The sword says swiftly
What the brush takes time to say.
As the years go by,
The sword’s words are forgotten
While the brush’s words live on.

– The Canticle of Menkeret.

………………………………………………..

The ropes dig into my wrists but I feel no pain. I face the setting sun across a
boundless sapphire sea but I am only vaguely conscious of the marvelous beauty before me. I am naked but clothed in resignation. I am hungry but know intuitively that soon I will be replete. I should feel fear but prefer to trust in Fate.

Redolent with rare oils from nameless far-off lands and adorned with a costly jewel from beyond the mountains, my body is beautiful. I am beautiful, as I have always been.

An hour passes and the last copper rays of the setting sun vanish, to be replaced by night. I stand tied to an iron column, in a marble room in this tower that overlooks the sea. He who put me here might have intended to frighten me but I am seldom afraid. I trust in Fate, for she is a powerful goddess; the empress of the world.

At last my captor’s minions arrive. There are six of them and they are ugly, brutish things; more animal than human. They speak to me but I cannot understand their guttural words. They laugh and gesture meaningfully but each sound they utter makes them seem more clumsy and stupid than the last. There is one who wears leather gloves; provided by his lord no doubt. He is the only one allowed to touch me. He leers and grimaces in a parody of compassion but I have no empathy for him. I would sooner plunge a cold dagger into his black heart and the heart of his master.

Now his hands grasp my knees roughly from behind and part my legs. I can hear the others utter sounds of leering admiration as their eyes behold my nakedness. But I am not flattered.

As before, I am washed but with warm water this time and some gently aromatic salve. I am washed thoroughly; the creature now being especially and unexpectedly gentle with me. He washes my every nook. I tense my muscles but relax after a time as the salve takes effect. It feels wonderful and must have cost my captor dear. I turn once the creature has completed his duty and with a sharp kick of my heel, strike the small alabaster bottle from his hand. It skitters across the floor and breaks, spilling the precious oil irretrievably onto the marble floor. The creatures are silent. If they weren’t so stupid now would be a good time for them to contemplate their master’s wrath.

Their leader snarls at me but I spit in his face. He wipes his forehead and makes a threatening gesture but I know he will not hurt me, for I am his master’s prize.

I laugh as the creatures pick up the shards of the bottle and attempt to reassemble them. Then I hear a series of heavy footsteps approaching; the creatures fumble with the shards and hide them amongst their rags. They exit hastily; their leader glancing back and sighing in his simian way. I smile; yes he is right to sigh, for beauty is indeed a terrible thing.

Now a heavy door opens; one which the creatures are forbidden to use. I stare at the starry night outside; my face impassive and cold. For several long moments I can hear him breathing and can smell his familiar scent. He stands still behind me and though I know his eyes are at that moment upon my legs, upon my ass and my hips, I pretend that I’m alone, with only silence for a companion. Suddenly there are more footsteps and I feel the presence of another.

“Is this her,” the newcomer asks, his voice betraying surprise.

“Ah, so you like her?”

“Why has she given you so much trouble?”

My captor is silent but, as his companion demands an answer one is given.

“She was rude to Cordelia. I have to…… get rid of her.”

Liar. Indeed I was rude to the precious Lady Cordelia, my captor’s wife, and she deserved it. But that is not the real reason. I feel them approach.

“And for merely that you would give me this…..this….”

Now my captor’s patience is running out; his companion is clearly not convinced.

“Well, I will leave you alone to get better acquainted, but make a decision or tomorrow she goes back to the slaver.”

With that, I hear his heavy footfalls on the floor. He leaves hurriedly, leaving the other man. This man has a young voice but, standing behind me as he is, I can tell little else about him. I hear him take a deep breath,

“What is your name slave?

I will surprise him.

“Slave!”

He is silent.

“My brother told me you were insolent. Perhaps we must teach you behavior befitting your station.”

He speaks without conviction and I maintain my silence.

“Where are you from slave? Were you one of the servants of some great lady taken in battle? Are you a servant? No, you are too beautiful, assuredly you must be the boon companion of some worthy lady……….”

“I am a slave,” I reply quietly.

“Hmmm, so you have said. Are you so resigned to your fate, slave?”

His tone indicates that he does not expecting me to answer. I feel his smooth, cool hand run slowly down my hip and thigh, then across my smooth ass. His fingers touch my pussy lips for an instant and then he steps back.

“You wear oil of Minnah. My brother must value you. So I wonder why he would just give you to me for nothing.”

With that, he is gone. I expect his brother’s foul smelling minions to come and take me back to the cell that has held me for the past six weeks but instead, two young women enter the room. I can tell by their features that they are from Zonovon or one of the Isles of Illia. They look at me meekly and one of them even attempts to smile. From their rough homespun garb I see that they too are slaves. They cut my bonds but do nothing to cover my nakedness. I do not care. They lead me from the room where two tall, heavily armed men await them. These are my new owner’s men, my escort and my guard. We travel through many dark, silent corridors to a carriage. I am placed in the back with the two women on either side. The men climb into the front compartment and goad the horses into action. The roads are good and soon I see that we are passing through broad streets lined with trees, statues and fine buildings – all the trappings of empire. But there is noise, smoke, filth and the common stock of humanity with their incessant babble. My fellow slaves seem not to notice all this, they are silent and impassive. I am surprised when one of them speaks to me.

“We are approaching the house of Lord Heshuzius; he is your new lord and master. It would do you well to show him every mark of humility, meekness and servitude.”

I feel like slapping the woman in the face but something holds my hand back. She is right after all; I am a slave and resistance at this juncture is futile. Better to swim with the current than to fight against it. I look at the woman’s face; she is younger than I, dark and attractive, well fed for a slave too and her clothes are clean. She even wears a few rough beads. It seems that the Lord Heshuzius takes good care of his property.

At length I am led down a dark narrow alley to where brands light a low door. I am led inside where there are more women wearing homespun and going about their work. They do not look at me and my companions lead me to a room off the main corridor. Here I find water to wash with and food; there is meat and there are vegetables. I am surprised by the quality of it all. I eat my fill and lie on the bed, the softness of which also surprises me. In a small chest in the corner, I find more homespun clothing and at first I am disdainful of it, much preferring my nakedness. But I put it on, again trusting in an unknown fate.

I rest for several hours until most of the noises of the house have died away. I see signs of a light approaching and am on guard. The door opens and the woman who spoke to me in the carriage enters,

“I am Ara, in the language of my people that means……”

“Altar.”

“Yes, you know the tongue of Zonovon?”

She speaks with a hint of enthusiasm and I smile at her but say nothing. She continues,

“I have been ordered to take you into the private chambers of Lord Mekkaron. He is the guest of my Lord Heshusius. Etiquette dictates that he must offer your body to his guest for his pleasure this night. You would do well to obey and act in accordance with his desires.”

My eyes narrow upon hearing this. I am acquainted with some of the customs of my captors but this comes as something of a surprise. I give Ara my hand and stare at her face. She manages a weak smile and turns to the door. Outside there is a guard who follows us up a flight of stairs to the residential levels of the house. There is manifest opulence here; multi coloured marble floors, frescoes and furniture wrought of costly woods, statues of porphyry, diorite and lapis lazuli, lamps of bronze and silver. In the air there hangs the sweet aroma of sandalwood and sweet jasmine. We stop by a tall window set before a heavy door. I see the full moon outside and offer the goddess my adoration in silent prayer.

Now the door opens silently and I am led inside. The guard takes up position by the widow. Inside, the room is dimly lit. Ara speaks,

“My lord Mekkaron, the Lord Heshuzius offers you this slave for your pleasure.”

“‘T is well, convey my gratitude to him.”

His voice is accented, heavy and nasal. I see him sitting in the shadows, a golden goblet in his hand. Ara bows low and turns to depart but before she does so she gives me a look that is all sympathy. The door closes.

“Approach me.”

I walk towards him slowly; my feet cool against the marble floor. He sits upon a fine chair of ebony embellished with jade and gold. At his feet lie plush furs and choice skins from a diversity of animals. He is a man in his fifth decade but slim of figure, dark as are all the lords of Darrakhai, and naked but for a string of red sardonyx at his throat. By the light of the lamps I see that he is scarred; the veteran no doubt of many battles. I stare at him but remain still. Bathed as I am in lamplight, I know that my green eyes will appear dark – unfathomable, my hair; like a black storm cloud; my skin, like the fine ivory of the Talfan delta. I feel his eyes on my face.

“Remove your garments.”

I do as he orders, leaving them in a pile at my feet. Again I feel his gaze fall upon me; upon my long neck, upon my broad shoulders, upon my breasts with their tight rosebud nipples, upon the flat plane of my belly and upon my navel. His eyes linger on my pussy; adorned by its single brush stroke of black, and then he lowers his eyes to my long, smooth legs. I relax my muscles consciously, looking down at him. There is no emotion upon my face; I might be a statue of the Queen of the Dead.

Now a sound escaped his mouth; a long hissing sigh. He shakes his head slowly. I can tell that I have impressed him; or at least my body has. As he stands I glance at his cock; hanging between dark curled hair – It seems I have aroused him merely with my presence.

He approaches me and raises hands upon which glitter heavy golden rings. He runs his hands down my arms and over my sides; his touch is gentle. I now see his eyes and can see the unmistakable look of lust in them. It is a look I’ve seen many times before. He reaches behind me and, for several minutes, rubs the cheeks of my ass, gritting his teeth as his cock twitches into life. I can feel it against my thigh but I do not react. Now he tugs at my hair gently and runs his fingers over my nipples. I am surprised by his gentleness; bordering on affection. He leaves me and sits down lazily.

“Come here and kneel.”

I do as he tells me, maintaining eye contact with him.

“I want you to give me pleasure with your mouth, but you must keep my cock hard for at least half an hour and in that time I must not come.” Now his tone becomes stern, “Do you understand me slave?”

“I do.”

He seems satisfied with this and settles back in the ebony chair. I grasp his cock in my hand, ensuring that I pull his foreskin back gently. I notice that it is pierced by a bar of gold with finials of rare stones. I use this jewel as a starting point and feel him getting harder immediately as I begin to rub his shaft and pull his loose foreskin over the head of his cock and back. After several minutes he curves upwards and he has swollen to the point where I can no longer pull his foreskin back down. I shut my eyes and take his cock into my mouth. It feels smooth and his skin is soft. Soon I forget that he and his ilk are my oppressors. He is a man and a man can give as well as receive pleasure.

Now my mouth is tingling with his juices; I feel his cock rub the roof of my mouth and the inside of my cheeks, I lick the underside of his shaft to its base. I become conscious of his chest, rising and falling rapidly as he breaths deeply. I take his cock out of my mouth and lick the base all around its circumference. His balls contract sharply as my tongue tickles them. Now I hold the base of his shaft and pump it while returning the head of his cock to my mouth. I am tempted momentarily to open my eyes and look at his face to see what affect this might be having but I do not care to. I treat him as an ape would treat a particularly succulent fruit. Now I feel his palm pressing on my head. I increase the pressure of my hand and mouth, but not too much as I am mindful of his instructions. Suddenly he gasps and pushes me away. I kneel back only to see him grasp the full length of his shaft and work it furiously. He exhales loudly and shuts his eyes tightly as ropes of watery, white come shoot from his cock and land upon the furs on the floor. I cannot help but grin; I had him in my mouth for only a matter of minutes – only as long as it has taken you to read these last two paragraphs.

Now, with his juices still on his hand, he looks down at me. He saw me smiling and I can see now that he is not pleased. He stands and walks briskly to the door. The guard enters and, seizing my arms, lifts me roughly from the floor. I’m pinned against the guard’s cold armor as Mekkaron returns with several golden cords.

“Put her up against the window bars,” he orders the guard tersely.

My instinct is to struggle, to fight and my will is not lacking, my spirit fears nothing. It is Fate that most unknowable of all the ten thousand gods who once more intervenes and restrains me. I am powerless against her.

The guard presses my face against the bars of the widow and pins my breasts against the cold steel. But this is not Mekkaron’s wish.

“Turn her around. I want her facing me.”

With speed and efficiency, Mekkaron ties my wrists, ankles and neck tightly to the bars while the guard, feasting his nose on my scent, hesitates to let go of me. I am disgusted but determined not to show it.

“Now go!”

The guard bows and departs while Mekkaron stands staring at me. I can see a fierce glint of anger in his eye.

“I said half an hour. You obviously weren’t listening, you filthy fishwife.”

How I can remember that word, still to this very day – ‘apardalla’, in the Darrakhai tongue. Fishwife was the worst insult they can hurl at a woman.

He produces a thin leather rod from behind his back. I can see the leather shining in the lamplight. He takes two steps towards me. I stare at him and lines from The Canticle of Menkeret come into my mind. I recite them silently,

“Gaze into the light
For it may not shine again.
Revel in its sight
For it will soon fade away
To pure darkness at midday.”

I fix my gaze upon the lamp on the wall as the Darrakhai strikes my side. I feel a little pain but the words of the canticle echo through my mind like the howling winds of my northern homeland. This man and his slender rod are nothing beside them. He continues to strike my sides, my hips, my legs and my belly. He leaves my face untouched, I am unsure why. Now his strokes increase in violence and ferocity; I can feel my skin welling up, tightening and reddening under the leather rod. I see his gritted teeth, the glint of pleasure in his eye and his cock; too short to swing as he repeatedly strikes my body.
I utter not a word, I do not blink, my lips do not tremble, and my resolution does not waver. All this merely serves to further anger the Darrakhai; he spits on the floor, swears in his own tongue and repeats that vile word,

“Apardalla! Hoshaa apardalla!”

At last he has finished and tosses the rod away; it smashes some glass object but he scarcely notices. Not he reaches for his goblet, takes a long swig and approaches me. The pain howls in my head like the jackals sacred to Wepwawet howl at the full moon. But I ignore it and focus on the eyes of this man before me. Now he pretends to take another sip of wine then tosses the remainder of the cup in my face. I close my eyes in time but cannot avoid smelling the heady sweet aroma as the liquid covers my face and runs in rivulets down between my breasts. I feel drops of it enter my wounds; adding further to my pain. As a priestess of Menkeret I am forbidden any contact with strong beverages but this latest insult to me now seems negligible.

From the far corner of the room a red dog now awakens. It greets its master warmly and its affection is reciprocated. For the moment Mekkaron forgets me as he fetches food for his pet. He returns with a bowl full of meat strips. Now he sits before me and, without looking up at me, proceeds to throw the strips at my feet. The meat hits my feet and the blood spatters the wall behind. The dog is delighted and wastes not an instant in retrieving the food from around my feet. I feel its tongue lick my toes – an almost pleasant sensation after my recent pains. Mekkaron is very amused by his pet but his diversion only lasts until the last strip of meat. He holds it in his hand but instead of throwing it at my feet as he had done, he throws it at my breasts. It hits me between them and drops to the ground where the dog consumes it, like all the rest, with gusto.

The dog begs for more and Mekkaron the Darrakhai consoles it. Sitting on a cushion at last, I see the dog’s handsome red face with glittering eyes watching me. Then it sleeps.

My tormentor returns to face me; a look of enquiry upon his face,

“What are you? Are you from Kranon or Viridia in Karasann where the slaughter was horrific?”

I am silent.

“Are you a daughter of Mentrassanae? Surely not, our conquests do not extend that far.”

I meet his stare with total indifference.

“Even the high priests of that howling demon-god Menkeret cannot endure a beating such as I have just given you and remain unmoved. So what are you? What are you!”

My eyes are obsidian, long cooled after the volcanic fires of their creation. I stare at him unblinkingly.

“Well,” he spits with contempt.

“It matters not. You are a slave now, nothing more. Your god and your faith cannot help you here. You are a thing lower and more contemptable than my dog’s droppings.”

He now fetches an object which I at first take to be another rope but I see it is one of the dog’s collars with a lead. He quickly straps this to my throat. It is a choking collar. I feel him pull upon it and the leather slides easily around my windpipe. I tense my muscles but relax them again almost at once. I see him smile with obvious satisfaction. He now grasps the end of the lead and pulls. My neck is still tied to the bars of the window so I am choked by both the rope and the collar. Mekkaron laughs as he tugs the lead sharply once, twice, a third time and holds it down – I cannot breathe for a moment and gasp. He mocks me. I now notice that he is holding his cock in his other hand and is busily making himself hard. My humiliation and the discomfort he is causing me serve well to arouse him. After choking me again, he begins to rub his curving cock on my belly; I feel its head pass across my muscles and down towards my pussy. He seldom neglects to choke me now. The pain causes the words of the sacred canticle to enter my mind like a balm,

“I hear a bird call
As dark clouds obscure the moon.
Lightning soon flashes
And thunder rumbles loudly.
The bird awaits its moment.”

My legs are spread and my naked pussy exposed. Mekkaron’s cock is hard – solely by his own doing. He places its head at my threshold but finds it difficult to enter me. I am dry. He kneels and spits between my lips. It is another indignity yes, but I am long past caring. Now he is ready. I feel his breath upon my throat He grasps my shoulders, letting the lead drop between my breasts. I feel his cock pushing and wriggling its way into me. I relax my muscles; he feels this and looks up, surprised. He sniggers and begins to thrust his cock into me faster. I am tempted to remind him of the duration of his last performance but I hold my tongue. I feel his cock rubbing the walls of my pussy. It moistens and he finds himself penetrating deeper. I feel his fingers pressing the flesh of my shoulders; he breathes harder as I thrust forward. Again he is surprised by my cooperation. He says nothing.

My wrists and ankles are numb from the ropes; my skin is raw and stained, I am insulted and misused but my heart is strong and I am resolute. I thrust my hips forward and the Darrakhai groans contentedly, he takes hold of my hips and buries his head in between my breasts. I feel his lust intensify. I pray to the gods.

I shut my eyes and open my mind. I can already feel his heartbeat. It is faint and fleeting but the more I listen, the more distinct it becomes. I am like a cat listening for the scurrying of a mouse in the dark. His heart beats louder, he thrusts his cock faster and more ravenously into my body and his heart beats harder. His blood surges, fuelling his desire. I clear my mind of all things; all sensations cease except for this one sound, this one vibration – the double beat of the heart of Mekkaron the Darrakhai. Nothing else exists, there is darkness in my mind but in the darkness there is a glimmer. I stride towards it for in my mind my bonds are broken. I see it, I see his beating heart. It is a vessel of glass, hot and brittle. I take hold of it at last. It burns me but I can endure the pain. I open my eyes to behold his face. There is a hint of fear in his eyes now but his body is heedless of it. His thrusts are harder than he has ever experienced before, his cock is more rigid than it has ever been, there is unbearable pleasure coursing through his every sinew, and his every nerve is alive with delight. I feel him summon all his meager courage; he would resist me. Pain and pleasure struggle within him as my grip on his heart tightens. The fear in his eyes is obvious now but he cannot pull away from me. It is too late. I feel his cock reach the apogee of its rigidity. I allow him to relax for an instant and reach the point of inevitability. He groans as he comes; holding his breath. I can feel his juices flood me but as he tries to take a breath – one cleansing, reviving breath, I shatter his heart!

His body falls limp at my feet, unnoticed even by the dosing dog. His watery juices ooze out of me; running down my thigh for a little way then dripping onto the floor to join his body. His cock is wet and still rigid. I shut my eyes and breathe a silent prayer to Menkeret, bringer of sleep and of succor.

At dawn the servants enter; the guard having been told to remain at his post come what may. They ignore me but roll their master’s body onto its back. A senior servant is called; an old white haired man, who feels for his master’s pulse while the others, clearly concerned, look on. At last the old man looks up at me; a naked slave securely tied to iron bars and beaten. Austerely he announces,

“Our master is dead!”

Stay tuned for Part 2 of The Slave Princess……………..

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