Chapter 1
Jalna, princess of the royal House of Brugers, was drowsy and not sure what was
happening to her. While she was collecting pretty shells on the beach near her home in
Delaga on the Island of Hali, she vaguely remembered a prick of pain and looking down saw
a dart firmly embedded in her thigh. She tried to puzzle out why it should be there as her
surroundings darkened and faded away. Now she began to realize she was lying on a table in
some sort of ramshackle shed while two men and a hard faced woman were stripping off her
clothes and fitting her with wrist and ankle straps. They had already fixed a heavy
leather collar on her neck, making her realize that she had been kidnapped by slavers!
Now they were strapping her to the table with wide leather belts. One of the
men—she could only see him in a haze--was forcing a ball gag into her mouth. Maybe she
lost focus again, but she snapped alert when she felt an intense heat near her right
shoulder. The source was a glowing branding iron held by a huge bald brute, bare to his
paunch, a flabby sagging abdomen sweating, an evil grin on his fat face as he gazed down
at her and pressed the iron to the fatty tissue of her bare shoulder. She felt a torrent
of pain rampaging from her shoulder across her body. She strained to twist away, to swing
her arms with hardened hand edges at a suitable target, to thrash her legs to deliver a
powerful blow at something--anything, but she couldn’t move against the restraints holding
her. She shrieked like she had never done before, like a calf being slaughtered, like a
slavegirl having her clitoris cut off. Jalna caught the scent of her own flesh cooking.
Again, even more desperately, she tried to struggle away but she was too tightly pinned in
place. The brute, still grinning like a demon, still held the iron to her body while the
incredible pain blazed through her like a hellish torment inflicted on her helpless body
by berserk demons. She lost focus again.
When she opened her eyes she was sprawled on the ground, on some piled up straw, in
a cage, in an open yard enclosed by a high stone wall. To her horror and humiliation she
found herself completely naked, on display to anyone who cared to look. Two boys were
ogling her, one performing lewd gyrations as though he were fucking her. A guard sauntered
over and with his whippy stick swatted them away, then stood gazing down with a smirk at
the lovely nude view.
Only her right shoulder throbbed with pain. She checked it and found a V-shape mark
about thumb-and-a-half width cleanly burned into her flesh. It was a bit longer than wide,
leaving space at the bottom for the dealer’s mark. It was the ancient symbol for
Vargat—slave. Tears filled her eyes. The brand marked her for slavery in every corner of
Mergar for the rest of her life! Captives could not be bought nor sold until they were
marked as slaves by an authorized dealer.
Throughout Mergar slavegirls were considered by the law to be slightly less than
human. They had no rights. It was devoutly believed that girls who became slaves did so by
their own fault because they had offended one of the deities. They deserved to be misused
and painfully punished. Even though they were lusted after to provide sexual delights to
men and women, they were despised. They must always be kept naked, a constant reminder of
their lowly status, except sometimes for a narrow strip of sturdy leather of any color
between their legs and supported by a belt around their waist front and back. The daddle
was the same shape and size as the area of a girl’s anatomy used as a locked chastity
device.
For some girls it took months before they learned to ignore the degradation of
nakedness. They could be displayed on the streets completely nude, there bought and sold,
rented out, transported, and/or disciplined, usually with a whip or a whippy stick that
made them cry out so erotically that the spectacle attracted large crowds of enthusiastic
spectators and served as a powerful warning to all slavegirls that the most prudent
attitudes they should adopt were docility and obedience.
When outdoors they must be tethered to their owner or overseer. Many owners
preferred a connection to either a cunt ring, breast chain or collar, but the most common
arrangement was a light chain to the slave’s nose ring which guaranteed instant obedience
when tugged.
Even if subsequently freed, slave girls could never marry.
A guard pushed a small bowl of gruel through the bars of her cage. It was awful
lumpy gunk but she decided to eat it to keep up her strength. She had to use her fingers.
A little later two naked slavegirls appeared. In the cage they shackled her wrists behind
her and fitted her ankles with a 10-inch hobble chain. Then each gripping an arm they
hauled the slave out of the cage and into the building behind. There was a huge room
filled with naked and tethered girls. The place reeked of the stench of unwashed bodies.
Jalna was firmly guided through the room to a small clinic where, in spite of her
protests and struggles, she received a douche and an enema. Then they doused her with warm
water and heartlessly scrubbed her entire body with soaped stiff brushes, dried and
brushed her waist-long blond tresses and painted her lips, nipples, finger nails, toe
nails and the lips of her pussy with the same strident shade of slavegirl-crimson. Finally
she was rendered helpless again by having her wrists shackled behind her. The keys to her
various restraints were placed in a small leather pouch and hung around her neck. Next
they wrapped the slavegirl in a thin black cloak that concealed her down to her ankles.
This was usual when a girl was to be delivered as a new purchase. The cheap garment was
secured by a single red sash around her waist. Finally they covered her head with a hood
that blocked out all light and concealed the beauty of her hair and face. The girls helped
the slave to navigate to the outside. She could tell by the clatter of hooves that she was
in a stable yard.
“You two!” a gruff voice of authority called out as a strong hand squeezed down on
her shoulder.
“Sir!”
“Sir!” two men responded respectfully.
“You are to conduct this slut to the home of commander Hiflux in Dorringer. She is
to arrive there untouched. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Be aware, you louts, that this is no ordinary girl. She was a member of the
aristocracy of Hali, may the Goddess Valava roast their souls, and is a present of the
king himself to loyal Hiflux. I imagine that should any calamity befall this girl, the
king himself would oversee the ceremony to twist off your balls. Have I made the
importance of this assignment clear, you louts?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Yes, Sir!”
Jalna was conveyed to a slave transport cage on a wagon drawn by a bullgorgon. She
could tell it was one of those gentle giant animals by the stench that filtered through
her hood. She was pushed into a cage just large enough for her to stand. She soon found a
way to prop herself up and went to sleep.
Chapter 2
When the popular princess was discovered to be missing, a variety of rumors began
to circulate the kingdom to explain her disappearance. Many theories involved ships—even
one that slid under the water’s surface—but all these were dismissed because the House of
Brugers’ castle was situated outside the City of Delaga, the kingdom’s capital, at the end
of a three-thousand paces long estuary that was regularly patrolled by Hali harbor guard
ships and war birds. The mouth of the estuary was protected by a formidable fort called
Valava’s Fist bristling with catapults that discouraged any attempt of unauthorized
entrance or leave. Every vessel in the estuary had been thoroughly searched. She was not
on a ship of any kind. She had simply vanished.
The story of a ship that could sail under the water survived because it was
repeated independently by two tavern patrons that evening. No one took them seriously
because they were well known drunks, but some people were interested in the fact that the
description both men gave—a vessel the length of three men painted a dark gray with a
funny little bent pipe on the top—were substantially identical.
It may have been hours later when Jalna was roused and dragged out of the cage,
still hooded. Strong hands gripped her arms and carefully guided her up a paved walk, a
few brick steps, then into a house where thick carpets pampered her bare feet until she
was turned down a stairway of wooden steps to a stone floor.
“Shall we disrobe her, Mistress,” one of the guards inquired.
“Yes,” a woman replied.
There was a tug on the red sash and Jalna felt a wave of shame as the robe fell
away to a chorus of approval as everyone regarded the naked beauty of the captive. The
hood was pulled off and Jalna saw several people staring at her. With her wrists still
shackled behind her, there was no way she could cover herself. They all had a clear view
of her, the audience including two soldiers and a boy. She never felt so embarrassed in
her life.
“We need a signature from Commander Hiflux,” one of the soldiers said.
“He’s gone out with his regiment to hunt for Zak raiders reported to have been seen
nearby. I am his wife. I will sign the receipt.”
While one officer got the signature the other used the slave’s leash to attach her
to a ring in the wall. He also removed her ball gag. “This girl has been brought here
straight from capture,” he told the woman. “She is strong and could be extremely dangerous
until she has been subdued with the whip and slave trained.”
“We’ll deal with her,” the woman told the soldier confidently.
The departure of the soldiers left the three members of the Hiflux family alone
with their new slave.
“I am Samana, your Mistress and owner,” the elder woman said. She was a slightly
stout woman with a stern expression. She was, Jalna judged, a woman sure of her authority
and who accepted no nonsense. “What is your name?”
“Jalna”
“You will address me as Mistress Samana. How old are you?”
“Nineteen, Mistress.”
“Are you a virgin?”
Jalna regarded the woman critically. She looked to be in her late thirties and
seemed inexperienced in handling slaves. “You are boring me with your impertinent
questions.”
“Impertinent! You seem to have forgotten that you are a slave. Perhaps a few
slashes of a whip will remind you who and what you are.” To Jalna’s surprise Samana had a
single-tail whip in her hand. She swung it at the slave. It hissed through the air and
struck flesh with a loud snap. Jalna felt excruciating pain across her breasts. Already a
thin red line had appeared on her globes, just missing her nipples. Here and there
splotches of blood oozed out of the line. In spite of her efforts to appear stoic, she
cried out. Tears flooded down her face. The second slash cut across her upper thighs. It
set Jalna, to her disgust, sobbing. Three more hard slashes followed cracking in the
silence of the basement while the others watched with various expressions of enjoyment.
The older woman spared no pity for the squealing, screaming, bawling slavegirl who was
helpless to avoid the whip slashes.
“Do you want more, Slut?” Samana demanded.
“No, please, no more, Mistress.”
“I’ll give you a moment to collect yourself, and then you will answer my
questions.”
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