Scipio Metellus, Slaver of Ko-ro-ba (4)

 

Previously in Scipio Metellus, Slaver of Ko-ro-ba

As Longinus was taking his leave, Scipio pointed to Beaker.

“She has been inopportune again, trying to beg, with hips, not her mouth for lessons, which for now, I have denied. Chain her hand and foot in the pens tonight, so she learns that she is only to move when it is pleasing to me”

The one-legged ex-pirate, Longinus of Argentum, led the disgraced kajira, Beaker, from the room, followed by Phidias and Myron, the apprentices of Atticus of Ar.

Outside the door, Longinus stopped. He told the young red-haired slave.

“Remove your silk.”

“Yes, Master.”

Deftly, gracefully, Beaker removed the black silk tunic from her body. She knelt before Longinus and the two apprentices. The youth Myron sucked in his breath at the beauty of her slim lithe body.

Longinus spoke to Beaker again. His voice was stern.

“Fold the tunic properly. You will get the silk creased. You know better than that.”

The girl folded in the tunic lengthwise; she carefully aligned the shoulder seams, brought the two halves together, then deftly rolled up the tunic and its narrow shoulder straps into somewhat loose roll so the silk would not crease. She held up the bundle above her head with both hands.

“Do you know why you are being punished; why you have been deprived of clothing? Again?

“Yes, Master. I have displeased my Master; my service was not perfect. I tried to manipulate my Master for my own ends. I am sorry, Master.”

Longinus took the silk from her. He passed it to the younger apprentice, Myron, to hold. It was still warm from Beaker’s body. Myron looked pleased.

“Stand and turn around. Bracelets.”

At Longinus’s command, Beaker arose and turned, her wrists crossed behind her back. Longinus took a pair of steel cuffs connected to each other at one point. He place first Beaker’s left wrist in one of the cuffs, then her right. He smacked her bottom, then spoke to the apprentices.

“Observe, young apprentices, that the cuffs are oval and close to tight. Can you tell me why this should be?”

“Because instead of the cuffs bringing her wrists together in such a way that her hands are palm to palm, it places her palms out, just above her rear.”

“Very good, young Phidias, you have been attentive to your lessons. With her palms out, her hands and fingers flutter nicely. Why do we do that, Myron?”

The young apprentice took a deep breath. He watched Beaker’s hands, indeed fluttering above her bum. It was very distracting. He tried to concentrate on his answer.

“Um, it increases the slave’s attractiveness and helplessly exposes her palms, as when a kajira is hot in nadu.  Uh, and it makes her more aware, by the slightly awkward positioning that she is a slave, bound and in bondage; a helpless slave in the hands of men.”

Myron looked up, a little proud that he had remembered his lessons and managed to speak under the eye of the stern-faced wagon-master to Scipio Metellus. Until the last half day he had not appreciated how dangerous the Ko-ro-ban was. All his young life he had heard stories of Scipio Metellus’s cunning and affability; his expansive personality. He had not known of the hardness of purpose and the danger the man could pose. Myron wondered if anyone else had noticed and if people just did not talk about it. He was pulled from his reverie by Longinus.

“If you are quite ready to proceed, young apprentice, we will seek out a place in the pits where this kajira can spend the night without motion as her Master had decreed.”

Longinus set off down the stairs, his wooden leg seemingly presenting no difficulty to his movements. Beaker followed on a chain then Myron, followed by Phidias, his brother. Beaker’s hands fluttered and her hips rolled seductively as they descended.

“No excessive movements, Beaker,” warned Longinus. A good slave trainer must seem to have eyes in the back of his head. In reality, he can tell the manner of the slave’s movements by the slackness or stiffness of the chain or leash. He can feel her movements even though his back is turned to her, just as a rider can fell the movements of the steed he is riding.

 

“Yes, Master.” Beaker’s movements became more staid, but nowhere near as stiff as those of a free woman. She was a slave, after all.

“Incorrigible slut!”

“Yes, Master.”

The four of them continued down the stairs and into the main hall of the Slaver’s House. The creditors had stripped the house of almost everything moveable. Scipio Metellus’s men had set up camp in the main hall. They had brought in their camp furniture from the wagons; they had a raging fire in the fireplace against the spring cold.

Longinus led them down another flight. They heard noise coming from a pen to the right. They were more slaves in another pen down the hall, a third pen seemed occupied as well. Phidias was curious.

“Excuse me, sir. But could they not all fit in one pen.”

“They are relatively new to their collars and captured separately. Scipio Metellus wished them penned separately.”

The procession descended another set of stone stairs; these were steep and curving. Again the one-legged man showed no difficulty. Longinus picked up a torch and lit it. He went along the lines of cells, peering in until he found what he wanted. He unlocked the door. Myron gasped.

“Yes, young apprentice?

“Uh, how did you find the key? Phidias and I had searched for hours for the keys and found nothing. The creditors took almost everything that was moveable.”

“Ah, you have only been in first class Houses like that of Atticus of Ar. They have their own keys for their own locks, specially made, in their own patterns, solely for their own uses. A place like this, out is the provinces but still under the influence of Ar, would use cheaper locks, made to a common pattern. I merely selected the key I thought most likely, an ancient pattern of Ar as it is an old building. I have many such keys.”

He held up a ring of about twenty keys.

“A first-class Slaver’s House will have the keys to many common locks. It saves time, and money on locksmiths or blacksmiths when removing collars from slaves which from time to time we may ‘irregularly’ acquire.”

Longinus replaced the keys in the right sleeve of his robes. Phidias saw that there was a knife strapped to Longinus’s wrist.

“Another lesson. Always carry a knife. Always carry a knife that isn’t visible. It is a harsh and dangerous world. If you wish to grow old enough to need Stabilization Serums, always be prepared. There are many places where to carry a sword would be conspicuous or forbidden. A knife is easily hidden. Even at my great age, always be prepared.”

The procession entered the pen. In the centre was a table. It’s top was curved upward: the middle a couple of horts higher than the ends. At each end was a set of restraints for ankles and wrists; there seemed gears under the table to tighten or loosen the restraints, depending on the height of the prisoner. Longinus picked up Beaker, swinging her high into the air. She laughed in glee as her head nearly touched the ceiling.

“Whee! Master is so strong and his hands so big!”

Longinus placed her face down on the table. This placed her bottom in a slightly raised position with her hands fluttering above. In the torchlight, it was an appealing site. Phidias whistled, and Myron gasped.

Longinus removed the bracelets from Beaker’s wrists, then smacked her very smackable rear.

“Turn over.”

With Beaker lying face up. Longinus arranged her with her bottom in the centre of the upward curve. He secured her feet, then her wrists. She was stretched out now but still had some range of movement. Longinus was in a talkative mood. He liked instructing apprentices. He had been that way even as an honest fisherman before he turned to piracy.

“Behold the bow of her beauty. Slim as she is, she might be worth a fortune someday. That is if she attends to her lessons, listens and obeys.”

Myron was dubious.

“Her breasts are on the small side, and her hips could be broader. She is nicely formed though. I expect that with a lot of training, she might sell for silver.”

Phidias was more experienced. He argued with his brother.

“She is very nicely formed, and her breasts seem to be firm, even on her back. And she does have red hair. Two or three silver disks at least.”

Longinus snorted.

“Even today, she might sell for gold. And trained, if she can be trained, she could sell for a fortune. If Scipio sells her. Sometimes he hoards his treasures. Her body is perfectly formed for its type, her movements are exquisite, even now. With a few years, Ubars would fight for her.

Besides her personality is bubbly and happy. She is joy, when obedient.”

“But she is not obedient,” Phidias argued, as Myron stared at the girl, stretched out before them.

“Her kind of disobedience is a form of her hotness, her desire for attention from men.” Longinus explained patiently. “If her movements do not get her the attention she needs and the use she craves, she will get negative attention.”

He turned from the apprentices to the girl, who was moving on the table, trying to have men look at her.

“It is her joy at living; her joy at being a slave that will attract men’s attention to her. But not tonight. Tonight, she was too displeasing. So, she will spend time tied in this slave pit; far from the hands of men.”

“Observe as well, young apprentices, that she is not just a redhead, which are rare enough. She is the true auburn, so highly prized. Have you even seen many redheads, young apprentices.”

They had to admit that they had not.

“We took her at the fall of Aetna. We marched 2500 kajirae to the Sardar Fair, and only a little over fifty were redheads of any description. We took a tenth part of the women of Aetna, and only maybe a few under eighty were fire-crotches. And maybe only three other of the true auburn shade. Even if she were ugly, with the disposition of a sleen she would be worth more than the average slave. As she is, her worth is measured in silver not copper. Let me show you something else.”

Longinus handed the torch to Phidias and bent near Beaker’s face. “Look here.”

He traced his fingers under one eye, across her nose, and back under her other eyes. In the torchlight a scattering of freckles showed on the slave’s cheeks.

“The spray of sparks from the forge. What is the significance of that?” He pointed at Phidias.

“The spray of sparks from the forge is the name of the carpet of stars the Priest-Kings set in the sky to remind Men that they were the masters of iron. Iron to make spearpoints and swords so that Men could defend what they owned and take what they could.”

Longinus nodded and then pointed to Myron. The young apprentice had been gazing at the crotch of fire of the young slave.

“And what else?”

“The Priest-Kings set the spray of sparks from the forge in the sky to remind Women that Men were the masters of iron, and could forge iron and make steel for collars for women, and use the forge to heat iron to brand women as property and hold them as nature commands.”

Myron had said all that in a rush. He exhaled, relieved he had remembered his lessons. He pointed at the fur that gave the fire-crotch her name.

“Is it true, sir. Is it true that the hair of auburn is thinner, finer, softer than any other? Softer even than silk? It has become the custom in Ar that slaves do not have any body hair. I have had not chance to learn such things.”

“Yes. It is true. Feel for yourself.”

Myron’s hand shot out eagerly, but Longinus was faster. He grabbed the apprentices’ wrist.

“Not like that lad. No need to grab. You are not stealing something, you are taking it by right. You are not some she-urt stealing a tospit from a peasant’s cart. Reach out firmly and confidently. Start here, just below the navel. See the whiteness of her skin, the mark of an auburn slave. Feel the softness, caress it. Use a slavers’ caress. Assess her properly.”

Beaker was taking deep breaths. She was under discipline of reduced movement for the night. She tried not to move as Myron’s hand reached lower, tickling her abdomen. His fingers touched her hair. She moaned. The apprentice slowly moved his hand away, over her hips, circling back around. Beaker strove to remain still. She was a slave under discipline.

Myron stroked a soft breast, circling slowly. His hand moved down her torso again, slowly and insinuatingly. Beaker moaned and her hips moved. She could not help herself.

Longinus’s voice was stern.

“Do not move, Beaker. I warn you.”

                “Yes Master, please Master, help me by giving some relief.”

The girl was making an effort to stiffen her body, to deny her needs, to be as rigid as a bar and frigid as a free woman. It was very difficult, but she was a slave under discipline.

There was no doubt that the girl had changed much since her capture at the fall of Aetna. Her hotness under the slavers’ caress was undeniable. Longinus took some pity on her.

“Now young apprentice, you may see if her silk is a soft as tradition suggests.”

Myron again reached for the fine red strands. He grasped at the soft curls.

“It is very soft, very thin, it is amazing.”

“That is enough. But observe how quickly a red-haired slave is aroused.”

There was a loud click. Longinus had turned the mechanism that tightened the length of the chains holding the wrists of Beaker. Then two more. He stumped to the foot of the table on which the slave was laid out. Click, click, click, click.

Beaker’s legs were pulled straight. With two more clicks he tightened the chains at her head. She was stretched out now. Not painfully, but she was unable to move and would be stiff in the morning. She was a slave under discipline.

The men left, locked the door, and returned to the hall where they would sleep. Beaker was left alone in the dark, aroused but in bondage.

That night, Beaker slept fitfully. Myron the apprentice dreamed of owning a coffle of redheads. Phidias dreamed of bags of gold coins. Longinus did not dream at all. A brunette slept in chains at the foot of his bedroll, her left ankle was secured to a ring in the floor. In the night she awoke from a nightmare. She had dreamed she was still free. When she awakened, horrified by her dream, she remembered the satisfaction of twice being used by Longinus in the night. She turned over again and slept peacefully.