Green, Sharon - Mind Guest.htm

by Mind Guest

to know. "For what reason do you concern yourself with the new slave?"

  "Master, I am merely engaged in preparing her for' you," sleek-voice

  answered, sounding a good deal less self-satisfied. "She will beg for

  the least attention from you, the smallest glance, the briefest touch."

  "This was not the reason for her purchase," the male voice answered,

  sounding annoyed. "Those fools at the slave market tell me they are

  unable to train her as I wish her trained, and have sent her sooner

  than she was to have come. They gave no reason for such hasty delivery,

  yet the reason is clear enough: they fear to face what for them would

  be failure. I, myself, will not allow such failure." The voice paused

  for a second and then said, "She seems unaware of my presence. What has

  been done to her?"

  "Master, she has been given a potion," sleek voice quavered, for some

  reason more frightened than she had been. "We are to continue with the

  potion, so that she will be...."

  "Unaware of her true fate!" the male voice snapped, wild with rage. "My

  enemies seek to take my victory from me, to turn its sweetness bitter!

  How is she to be properly trained if she is unaware of my existence?

  The potion is not to be given to her again, and I am to be informed

  when its hold begins to loosen upon her. See to it, slave."

  "Yes, master," sleek-voice whispered, and then I was alone in my

  wavery, need-filled world. It seemed to take a very long while, but

  slowly I began to be aware of the fur I lay on, the furniture and

  decorations around me, and occasionally passing people, a lessening in

  the need forced on me. I lay still with my eyes unfocused, resisting

  the urge to take a deep breath, coaxing my mind into working again. The

  thought that I'd been drugged came through for the second time, but now I thought I knew how it had been done. That sticking pain I'd felt in

  my shoulder when I'd struck the vair's saddle; a needle set into the

  stirrup pad could have done the work, and would have been in the

  perfect position todown anyone foolish enough to climb into the saddle.

  In order to put your foot into the stirrup you'd have to set your leg

  against the pad, and that would be it as far as staying conscious went.

  I'd been right in thinking there was a trap and in deciding against the

  vair; I just should have stayed farther away from them.

  My mind wandered for the next couple of minutes, and then it came back

  to something the male voice had said. Those slavers hadn't told anyone

  about what I'd done to their people, and they hadn't kept me for

  further training. I had a funny feeling that it was the golden-shirt I

  hadn't killed who had gotten me out of that training program. The dead

  guard could have been killed by accident as far as anyone knew, but

  there was no doubt about what had happened to the golden-shirt. The

  slavers wanted nothing more to do with me, but they didn't have the

  stomach to tell my present owner what I was really like. As paranoid as

  he was, he'd be sure they were lying in some sort of attempt to trick

  him out of what was his and then he'd take steps to get even. No, the

  slavers couldn't tell their good patron Prince Clero the unlikely

  truth, and if I had any luck at all, that omission would be my ticket

  out of there.

  Good old Prince Clero. My memory told me that it was his voice I'd

  tagged as the male voice; I'd just been in no shape to identify it

  sooner. He'd stopped his sleek-voice female slave from continuing to

  torture me, but I knew damned well that he hadn't done it out of the

  goodness of his heart. He had something special in mind for me and for

  the Princess Bellna knowing approximately where the slavers' training

  program had been going gave me some idea as to his bottom line

  expectations. It wasn't a pleasant thought, especially when you added

  in the hinting Dameron had done. The room I lay in was somewhat on the

  warm side, but I still felt a shiver touch me.

  "So you have come back to yourself at last," a female voice said from

  behind me, the woman I thought of as sleek-voice. I'd been aware of

  someone sitting behind me, and there was no sense in trying to pretend

  I was still under. I still felt sluggish, but hoped the feeling would

  pass quickly enough to keep from being a problem. I pushed myself into

  sitting with a small amount of difficulty, then turned to look at the

  woman.

  "I am indeed recovered," I answered, making sure I sounded frightened

  and uncertain, then spent a minute or two staring at the woman. She was

  a very beautiful blonde with gray eyes she wore the clothing of a woman

  of the upper classes. No chains, no skimpy little slave shift; a real,

  dark red dress and shoes, with plain jewelry and her hair put up. I let

  my expression show the confusion I felt and added, "What is this place?

  What is to be done with me?"

  "You will learn that in due time," the woman answered, rising

  gracefully to her feet. "For the moment you will do more than obey

  without question a133 she is prepared to depart, master."

  The last was directed to the man who was approaching us, a man dressed

  in thigh-length red tunic, heavy, lace-up sandals, thick leather wrist

  bracers and a sheathed sword. I might have considered his get-up

  laughable if he hadn't also worn the casually uncaring look of a paid

  sword and bully. It seemed highly probable that he was a guard, and

  when he reached down and hauled me to my feet by one arm, the

  probability became a certainty.

  "The Prince awaits this one with impatience," the man growled, looking me over with what seemed to be a practiced eye. "There are guests,

  therefore are you to follow as well."

  "Yes, master," the woman responded in a low, unhappy voice as the guard

  began hauling me along. The room we were in was relatively small, but

  it was also paneled in dark wood with touches of silver decoration and

  silk-seated items of furniture. The carpeting on the floor was thick

  and soft, and it led through a doorway to another room of about the

  same size, which was decorated just as richly. We passed through three

  or four rooms of that sort, but I didn't have the time for sightseeing

  the guard was in a hurry, and if he hadn't been holding my arm I would

  have been flat on my face any number of times. We finally reached a

  room smaller and barer than the rest, with two beautifully carved

  wooden doors standing closed in front of us, another armed, tunicdressed

  guard standing in front of the doors. The guard gripping my arm

  pulled me to a halt, then nodded to the other guard.

  "The Prince awaits this one, Ryskor," he said, raising my arm a couple

  of inches. "The other has been summoned for the guests."

  "Then she must be prepared," the guard called Ryskor answered, showing

  a faint grin as he looked at the blonde behind us. "Come to me quickly,

  little one. The Prince's guests must not be kept waiting.

  "Master, I am already prepared," the blonde quavered, fingers tugging

  nervously at each other as her eyes pleaded with the guard. "Rarely is

  a latecomer chosen to tend a guest, yet should I be chosen despite<
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  this, I will give such pleasure as has nevera133"

  "Ah, ah, ah," Ryskor interrupted with a wider grin, waving a finger at

  her as he walked toward a heavy wooden chair. "The Prince has decreed

  that no slave shall pass those doors without first having been. You

  will then strive that much harder for the privilege of giving pleasure.

  Come here!"

  The snap in the last two words made the woman jump, then started her

  toward the guard, who was sitting himself in the chair. When she

  reached him he took her by the waist and sat her down on his left knee,

  then put his left arm around her waist. One of her hands went to his

  shoulder and the other to the arm around her, but bracing herself did

  no good at all. As soon as his free and began rising under her long

  skirts, she shut her eyes and threw her head back.

  "Master, I beg pity!" she whimpered, moving slightly against the

  restraining arm around her. "I have not been used since last I was

  prepared, and I cannot resist your touch! Please do not- Oh! Oh, no!"

  I turned my head away so as not to have to watch the woman being

  "prepared," but I couldn't keep from hearing her pleading, gasping and

  struggling. They wanted her hot for the Prince's guests and hot she was

  made, none of them giving a damn how much she would suffer until she

  was taken care of-if she was taken care of. The guard holding my arm

  watched the proceedings with a faintly amused look on his face, which

  was a damned good thing for me; my hands had curled into fists below

  the wrist cuffs, and if he hadn't been watching the show he would have

  seen it. I just stood there staring at the beautifully carved doors,

  fighting to calm down enough to open my hands, aware of the trembling

  silence coming from the Bellna presence. She knew where we were as well

  as I did and the thought frightened her, but she could feel the fury

  inside me and was somehow comforted by it. If she'd had any sense,

  comfort would have been the last thing she felt; losing your temper in

  a dangerous situation is a good way of getting yourself killed, but I

  wasn't far from doing exactly that. I was out of patience with these

  big, strong manly men, and was waiting for nothing more than a couple

  of minutes alone to dump those chains. After that we'd see how big and strong they were.

  It didn't take long to get the blonde woman properly primed; the harder

  part was getting her calmed down enough to pretend that nothing had

  been done to her. It seemed to be part of the twisted game that she

  show nothing of the need forced on her, but it took both of the guard

  males to hold her until she stopped trying to reach herself. The thing

  that really bothered me was the fact that she hadn't once screamed or

  raised her voice to a shout during the entire incident, even though she

  had panted, mewled, struggled and sobbed without tears. Quiet hysterics

  were fine, but noise was out. That high a degree of conditioning made

  me sick, but it also began to disturb me. If that was what Clero did to

  female slaves as a matter of course, what did he have in mind for me?

  I was willing to consider the question academically on a cold winter's

  night some place far from there, but that sort of willingness didn't

  help me much. I tried fading past the guards while they were involved

  with the blonde, but they weren't involved enough to have forgotten

  about me. I was just beginning to believe it might be clear when a

  sandaled foot hooked the chain between my ankles and pulled hard,

  sending me down to the floor with a crash and a clank of chain. I broke

  the fall with my hands to keep anything else from breaking, but it

  still hurt to land on the wrist chains with my body. My guard came over

  and hauled me to my feet again, pushed me back toward the doors with a

  shove, then laughed when I tripped and went down again. I was pulled to

  my feet and then shoved two more times, finally being allowed to just

  lie there while the blonde straightened her clothing and hair so that

  she would be presentable. The carpeting was soft but the flooring under

  it was hard, and I'd been shown what trying to slip away had bought me.

  I hurt where the chains had repeatedly slammed into me, but that wasn't

  the reason I kept my head down. I felt so close to snarling it

  frightened me; what the hell had happened to the self-control I had

  started out with?

  I winced inwardly when I was pulled erect for the last time, then went

  along quietly in the grip of the guard. The second guard opened one of

  the doors for us and the blonde followed, walking stiffly with a

  ghastly smile on her face. She hurried as fast as she could, peering

  anxiously ahead to get a glimpse of the guest situation, then choked

  softly when she saw. There were four men with Clero and seven women

  dressed the way she was.

  If I hadn't been in the middle of that insane situation, the scene

  would have looked normal if not downright dull. Prince Clero stood in

  the center of the group, dressed in dark red and white, his sword and

  swordbelt and those of his guests clearly expensive and made for the

  upper classes. They spoke in light tones to each other and the women,

  who laughed appreciatively at the jokes and urged the men to try the

  dozens of dishes standing on a side table. Sight of all that food made

  me realize how hungry I was, but I was also able to see that none of

  the women were eating unless they were fed something by one of the men.

  Clero turned away from the others to see me, and his face suddenly

  creased into a warm, beautiful smile that made him look even more

  friendly and trustworthy than he normally looked. He continued smiling

  beatifically while I was dragged right up to him, then he half-turned

  and gestured for the attention of the others.

  "Come, my friends, and give me your opinion of my newest acquisition,"

  he said in a smugly pleased voice, his eyes still on me. "Is she not

  worth the price I paid?"

  The other four men left the circle of women to join Clero, and then

  five pairs of eyes glittered at me. I stood in the grip of the guard, trying to look suitably beaten down, but somehow I didn't think I was

  making it. I don't like being looked at like that, and my normal selfcontrol

  was still misplaced.

  "For one so young she is truly remarkable," one of the men commented,

  letting his eyes move all over me as he sipped from the goblet he was

  holding. "She also bears a striking resemblance to a certain high-born

  young lady of our acquaintance, and yet this cannot be she. That

  particular young lady would not have fallen slave."

  "Which is a fortunate thing," said another, a stout man with a

  slobbering leer. "Were she that particular young lady, it would be

  necessary for us to remove her from among the living, to spare her poor

  father the shame of knowing his daughter lived as a slave."

  Bellna began trembling at their thinly veiled threat, struck by the

  horror of her predicament all over again, and I showed everything she

  felt, making the men around me laugh in amusement. It was suddenly

  easier to act the way a hel
plessly trapped young girl should be acting,

  and that told me my previous trouble with controlling myself had been

  Bellna again stood with eyes downcast, trembling in the grip of the

  guard next to me, trying to figure out how Bellna had gotten to me

  without my knowing it, but I wasn't given the time I needed to

  understand what had happened. The men were enjoying their laugh at my

  expense, but the round and leering fellow had something else to say.

  "How gratifying that the slave makes no attempt to claim a falsely

  elevated status," he drawled, moving slowly closer until he was no more

  than inches away from me. "And how generous of you, my lord, to offer

  her use to us."

  All four of the men were suddenly closer, their drooling approval of

  that idea thick enough to feel, none of them aware of the stricken

  looks covering the faces of the eight slave women. Bellna's panic made

  me cringe back wide-eyed against the guard holding me, and Clero

  chuckled indulgently.

  "Your interest frightens the child, my friends," he drawled, getting a

  good deal of pleasure out of the flinching fear I was showing. "I may

  perhaps grant you her use later this day, should her training advance

  in a satisfactory manner. By then, however, you may no longer wish her

  use."

  The men's leers froze, and without their taking a single step they were

  no longer as close as they had been. A chill descended on the group as

  a whole, but Clero never noticed it.

  "She will, of course, be one of my special prizes," he said, his eyes

  still glued to me. "She will be taught to hate and fear sexual

  congress, and to find exquisite release only in the pain of the knife.

  Her lovely body will be made even lovelier by the scars of the patterns

  of pleasure - will it not?"

  He turned to look at his guests then, and they hastened to assure him

  that everything he said was true. The man beamed with pleasure at their

  agreement, never seeing that their blood was probably running almost as

  cold as mine. The sort of conditioning Clero intended was more than

  possible; with the right preparation and enough repetition, almost any

  woman could be taught to respond to a blade the way others responded to

  men. Sight of the knife hilt would bring on the stirrings of desire,

  unsheathing the blade would build uncontrollable arousal; the need to