Kajira awoke in a strange bed, confused.
"Where can I be?" she wondered, sitting up. That was a mistake, as her punished buttocks screamed with the pain of the previous day's beating. Wincing, she stood gingerly and went to the window. The room wasn't large, but it was beautifully furnished with a low bed swathed with gauzy curtains, a pristine white wash table and a small chair by the window. Lining the wall under the window was a bookcase, filled with enticing looking books. She picked one up and traced her finger down the spine, longingly. As a slave in the palace she had never seen a book except in the hands of others. Most of the wives couldn't read anyway, so there was little need for a library in the womens' quarters.
She heard a noise from the doorway and dropped the book, startled. A servant came in, bowing low and bearing a pitcher of water. "For the lady." she said, pouring the water into the basin on the wash table and backing out the door.
Kajira was confused. There was some mistake. She was no lady, she was Kajira, bound to be the lowest of the low. Puzzled, she replaced the book on the shelf and went to the basin to wash. Even the lowliest of the low were allowed to wash, after all. The water was warm and scented with jasmine, and there was a soft towel draped over the bar of the wash table. She took a small cloth and the soap and washed herself thoroughly, enjoying the feeling of the warm, scented water on her punished skin. When she was finished, she folded the towel neatly, redressed herself in the simple linen gown which was all the clothing she possessed, and waited.
It wasn't long before another servant came to the door, this time bearing garments over her arm. Briskly she bustled into the room, shutting the door behind her and placing the garments on the bed. She made a curt gesture for Kajira to raise her arms, and before the girl knew what was happening she had been stripped of her gown and stood naked before the servant. The older woman turned Kajira this way and that, tutting audibly. Then she picked up a garment, a loose tunic of deepest purple, and gestured for Kajira to put it on. The girl did, in some confusion.
"I am no lady, mistress. I am Kajira, slave to the household."
The woman didn't respond, merely picking up a pair of diaphanous trousers that gathered at the ankle and bending for Kajira to slip her legs into them. They were softest silk and patterned with a border of stylized lilies. Kajira thought them lovely. When she was dressed, the servant woman gestured for Kajira to sit. The girl did, wincingly. The woman produced a comb from her pocket and a handful of ivory hairpins, then she proceeded to comb Kajira's hair up into a cunning series of braids that she looped around the girls head, making a sort of fiery corona of hair. Kajira put her hand to her head wonderingly. Only the first and second wife were allowed to have their hair braided so, into an intricate and time-consuming style. Kajira tried again.
"I am Kajira, house slave. There is some mistake!" she cried as the woman bade her stand and slip on a pair of soft, embroidered shoes. The woman surveyed her and nodded, a slight smile tugging at her otherwise grim features. She beckoned for the girl to follow as she left the room, and Kajira did so, trembling in all her limbs. Surely she would be beaten again for presuming to be something other than what she was. She followed the servant woman through the light, airy corridors of the large house, so different from the heavy, ponderous dimness of the palace.
They arrived at a door and the woman knocked firmly three times, bowed low to Kajira, and left. Kajira stood there uncertainly. She heard footsteps and she threw herself onto the ground, kneeling with her forehead touching the floor as she had been taught to do at the palace. The door opened and Kajira heard the footsteps stop. There was a long pause during which the girl thought her heart might burst from pounding so loudly. Then, he spoke.
"You have been trained well, my Kajira." Amir's deep voice greeted her, and despite herself she felt a warmth gathering in her loins. "I appreciate your homage but you may stand now." He bent down and took her hand, raising her to her feet. She kept her eyes downcast, confused and frightened. He put one finger under her chin and raised her face to his. "It pleases me that you are so submissive. But I wish to look upon you at this moment." She looked up, pale eyes huge in her face. He smiled down at her and her cheeks flushed pink.
Wordlessly he led her into the room. It was a study, she could see. Books lined the walls, a desk stood in the middle of the room, piled high with papers. The gauzy curtains stirred lazily in the slight breeze, letting in beams of golden sunlight. The vaulted ceiling above seemed very high and she thought how graceful the room was, like the entire house. Perfectly proportioned and full of a soft golden light that made it seem very welcoming indeed.
"This is my study. I do my work here, and you are allowed in this room only when I summon you." Amir's voice was firm but not unkind. "Do you understand, Kajira?"
She nodded, eyes studying every detail. The globe in the corner, the inkwell and cup full of pens, the multi-faceted starburst lamp hanging from the ceiling. Trying to calm her breathing, she looked back at Amir.
"You needn't be frightened of me, my dear." He said soothingly. "I have brought you here to be my slave, but also to be lady of the household." He studied her face, seeing the confusion and doubt in it. "Let me explain." He sat down in his chair and beckoned for her to come over. When she did, he pulled her gently down onto his lap. She gasped, partly with surprise and partly with the lingering pain of her strapping. "The Sultan gave you to me as a gift, although I wished to buy you from him. You belong to me now. But although you will be my slave, and serve me, you are not the slave of the household any longer. You are nobody's slave but my own. The others in the house will be your staff, as they are mine. That doesn't mean that you can be like the Sultan's wives, however. I expect you to act with kindness and excellent manners at all times. Do I make myself clear?" Amir looked into the girl's eyes as he spoke. "Answer me with your voice, Kajira." He ordered.
"Y...yes Master." She said softly, her tongue coming out to moisten her lips as she spoke. "I understand."
"Good girl. And I enjoy hearing your voice, so no more nodding like a mute. One of those in my household is enough." With a shock, Kajira realized he must mean the older servant who had dressed her. "Yes, Dima is a mute. She had her tongue removed by her former master for gossiping. I purchased her about five years ago, and she has proved a worthy servant to me. She will be your handmaid, dressing you and preparing you for whatever I desire. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Master." She replied, with a tiny bit more confidence. His lap was warm and comforting, and the pain that she had experienced so sharply was now fading into a sort of afterglow, tingling in a most disconcerting manner.
"As for yesterday, we shall put it behind us. You did not deserve such a harsh punishment for what was a cruel act by the Sultan's wife, however I had to carry it out or the consequences would have been dire."
"Yes, Master, I understand." She replied, and shyly took his hand and kissed it. He looked pleased.
"However, I am not a soft Master." His eyebrow raised. "I will treat you with firmness when the occasion requires. And sometimes for my own pleasure. But in time, you will learn to accept it, and perhaps even to gain pleasure from it."
"P...pleasure?" She asked, before stopping herself.
"You may speak to me unbidden, Kajira. As long as your words are respectful you may always speak freely to your new Master."
"How could I feel pleasure from such a punishment, Master?" she asked softly, at the same time understanding a bit from the warmth radiating out from her throbbing buttocks.
"What are you feeling now, Kajira? And do not hold back or I will know." He insisted, once again raising her face to his.
"I...i..." she began, face blazing.
"Tell Master." He growled, and she knew there was no way out of it.
"My...bottom...feels warm and tingly, Master." She admitted.
"And is it unpleasant, my dear?"
"No...it feels very good." Her voice was tiny and shy.
"And do you feel...tingly anywhere else, sitting on my lap and knowing that you are mine?"
"Yes." She whispered, deeply ashamed. She had never felt these things before, and didn't understand them very well.
