Niraare: a Slave Betrayed

Chapter 1

The pleasure slave Niraare took a few deep breaths as she recovered from her riveting display of Slave's Dance, Therion's guests and palace servants beckoning for an encore. She couldn't blame them. She had worked the pole and the stage of slave's dance unlike any other woman who had appeared as erotic entertainment this evening, and Therion's guests had most definitely noticed.

Only one man had the privilege to direct Niraare to crawl back onto the stage for a repeat performance. And that was Master. She'd have ascended back to the marble stage without a moment's hesitation if he'd so much as motioned to it, no matter how exhausted her thirty-minute dance set had left her.

Such an instruction from Master would've been an honor, anyway. On the nights where Niraare was instructed to provide encore dance performances, she

always

ended up in Master's luxurious personal chambers that very evening.

To have her pussy ravished by Master after dancing for nearly a full hour was tiring, yes. But it was pure satisfaction that any trained and experienced pleasure slave such as Niraare found immensely fulfilling. To be praised as his most talented dancer as she laid against his chest. Mhm.

Maybe Sir would want an encore, Niraare thought, glancing up at Master as she fumbled with the sheen shawl that decorated her pierced tits. She had seductively stripped it from her body during the dance, teasing her tits against the silver pole she had so masterfully spun and twisted against.

Sir was preoccupied with other matters, speaking with another Remosan lord as well as a woman wearing the clothing of a Remos City resident. It was fine. She'd be sore from her explosive dance tomorrow anyway, whether Master decided he wanted to abuse her tight little cunt tonight or not. It would be his choice.

The few drunken guests still demanding an encore accept that they won't get their wish as Niraare slips her sheen shawl back on their body. There'll be another night, of course; two less experienced pleasure slaves were already cleaning the pole and the dance stage with a damp cloth. A dancer as delightful as Niraare -

Master's favorite

- didn't have to wipe down the stage of the sweat of her labors herself. Besides, the girls would've cleaned the stage for their instructor in the art of slave's dance without being told, anyway.

Niraare subtly combs her raven hair with her left hand as she escapes the crowd's complete attention in the off-stage prep room, adjusting her gold slave collar before pulling up her tiger-skin panties. A redheaded girl is supposed to take the stage in less than fifteen minutes; she's only been a pleasure slave for less than a year.

"Remember what you've been taught." Niraare reminds the nervous redhead as she perfects her mascara in the mirror. "If you do, you'll do just fine."

The girl nods quietly. This is only her second time dancing in public, and she's realized that displeasing Master is much worse than Niraare whipping and punishing her in the training studio.

It'll be a learning experience for her either way, Niraare thought. Either way, Master would be expecting her.

The twenty-five or so guests of Therion's banquet notice the presence of the dancer of the hour as she emerges from the dance stage's prep room cordon. Master sits on a angular divan, seemingly unoccupied enough that he'd want to interact with his favorite.

Niraare approaches the divan kitten-like, seductively. She's been a pleasure slave nearly all of her adult life; she knows how to approach a Master. Descending to her knees in Therion's immediate presence to crawl in between his lap, Master parting his legs and allowing his pet to come closely and speak to him.

A proud woman in some ways, Niraare speaks quietly enough to Master that he can hear her, but not so much that any drunken fool would assume she's merely another slut to be commanded, like the newer girls. She's Master's favorite, and

not

available to be taken to an orgy room after the party to be fucked by strange men. A oafish brute had to be told that last time.

"

Honored Master, this slut sincerely hopes you enjoyed her performance of slave's dance. Sir."

Therion, still sober, touches his pet's pierced tit, finger circling her nipple.

"It was delicious. As always, my pet."

The fire of fulfillment burns in Niraare's belly as Master touches her chin, making her look up and kissing her soft lips for six seconds. The slaver lord of Remos pets her hair as he gives her further instruction.

"Fetch me another goblet of wine, and take one for yourself. Return to me and we'll see what your students have learned of slave's dance."

Niraare nodded understandingly. Every one of Therion's guests would see how special she is to Master lying at his side.

"Of course, my Master."

The expert dancer rises to her feet, soon noticing that Master's ravenous guests have already drunken the bottles of wine the servant girls had been offering. She'll have to go into the kitchen to fetch more for herself and Master.

When the raven-haired expert dancer approached the open portal to the foyer, she found the entrance bluntly cut off by a blonde woman, clearly dressed in a freewoman's attire. The one who wore clothing more fashionable in the coastal capital of Remos City, in fact, rather than the borderlands region where Lord Therion's primary fortress and palace was situated.

"Your dance was incredible," the woman, in her 30's, compliments Niraare. She was no stranger to flattery, and wasn't exactly offended by it, either.

"Thank you, honored mistress," Niraare answers, speaking in the appropriate way for a pleasure save to address a freewoman. Sir would understand if she distracted by admirers as long as she didn't take

too

long to return with the wine Therion wanted.

"How long have you been a... pleasure slave?" The blonde woman, wearing blue Remosan upper-class clothing, deigns to ask. Prying.

Niraare was fine with flattery, but didn't like giving out personal details regarding herself to persons she didn't know. Still, it was her responsibility to reflect well on Therion's household.

"This slut has been a pleasure slave for eight years, honored mistress," Niraare explains. This woman was in no position to hear that full story, or to know that the 28-year old Niraare had been a freewoman for two years after her last Master died, four years ago.

She could glance at the

khanee d'shem

marking on her slave tattoo - just to the lower left of her belly button, and subtle enough that only one familiar with the customs of pleasure slavery could understand its implications - and make whatever conclusions she wanted. Such a branding - in Remosan character - identified one who had surrendered themselves to a Master as his property. An honor, for a pleasure slave like Niraare, even if she hadn't started as a

khanee d'shem

slave.

"I see. You certainly show your experience in your dance, Niraare." The blonde already knows her name, for whatever reason. "I'm sure your Master is awaiting you."

Niraare nods politely, finally free to fulfill her Master's wishes as she goes into the foyer to obtain wine for Sir.

The tattoo was useful, in some ways. The blonde Remosan woman would have no idea that Niraare was originally taken in a Remosan pirate raid on her native village in Aramana ten years ago, just weeks after her 18th birthday.

Sold on the Great Slave Markets in Remos City. To her previous Master, Varon. She'd become such a fine dancer under his strict and whip-friendly regime; becoming the apple of his eye, even as she found serving such a Master distasteful.

It'd shocked her when Varon emancipated her in his will upon his death. But returning to Aramana after five years in Remos proved a difficult proposition; especially after spending such time in a slave's collar. Former slaves of Remos weren't looked upon kindly in her homeland, she'd remembered, even as memories of it became increasingly distant.

So she'd become a dance instructor. For Therion, one of the most powerful slaver lords in the eastern half of Remos. Instructing his pets on how a pleasure slave properly danced for her Master, all the while she was a free woman, receiving compensation in gold for her knowledge of the slave arts.

For as long as that had lasted, anyway. Every bit as charismatic and handsome as Varon was cruel and cold, Therion had taken an interest in his former-slave turned freewoman soon after she began teaching slavegirls in the art of Slave's Dance.

And as much as Niraare told herself she didn't want close involvement with a slaver of women, her instincts had other ideas. So frequently after sessions of instructing new slave women she'd find herself in his personal chambers. In his bed. Infatuated with her employer.

So much so that the evening she'd been convinced to recite a slave oath and try on a collar for the first time for years it felt... right. She'd tried being a freewoman and decided that she liked being a pleasure slave better, especially for a Master she knew was worthy of her.

There were times she'd thought about her freedom, sure. When Master kept her in a slave's dungeon for three weeks after she'd been re-collared, definitely. Sometimes even when her cheeky attitude earned her a session on a punishment rack, whips and crops teasing and spanking her generous tits.

But being a pleasure slave was what Niraare knew, since she was a young woman.

It was what she wanted. What she liked.

Niraare sinks into the comfortable couch to the right of Therion, offering him a generously-poured gold goblet of wine. She smiles as Therion offers her a taste of the sweet liquid, enjoying a privilege that only a slave close to her Master could dream of enjoying.

The redheaded slavegirl Saenya is performing, and she's doing well enough that she's getting into a groove on the dance stage. A touch of Niraare's shoulder brings her closer, and soon her head is resting against Master's chest as he strokes her barely-clothed back.

"Who is that blonde woman?" Niraare whispers to Master. Recounting that something about her had seemed... off. A slave of her position could speak openly to her Master.

"That's Madame Andromache. She runs several of the brothels in Remos City."

It was to be expected that a mistress of brothels would be a contact of a slaver such as Therion, who himself organized slave raids in the bordering kingdoms of al-Khan and Mirae.

"Ambitious, too. She already tried to buy two of the slaves that performed tonight."

Usually a brothel administrator would purchase fresh captives. The unlucky ones at the Great Slave Markets. As distasteful as serving Varon was, Niraare always was grateful she hadn't been purchased by a brothel madame in her first sale.

"Well, she can't have Saenya." Niraare snuggles deeper into Master's chest, enjoying his attention, his pets, his occasional kiss on her black hair. "She's not fully trained in dance yet." As if that mattered to a brothel. It mattered to a Master like Therion, not a whorehouse.

Niraare considered the members of Therion's harem she found a nuisance. The girls who deigned to receive Master's attention that they did not deserve.

"What about Xenia?" Niraare questioned Master, looking up as she suggested the possible sale of the Easterling girl. "She's a trained dancer. Would sell well on the Great Slave Markets, even if she's overqualified for a brothel. Two thousand gold pieces, maybe." Niraare had sold for three thousand in her own slave auction a decade ago.

Master smiles with amusement at his pet's suggestion, although Niraare was experienced enough in manipulating Therion to know that reaction was far from a hard 'no.'

"I think she'd make a fine whore." Niraare whispers devilishly.

Therion often enjoyed how corrupt his favorite pet was, and this was no exception. A touch of the lower back brought Niraare into Therion's lap, and soon he was tasting and kissing her lips.

Therion's touch and pull causes a

slap

of the slutty sheen top Niraare is wearing against her body, and the pleasure slave can't help but smile with her lips kissing and tasting Therion's, hand touching the muscular outline of his chest. An all-but sure sign that Sir would be touching and playing with her full tits in his private chambers later.

The Next Day

Thank the gods that two polar-bear skin rugs decorated the area directly to the left of Therion's throne in his audience chambers. Not only was Niraare's athletic dancer's body sore from her performance last night, but her tight pussy ached even harder from the thorough fucking Master had subjected her to. Master's favorite was hoping not to kneel and lay on a single soft covering over the hard council chamber floor, having been selected as the slave to provide companionship to Master during the day's proceedings dealing with matters of interest to the regional lord.

Master knew the polar bear rugs were her favorite - the most comfortable for such slave duties. He certainly knew how hard she'd been fucked last night, in any event. How much cum she'd had to eagerly lick and slurp down after he exploded on his tits, conveniently collected on his long and muscular fingers.

Master begins the day's proceedings discussing land usage with two local farmers. In a local dialect that Niraare didn't even understand yet, nonetheless. Not as exciting at Sir's evening parties and banquets.

Sometimes Master liked a slave from Mirae or al-Khan to lounge at his side in such proceedings, an effective intimidation tool in dealing with traders, village chieftans and others with business before him who had heritage from that region. Niraare was from Aramana, originally; a country all the way on the other side of the Blue Sea, itself on the other side of Remos. Although she had become comfortable with identifying as a Remosan pleasure slave; no more.

Several of Therion's most trusted lieutenants and horsemen are still too drunk to appear in Therion's scheduled council audience. Still, a few guards have to care to man their posts; a few scantily clad slaves on hand to perform any required servant duties. A few guests from the party last night are present; the blonde woman from Remos City among them. Madame Andromache.

The guest, herself wearing a more professional blue dress, requests to speak to Therion when the farmers conclude their business.

"Thank you, my lord, for your most gracious hospitality. I had previously not known the borderlands to be such a region of great warmth; I can assure, your celebrations are more enjoyable than anything that happens at Winding Sea Castle."

The mistress of prostitutes refers to the main fortress of the slaver-pirates in Remos City. As much as Niraare finds Andromache distasteful, she can't disagree; all women taken from lands across the Blue Sea for sale at the Great Slave Markets have the misfortune of staying there while they await auction.

"So impressive are your talents, my lord, that I would be so bold as to purchase at least one slave who has been instructed personally under you, my lord. Such a girl would prove provide a useful example of the brothel maids of Remos City, and show my customer base a slave's true talents, when she's properly taught."

This woman was bold to attempt to buy one of Therion's own slaves right out from under him. Arrogant even. Still, Sir is wise enough not to upset a potential purchaser of slaves, trained or freshly obtained from other lands.

"Which one do you want to buy?" Therion questions his guest directly.

The brothel mistress glanced at Niraare fiendishly before deigning to express the most disrespectful encroachment on Therion's household. His hospitality, in Niraare's eyes.

"Therion, I would like to purchase Slave Niraare. Untrained as a brothel slave as she may be, I believe she'd be an excellent addition to a brothel staff, especially considering her dancing talents."

Master's favorite staring at the brothel madame with eyes that communicate a thousand daggers. To step into Master's home and make designs upon his favorite slave.

How dare she.

"My... favorite slave." Therion reaches down to play with Niraare's tits as he reacts to her offer. "You want to buy my favorite slave?" He reacts with harshness in his voice to Niraare's liking as he touches her nipples, although she wishes he'd order her removed from his household at once for such disrespect.

"I do, my lord. And I understand that such a well-trained pet will not come cheap. I'm prepared to offer

very

generous terms of sale for such an arrangement."

Master ceases playing with Niraare's tits, instead thinking about how to answer Andromache for far too long than Niraare was comfortable.

"Just to humor you." Master crosses one leg over the other. "How much would you be offering?" His very willingness to even entertain such a conversation is enough to rush a hot blush to Niraare's face. Surprised that her Master would treat her this way. Unless, merely as a test, a trick of which Andromache was the victim. Master would never

sell

his favorite. Who loved him.

Right?

"For the first part of my offer, six thousand gold pieces." Hushed whispers can be heard throughout the court. That much? For one slave?

Niraare has had enough and doesn't want to hear the second part of what this foolish brothel madame wants to offer for her.

She touches Therion's leg, obtaining his attention from the fiend before the both of them so arrogantly coveting his property. Whispering carefully, seriously.

"Master, I don't want to hear what she thinks she's-"

Therion cuts Niraare off. Quickly.

"Quiet. I just want to hear what she has in mind. Let me conduct an audience in my own court."

A worried Niraare slinks back to her polar bear rug, trying to take some solace in Therion's assurances, for whatever they counted for.

"Six thousand pieces, as well as three slaves, my lord." One of Andromache's employees brings a chain coiffle of three slave women in into the audience hall.

The chained slave women are quiet; respectful, two looking up at Therion hopefully. Perhaps knowing that Andromache's "deal" is the one way they'll avoid service in one of her disgusting brothels, servicing sailors, dirty men, and whoever happens to walk in with the intention of buying them for the evening.

A misfortune that Niraare would experience instead.

Master looks over the women, the very way he was treating this sick offer beginning to make Niraare angry. She had earned much better than this, she believed.

"Seven thousand pieces." Therion speaks with greed in his voice. Niraare glancing up at her Master with shock and anger.

What?!

This had gone on long enough, whether Master was serious or not. She'd give him the bare minimum in her dances for the next month, she decided, when Therion made it clear he wasn't being serious with this brothel madame.

Niraare touches Therion's leg, not sensually as she's accustomed to. She wanted his attention, and wanted it now.

"Master, I

do not want

to be sold," the dancer made clear.

"I told you. Quiet, whore, before I have you whipped. You do not interrupt my court proceedings."

The tone is one she's unused to. Which she hasn't heard in some time. Fear now overcoming her anger and surprise.

Andromache is more consumed with Therion's counter-offer. Evaluating its merits.

"If you would be so generous, I would like Slave Niraare to demonstrate the slave's position of presentation, my lord."

The last time Niraare had made such a pose was ten years ago. When she was for sale at the Great Slave Markets. The day she was tattooed as a pleasure slave for the very first time, she suddenly remembered.