He liked starting out slow so she took a delicate swipe at a drop, catching it on her tongue and pulling it into her mouth. He tasted salty-sweet. Another drop appeared so she repeated the lick and was rewarded with a small groan from above. Now she opened her lips and embraced the head of his cock. Her tongue darted forward while she held him there and flicked the sensitive spot underneath.
"Oh, that's good."
She'd worked hard over the last few years to please him as he preferred, and it hadn't been easy for her to take a cock without gagging, so praise was usually welcome. Tonight, though, she was just going through the motions and hoped he wouldn't notice.
She moved a little deeper and increased the suction before letting go to pull back and off. She pushed forward again, slightly deeper than the last time, and repeated the sucking. Over and over, she rocked back and forth, taking the velvety rod deeper and deeper each time until she had almost the whole length in her mouth.
Here was the real challenge. Master did not let her use her hands. They were clasped behind her back as he demanded. She pushed herself as deep as she could, hoping that she could overcome her natural inclination to gag. Sometimes she couldn't, and Master didn't tolerate refusing to take him all the way down. Her chin must touch his balls; that was the rule for all his slaves.
For Lydia, it took incredible amounts of concentration and willpower to do this. She loved pleasing him, so it usually gave her joy to be obedient to his demands. Unfortunately, tonight she was so preoccupied with worry that she gagged the first time she went deep. Master frowned.
"Lydia, concentrate. You should know better by now. If you can't do it, I'll have to take over."
She groaned silently. Not only was she having difficulty with her gagging, but if he was able to talk to her in complete sentences, he wasn't very aroused, and that meant she had a long way to go. She felt the tears gather in the corners of her eyes. If only she could use her hands, she would give him all the pleasure he demanded, and it wouldn't be as miserable for her!
That would never happen. He'd told her he loved what she looked like with her mouth impaled upon his dick as deep as he could get, so her hands stayed obediently behind her back.
It became apparent that tonight was not going to be a very successful night. The next time she went down, she gagged so bad she pulled all the way off. His expression darkened. She knew what was going to happen next, and she wasn't wrong. He gripped her head and pulled her forcefully onto him, holding her deep while she gagged and struggled. She didn't bring her hands around; the few times she'd done that he'd caned them as punishment. He pushed her back and allowed her one breath before pulling her deep again. She went into a private place in her head, one where she could retreat until he was done. There'd been many unpleasant things she'd learned to endure over her life, though sex was rarely one of them. Tonight, her fear chased away any hope of arousal.
She alternated between gagging and breathing and trying not to choke, over and over, until finally he stiffened and pulled her the deepest yet. He held her tight with her chin against his balls until she heard him groan and felt the warm sticky cum shoot into her throat. She swallowed it all; he didn't tolerate any spilling of that, either.
He finally let go and she fell back onto her knees. She let her head fall forward and closed her eyes.
"When you get back, we'll work on that, again."
She heard him get up. He placed a kiss on her head before he left, and a moment later, Lydia felt the soft hands of Bena offering a wet rag for her hot face. Bena mothered all the younger women, and though she would never say anything to make her master look bad, Lydia knew that Bena hurt for each of them any time they struggled.
The older woman walked Lydia back up to her tiny room and helped her into bed. She pulled the blanket up tight and gave Lydia a hug before turning out the light and leaving silently.
Later that night, Lydia gave up trying to sleep. She could no longer push the fear away and she let her tears flow in silence. Just about the only rule that governed the Service Week was that the slave could not be permanently harmed. Which meant physically. Mentally – well, it seemed no one gave a damn about that. She knew without a doubt that her marks would make her undesirable for anyone with money. She remembered in years past how she'd be relieved that some other girl had punishment marks, because it meant she, Lydia, would be safe from the very bottom of the bidding pool.
She finally gave in to the craving she'd thought she'd put out of her mind since the punishment, but which had just increased. She turned on the soft light by her bed and rolled over towards the wall. Down where the floor met the wall, she pried the baseboard loose. She stared at the item hidden inside as though she was deathly afraid of it, and then slowly, carefully, reached down to pick it up.
It was an Eluiim to Br'ini dictionary. She'd found it a year ago in the garbage and secreted it away for months before getting the courage to pull it out to study. Once she'd made the decision, though, she’d devoured it. Her mind had craved the challenge.
She refused to think about the penalty for knowing how to read a Br'ini book. Once, many years ago, a slave had been publicly executed for this very thing. All adult slaves were ordered to witness the execution. Lydia and her classmates were too young, but someone came to their school to tell them about it and warn them of the consequences. She, and many of her friends, had nightmares about it for a long time.
She stared at the book for a while, unable to open it tonight. The punishment had had the desired effect. Eventually she replaced it in its hiding place, turned out the light and drifted into an uneasy sleep.
Slaves for Rent
"Oh, come on! You've been down here for days, and I've been buried in paperwork until my eyeballs are bleeding. It's time to enjoy ourselves for a while."
James rolled his eyes at yet another litany of complaints from Raym. It had been a long day today, and James was ready to quit, but he and Raym had different ideas of how to relax.
"Let's go get a service companion."
James was sure he had heard wrong. "A what?"
"A service companion."
"For what?"
"What do you think?" Raym cocked a suggestive eyebrow. "They're young and pretty and usually very, very good at what they do."
Now it was James' turn to raise his eyebrows. "Right. I'm sure."
"No, really! Every slave takes a turn once a year, so none of them get used up or worn out. They're all fresh."
"They're slaves? You're going to buy a slave?" James gaped at him.
"Well, not buy. It's actually renting. For one night or up to seven."
"No! I'm not going to rent a slave who has no say in what happens to her!"
"You need to relax. They're born to serve us. It's what they crave. They're very happy."
"Have you ever asked one?"
"What? Why would I do that? Anyway, I'm going, whether you are or not. I need to get there early so the best ones aren't gone." He turned to leave.
"I'll go with you." James' curiosity was piqued. "But I'm not buying, or renting, anything!"
"You gotta promise to behave and keep your opinions to yourself."
"I promise."
The building was open and airy, a far cry from the seedy-looking building James expected. They stopped at the front desk where Raym presented his credits card and the young man verified he had sufficient funds to enter. James was given a thorough look-over but Raym assured the man James was his guest and just there to observe. As they entered a large room, James stopped in shock.
Positioned every few feet in rows of eight across, going back about five rows, were young women of all different shapes and sizes and colors. Most were young-ish; a few were mature. Each had a silver collar on and each wore a short dress of a different style. Each also wore a chain on her left wrist, attached to a small stand to the side.
James wordlessly followed Raym up to a busty dark-skinned woman who flashed a welcoming smile that didn't
quite reach her eyes. He looked at the card on the stand, with her name, and owner's name, and some other numbers.
Raym pointed to each item and explained. "She's been here for five days, and been selected four times. Sometimes they're kept for several nights, and sometimes they aren't selected at all. They sleep here, then go back on display the next night. Their owner's names are shown because it can make their price higher or lower." He pointed to the bottom line, where a 'price per night' was listed. "A guy can say, 'Hey, I got to fuck a slave that belonged to Master so-and-so!' Those other numbers are ratings for how well they give a blowjob, how tight they are in the cunt or ass, and how obedient they usually are."
He wandered down the line to another woman. This time, after looking at her card, he fondled her breasts, pinching her nipples and looking for all the world like he was selecting fruit. She dropped her head back and moaned softly. James' dick, initially terrified into almost invisibility, now began to take an interest in the surroundings, despite what his brain was screaming at him. When Raym turned the woman around and had her bend over so he could fondle her from behind, James spun around and headed in the opposite direction.
Some of the slaves were blatant in their attempts to encourage his attention. A few looked up at his approach with hope in their eyes, as though he looked like he might be a better choice than some other man. Several of the small stands were empty, the slave apparently rented and gone.
He turned and was about to make his way to the front, desperately needing some fresh air, when his eyes fell upon the back of a brown-haired woman. She wore a dress that was almost perfectly see-through, and under the gauzy fabric he could plainly see strange diamond-shaped red marks from her shoulders to the curve of her ass. He estimated at least thirty of them, and he shivered. They were the characteristic marks of a dragon-tail whip, an implement that hurt horribly but left little bruising. It was wonderful when used on someone who consented to it, who liked pain. It was evil when used for real punishment.
Curiosity made him alter his course in her direction, but he didn't want to seem too obvious, so he took the time to read the signs next to several slaves on his way. Cunt – ass – tight – obedient – The words flowed past his eyes like forbidden treats.
He paused in front of one pleasant-looking woman and smiled. She stared back at him with an empty gaze.
"There's no one in there, sir." The woman he'd been working his way towards spoke almost in a whisper from her position just to the side.
"What do you mean?" He turned to her. She stood straight, with her gaze resting on the carpet. Her hands were clasped in front of her and James didn't fail to notice that they were gripped so tight they were almost white.
"Sir, she had an accident years ago and she's never spoken or done anything for herself since then. I don't think she even recognizes people she should know."
"And she's still put here to be rented?" James couldn't keep the disgust out of his voice.
"Yes, sir, but no one ever does it. She'll spend a week sleeping here, and then go home."
"How could her owners let her go through this?" He knew he was crossing a line but couldn't help it. The wrongs around here kept getting wrong-er.
The woman's eyes, kept submissively on the floor to this point, now looked up in surprise. She stared at him a moment, as though measuring her words. "Owners have no choice, sir. The Oversight Board mandates that any slave who can walk comes here once every year or two. There are very few exceptions. Owners can sometimes get deferments, but they don't even grant those very often." Her voice trailed off as her gaze fell to the floor once more.
James turned back to the other woman. He smiled at her as he picked up her unresisting hand and kissed the back of it. He could have sworn a spark of something flashed through her eyes, but then it was gone. He replaced her hand at her side and stepped away, turning his attention to the slave he'd been intending to meet.
She stood with her eyes on the floor and her hands gripped tight. He took a moment to look at her closely. She had straight brown hair that spilled down her back almost to her waist. She wore a thin white wrap of some sort that cupped her buttocks from behind, then crossed over itself in front and rose up over the swelling mounds of her breasts to cross over once more and disappear over her shoulders. Her breasts were visible beneath the thin fabric, the brown nipples erect thanks to the small gold rings that adorned each one. Hanging from the one on the left was a small gold tag. He struggled to raise his eyes up to focus on her face.
"Hello—" he floundered for a moment then glanced at the card on the stand next to her "–Lydia."
"Hello, sir." She was still staring at the floor.
Now what? Why the hell had he come over? What was he going to say, "So what brings you here?" Dumbass.
There was an awkward silence. He cleared his throat and looked over at her card. Yeah, like there's going to be suggestions for casual conversation topics on there. The usual ratings were there, but at the bottom her price was listed as a number absurdly less than all the others he'd seen. He glanced up and saw her eyes darting over to him. She was chewing on her bottom lip.
Before he could censor himself, he blurted out, "Is your back really sore?" He finished the question with a smile, as though that was the most natural thing in the world to ask. Seeing the fear in her eyes made him regret the hasty question a heartbeat later.
"I'm sorry!" he apologized before she could say anything. "That was really rude of me. I was trying to find a way to start a conversation."
She looked at him with no small amount of confusion.
"I'm really screwing this up." He sighed. "My name is James Morel. I'm not from Midros, but I guess that's kind of obvious by now."
She dropped her eyes once more. When she spoke, it was hardly more than a whisper.
"Sir, I broke a law and was punished for it."
She was a picture of misery as she stared at the floor. A sudden thought occurred to him.
"On Punishment Day?"
She nodded.
"You were the first one punished that day, weren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"I saw you. I, um, heard you, too, ten stories up."
She said nothing. He cleared his throat and put his hands in his pockets, searching for something to say. Eventually she looked up at him and broke the awkward silence.
"Are you looking for a Companion for the night?" Now she looked hopeful.
James held up his hands defensively and took a step back. "No, no." He shook his head. "I'm just here with a friend. I'm not shopping." He mentally cursed himself. Shopping was for food. This was an enslaved woman, and where he came from, there was a big difference.
Her face fell. "Oh," she said.
"Do you want to have someone rent you for the night?" He was confused by her obvious disappointment.
"Sir, what I want is irrelevant. But you seem so much kinder than... and so I thought perhaps that..." Her voice trailed off as though she knew she shouldn't finish those thoughts. "I'll be among the last to be chosen, and only by those with little money."
"But you're beautiful! Why would you be last?"
She glanced over her shoulder, towards the marks.
"Because you were punished?"
"Yes, sir. Men want Service Companions who are obedient, easy to handle, and generally unmarked. My marks show disobedience, and they're ugly. The men who will want me are the kind who don't have a lot of money to spend on a slave and usually aren't as worried about her health and well being. Or they're aroused by the sight of my punishment and see it as an invitation to add more. "
He let a breath out as he mentally cursed himself for having the exact same thoughts. What it might be like to take her over his lap, and run his hands over the tender skin before raising one hand up high and bringing it down to smack her ass right on one of the red marks. He imagined the shriek that would erupt from her mouth, and the frantic struggle she would put up.
"I'm sorry," he
said, though he wasn't sure if he was expressing sorrow for her predicament, or for his daydream.
She gave a small smile and dropped her eyes but said nothing.
"Couldn't they have let you heal first?"
"No, sir. My turn came up. This is just a natural consequence of my disobedience."
His mind searched frantically for something to say or do that would help her. This was not fair, and the more he thought about it the angrier he got. Was there someone he could talk to get her out of this incredibly unfair situation? The absurd idea passed as quickly as it came. Slavery was ingrained in this society. Fairness was not a concept that applied here. Hell, even she wasn't protesting or fighting this. There wasn't a damn thing he could do, and he needed to just walk away.
Except there was one thing he could do. He glanced down at her card again, did a quick mental calculation and grimaced, and took a deep breath. "Stay here. I'll be right back." He turned on his heel and walked toward the front of the room.
Stay here? Where the hell did he think she might go?
She watched him make his way up to the front where the cashier sat. Another man, obviously Midrosian, joined him, and after a moment, their conversation grew animated with lots of gestures in her direction. Was he trying to rent her? Oh, please, just one night! The lump of fear that had sat heavy in her stomach since she woke up that morning had been growing worse every minute since she'd been chained to the stand. A dozen men had come by with interest until they had her turn around for an inspection and they saw her back. Each time they shook their heads and walked away.
She refused to think too much about what might happen tonight and for the next seven nights. A memory rose to the surface despite her frantic attempt to push it down. A slave in her master's house, the year Lydia had arrived, had been so afraid of her week she'd tried to run as the guards came to collect her. She was hunted down and brought back to the house, where she was immediately caned as punishment in front of everyone, and then she disappeared in custody of the guards. When she was returned three days later, she was bruised and battered, with whip marks from head to toe, and it was days before she was able to tell them what had happened. She'd been rented by a group of men who wanted to see how long they could whip her before she passed out and didn't wake up. Lydia would never forget how furious Master was. The men who beat her were arrested and fined a small sum, which was given to Master as compensation for the cost of treating her injuries, and the matter was closed. The slave never fully recovered from her fear, and when her next Service Companion week came around, she committed suicide before Master could even try to intervene. Master swore he'd never let that happen to any other slave, but despite his vow, Lydia was here, with punishment marks on full display.
Memories of Surrender (Midrosian Chronicles Book 1) Page 3