The Slave 6

"Come, slave--today it is time for you to see a few things."

I tug on your chain and you bow to me. Your hand reaches out, raises my flaccid penis and you kiss it as a sign of your obedience to me. Then you look up at me, your eyes wide with curiosity. "Master, your humble and most unworthy servant desires to know where she will be going."

I smile to myself at the way you've learned to address me in order to correctly answer a question. "You'll find out soon enough," I answer. "Now, help me dress and let us be off."

"Yes, master."

You help me into my kilt of purple, my white shirt and purple vest. You place my scarlet haggis around my waist and clip it behind me. Then you slide my calf-high boots onto my feet. I stamp down into them. A billowing black cape and a white kaffiyeh around my head completes my outfit. I take my Rod of Correction under my arm, pull your chain and head for the door.

"Master--my clothes--?" you begin to say.

I whirl and give you a sharp heavy rap with the rod on your naked backside. You yelp with pain and I land another sharp swat.

"You need no clothes, slave. That is why you are a slave. Pray I do not have to chastise you in public for unseemly words or actions."

Your eyes are moist with tears. "Yes, master. Forgive me--I was not thinking properly."

"All right. Then, let's go."

My homestead isn't far from the village of Qadim, but the road is quite dusty, and by the time we reach the edge of the village my boots are dirty.

"My boots--clean them."

"Yes, master."

From a pouch you carry at your side, you produce a rag and begin to wipe the dust that has accumulated on my footwear. "Enough. That will do for now."

You bow slightly to me. Although I keep a stern look on my face, inside I smile with pride at the way you are learning your place. It is harder than I at first thought--to teach someone to be submissive as I was for the first twenty years of my life. Sometimes the memories are hard to erase. But as I learned, so will you. And when you have proven your worthiness, in time, you too will receive your freedom even as I was granted mine.

For you cannot know that I too was brought to this planet of Dumah by the pirates. A well-named world it is, too, for Dumah is the Arabahic word for "silence". Other than the hot winds that occasionally blow across the desert planet, it is almost unbearably quiet.

And yet, in spite of the hardness of this world, there are riches to be gathered here--precious gems from the mines of Isaam. And with these, perhaps i can eventually buy transport to another world with a more hospitable climate.

"Master--?"

Your voice calls me back from my momentary reverie, and I see we are approached by a woman dressed similar to myself, but with a black kaffiyeh. I recognize her as Nabeela, and behind her on a chain, her slavegirl, Yoshino. The lady, I know, is a native to Dumah, as her dark brown skin attests to. But the slave is obviously from one of the eastern realms where the yellow-skinned peoples dwell.

"Good day to you, Mikhail," says Nabeela. "You are well?"

"I am," I reply. "And the sun has obviously shone its loving rays upon your own self, milady."

Nabeela blushes and her eyes glance at the ground for a moment. "You are too kind," she remarks, obviously embarrassed by my frank comment. "But I thank you for--"

Her sentence goes unfinished. For, before either of us realizes it, there is an angry snarl from Yoshino and a moment later I see her leap forward, pulling the chain from Nabeela's grasp. Then she is upon you, shoving you to the ground, her fists flailing at you, her knees punching at your groin and thighs.

Your hands move to your face to protect it, you legs draw up to ward off the blows, and a loud wail escapes your lips. A few moments later, Nabeela drags Yoshino from you, lashes the slave across her buttocks--once, twice, thrice--six times she lays into the slave, soon drawing blood.

I lift you from the ground. You cower behind me, blood trickling down your chin from a cut lip.

"I beg your forgiveness, Mikhail," Nabeela calls out. "I do not know what happened." She ties Yoshino to a nearby fencepost, lays in another three lashes across her bare back. Then she approaches me, kneels before me.

"I am sorry for the actions of my slave, Mikhail. I ask your forgiveness and beg you do with me as you will in payment for the trouble Yoshino has caused."

Nabeela looks up at me, her aqua-blue eyes searching my own, knowing that, if I so desired, I could plunge my dagger deep into both their hearts and take their lives for the wrongdoing of the slave.

My mind is racing with thoughts. It is bad enough having a slave who does not know the art of fighting. What to do with Nabeela and Yoshino? I know it is not in my heart to kill them, yet I must save face somehow.

"Stand up."

Nabeela rises to stand before me. I reach out and pull the kaffiyeh from her head. Her black hair tumbles down past her shoulders. Her head bows and her eyes close, for she knows what I have chosen to do.

Grasping the inside shoulder hems of her gown, I rip it down till the garment drops to the dirt and Nabeela stands before me, her body naked even as yours.

"Turn around."

Nabeela turns away from me.

"Fetch your slave and bring her. You are both now my slaves for so long as I desire."

Nabeela is silent for a long moment and I reach for my Rod of Correction. But then she replies softly. "Yes, master."

I am grateful she has complied.

But, I wonder, I am having enough trouble training and correcting one slave. How am I going to deal with three slaves?