The Slave Princess

The sword says swiftly
What the brush takes time to say.
As the years go by,
The sword’s words are forgotten
While the brush’s words live on.

- The Canticle of Menkeret.


The ropes dig into my wrists but I feel no pain. I face the setting sun across a
boundless sapphire sea but I am only vaguely conscious of the marvelous beauty before me. I am naked but clothed in resignation. I am hungry but know intuitively that soon I will be replete. I should feel fear but prefer to trust in Fate.

Redolent with rare oils from nameless far-off lands and adorned with a costly jewel from beyond the mountains, my body is beautiful. I am beautiful, as I have always been.

An hour passes and the last copper rays of the setting sun vanish, to be replaced by night. I stand tied to an iron column, in a marble room in this tower that overlooks the sea. He who put me here might have intended to frighten me but I am seldom afraid. I trust in Fate, for she is a powerful goddess; the empress of the world.

At last my captor’s minions arrive. There are six of them and they are ugly, brutish things; more animal than human. They speak to me but I cannot understand their guttural words. They laugh and gesture meaningfully but each sound they utter makes them seem more clumsy and stupid than the last. There is one who wears leather gloves; provided by his lord no doubt. He is the only one allowed to touch me. He leers and grimaces in a parody of compassion but I have no empathy for him. I would sooner plunge a cold dagger into his black heart and the heart of his master.

Now his hands grasp my knees roughly from behind and part my legs. I can hear the others utter sounds of leering admiration as their eyes behold my nakedness. But I am not flattered.

As before, I am washed but with warm water this time and some gently aromatic salve. I am washed thoroughly; the creature now being especially and unexpectedly gentle with me. He washes my every nook. I tense my muscles but relax after a time as the salve takes effect. It feels wonderful and must have cost my captor dear. I turn once the creature has completed his duty and with a sharp kick of my heel, strike the small alabaster bottle from his hand. It skitters across the floor and breaks, spilling the precious oil irretrievably onto the marble floor. The creatures are silent. If they weren’t so stupid now would be a good time for them to contemplate their master’s wrath.

Their leader snarls at me but I spit in his face. He wipes his forehead and makes a threatening gesture but I know he will not hurt me, for I am his master’s prize.

I laugh as the creatures pick up the shards of the bottle and attempt to reassemble them. Then I hear a series of heavy footsteps approaching; the creatures fumble with the shards and hide them amongst their rags. They exit hastily; their leader glancing back and sighing in his simian way. I smile; yes he is right to sigh, for beauty is indeed a terrible thing.

Now a heavy door opens; one which the creatures are forbidden to use. I stare at the starry night outside; my face impassive and cold. For several long moments I can hear him breathing and can smell his familiar scent. He stands still behind me and though I know his eyes are at that moment upon my legs, upon my ass and my hips, I pretend that I’m alone, with only silence for a companion. Suddenly there are more footsteps and I feel the presence of another.

“Is this her,” the newcomer asks, his voice betraying surprise.

“Ah, so you like her?”

“Why has she given you so much trouble?”

My captor is silent but, as his companion demands an answer one is given.

“She was rude to Cordelia. I have to…… get rid of her.”

Liar. Indeed I was rude to the precious Lady Cordelia, my captor’s wife, and she deserved it. But that is not the real reason. I feel them approach.

“And for merely that you would give me this…..this….”

Now my captor’s patience is running out; his companion is clearly not convinced.

“Well, I will leave you alone to get better acquainted, but make a decision or tomorrow she goes back to the slaver.”

With that, I hear his heavy footfalls on the floor. He leaves hurriedly, leaving the other man. This man has a young voice but, standing behind me as he is, I can tell little else about him. I hear him take a deep breath,

“What is your name slave?

I will surprise him.


He is silent.

“My brother told me you were insolent. Perhaps we must teach you behavior befitting your station.”

He speaks without conviction and I maintain my silence.

“Where are you from slave? Were you one of the servants of some great lady taken in battle? Are you a servant? No, you are too beautiful, assuredly you must be the boon companion of some worthy lady……….”

“I am a slave,” I reply quietly.

“Hmmm, so you have said. Are you so resigned to your fate, slave?”

His tone indicates that he does not expecting me to answer. I feel his smooth, cool hand run slowly down my hip and thigh, then across my smooth ass. His fingers touch my pussy lips for an instant and then he steps back.

“You wear oil of Minnah. My brother must value you. So I wonder why he would just give you to me for nothing.”

With that, he is gone. I expect his brother’s foul smelling minions to come and take me back to the cell that has held me for the past six weeks but instead, two young women enter the room. I can tell by their features that they are from Zonovon or one of the Isles of Illia. They look at me meekly and one of them even attempts to smile. From their rough homespun garb I see that they too are slaves. They cut my bonds but do nothing to cover my nakedness. I do not care. They lead me from the room where two tall, heavily armed men await them. These are my new owner’s men, my escort and my guard. We travel through many dark, silent corridors to a carriage. I am placed in the back with the two women on either side. The men climb into the front compartment and goad the horses into action. The roads are good and soon I see that we are passing through broad streets lined with trees, statues and fine buildings – all the trappings of empire. But there is noise, smoke, filth and the common stock of humanity with their incessant babble. My fellow slaves seem not to notice all this, they are silent and impassive. I am surprised when one of them speaks to me.

“We are approaching the house of Lord Heshuzius; he is your new lord and master. It would do you well to show him every mark of humility, meekness and servitude.”

I feel like slapping the woman in the face but something holds my hand back. She is right after all; I am a slave and resistance at this juncture is futile. Better to swim with the current than to fight against it. I look at the woman’s face; she is younger than I, dark and attractive, well fed for a slave too and her clothes are clean. She even wears a few rough beads. It seems that the Lord Heshuzius takes good care of his property.

At length I am led down a dark narrow alley to where brands light a low door. I am led inside where there are more women wearing homespun and going about their work. They do not look at me and my companions lead me to a room off the main corridor. Here I find water to wash with and food; there is meat and there are vegetables. I am surprised by the quality of it all. I eat my fill and lie on the bed, the softness of which also surprises me. In a small chest in the corner, I find more homespun clothing and at first I am disdainful of it, much preferring my nakedness. But I put it on, again trusting in an unknown fate.

I rest for several hours until most of the noises of the house have died away. I see signs of a light approaching and am on guard. The door opens and the woman who spoke to me in the carriage enters,

“I am Ara, in the language of my people that means……”


“Yes, you know the tongue of Zonovon?”

She speaks with a hint of enthusiasm and I smile at her but say nothing. She continues,

“I have been ordered to take you into the private chambers of Lord Mekkaron. He is the guest of my Lord Heshusius. Etiquette dictates that he must offer your body to his guest for his pleasure this night. You would do well to obey and act in accordance with his desires.”

My eyes narrow upon hearing this. I am acquainted with some of the customs of my captors but this comes as something of a surprise. I give Ara my hand and stare at her face. She manages a weak smile and turns to the door. Outside there is a guard who follows us up a flight of stairs to the residential levels of the house. There is manifest opulence here; multi coloured marble floors, frescoes and furniture wrought of costly woods, statues of porphyry, diorite and lapis lazuli, lamps of bronze and silver. In the air there hangs the sweet aroma of sandalwood and sweet jasmine. We stop by a tall window set before a heavy door. I see the full moon outside and offer the goddess my adoration in silent prayer.

Now the door opens silently and I am led inside. The guard takes up position by the widow. Inside, the room is dimly lit. Ara speaks,

“My lord Mekkaron, the Lord Heshuzius offers you this slave for your pleasure.”

“‘T is well, convey my gratitude to him.”

His voice is accented, heavy and nasal. I see him sitting in the shadows, a golden goblet in his hand. Ara bows low and turns to depart but before she does so she gives me a look that is all sympathy. The door closes.

“Approach me.”

I walk towards him slowly; my feet cool against the marble floor. He sits upon a fine chair of ebony embellished with jade and gold. At his feet lie plush furs and choice skins from a diversity of animals. He is a man in his fifth decade but slim of figure, dark as are all the lords of Darrakhai, and naked but for a string of red sardonyx at his throat. By the light of the lamps I see that he is scarred; the veteran no doubt of many battles. I stare at him but remain still. Bathed as I am in lamplight, I know that my green eyes will appear dark – unfathomable, my hair; like a black storm cloud; my skin, like the fine ivory of the Talfan delta. I feel his eyes on my face.

“Remove your garments.”

I do as he orders, leaving them in a pile at my feet. Again I feel his gaze fall upon me; upon my long neck, upon my broad shoulders, upon my breasts with their tight rosebud nipples, upon the flat plane of my belly and upon my navel. His eyes linger on my pussy; adorned by its single brush stroke of black, and then he lowers his eyes to my long, smooth legs. I relax my muscles consciously, looking down at him. There is no emotion upon my face; I might be a statue of the Queen of the Dead.

Now a sound escaped his mouth; a long hissing sigh. He shakes his head slowly. I can tell that I have impressed him; or at least my body has. As he stands I glance at his cock; hanging between dark curled hair – It seems I have aroused him merely with my presence.

He approaches me and raises hands upon which glitter heavy golden rings. He runs his hands down my arms and over my sides; his touch is gentle. I now see his eyes and can see the unmistakable look of lust in them. It is a look I’ve seen many times before. He reaches behind me and, for several minutes, rubs the cheeks of my ass, gritting his teeth as his cock twitches into life. I can feel it against my thigh but I do not react. Now he tugs at my hair gently and runs his fingers over my nipples. I am surprised by his gentleness; bordering on affection. He leaves me and sits down lazily.

“Come here and kneel.”

I do as he tells me, maintaining eye contact with him.

“I want you to give me pleasure with your mouth, but you must keep my cock hard for at least half an hour and in that time I must not come.” Now his tone becomes stern, “Do you understand me ...

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