The flickering light of a torch played softly back and forth across the painted frescos of the large room. My Master sat nearby, playing a board game that I had not yet learned to name. His shoulders are broad and strongly built with the golden tanned hue given them by countless hours in the sun, his dark hair cut short to his scalp in the fashion of the men I have seen here. Near his hand lies his sword, plain worked, the pommel worn shiny with use. I have not seen him fight but his speed and dexterity belie his size, and from experience I can tell you he moves like a cat. His name is Lorn, and he purchased me off an auction block two days ago.
Across from him sits a man named Murros. Murros is also large, though I don't think he is a warrior. Part of this is the way his eyes move when he looks around him, he doesn't look for strategic advantage, rather they hold the hard glint of a man gauging the value of the items of his household and their worth. His hair is long and pulled back in a long braid of silky black hair, and the robe he wears is richly embroidered. If I am not mistaken, my ownership being discussed by these two men, and I have never felt so humiliated.
My name was Bethany Gray. At 5' 8" I am reasonably tall, though I am well proportioned. I developed generous D cup breasts, and my curves are well proportioned. My auburn hair is slightly curly, and frames my green eyes perfectly. I was a CEO at a major trading firm. I made six figures, and commanded many men and woman on a daily basis. When I made demands and offers, I was treated with respect, and often, with fear. I would awake at six o'clock promptly most mornings and go jogging, then spend an hour a day at the gym to stay in shape. I own an apartment in Manhattan; oh what a long time ago that has been it seems! Though I only remember being gone roughly two weeks, I am no longer sure of how long I have been gone.
Lorn seems to be having a hard time with the game, speaking only in quick staccato bursts to Murros, words that I don't understand. Suddenly he extends his right hand and snaps his fingers, indicating his goblet, which rests near his knee. Self-consciously I reach up and touch the cold black iron collar at my throat and shiver. Quickly I rush over to the low table nearby and fetch him the skin of wine. With all speed I approach him and pour the wine into the metal goblet chased with gold.
He glances over at me, his fiery green eyes wandering appreciatively over my body as I pour. Furiously I feel myself blushing, my body rushing blood to my skin. I know he is watching my nipples harden, the hair on my arms standing erect from nearness to him. I am totally naked, something that still makes me self-conscious after nearly two weeks of it.
With a stern look he points at the ground with his right hand, two fingers extended in an A type formation. Quickly I kneel with my legs spread, ankles crossed behind me. It is slightly painful here on the cold stone, but I try not to show signs of discomfort. Lorn reaches down and picks up the goblet, putting it to my lips. Instinctively I reach for it, to take it for myself and drink.
"Nos!" He barks, rolling smoothly to his knees and slapping my hands away, then lightly smacking my face, stunning me briefly. Even on his knees he towers over me, muscles rippling as he wraps his hand in my hair, holding my head in place. I cower in fear and look at the floor, remembering not look him in the eye, or be punished again. Roughly he tilts my head back and puts the cup to my lips, pouring a small amount of wine in, where it rushes down my throat, cooling my tongue and warming my insides as it settles into my stomach.
Then he pulls me close and kisses me, forcing me to him. I want to resist, but I cannot, his fiery lips and tongue inflame my body and I whimper with passion. Just as I feel myself giving in to him totally, and my breath is coming in ragged gasps, he pushes me back with a laugh, his rough calloused hand trailing down my body, making me jump as he brushes my nipples roughly. His fingers slide down my belly to my mound, briefly touching my clitoris, slathering his fingers in my juices. Unwillingly I moan, and convulse, my body thrusting at his fingers, wishing more penetration and pleasure. Just abruptly as he touched me, he pulls his fingers away. With a devilish grin he wipes my juices across my lips, leaving the scent of my arousal right under my nose.
"The girl may be trainable after all Murros. I had begun to doubt my judgment. But daily she grows more responsive." Lorn told his companion in smooth, educated English. Those deep black eyes looked me over speculatively. With a predatory smile he nodded.
"I agree Lorn. I told you when first I laid eyes on her that she had the makings of a sweet pleasure girl. Though now, she is worthy of only the kitchen. It will take many hours of work to make her slave-sensitive." Murros said, his accent making his words thick and hard to follow, the accent sounded vaguely Greek. "I will give you two silver
pukas
for her now. You can buy a trained woman for nearly that. You should not trouble yourself with the work of training her."
"You crafty devil, I'd want at least triple that to consider it, I am amused to have a woman such as her." Lorn replied with a grin. Turning back to me, he commanded, "On your feet woman, that we may properly appraise you."
I surged to my feet, standing afraid, still unsure of how to best be found pleasing to these strange men. Both looked me over with appreciation, and I felt myself posing for them, wanting them to find me attractive. I wanted to be found worthy. Not only because of my fear of punishment, but because I am a woman being appraised by strong dominant men, and I inwardly loved it.