Lord of Avalon (5 page)

Rydah had just started to pull her away, then stopped to
stare at her. Jenya knew she presented quite a sight: her nipples were hard,
her face flushed, and her pussy swollen.

He couldn’t resist her. He nodded and tipped his head toward
the fence. Jenya hurried over to take her place next to the other slaves, eager
to prove herself. She bent over and gripped the handles on the other side. This
position felt strange to her, the way her heavy breasts hung low, her soft
white ass raised up to meet him. She looked back to see him free his cock from
his pants.

For a moment, she felt a twinge of embarrassment at her
position. She noticed several shoppers had paused to take in the scene. Jenya,
bent over the fence as she was, knew they had a clear view of the intimate
folds of her flesh, the wetness there, and her master’s cock poised at the
entrance.

Time seemed to stop as she waited there. She heard her bell
tinkle as she shook with sexual tension. Then she felt his cock at her entrance
and she rolled her hips to meet him.

She gasped as he thrust hard at her, causing her bell to
jingle loudly as it swung back and forth. Jenya gripped the fence tightly,
fearful that he might break it, he was pushing so hard. The feeling was quite
different from breeding in his bed—she could really feel his cock reach deep
within her. There was a little pain, but she bore it stoically, proud to be on
display.

She felt ever inch of his cock in her, moving back and
forth. Because of the angle, her clitoris wasn’t being stimulated and she
resisted the desire to touch herself. She was a slave, her feelings didn’t
matter.

In just a few moments, Rydah released his seed. Jenya cried
with joy as his essence filled her.

She waited, bent over, while her master held tight against
her. The other two slave girls left, yet Rydah remained inside her. She knew
this would better plant his seed within her and she thrilled at the spectacle
they made. Finally, he pulled away and refastened his clothing.

Straightening up, Jenya turned to see Lyrda suddenly avert
her eyes, embarrassed to be caught staring. The corner of Jenya’s mouth turned
up as she followed her master out of the market, their mingled juices dripping
down her legs. Her joy at being taken by her master in public was tempered by
the wasted seed. She would have preferred to lie on her back until his seed had
a chance to impregnate her.

* * * * *

Back home, she began sorting out the food, trying to find
the best places for everything. She asked her master if he wanted her to put
things in a certain order and he just waved his hand. “Put them wherever you
want, Jenya—you’ll be making the meals.”

His words pleased her—her presence seemed welcomed. She knew
some breeders had been sent back to the pens for various reasons and they
endured great shame whenever it happened.

Jenya didn’t want Lord Rydah to reject her. She considered
herself fortunate to have been selected by him. She carefully washed herself,
for she knew masters wanted their slaves to be clean and sweet-smelling. Her
breeding passage ached a little, a dull pain that she bore proudly. She was
fulfilling her duty. She wanted to rub her clit to bring an end to the tension
she felt, yet she did not. She would wait for her master’s touch.

They had an excellent meal that night. As part of her
training, Jenya knew how to cook many delicious dishes, using whatever
ingredients the master might prefer. Her lord had no unusual tastes, so it was
easy for her to cook. She used the small oven outside, next to the fountain.

He complimented her on her dishes as she hovered nearby,
ready to refill his wine or bring him more food. Slaves, of course, didn’t eat
with their masters unless specifically invited. She would eat in the kitchen
later, after he had been taken care of and the table cleared.

After dinner, he relaxed on the couch, his belly full. She
sat at his feet, savoring his touch upon her arm and shoulder.

She wanted to feel his touch all over her body. She wanted
to break through his cool exterior, to hear his praise of her behavior so far.
She remembered last night, when he took her into his bed. She had been
frightened, but he made her feel at ease. When he bred with her, it felt so
right, no matter where they were. She couldn’t wait to do it again.

Did he feel the same way? What did he think of his new
slave?

After another
hura
, Rydah rose and stretched. “It’s
getting late, slave. Let’s go to bed.”

She stood and nodded, her head down. “I can make up a bed on
the couch, if that pleases m’lord.” She waited breathlessly for his answer.

“I know I forgot to get a cot this sun. And this couch will
hurt your back. Why don’t you sleep with me again tonight? I want to breed
again, anyway.”

He said it so casually—he didn’t seem to notice the effect
it had on Jenya. Her chest swelled with pride, and her pussy became damp. Her
knees grew weak. “Y-yes, master.”

She followed him up the stairs, her chain jingling along
with her nerves. Rydah stepped aside at the head of the stairs and Jenya took
her cue. She slipped past him and lay on the bed.

Jenya felt more at ease this time as she spread herself for
her master. When he lay between her legs, she sensed he was more comfortable as
well. Their arms encircled each other, naturally, as if they had been breeding
for many moons. She felt his hard cock on her stomach as he nuzzled her neck
and brushed his fingers over her erect nipples.

Jenya, her knees raised, waited impatiently for her owner to
fill her. After just one sun, she found she needed him inside her. Her training
hadn’t prepared her for all the emotions she felt. They taught her how to
accept her duty, how to serve her master, yes. But she longed for acceptance,
for an emotional link between them. Certainly, Rydah was a decent man, a good
Lord. He treated her well, so far. Yet her heart wanted more recognition, more
feedback. Did it dare even ask for love?

Finally, he moved down to align his cock with her hot, wet
pussy. It went in smoothly, as if it was meant to be there. She sucked in her
breath and lay her head back on the pillow. Her hands rested gently on his
biceps.

He began to thrust. Jenya marveled at his quiet power. She
watched his face as he watched hers. Their eyes carried on an entire
conversation. Hers told him how happy she was to be here and his eyes let her
know he’d made the right choice, all those
rynes
ago.

Already, she was becoming used to the size of his cock, the
way he thrust himself into her, that expectant expression on his face. She
wanted his child badly. She hoped she would be a productive breeder for him.
When he emptied himself into her, she cried with joy and release.

Her master fell at once into a deep sleep. Jenya was too
keyed up with emotions to slumber, yet she didn’t want to rise and risk
awakening her lord. She stared at the ceiling in the dim light from the moon
and let her mind drift back to the moment when she knew Rydah would be her
master. It was during her very first Inspection…

Jenya stood with the other chosen girls, feeling like a
baby compared to them. They had breasts! And hair “down there”! Still, she was
proud. She had been chosen for Inspection! Out of forty girls, only eleven had
been selected for this honor. Jenya couldn’t believe that a Damon had expressed
interest in her on her very first time on Display.

She noticed that the other girls looked at her strangely,
like they couldn’t believe it either. Especially the older ones, the
thirteen-ryne-olds. They had gone on Selection many times, only to be rejected
each time until this sun. Seeing her, a little wisp of a girl, chosen right
away had to be what made their eyes burn with jealousy.

Jenya couldn’t help but stand a little taller. She wished
she had breasts she could thrust out, like the others. She could only hope that
the Damon would recognize her potential as a breeder.

She waited to be called.

One at a time, the girls were escorted into a private
chamber to meet with the mysterious Damon who had selected them. It was hard
for all of them not to get their hopes up. The Damons must’ve seen something in
them, so it could very well lead to purchase. Of course, they knew that many
girls who had been chosen for this honor ended up disappointed when the lord
found some flaw, some reason not to put down a deposit.

If they were not purchased, the girls would be returned
to the slave pens, fearful that no one would ever want them and they’d end up
in the general breeding pool.

Jenya watched as Lepnal, a pretty twelve-ryne-old, was
summoned. Syminton or one of his close associates always accompanied the slave
into the private chambers to ensure nothing happened to his property. Jenya
knew they would stand guard while the hands-off Inspection was performed, answering
questions about the girl. Lepnal almost bounced from her spot in line to follow
behind Mirdar, Syminton’s son. Then they disappeared into a room.

Lapars later, Jenya was summoned by Syminton himself. She
cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the girls behind her as she fell in
line behind the lord and couldn’t resist wiggling her hips a little as they
headed for a private room. She thought she heard a giggle behind her.

The door opened. Syminton stood aside and let her enter
first. Her fine chain shook along with her nerves. Inside, several fire poles
illuminated the room. A man stood near the far wall, his back to her, as was
the custom. She strode to the center, where a small circle had been painted and
placed her feet inside.

“She is ready, m’lord,” Syminton said.

The man turned. Jenya caught her first close-up look at
the man she would come to know as Lord Rydah.

He did not introduce himself. She would not, in fact,
learn his name for two more rynes. It was she who must impress him, not the other
way around. Jenya stood as tall as she could, barely five capeks. Again, she
wished she had breasts. Suddenly, she felt a twinge of anxiety.

How could this lord want her as a breeder?

He approached. His face revealed nothing about him, yet
she did not fear him. Perhaps that came from the softness in his eyes. She
could only look at him in glances, as she had been taught to stare straight
ahead, keeping her shoulders square and her arms at her sides. He walked around
her twice. Syminton stood nearby, waiting for questions.

“She’s scrawny, isn’t she?” the lord finally said.

Jenya’s heart sank. She blinked back tears.

“She is merely young, m’lord,” the slave master said,
using the formal term, though he was a lord himself. Jenya knew that was good
for business. “I debated putting her up for Selection so soon after she turned
ten, but I believed her to have a certain charm that a discerning Damon might
spot.”

Rydah turned. “And you think I’m that person?”

“I don’t know, sire. You did ask for her. There must’ve
been something you saw. I suspect it’s the same thing I did.”

“And what did you see?”

Syminton turned to her. “I see a future beauty. An
excellent breeder. Look at how her hips are already widening. True, she’s quite
young. It’s hard to tell at this early age. Give her a few rynes, however, and
I believe she’ll bring a high price.”

Jenya trembled. She feared she might wet herself with
fear or pride, she wasn’t sure which.

“What price do you put on this scrawny girl this sun?”

Syminton paused. Jenya knew he had to be careful. If he
picked too high a price, the Damon might be offended and walk away. And
Syminton could be stuck with that price even if she did not develop as he
suspected she would. While he could raise a price at any time, it was
considered unfair to early bidders to lower the price later if the breeder
didn’t sell. That was why so many excellent breeders ended up in lower
castes—it represented the only way a reputable breeding farm could cut the
price of a slave.

“Well, since she’s so young, I’ll give you a fair price,”
Syminton said. “Say four hundred remars. No doubt in later rynes I could get
twice that amount. But since you’ve expressed interest in her first, I have to
pay respects to your keen sense of breeding flesh.”

Jenya held her breath and watched the lord’s calm face.
Was that price acceptable? She had no idea what kind of master he might be, but
somehow, she felt drawn to him. She tried to will him to select her.

“Very well,” he had said at last. “I’ll put a deposit on
her. Brand her for me.”

Jenya had swelled with pride—and a little fear. The
branding, she knew, would be more painful than the brand she’d already
received. Instead of one small symbol on her upper arm, she’d receive five or
six numbers on the upper portion of her buttocks. The other girls said it stung
for two suns. And yet, having those numbers meant she’d been selected. Her
future was set. She would one sun walk the streets next to a Damon, and live in
his house!

“You won’t be disappointed, m’lord,” Syminton said.

She remembered those words now as she lay there in the dark
next to her new master. Jenya hoped that he felt Syminton had been right. She
knew she would do everything to make sure that she never gave him cause to
regret his decision.

About mid-morning, two suns later, a man knocked on the
door, just as Rydah was settling down to work on a new set of pages. Jenya ran
to the door and opened it. He overheard them exchange greetings.

“Master,” she said, coming toward the desk.

“Yes, what is it?”

“The man from the slave pens is here.”

“Oh!” He jumped up. He’d been looking forward to this. That
damn chain was constantly in his way—now he could have it removed.

The man wore a Craftsman’s cloak. “Rand’s greetings, sire.
My name is Pentel, from Syminton & Son.” He shifted his bag of equipment to
his left hand so he could greet the lord with the proper salute—right hand to
left shoulder.

“Of course! I’ve been waiting for you.” Rydah returned the
greeting.

“I hope your breeder has proven to be satisfactory? You’ve
tried her out sufficiently? You have a
dal
to decide, you know.”

“Oh, I’m very satisfied, yes. Excellent merchandise.”

Jenya blushed and stared at the floor.

“Good! That’s good. Well, I won’t take much of your time. I
just need to take her outside to finish the brand, and unlock the chain. That
is, unless you’re concerned she might run away.”

“No. She’s very obedient. I think she’s happy here.”

Jenya wanted to nod in agreement, but she knew they weren’t
paying any attention to her.

“Now I have to urge some caution…sometimes these slaves
pretend to be happy, only to run off the first chance they get. We’ve had to
chase down a few like that over the
rynes
.”

“I’m sure about her. You can remove it.”

“Very well.” He turned to Jenya. “Slave, I need some charcoal.
Go fetch it for me.” She bowed and went to the kitchen.

“I won’t take you from your work any longer, sire,” Pentel
said. “We’ll just be out back for a bit. It takes a little while for the
charcoal to heat up the brand.”

“Hmm. Actually, I’d like to watch you brand her. Would you
call me when you’re ready?”

“Of course, sire.” He went to the back door and motioned for
Jenya to follow him.

Rydah returned to his duties. Like before, when he had been
waiting for his breeder to be delivered, he found it hard to concentrate. He
shuffled the pages, studying the words of the high priest, letting his mind
wander.

About a half-
hura
later, Pentel called from the rear
doorway. “We’re ready, sire.”

The lord rose and hurried to the back yard. He found Jenya,
chained to the slave ring, shivering and clearly afraid, as Pentel heated up a
small brand in the brazier. The charcoal glowed gray, the tip of the brand,
red.

Rydah felt sorry for his slave. He hated to see her be
branded again, yet he knew it was necessary. She wouldn’t officially be his
until the “X” brand was completed.

“Would you like me to hold her?”

“Would you, sire? It would make the brand go on more
cleanly.”

Rydah approached Jenya and held her by the arms, just above
her elbows. She seemed happy to have him near, for she stopped shivering and
gazed into his eyes.

“If you would, please, sire, just turn her and have her lean
against the wall, so her left shoulder is exposed. There, that’s it. Now,
slave, don’t move or it will just hurt worse.”

Jenya never took her eyes off her master’s face as Pentel
aimed the small, red-hot brand just below the “V” on her shoulder. He pressed
it in quickly, then jerked it away. The brand hissed on her skin, causing her
to yelp involuntarily.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Actually, it was bad, but at the same time, Jenya felt
inordinate pride at having the X marked on her. Now the world would know, she
thought. She was no longer a virgin, but a full-fledged breeder. Tears came to
her eyes.

Pentel unlocked her chain from her collar and handed it and
the key to Lord Rydah, in the event he ever wanted them. The chain could be
clipped on at any time. Then he packed up his equipment, except for the hot
brand, which he carried in his free hand. He nodded his departure and left, no
doubt on to some other Damon’s home.

“Are you all right?” Rydah asked.

His concern touched her. Here she was, a mere slave, and he
was worried about
her
. It did hurt a lot, but she didn’t want to admit
it.

“It’s okay, m’lord. I can put some butter on it.”

He took her arm gently and examined the angry mark. It had
been well done, he had to admit. The small X was shallow, but clearly visible.
He felt an elation borne of possessiveness.

Rydah led her inside, and left her to tend her burn while he
returned to his desk. He tried to decipher this priest’s handwriting and
lamented most priests’ lack of training in the written word. They claimed to be
too imbued with the grace of Rand to be concerned about spelling and
penmanship. Oh, well, he reflected, if they were better writers, he’d be out of
a job.

He worked another
hura
before he decided to take a
break for lunch. He hoped Jenya could serve him with her injured arm.

“Jenya!”

She appeared at once. “Yes, master?”

“I’m hungry. Are you well enough to fix us some lunch?”

She nodded and disappeared. Within
lapars
, she
returned with a plate full of bread, cheese and fruit.

Jenya placed it on a small table next to the couch. She
waited while he dug in. Jenya felt a little strange without her chain. She
almost wanted to cover herself. She stood there, trying not to twitch, watching
her master eat.

He looked up suddenly. “Hey, I don’t want to eat alone.
Please join me.”

Another surprise! First, this man invited her into his bed,
then he refused to keep her chain on, and now he was inviting her to eat with
him? What would be next?

“Yes, sire,” she said, unsure how to proceed. She leaned
down briefly and took a small square of cheese, then rose again to put it in
her mouth, feeling guilty all the while.

Rydah sighed. “Not like that,” he said. “Here.” He guided
her by her uninjured shoulder to sit on the couch next to him. She was stunned,
but she obeyed. “Now eat,” he said, and returned to his meal.

Jenya ate. What else could she do? Her master had ordered
it. They ate in silence for a short time.

A sudden knock at the door disturbed them.

“Who could that be now?” he asked. With a nod of his head,
he indicated she should answer it.

She rose at once and opened the door to find a young
messenger outside. His eyes widened at the sight of the beautiful, young, naked
slave. “M-m-m-message for Lord R-r-rydah,” he stammered, staring at her
breasts.

Jenya laughed inwardly and accepted the sealed message. When
she turned, Rydah was standing behind her, his curiosity evident on his face.
She handed the message over and closed the door on the young lad, nearly
trapping his eyeballs in the door.

He examined the seal and realized at once that it was from
his older brother, Farda. This was unusual. Farda was ten
rynes
older
than Rydah, which meant they hadn’t grown up as close as brothers might be. His
father, Lord Fyrad, and his slave Saranya had five children—three girls had
been born in a row after Farda, the oldest. Rydah, though he hated to admit it,
was the baby of the family.

Farda, like Rydah, had been born a Damon, but when he was
nineteen, he fell in love with a Craftswoman, Memma, who was not only six
rynes
older, but had a young daughter as well. Love proved to be blind, and Farda
gave up his higher-ranking caste to be with his true love. He became a
woodcarver and in the
rynes
since had turned out many fine pieces for
Damon homes, including fireplace mantles, ornate doors and small statues. He
carved many woods, but his favorite was the dark, rich memingo trees that grew
on the steppes of the Pestrid range east of Blethryn.

In the last ten
rynes
, Rydah guessed Farda had
written to him just twice and they’d seen each other at their father’s house on
three other occasions.

Why would he be writing to me now?
he wondered.

Jenya watched as her lord ripped open the envelope and
scanned the writing within. She couldn’t read, of course, but she could tell by
his expression that the news wasn’t good.

He frowned, then took the note to his desk and sat down. He
stared out the window onto the street. Jenya didn’t know if she should go to
him or leave him alone. So she just stood where she was and waited.

Finally, he rose and began to pace.

“Master, are you all right?” The words tumbled out of her.

He looked up, distracted. “Um? Oh, yes, Jenya. I mean, no.
Well, I’m fine, it’s my brother in Gordax. He’s got some trouble. I don’t know
why he wrote to me.”

Jenya wanted to ask what kind of trouble, but decided to
keep quiet. If it should be her business, he would tell her.

He stopped and came over to her. “You see, Farda—my
brother—isn’t a Nobleman any more. He married a Craftswoman and gave up his
rank.”

Jenya tried not to show her surprise. She knew people often
tried to move up in status, especially among the Damon, but it was rare for a
Nobleman to elect to join a lower caste. It must’ve scandalized the family, she
realized.

“He has a daughter. It’s not his daughter, but he married
her mother, so she’s his step-daughter. Her real father died, you see.” Rydah
didn’t know why he was explaining so much. It just felt good to talk out this
problem that had been dumped on him.

“It turns out, his step-daughter, Symal—she’s seventeen
rynes
now—caught the eye of Lord Acolyte Lepdar. You know of him?”

Jenya nodded. Everyone knew the brother of the heir to the
throne! She remembered hearing about his older brother’s wedding just two
rynes
ago, in the warm season. Lord Acolyte Raparn had married Princess Tymir from
the priestdom to the west in order to cement relations between the two high
lords, a common practice.

“Well, the Lord Acolyte is supposed to marry Princess
Wenelle, from Farzan. Last I heard, he wasn’t too happy about it, but that’s
nothing unusual. Now he’s fallen for Symal—Rand knows how they met!—and they
seem to have disappeared. Together. You can imagine what an uproar this has
caused.”

What really amazed Rydah was that he hadn’t heard any of
this before. News like this usually spread like the plague through a community.
It must’ve just happened
, he mused.

“So the high lord has his troops out searching for them, and
Farda is afraid Symal will be blamed somehow. She could be, of course. She may
wind up in prison over this—or worse.”

He approached Jenya, worry etched on his face. “He’s asking
me if I can help! Why would he do that? I can’t be drawn into this mess! This
could ruin my career.”

“I can see that you’re worried about your brother, though,”
Jenya said, choosing her words carefully.

“Yes, yes of course. He’s my brother! But what can I do?”

“He’s probably calling out for help wherever he can get it,
master,” she said. She ached to help him, but felt powerless.

“Yes, of course. He has others he can rely on. My father,
for instance. That’s who he should be writing to, not me.”

“Can your father help him?”

“I don’t know. My father isn’t exactly on personal terms
with High Lord Bandar. You can probably tell from my humble house that my
father’s ranking is not high among the Damon. I can’t see him being able to
assist, either. Something like this could only bring us trouble.”

“Perhaps your brother just wants you to help search for
them, m’lord. If he found them first, he might be able to figure out a way to
save his daughter.”

Rydah nodded as he began pacing again. “That’s probably it.
I just don’t know if I should get involved.”

Jenya thought for a moment. Her limited existence in the
pens didn’t prepare her for such political intrigue, but she did have a woman’s
intuition about love. “This other woman, the princess—does she want to marry
the Lord Acolyte?”

“I don’t know,” he responded, still distracted. “It’s all
arranged. Usually, they would learn to love each other later, like Lord Acolyte
Raparn and Tymir.”

Rydah stopped and cocked his head, as if listening to
something.

Jenya started to speak, then held her tongue. Her lord
appeared to be deep in thought. No doubt he was trying to figure out a
solution.

He straightened up and shook his head. “I don’t know,” he
whispered to himself.

“Pardon, m’lord?”

He looked up. “Oh, nothing, Jenya. Nothing. There was just
something, a fleeting thought in the back of my mind that I can’t recall.”

“A thought? About how to help?”

“Yeah. No. I don’t know. I can’t pin it down.” He stopped
pacing. “By Rand I wish I knew what to do!” He turned to Jenya. “What would you
do, if you were me?”

Jenya bit her lip, wondering why he asked her. “M’lord, I am
only a slave. I know not the ways of Damons…”

He began to pace again, dismissing her.

“However, sire…” she continued. He stopped again and stared.

“Yes?” His expression made it clear he doubted that she, a
mere slave, might have an answer.

“You are concerned about getting involved and failing to
help,” she said, trying to organize her thoughts and worried that she might say
something to offend him. “What if you looked at it from the other side…what
would happen if you succeeded?”

Rydah pursed his lips. “I don’t know how to do that, but if
I did, Farda would be grateful, of course.” He paused to think about the
possibility. “I’m not sure how the Acolyte or High Lord Bandar would feel. It
would depend on the solution. If there is one.”

He shook his head. “But if my brother just wants me to help
find them, well, finding them doesn’t solve the problem.”