woman sat back, preparing to climb off. She halted suddenly, her eyes narrowing, and then delivered another breath-stealing blow to his abdomen. “There’s more of that where that came from,” she warned. Finally, she climbed off the bed, leaving Drago to grit his teeth against the pain and nausea.

  When she straightened, she looked over her shoulder at the man holding the phospher-pot. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just—”

  “Mary, I’m very proud of your restraint,” the dark-haired man said with an amused drawl. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

  Mary’s hands fisted on her hips. “Darak, don’t you go tryin’ to sweet talk me. I’m still gonna have a go at him. I just want him to be able talk out of that pretty mouth before I break his jaw!”

  Drago lurched to the side of the bed.

  “Look out!” Mary yelled.

  Drago held up an arm to keep her back as he bent over and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor.

  *

  “Time for us to prepare for the auction, Cal-andrrra.”

  The trilling of the r’s in her name jerked Calandra from her sleep. Reminded she was in Arturian territory and lying on a sumptuous, velvet-covered mattress. And most depressing, Drago wasn’t going to rescue her.

  She pried her eyes open and found a young woman with a sweet smile standing next to the bed. With long sable hair and large brown eyes, there was no question of the girl’s pure Arturian heritage.

  Fahgwat, Calandra remembered. Her roommate. And another of today’s “offerings”.

  “How can you be so happy this early in the morning?” Calandra asked, knowing she was sounded churlish.

  “The sun shines brightly and now that you are awake, a lavish meal will be delivered to our room.” The woman’s sing-song voice, as sweetly soft and girlish as its owner, made Calandra feel guilty for being grumpy.

  She rubbed a hand over her eyes and sat up. It wasn’t the girl’s fault she didn’t appreciate the velvet and gilt opulence of their cage. “Fahgwat, your name must not have a comparable translation in the Universal Language dictionary. I’ve never heard it before.”

  Fahgwat’s face beamed with pleasure. “My father named me for a flower that grows between rocks near my village.”

  “Must be lovely,” Calandra said dryly.

  “Oh, it is. Fahgwati are small flowers with slender purple leaves—almost the same color as the gahna I am to wear today.” Fahgwat spun away to lift two lengths of sheer fabric from the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.

  “You brought that with you?” Calandra asked.

  “No, it was a gift from Mogi. He wished us to be properly attired for the event.”

  At the mention of the auctioneer’s name, Calandra bristled. The small, rotund man had taken one look at her the previous evening and gasped in dismay. “She is sun-burned! And look at those freckles—this is a disaster!”

  Mogi had continued his diatribe until Calandra had smiled sweetly. “And my hair hasn’t seen a stylist in three years. Since I’m such a disappointment, I’ll leave. Can I catch a transport to New Australia from here?”

  Mogi’s avid gaze settled on hers, and his thick lips stretched into a wide smile. “Such fire I see in your eyes. Silly girl, I will transform you into a perfect little flame.”

  Calandra’s bravado gave way to panic. “And if I tell you I don’t clean up any better?”

  His expression turned nasty and threatening. “You must trust me in all things—and obey. You will thank me later.”

  Calandra hadn’t thanked him yet. She’d been glad for the bath, but would have preferred to do the honors herself.

  Instead, five women had attended to every detail of her appearance. After they had held her down to remove every bit of body hair with a floral-scented cream, Calandra hadn’t bothered to resist the exquisite attention to her hands and feet or the haircut. But the soak in the bathing pool with all five scouring her flesh to remove desert dust and the upper layer of her epidermis had left her skin feeling raw and flushed.

  But still, she hadn’t resisted. Until now. Fahgwat held up a flame-colored gahna. “I’m not wearing that handkerchief—it’s transparent!”

  Fahgwat looked disappointed in her reaction and lay the outfit down. “But the red will be so beautiful with your golden hair.”

  “No fucking way.”

  “That is the same thing the black girl said when she was brought in. Doesn’t she know her good fortune?”

  Calandra’s heart stopped. Black women weren’t a common sight in Arturia.

  “A black woman is here?”

  “She is a goddess! And not black at all,” Fahgwat said excitedly. “Her skin is the color of roasted coffee beans. She is tall as any of the Hazar’s personal guard. And her arms are tree trunks.”

  Mary! She’d been kidnapped too. Calandra’s heart sank. “Fahgwat, can you take me to her?”

  “We must dress first. If Mogi finds you outside this room without your gahna—”

  “All right, all right.” Calandra held out her hand for the outfit. “Just how are you supposed to wear this thing?”

  *

  As Faghwat led her down a long gilt and red marble hallway, Calandra tugged the edges of the sheer fabric strips that bisected her breasts. Although common attire for the offerings, Calandra doubted the designer had taken a woman of her proportions into consideration.

  At least Fahgwat’s top covered the small globes of her breasts. Her purple strips appeared demure despite the transparency that revealed the dark circles surrounding her small nipples.

  Calandra’s on the other hand covered only her areoles. With the bulk of her breasts bare, she felt flabby and grotesque, despite the many admiring glances she received from the guards they passed.

  She tried not to think of what was revealed of the lower half of her body. The gahna was comprised of two pieces of fabric. One part fashioned into bands that covered her nipples and was tied in the back. The other was a large square that wrapped around the hips and was pinned with a gold brooch at one side, leaving the length of one leg bare.

  Again, Calandra’s square was the same size as Fahgwat’s. The extra cloth draped in folds to shadow Fahgwat’s denuded mons. On Calandra’s wide hips, however, it was stretched taut. “I may as well be naked,” she grumbled.

  “The dark one is in the bathing chamber.” Faghwat pushed open the door and Calandra entered to find a crowd of women, dressed in groomers’ white tunics, circling a long wooden table. Stretched across its surface was a naked Mary Grogan.

  Calandra approached, her heart beating loudly, wondering what sort of reception her old security force teammate would give her. After all, she had been responsible for one of their fellow prisoner’s death.

  Mary’s gaze landed on Calandra. “C, do you know what they wanna do to me?” she asked incredulously.<
br />
  So relieved there was no censure in her gaze, Calandra’s eyes welled and she bit the inside of her lip to stop from smiling.

  The groomers appeared fascinated with Mary’s dark hair and skin, for they touched her—everywhere.

  One of the groomers brushed her fingers through the thick hair that covered Mary’s mound. “It is wiry, like a Spiny-Mole.”

  Another tested the texture. “We will have to trim it before we can use the smoothing cream.”

  Mary glowered at Calandra. “He’d better be worth it.”

  “The Hazar will be very pleased,” said a woman holding shears to the thatch of pubic hair.

  “Who?” mouthed Calandra.

  “That muscle-headed fool who brought you here,” Mary hissed.

  “That worm! Ooh, what I wouldn’t give to get my hands on his—”

  “You got it bad girl.” Mary shook her head, pity in her expression.

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” Calandra hotly denied. “But how did you meet him?”

  “Let’s just say my fists had a meeting with his mind. By the way, he says he’s sorry.” With the sound of scissors snipping away, Mary continued, “I just don’t know what you see in him. That is, besides his having a butt that could crack a walnut.”

  “Who said I saw anything in him?” Calandra realized the groomers’ ears were perked to their conversation because all other conversations had ebbed.

  “You wouldn’t have stepped a foot outside the Pirate’s Cove with him if you hadn’t been interested.”

  “She has a point there,” said the woman applying the hair-removing cream to Mary’s armpits.

  “He tricked me!”

  The one with the scissors paused. “You mean you let him trick you.”

  “He took me against my will!” Calandra protested loudly.

  “Against your will?” Mary snorted. “C, you sure about that? That man doesn’t act like you two only had a kidnapping between you.”

  Calandra looked around the room for support, but every face held conviction. Angry that no one believed her, Calandra snapped, “Enjoy your bath!” and then exited the room.

  Behind her she heard, “Perhaps it is just as well she will have a new master.”

  *

  After Calandra walked off her pique, she regretted losing her temper with Mary, and over the slave trader! But by the time she had returned to the bathing chamber, her friend was gone. She’d hoped for a few moments alone to say goodbye. The chances of their ever seeing each other again past the sale were small. And she still didn’t know how Mary had come here or if more of their “sisters in time” had been captured as well.

  Just like she’d never get the chance to say goodbye to Drago. Why she should care eluded her. But he’d said he was sorry. It didn’t change a thing about her circumstances, but it was a balm to her wounded heart.

  Seated in chair in a long line of chairs facing a mirrored wall, Calandra waited with the other offerings to be called to the stage and wondered where Mary was. As groomers raced from one woman to the next, combing and applying light applications of makeup, the sounds of music and the low rumble of masculine voices sounded from the other side of the wall.

  Wishing her reflection luck, Calandra was as ready as she would ever be, but she kept an eye trained on the door for Mary’s entrance.

  “Are you ready, little flame? The sale starts momentarily,” Mogi said, as his reflection stepped beside hers in the mirror.

  Little flame? Calandra restrained a laugh—the top of the man’s head didn’t reach her shoulder. “Is there still time for me to make that shuttle to the minefields?”

  He ignored her half-hearted attempt at humor. “Would you care for something to drink?” he asked, laying his hands on her shoulders and gazing at her reflection in the mirror.

  “Does it contain alcohol?” Calandra asked in a brusque tone. She didn’t like the little toad. With an apologetic shrug, she reminded herself that as the proprietor of the auction house, he had a lot of influence over her fate. “Sorry, Mogi. I’m a little nervous.”

  Mogi smiled, his expression condescending. “I will see to your drink in a moment. Just remember what I told you earlier. There will be men in this audience who will purchase a surly girl for the more vulgar entertainments.”

  Calandra shuddered at the thought of an S&M house procuring her services for customers. “Just tell me again what I have to do to attract someone looking for a concubine.”

  Mogi patted her cheek approvingly. “Be yourself. Play with the audience.” His hand dropped to her breast and he lifted its weight in his palm. “Let them see your inner passion.”

  Calandra willed herself to accept his touch. “How will anyone see my inner passion when I’m only walking across a stage?”

  Mogi closed his hand around her breast and squeezed it painfully hard. “Perhaps I didn’t describe the process fully.”

  As she held his gaze, she pried his fingers away. “What did you leave out?”

  Ruddy color washed over his cheeks and his eyes glittered with excitement. “Women who wish to promote themselves prove their passion to the audience.”

  “Do you mean I have to screw one of them?” Calandra’s voice rose.

  “No, no,” he said with a reptilian smile. “The men are not permitted to have intercourse with the offerings. They may place their hands on you to test for firmness or the texture of your skin and hair.”

  Calandra felt the heat of outrage rising to her cheeks. “You expect me to submit to strangers? I don’t like being touched, unless I invite it.”

  “It is up to you, my dear. They cannot molest you—but you can touch yourself. If you are clever, you will keep them so mesmerized, they will not think to touch you.”

  “I’ve never performed solo like that before an audience. I don’t think I can,” she said flatly.

  Mogi’s smile disappeared and revealed the desert asp behind his smarmy mask. “But you will.”

  She lowered her eyes and prayed for control of her temper. “I’m afraid,” she said, hoping to fool the man with a little feminine reluctance.

  “Ah…now there is a problem I can solve.” Mogi held up a hand and snapped his fingers.

  A groomer approached with a glass filled with a frothy pink concoction.

  “As you wished. A little cocktail with Arturian wine. This will relax you and help you be yourself. Let the drink take the edge off your fear.” He pushed the drink into her hands.

  After a glance around the room to assure herself others were partaking of the drink, she tipped the glass into her mouth. It tasted like strawberries and hard candy. “This is nice.” Calandra took another gulp. “What’s it called?”

  “The Passionmaker.” Appearing satisfied she was enjoying her drink, he said, “I must see to the comfort of the other offerings.” He tapped her nose with his finger. “Passion will earn you a kinder fate. I predict you will be the diamond of the sale. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  Calandra watched him as he left and took another drink. The foam melted in her mouth, tingling as the bubbles popped. She swirled it on her tongue for a moment before tilting her head to let it slide down her throat. From her mouth to her belly, warmth spread over her and she relaxed deep into her chair.

  Behind her, she heard Mogi calling the first girl to the stage in the next room. She tried to imagine what would happen when her turn came with a hundred or so male gazes stripping her as she walked along the runway, into their midst. Would they really try to touch her?

  Sighing, she crossed her legs and kicked her foot slightly, back and forth, while she watched the other offerings as they dressed. They were lovely, and for the most part, Arturian. In various stages of undress, they giggled and joined in animated conversations, while they slid their gahna around slender hips. Small, ripe breasts were harnessed in fabrics the colors of the rainbow. Calandra noted their pebbled nipples, and her foot swung faster. The tip of her tongue itched deliciously, and she rubbed
it against her upper teeth.

  The fabric that banded her own breasts seemed suddenly to constrict, and her nipples strained outward, as well. What’s with this? My breasts are budding too, and I’m not excited to be here! She pressed a hand to one breast and kneaded it, but the contact didn’t soothe.

  Then she realized the motion of her foot was sliding her inner thighs together, generating a heat that rose to her core. Her hips flexed of their own volition. She shifted in her seat, bit back a moan, and then repeated the motion to grind her crotch against the nubby upholstery beneath her. Moisture pooled between her legs.

  “Bloody hell, I’m getting turned on!” Distressed her body would betray her now, Calandra felt a rising panic clamoring as heat spread to every nerve ending.

  A dark hand landed on her arm, and Mary’s voice broke through the red haze of her rising passion. “I sure as hell hope you didn’t drink that go-juice, girl!”

  Chapter Eight

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  Calandra stared at Mary, who stood behind her in the mirror. Mary’s areoles were small with hard tips that sprang against the yellow fabric that covered her breasts. Calandra’s mouth watered, imagining her tongue flicking the distended points.

  What the hell? Even when they’d helped each other out in prison, she’d never lusted after Mary. She shook her head to clear the image. “Go-juice? You mean that pink drink? I think it’s making me sick.”

  “It will definitely be poisonous to your will-power,” Mary said. “I held it in my mouth for a second. Soon as it burned, I knew what it was and spit it out. Had something like it on Moldan once.”

  Only half listening, Calandra noted the lower half of Mary’s garment didn’t conceal the shadow of her newly mown pussy.

  Mary snapped her fingers in front of her face. “Wake up, C! It’s an aphrodisiac. Mogi gives it to the girls who might cause him trouble.”

  Calandra’s hand crept into the slit of her skirt. “That bastard!” She palmed her moist pussy and shuddered. “Christ, I need to come.”

  Desire was so keen it twisted her belly. She opened her eyes and saw that her face was flushed, and her lips swollen where she had tugged them between her teeth.