Sex Slave - 3: Saeritaea
This is a copyrighted work of fiction. All rights reserved.
All characters in this story are at least eighteen years of age. Warning: this chapter contains explicit descriptions of bondage, violence, torture and sex. Please read it at your own discretion.
Many thanks to editor Lin Hall for his excellent suggestions.
*
Keven lay naked and motionless on the cold stone floor. Even the small movements made by his lungs expanding and contracting caused searing pain to ripple across his back. His swollen tongue filled his mouth, making it difficult to breathe. He prayed for sleep but it would not come. He was in too much agony.
At some point it occurred to him that there was still brandy on the sideboard. He could drink himself to oblivion if he could only move.
He was deeply disturbed by the interactions he'd had with Master Rim, and it was more than the torture that distressed him. Their conversations had been... profoundly unsettling. His mind sought to make sense of the senseless. Something deep within him recoiled at his plight—the little boy inside curled himself into a tight ball, whimpering and rocking back and forth. To be the plaything of a madman was terrifying.
The chill of the cold stone seeped into his body, but his back was aflame. Sweat soaked his skin and blood trickled down his sides, pooling slowly on the floor beneath him. At length he began to shiver uncontrollably, wreaking more torment on his ravaged back. He thought longingly about the brandy and the bed, but still he did not move.
#
Saeri was alternately terrified and furious.
How could he? The man was seriously twisted!
When she thought about what he had asked her—no, told her—to do, her intestines knotted and her hands began to shake. She clenched her fists and tried to focus on her anger instead of her fear.
Maybe he will change his mind—I have six days. Maybe my patient will die by the sixth day—No! I can't think like that!
As they crossed a courtyard, she felt the breeze on her bare skin, on her stomach and her back—even between her legs. It was not unusual for a slave to be led around naked, but it was the first time for her. A flash of fear manifested itself in very physical symptoms. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, sending vibrations through her torso. It was beating much too fast. Her hands were slick with sweat.
There is no immediate danger,
she told herself. Even though she was naked and escorted by slave handlers—men of the basest sort—she was confident they would not touch her. Master Rim had explicitly told them not to, and she had never seen a slave handler disobey a direct order from Master Rim. She shuddered, reminded of her own predicament.
She had six days to seduce her next patient.
Fornicate! He had actually used the word fornicate!
She had until dawn on the seventh day to obey Master Rim's command. He had not told her the consequences of disobedience.
Could they possibly be worse than the sex itself?
She blinked back the tears that suddenly welled up in her eyes.
Damn him!
They arrived at a guard station for the house proper. Beyond this station was Master Rim's private residence, although it was so huge, it was difficult to believe it belonged to one man.
Her handlers gave her over to one of the residence handlers, carefully repeating Master Rim's instructions, including, to Saeri's great relief, the bit about not touching her.
The new slave handler looked her over curiously and Saeri felt blood rush to her face.
This is so humiliating! He probably thinks I'm ten years old! He's wondering what the hell is going on.
She crossed her arms protectively over her chest and lifted her chin, drawing herself up to her full height of four-foot-ten. She did not meet the handler's eye. Instead she looked past him, a haughty sneer fixed on her delicate features. It was her only defense.
She knew she looked like a child. Her breasts were tiny, a slight swell underneath her nipples, barely more than a boy's chest. She was very thin and petite. Her pale coloring, fine-boned face, and huge eyes did nothing to detract from the illusion of extreme youth. She was nineteen, but even with clothes on, people took her for much younger.
The new handler, apparently done with his scrutiny, stepped behind her and took over the leash. Her hands were bound behind her back with a long leather strap, the last length of which had been left free for the handlers to hold as a restraint. Usually she was escorted without bondage. There had even been a few times recently when she had been sent on an errand with no escort. Dr. Markell had grown to trust her even though she was a slave.
The handler stayed behind her, using verbal commands to direct their course. Saeri had studied Kreoley for years, but when she first arrived in Kreol, she struggled with the language. Now, after a year of enslavement, she was fluent. She followed the guard's instructions without resistance, even though she couldn't shake the feeling she was being led to her doom.
No wonder Master Rim gave instructions to restrain me,
she thought.
If I were free, I might bolt like a scared rabbit.
Eventually they reached the great amphitheater, which she had already guessed was their destination. Master Rim liked to torture people here, and she was often brought in to treat the poor unfortunates afterwards. She found it incongruent that he would bring someone to the brink of death, only to have him carefully nursed back to health, but she had given up trying to understand Master Rim. He was simply insane.
As they walked down the aisle of the amphitheater, she had a good view of her next patient. He was lying face down on the floor in one of the wedge-shaped rooms in the center of the amphitheater. He had been savagely whipped.
She steeled herself against the emotions that she knew would assail her. No matter how many times she witnessed the aftermath of Master Rim's entertainment, it always upset her. She loved her chosen work, but she had trained for attending childbirth, curing illness, and healing accidental injuries. It sickened her to look upon wounds that had been inflicted solely to cause pain. Even war wounds were not as senseless as the injuries she saw here.
The patient appeared young and very fit. His broad back would have been gorgeous without the gore that now covered it. His arms and legs were lean yet muscular, and his butt was... just magnificent! An ache suddenly throbbed through her clit followed by a small gush of juice.
She was startled by her body's response.
Oh, my God! How can I get wet just like that?
He was, however, one of the most perfect examples of male physique she had ever seen, in spite of his current condition.
He disappeared from view as they descended the final steps to the floor of the amphitheater. They turned and followed the wall around for a short distance, halting at the door to his room. The slave handler stepped in front of her and unbolted the door. She noticed how loosely he held her leash.
Now! Run!
Her inner voice commanded her to run, but she did not. Even as the thought occurred to her, she knew she could not abandon this patient. He might not survive without care. She also knew that she would likely be caught and severely punished for an escape attempt, but that is not the thought that stayed her.
Curious
, she thought.
Why do I care?
She was usually quite good at emotionally distancing herself from her patients. It was the only way she could stay sane.
The opportunity for escape was gone as quickly as it presented itself. The slave handler skillfully unbound her wrists, pressed her medical bag into her hands, and urged her into the room. The door closed behind her, leaving her naked and alone with her new charge.
His injuries were extensive. She sucked in her breath sharply as she realized how much of his skin had been stripped from his back. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, and he was shivering uncontrollably.
He is going into shock,
she realized.
He might not survive.
That thought caused a lump to form in her throat. Suddenly, she desperately wanted this patient to survive.
Keven stirred when he heard the door open and close. He assumed it was the slave handlers.
If they want me back in the slave pens, they'll have to carry me or drag me
.
He heard a small gasp and turned his head slightly toward the noise, staring through the curtain of his dark, chin-length hair.
A seraphic vision stood before him: porcelain skin, white-blonde curls floating like a halo around an angelic face. The largest, palest, blue eyes he'd ever seen stared at him with such empathy it made his heart ache.
It's an angel! I must be dead!
Wait... if I'm in heaven, why am I still in so much pain?
The ethereal vision knelt beside him and placed a cool hand on his arm. Its touch sent a tremor through his body causing him to gasp... but his level of pain seemed to decrease immediately.
"I am sorry." The vision spoke with the soft, sweet voice of a child. "You are feverish. We need to get you up off this cold floor. But first, let me put some salve on your wounds. It will lessen the pain and maybe then you can crawl. I cannot carry you."
The smile that radiated from the angel's face warmed him as the heat of the sun. He shuddered one last great shudder, then stilled, comforted.
Magic!
Keven watched as the creature rummaged in a black cloth bag, bringing forth a small jar. The angel was tiny and naked and had no wings. He saw now that she was female, apparently prepubescent.
That doesn't mean she's young,
he reminded himself.
Angels
are immortal.
She removed the cork from the small jar and began to very gently apply the salve to his back. His muscles spasmed at her touch. He whimpered involuntarily and shifted, hiding his face in the crook of his arm. He balled his hands into tight fists and clenched his jaw tightly.
She worked quickly, and his pain eased immediately. He focused on breathing and keeping still while the angel—that was his only explanation—administered to him.
"I am here to help you," the angel told him while she worked. "My name is Saeritaea... well, everyone just calls me Saeri."
Saeritaea? A beautiful name... perfect for an angel.
She spoke Endoran with no trace of accent, which didn't surprise him. She was magical, of course.
