"Suck it, elf, or I'll make you suck off every man in this building, free and slave alike," the second slaver said.
With a miserable groan, Danica started sucking. It wasn't easy with Mikem continuing to work up her body. Her insides were a fluttery, hot mess. She felt herself moving closer and closer, and was beside herself with shock. How could she enjoy what they were doing? Was the room enchanted to make slaves enjoy sex?
"I'm going to fill your mouth with cream, elf. You better not let a single drop escape, or I'll make you lick it off the floor."
Her eyes popped open. That aspect hadn't occurred to her. Now she had no option. Danica steeled herself as both men began to hump more frantically. Knowing they were about to come pushed her to the brink.
"Oh…yes," Mikem groaned, thrusting into her all the way and holding it as he emptied himself inside her.
Danica trembled. She was ready to explode, but was trying with all of her might to not come. She didn't want to give them the pleasure of forcing her to orgasm. Then the other slaver came.
Danica's grunted with surprise as hot, viscous cum filled her mouth, flowed over her tongue to the back of her throat. Her master, the slaver, wanted her to swallow it. She wanted to spit. Danica swallowed.
I'm doomed, she thought. Intense tingling heat flowed into her thighs, and then her loins exploded. "Uuugghh. Hmmmmm."
They continued to slowly thrust into her, front and back, until they were milked dry and going limp. Danica sighed and crumbled into a heap when they finally released her. She struggled to regain control of her wits and body as they pulled their pants back up and discussed her "performance."
"She's very responsive," Mikem said. He pulled Danica to her feet by her hair, forcing her to arch her back as he looked her over, his free hand exploring her intimately. "I think we'll give her a little training. If she continues to respond so well, I'll send her to be trained as a Silk Slave."
Danica's head spun. Silk Slave training was six months of intense sex, mental conditioning, and magic. The magic was to ensure she had the right frame of mind, and to make the mental conditioning stick. If they had her trained as a Silk Slave, Danica knew it was the end of her. She'd never get her male body back and be Danic again.
"Bugger your ass, pig," Danica said.
He burst out laughing and shoved her into the arms of another slaver.
"Throw her in a cell," he ordered and departed, still laughing.
Through narrowed eyes Danica watched him leave. She was going to get her revenge on all who hurt her. Mikem was first on her list, right after Talar.
The burly slaver left holding her lifted her blonde hair to look at her ears and said, "Anu, me and you are going to have a little fun." His other hand roughly fondled her. "I like introducing women to their new life of submission and domination. You'll be my first elf."
He pushed her toward the door.
First, she was taken to a back room where two men waited. Her hair color was checked to ensure it was natural. Blondes being rare among the desert folk, she would bring a good price. A barrage of questions were hurled at her, which she answered in rising confusion as she was probed and prodded, measured and weighed. They were brutal in their evaluation, shameless in their examination of every inch of her body. Everything was noted in a large leather-bound ledger. An hour later they finished, handing a very flustered and shaking Danica back to her leering handler.
The dark, burly slaver took her by the wrist and dragged her, cursing and kicking, out the door. The look on his ugly face told her more than she wanted to know about what was coming next. They soon arrived in the entrance foyer, the wizened old doorman sitting in a chair alone.
"Hajir, you want some of the elfmaid when I'm finished?" her handler asked.
Hajir gave him a gap-toothed grin and nodded eagerly. Danica's groan of misery sent them both to laughing in wicked pleasure.
Pointing at a side door, Hajir said in his raspy voice, "Use the display room, Aaron. We can take turns on the girl and at door guard."
"Good thinking, my friend. What about the others?"
"If they want a piece, then they'll be back to get it."
"Please don't..." Danica whimpered, then stopped herself as she flushed bright red. Gods, now I'm begging, she thought angrily. "I'll kill you. If either of you touch me, I'll gut you both and leave your stinking carcasses out for the buzzards to feast on."
"Ha! She found her backbone at last," Aaron said. Then his face twisted in anger and he backhanded her . This time her knees did buckle. "I see your lessons in slavery will have to entail more than just lovemaking."
Hajir chuckled as Danica slowly picked herself off the floor. She kept her eyes downcast as much to avoid looking into their triumphant, leering faces as to hide the rage and self-loathing in her own. As yet, she hadn't put up any real fight against any of the many men abusing her. Never in her life has she been so docile.
Chuckling, Aaron interrupted her reverie by seizing her left wrist in a viselike grip, "It's time for — "
"No!" Danica cried, punching him in the groin.
She jerked his belt knife out of its sheath and thrust in deep into his lower belly, just below the protection of his mail shirt. Slicing sideways, she opened him up from hip to hip. His strangled scream caused Hajir to bolt for a back door, calling the alarm.
Aaron stepped back a step and pulled his heavy scimitar. The slaver glared at Danica in pain and hatred. He knew as well as she did that his wound was mortal. He didn't intend to die alone.
Danica didn't intend to die at all.
Hearing booted feet stomping towards the entrance foyer, Danica screamed all her rage and humiliation and charged the dying slaver. He quickly fell back, opening the way for her to escape. Racing to the door, she then threw the bolts and hefted the thick oak beam out of its bracket as Aaron slowly slid to the floor across the room. Pulling the door open, she paused just long enough to lock triumphant eyes with the slaver. She vowed he was only the first to pay for abusing her.
Slipping out the door, she turned left and ran for all she was worth. The cobbles stabbed at her bare feet, but the pain was nothing compared with what the slavers would do to her if caught. She turned into the first alley she came to, sprinting for the far end. Running out of the alley, she found herself in the middle of a well-lit street. Several rowdy taverns and brothels could be seen to either side of her, their patrons spilling out in drunken revelry as they went from tavern to tavern in their celebrations. Several began calling to her.
Realizing quickly that this was the last place a naked woman should be, she jumped back into the alley and knelt in the shadows. While warily watching the men and women passing by laughing, joking, and flirting outrageously. She considered her options. She didn't have many.
Angry voices from back down the alley caught her startled attention. Three shadowy shapes engaged in a heated argument could barely be seen at the far end. Finally two ran in opposite directions and the other started down the alley. The way the dark figure was poking through the trash and checking out each shadow and door told Danica her worst fears were coming true. The slavers were pursuing her.
If she bolted out into the street the drunken warriors would set up a chorus of shouts and offers that would alert the slaver down the alley. However, if she remained where she was, the slaver would definitely find her. Slavers were one and all considerably bettered armed and armored than herself. She gave herself little chance against one of their number, much less the score or so they undoubtedly had sent out to find her.
Throwing caution to the wind, she pushed off into the crowded street at a dead run. If she could get across fast enough, maybe, just maybe, anyone who saw her wouldn't have time to shout or pursue. But the Goddess of Chance was against her. Danica immediately ran headlong into a group of three drunken Jarland knights, leaving herself and one their number sprawled together on the cobbles.
The knight recovered first, wrapping thick arms around her squ
irming body. His fellows started bellowing in drunken laughter, calling out suggestions to their lucky friend. It soon drew the attention of most on the street, and the slaver down the alley. Casting a glance over her shoulder, Danica saw the shadowy figure running her way. With a cry of fear, she slapped an elbow across the laughing knight's jaw and wiggled out of his arms. Before anyone could respond, she charged into the alley across the street.
A quick look over her shoulder told her that the slaver was only paces behind her and gaining, and was one of the three Amazon slavers she’d seen in the foyer earlier. Danica tried to force herself to greater speeds, but only seemed to slow with exhaustion. Taara apparently wasn't one for exercising and keeping her body strong.
Stopping suddenly and ducking beneath the slaver's outstretched arms, Danica slipped on a piece of rotten fruit and fell hard. The slaver promptly kicked her in the ribs, repeatedly.
"Sleazy bitch! We'll teach you to kill one of our own!" she cried in a thick nasal Amazon accent. "Aaron was my friend."
Teary-eyed, Danica rolled to her back beneath the raging slaver, both huffing from their run. "He was a filthy slaver," she said, then drove her heel into the Amazon's groin.
As she bent over in pain, Danica rolled to her feet and brought a knee up into the slaver's face. The Amazon slaver went down with a grunt. Danica had an incredible urge to return the favor and kick the Amazon in the ribs, but she was barefooted and the slaver was wearing a steel cuirass. Instead, she stripped the woman.
Danica quickly pulled the black leather breeches on, and then the red cotton shirt. The shirt fit perfectly, but the breeches were a little tighter than she liked. The scuffed up black thigh boots fit reasonably well, and each had a throwing dagger of fine steel sheathed inside. Buckling on the wide sword belt with its straight sword and belt knife and purse, she regarded the unadorned, battered steel cuirass. It looked to be of good quality and certainly would come in handy, but would impede her if she had to run again. In the end she opted for the superior protection the armor would provide later if her fortunes should take another nasty turn. In any event, she could always sell the armor if she needed additional funds.
Heart racing, she quickly returned to the crowded street. At any minute she expected the other alley to erupt with angry slavers looking for her. Then with frequent looks over her shoulder, Danica walked down the center of the street amid the swarm of drunken warriors, relieved that she had made good her escape.
Danica soon found herself before the Ten Horses Tavern. She hesitated. Was Carl still there? It was too early for him to start worrying about Danic. Indeed, it might actually be several days before Carl began to wonder what happened to his friend. That aside, if Carl was there, how to convince him that the beautiful blonde before him was indeed his friend, Sir Danic of Drakehorn?
Gods, what have I done to deserve this.
Danica could think of no argument that would convince the huge, and occasionally quite volatile, Tyrian that she was Danic transformed into Danica. Indeed, Carl would probably recognize her as the last person Danic was seen with. She didn't care to think about what he might do to her in an attempt to force out the truth, or the truth as he could accept it.
"No," she muttered. "I'll go look for that sorceress."
But where? Where had the sorceress — sorcerer? Wizard, maybe? — gone? Was he still within the city?
First things first. She would get her horse tomorrow morning and then decide what to do next. If nothing else, the Amazon she just waylaid and her slaver friends would be looking for her. Her first priority had to be to find a bolt hole and hide. The city gates were locked up for the night, so getting her horse from the stables now would be worse than useless. It might draw attention to herself.
Glancing down at her shapely body, she ran a hand over a well-rounded hip, "Oh Taara, or Talar, or whatever you call yourself, I'm going to have bloody vengeance for this. By all the Gods, I swear it."
Chapter 3
"Where's the gray gelding that was in that stall?" Danica asked the stableboy, a swarthy young man. Her hand was tight on her worn leather bound hilt. "It was there just yesterday noon."
"A big barbarian took him this morning, my lady," he said, watching her warily halfway out the door. An enraged warrior was more than any stablehand could be expected to contend with. "It belonged to his missing friend or something."
Danica scowled at the young man a moment. She really couldn't push it. If he called the stable's owner, he'd learn it wasn't her horse either. Her interest would be difficult to explain.
Carl must have figured out something was amiss faster than usual. The big barbarian was actually pretty sharp, but his cheerfulness caused people to underestimate him. She decided he must have become alarmed when Danic failed to return after the romp.
He's probably tracking Talar right now.
"Did he say where he was going?"
"No, my lady."
Silently cursing her luck, she said, "Do you have any horses for sale?"
"No, but Jason does," he said. He visibly relaxed. Pointing down the street, "His place is that one on the left."
"My thanks," she said.
She counted her money as she walked. Her purse had several months pay. The Amazon slaver must have been something of a miser, or more likely had robbed someone who was now locked up in the House of Mikem's slave cells. She counted enough for a good, trained horse and gear, but not enough for any protracted stay in town afterwards, or for a long journey. If Talar was gone, then she'd have to acquire some money somehow.
The stables proved to be an unpainted, wood structure. From the street the weathered barn looked as if it was thrown together haphazardly. She could see gaps between the boards, and a number of missing shingles. The only sturdy looking structure was the corral.
Spotting the stable owner, she paused to fluff up her hair to hide her elven ears. The last thing she needed was for people to gawk at her. If word got out about a beautiful blonde elfmaid the House of Mikem was sure to come looking for her.
Jason proved to be an ancient, skeletal man with a permanent sneer. He looked as old, worn, and dilapidated as his stables. His fair complexion said he was either a Tyrian or Jarlander. He regarded her with what she thought was contempt for an overlong time. His long delay in acknowledging her request to see some horses grated on her already frayed nerves.
"Is there a problem, old man?" she said after his second head to toe inspection of her. The way he looked at her made her skin crawl. "I'm here to look at horses, not to be gawked at."
"You got the coin?" he said in a remarkably high-pitched voice. A Jarlander by his accent. Probably Western Jarlands.
Patting the heavy pouch hanging beside her sword belt's overlarge oval brass buckle, "And then some."
Grunting, he indicated she should lead with a wave of the hand. He followed her over to the small corral beside the dilapidated barn. A glance over her shoulder caught him staring at her butt as she walked. At the corral he became all business.
"See anything that interests you?"
She studied the half dozen horses closely. She was pleased to note that the horses appeared in much better shape than their home and master. All but one were mares. The bay stallion looked a bit young, but spirited.
"Has the stallion had any training?"
"He's fully war-trained, my lady," he promised.
Danica climbed over the fence and approached the stallion. He gave her a wild-eyed look for a moment, then calmed down at her soothing words. Danica was a knight. She was as much born to the horse as to the sword. She couldn't remember a time when she wasn't riding.
After caressing his velvety nose a moment, she pushed the long mane aside to ensure the crossed sword brand of war training was present on the left side halfway down the neck. But that alone proved nothing. She would test him.
"Have him saddled," she said. "If his training proves adequate, I'll take him."
At a signal from the stable owner,
two stablehands began saddling the horse. Danica watched them intently, checking to insure everything was done to her high standards.
She noted with satisfaction it was a good war saddle, with high pommel and cantle. Dyed black, it had a soft padded seat of red leather. There was no ornamentation.
When he was ready, she swung up into the saddle and dug her plain bronze spurs in before he could show his displeasure. She weaved him through the startled mares with ease. He responded remarkably well. Whether her commands came with the reins, or by shifting weight and knee pressure, he never hesitated. Then bringing him to an abrupt halt, she forced him into the first of many horse katas. She started off with a simple third level kata, then quickly started running him through more difficult katas. He performed the elaborate battle exercises with remarkable finesse. By the time she'd finished putting him through his paces, a small crowd of warriors had gathered.
Reining in before the still sneering Jason, "How much? For everything."
As his sneer twisted into a sly smile, she knew she was in for some hard bargaining. He didn't disappoint her. When it was over, he had replaced the saddle with a much shabbier one, and relieved her of the better part of her coin, but both parted satisfied.
Swinging into the saddle, she frowned. She had really wanted the war saddle, but didn't have the coin for it. She had to settle for a common steppe saddle with its low pommel and cantle. A saddle crafted to herd cattle. Not a good saddle for battle, but better than nothing.
She glanced at her hands, her face twisted with disgust. They were the delicate, exquisitely soft hands of a lady of high birth. Of a pampered sorceress. Damn Taara!
Her hands were still sore and red from the simple task of saddling the horse. Much more and she'd have blisters to contend with. She'd need to have protection.
After some searching, she found a shop that specialized in women's clothes. Trying on several pairs of leather gloves, she then tested how well she could wield a sword in them, much to the shopkeeper's dismay and alarm. In the end, she bought a pair slightly too small that didn't restrict her hands too much. She didn't like fighting in gloves and snug gloves were the best compromise she could come up with. In addition to the gloves, she parted with a few more coppers and bought a black felt, flat-crowned steppe hat with a braided leather head band. She would need the wide-brimmed hat for protection from the harsh sun.
The Elfmaid's Curse (The Elfmaid Trilogy Book 1) Page 5