by Carew, Opal
Keern lowered himself into one of the leather chairs facing the desk, then glanced out the large windows on the adjacent wall. The sun had disappeared behind the trees, and the clouds above them were lined in pink and purple.
“Jacob, look, I’ve got to ride out and tell the girl about her father. You and your cousin can ride with me, as long as you keep him in line.”
Keern fumed, but knew it wasn’t really directed at this man, but at Shena. The woman who had betrayed him and cost him his brother.
Keern, Jacob, and Chief Constable Murray arrived at the Wakefield house after nightfall. A guard let them in the front gate, and they rode on to the house.
In the light of Aos, the largest moon circling Tarun, the place appeared cold and sinister. The branches of the large agoba trees arched outward, casting looming shadows across the enormous house and the stone pathway leading to it.
They approached the huge, curved wooden doors, and Murray grabbed the brass knocker, rapping it against the door, sharp and loud.
A long time passed, and he rapped again.
Finally, the large door creaked open, revealing a burly man almost two meters in height, with a straggly brown beard and equally straggly, shoulder-length hair.
“Bahrd, I’ve come with bad news,” Murray said. “Henry Wakefield is dead.”
The man’s eyes darkened as he scowled.
“I’ve come to talk to his daughter,” Murray continued.
The man’s face closed up. “Can’t say I know where she be.”
“Then you’d better find her,” Keern demanded.
The man’s shoulders squared and he leaned forward. “And who’s going to make me?”
Keern started forward, but Jacob grabbed his arm.
“Bahrd,” Murray interjected, “I need to speak with her. Go find her.”
The man glared at Keern, then glanced back to Murray. “I don’t think lookin’ll turn her up, Chief.”
“Do you think she’ll turn up by tomorrow morning?”
Bahrd shrugged.
“I see. Let’s put it this way. I want her at the courthouse by nine tomorrow morning, or I’ll come out looking for her. Got it?”
The large man shrugged again. “Whatever ye say, Chief.”
Keern itched to plow past the man and search the house room by room until he found the lying bitch, but that wouldn’t get him anywhere right now. He followed the chief constable and Jacob away from the Wakefield house.
Tomorrow, he would see Shena again. His heart stumbled a little at the thought, an image of her sweet, smiling face swirling through his head, which just cranked his anger up a notch.
Shena had been awakened by the loud knocking, not that she’d been sleeping very heavily, with Bahrd hanging around her door, watching her. She heard men’s voices outside, but couldn’t hear their words. At the thunderous sound of Bahrd’s boots on the wooden stairs, she clung to her covers, watching the door.
He appeared in the doorway, a gigantic, looming shape backlit by the moonlight from the large window over the stairs.
“Looks like yer an orphan, lass.” He stepped toward her and dragged the covers from her body. She lay on the bed, shivering in her light cotton nightgown. His gaze raked over her.
“I been wantin’ a piece o’ that for a longen now.” His hand rested on her thigh and slowly slid upward.
She scrambled up the bed, leaving his hand behind. He grabbed her ankles and dragged her back down, then flung his arms wide, opening her legs. The feral gleam in his eyes jabbed at the deepest fears squirming inside her.
“What do you mean, I’m an orphan?”
“What do ye think I mean, girl? Yer father is dead. Killed by one of them Herringtons. But not afore he killed the one he was after, I’d wager.”
Shock pummeled through her. Her father was dead.
Was Keern dead, too? Her heart constricted, and sharp pain lanced through her.
Bahrd’s grunt dragged her back to her current situation. With her father gone, she would be at the mercy of the soldiers. Legally, she now owned her father’s holdings, but she knew as soon as her father’s soldiers heard of his death, they’d strip the property bare and take off. She was sure they wouldn’t hesitate to take their pleasure from her before they left.
Bahrd released one of her ankles, then tugged his belt strap and released it from the buckle.
Her heart hammered wildly in her chest. Her only chance was to appeal to Bahrd’s greed.
“Do you really want to do this?”
“Oh, yeah.” He tugged the zipper down on his pants. “I want to do it every way possible, then watch while the others do it.”
“You know, the slavers will pay a lot more for me as a virgin. My father always told me so.” She made her voice as persuasive as she could.
“Eh?” He paused and rubbed his chin. “The slavers?”
“You are going to sell me, right? I mean, if you don’t, one of the others will, but you’re here first. If you can sell me as a virgin ...”
“You’re just sayin’ this ’cause you don’t want to get fucked.”
“Of course.” A tinge of anger colored her voice, hard as she tried to conceal it. “But it’s also true. You and I will both do better if you leave me untouched and take me to the slavers.”
Never in her wildest dreams had she ever thought she’d be begging to be taken to the slavers, but right now, that threat was a lot more distant than the leering Bahrd and the prospect of her father’s men climbing on top of her one after another.
Bahrd grunted, staring at her, his gaze sliding up her legs and pinning on the crotch of her white panties, fully exposed. She held her breath, watching him.
“You know, with the money you get for me, you can enjoy a lot of women at the brothel.”
Finally, he grunted and grabbed her wrist, then dragged her through the house, out the back door to the closed wagon. He pushed aside the tarp covering the door and shoved her through, then bound her wrists and ankles. He wrapped a gag around her mouth.
He disappeared back into the house and reappeared about a half-hour later to fling a large cloth bag beside her. It made a loud clunk when it hit the wagon floor. Probably filled with all kinds of treasures and whatever money he’d found in her father’s office. She heard him attaching the horse to the wagon, and a few moments later, the wagon jerked forward.
Hours passed and she must have dozed off, but a sudden lurch of the wagon jolted her wide awake. Nightmares of men pawing at her, their large, rough hands touching every intimate part of her, left her in a sweat. The rope around her wrists and ankles cut into her skin. The gag was damp with saliva.
Outside, the throng of a city market sounded around them. Vendors calling out to attract buyers, carts rumbling past the main road, horses snorting. The smells of fruits, spices, and cooked meat assailed her.
They were close. She cringed, her whole body rigid with fear. Her shaky stomach quaked, almost to the point of vomiting.
The noise reached a crescendo, then slowly diminished as the cart continued and finally stopped. They would be at the back corner of the market, away from the buyers. Her father had pointed out the place to her many times. This was where the slavers made their deals for new stock. It was illegal on Turan to buy or sell slaves, but the authorities looked the other way as long as the dealings were discreet and the right people were paid off.
Moonlight glinted in her face as Bahrd slung back the tarp over the back of the wagon. His knife blade flashed, grazing her skin as he sliced through the ropes around her ankles. Blood oozed from the small nick he’d made on her foot, and it stung sharply, but she hardly noticed as he hauled her to her feet and out of the cart. Her legs ached from lying immobile on the wagon floor for so many hours, but she hobbled to keep up with him as he dragged her forward, his meaty hand tightly wrapped around her forearm.
The sky was black and studded with stars, but unnatural light shone all around them. They approached a large metallic wag
on, rounded and shiny, the likes of which Shena had never seen before. By rights, it should not be allowed here, nor should their artificial lights, given that technology was banned from Tarun, but the slavers took a great many liberties with the law.
Several hooded figures stood outside the wagon, interacting with locals. All the slavers wore long, tan, hooded cloaks. Sometimes a flash of rust-colored leather clothing and dark brown boots and gloves could be seen as they moved. One of the slavers glanced toward them as they approached.
“I’m bringin’ this lass to ye for sale. She’s Wakefield’s daughter. A virgin. He’s talked to ye about price before.”
Below the hood, piercing eyes flashed, locking on her. Then the man nodded. “Follow me.”
He opened the door of the metal wagon and led them inside. Two men glanced up from their conversation. They wore the same garb as the other slavers, but their hoods were down, draped over their shoulders and backs. One had dark, shoulder-length hair and a moustache and beard, while the other had fine, short blond hair and was clean-shaven. The dark-haired one stood up and approached them. The man who’d led them inside spoke to the other two in a language Shena didn’t understand, and then Dark Hair grabbed her arm and tugged her forward.
“Wait a minute. I ain’t been paid yet,” Bahrd complained.
“We must verify that she’s a virgin.”
A chill started along Shena’s neck and shivered down her spine.
Bahrd started forward to follow, but the hooded man stepped in front of him.
“Out of my way. I want to watch.”
Dark Hair stopped and glanced back. So did Shena.
Bahrd shoved the man in front of him, smaller by at least a head. The man touched Bahrd with one gloved hand, and he lurched backward, clearly in pain.
“You will sit and wait,” the slaver stated with authority.
Shena continued staring behind her as Dark Hair dragged her forward again, through a doorway, toward one of her greatest fears. He closed the door behind her, and she glanced around to see a large chair-like thing made of long pipes or rods of some sort.
“Sit,” the man commanded.
She glanced at the contraption, uncertain. Dark Hair grabbed her arms and spun her around, then backed her into the thing, pushing her downward. A strap slung under her thighs about six inches from her knees caught her weight, and another hugged her back at her waist. He grabbed her right wrist, positioned it above her head, and strapped it to the vertical rod on the right side of the chair thing, then took her left wrist and attached it to the left rod. Next, he tugged her leg forward, parallel to a horizontal rod extending straight out in front of her, and strapped her ankle to the hard metal. Similarly, he restrained her other ankle.
He stepped toward a high table jutting out from the wall, where he tapped on buttons and stared at some kind of changing display. With a whirring sound, the rods started to move, flattening out, positioning her in a stretched-out, horizontal position; then the ones at her ankles separated, opening her legs.
Chapter Six
Shena’s breaths became short and hollow. The man stepped toward her, scissors in his hand, and pushed up her gown, exposing her underwear. She gasped as he slipped his finger under the white cotton at the crotch and tugged the garment away from her body, then clipped the cloth with the scissors, exposing her most private flesh. Her face burned.
Oh, God, this is really happening.
He slid his hand away, his fingers grazing her pubic curls. What was almost more frightening than his touch was the total look of indifference on his face. He returned to his controls and tapped at the buttons. A movement near her ankles her drew her attention. A silver device moved toward her, a long, slender oval, like a fat cigar, moving upward between her knees. She tried to close her legs, but the straps held her firm. In fact, she realized that she couldn’t move her lower body at all. Panic roared within her. Her wrists strained against the straps as she tried to kick her legs, but nothing happened.
The device continued moving higher, now between her thighs. She sucked in deep breaths as it came closer, zeroing in on her womanhood, and her breath caught as the cold, hard metal nudged against her.
Her vision blurred and she felt faint.
Oh, God ... Oh, God ... Oh, God.
Was it going to thrust inside her?
Thoughts spun wildly through her head, but the device stopped when it firmly pressed against her soft flesh, slightly parting the folds.
She released the air from her lungs, then drew in another breath. They were checking if she was a virgin, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t be very useful if the test itself broke her maidenhead.
Every muscle tensed, she waited for what would happen next. Her shallow breathing left her feeling light-headed. Suddenly, nausea rolled through her stomach as something -- or things -- seemed to crawl into her, like the legs of some giant spider. They crept up the walls of her vagina, then continued moving deep inside her, probably into her womb. She lay stiff and shaking as the things prodded her insides. She had never known a moment so long or filled with such dread as she now experienced. It seemed like hours as the tendrils swirled inside her. Then painfully, slowly, they withdrew. The cold device eased away from her.
Her head flopped back, her neck resting on another strap. At least that was over. The whirring began again, but this time, the rods drew her upright and folded her forward, her backside thrust behind her, her legs still held wide apart. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel a cold metal device brush against her buttocks, then settle firmly against her anus. It pushed forward a fraction more, opening her a little, and then the tendrils invaded her again. Tears prickled at her eyes as the device squirmed within her, fluttering against her insides, torturing her with an almost intangible touch. A few moments later, the tendrils slipped out, and the device drew away.
This time, the whirring rods returned her to a sitting position, but another device approached her face. When she tried to jerk away, she found she couldn’t move her shoulders, neck, or head.
The device pushed between her lips, and the tendrils explored the inside of her mouth, then slid down her throat. She felt the need to gag, but her body did not obey. She felt sick at the invasion of her body, but she wondered if the butterflies in her stomach were nausea, or the legs of the device swirling inside her.
The tendrils withdrew, and Shena, once again able to move, immediately threw up all over the sterile-looking white floor. Her captor didn’t even look up as the foul smell of her vomit filled the room. A small, round device on wheels, about a foot around and three inches high, scurried across the floor and disposed of the mess, leaving the floor gleaming white once again.
A few moments later, after tapping on his buttons and staring at his device, the man released the straps at her wrists and ankles. She immediately shoved her gown down to cover herself. He pulled her to her feet and led her back to the other room, then pushed her into a chair. A regular one this time, although not like the wooden ones Shena was used to.
Bahrd stared at her as if she might have found a way to cheat him; then he turned to the slavers. The original man who’d brought her and Bahrd to the wagon had left.
“Well? Where’s my money?”
“In good time.” The blond man wrapped a thin, black cord around her wrist. “We must take her statement next.”
“Her statement? And why do ye think she’ll tell the truth?”
“Because this device will tell us if she’s lying.” The blond slaver turned to Shena. “Have you ever had vaginal intercourse with a man?”
She dropped her gaze and shook her head.
“I need you to answer me out loud. Have you ever had vaginal intercourse with a man?”
“No.” The word barely came out audible from her tense, dry throat.
“Have you ever had anal intercourse with a man?”
“He’s askin’ if a man ever stuck his dick up yer ass,” Bahrd leered.
Her a
lready flaming cheeks flared hotter. “N-no.”
Good God, why would they ask such a thing?
“Have you ever had oral intercourse with a man?”
Her eyes widened, and she locked gazes with the indifferent gray eyes of her interrogator for a split second before shifting to stare at her hands. “No.”
“Why don’t you try that answer again?” Blond Hair said, voice matter-of-fact.
“He’s askin’ if you ever sucked a man’s prick,” Bahrd interjected. He leaned forward, his mud-brown gaze intense. “Have you?”
She remembered the feel of Keern’s rigid cock in her mouth, the way she had lovingly stroked it with her tongue.
“I ... But that’s not sex. I’m still a virgin.”
Bahrd’s hawk-eyes locked on her with keen interest.
“Yes or no,” Blond Hair asked.
She nodded.
“I need you to --”
“Yes,” she said out loud.
“With how many men?”
Her hands clenched around the arms of the chair. “One.”
“How many times?”
“Once. Only once.”
“So? What does this mean?” Bahrd demanded.
“Technically, it means she’s a level-two-B virgin.”
“What’s that?”