The Captive (3 page)

She was introduced as Zacora. Taller than the other girls; graceful, willowy, but full blown. Aristocratic. She was just what he needed to be his consort. She would compliment his accumulated wealth exactly.

It was the hair which caught his attention first. Among all the dark-skinned beauties, the pale skin, sapphire blue eyes and the golden hair streaked with silver made his blood run hot. The same hair, lightly curled, grew lushly from the pouting mound of her sex and tickled the tops of her perfect thighs. Yes, mused Harold, the sex hair was lush but neat, no beard to tangle with a man’s enthusiasm. He adjusted his organ which was rearing mightily beneath his silken robes.

“This one says she is of noble birth,” claimed the slave master.

Harold gave a quiet smile of triumph, knowing that his feeling had been correct, but there was crude laughter, a sound of disbelief, from the crowd of potential buyers. They were a mixed bunch. Some of the poorer ones just came to look, for the slave auction was always an entertainment. This was especially so when the girls destined to be sexual playthings were put upon the platform. They were always naked and always fearful. Some of them wept and pleaded to be allowed freedom.

His eyes remained fixed on the girl called Zacora. There was something about her. She was very special. It seemed that she had all the knowledge of every nuance of sexuality and yet she had the innocence of a cherub. He hugged himself, determined that she would be his; his consort to sit beside him on the… no, he chided himself, he must not think that far ahead.

He peered from his carriage at the crowd. They were rowdy that day. Mostly they were peasants come to town for the market, which was held on the same day as the auction. They were dressed in rough tunics, men and women alike, short and hardly decent. Their legs were bare apart from thongs of leather criss-crossing the flesh to hold the plates of rough hide to their feet. Baskets of produce were held on their hips or balanced on their heads. This method of transport of their wares hoisted their crude clothing yet higher, leaving their unfettered genitals free in the morning air. Such nudity encouraged sexual freedom and it wasn’t unusual to see a couple take advantage for a quick release of their pleasure on the cobbles of the square amidst the debris of the market.

Harold shuddered at the crudity of it all. His companion, Megan, his Aunt, clearly revelled in it. Sometimes he wondered how she could be an Aunt of his. A strange woman, Megan, enjoying anything which smacked of the lower orders.

Amidst the mixed crowd there were some merchants, men like Harold, but he liked to think that he had risen above them. Their women hung on their arms. Wives were left at home and these pretty creatures were playthings, bought at previous auctions.

As they waited for the auction to begin the merchants took the opportunity to squeeze the breasts of this particular girl, beautifully highlighted by the flowing robes of rich silk. Others were bolder, folding the fine material until it was draped over the soft curve of the belly and it fell in delicate pleats like curtains framing the lushness of a sex bush they would delight in fingering.

Some of the other women displayed showed embarrassment or humiliation at such inspections by potential buyers, others were delighted. The latter would arch their back to give the merchant full access to the moistness of her sex. She would smile, urging him to bring her to orgasm.

Around the outside of the square there were carriages, carrying nobles, rich merchants like the Meleagans, and minor Princes from neighbouring lands. Harold saw one of these watching eagerly as the golden haired beauty was fondled and groped by the slave master. Harold smiled, slotting his eyes. The Prince of Vakir! The weakling was fast losing control of his life and his land.

The Prince stared unblinkingly as the slave master lifted up each full breast, cupping it and stroking the nipple.

The girl, Zacora, showed no sign of humiliation. She looked proud as her breasts were fondled in such an intimate manner, as though it was the slave master’s right to treat her thus. Harold nodded approvingly at the girl’s demeanour.

“She takes pain well, ladies and gentlemen,” said the slave master. He held up a toothed device which flashed silver in the morning sunlight. Carefully, this was placed over one pink nipple. The man, smiling at his audience, let go and there was an audible click.

The blonde slave arched her willowy body backwards and the crowd made a whispered sound of appreciation. It seemed that the arch was not a distortion caused by pain, but to show her new adornment to the best advantage. The crowd saw the silver nipple clamp pinching the delicate skin into the toothed circle. The slave said nothing, but her wide, soft lips curved to a slight demure smile.

The crowd murmured their appreciation of the girl’s conduct as the other breast was treated in the same manner.

“These devices,” said the slave master, “although causing slight pain, do not mark the flesh, so there is no detraction in the value of your potential property, ladies and gentlemen.” As he gave the clamps extra twists Zacora remained still, subservient and passive, but oh so beautiful. Harold nodded again. Oh yes, she would suit him very well.

The slave master pulled the clamps to demonstrate how the nipples could be moved up down or around and still cause no damage to the goods. He and the auctioneer had worked together for many years and had done well in their merchandising of human flesh. Now they were dressed in the fine rich raiments of merchants. The goods they enjoyed the most were the girls destined to be the sex slaves.

Harold cast his dark intelligent eyes back to the Prince in his ornate carriage across the square. He was smiling. Handsome, with fine delicate features, the Prince was supposedly desperate for an heir. If the girl was truly of noble birth that would suit the Prince very well. A shame the man was destined to be disappointed.

“Megan, my dear,” whispered Harold, “would you care to have that fair beauty as your newest toy?” He could let Megan play her little games and see how she behaved. If Zacora seemed to be suitable in every way, he mused, then he would see.

Fascinated, her mouth open with delight, Megan was staring at the podium. The slave master was demonstrating how the girl was fully broken in for sexual pleasure.

“The story, ladies and gentlemen, will amuse you.” The slave master was kneeling at Zacora’s feet, his neatly trimmed beard close to but not touching her open sex. “She claims that she was tricked by a young squire who took her virginity.”

The crowd sniggered as they watched the slave master use both hands to open the plump silver fronded sex lips. He urged the girl to widen her long legs and bend them to give him full access. It was very moist and he slicked a finger through the parted lips, holding it up for the crowd to see. He then held up a smooth wooden peg, polished and dark, almost but not quite imitating a man’s penis. “Observe, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “that she has been fully prepared for service.”

The crowd was silent, waiting and craning forward, eager to see the fair slave demonstrated. The girl’s eyes were wide and moist with unshed tears, Harold noticed, but she stood quite still and proud. She might be humiliated by the slave master’s actions, but she seemed to accept them willingly, as though she had been trained to do so. He liked that. He liked that very much.

The slave master, in his richly hued satin, knelt with thighs spread at the slave’s feet. Even at this distance across the square Harold could see the man’s erect cock spearing upwards under the robe. Even the slave master, with his vast experience of girls destined to be sexual playthings, was excited by Zacora’s compliance.

The polished rod of wood was offered upwards by the slave master, like a relic to some sensual god. He held it reverently in both hands against the peachy smoothness of the girl’s shivering belly. She looked straight ahead while the slave master was intent upon his task. Many girls would have sobbed or screamed at this humiliation, but Zacora seemed to expect it. It was part of her life, Harold could tell.

Now the polished phallus slid back down her belly, very slowly, stroking the fine silk until the wood reached the downy softness of the silvery bush.

There was not a whisper in the crowd. Harold had never seen them so intent upon the slave podium. The other girls, darker, shorter, not quite so beautiful but attractive enough, were shuffling restlessly in their light chains.

The gleaming rod, so smoothly polished by a skilled craftsman, entered the girl, pressing back the sex folds firmly with its girth. Harold could see a trickle of the girl’s lubrication ooze down the hard stem. Her face was passive, showing no expression apart from the gleam in the sapphire blue eyes and a slight parting of moist lips. This was nothing new to her, Harold realised. He saw the mound jut forward a little, the fronds parting to show the swelling inner lips and the pert bud hugely erect for all to see.

In the square there was silence apart from quickened breathing amongst the crowd and the occasional metallic chink of the slave’s chains. Harold, himself, leaned from his carriage, with Megan at his side.

“Can we have her?” said Megan. Her plump breasts, rising from her brief dress, were flushed with excitement and they rose and fell rapidly.

“I’ve said so, haven’t I?” His tone was terse, for his male sword was painful in its wanting. “But we must see how the auction goes.”

“Oh, we’ll outbid anyone here,” said Megan confidently.

Harold nodded to the soft featured Prince, gazing longingly at the girl. “Don’t be too sure,” he said.

Megan tossed her head in disdain and turned to more interesting sights on the podium. The blonde girl, hair streaming in soft shimmering coils down her naked back, was in the full throes of orgasm. The polished wooden rod was slicking back and forth, in and out of the girl’s convulsing entrance.

Harold groaned softly in delight as he saw the phallus withdrawn and held up to the crowd. It was thickly coated with the girl’s love sap. She gave a soft whimper of pleasure. Her chained wrists were linked behind her head and Harold saw them tighten as she reached her peak.

The crowd gave a communal sigh and the slave master rose to his feet, holding the steaming phallus in his raised hands. Everyone could see the liquid from the depths of the girl’s body dripping hotly down the slave master’s raised arms.

A great cheer went up and, seeing the enthusiasm which the slave master’s demonstration raised, the auctioneer stepped forward, anxious to start the bidding while so much interest was aroused.

“Zacora,” he introduced, pulling the blonde girl forward by a thin gold chain decorating her waist. “Of noble birth, so we are told and betrayed by a noble young squire.” The last few words brought scattered laughter among the crowd.

Harold’s eyes did not leave the girl’s willowy, but ripe, figure. Zacora, he breathed. Even her name was beautiful, mystical, magic. The deep sapphire eyes stared over the heads of the crowd, the soft lips parted and moist. The proud breasts were high, forced so by the position of her arms behind her head. The nipples were pinched by the silver devices held by cunning clips and teeth.

The auctioneer traced the gentle curve of the waist, so cleverly enhanced by the simple addition of the gold chain. He stroked the tiny swell of the belly before turning her round to sweep his hands over the fullness of the bottom cheeks, parting them to show the tight pinkness of the rear mouth with delicate wrinkles like the spokes of a wheel. “Tight, you see, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “so wonderfully tight.”

The bottom mouth flexed involuntarily and Harold felt his groin tense. He loved the secretiveness of buttocks in a beautiful girl. There was something forbidden about their loveliness which he found it hard to resist.

The girl was made to open her mouth, to draw out her tongue to show its pink cleanliness. The auctioneer nodded to the slave master as a signal.

The slave master lifted his richly woven robe to expose the magnificence of his penis. Zacora was pushed to her knees and her mouth was forced wide. The satiny globe, slick and purple, was pressed into the available orifice. It seemed to Harold that the shaft was being swallowed eagerly as the girl massaged the tightness of the rim with her soft lips. The agile tongue flicked back and forth over the slipperiness until, very slowly, the thick girth was swallowed and Zacora’s soft lips nestled in the crisp curls of the slave master’s pubis.

A communal sigh of satisfaction was drawn from the crowd. Zacora’s lips slid up and down the thick shaft, caressing it at each slick passage. She gave his sperm sac a pat with her tongue at the end of a caress. The magnificent organ began to throb and, suddenly, he pulled from her, turning to the crowd and holding his shaft proudly in both hands. A great fountain shot from it, splashing the nearest onlookers with hot, creamy jets.

Zacora, head held proudly and hands linked in her tumbled hair, allowed the slave master’s spillage to lie upon her pale cheeks. A pearly droplet hung upon her soft lower lip and she sucked it lovingly into her mouth.

“A thousand drachma!” The voice was loud, urgent.

The crowd looked towards its source. A Prince in a suit of cloth of gold and a solid gold codpiece stood close to the podium. He held a leather bag, thrusting it at the auctioneer.

“Two thousand!” Harold remained in his carriage, unlike the anxious Prince.

Bidding became fast and furious. No such sums had been taken for sex slaves before. The crowd murmured delightedly. It reached thirty-five thousand and the Prince shook his head as he walked dejectedly to his carriage. The horses were whipped furiously by the driver and the carriage scattered the crowd as it hurtled from the scene.

“We got her!” exclaimed Megan. Her plump figure, covered only by a very brief black silk dress, jiggled excitedly. Her breasts were fighting each other under the silk like warring little animals. “I’ll use her to teach my clients a few new games.”

Megan, much to Harold’s disapproval, had set herself up as part-time harlot. “It’s a hobby,” she told him. “I’m not efficient as a housekeeper, so I can’t help you very much round the castle and I’ve got have something to keep me out of mischief.” It went much against the grain to agree for it did not help Harold’s social standing in Vakir and he had ambition, great ambition. The Meleagans would be the top family in the land before very much longer. He had sworn an oath to that.