Within the Plains of Turia

The girl known as Alena was shoved to the block in Turia. It wasn't as grand as some that she had been presented upon but nonetheless it was, indeed, a slave block. Her natural instinct, the earth girl inside, the one that still answers to Louise, is to run and get away from the unknown and the fear of what lies beyond. But the slave girl that she has been trained to be on this barbaric world where she was brought to serve and please men ... this girl tips her chin haughtily, the insolence beholding only that of a proud slave flashes in the depths of stormy Thassian blue eyes. Fighting back the trembling she can feel in the pit of her belly, she glances over the throngs of people jam-packed into the small area, her body on display upon the high block.

Swallowing past the fear, she assumes a beautiful haughty standing position as the slaver begins the bidding and as she feared, it is low. Times like these she is again reminded of what she truly is ... just a beast, an animal for their amusements and she grits her teeth in anger. How dare them! Do they not see the human being that she is? Do they not see the countless hours she spent in the training pens of Ar itself?? Sleen! All of them! And she could smell them ... Tuchuk sleen! They were the worst. A shudder of apprehension trembled down her spine at just the thought of it.

And then she is startled back to the moment at the auctioneer's bold boast that she is a trained pleasure slave from great Ar itself followed by a murmur that slips through the crowd along with cries of proof be handed down to them so they might know he speaks the truth. Alena's lip curls a bit with the anger she feels inside and can not help but toss curls of copper haughtily at the unbelievers and then stumbles a bit, albeit gracefully as the slaver pushes her forward, hissing in her ear, "Dance slut." As she steps off the sales block in one fluid motion she can hear him bellow to the crowd, "You want proof?!" His question is answered in a flurry of voices. "Are you prepared for the beauty that this girl can possess?!" he screams, lifting the slaver's whip high above his head to be rewarded with a shout of encouragement from the crowd and he cracks it in the air above the girl's head for punctuation.

She moves in a sensuous graceful motion even as her heart beats a thousand beats a minute, knowing that she dances for his honor, sure agile steps carrying her forth upon the high platform before them so that they all might see. Flashing eyes defiantly sweep over the crowd that watches, their roars of approval serving to straighten her bared spine even more. With a haughty shake of crimson-hued locks that shimmer down her back in a lewd display of molten fire beneath the brightness of the lights that illuminate the high platform upon which she stands, the girl momentarily defies the crowd with the simple proud stance that only a slave girl of Gor can possess. She can feel their approval, the widening of their smiles, and the settling of their resolve to see how she performs in comparison to the slaver's boasts.

Even as the crowd begins it's chanting, the slaver's voice fading into the booming depths of the roaring of the masses stretched before her, she breathes evenly and deeply, trying to calm that inane need to flee. The earth girl in her burns to scream out her defiance to those that look upon the bared form of what they see ... just a simple slave girl. She can see the hunger in the men's eyes that move over her exposed flesh in a deliberate rape. She also can see the fearful and spiteful looks of the free women that glare their hatred at her insolent beauty. Sinuous nude flesh is exposed as the slave within twitches nervously. A fearful thought creeps along her bared spine as she knows her beauty and the knowledge that she could, indeed, wind up in the arms of a Tuchuk sleen only to be a slave to the bosk and the land.

She suddenly cries out as the slaver's whip cracks overhead causing an immediate response by the trained beast within her. Slender arms shoot up above curls of beaten copper that caress in a waterfall of color down her bared spine. Hips twist slightly in a shift of sumptuous curves, one lean dancer's leg turning to toe point, the arch of her foot delicately beautiful as she waits in a golden silhouette of heated skin and crimson strands. But even now her teeth are bared beneath the bewitching smile that flickers over moist berry-stained lips, blue eyes flashing her defiance even as her beauty remains immobilized as she stands ready and waiting for the first strains of music.

She can feel the threat of silver tears sting in stormy Thassian blue eyes that fall beneath the gaze of those that watch. The slaver's voice quickly fading from her consciousness as she hears only the beating of her heart and the desperate cries within to be loved and cherished as only a true slave can be to one that brings her forever to trembling knees. As the music swells in the crowds of those that surround the block, her trained dancer's form begins to move even as one lone tear slips unnoticed down a flushed cheek. Slightly parted lips shield its path as the salty drop disappears into the moist dark cavern of her lips even as voluptuous form begins to writhe in erotic delight upon the platform. The crack of the whip is quickly forgotten beneath the chants of the crowd un-needed as her slave heart drives her body into motion.

She is driven by an inane wildness that creeps into each turn. Each pivot and twist of wanton flesh is caught in the overpowering lights that ensnare in her a mindless bond-maid circle upon the platform before the sales block that mocks her plight. Her chin tips haughtily as she fights back the scream that she can not be tamed ... forming a lump in her collared throat. Slender arms elevate through strewn curls of fire as if caught in an enraptured torrent as she spins wildly in circles only to stop and gyrate in enticing motions. Hips thrust forward in succulent offering as hands and fingers beckon even as she fights that within her that screams to be free of this torment that continues to haunt.

Stopping in mid-dance to the clash of the cymbals, her eyes blaze over the crowd as a hushed whisper flows through them as they are caught in the insolence of the barbarian girl before them. She is branded as a slave that yields beneath the sword but yet her actions still remember days spent as a wild creature of the forest, running free as a panther girl in her desperate flight from the fire that rages white-hot within. With a spin that sends curls of beaten copper in a swirl of flame to the gasp and cheers of the crowd, she begins anew to yield to the beating of the drums and the wild trilling of the lute. The slaver's calls penetrate her concentration to send an occasional tremor snaking down her spine, fear created once more of where she may find herself in a short hour as fingers brazenly stroke and search as she displays her beauty and insolence before them.

Writhing in succulent offering, her hands glide effortlessly over the sinuous plane of slave belly. Trained slave's body continues to betray the girl's most innermost desires as she moves upon the raised platform in supplication to the Free. She can not help but brazenly display the physical features that beg to be pleasing to one that would own her even as her heart cries out for him. Blue eyes flash in defiance and fear of losing herself completely beneath his will and with a cry that rips from full parted lips, lavish flesh is displayed in an arch of her back. Copper tresses cascade downward before she twists in agony upon the block to the delighted cries of the crowd wanting to tame the girl beneath their gaze and even, possibly, daring to own her.

Alena can not help but contort her luscious body to their desires before spinning to a stop. Long shimmering strands whirl about her lithe form like tongues of fire, hands above glorious curls as if they were before the dance begins. She looks out over the crowds even as the drums echo for her to spiral to her knees, looking ... searching ... wondering if he is there. Biting back the sorrowful sob that threatens to send her shaking to the platform below, she tips her chin defiantly as she takes her place back upon the block as the cymbals crash to an end. There Alena is proudly displayed as only a Gorean slave girl can stand.

And then suddenly, fresh tears spring to the depths of her blue eyes as she hears the slaver's voice echo across the awed crowd. She can feel her heart plummet at his words. "What am I bid?" is the cry.