Decima Rising

by Jennifer Campbell

  Of course, being bathed intimately by a strong male hands wasn’t all bad, as Decima well knew. She had gasped out her delight as he soaped and cleaned her pleasure bulb, but he had been maddening gentle, never giving her bulbous sex organ enough stimulation to climax. Surely, like at Master’s mansion, I will need permission to come here.

  Despite her sexual frustration, she had thoroughly enjoyed his attention to her body including the application of scented body oil all over her. As he had combed out her long, golden hair with the greatest of care, she had imagined herself perhaps a princess rather than a sex slave.

  She heard the ringing of two more bells as she sat bored in her cage, but finally an imperial guard came to collect her. Without speaking a word of greeting, and looking rather annoyed, he first reattached her bright, yellow collar, the mark of Allus’ ownership, and then snapped a nipple leash on her. Giving the leash a good snap, to let her know who was in charge, he led her off in the traditional style with her walking out in front of him.

  However, for Decima, this was the worse possible situation, for the palace was a maze of corridors, and the guard was constantly snapping the leash to correct her direction. It probably amuses him to do this to me, to see me cringe at the pain of his corrections.

  The guard’s game went on; left turn, right turn, each one indicated to her by a snapping tug on the appropriate nipple. Soon they passed a long picture window of neatly-trimmed lawns and lush, manicured gardens of the palace grounds, but Decima did not look fearing her attention would be distracted and he might rip her nipples off. Finally they entered a spacious room dominated by a slightly elevated stage area featuring an impressive throne. Her guard, looking fierce in his black uniform tunic with red trim, forced her to her knees on the right side of the room facing the throne. This must be the Emperor’s throne room, where he will test us for service to him. All my training with my Master has focused on the time when I would be in this room, competing for the imperial eye. I must succeed, as Claretta’s very life depends on it.

  “Keep moving you miserable barbarian bitch or I’ll make you bleed.” The words were spoken in anger by another imperial guard who entered into the room actively flogging back of a barbarian girl. A barbarian? What the hell is a barbarian girl doing at a trial for imperial candidates?

  Easily identified by their glowing, almost eerie, pink eyes, barbarians were a hunted race, doomed to extinction many Ranexxians thought. My Master and Kellmar were talking of barbarians being confined behind some wall far to the east, but why is this barbarian girl here then?

  Despite Decima’s shock, it was not at all unusual for a barbarian slave girl to be here at the palace. Because of their free birth newly-captured barbarian girls were enslaved, and had become a sort of fad amongst high born Ranexxians. Indeed they were prized for the exact opposite reasons the highly trained native pleasure slaves were; that is because they rebelled against their enslavement. Rebellion provoked punishment, and after seasons of compliant and obedient native slave girls many Ranexxian Masters were rediscovering the joys of breaking a slave girl.

  As Decima looked at the raven-haired girl, she saw the skin on her back and bottom was already red and welted from flogging. She also noted how many more restraint devices the barbarian slut wore; a leather arm-binder imprisoned her arms, and hobble chains dogged her ankles. The barbarian’s mouth had been rendered into an open hole awaiting male cock by the use of a simply jaw breaking ring gag. Yet she is still feisty, struggling in futility against her fate. What can be so grand about this freedom that makes them so crazy not to give it up?

  The pink-eye’s guard forced her to kneel to the left of Decima and added some flogger strokes before he fastened her hobble chains to the floor. Decima’s guard commented tersely to him.

  “You have a handful there, boy. Did you cross the duty centurion to get charge of that beast?”

  “I don’t think so. Why would our Emperor want such an unmanageable bitch like this?”

  Decima’s guard nodded in agreement, and everyone’s attention was drawn the entrance of the third contestant at the trail. Decima watched as a short, voluptuous, ash-blond slave girl made her way timidly to her place. The girl’s hair reminded her of Claretta, but nothing else of the slave’s manner did. Clad in nipple chain and collar, as was Decima, she seemed incredibly frightened, perhaps completely overwhelmed by the situation.

  Looking into the ash-blonde’s hazel eyes, Decima saw terror, and she was now even more certain the poor slave was on the very razor’s edge of losing her grip. A barbarian and this frightened-out-of-her-mind one; they are my competition? Allus had taught Decima that beauty will only get you so far at the imperial palace, a place where all the slave girls are lovely. I must have the confidence to display my submission to the Emperor.

  Looking over what the ash-blonde had to offer, Decima saw pale, porcelain skin, rosy fat nipples, and heavy breasts. She is attractive, but she is like a dumac, dumb, and content to graze her life away. Filled with fear, she has no stomach for this level of service.

  Discarding thoughts of her competitors, Decima’s eyes focused on the throne, gold, crystal and purple in its splendor. Soon she hoped, the Emperor himself would stride in, sit upon its soft comfort, and his eyes would look upon her for the first time. Will he be impressed with what he sees?

  Pulsing with naked anticipation for her moment of glory, she looked about the room and saw three wooden, slave arabans sitting near the back. Crude devices barely resembling the hoofed animals they were named after, Decima knew they would be used to restrain her and her two competitors should the need for extra restraint arise. The barbarian and the dumac might need to be bound to be used, but I will let my training shine, of my own free will.

  Suddenly the low, moaning wail of a yute horn startled her and the door on the other side of the raised stage opened to let in a procession of three purple-collared imperials. The three lovely women danced into the room, showing off their bodies at every opportunity, and even rubbing themselves up against the three duty guards as if they yearned to be touched. Decima found her breath caught in her throat at the splendor of the magnificently oiled bodies, and how completely open they were. One of them, a raven-haired beauty, even let her fingers slide down to her slit, to titillate.

  They were restrained, in a manner, as they did wear nipple leashes, but the thin chains linking each girl to the next were so light and had plenty of slack to provide room to maneuver. It all made sense, as the impeccably trained imperials should be allowed latitude to display themselves. One guard stood holding the end of the leash that ran to all three imperials, and he seemed nothing but bemused at his charges display. After a few more moments of their sexual frolic, he uttered two words and the results amazed Decima.

  “Crouching display.” He uttered nothing else and did not snap his leash, but the results were as immediate as if he had. The three imperials formed a line facing the hopefuls, and crouched down on their feet near to the stone floor. Throwing their knees open wide, they wantonly displayed their cunts and bulbous clits, for all to see and enjoy. Briefly they touched themselves, running fingers up their slits and clits, and then locking their hands together behind their heads.

  Their display over, Decima’s attention was drawn to the wall behind the throne. She had not noticed during the activity what hung there, as bold and beautiful as the day it was painted. A huge, panoramic painting, well known in the Empire, spanned nearly the entire length of the back wall of the stage. Decima remembered Allus had spoken of it many times, as the ages-old painting simply referred to as The Feast was the most revered work of art in the Empire.

  The extremely detailed view was of a long banquet table set amongst the blue-green tones of the over-world, where doctrine proclaimed all Masters of Ranexx who had been true to the code went upon their deaths. Slaves might go there too, but only if they had been sublimely obedient and truly submissive in life, so they could continue their enslavement forever. It the th
eology of this male-dominated world, bad slaves went to a hellish domain where they would be doomed to eternal punishment and no pleasure.

  Decima scanned the painting, taking in the details, but searching for one specific figure she knew would be there. Noting the four male gods of the empire were represented, their bodies oversized to mere mortals, she looked over the naked, collared slave girls scrambling to serve both their dietary and sexual needs.

  Andronitus, God of Success, was seated at the head of the table. He was devouring a selac steak, taking great chunks of the meat into his mouth and chewing them with ferocity. While he ate, a slave girl busily sucked on his penis from under the table.

  Standing next to the table wearing but a tiny flapping loincloth, was Congar, God of War. One slave girl stood next to him patiently feeding him grapes while another slave worked his erect flesh pole deep into her anus.

  Veronius, God of Fallen Heroes, was not at the table. Quite busy, he was chasing a big-busted slave girl around the table, laughing, with a whip in one hand, and a drumstick in the other. In the eyes of the pursued girl, Decima felt she could see the desire to be caught, punished, and taken.

  Terralin, God of Fortune, was pictured standing clad only in his thick belt of krayma, the mineral from which the currency of the empire was minted. He held a huge flask of wine to his lips, while his fleshy rod was buried deep in the warm wetness of a slave’s cunt.

  Decima finally found the figure she was looking for. Felicia was sitting, bound tightly to a chair at the opposite end of the table from Andronitus. She was as legend described, strikingly beautiful with long, shining, silver hair. Her legs were spread wide apart in the painting, to display her clamped and stretched labial lips. Into her open cleft a rose had been inserted, its prickly stem pushed deep into the tender flesh. Only the flower and a trickle of blood were visible at Felicia’s naked gash, but undaunted by the pain, she was smiling. To be the favored slave of the gods, keeper of pain and suffering was to her an honor, one she would never abandon.

  Seeing Felicia for the very first time inspired Decima, as if she had now touched the one icon slaves were allowed. Looking over the imperials again, Decima saw the dark-haired one who had touched her cleft was looking at her with a haughty look on her face. The imperial was pale of skin with luscious raven hair and high-mounded breasts possessing pert nipples. Decima noticed in spite of her lovely body, but her sparkling silver-gray eyes had only one message for Decima: you are beneath me and always will be.

  How is arrogance of this kind tolerated in a slave girl? Surely it is not desired, but I sense this imperial is full of it. She is unshakably certain she is the most attractive slave in the room.

  Again the yute horn sounded, and Decima felt certain this time it would be the Emperor. What will he look like? Will he be as young and handsome as they say? However, Decima was disappointed when a short Master with thinning, black hair came to the stage. The touches of gray in his hair betrayed his age, and he wore a flowing, light-purple tunic and sash of an imperial official. He is not the Emperor, so where is he?

  “Welcome all, especially our three candidates, who seek to serve the purple. I am the imperial chamberlain, Marinus, responsible for all things associated with the Emperor’s comfort, which of course includes imperial pleasure slaves. We have another in a long line of successful candidates from Governor Allus, called Decima by name, and looking as desirable as her earlier sisters. The merchant Spurius from the southern port city of Pontus Vindossia has sent his slave Virgelina to compete.”

  Decima looked at Virgelina, and saw the girl could do nothing but stare at the floor when she was introduced. The poor thing has no confidence at all.

  Marinus cleared his throat, as if what he said next was odd to him. “We also have a different sort of candidate under these suns, a barbarian slave, as yet unnamed, only twenty suns from being captured on the frontier. This will certainly be an interesting trial, very interesting. As the Emperor is away, Captain Gaius, Commander of the Imperial Guard and lifelong friend of our Emperor will actually run the trial. When the Captain is finished assessing your worth, he and I will grant one of you a purple collar, if one is worthy.”

  Decima swallowed hard at Marinus’ words. Disappointed that she would not met the Emperor, she took Marinus’ warning that she still must perform like an imperial, or no purple collar would be awarded, and Claretta would die hanging in pain. Refocusing, she remembered her Master having spoken of Gaius before. Now what did he say about him? He spoke of so many officials at court, and I just don’t remember.

  Again she noticed the arrogant-looking imperial staring across the room at her, the look was one of annoyed contempt. Already she sees me as competition, and she’s evaluating me, looking for weakness she can exploit. The look made her feel uneasy, like at some point in the future it would mean trouble between them.

  Captain Gaius strode into the room wearing nothing at all, his erection at half mast already. This sexual trigger flipped a switch in Decima’s mind. Now I remember, Master said he loves to be anticipated, surprised, but likes his slaves to be sexually aggressive within their submission.

  “Good suns, Marinus, sorry to be late, yet, I imagine you would be hard pressed to start the trial without me. Is everything in readiness to begin?” Gaius’ manner was confident, and relaxed.

  “Well, Gaius, I think these two are ready for you, but I have my doubts about the pink eye.”

  Decima sensed the banter between the two men was respectful, but not necessarily friendly. They were two powerful, trusted advisors of the Emperor, but although they would cooperate in the running of this trail, their political ends might be quite different.

  As Gaius stepped forward between the two lines of slave girls, Decima looked over the man she hoped to entice to mark her as his personal imperial. Possessing short cut, military style black hair with some wavy curves to it, Gaius’ face was a stern countenance looking as she imagined a military commander should. As he walked he blatantly stroked his shaft to let the would-be imperials see its full girth. Possessing a magnificent, hard-cut body, Gaius’ grey eyes searched the room until they came to rest on the one he wished to start with: the unwilling one.

  “On this side, beauty I have already explored, to great satisfaction.” He remarked as he strode slowly down the line of imperials, touching breasts and exposed clefts as he went. The imperials all seemed eager to feel his fingers in their holes, or fondling their breasts.

  “On the other side, new beauty, I have as yet not explored.” Coming back up the other side, Gaius threw a look of distain at the barbarian girl, but fondling Decima’s breast, and reaching around to touch grip the ass cheeks of Virgelina.

  “How, I wonder, does being an imperial pleasure slave mean anything when an untrained barbarian slut can be considered for the honor?” Gaius opined as he returned to the pink-eye and slapped her breasts hard.

  Immediately there was a blazing look of defiance from the barbarian girl.

  “Easy, Gaius, she is only here at the Emperor’s request. He has heard of how willfully disobedient barbarian woman are, and well you know how he likes to dispense punishment.”

  “And is it your opinion, Marinus, that she should be an imperial?” Gaius pinched the brown nipples of the barbarian as he spoke, inciting the girl to struggle against her bonds.

  “No, certainly not, but I do see a need for her and others of her kind. I have long worried about the punishment he dispenses to the imperials when he is in his dark moods. I spare no expense to keep them looking like the beautiful playthings they are, and then in a fit he will whip one of their skin’s raw. Perhaps barbarian woman can fit in as, let’s say, whipping bitches. A worthless piece of meat the Emperor can torture at will, to work his baser impulses out of his system while leaving the imperials to fulfill his erotic urges. It would save a lot of wear and tear on them.”

  Decima wasn’t stunned, as years of servitude had taken the surprise over cruel treatment right ou
t of her, but it took her a few moments to fully appreciate the horror of being the Emperor’s personal whipping bitch. To be punished relentlessly all suns long, no pleasure, just torment after torment, a lifetime of agonies to exist through. Feeling a shiver run the length of her body, she was glad not to be the ill-fated pink-eye.

  On the other hand, Gaius’ face came alive with wonder, as he had clearly not envisioned this use for the barbarian. “Yes, my friend, good idea, in fact it’s rather brilliant. What, pray tell, does Varius think of this? Have you told him of this whipping bitch idea?” Now Gaius took Decima’s mind to a new level of apprehension by combining the whipping bitch idea with a name feared across the Empire by slaves; the head imperial slave trainer Varius, a man who broke the will of difficult slaves with ease and delight. That’s right, he does work here at the palace, but I pray to Felicia that I may never lay eyes on him.

  “Need I say, he thinks it insane to make her an imperial, but he too warmed to the whipping bitch idea? When he heard she had only been to Baiae for ten suns, he lost his temper, saying we cannot expect miracles from his training school.”

  Now Decima felt her skin crawl at the mention of the place no slave ever wanted to go; the imperial training school for difficult slaves near to the mountain city of Baiae . The school was Varius’ creation, the head trainer had built it, and written its harsh rules, but now his assistants ran it after his departure for the imperial palace.

  “So Varius was sort of fit to be tied, if you will pardon my humor, as well he should have been. Do as you wish with this pink-eye, but she will not wear a purple collar while I live. Let’s see if she will even attempt to serve.” Taking his erection in hand, he grabbed the barbarian’s hair to immobilize her head, and held his shaft right in front of her gagged-open mouth. Patiently, like he was training a young slavegirl, Gaius pointed to his organ and then pointed to the pink-eye’s mouth. His desire would have been clear to any trained slave girl.