Maiden

by Aishling Morgan

  In front of the platform two rows of seats had been positioned, evidently for the more important buyers. The white and purple robe of Izatak the imperial purchasing agent was visible in the second row, next to a hawk-faced man with a bald head and cowled robes of golden cloth who might possibly be a priest. In the first row of those standing stood Ayapan the merchant, flanked by the dwarven hand-leaders Karogan and Turilan. The merchant gave her a knowing smile, each dwarf a formal nod.

  To her side Crizac had stepped forward and was holding up his hands for quiet. A hush fell over the crowd, spreading slowly from the centre until the great square was mantled in silence, every eye of thousands fixed on Elethrine’s naked body. Pride welled up inside her to join her feelings of shame and anger - pride that perhaps four thousands of men and women should be feasting their eyes on her and evidently judging her beautiful. She tilted her chin up another degree, her determination to show no weakness growing with the new emotion.

  ‘Parcel one-hundred five,’ Crizac announced loudly, ‘a magnificent girl-slave of barbarous Mund, golden haired, white skinned and as beautiful as the dawn. She has but twenty years and is firm and resilient of flesh. Regard the beauty of her lips and nose. Wonder at the colour of her hair, both of head and pudenda. See the fullness of her breasts and how they stand proud of her chest. View the roundness of her hips and the soft swell of her sex. As she turns and bends you may marvel at the magnificence of her bottom.’

  Elethrine stayed still, ignoring the cue to flaunt her most intimate secrets.

  ‘She is virgin in both cunt and anus,’ Crizac continued, bringing the blood automatically to Elethrine’s cheeks, ‘as you will see when she displays her full beauty.’

  Again Elethrine ignored him, then winced at the pain of a spear point being jabbed at her bare thigh. Reasoning that they would hardly damage her if it risked lowering her price, she maintained her haughty stillness.

  ‘So,’ Crizac announced, throwing her a brief glare of fury, ‘who will bid for this paragon of exotic beauty? May I ask one hundred Imperials?’

  A gasp swept over the great throng at the opening price, many faces showing instant disappointment. Several had raised hands though, including both Ayapan and the priest seated next to Izatak. The purchase agent himself remained aloof, merely making a mark on the slate in his hand.

  ‘Two hundred Imperials?’ Crizac called, at which the majority of the raised hands fell, but neither that of the priest nor Ayapan.

  Elethrine stayed absolutely still, trying to keep her mind from the horrors of being sacrificed in some heathen temple. It was a better fate than slavery, but only marginally and she wondered if she might not later have the opportunity of breaking loose and going down in honourable combat.

  ‘Three hundred Imperials?’ Crizac enquired.

  Several more hands dropped, leaving only Ayapan among those standing. The priest was still bidding, as were three evidently rich men in the front row. A motion caught Elethrine’s eye, Crizac moving to speak into her ear.

  ‘For the sake of your life display yourself!’ he whispered urgently. ‘The hawk faced man is Grauzod, high-priest of Belime, god of war. If he takes you your fate will be horrible beyond measure!’

  ‘So be it,’ Elethrine replied quietly although her lower lip was trying to tremble.

  ‘Fool girl!’ Crizac hissed and turned back to his task. ‘May I ask four hundred Imperials?’

  Two of the wealthy men lowered their hands, each shaking his head regretfully. Then Ayapan shrugged, smiled at her and also lowered his hand.

  ‘I will pay four hundred and fifty,’ the priest spoke, his voice a bass croak which sent a shiver through Elethrine.

  The remaining rich man lowered his hand, his face showing a distinct flush of fear as he turned and caught the eyes of Grauzod.

  ‘The bid rests at four hundred fifty, with his venerance Grauzod,’ Crizac said. ‘May I ask more?’

  For a moment there was silence. Crizac’s voice had held a trace of pity and Elethrine found herself choking back tears yet remained absolutely still.

  ‘The throne pledges five hundred,’ a quite voice spoke.

  ‘The bid rests at five hundred, with the imperial throne,’ Crizac said. ‘May I ask more?’

  Elethrine turned her head, unable to resist favouring Izatak with the smallest of smiles.

  ‘Five hundred and fifty,’ Grauzod spoke.

  ‘Six hundred,’ Izatak responded calmly.

  Grauzod shook his head, gave Izatak a cold look and sat back. Elethrine felt a tension drain from her body that she had not realised was there. Relief flooded through her, overwhelming her feelings of shame and exposure. Suddenly exhausted, she allowed herself to be led to the side and chained to a post that also held two Oretean maidens, beyond, other posts stretched around the curve of the Pelucidome, each with its chained group of girls, nymphs or livestock. Hers was the last post, and she had a clear view of the platform.

  Talithea was next to be sold, and, like Elethrine, she was given no opportunity to disrupt the sale. Chained to the pillar, stark naked with every exquisite curve of her body on display to the vast crowd, she nevertheless maintained an air of regal calm that made Elethrine swell with pride. She also refused to pose on cue, merely tilting her chin another few degrees into the air.

  The bidding followed a similar pattern to before, rising quickly beyond the reach of all but the most wealthy. Again the cruel Grauzod attempted to win the bidding, and again Izatak coolly pushed it beyond his means. Finally Talithea sold for six hundred and fifty Imperials, a sum that had the assistant auctioneers in a froth of delighted calculation.

  The Princess had shown no emotion whatever, but, as her chain was unclipped from the post she suddenly hurled herself forward. The gesture was hopeless, yet Elethrine could not resist a yell of encouragement. Talithea landed across the front row, having aimed apparently for either Izatak of Grauzod. In any case it was the priest who she struck as the chairs of the front row collapsed. The guards were moving even as her teeth sunk into Grauzod’s arm, and they had grabbed her in the next instant. She was pulled back, spitting and thrashing, leaving half a dozen of the highest nobles of Vendjome sprawled unceremoniously on the ground and Grauzod with blood streaming down his arm.

  Four guards were needed to drag her to the fixing post, and when she arrived Elethrine found her friend’s eyes full of a berserk fury that faded only slowly once she had been fixed in place.

  ‘Well struck,’ Elethrine said quietly when Talithea seemed a little calmer.

  The Princess made no reply but gave Elethrine a blood stained grin. Both turned at a sound from the crowd, finding that Aisla was now being led out onto the platform. At the sight of the maid’s sleek figure and heavy breasts the crowd gave a great sigh of appreciation. Aisla shook her hair out around her head as she stepped forward, again drawing a deep murmur from several thousand throats. Crizac once more took his place, spoke quickly to Aisla and began to describe her virtues, although his audience seemed barely to hear. When the cue came to display, the maid, instead of remaining aloof, turned slowly and without loosing a single iota of her elegance, bent forward slightly to allow a view of her bottom and a glimpse of the pursed rear of her tuppenny.

  ‘She is a slut, your maid,’ Talithea observed, her insane rage gone as swiftly as it had come on..

  ‘True, yet it is her right as lowborn,’ Elethrine responded, ‘and I wish her well, if only she may escape the attentions of Grauzod.’

  The bidding rose with even more vigour than it had before. The five hundred Imperial mark was passed with a dozen men still in contest, and four remained when it reached seven hundred, a level which the overheard whispers of the junior auctioneers indicated was unheard of. An enormously fat man in a splendid robe of vermilion silk back out at seven hundred and fifty, leaving Izatak, Grauzod and an elderly man whom Crizac had been heard to address as Jandrum.

  Izatak shook his head and made a mark on his slate as Grauzo
d called out seven hundred and seventy-five. Elethrine felt a lump rise in her throat and gave a desperate signal to Aisla. The maid nodded to Crizac, and at his approach whispered in his ear. The master auctioneer moved to unshackle her wrists, reattaching her to the post from her ankle chain. Free handed, she turned again, once more presenting the crowd with her neatly rounded bottom. Parting her legs, she bent at the waist, exposing every detail to the audience. Her angle left her tuppenny thrust straight at Izatak, who gulped and hurriedly changed whatever mark he had made.

  ‘Eight hundred,’ he spoke.

  ‘Eight hundred and twenty-five,’ the Jandrum called hoarsely. ‘Even the hair of her cunt is ginger!’

  ‘Eight hundred and fifty,’ Grauzod put in, his face contorted with a strange, vicious lust.

  Aisla put her hands back between her legs, spread the lips of her tuppenny between two fingers and, quite shamelessly, began to masturbate.

  ‘Nine hundred!’ the Jandrum shouted, his bloated face purple with lust.

  ‘Nine and twenty-five,’ Grauzod hissed.

  Aisla swung her dangling breasts and pulled her back in to ensure a yet finer view of her open buttocks and tight pink spot of her anus between them.

  ‘Nine hundred and fifty,’ Izatak said, doing his best to remain calm.

  ‘Nine hundred and seventy-five,’ Grauzod snarled, ‘and beware my curse man.’

  ‘Better you beware the swords of the Imperial guard,’ Izatak answered. ‘One thousand Imperials for the flame haired wench, good Crizac.’

  ‘The bid rests with you Lord,’ Crizac answered.

  ‘Then I say one thousand and twenty!’ the Jandrum called out.

  ‘Then I call one thousand and forty!’ Grauzod snapped.

  Aisla, who had been masturbating with a lazy, lascivious motion more intended for display than bring herself to a climax, began to rub faster. Moving the hand that had been holding her sex lips open, she let them close around her finger, then reached back. The crowd watched spellbound as she extended a long, slender finger, put it to the tight hole of her anus, rubbed and then quickly popped it inside. Elethrine heard her maid groan as the pretence of masturbation became real.

  ‘One thousand and fifty!’ the Jandrum declared.

  ‘One sixty!’ Grauzod countered.

  ‘One thousand, one hundred!’ Izatak yelled, finally abandoning his cool as Aisla started to come.

  Her knees bowed. The muscles of her buttocks and thighs tensed. Her open, wet vagina contracted to expel a dribble of juice. She screamed and pushed her finger deep up her bottom and her anus squirmed around it. Her finger dabbed frantically at her clitty. She screamed again and then it was over and she was slumping to the wooden boards of the auction platform while the crowd stared in absolute silence.

  ‘At one thousand, one hundred gold Imperials, sold to the crown,’ Crizac said quickly before any of the bidders recovered themselves.

  None objected and Aisla was led, grinning to the holding post where she joined her mistress and the Princess.

  ‘You are a wanton little slut - but you did well,’ Elethrine addressed Aisla as the maid’s chain was clipped into place.

  The formalities were quickly concluded and then Izatak came to claim his purchases. These also included two Oretean girls and a magnificent negress from central Cypraya, which discovery fractionally dented Elethrine’s pride at her sale price. Evidently the Imperial purse was deep and it was a matter of pride that the most beautiful girls should grace the seraglio of the Panjandrum.

  Chapter Six - Slave

  With both Imperial and Pelucidome guards covering them with spears and loaded crossbows, the girls were unchained and thrown gauzy pyjamas. These did little to cover their bodies, but Elethrine scrambled into hers gratefully, the decision to go down fighting abandoned now that the peak of tension of being sold was past. Their chains were replaced with light fetters of pure gold. These joined their wrists in front, with leashes of fine chain running to wide holding rings.

  Izatak the purchasing agent took hold of their chain rings and set off, three guards falling into step behind him. Elethrine followed, full of chagrin and embarrassment. The gauzy pyjamas were only fractionally better than nudity, leaving her body visible for all to see. Glancing to Talithea, Aisla and the other girls, she found that if anything the pyjamas drew the attention to breasts and buttocks, enhancing but not concealing.

  They were led out of the square and through the city, the crowds parting before the guardsmen and stopping to stare at the beautiful captives. Elethrine caught several remarks on her body and those of her companions, each making her blush. Jokes were also passed on the shape of their bottoms and breasts and questions asked as to the price they had fetched.

  After what seemed an endless march they reached the palace, a vast structure of pink marble topped with roofs tiled with pure turquoise and domes of verdigris covered copper. A broad flight of steps fronted it, running up to a colonnade among the pillars of which stood groups of strange looking men. These wore yellow robes and were characterised by a uniform flabbiness of flesh and looseness of feature. It was towards them that the girls were led. At the head of one group was an older, stouter individual, his robe bordered with crimson.

  ‘That is Apod, the chief eunuch,’ the purchasing agent announced. ‘It would be best to show him respect, as he will have direct control over you in the seraglio.’

  ‘He shall never control me,’ Talithea spoke up for the first time since the sale, neither that nor the fight having apparently cowed her spirit.

  The purchase agent merely laughed and saluted the chief eunuch, who returned the greeting with a self important nod.

  ‘I believe the barbars are to be taken straight to the Presence,’ Izatak said, handing the golden leashes to Apod.

  ‘That is the case,’ Apod replied in a pompous tone.

  Izatak left without a word, taking the other girls with him. Elethrine and her companions were led into the palace of the Panjandrum of Vendjome. The colonnade gave onto a wall, its marble surface covered in a thousand intricate carvings, some showing scenes of a martial nature, some of what appeared to be religious significance and some of erotic acts in a detail that sent the blood to Elethrine’s cheeks. A high door of beaten and polished copper inlaid with gold opened in front of them, a squad of Imperial guards at either side standing rigidly to attention as they passed.

  ‘Speak no word to the presence,’ Apod instructed as they were led along a great corridor paved and walled in a marble of delicate pink veined with gold.

  ‘I am the daughter of a king and I speak to whosoever I please!’ Talithea spat.

  ‘It is unthinkable that a mere slavegirl should address the presence directly!’ Apod retorted. ‘Should you do so you will be whipped.’

  He said it with a spiteful malice that told Elethrine that he would greatly enjoy the task. At his belt hung a quirt of braided leather, perhaps the length of her fore arm and with a snake-tongued sting. It was stained black at the handle and along the last foot of its length, stain that she knew would have come from the sweat of its users and victims respectively. It looked painful, while its resemblance to the dog whips used in the keep added a pang of shame to the thought of having it applied to her bottom. Not only that, but there seemed little prospect of the eunuchs allowing them to retain what little modesty their pyjamas of flimsy gauze afforded. Indeed, she could see no reason why they would not be whipped nude, as they had been stripped before. Once more it looked as if Talithea’s hot tongue might get them into difficulties.

  At the threat of whipping the Princess went quiet, giving one nervous glance at Apod’s quirt and then putting her chin up bravely. Elethrine put her head up as well, determined not to seem weak in front of her companions. Ahead was a gigantic door, as tall as the great gates of the keep and worked with fantastic carvings. To either side stood guards, massive, bearded men wearing the now familiar uniform of the Panjandrum’s personal guard. These were eviden
tly the elite of the elite, both stern, muscular and the tallest men she had seen in Vendjome, their spiked helmets reaching as tall as Aisla.

  They paid no attention whatever as the eunuch and the three girls approached, not even deigning to glance at what Elethrine knew must be a display of breasts, bellies and legs as enticing to men as it was shameful for girls. A short flight of steps led up to the door, which Apod climbed to smite the door with his staff. There was a pause, and then the door swung slowly open, the Chief Eunuch pulling the girls back into motion with a tug at their chains.

  Elethrine mounted the steps as the doors opened, moved by some unseen mechanism the existence of which was betrayed by the groan of pulleys and counterweights in the wall. Ahead was a vast chamber, set with pillars supporting the ceiling and a great dome the apex of which was perhaps twenty-five men’s height above the floor. She found her mouth opening in awe and closed it quickly, instead looking staunchly ahead as they were led into the chamber. On all sides inlays of turquoise, malachite and cinnabar decorated the walls, set in intricate webs of gold to no obvious pattern. Fountains stood to either side, crystal clear water tinkling into marble basins, the sound mixing with the light laughter of the numerous courtiers who lounged on great pillows of coloured silk. Their dress was as extravagant, and to Elethrine’s mind, vulgar, as was the setting. Brilliant colours abounded, viridian; copper-gold, fuschia and vermillion most notably. Even the gauzy tunics and pyjamas of people who were clearly slaves looked rich and exotic. These were mainly girls, with a few effeminate youths among them. Without exception the females exuded sexuality, their oiled limbs and naked or near naked breasts and buttocks showing a languid sensuality. Elethrine swallowed hard as she realised that her own gauzy pyjamas left her no more decent.