Lord of Avalon (4 page)

She’s so beautiful and now she’s mine
, he thought.
Mine
.
He thrust harder into her. Her lips parted. He wanted to kiss them, but didn’t.

Rydah, who had been waiting for this sun for many
rynes
,
felt the moment approach. His seed rose up in him. Drops of sweat flung down
onto Jenya’s naked body. He closed his eyes and felt his cock throb. He sensed
she was nearing the peak of her pleasure as well. With a sudden roar, he pushed
hard into her, his ball-sack slapping the apex of her legs. He released his
precious seed into her and she grabbed him hard by the shoulders, wrapping her
legs around him. The chain rattled as she shook with desire.

“Oh, Master! Master!” she cried out. Her hips continued to
twitch for several seconds as their pleasure ebbed. Finally, Rydah pulled free,
breathing hard.

“You are now a true breeder. Congratulations,” he said
awkwardly.

She stared at him, then looked away. Inside, her emotions
were in turmoil. The breeding had been everything she had been taught, yet her
master seemed a little distant, even cold. She hoped she had performed
adequately—she had even achieved an orgasm. Wasn’t that all right? Perhaps she
should try harder next time.

Rydah rolled over and immediately went to sleep. He had
forgotten to chain her. It didn’t matter—Jenya had absolutely no desire to run.
Despite his aloofness, she believed this man had the potential to be a good
master, she decided. Then sleep overtook her and she drifted off, a contented
smile on her face.

Jenya awoke first and was delighted to see her master
snoring peacefully next to her. This was unheard of! To share the master’s bed
the first night!

She knew she would be relegated to the downstairs as soon as
he bought the cot, but she enjoyed her temporary high status nonetheless.

Slipping out of the bedcovers, she padded downstairs,
holding one hand on her chain and the fingers of her other hand to her bell to
keep them both quiet.

Her breeding passage felt strange. It leaked fluids, which
made her want to press her thighs together. She looked down between her legs
and made a face at the sticky fluids, tinged with blood. She went outside to
relieve herself in the privy. Later, as she washed up, it occurred to her that
she had not been chained at all since she arrived.

He trusts me already?

The feeling gave her a warm glow. She had no desire to run
from this lord. Besides, when she had been twelve, she had seen what happened
when a breeder ran away.

She remembered the girl clearly. Glynda had been brought
back after running away from a second-tier Damon. Before they punished her,
they allowed her to stay a sun with the other girls, so she could tell her
story and they could judge for themselves the folly of running—slaves had to
learn to accept their fates and make the most of their roles.

Glynda had been purchased by a second-tier Damon who had
recently lost his breeder in childbirth. He needed someone to take over caring
for the baby…

“The baby was an ugly little brat,” she said, tearfully,
as she awaited word on her punishment. “It cried all the time. I had no milk,
so every sun, I had to milk goats to feed it. My master wanted me to care for
the baby, keep the house clean, fix all his meals—and be ready for him whenever
he wanted to breed, which was often!”

Tears ran down her cheeks. “I tried to keep up. I really
did! I’d be in the middle of cleaning or feeding the baby, and he’d be right
there, demanding his rights to my pussy! I did everything he asked, but within
two moons, I was so tired I could barely stand up.”

“He grew angry at my exhaustion, so he’d beat me. I’d be
crying, the baby would be crying and he’d be standing there with his crop in
one hand and his big cock in the other, ready to breed with me again as soon as
he finished beating me!”

The girls clucked in sympathy. Jenya thought Glynda
sounded a little spoiled, but she made no comment. She wondered if her lord
would want to mate all the time. The thought made her nerves spark.

“Finally, I just snapped. He went out for the sun and
left me unchained—usually he had me on a long chain so I could tend the baby. I
took the baby to a neighbor’s house and left it with the slave there, telling
her I had to run to the market. Then I ran away. I hoped I could reach Zandir,
but I was picked up within a dal.”

The girls murmured and told her how unfortunate she had
been. Jenya could see a few cast looks at Glynda that indicated they too
thought she had given up too soon. The baby, according to her, was almost a
ryne old, and would soon be walking and talking. Just a few more moons and the
baby might become a delightful little child. And Glynda would have grown heavy
with child herself, so the toddler would have a playmate eventually.

Instead, she was back in the pens, a failure at age
nineteen, ready to be sent down the castes to be mated with a Merchant or
worse.

Lady Margeld came for her later, leading her out by her
chain, not saying a single word to her. She had a look of disappointment on her
face that Jenya had never seen before. Glynda’s failure was Syminton’s failure,
Jenya supposed.

A hura later, they gathered the girls into the boxes
overlooking the breeding pens. It was a tight fit, as all forty young virgins
were present.

Below, the punishment pole had been erected in the empty
room. Glynda was facing the pole, with her hands tied above her head and her
ankles fastened to the bottom. The girls could hear her whimpering already.

Syminton’s son Mirdar had come in carrying the large
lash. He walked all the way around the pole, swishing it and seeing the effect
it had on her.

Mirdar spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Glynda,
you are guilty of running away from your master, a master who selected you at
age twelve and paid for you over a period of six rynes. Yet just two moons
after delivery, you ran away. You have brought shame on the house of Syminton
& Son.”

Glynda’s shoulders shook.

“For your punishment, you will receive fifteen strokes of
the lash. After you recover, you will become a house breeder for the Laborer
caste.”

There was an audible gasp from the girls. Laborers! Only
being named a Warrior breeder could have been worse!

Glynda began to sob. Jenya doubted she even felt the
first stroke, so devastating was her demotion. She was sure if Glynda could
have another chance, she’d endure her life at the Damon’s house with a lot more
grace. But it was too late. The lawyer had already chosen another breeder, as
was his privilege. Syminton guaranteed their breeding slaves.

Glynda cried out as the second blow fell. Jenya could see
thin lines of blood in the welts that were left on her skin. She knew from her
lessons that the wounds were not deep, but might leave scarring. Not that it
mattered. Laborer breeders didn’t have to look pretty.

For several long lapars, the blows fell. Glynda passed
out near the end and simply hung from her arms, her knees bent on both sides of
the pole as the final two strikes marked her. Mirdar got a bucket from the
corner and splashed water on her, causing Glynda to come to and gasp in pain
and shock.

She was left there while the girls filed out silently,
their pale faces reflecting the brutality of the beating. Each of them vowed
never to run away, no matter how bad it got.

The punishment had had the desired effect.

Jenya had seen Glynda only once after that. It was nearly a
ryne
later when she was returning from her exercises outside their living quarters.
She spotted Glynda getting some sun, her belly swollen with the seed of a
Laborer. She looked miserable. Jenya, out of deference to her, did not
acknowledge her presence.

Jenya shuddered at the memory and hurried into the kitchen.
She looked over her new master’s meager larder. Only a hard crust of bread and
some cheese remained. Sighing, she fixed a meal for her master, then started up
the stairs to the loft.

She hesitated. Would it be better to stay downstairs and not
to assume that she would be allowed upstairs except for breedings? Would he
grow angry at seeing her? It was hard to know! She decided to risk it—he might
enjoy having breakfast brought to him.

Jenya sat on her heels by his bed for another twenty
lapars
until her lord awakened. When he saw her, he smiled, lightening her heart
considerably.

“Thank you, slave.” He took the bread, covered in cheese and
took a bite. “I don’t have any
renda
left, do I? It helps me wake up.”

“No, master, I didn’t see any. Perhaps I should look again?”
She half rose.

“No, no. I think I used the last of it two suns ago. We need
to go to the market.”

Jenya was secretly pleased to hear that. Not only would they
get some much-needed supplies, but she could be shown off as the slave of a
Damon! The other slaves, owned by mere Craftsmen and Merchants, would be so
jealous!

After he ate, he took Jenya outside with him while he
visited the privy. When he used it, he shut the door, of course. She waited
patiently nearby, eager to prove herself worthy of his trust.

“Come,” he said, as he washed up in the small fountain. “We
must go to the market while the best produce is available.”

He took the end of her chain and fastened it to his belt.
There was a small loop there that he could hook the chain to. Some used
padlocks, but Lord Rydah didn’t sense that Jenya wanted to escape. She seemed
happy to be here with him.

He led the way, Jenya behind to carry his baskets. He looked
proudly about as they approached the market, catching the envious glances of
other Damons as he led his beautiful new slave. Some of them, he remembered,
had urged him to sell her contract and make a small profit. Now he saw envy in
their eyes and it thrilled him.

Jenya, padding along behind, felt similar pride. She altered
her gait so the tiny bell between her legs would jingle as loudly as possible,
though it was still barely audible. When it bounced against her clit, the rim
stimulated her, causing her fluids to seep out along her slit.

Along the way, she recognized a few breeders who had been
sold before her. One in particular, Lyrda, had always acted so superior to
Jenya. She had convinced herself that only the most powerful Damon would buy
her.

Yet when Lyrda’s fourteenth birthday approached and she
began to face the very real possibility she might not be selected, the haughty
girl lost much of her arrogance.

Jenya had grown tired of Lyrda’s putdowns, which didn’t make
any sense because Jenya had been selected, not Lyrda. If anything, it should be
she who looked down on Lyrda. But that was not Jenya’s style…

During the last six months of her stay in the Damon slave
quarters, Lyrda began to get desperate. She was put up for Selection three more
times before the end, and each time, the other girls told Jenya that she had flirted
shamelessly with the Damon buyers.

Syminton did not punish her, for he knew she was worried.
As she should be. Everyone could see the flaws that the Damons saw but had
hoped they might be overlooked. She was pretty enough. Her biggest problem was
her rather narrow hips. She might not have any problems in birth, but many
Damons did not want to take the risk. They liked the wide-hipped girls with the
sturdy legs, like Jenya. True breeders.

A month before her fourteenth birthday, Lyrda came to
Jenya to ask if there was something she should be doing differently. Jenya
didn’t know what to say. After rynes of acting superior, now she came for
advice?

“I don’t know,” she said softly, trying not to hurt the
girl’s feelings. What could she say—make your hips wider? “You have one more
Display, I think you’ll be selected.”

The sun of her final Selection, Lyrda was beside herself.
She bathed carefully and used too much perfume. She brushed her hair until
Jenya was worried it would be pulled from her scalp. She even took the drastic
step of shaving the hair between her legs, in an effort to appear younger and
more desirable to the Damons.

Nothing worked. When she came back from the Selection,
unselected yet again, her despair was total. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
No one dared approach her. She had become a pariah, as if by speaking to her,
her bad luck might rub off on another.

Jenya felt sorry for Lyrda, despite the girl’s former
arrogance. When Syminton called her into his office, she went with shoulders slumped,
totally defeated. She returned less than a hura later, in a black mood.
Whispers soon followed: “Lyrda’s demoted to the Craftsman caste. She goes up
for auction in a month.”

In retrospect, Jenya thought she got off easy. Craftsmen had
talent and value, even if they weren’t rulers. Lyrda could have become a house
breeder or been sent to the hill regions, where Damons weren’t as fussy, but
living conditions were much harsher.

If Jenya hadn’t been selected by a Damon, she could have
found honor in bearing the children of a Craftsman, she believed. Still, she
mused as she fingered the number etched into the skin of her upper bottom,
I
am one lucky girl.

Jenya smiled at Lyrda as she walked by and secretly
delighted in the downward cast of the young slave’s head as her eyes evaded
hers. The deference was demanded by her lower caste.

* * * * *

At the market, Lord Rydah seemed as if he wanted a little of
everything. He placed fruits and bread and meat in her baskets, a
gabon
of freshly ground
renda
, then followed with pastas and vegetables.
Within a
hura
, she was loaded down with goods.

He must have some money, she decided. How else could he
afford all this and a slave too? For a moment, her thoughts were tinged with
jealousy as she contemplated that he might purchase other slaves, casting her
down in the hierarchy as newer, younger girls came into the household. It
wasn’t something that the Ladies taught at the pens, but the girls knew it
happened all too frequently.

She determined that she would do everything possible to
please her new master.

Her next opportunity came a few
lapars
later, when
they passed the breeding fence. She watched as Lord Rydah paused, taking in the
sight of two slave girls who had been bent over the railing by their masters.
Ostensibly, the fence had been erected for masters who needed to keep breeding
their slaves and didn’t want to interrupt their marketing to take them home,
but most people recognized it as a place for masters to show off.

As Rydah stopped to watch, Jenya felt her loins contract,
then expand. New fluid began to fill her slit and run down the insides of her
legs. She watched as the two young slaves—hunched over the low, padded fence,
the round globes of their asses held high—accepted their master’s cocks, their
faces imbued with lust and pride, their little bells jangling mightily. Jenya
stole a glimpse at master’s breeches and saw his cock stirring there. She ached
to line up next to the other slaves, to take her master proudly as they did.
She had to wait, however, for her lord to decide. Perhaps he was too reserved
for such a public display. Unconsciously, she stamped one foot, causing her
tiny bell to jingle anew.