The Slave Market – Chapter 3

 

            Her reaction to my challenge was dramatic.  I could see the wiggle of pleasure that started at her toes and undulated up her body, tempered with the contrasting fire of defiance that blazed out of her eyes.  On one hand she certainly wasn’t the docile slave she was pretending to be and on the other she was clearly looking forward to whatever I might have in mind to bring her in line.  I tried to hide my reaction but the wave of desire that swept over me threatened to destroy my sanity.  Moments ago I had been an adamant advocate against slavery and now there was no way that I would ever set her free.  She was mine and I planned to keep her no matter what.   I tried to change the subject.

       “What’s your name?” I asked.

       “I have no name now, sire,” she said.  “I am your slave.  My name is whatever you call me.”

       “Well, then I wish to call you by your real name,” I said.

       “Sire?”

       “I want to call you by your given name,” I said.

       “But, sire, I…I no longer have a name.”

       “Are you my slave?”

       “Yes, sire,” she answered meekly.

       “Then tell me your name,” I demanded.

       “But, sire, please I…”

       “What was your name before you had no name?” I asked coldly.

       “It was…Fatima, sire.”

       “Then I shall call you Fatima,”

       “Yes, sire,” she said, plainly not liking my choice.

       “And why are you a slave, Fatima?”

       I could see the question bothered her.  She dropped her eyes and a tear slipped out of her right eye and splashed on the table.  I waited.

       “My father sold me, sire,” she whispered.

       “Why?”

       “Sire, please,” she pleaded.

       “Why, Fatima,” I persisted.

       “He needed to repay a great debt to our family,” she said.  “I was…chosen.”

       That brought my mind back to reality.  She wasn’t sitting next to me out of choice but rather because she was a slave.  In fact she was my slave and I didn’t want to waste another minute to begin exploring what that meant.  I stood up.

       “Achmed,” I said, “with your permission I’d like to…”

       “Get to know your new slave better?” he chuckled.

       “If you could have one of your men help me find my way back to your palace I’d…”

       “Actually, Greg, I have one more gift I’d like you to accept,” he interrupted.

       “Achmed, please, you have done enough to repay me,” I protested.

       “Just one last gift, Greg, please,” he said.

       “Only if you promise that this puts an end to your obligation,” I said.

       “That I can’t promise, Greg, as I owe you a debt that can never be repaid, but I give you my word that I will not force further gifts on you.”

       I knew I wasn’t going to get more out of him than that.  Somehow my saving his son had created a lifetime debt in his mind.  I nodded.

       “This section of the Medina is called the Casbah,” he said.  “Nearby this house I own a small Riad or what you would call a villa that I wish to give to you as your home here in Marrakesh.”

       “Why?” I asked.

       “I’m trying to repay my debt to you,” he said.

       “Bullshit, Achmed,” I said.  “You did that last night when you opened my eyes to a new world.  Yet now you have given me a slave and a house.  Why?”

       “Let’s just say that I am a quick judge of men and I like what I have seen,” he smiled.  “And I would like you to stick around for a while and I’m thinking that with a…diversion such as she is and a place to stay I you will.”

       “I accept,” I laughed, “but no more gifts.  Agreed?”

       “Agreed, my friend.”

       I pulled Fatima to her feet and looked around for something to cover her near nakedness.  Seeing nothing I turned to Achmed.

       “Does she have clothes?” I asked.

       He looked a bit amused, “No, Greg, she is a slave.”

       “I need something to cover her with,” I said.

       “Greg, she is a slave,” he said.

       “She may be, Achmed, but she is my slave and I wish her covered.”

       I couldn’t imagine why he would care but it appeared to me that he looked pleased by my insistence.  He clapped his hands and a servant appeared with a robe.  If I was going to be staying in this country I seriously had to learn that hand clap trick.  I draped the robe around her and took her hand.

***

       An hour later we were finally alone.  Achmed had insisted on coming with us to show me around my new home.  I should have known that it would be a mini-palace, given that he was the Wazir, but I hadn’t really been prepared for the opulence.  I could get used to living like this.

       I also hadn’t expected it to be so thoroughly outfitted.  It had a full dungeon with stocks, bondage suspension equipment, cages, cells, spreader bars and a vast selection of implements to tame unruly slave-girls.  The real surprise was the master suite which was equipped almost as well as the dungeon.  I was sooo ready when Achmed finally left.

       “Well, my little slave girl,” I said as soon as the door closed.  “I think it’s time we get better acquainted don’t you?”

       “Better acquainted, sire?”

       “A euphemism for sampling my new merchandise,” I said.

       “Is that what I am to you then, sire?  Merchandise?” she asked disappointedly.

       She wasn’t.  Not by any stretch.  She was without a doubt an intelligent, vibrant, sharp witted woman.  She was definitely someone who, in another life, I might have pursued like a sick puppy.  She held an attraction that disturbed me but it seemed like a dangerously slippery slope to let a…slave girl, who didn’t give a whit about me, know that.  I hardened my tone.

       “Aren’t you?” I asked.  “Didn’t I just buy you?  Aren’t you just chattel?  A piece of warm flesh to be used anyway I want to satisfy my dark desires?”

       “Well…technically, sire, the Wazir bought me,” she said defiantly.

       “Tell me, Fatima,” I asked.  “Did your previous master tolerate that smart mouth of yours or is that why you were on the block tonight?”

       She dropped her eyes.  I had hit some kind of a nerve.  I pressed my advantage.

       “Did he have to whip you often?” I pressed.

       “I…no, sire, I…you are my first master,” she said meekly.

       “What?  How can that be?” I thought.  “She…”

       “Your first master?” I asked.

       “Yes, sire.”

       “How long have you been a slave?”

       “I’m sorry, sire, I shouldn’t have…”

       “How long, Fatima?”

       “Three hours, sire,” she said.

       That didn’t make any sense but I pushed it out of my mind.  What stood out for me was that I had a clean slate to draw on.  I was in possession of a jewel.  She was someone who was more a novice than I.  I could mold her as I wanted and…

       “Get rid of that robe,” I demanded.

       She dropped her robe to the ground and it took my breath away.  She had a slight frame with small but firm breasts, narrow waist and a triangle that I wanted to dive into.

       “Here’s how it’s going to work, Fatima,” I said.  “I’m going to let you decide how I’m going to discipline you tonight.  I want you to go up to the bedroom, pick out whatever you think I should use on you to make you understand that I am your master and secure yourself in whatever fashion that you think appropriate.  I will be up in a while to…establish our relationship.”

       She looked at me and smiled.

       “I get to decide how severe my first session with you is going to be?” she asked.

       “Yes.”

       “Well,” she said disdainfully, turning and walking for the stairs, “that’s easy then.”

       “Sort of,” I said to her retreating back.

       She turned and cocked her head.

       “Sort of?”

       “Didn’t you mean ‘Sort of, sire?” I smiled.

       A flicker of uncertainty rippled across her face but the flame of insolence still burned brightly in her eyes.

       “Sort of, sire?” she asked carefully.

       “Yes, sort of, because, if I don’t think that what you picked is harsh enough to make you understand your position as my slave, I intend to put you in one of the cells in the basement and leave you alone for a week,” I said mildly.

       “That’s cruel and inhumane!” she blurted.

       “It is isn’t it?” I reflected.

       “But, sire, I…”

       “You best get started, slave,” I interrupted.

       I was climbing the walls within five minutes in my eagerness to get at my treasure but I forced myself to wait a full twenty before I climbed the stairs to see.  She had exceeded my wildest expectations.  She had an ankle spreader holding her legs wide apart with a ring gag in her mouth.  She had bent herself across the whipping frame and fastened the waist belt and neck strap and then had somehow managed to lock her hands behind her.

       On the bed she had thoughtfully laid out a paddle, a riding crop, a single tail whip, a cane and various other implements which I wasn’t sure of.  I skinned out of my clothes and picked up the paddle.

       “Very nice, Fatima,” I purred, rubbing the paddle lightly on her bottom.

       She moaned and thrust her ass out as far as she could.

       “I like your choices for correcting your behavior and I promise to use every one of them before we are through tonight,” I said, tapping a light tattoo on her cheeks with the paddle.

       She yelled something incoherent and shook her head plainly trying to tell me no. 

       “Yes,” I laughed.

       I reached my left hand under her and let my fingers slide softly along her moist opening.  She wiggled in pleasure and tried to press herself into my hand.

       “When I’m finished you are going to know who your master is, aren’t you, my little slave girl?” I asked, swatting her full force.

       She shrieked into her gag and nodded her head vigorously.   I laughed again and allowed my middle finger slip inside of her.  I picked up the tempo on her rear while holding my finger still.  She began bucking and screaming into the ring gag.  On one hand she wanted to impale herself on my finger and on the other she wanted to push her buns out for the beat of the paddle.

       I varied my pace to bring her to the edge and keep her there.  I kept giving her tantalizing glimpses of heaven but…  When her cries ultimately became one continuous wail of begging, I pushed my middle finger into her cunt all the way and used my index finger and thumb to capture her clitoris.  That pushed her over the edge.  Her body jackknifed into an orgasm that was astounding.  It seemed to go on forever and pushed her whole being into some faraway place.  I left her there. 

       When the peaks finally began diminishing I lightened my strokes and finger stimulation to drag her pleasure out while I basked in the glory of what I had done.  I felt as if I had just created a unique but temporary work of art that could never be repeated, well, never exactly the same way but I sure was going to try!

       When her moans had turned to soft whimpering I removed her ring gag, bent down and kissed her softly on the lips.

       “Thank you, sire,” she whispered.

       “We’ll see if you thank me later,” I chuckled.

       I picked up the riding crop and shoved my cock into her warm, pliant, inviting and tantalizingly tempting mouth.  I snapped the riding crop gently into the crease of her ass which wrapped the flexible end into her cunt.  That produced an involuntary sucking reflex that almost put me over the edge.  I tried to hold back but two more flicks found me screaming and spurting my seed.  I dropped the crop and held on to her head like it was a steering wheel to salvation.  That elusive something I had been searching for was in front of me and god help anyone who tried to take it from me.

       When I recovered my sanity I unstrapped her from the frame, gathered her into my arms and carried her to the bed.  I uncuffed her hands and pulled her face into mine for a deep loving kiss.  She put her hands around me and responded.  We necked like teenagers for a few minutes before she broke the kiss and looked at me.

       “I’m so glad that you bought me, sire,” she said.

       “Are you?” I asked.

       “Yes.”

       “So, you don’t mind being a slave?”

       She dropped her eyes and a hint of something hurtful crossed her face.  She swallowed and raised her eyes back to mine.

       “I would never have chosen to be a slave, sire,” she said earnestly, “but if I must be one then I’m glad I belong to you.”

       “I hope you still can say that in the morning,” I said.

       “Sire?”

       “We’ve only used the paddle and the crop,” I said looking at the array of other items she had laid out for my use.  “I promised you that we would use them all.”

       “Sire,” she said anxiously, “I release you from your promise.”

       “Oh, no, Fatima,” I said solemnly, “a promise is a promise.”

          

    to be continued...

      

       copyright 2010 Lance Colton

 

      

      

           

      

                       

 

No Comments Left Yet!