A SLAVE GIRL FOR THE EMPEROR
Teagan Rand
Tuppshar Press
Smashwords Edition
Also by Teagan Rand:
In the Slave Harem (Xhagia, Book 2)
Slave of the Brothel (Xhagia, Book 3)
Final Surrender (Xhagia, Book 4)
At His Knee
Lesson in Bondage
The Slave in the Garden
Taken for Bondage (The Slave Raider’s Lament, Book 1)
Dark Confession (The Slave Raider’s Lament, Book 2)
A SLAVE GIRL FOR THE EMPEROR
PRINTING HISTORY
First Edition, 2010
ISBN-13: 978-1-936783-00-7
Copyright © 2010 by Teagan Rand
All Rights Reserved
Cover artwork Copyright © 2011 by Tuppshar Press
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be copied or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons (living or dead), locations, or events, is entirely coincidental.
www.tuppshar-press.com
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A SLAVE GIRL FOR THE EMPEROR
One
New Arrivals
On the day that some historians would later choose as the beginning of the end of the millennia-old Xhagian Galactic Empire, the slaver Dalgaz Tav stood patiently before the large window of the starport terminal and waited for the orbital transport to arrive with a fresh group of captive human girls for the harems and brothels of his world. He had no notion of what events would come, of course; those who live history seldom do, and even the ones who recognize its passage are usually ignored. And to have said on that day that the empire would fall would have seemed the highest conceit as you looked out at the bustling starport, the mighty battlecruiser that lay parked across the tarmac, it being only one of a hundred at the emperor’s command, and the large merchant freighters bringing the wealth of worlds here, to the capital, to Xhagia. The two suns were both high overhead today, bright in the clear, azure sky, and together they cast twin shadows from the nearby skyscrapers of the imperial capital. It was midsummer now in the northern hemisphere, and Dalgaz Tav was glad that his current duty would not take him outside and into the heat; rather, it was a more delicious task that had brought him here on this warm afternoon.
He was dressed well, as befitted his high station, his coat a rich, baroque velvet, blood-red in color, the shade of it responding to the sunlight. His breeches were jet-black and his boots carried the shine that could only be brought through careful, expert polishing, and his body was muscled beneath the fine clothes, his chest broad, and yet lithe, too, powerful. His face, long and aquiline, bore the aristocratic bearing that came naturally to him both from his race and his important position in the imperial house, and the prestige that was a part of his profession. This last was indicated by the medallion he wore, the gold shine of it bright against the silk of his shirt. The medallion had been his father’s, and his grandfather’s before that, the sign of long hours of study and longer still as an apprentice.
Dalgaz Tav was the high slaver for the emperor of Xhagia, and today he had come to acquire new and fresh slave girls for the pleasure of his lord.
Outside, the transport now appeared overhead, coming down from orbit and circling as it prepared to land. Dalgaz noted with satisfaction that it was on schedule, and he watched as the vehicle touched down and its wings retracted. After a few moments the main hatches came open and the cargo began to disgorge, figures moving in a line, guided by the neck chain that connected their collars, their wrists fastened securely behind them. They were human girls, naked as they walked, their fresh, curvaceous bodies illuminated by the twin suns. Dalgaz felt a twinge of lust as he observed them, both from their beauty and his power, and a faint smile crossed his aristocratic features.
It’s a good catch, the raider captain had assured him by radio when the larger starship came into the Xhagia system yesterday. And although Dalgaz Tav was always skeptical of such claims, he saw now and with another smile that this time it was true—even from a distance these were lovely captives, varied and rounded as healthy human females were, well-suited to the new lives they would soon be leading. He was glad to see that as they had gained experience the field slavers were getting better at the quick choices one had to make on raids, which women to take and which to leave behind. Dalgaz understood well the difficulty of their jobs, and so even when disappointed he was seldom critical; he had participated in a few such captures himself when younger, as part of his learning. As always, his father’s words still rang true to him: you are not seeking simply the most beautiful girl, my son, but the most sensual and the most alive, since she will be doing far more than simply acting as an ornament in the slave harems and brothels of the empire. And his father had taught Dalgaz that the real measure of a slave girl was often much more subtle than a non-specialist could determine, and to always be careful when assessing new arrivals.
As the emperor’s representative, of course, Dalgaz got first choice of the captives, picking even before the new slaves were put up for auction. Other slavers envied him this, and respected him; if they found his favor, he would sometimes alert them to fresh, high-quality catches that he had chosen to pass on, and he never took more girls than he could handle, selecting only the very best for the imperial harem.
Now he smiled again, licking his lips with a sense of predatory satisfaction. There was always a pleasant anticipation that came when choosing new girls for the harem, and this stayed with Dalgaz Tav as he watched the line of girls moving across the tarmac. It was more than just the pleasure that he got from training them, from knowing that each of the girls he chose would soon be available for his enjoyment, their bodies his to command and use. No, it was more because Dalgaz Tav knew that each new girl was unique, that even after he broke her will and conditioned her to submit without question to Xhagian men, she would still be different from all the others, special. The process of transforming a girl into a lascivious slave would bring her face to face with her most hidden inner truths, with who and what she was, and with every dark desire and fantasy she had ever denied she had. What emerged when he was through, the slave girl who would then be brought before the emperor to kneel and sate his lusts, was always a little different than Dalgaz Tav had anticipated she would be, and this kept his work interesting.
Around him the terminal bustled as men and women, some tugging children or luggage in hand, hurried to their flights, to the myriad destinations of Xhagia and the empire. A hundred worlds belonged to the empire, and a hundred more were vassals, all obedient to this city and this world, to the power of Xhagia’s military, to her fleets of warships that suppressed piracy and kept the peace in the star lanes, that encouraged trade and wealth to flow to the center, to the capital. For it was here that the emperor, the Xhagia of worlds, reigned, the title and the name of the world and the empire all one and the same: Xhagia. And here, among the many goods from the many worlds, human slaves were brought, those from Earth being a fellow species of Valk, to serve the emperor and his people as only they could. Earth girls were unique in the way they satisfied Xhagian passions, neither better nor worse than Xhagian women, but different, sensual, delicious.
Why this was, no one knew.
Dalgaz let his attention drift down once again to the new slaves as the last of them emerged from the transport. None were deformed or obviously unhealthy, shuffling along with their gazes down. They would still be in shock, of course, both from the raid and the long suspension that had kept them carefully packed on the voyage from their homeworld. Some would still be convinced that this was a dream, a hallucination, a nightmare.
He chuckled. That last, at least, would probably be true, unless they learned their place quickly.
As the line reached the terminal’s cargo entrance Dalgaz turned from the broad window and made his way to the elevator leading down. He had spotted a few in the line who were worth a closer look, and there were often real gems even among the less obvious ones. He would be picky, of course—he always was, for it was a standing command of the emperor that his slaver purchase only the best, the most beautiful, and those who matched the emperor’s tastes most perfectly. As the door opened and Dalgaz Tav stepped into the quarantine area, he inhaled deeply of the scent of the new captives and smiled again.
It smelled like glory, and power, and anticipation.
The past days were still a blur, and she knew that there had been many more than she could count as the leash on her collar tugged her out of the large hatchway and into the bright sun of this alien world. Two suns, she realized quickly, one stronger and brighter than the other, throwing two shadows from everything.
Not home.
You’re not in Kansas anymore, Christine.
She shuffled along, her feet meeting the hot concrete of the tarmac, and she glanced around as they did. It was a spaceport, not unlike O’hare back in Chicago, but larger, and the spaceships and aircraft here were different, sleeker, larger. They hovered before landing, not on rockets or jets, but simply floating.
Not in Kansas anymore.
The line kept repeating in her head, replaying from the old movie, more than a hundred and fifty years since it was made but still a classic. Not in Kansas, no.
Christine wanted and tried to deny the harsh reality of this place, to tell herself it was a nightmare. But waking up had never happened, only sleep, the long sleep in the tube and then being brought out, loaded with the other girls aboard the spaceship behind her and now marched out, led by a collar and a leash like an animal, out under these twin suns that were so unfamiliar.
She tensed her shoulders and pulled at the bindings that gripped her wrists. The cuffs were not tight, but they held her well nonetheless, and now she moved obediently as the leash and her collar directed her. Ahead, Christine could see the form of the girl in front of her as they moved, hips swaying with each step, the sun hot and the ground hotter still beneath her bare feet. Her mouth was dry and she blinked at the brightness, the soft skin of her own buttocks warm against her hands, beading with sweat. Without thinking she tensed against the cuffs again.
“Move,” the guard said. He looked human, or close to human, his face more graceful than a man’s, more noble, and his eyes watched her hungrily as she stepped forward. She moaned as he prodded her with the baton he carried, running it up her flank. “Keep moving, slave.”
The word caught her. She had heard it before, on that terrible day when she and the other girls had been restrained in the hold of the alien ship, still in their clothes then, and the man—the creature—had stood over them and told them to be still. She had heard it later that day, when they were brought and their clothes stripped away, and then when they were each lowered into the tube of liquid, then before the lights went out in the long sleep.
Slave.
Slave girl.
How could this be?
She tried to remember before, why she had been out there that day, how she had gotten there. The other girls had stories, and had shared them as they all sat chained in the alien ship, waiting for their captors to do what they would do. The other girls could tell you where they had been, in what city, what neighborhood, what building, but for Christine Beringer it was mostly a blank. Chicago, yes; that she had recognized. But she had been taken by the lake, far from the suburb where she lived and far from where she worked. What had she been doing there, so vulnerable? Because there had been no escape for her, not that day, when the dark ships came. Though she had heard the air-raid sirens, there had been nowhere she could run, nowhere to hide as the tall figures in their dark suits and masks emerged and began their hunt.
All a blur.
She supposed it was shock, and disbelief, even now, and that the explanation was buried there somewhere. And she did remember who she was, that she was twenty–three years old, a recent college graduate and an employee in an office, helping to manage accounts for a multinational firm which had branches all around the world and on Luna and Mars as well. She knew that she was the second of three daughters of John and Victoria Beringer, and that she wasn’t dating right now but had in the past, and that in high school she had been third runner-up for homecoming queen. She remembered last Christmas, when she and her parents and her sisters had all gone downtown and walked through the streets to see the decorations, the high buildings of the city around them. She could remember all these things and more, all the things that make up a life, the past and the hopes for a future.
But she could not remember what she had been doing there, by the lakefront, on that day the raiders came and her nightmare began.
Slave girl.
This was what they had called them, there inside the dark ship, when she and the others had just known somehow that they were in orbit, that they were moving away from Earth at high speed.
There were perhaps three hundred girls with her, all taken by the raiders and assembled in the ship’s cargo bay, where they had been told to strip. The raiders were men, almost, but taller and more graceful, carrying themselves with confidence. And Christine could still remember how the refusal of two girls had been met with force, and how the rest of them had acquiesced, how it had felt to pull off her shoes and blouse and her skirt and her hose, then her slip and her panties and her bra, to stand naked before the men, trying to cover herself as they devoured her and the other captives with their eyes.
Slave girl.
A dream, she told herself. It has to be a nightmare, or one of those dark dreams you’ve never mentioned to anyone, where you are stripped before a stranger and he holds you down, the way it feels so good when he takes you and you wake up moist. Now I’ll wake up soon and it’ll all be over, in my apartment and my bed, just imagination, just that dark fantasy I sometimes wish I didn’t have but that makes me feel so good, too.
But she didn’t wake up, or more accurately, when she did, she was still here.
No, she thought. Not like this.
This was terror. This was real, too real. These ones looked like men and touched her with the same interest a man might; they could not be imagined. Christine remembered the one, on the ship, who had smiled and gripped the cheek of her ass roughly, then slapped it like she was a toy, chuckling a word she did not know.
“Penetrata.”
No. This was not Earth, was not her world, and she, like the others, was helpless here. There were two suns overhead, one yellow like that of Earth and the other smaller and red, throwing two shadows from her and the rest of them. One step at a time, Christine Beringer crossed the tarmac on the strange, alien world. Behind her, she heard a girl crying.
Finally the line of them passed through a large door and into a vast room, where their cuffs were unhooked and then attached to a long pole that ran over their heads. This was drawn up, bringing them to tiptoe, helpless as other strange men appeared and began to appraise them, their hands firm and their gazes cold. Christine shivered, like the others, naked under their scrutiny.
The quarantine supervisor met Dalgaz as he emerged; he was a short, muscular man with an old scar running across his chin, and his work coveralls contrasted sharply with Dalgaz’s ornate coat. The supervisor bowed in deference, then indicated the line of girls. His assistants clustered around them, making the captives ready for inspection, then standing aside.
“This way please, Dalgaz Tav.”
Dalgaz nodded and the two of them stepped forward. One or two of the slaves watched them, but said nothing. They were naked, of course; any clothing they might have had when captured had been removed before they were placed in suspension, light-years from here. And so as Dalgaz walked before them he was able to appraise them easily.
“They look like a good batch,” commented the supervisor. “Healthy and vigorous.”
“Have they been cleared?” asked Dalgaz.
“Yes. No contagions.”
“And the subliminal language programming while they were in subsleep? There were some last year who had to be retaught. I’ve got enough work to do without dealing with slaves who can’t understand me.”
“We fixed that problem. This group is fine. They’re all now fluent in common Xhagian. You’ll need to add more specialized vocabulary, of course.”
Dalgaz nodded again. “We can handle that,” he said. He stepped to one of the girls who had caught his eye from above and he reached out, touching at her pert breast, letting his finger roll over the nipple. She moaned and tried to draw back, but the taut chain at her collar and the cuffs attached to the bar overhead prevented her from escaping his attentions. He cupped her breast in his hand, his strong, experienced fingers caressing it, making note of the soft skin and the tender flesh underneath. Her eyes came open and she watched him with horror as he brought his hand down her chest, over her belly and to the place between her thighs, this marked by a thin patch of curled hair that he toyed with. It would have to come off, of course, before she could be presented to the emperor. His finger touched her intimately, pressing past the outer lips of her sex, and she squirmed a bit as he examined her carefully.
A virgin. There were so few these days; that would entertain the Sovereign of Worlds.
Dalgaz moved to the next girl, running his hands over her shoulders and down her flanks. She was a good catch, and would serve well, but her body shape was too muscular for the emperor’s tastes. The Lord of Worlds preferred smaller, slender women, and so this was what Dalgaz looked for first. He would pass on this girl and let her be sold in general bidding; some nobleman would probably sport with her, or perhaps she would be purchased by one of the better slave brothels in the capital. He gave her ass a tender swat and moved on.
One girl after another passed before his careful eye. About halfway along the line he stopped and smiled.
Even from the terminal he had noticed this one, and took his time with her. She was a rare beauty, to be sure, delicate and slender, yet with curves that matched her frame perfectly. The swell of her hips and small breasts matched her tender features, a small, feminine chin and slightly upturned nose, dark eyes and the thick mane of dark hair that would shine with a bit of attention, the lips of a goddess to touch against the emperor’s, or to please him more intimately. Dalgaz ran his hand down her flank and pressed it between her thighs as he had the girl before, and heard her gasp as he inspected her.
No, she had been opened, though she was still tight. He kept his slight disappointment hidden; it didn’t really matter, since she would serve well in any event. Though the emperor enjoyed taking virgins, he also appreciated that a girl was only a virgin once but that she could be enjoyed many times. Giving the girl a cold smile, Dalgaz drew his finger out and stepped to the next slave on the chain.
Of the two hundred and eighty captives, two more girls proved suitable, and along with the virgin and the beauty Dalgaz took a further one because there was potential to her; she was a brown, dark-haired beauty and if nothing else she could serve in other ways, perhaps with the imperial guards, or he could train her and sell her off at a profit to make up for the fact that the harem’s budget was always too small. The supervisor handed him the holopad with the invoices and Dalgaz checked them off, authorizing the transaction with his seal; there would be a good profit for the raider on this group, especially after the remaining beauties were auctioned off to brothels and noble houses. He had the five slaves released from the coffle and brought forward, and several assistants appeared with rolls of thin packing. One girl cried out as they began to wrap her, but Dalgaz paid her no heed, and soon the new slaves were secure, their faces and bodies just visible through the thin material, able to breathe and see, but nothing more. After a final check of the paperwork he had them loaded in cases and put into his transport, and with a small bribe and thanks to the supervisor, departed the starport.
It was a good day on Xhagia, the suns shining bright over the imperial city as afternoon moved slowly toward evening, the bustle of transports to and from the starport, the sight of people walking the broad boulevards below. Thinking of his precious cargo, Dalgaz felt the familiar stirring in his loins and knew that this evening and tomorrow would be good as well.
Two
Penetrata
Though it formed a small wing of the palace where he lived and governed, there was much of the imperial harem that the emperor never saw. He had no need to, and the affairs of state generally kept him far too busy to concern himself with the more mundane aspects of his slaves’ lives. They were brought to him to please him, and then returned, more or less whole but always exhausted, to Dalgaz Tav, who carefully oversaw their rest and recovery. If the emperor desired, of course, a girl might be kept in his suite for later enjoyment, but with so many slaves to choose from it was easy for him to forget all but his favorites.
Dalgaz, on the other hand, knew the harem better than his own home, and he knew each of the hundred and thirty–three girls who were housed there, keeping them under constant scrutiny with his small staff and apprentices. His holopad gave him instant access to their records, should he require it, but more importantly, his excellent memory kept careful tabs on the slaves in his charge, as well as their training, their discipline, and their needs.
Their needs concerned him most of all, for it was their needs, their helpless desires, that pleased the emperor. His majesty the Xhagia Taj Rad was unlike his father, and did not like the girls who fought back, so it was important to train the slaves of the imperial harem to be particularly docile, and when he acquired them Dalgaz Tav was always most interested in any subtle signs of a submissive nature. It helped that he preferred submissive women himself, and had learned to spot them quickly.
The five new arrivals were brought through the main harem and into the small suite of rooms where Dalgaz handled training, and there he had them unwrapped and washed, their hands bound above them again as several apprentice slavers scrubbed the last of the suspension fluid from them, cleaning their hair and skin and making sure that even the intimate crevices of their bodies were fresh. Dalgaz watched from behind a glass wall, observing each girl’s reaction to this attention and noting with satisfaction that each was vibrant, squirming helplessly under the warm, steamy water. At last he signaled that he was satisfied, and one by one had the new slaves toweled dry and brought into the next room for processing.
Patrak was waiting for him there, and expertly wrapped the virgin girl’s wrists and suspended her in the center of the room. Dalgaz stepped beside him and the two walked around her for a moment.
“What do you think?” Patrak asked.
“Hm. The usual legs, vulva and armpits, and denude her pubis as well.”
“Her anus?”
Dalgaz nodded, and Patrak reached to a nearby table for an instrument. The girl cried out as he began to run it over her calves, then her thighs. He held her in place, his fingers strong around her ankle as he worked, the actions methodical and professional. Despite the suspension a little hair had grown out in transit, but this came away easily as he worked up to her pubic mound and delicately ran the head of his tool over the soft skin there, then below it to the lips of her sex. Though she did not know it now, she would learn: this was permanent.
As he finished with the girl’s armpits she shuddered, and Dalgaz watched as Patrak took the tool and ran it between the cheeks of her ass, pressing it firmly against the tender flesh of her anus. She cried out as this was done, and he braced her with his free hand.
“Steady, pretty one,” he chided, finishing his work. Her skin was red from the denuding, and Patrak brought a bottle of cassav oil and began to rub it over her body. She relaxed at the cool sensation, going limp in her bonds, Patrak turning her this way and that to make sure he had reached every spot. Then he released her and pulled her into the next room, where he had her kneel and shackled her to a ring in the floor before returning.
It was the lovely brunette next, and she watched Dalgaz with horror as he led her in and fastened her manacles to the roof. When Patrak returned she saw him and moaned.
“Please….”
The two Xhagians ignored her and conferred.
“Legs and armpits, yes?”
Dalgaz nodded. “Yes.” He walked around the hanging girl, observing her carefully. He wanted her to be perfect, and so gave her careful consideration. Patrak followed him, the machine in his hand humming quietly. Dalgaz reached out and ran a hand over the girl’s ass. “This won’t need much,” he told Patrak.
The man ran his hand after Dalgaz’s. “Good tone,” he commented.
Dalgaz took the girl’s ass cheeks and pulled them apart, running a finger over her anus and then noting the flesh of her outer labia. “Clear her anus, though it looks fairly smooth already.”
Patrak nodded, moving his finger over the brown star to feel for telltale hair. “And her vulva?”
“Yes, just in case. But leave a bit at her pubis; just enough to mark it. We can shave it traditionally if we need it smooth, and it matches the hair on her head nicely.”
“Triangle?”
“A narrow one, so she can wear a kalithda.”
The girl moved again as Patrak began to work. As he reached her waist she cried out.
“Please, no!”
Dalgaz regarded her, said nothing. She would learn to be silent soon enough, and after a few minutes under Patrak’s expert attentions, she was finished and rubbed down with oil and led into the next room to kneel beside the virgin.
Though all had their body hair removed, Dalgaz chose to denude the pubis of only one of the others, letting Patrak work his artistry on the remaining two. This sort of thing was always subjective, considering the emperor’s tastes first (he liked them smooth), but also a general aesthetic sense that required Dalgaz to consider the styles he would make of their hair, the sorts of cosmetics he would apply to them, and so on. They knew none of this yet, though most understood by now the general sense of what he had in store for them. When Patrak finished with the last one Dalgaz had the five girls brought before him in the main room of the training suite. It was night outside and he knew they were exhausted, and he hoped to get them into their kennels soon.
The five new slaves stood unmoving except to tremble, hands modestly held over their pubes, their skin shining from the oil, saying nothing. It was a good sign that they tried to cover themselves, he knew, since that meant there was still some life in each of them, enough to know fear. He took a moment to watch them, walking behind them, then around again.
“Welcome,” he said. His kept his voice soft, almost gentle; the virgin seemed almost ready to cry. Dalgaz spoke again, his hands behind his back. “You are slaves; this is your new life. Your old, whatever it may have been, is over. We have no interest in it, unless it serves us.” He repeated himself, wanting there to be no question in their minds as to what they were doing here. Sometimes this took a while, but the sooner they understood, the better. “You are slaves, and you will remain slaves for the rest of your lives. Your purpose is simple: to be pleasing as we command. Any notions of modesty, or of dignity, or of refusal, are no longer allowed to you.”
He stepped forward, to the pretty one, the one with the delicate features, and he ran a finger along her cheek. She regarded him with horror and drew her face away.
“I am Dalgaz Tav,” he said. “You were taught the basics of our language, the language of your new masters, while you were in suspension from your homeworld, so do not try and pretend that you do not understand what I am saying. This world is Xhagia. It is the capital of the Star Empire, the center to which all paths lead. Your world is but a vassal to us, and to the emperor, the Xhagia, the high sovereign.” He moved his fingers down to the girl’s breast and caressed it attentively. She moaned and tried to pull away. “We take what we desire,” Dalgaz added, “and we have chosen you. This means that Xhagia is your world now, your home, and your place on it is as a slave girl. There is no escape, and no rescue will come for you.” He moved his fingers to the girl’s other breast and held it tight. “Those who govern your world know better than to try.”
The girl pulled back and tried to shake him off. Dalgaz reached out with his free hand and took her chin between his fingers. Her own hands had come up now and were gripping his wrist. No matter; he knew that his kind were stronger than these ones, and he brought her face close to his, his graceful features reminding her that he was not human.
“Now,” he went on, “perhaps you have already guessed the nature of your slavery. If not, or if you still refuse to believe your own instincts, I will make it quite clear. We have no need for your resources, your technology. Your world is insignificant to us. But our two species are both Valk by ancestry, and we do share much in the common trait of lust. Our females, noble queens, feel almost nothing in mating, though much pleasure in pregnancy and childbirth. Our males, those like me and Patrak and every other Xhagian in this harem, are more aggressive, and their lust—our lust—is the stuff of legend across the stars. And so it is a delightful thing to hold and enjoy a female who responds. Since it would be immoral for us to change our own females, we, and they, have chosen you instead. As a species of Valk, you are similar enough to them that we find your appearance appealing, and we have the power to make you do as we wish.” He moved his hand down and between the girl’s thighs. “So you will learn to seduce, to react, and to please. You will learn to crawl and to beg and most of all to submit sexually. And you will enjoy it, even if you do not like it, even if it makes you ashamed. Because your bodies will respond, regardless. You are pleasure slaves. Do you understand?”
The girl continued to regard him with horror. Dalgaz brought his hand down, pressing his fingers against her pubis, chuckling as he felt her squirm. She was just a little moist, down there.
Good.
“And when we are finished with your training and preparation,” he said then, “you will eagerly perform any act we command, and allow us to commit any indignity we desire with your bodies.”
Christine winced under his touch, trying again to squirm away. But he was strong, far stronger than his well-groomed hands would have suggested, and her struggles were futile. And when at last he finished with her, the man—or so he looked, mostly—stepped back with his confident smile and watched her and the four other girls. She brought her hands back down to cover herself, the sensation of his fingers still fresh against the tender lips of her sex.
For the hundredth time, she tried to tell herself that this couldn’t be happening.
The dark ships from the sky, the air-raid sirens. She had run as the ships descended, trying to find shelter, and then there had come the net, entangling her as she fell to the grass of Grant Park. The face of her captor, hidden behind his black mask, as she struggled to get away, to escape. And then being strapped into the acceleration chair in the ship, feeling as it lifted away from Earth, docking with the mother ship in orbit. The cool, dry air as she was led with other girls into a cargo hold. Finally the tube, filling with liquid around her as she tried to breathe and then slipped into unconsciousness.
Words in her dreams, a language she did not know, syntax, grammar, conjugation. Each becoming natural to her, like she had known them all her life.
Xhagia.
There had always been rumors about it, of course, dark things about an empire beyond the solar system, about its power, news reports about the way that people sometimes disappeared there and never came back, civil-defense systems and drills that everybody was supposed to learn but never knew why. Rumors that the governments of Earth obeyed this alien race.
Xhagia.
Was she one of the missing ones now?
In the present, the reality of it sank in as she and the other girls were led to kennels and told to crawl inside. Christine thought of resisting, then looked at the alien man who still watched them and realized that it would be futile. Lowering her head, she crawled as he directed her, sensed the door slide shut behind her, and heard it lock. The door was transparent and she looked back as the man, the alien, talked with some others for a few minutes, then left. Darkness fell over the room, but it was not easy to sleep, that night.
Xhagia.
We share the trait of lust. We have chosen you. You will do as we wish.
Slave girl.
Christine sobbed quietly, helpless and far from home, the tears finally coming in a wash of despair that never seemed to stop. This was it, the end, and she could only guess at what horrors awaited her now.
Dalgaz sat with the emperor in the comfortable lounge just to the side of the emperor’s central office. They were alone save for the two guards who stood just outside the door, and as they reclined with their glasses of Adalisian wine Dalgaz handed him the holopad with the photographs.
“There are five,” he said, “that I felt would be of interest to you. They’re in the training rooms now.”
“Indeed.” Taj Rad nodded, studying the images. He was a large man, well-dressed and fit, a short beard speckled with hints of gray accenting his face, his eyes penetrating when they looked at you. “And you say that one is a virgin?”
“Yes, my lord. Helen. She is intact.”
Taj Rad nodded. “A tight little cunt,” he mused. “That should be most pleasant.” He glanced at the other pictures. “They’re all appealing, though.”
“I’m pleased you think so.”
“And are they wanton?”
“I’m certain with four; the fifth may take a little more work.”
Taj Rad raised an elegant eyebrow and smiled. “I have great confidence in your abilities, Dalgaz Tav.”
Dalgaz bowed his head at the compliment. The emperor was older now, though still less than fifty, and Dalgaz had been bringing him girls for his lusts for more than half that time, dating back to Taj Rad’s later years as crown prince, when Dalgaz had still been an apprentice in the imperial harem. Taj Rad was an energetic and popular ruler, closely involved in affairs of state, and had a mating vigor that was well-known and acknowledged by the people of the empire, though he had produced only one son. Now he continued to study the images. “This one,” he said. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Christine.”
“Interesting. She’s quite lovely. What are her prospects?”
“Very good. In time, and with the proper training, I believe she’ll become an extremely wanton and lascivious slave girl.”
Taj Rad looked at him and chuckled. “You say that about all of them,” he chided.
Dalgaz returned the chuckle with a soft laugh. “Has it ever been untrue, my lord?”
“Touché, master slaver. Have they been baqqaned yet?”
“In a few weeks, my lord. Of course, you are welcome to observe, if you like.”
The emperor chuckled again. “Sadly, my days are full,” he said. “Tomorrow there’s a meeting with the ambassador from Sagadia, then cabinet meetings, judicial affairs. It’s like that every day, you know; this empire depends on me. And I know you’ll handle their baqqaning well. Which reminds me: have a girl in my chambers for tomorrow evening. A warm little one, with vigor and endurance. The empress seems to have one of her headaches, and has sequestered herself in the west wing.”
“I hope she feels better soon.”
Taj Rad made a gesture of gratitude. “As always, my thanks, Dalgaz Tav. I do look forward to enjoying these five.”
“I’m certain you will, my lord.”
Their captors woke them early. Christine stirred from her troubled dreams as the door to the kennel slid open and the man’s voice prodded her out of her slumber.
“Up now, girls! You have much to learn!”
She crawled out, eyes bleary from fatigue, and began to rise. His hand stopped her.
“No, Christine. This is your first lesson: You will crawl in the presence of a man, unless he commands otherwise. You must earn the right to stand. Do you understand?”
She looked up at him, and his name came through the confusion: Dalgaz. Dalgaz Tav. Not a human name, and he was not human, though he looked much like a man. “Yes,” she muttered.
“Only ‘Yes’?” He shook his head. “Second lesson, slave: All males are to be referred to as ‘master’, or ‘my lord’. Try again.”
She lowered her head in shame. “Yes, my lord.”
His hand, soft, touched at her gently.
“Very good. But for me, the correct title is ‘master’. Crawl now to the other end of the room and kneel there. Keep your thighs together.”
She obeyed, knowing that his eyes were on her bottom as she moved. Soon the other girls had joined her. The man (she was beginning to see him as such, even though she knew he wasn’t) stood before them, his eyes roaming over them, appraising them. He was dressed differently today, his ornate coat gone, his pants tight and his white, silken shirt pressed, displaying a fit, lean form and hinting at real muscle there. As he spoke she noted the medallion he wore.
“Excellent,” he said. “Now, I hope that last night you each had a chance to consider your position, and the new reality of your lives: you are slaves, slave girls. The word for you here on Xhagia is penetrata; it is derived from one of your own languages—Esperanto, I believe—and taken as a noun as we have done it means approximately ‘one who is penetrated’. It is a word that suits your new lives and the single most important thing that is going to be done to you here on Xhagia. Each of you will say it now. Jacqueline?”
The first girl in line, a small and slender blonde, her breasts firm and well-formed, shook her head. Dalgaz’s tone changed.
“Say it. Tell me what you are, Jacqueline.”
“No!” she barked. “Stop it! This isn’t right!”
Dalgaz stepped to her. He held a small pad in his hand, and now he pressed it against her shoulder. The girl cried out and nearly collapsed.
“Pleasure and pain are not always so distinct,” he warned. “That was pleasure, Jacqueline, but you can see how it might be too much, can’t you? You can see where it might cross that line. Do not toy with me, girls. I am a patient man, but I have a duty to perform with you, and I know how to make you beg if I have to. So I ask you again, Jacqueline: What are you?”
His tone, cold and even, seemed to cut into the girl. She looked down and spoke softly.
“Penetrata.”
“Say it again. What are you?”
“Penetrata,” she said. “I am a penetrata.”
He smiled. “Very good, and not so difficult an admission, really. Olivia?”
This went on, each girl finally speaking. In time he reached Christine. She looked up at him as she spoke, as resistance faded away, even as she wondered why it did so easily.
“Penetrata,” she said. “I am a penetrata.”
Dalgaz moved to her and caressed her soft hair. “Indeed you are, Christine, and a lovely one at that.” He addressed them all. “You should be honored, you know, because you are owned by none other than the emperor himself. It is his whim you will serve, his lust you will feel, though there will be others too, in abundance. And so your training will be of the highest quality, even as our expectations of you will be the most demanding. Shall we begin?”
They watched him, unmoving. Finally he spoke again.
“The correct answer is ‘Yes, Master’. Whenever you are uncertain of what to say to a Xhagian man, this is a good choice. Of course, remember that you must then do whatever it is you have just agreed to do. Let’s try it again: ‘Yes, Master’. All of you say it, penetrata.”
Christine shuddered as she spoke. Penetrata; the word itself was vulgar, even in the way it rolled off her tongue, its meaning clear. But this did not matter. She and the others were helpless here, at this man’s, this alien’s, mercy. Her answer came out slowly, with the other girls.
“Yes, Master.”
Three
Baqqan
Their new lives as slaves began with poses, that day, and ways to walk and crawl that would accent their bodies, the feminine curves of them. Dalgaz was attentive, correcting the girls with every step, with every motion, teaching them to move by instinct, to be sexual in everything they did even if they were not aware of it. This would take time, but habits could be learned with the proper reinforcement. And he had chosen these ones because they had real potential; physical attractiveness was only the beginning and reflected their general health, but there were also more subtle signs, attitudes, behaviors. As one day became another and a week became two, he drilled them mercilessly, and twice a day allowed them to kneel before a trough of bland slave gruel and lick at it. Slaves were never permitted to eat with their hands or with utensils unless they were given permission, and it was best that they learned this early. On the first day Jacqueline moaned as he pushed her face down into the food.
“When you are commanded, penetrata, you obey. Eat now.”
She did, licking at the stuff, sobbing quietly.
The advantage of training several slaves at once was that an example made with one translated to all of them. As days passed Dalgaz was pleased to see that their responses were slowly becoming automatic, and his commands would now come rapidly, barked one after another as they struggled to follow.
“Hands and knees, Christine! Ass high! To your back, Olivia! Spread your thighs! Bring your legs up to reveal yourself, and display yourself with more enthusiasm! Modesty is not permitted!”
The girls responded, whimpering. Dalgaz ran his hand over Christine’s perfect bottom, marveling at the soft, supple flesh. “This position is called runkiss,” he told her. “You must learn to assume it more quickly. Normally your thighs should be together, though the master may tell you he wants them spread. Always be attentive to his command, penetrata; Xhagians are not patient with hesitant girls.” He moved to Olivia and crouched beside her, his hand tracing down her belly to rest against the tuft of soft hair he had allowed to remain at her mons. “This part of you belongs to the emperor, too,” he said. “And to any man. Show it with the pride it deserves. Move your hips invitingly. Beg without words.” The girl moaned as Dalgaz brought his fingers lower, almost touching the glistening lips of her sex. “Say you want me,” he commanded. “Say you’re my slave girl, a hot penetrata.”
“Please….” she moaned. “No….”
“Say it.”
Olivia hesitated, then spoke. “I want you…. I’m your slave…. I’m your hot penetrata….”
Dalgaz drew his fingers back and saw the hint of disappointment flash across her features, keeping his smile hidden. He had read her correctly at the starport; part of her wanted to submit, to give in, to be taken. Part of her wanted him to touch her now.
She would be a delicious, lascivious slut in time. He intended to make sure of this.
There were of course protests when he commanded them into the more revealing and humiliating positions, things like runkiss and spras, especially when he instructed them to display themselves intimately. But a strong hand usually brought cooperation, and he knew that soon enough they would obey regardless, though they did not even suspect this now. He knew that his strongest card had yet to be played.
Dalgaz smiled and felt his own lust grow.
Faced with her new, terrifying reality, the dreams of submission passed for a time, and Christine did not miss them. Fantasy was one thing, she knew. It was harmless even if kinky, even if it was something like rape or bondage, and she had friends who had admitted to many wild things in their fantasies, in the secret gardens of their minds, just as she did. And her dreams had always reflected her own, the dark feelings of submission, of a powerful man who was more than a little frightening as he controlled her.
But she wondered now, dreaming only of home and of freedom, or having nightmares of running, running and being afraid, if maybe these slavers had taken her because of these feelings, of these secret desires. Had they known somehow that she was the way she was, that on many nights she had lain alone and touched herself while thinking of a fantasy lover who tied her down and forced her to make love? It seemed impossible that they could have, because she had never been able to tell anyone about her feelings; there was no place in a civilized world for that sort of thing, and real-life men could be dangerous. Perhaps with the right man, the right lover, she might, she had always promised herself, but only as the greatest act of trust. Trust was at the core of complete surrender.
There was no trust here, on Xhagia.
Or was there?
There was certainty. Dalgaz Tav was a monster. A slaver. He took girls like her and he broke them down, made them do and say things that no woman should ever be made to do or to say. She knew that he was changing her slowly, carefully and selectively taking away the parts of her that were proud, that were independent, that were strong. He was making her into something she had never dared think she should be. And he was recording what he did, with the little floating cameras that she saw everywhere in this place, and he made her and the other captives watch videos of their own humiliation, pointing out how they might improve, making them see themselves as others saw them.
As men would see them.
And so it was particularly troubling to her when the erotic dreams began to return.
The imagery was different now, but the feelings, the sensations in her body, were the same. Restrained, kept, controlled. And him, that dark figure who would stand over her, his eyes in shadow from his brows, a power to him that you could feel in the air. His voice, firm and familiar, as her eyes fluttered open with terror and then with lust.
“Kneel, Christine.”
It was now the voice of Dalgaz Tav, and when she awoke he was always there.
It was just the two of them today, and he had stripped off his shirt, revealing broad shoulders and a chiseled, well-muscled chest. She felt very small kneeling before him on the mat, naked. He walked around her for a moment.
“You’re very pretty today, Christine.”
Her voice was soft as she answered, wishing the words would not rise up so easily from within her.
“Thank you, Master.”
“Tell me, what do you think your slavery here will be like?”
She trembled. It was bad enough that he made her move, that he made her pose lasciviously, but it was worse when he made her confess what she was. Because there was that part, deep inside her, that was both terrifying and hungry, that could not help but appreciate how he made her feel, how feminine, how much like a woman. Very few men back home had ever really done that.
“I don’t know, Master,” she answered.
“Guess.”
“I suppose…I will serve men.”
He nodded. “Yes. With your body, with every inch of your pretty little form, in every way we command.” He watched her as she squirmed a bit, as she fought against the low, moist tingle that suddenly appeared between her thighs. “But there is a great deal more to being a penetrata, Christine, than simply receiving our lust. True pleasure is far beyond merely this. You have done well to master the poses and movements I have taught, and they have made you a delicious little thing. Look at me now.”
She raised her head, watching him. And her heart began to flutter as he stepped before her and knelt, her gaze moving over his bare chest.
“Do I excite you, Christine?”
She licked at her lips, wanting to say no, but the truth came out anyway.
“Yes, Master.”
He extended a hand and caressed her soft hair. “That’s good. You should be excited. You should always be excited in the presence of a Xhagian male. And you should grow accustomed to seeing us become excited as well. Because you will, you know. And you know how that will appear, too, don’t you?”
She turned her head, afraid that he might pull off his pants, that he might take her right there. The vision of this, the fantasy, passed before her eyes, of him pushing her thighs apart and laying her back on the mat, the way it would feel as he penetrated her.
The word, the appellation: Penetrata…I am penetrata.
Oh, God….
She whimpered softly, clenching her thighs together. The urgent wetness was still there, and with it the fantasy, the image of him erect, hard, male.
“Please, no….” she moaned.
“No?” He seemed amused. “That is not a word you will be permitted to use much in your new life, Christine,” he told her. “Not when a man wants to enjoy you. You are a slave girl.” He reached out with a single finger and guided her chin up once more so that she must look into his eyes. These were dark and intent, focused on her and her alone, both gentle and hard. She felt her lips part slightly, a rush of warm air passing over them.
“Lovely,” he said, and he leaned forward now, his lips touching hers lightly, teasing, then pressing forward with more vigor.
A moan escaped her as he held the kiss, soft and warm, and her lips parted further as his tongue just caressed them before drawing back. She knew she was red, that her blush was spreading from her cheeks and over her bare breasts, and she saw him smile.
“I think you liked that, penetrata,” he said.
She moaned, leaning toward him. He took her shoulder and held her back, his eyes staring into her own.
“Never forget the power of a kiss,” he told her. “Never forget the way the soft passage of your lips or tongue over a man’s flesh can excite him far more quickly and completely than any raw act of sex. Sex is more than merely penetration and use, and you are more than just a sex object, Christine. You are a beautiful creature of desire and every inch of you is sensual, is sexual, is beautiful. You are erotic anticipation, and our pleasure with you is as much watching and anticipating you as it is taking you. This is your power, even and perhaps especially as a slave.” He smiled. “So now, I will teach you what part of you already knows: to kiss and so to give yourself completely to a master, to be yourself completely. Like the movements and the poses and in time the other things you will learn, these will become second nature to you, will become part of who you are.”
He leaned forward again, and again she felt his warm lips move across her own. The lesson, and those that followed, were more than simply pleasant, and as she lay in his arms that day and the next and the next, a week passing into another as he continued to fashion her, Christine felt her last resistance begin to fade away.
She was becoming something new, both terrifying and beautiful.
For Dalgaz Tav, the days passed comfortably as he taught the slaves more expert ways to kiss and to lick his chest and shoulders, to use their lips and tongues as instruments of pleasure. But there was still resistance in each of them, still the struggle to deny what he was making them into. This was of course expected; he was not such a fool as to think that what he was doing to these girls was completely natural for them, that slavery was something they would ever fully consent to, that it was the entirety of their natures. As a slaver he had studied their species closely, and he knew that they struggled for dominance as much as they might desire to submit. Their species was equally capable of being predators and prey.