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They put Stacy into a slave sack for the journey to the Maibrun block.
It was May, nine months since Stacy had been brought to the world of Gold-Home. Or rather, back to Gold-Home: She had been taken to Earth as an infant and raised there without knowing that she was a princess and potential sorceress. It was Dordur the Dwarf who told her that, leaving out the detail that he intended to make her a slavegirl as well, when they returned to Gold-Home.
Stacy had returned with Dordur despite guessing the dwarf’s intentions. Her intuition had told her that she was doomed to become a slavegirl anyway, and so she might as go along with the dwarven slaver and become an actual sorceress as well.
Now, after months of training, Stacy was still technically a princess, and most decidedly both a sorceress and a slavegirl. She was bound hand and foot, secured in a slave sack, and lying in a cart with five other slavegirls. Within the slave sack, Stacy was completely nude, except for a collar that could no longer be removed.
It had been her old goth-bondage collar from Earth: Black leather with a steel ring in front and a buckle in the back. The ring was still there, but not the buckle. Instead it was all smooth leather around her neck, without even a seam. In addition, it was now as inert as gold, retaining the comfort of leather without the drawbacks. Those were the first two enhancements placed on it.
Dordur released the slavegirls from their sacks and untied their ankles, leaving their wrists bound behind them. At his direction they slipped off the cart and stood waiting while Dordur went on to the next cart. Stacy looked the part of an enslaved princess as she waited. Her hair was a natural gold-blond that reached to the small of her back, and her blue eyes were bright in a fine-featured face. Below her collar, her body was fair and youthful, and her breasts perked, excited by her day-long confinement.
A diadem of silver and pale blue gems appeared on Stacy’s head, confirming her royal status. Dordur had given it to her on Earth, and then had merged it with her collar after their return to Gold-Home. The princess-crown would appear when useful, and vanish when awkward. That was the third enhancement on Stacy’s collar.
Dordur had brought a batch of twenty five slavegirls to Maibrun. Stacy was the tallest, by nearly fourteen inches. Humans were rare in Gold-Home, and Dordur’s batch didn’t include any elves or dark-elves. Most of the slaves were dwarf-women, with two halfling-lasses and four goblin-maids among them. All of the items of female merchandise were nude and collared, and all were tired from the long day of travel.
They were cheerful as well. Slavegirls in Gold-Home usually are cheerful. They are under the protection of Dee, the divine Master of masters, and their owners pamper them by way of making an offering to Him. So the slavegirls sat down on their pallets without protest, and smiled as a trio of assistant slavers locked shackles on their left ankles and untied wrists. Not one in a hundred slavegirls would try to run away, but there were always fools. In any case it was part of the game.
Next came the keg of cold wash-water on its cart. “Slavegirl Stacy,” Dordur said, “cast the bath-spell.”
“Yes master,” Stacy answered. She muttered the words of the spell, not to warm the water but to warm the slavegirls, so that cold water would feel good as they washed hands and faces. She had learned a number of day-spells during her nine months here, but not the more advanced magic of creating enhancements. In any case she could only use her magic when her master gave permission, and it came easier when he actually commanded her to do so.
Bread and broth followed the wash-up. Then came sleep, as the sun sank below the horizon and the slave pen grew dark. Tomorrow the slavegirls would get a better bath. Then they would climb the auction block, one by one, until they all were sold.
=O+O+O=
The next morning started with the slavegirls polishing the bronze hobbles they would wear for their sale. They didn’t stint; they wanted to look good when they mounted the block. When all the bronze shone, Dordur and his four assistants locked the hobbles in place. Now the slavegirls could go to their promised bath, walking with the tiny, mincing steps forced on them by the short chains between their ankles. Once again Dordur commanded Stacy to cast the bath spell, and once again Stacy obeyed. The slavegirls washed under buckets of cold but generous water, dried themselves with the towels provided, and brushed and combed each other’s hair. Then, one by one, they minced to the block to be sold. Dordur guided each slavegirl to the front of the block, where the rich and respectable bidders could examine her more closely. Each slavegirl then climbed onto the block. Again, the bronze hobbles forced them to mince, but the steps had been built low to ease this.
Stacy was not the first slavegirl to be auctioned. But she was the first non-dwarf, which put her near the end. The respectable bidders examined her: Dwarf men, elf and halfling men, and dark-elf and goblin men, all well dressed, and all with interested eyes. Then Dordur gestured for her to climb the steps. Stacy obeyed, trying to remember her lessons. She smiled and posed and displayed herself, and the bidding began.
The bidding was sharp but short. The auctioneer hit the bell with his mallet and Stacy now had a new owner. The tallest of the auction’s three assistants – a dark-elf – bound her wrists behind her, removed the sale-hobbles, and led her aside. “Wait here,” he commanded, and knotted a tether to Stacy’s collar-ring to ensure this. Stacy could feel her heart beating. She’d been sold, she’d been sold, she’d been sold…
A few minutes later, a richly-dressed goblin arrived, his plum waistcoat and tan trousers setting off his green skin. “I am Master Kark. Your Master Kark,” he clarified.
Stacy knelt. “Yes, master. How may I serve you?”
“Keep kneeling,” Master Kark said. “It’s convenient. Keeps me from getting a crick in my neck.” He untied Stacy. “Now tell me your full name.”
“I am Princess and Slavegirl Stacy Mithnarie Calderon, if it pleases you, master.”
“It does. So relax.” Master Kark gave Stacy a grin and touched her nose. “But I will simply call you ‘Stacy,’ for my own convenience.”
“As it pleases you, master.” Stacy managed a return smile. “Thank you.”
Master Kark nodded and handed Stacy a bundle of cloth. “Put this on,” he commanded.
The cloth turned out to be a slave tunic of unbleached linen, sleeveless but a fair protection against the warm-cool air of May. With it came a belt of rope, and after Stacy had knotted it in place, Master Kark used the ends to tie Stacy’s hands.
“Now let’s see about this,” Master Kark said. He lifted the diadem from Stacy’s head. She watched as he studied it, knowing what would happen. “Ah,” he said when it disappeared. Stacy felt the tingle of magic; in a minute or so the diadem would reappear on her head. “That’s clever. Was it yours, Stacy?”
“No, master. I haven’t learned enhancements yet. Only day-spells.”
“If you know Hunter’s Lace and are feeling chilled,” Master Kark said, “you have my permission to cast it on yourself.”
“Thank you, master,” Stacy said. “I do know that spell. But I don’t need it right now. The tunic is enough.”
“Come along then.” Master Kark turned away, and Stacy rose to follow. “We will set out for Bengate tomorrow morning,” he said after a few steps. “I should tell you now that I bought you as part of a batch, to sell at the Oak-Rabbit Fair. I am a junior master in both the slavers’ and sorcerers’ guilds in Bengate. So no slavegirl-sorceress tricks!” he said in a tone of cheerful warning.
“Of course not, master.” Stacy could hear the disappointment in her voice. Master Kark took no notice of it.
“For example,” he continued, “that rope on your wrists has Cymay’s Dispair on it. All my ropes do. So don’t try to be helpful about untying it!”
“Of course not, master,” Stacy repeated, this time in a cheerful tone. Cymay’s Dispair would make a rope groan – loudly – if any female tried to unknot it. Stacy found it strangely and deeply comforting that Master Kark was taking precautions against her attempting to escape.
=O+O+O=
The next day, Master Kark arranged for a breakfast of hotcakes and bacon for his new batch of slavegirls. He then had them stand in five lines of five. Stacy he put at the end of the first line. She was the only human, once again, and the tallest – but only just barely, this time. In an earlier auction, Master Kark had purchased two dark-elf women, both of whom were just an inch or so shorter than Stacy. He had also purchased Molly and Beryl, the two halflings from Dordur’s batch. The rest were a mix of dwarf women and goblin lasses, including three of the four goblins from Dordur’s batch: Elrine, Donna, and Talra. The women were all dressed in slave tunics, hands free but rope-hobbled and barefoot. Stacy wondered about that. According to rumor, the first part of the journey to Bengate would be a three day march, and Gold-Home masters normally avoided the cruelty of sending their slavegirl on long treks while hobbled and barefoot. Unless they were halfling slaves, as all halfings normally went barefoot anyway, slavegirls or not. But even halfling slavegirls usually weren’t hobbled for a long march.
The first part of the mystery was solved when one of Master Kark’s assistants brought out a foot bath. “Stacy!” Master Kark called out. “Cast the Waterlast here.”
“Yes, master!” Stacy responded automatically. Then she felt a spike of fear. She couldn’t remember that spell! She took a deep breath. Had she even been taught it? No. Yes! She took another deep breath and spoke the words of the day-spell, directing its power into the square pan of water.
Each slavegirl in turn was then directed to step into and out of the footbath. As she did so, invisible and metaphorical sandals formed on their feet. Even on the feet of the halflings, although those sandals were more metaphorical than the others. The protection would only last a day, as it was a day-spell, but having it cast was cheaper than buying sandals in all the various sizes needed. As least if one owned a sorceress.
The second part of the mystery was solved as Master Kark and his second assistant put each slavegirl in coffle as she stepped from the enspelled foot bath. They removed the rope hobble from each female in turn, and repurposed it to tether their wrists to the waists of the slavegirls in front of them. In the case of the first girl in each line of five, the tether was tied to her left ankle, instead. This went quickly, as the slavers were well-practiced, and a very short time later the five lines of five slavegirls were marching down the road, accompanied by Master Kark and his two assistants.
At the end of the day, everyone was tired but no one was footsore. The coffle ropes were converted back to hobbles and the metaphor-sandals fell away. They entered the local slave pen where bread and broth and cheese were served and eaten, plain food but plenty of it. Afterwards, the three goblin slavers set the slavegirls to a bout of scullery-work in the slave pen’s kitchen. As the three tallest females, Stacy and the two dark-elves were given extra tasks in proportion to their size. This bemused Stacy; she found it appropriate for a princess-and-slavegirl.
And then to bed. Master Kark and his two assistants slept among their female merchandise, partly to guard, partly to watch, and partly to ensure that conditions in the slave pen were not an offense to Dee.
=O+O+O=
The second day matched the first. The third matched the second, except that at the end of that day Stacey and the other slavegirls arrived in Pinehead, on the Meadborn River. The first leg of their journey to Bengate and the Oak-Rabbit Fair had ended. The next morning, Master Kark announced, “No marching today. The barge isn’t ready yet, and that’s just as well. I’ve arranged to rent a laundry for this morning, and I’m putting you to work. All of you.” He wagged a finger. “No highness-laziness for you, Princess Stacy! Do you understand?”
“Yes, master! I understand,” Stacy said. Then she dared, “I’ll even cast spells to help, if you give me permission.”
That brought a grin. Master Kark took a moment to fight it down, and then said, “Very good. You will be first in line, Stacy. Then Keralyn and Rylili,” he pointed at the two dark-elves. “Molly and Beryl hiding behind them, and Igmor and I will sort out the rest of you. Shadbar will guide you to the laundry. March!”
The twenty five slavegirls made their way to the laundry, barefoot and rope hobbled, escorted by Master Kark’s two assistants. Master Kark lingered long enough to whisper to Stacy, “You may cast the long-wood, long-soap, and drying spells. And no others.” He gave her a sly look. “I’m keeping you on a short leash, you see.”
“Of course, master,” Stacy whispered back. “Those three spells only. May I cast them more than once each?”
“Ha! Yes, you may.” Master Kark patted Stacy on her hip, reaching up a bit to do so, and departed.
The laundry was in a courtyard, with a water pump, a dozen wooden buckets and vats, and an iron cauldron over an enduring fire. At Shadbar’s prompting, Stacy cast long-wood and long-soap, two day-spells that would make the firewood and laundry soap last longer in use. She and the other slavegirls then set about washing their slave tunics. Nude. The dwarf women grumbled about having nothing to wear but their collars and rope hobbles as they worked, but even Stacy could recognize the grumbles as simple dwarvishness. The other slavegirls cheerfully ignored it.
The dwarf women did sneak looks at Stacy’s diadem. So did the other slavegirls. For many of them, it was their first chance to see it up close in daylight. But even Molly, Beryl, and the other slavegirls who had trained with Stacy in Green Anvil Hall wanted another look. Stacy sat to let the short slavegirls see it better, while leaving it to the two halflings to explain how it worked.
Other matters Stacy had to explain herself. “Yes, I really am a princess. Or at least I’m told I am, and I pass the usual princess tests: the pea test, the wooden shoe test, the golden straw test, and the talking frog test. No, I never had a dress of silk and pearls. I grew up without knowing that I was a princess. Which is a fifth test, I suppose. No, I wasn’t raised by poor-but-honest woodcutters. I didn’t grow up in Gold-Home at all, but in a place called ‘America,’ on ‘Earth.’”
As Stacy talked about her former life on Earth, she realized how strange it now seemed to her. It was a place of marvels and horrors, a place where she’d been happy on her birthdays and sad on every other day of the year. She had gone ‘goth’ in an effort to hide from her sadness, and it hadn’t worked. She had sensed the demons of Axewiizee hunting her, even when that dark god had been nothing more than a name in the stories her guardian had told her. But now she was a slavegirl on Gold-Home. That meant the demons couldn’t touch her, unless she was freed. And she was now happy on every day.
The slave tunics were hung on a line, and Stacy cast the drying spell several times – once on each set of five tunics. That way they’d be ready in an hour or less, rather than taking all afternoon. Shadbar and Igmor then ordered the slavegirls to scrub themselves, and to enjoy an actual hot and soapy bath. The three goblin slavegirls, Elrine, Donna, and Talra, spoke briefly with the two goblin assistants in their own tongue, and then passed on the word that Master Kark had arranged a hussy feast – and that they were to be the hussies.
=O+O+O=
Master Kark’s slavegirls served the hussy feast but did not have to cook it. That was left to four local women: A halfling, two elves, and a dark elf. One of the elves wore a slave collar and ankle hobbles with a steel chain, but that didn’t make any difference to the other three women. At least not as far as Stacy could tell. The food itself was roast lamb, new vegetables of various sorts, spring greens, flaky elf-style bread (which Stacy wanted to call ‘croissants’) and large mugs of ‘small’ beer with a very low alcohol content. The smallness, Molly whispered to Stacy, was so that the feasters wouldn’t embarrass themselves.
Those feasters were twenty-five young men: the sons and nephews of wealthy and influential citizens in Pinehead. After serving the food, the twenty-five slavegirls sat to join them. The feasters then tied and chained the hussies in place while the men moved about, sorting out which slavegirl each of them wanted for the evening. Most of the guests were elves or dark-elves, with a half dozen halflings and a few dwarves and goblin-men. None were human, and Sophie was reminded again that humans were really rare in Gold-Home.
The elf who claimed Stacy introduced himself as Wanilir Merril-kin. He had a beautiful tenor voice and an elegantly masculine build. His blond hair and blue eyes were close in shade to Stacy’s own, and his ears, of course, were elf-long and elf-pointed. He also was taller than Stacy by a good three inches. She found that a relief. Stacy was short by human standards, but the profusion of dwarves, goblins, and halflings made her feel like an amazon.
“It doesn’t matter as much when one is horizontal,” Master Wanilir told her. “The problem is that one cannot always be horizontal.”
“I suppose not, master.” It had been made clear to Stacy and the other slavegirls that the guests at the hussy feast were their masters for that evening. “But I never thought of myself as a towering amazon before.”
“No? I expect that comes from your time in the Red Mountains. Here in Vinland and the Principalities you will see fewer dwarves and more elves and dark-elves.” Master Wanilir chuckled. “In fact, you already have, unless I miss my guess. I was fortunate to claim you as my own for tonight.”
“Just for tonight, master?” Stacy asked, more lightly than she felt.
“Just for tonight, even though you tempt me, Stacy.” Master Wanilir drained his mug. Stacy refilled it, and he nodded his approval and thanks. “You underestimate your value. I could not really afford you, and my father would not be best pleased if I overspent.” With two fingers he stroked Stacy’s ear. “Yet I will have you tonight,” he said gently. “Tell me then what you fear in me.” A soft smile. “I would have you moan with passion, not terror. So speak.”
Stacy found herself aware of the roundness of her human ears, as Master Wanilir touched them. Of her nakedness beneath the skimpy tunic she wore. Of being barefoot; of being a collared slavegirl commanded to strip herself with words. She took a deep breath and began to speak.
Master Wanilir nodded and made encouraging noises as Stacy began to reveal her fears. As she talked, she grew less nervous and more… horny. Yes, definitely horny. Master Wanilir was a decidedly masculine elf. He was most definitely male, with his male gaze focused on her body and his male attention focused on her words. With a confidence male possession of her, if only for tonight. She wanted that. Oh yes, she wanted that.
When Stacy finished, Master Wanilir made a subtle gesture toward her plate. “Keep up your strength, Stacy.” He arched an eyebrow at her, deliberately, and mostly managed to suppress his smile. “You will need it.”
“Yes master,” Stacy said. She turned her attention to the roast lamb and new potatoes. Snatches of conversation came to her from the other slavegirls and their temporary masters. Several of the women had become her friends. Female slaves were encouraged to form friendships with each other, and with free women as well. Master Dordur had made a point of that, when training her. He hadn’t said so in so many words, but Stacy had sensed his worry about her becoming isolated. So she had made an effort to speak when she just wanted to brood, and to ignore the strange non-humanness of the other women, just as they tried to ignore her being a human. She finished her plate, took a long drink of the small beer, and started a conversation with Molly and the goblin-man who was the halfling’s master for tonight.
=O+O+O=
The feast unraveled, with the men leading off (or carrying off) the hussy-slaves. Master Wanilir led Stacy to a small room, one of many set up conveniently near the feast-hall. It had a small lamp set high up and a simple mattress that took up most of the space – it was that small a room. The mattress, Stacy saw, was well provided with pillows and pillow-chains. The latter were braided fiber rather than metal links, and Stacy knew that they’d be both soft and unyielding. She imagined what they would feel like if she really struggled against them. Well, soon enough she’d know.Stacy dropped down onto the mattress and stretched out her arms and legs. She felt her diadem vanish back into her collar. She looked up and met Master Wanilir eyes. His lips twitched.
“Strip, first,” he said.
Stacy sat up. “Oh!” she said. “I’m sorry, master. I forgot about that.” She pulled off her tunic and lay back down.
“That’s better,” Master Wanilir said. He sat down beside Stacy. “I see you intend to be a rebellious wench. One who needs taming.”
“If it pleases master.”
“It will do.” The elven master ran his hands down each of Stacy’s arms and legs in turn. “Yes, it will do.” He secured the pillow-chains: left ankle, left wrist, right wrist, and right ankle. Multiple wraps kept the fibers from biting Stacy. Clever knots kept her from working loose. Short tethers with just a little slack held her on the mattress.
Stacy felt Master Wanilir’s hands again, this time caressing her from her wrists down to her knees. He bent over her and applied kisses. She tried to show her appreciation by embracing him, and smiled ruefully when the pillow-chains prevented this. He grinned back and moved to her feet, applying a foot rub to each bare foot in turn. It made Stacy feel like a princess, just as the pillow-chains made her feel like a slavegirl. She squirmed, pulling at her bonds, and Master Wanilir grinned again at her frustration. It was a happy, exciting sort of frustration, and the more Stacy pulled on her bonds the more exciting and pleasant it felt.
Now Master Wanilir took possession of the rest of her. He kissed and whispered endearments, cuddling her with words even as his hands helped themselves to breasts and belly, arms and ears. His fingers ran through her hair. He had discarded his own clothing, somewhere along the way, and Stacy could see how he was ready to move right in. But Master Wanilir took his time. Gold-Home masters could be very patient with their slavegirls. They didn’t have to rush and seize moment, not when they owned the entire woman. Stacy had been taught that, back in Green Anvil Hall, and now she was getting a practical lesson in what that meant. She was ready, and then she was really ready, and still Master Wanilir gave her one more caress and one more kiss.
Finally, Master Wanilir moved in. He was over Stacy, stroking. He set the beat, and Stacy made happy little noises, and then happy noises that weren’t so little, and then cried out. And cried out. And cried out.
Stacy realized that her wrists were still tied, but her legs were now free. She could use her feet to beg for an encore. She tried to apply her lessons on what bare feet could do when hands were tied. It felt clumsy to her, but Master Wanilir whispered encouragement. He let her practice with her feet, for a time, before tying her ankles again. Then he released her hands, so that she could continue to beg for an encore.
After the encore, the pillow-chain secured Stacy’s left ankle only: a sleeping tie. It felt comforting, a reminder that she would not be permitted to run away. Instead she was permitted to cuddle, wrapped in Master Wanilir. A sheet covered them both, and they both were blissfully relaxed as they drifted off to sleep.
=O+O+O=
The river-barge left at noon the next day, with Master Kark’s batch reduced to twenty. He had sold Molly, Talra, and three of the dwarf-women. The remaining slavegirls he locked in light chains, wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and collar to ankle-hobble with the wrist-chains running through a larger link in the middle of this long one. The wrist- and ankle-cuffs had bulbs of cork surrounding them. Or something like cork, Stacy thought as she examined the material. She didn’t think the floats would help much if she fell into the river, but didn’t see how they could hurt, either.
That afternoon, as the barge floated down the river, the slave women mostly talked about the hussy feast and the men who had temporarily owned them. Stacy didn’t think of herself as a prude, and the slavegirl training at Green Anvil had been quite frank, but she still found herself wishing for some of the talk to be more poetic. She mentioned this to Keralyn.
The dark-elf smiled. “I’d like to blame it on dwarves and goblins being dwarves and goblins,” she answered. “But honestly I can’t. My sister could keep up with anyone here in terms of being frank and unpoetic.”
“My sister prefers to be poetic,” Rylili put in. “She’d a bit shy, by nature. My cousin Monana, on the other hand…” The second dark elf rolled her eyes.
“You can be poetic,” Keralyn said. “Just don’t be vague. You had Master Wanilir. What was he like? How did he do?”
“And what did he do?” Rylili asked.
=O+O+O=
The next day, someone – Master Kark, the barge-captain, or possibly one of Master Kark’s assistants – brought out a pair of battered chess sets and half a dozen packs of playing cards. As the women were kept chained, using them was just a bit tricky. But slave girls were expected to be graceful in chains. Not in close-confining bonds, of course, just in the looser sorts of restraints like the ones they now wore. Stacy joined Beryl and two of the dwarves for a game of Black Crow. “I hate these,” the halfling said as she slowly dealt the cards. “Well, not the chains, but looking so clumsy in them. I just don’t have the knack.”
Anip looked smug. She was a dwarf woman from Master Dordur’s batch, and Stacy recalled that yes, she had done very well in the chain-grace exercises at Green Anvil.
“Tell me about it,” the other dwarf grumbled. Stacy tried to remember her name. Phonna, that was it. Master Kark had bought her from another dealer at Maibrun Block.
Stacy thought about cheating. Not at cards, but about using a day-spell to help manage her chains. Except that she couldn’t. Not without Master Kark’s permission – and if he gave permission, it wouldn’t be cheating, would it?
“Practice,” Stacy said aloud. “There are times when being a slavegirl is annoying, but there are times when being anything will be annoying. For this sort of annoyance, the only thing to do is keep practicing.”
“Yes, your Highness-ness,” Phonna said. “I’ll just keep practicing being clumsy in chains.”
Stacy said, “You don’t have to become good at it, just halfway decent.”
“I like that,” Beryl said. “‘Just halfway decent.’ Is that a human saying?”
“Yes,” Stacy said after a moment. “Yes it is, at least among some humans. Anip, it’s your turn to start the bidding.”
Anip went from smug to frown. “Can I pass?”
“No,” the other three women chorused
“All right. Forty.”
=O+O+O=
The barge arrived at Bengate late in the evening. The batch of twenty slave women shuffled into a riverside warehouse still wearing their chains. Then one of the barge-men began an argument with Master Kark. It ended with the goblin dealer shrugging his shoulders and calling in his two assistants. They, and the barge-man, went around unlocking the slavegirls as they lay drowsily on their pallets. Stacy heard Master Kark engage in another argument. A short one, ending with the barge-man stuffing the loose chains into a sack and Master Kark closing the door on him. After that… Stacy hadn’t been able to keep her eyes open. The next morning, Stacy woke and stretched and felt that something was vaguely wrong. Then she realized: She wasn’t bound in any way. None of the slavegirls were bound. None of the nineteen slavegirls were bound; one of them was missing.
Breakfast was late, so they had gossip instead. The missing slavegirl was Anip. A couple of the others had heard a noise in the night, but weren’t sure if it was real or part of a dream. Master Kark arrived, looking rueful and carrying a whip and a wooden paddle stuck through his belt. A pair of carts rolled in behind him, apparently on their own, but Stacy could sense the day-spell he had cast.
One cart was loaded with bread and butter, and the other held a samovar. “Eat your bread and drink your tea,” Master Kark commanded. “Then strip and stand ready.” He refused to answer questions as he tied each woman’s wrists, not putting them in coffle yet, but leaving long tethers to do so later. He gestured for Stacy to stay close to him. “I’ll want you to cast the Waterlast in a bit,” he told her.
Before Master Kark had finished tying his slavegirls, his two assistants brought in Anip. The dwarf woman had been stripped nude, wrists bound behind and ankles shackled. She had tried to run away. Master Kark went to face her, and Igmor moved to take over the last of the slave-tying duty.
“I had to try, master,” Anip said.
“Of course you did.” Master Kark’s tone was both gentle and rueful. “Now turn around.”
As Master Kark untied Anip’s hands, Stacy realized that the goblin was blaming himself for the escape attempt. He had been too tired, last night, to have his batch of women secured. He hadn’t played the game properly. And that was his fault, not Anip’s.
“Stacy,” Master Kark said. “Cast the Waterlast, now.” He pointed at the foot bath that Shadbar had brought in. “Even though it’s less than an hour’s march to the fairground, it can’t hurt.”
Stacy obeyed, speaking the words to invoke the day-spell. One by one the slavegirls stepped into and out of the now-magical water, lining up afterwards for Igmor and Shadbar to put them in coffle. Another hand signal from Master Kark told Stacy to wait, and again she obeyed. She felt very tall, standing next to the goblin master and the dwarven slavegirl. They were of a height, while Stacy stood two heads taller.
“I have to punish you now, Anip,” Master Kark said.
“I’m sorry, master.”
Master Kark nodded, accepting the apology. Stacy blinked as it hit her that Anip was not apologizing for running away. She was apologizing for making Master Kark punish her.
The goblin handed Anip the paddle from his belt. “After I unshackle you, give yourself however many thwacks you feel appropriate. But no more than twenty.”
“Yes master,” Anip said. She and Master Kark exchanged tight-lipped looks.
The Green Anvil lessons on slavegirl punishments drifted up into Stacy’s memory. There had been only the one lecture, and it seemed rather odd. The second principle of slavegirl punishment was, yes, that slavegirls should never be punished while bound. The third was that the harshness of a punishment mattered less than there simply being a punishment. So if Anip chose to give herself just one spank with the paddle, and decided that it was enough, then Master Kark would accept that.
Escorted by the two assistants, the batch of slavegirls marched out of the warehouse: Four lines of five, and a fifth line of four, with Stacy at the end of the line of four. Less than a minute later, Master Kark followed, carrying the leg shackles. He handed them and his whip to Igmor, who stowed them away. Then he stood waiting.
Stacy heard a faint thwap from within the warehouse, followed by another. She told herself not to count, but three more followed. Master Kark looked rather grim, and Stacy remembered the first principle of slavegirl punishment: It was not to be entertaining. Not to the one who ordered it, not to the one who administered it, and not to anyone who witnessed it.
Anip emerged from the warehouse and knelt before Master Kark. He took the paddle from her.
“Well that’s finished,” he said. “Get up and take your place, slavegirl!”
“Yes master!” came Anip’s cheerful response. Craning her head to watch, Stacy could see Master Kark grin.
It took only a moment to add the dwarf woman to the coffle, tying her wrists and securing the loose ends around Stacy’s waist.
“Onward!” Master Kark flourished the paddle. “To the Oak-Rabbit Fair!”
“To the Oak-Rabbit Fair!” Shadbar and Igmor echoed.
The batch of nude slavegirls began to march. Behind her, Stacy heard Anip giggle.
=O+O+O=
The first thing Master Kark ordered after entering the fairgrounds was a scrub-down. He had Stacy cast the bath-spell to keep the buckets of cold water from being a trial. While the slavegirls were still combing their hair, the goblin slaver and his assistants locked brightly painted wooden cuffs around their ankles, cuffs connected with iron chains that were neither particularly long nor particularly short. “It’s an Oak-Rabbit Fair tradition,” Shadbar said as he locked a pair of orange and yellow hobbles on Stacy’s ankles.
“Into the display cage, now,” Master Kark said. “Stacy, you go in first. I want my beauties arranged in order of height. That means you have to wait, Beryl; you go in last.”
There were a number of display cages at the fair, but Master Kark’s batch of beauties drew more than its share of attention. Stacy felt smug, and her smugness grew as the onlookers began to make offers to Master Kark. He turned down all the verbal offers with a smile, but did accept a handful of written bids that he carefully tucked away.
“I’m not planning to sell any of these until tomorrow morning,” Stacy heard him repeat several times. “Today is a display-day, and the sales will go faster for it tomorrow.”
In the late afternoon, a halfling came by to look over Master Kark’s batch of beauties. He was beardless, as all halflings were, but two long locks of gold-brown hair fell over the sides of his face, looking almost like sideburns. He was dressed well but soberly, in dark green and gold, and he studied the slavegirls with dark eyes, set in a face that was mature but not old. Occasionally he asked a question. Stacy noticed Igmor watching, but the goblin assistant did not interfere.
The halfling reached the end of the cage. He asked one question each of Keralyn and Rylili. Stacy noticed then that his eyes were dark blue, dark enough to be mistaken for brown at a distance. Now those eyes turned to her, and Stacy stood nude at attention, all proud slavegirl. The halfling made a small gesture, and Stacy knelt.
“That’s better,” the halfling said as he sucked back a grin. “Now I can look you over properly. So, you are a human princess, are you?”
“Yes, goodsir,” Stacy answered.
“And a sorceress as well?”
“That as well, goodsir.”
The halfling looked Stacy up and down again, from her knees to her diadem. Suddenly he said, “Will you not call me ‘master,’ or ‘Master Rudy’?”
Stacy thought quickly before answering. “Should it become appropriate, Goodsir Rudy, I would be happy to do so. And I would beg my master not to pay too much attention to what happened before.”
This time Goodsir Rudy let his grin show. “A saucy wench too. The best kind.” Those dark blue eyes gave Stacy another inspection, just for their owner’s amusement.
“Where is old Kark?” Goodsir Rudy asked. Stacy started to answer, and then realized that the question was directed to Igmor. In any case no answer was needed as Master Kark was now in sight. The goblin dealer and Goodsir Rudy exchanged friendly greetings and headed off to the nearest tavern-tent.
“You should stand up again, Stacy,” Igmor said quietly. Stacy nodded and rose to her feet.
=O+O+O=
Half an hour before sunset, Kark’s two assistants passed out food and necessities. The caged women sat and ate, still wearing the fairground hobbles with the bright-painted cuffs. When the sun went down, Igmor and Shadbar explained, they would cover the cage and provide cushions for the slavegirls to sleep on. The next morning they would be taken to the auction block, one by one. That plan changed shortly after sunset. Master Kark came and let four of the slavegirls out of the cage: Stacy, Keralyn, Rylili, and Beryl. He handed them unbleached slave tunics to put on and led them to the tavern-tent. Igmor and Shadbar followed.
One of the tables was screened off to provide semi-privacy. Goodsir Rudy waited there, along with another halfling that looked like a younger edition of him. Stacy was not surprised to learn that he was Goodsir Rudy’s son, Denny.
The older halfling set a sack that clinked beside the papers on the table. “Last chance, Denny. You sure you want to apprentice yourself to this little green monster?”
“Yessir. I’m sure.”
“Your last chance, Shadbar,” Master Kark said. “You sure you want to take up with this furry-footed thief?”
“No offense sir, but he’s made me a mighty tasty offer.”
“All right then,” Goodsir Rudy said. He counted out coins from his sack, stacking them on the table. “Stacy.” More coins. “Keralyn.” Then “Rylili,” and, “Beryl.”
“You are now in the middle of being sold,” Master Kark told Stacy and the other three women. “That means you don’t really belong to either me or Rudy, for the moment, so you can act as witnesses. Stacy, I want you to cast Solemn Notary.”
Stacy hesitated. Goodsir Rudy – Master Rudy now – said, “Yes. Cast the Solemn Notary, Stacy.”
Stacy spoke the appropriate words, directing the day-spell into the papers and onto the group. As the papers were signed and witnessed, she learned what was going on. Denny was now Master Kark’s second assistant. Shadbar was now Master Rudy’s assistant. And she and the other three slavegirls had been sold to Master Rudy. To another dealer, not a private owner. Stacy wanted to whimper at this last bit, but the other slavegirls seemed unconcerned. So Stacy had to hide her disappointment.
=O+O+O=
The next morning, Master Rudy departed the Oak-Rabbit Fair with his new batch of six slavegirls: Stacy and the other three from Master Kark, and two halfling women he had purchased at an earlier auction. Yoba Trassi and Nanditi both had dark complexions, in a sharp contrast to the ruddy-fair skin tones of Beryl and Master Rudi. Yoba was the darkest, with a cloud of curly black hair. Stacy immediately thought of her as an ‘African-American halfling’ and then gave herself a mental kick. They were on Gold-Home, not Earth.
Nanditi was a shade less dark than Yoba, with equally black hair that hung straight down. Stacy resisted the impulse, before giving in to privately tag her as an ‘Asian-Indian halfling.’
All six slavegirls wore colorful but simple garb. Master Rudy had provided six rectangles of brightly-dyed cotton for them to put on as wrap dresses. He had also grumbled cheerfully about the expense; Stacy and the two dark-elves needed larger rectangles, and those cost more.
Now Master Rudy pointed to the pan of water. “Cast the Waterlast spell, Stacy.”
Stacy obeyed. Shadbar had already unlocked the Fair’s wooden hobbles, and as each slavegirl stepped out of the water he put them in three-point shackles. These had a pair of wrist fetters with about seven inches of chain between them. From this chain, a longer one descended, ending in an ankle ring that Shadbar locked around the left ankle. The longer chain allowed the captive to stand and walk with her wrists at her waist, but to raise her hands she would have to raise her foot, too.
Master Rudy also gagged his beauties, after his new assistant had shackled them. The gags were clean-peeled wooden sticks, held loosely in place with leather thongs. Each stick had a day-spell against choking and drool; Stacy could taste that magic. The leather thongs had an enhancement against spitting out the gag.
“It won’t be for long,” Master Rudy said. “But I like to begin a journey this way, for luck. Now march!” He waved both hands expansively before pointing and leading off.
A few minutes into the walk, Stacy discovered the second day-spell on her stick. If she tried to speak, it would force her to bite down. That didn’t silence her, but it did limit her to making meaningless noises.
The group of two slavers and six slavegirls passed back through Bengate Town and crossed the Bengate Bridge. On the south bank of the Meadborn, Master Rudy and Shadbar ungagged the slavegirls. Shadbar tossed the sticks into the river; Master Rudy pocketed the thongs.
“We’re in the Kingdom of Vinland now, my fine beauties,” Master Rudy said. “I won’t be gagging you again. Unless you tell me you need gagging. Do you need gagging Stacy?”
“No master!” Stacy said. Then she wondered if maybe she should have said Yes, instead. Those were two interesting day-spells on the gag-stick. Especially the second.
If Master Rudy noticed Stacy’s second thoughts, he gave no sign of it. He just put the same question to each of his other slavegirls.
“No master!” answered Keralyn and Rylili.
“No master!” answered Beryl and Yoba.
“No master!” answered Nanditi.
“Very good!” Master Rudy told them all.
From the livery standing near the south end of the bridge, Master Rudy hired a coach. It was a large coach, drawn by what Stacy thought were four big horses. Then she realized that they must seem like absolutely huge horses to dwarves, goblins, or halflings.
The slavegirls rode inside the coach, still wearing their three-point shackles. There was plenty of room. The coach had a front seat facing backwards, a back seat facing forwards, and a bench in between where passengers could sit facing in either direction. Master Rudy and Shadbar rode on top, along with the bearded coach-dwarf.
The trip south to Lyfel took three long days, with the road being too rough to play games as they did on the barge. Conversation limped, and Master Rudy flatly refused to let Stacy cast any spells for the women’s entertainment. He did allow – or command, rather – certain comfort spells.
“Cast that spell to keep metal from chaffing, Stacy,” Master Rudy commanded at the first halt to change the horses.
“Do you mean the Iron Feather, master?” Stacy asked.
Master Rudy gestured for her to kneel. “Whatever it’s called,” he said once she obeyed. “Cast it on all six of you. I’m keeping you in those three-points because I want you to be very aware of them by the time we reach the House of Silk. But the welt-pox take me if I let you be injured by them.”
“Yes, master.” Although at the moment Stacy was less aware of her shackles than of her slave garb. The wrap dress could be taken off and put back on when the wearer had her wrists bound. Master Rudy had been thinking ahead, when he had provided them.
“Cast that hunter-spell too,” Master Rudy said. “The one against heat and cold.”
“Hunter’s Lace, master?” Stacy asked.
“That’s the one.” A wave of his hand. “I’m not a sorcerer like Kark is, so you’ll have to know what I mean without my naming all the spells.” A pause, and Stacy felt Master Rudy’s eyes trying to look through her. “You wouldn’t try to take advantage of that, would you?”
“Of course not, master,” Stacy said. A sudden impulse for mischief led her to add, “Unless that’s what master wants of me.”
Master Rudy smiled, suppressed it, let the smile return. “Good!” He clapped her on the shoulder. “And don’t worry, you’ll have a private master of your own before long. In the meantime, pass the word. I’ll want Keralyn and Rylili to kneel too, when they speak to me. Keep me from getting a crick in my neck. But not the halfling beauties. Don’t want a crick in the other direction.”
“Yes master. I’ll pass the word.”
=O+O+O=
The coach journey left Master Rudy and Shadbar as weary as the slavegirls. Master Rudy, however, still insisted that his beauties be kept in their three-point shackles. Those restraints allowed the slavegirls to feed themselves, if they sat and drew up their chained leg, but bathing and hair-brushing would be… difficult. So at each the two overnight stops on the way to Lyfel, Master Rudy hired half a dozen locals. These hirelings served dinner to Stacy and the others, gave them sponge baths, and brushed and combed their hair, while Master Rudy and Shadbar lazily supervised. Stacy was no longer surprised that the hirelings were all male. Free women abused slavegirls much more often in stories than in real life, but the Slavers Guild had kept its old traditions against that abuse. Stacy was also unsurprised to see that none of the hirelings were human; she was finally coming to understand how very rare humans were here in Gold-Home.
On the second night, the young elf brushing Stacy’s hair said, “You haven’t done much walking in the past few days, but I think you need a footrub anyway. Yes, you definitely do. Goodsir Cranstone!” he called to the halfling slaver, “Her captiveness here needs a footrub! Should I give her one?”
“Go ahead,” Master Ruby said with a lazy wave of his hand.
“This beauty needs one too,” another hireling said.
Another voice, “They all do! Should we go ahead, Goodsir Cranstone?”
Master Rudy gestured again. “Yes, go ahead.”
The elf nudged Stacy into lying on her belly. She felt him take her feet in his hands. She smiled. It felt good. She heard Keralyn call out.
“Oh!”
“No tickling, now,” Master Rudy drawled.
“No sir,” a male voice answered.
Stacy kept smiling. The foot massage felt very good. She found herself weeping, still smiling. Happy tears. It felt very good.
Until now, the events after her arrival in Gold-Home has seemed like a game. A serious game, yes, but still a game. Even her night with Master Wanilir had felt like part of a game. Now it felt real. The foot rub made her aware of being a chained and barefoot slavegirl. She was nude beneath her slavegirl’s wrap dress. The three-point shackle held her hands together, held them beneath her with the chain to the ankle-ring. Her old leather collar was now a real slave collar. She had been bought and sold twice, and she would not be permitted to escape.
She had almost everything she wanted. Almost. She still wanted a personal master, a private master, a master of her own.
=O+O+O=
Everyone was completely exhausted when the coach finally pulled into Lyfel and stopped at the House of Silk. Stacy noted, in a detached sort of way, how Master Rudy and Shadbar staggered and stumbled as they led their slavegirls inside. She heard someone mention something about “the girl-stables” as they entered a room with piles of straw. The most comfortable piles of straw ever, Stacy thought as she plopped down.When Stacy woke up again, on her comfortable bed of straw, she saw morning through the skylight. She also felt hungry and thirsty. Sitting up, she discovered that she’d been released from the three-point shackle. Instead, she had a single ankle-cuff locked on her right ankle, with a chain leading to an iron block. It wasn’t a ball-and-chain but rather a block-and-chain.
Shadbar was finishing the exchange of restraints on the last slavegirl, and Master Rudy was handing out small jugs of heavily-watered wine. After Stacy had quenched her thirst she turned to examine her new restraint.
The ankle cuff was copper-gilt, with an enhancement on it to keep it from bruising or chaffing – no day-spell was needed there. The chain connecting it to the block was black-enameled iron, while the block itself was bare metal. That block was too heavy to drag, but it did have ear-like handles on the sides. Stacy hadn’t ever seen this style of restraint before, but she had read about it back in Green Anvil Hall. The captive was expected to carry the block when moving about, using both hands. This prevented her from moving either very far or very fast.
Stacy didn’t exactly miss the three-point shackle she’d been locked in for so long. But she did feel a hankering to be put in it again sometime. By a private master who would use it on her regularly, if not frequently. No doubt that was what Master Rudy had intended, when he had locked his batch of beauties into them for three days straight.
Shadbar now collected the empty jugs. “Stand and strip, slave-ladies!” he said. “Come with me. The sooner you bathe, the sooner we all eat.”
Stacy found herself in the middle of the group as they walked down a tiled hall, carrying their iron blocks. They turned right and passed through a door, into the northwest bath.
“No need for your bath spell here, Stacy,” Shadbar said. “The House of Silk provides for the finest beauties.” He pointed.
Stacy followed his gesture, and saw three wooden tubs and a dozen wooden buckets, sponges and scrub brushes, scented soap and oil soap, and plentiful supplies of hot and cool water. On the far side of the room, an archway led to a shallow pool, rimmed with pale stone. It reminded Stacy of certain harem paintings she had once seen.
“Scrub first, slave-ladies,” Shadbar said. “Then soak.”
The women obeyed; rinsing, soaping, scrubbing, and shampooing. The tubs were not quite big enough to hold two elves – or Stacy and an elf – but were just big enough to hold a halfling along with one of the taller females. Stacy found herself sharing a scrub-tub with Nanditi. Now that they weren’t being jostled on rough roads, they could talk. Like Stacy, the Indian-dark halfling was eager to fall into the grip of a private owner. The two of them chattered shamelessly on the subject through the final rinse and into the soak in the harem-pool.
That soak ended with the arrival of Master Rudy. He provided clean slave tunics and led his batch of slavegirls to their new quarters. There, finally, breakfast awaited.
=O+O+O=
Three days later, Stacy stood on the Mulberry Block of the House of Silk, wearing her slave collar, her magic-princess crown, and her restraints. Those last were not the iron block and chain. Instead Stacy wore a set of silver wrist and leg fetters that she had spent hours polishing. Her audience consisted of eleven bidders of five races, all male and all elegantly dressed. They sat in comfortable chairs as Stacy stood under the skylight. At the auctioneer’s command, she slowly turned about, earning an appreciative murmur as she did so. The bidding began at ten dragons. A ‘dragon’ Stacy knew, was a hefty gold coin worth a hundred ork-marks, and an ‘ork-mark’ was a sliver of gold in theory and a dime-sized silver coin in practice. And that was all she knew about Gold-Home’s coinage.
The bidding was slow and steady. Every so often, one of the bidders would stand and step forward to examine Stacy more closely. When the bidding rose above twenty dragons, only the five tallest bidders remained active: Three elves and two dark-elves. When the bidding reached thirty, one of the dark-elves came forward for a second inspection.
“I should like to see this princess in a hogtie,” he said.
“Certainly, Lord Antor,” the auctioneer said.
So it was done. Stacy stretched out on her belly, Shadbar unlocked her cuffs, and Master Rudy applied the ropes. It was a tight hogtie, with wrists and ankles crossed, and a ‘short’ hogtie, one that Stacy would soon be released from. But Stacy knew that she would look beautiful in that tie, while it lasted, and it made her feel very sexy.
“Thirty-three,” Lord Antor bid.
The elf who had bid thirty dragons came forward. His gray eyes raked Stacy.
“Thirty-five,” the elf said.
Now Lord Antor circled the auction block, examining Stacy from all angles as she lay tightly packaged. He came around to face her again and smiled, the smile of a man who liked what he saw. Stacy noticed his hands twitch as he held back from touching her. She looked up to meet his eyes, and a new wave of awareness ran through her, of just how thoroughly helpless she was.
“Forty dragons,” Lord Antor said.
“Yours,” the gray-eyed elf conceded.
The auctioneer tapped his mallet on his desk. “I hear forty dragons.” A long pause, then the mallet hit the auction bell. “Sold! To Lord Antor for forty dragons.”
Stacy twisted her head to watch as Lord Antor set a silken sack on the auctioneer’s desk. She squirmed – tried to squirm – as he returned to the block. The ropes packaged her too tightly to allow squirming.
She felt Master Antor untie her legs, but he left her arms bound behind her. “I have plans for you, my sweet Stacy,” Master Antor whispered. “Once I have you back in Starsilver Tower. You have had a long journey, I know. All the way from Dwarven Hertzberg! But your journey isn’t over yet. You must still be patent.”
“Yes master,” Stacy whispered back. “But can I not beg for some minor amusements in the meantime?”
“Ha!” Master Antor set a peeled gag-stick between Stacy’s teeth. Stacy could taste the day-spells on it. “No, I will not let you beg. Not yet.”
He stroked her hair before tying the leather cord. Then Stacy felt him lift her to her feet. Setting her on the floor, he nudged her to walk before him.
=O+O+O=
Master Antor did indulge Stacy with some minor amusements that night. In particular he did something with her nipples that she begged for him to repeat. He did so, but refused to go on and make full use of her. Instead, lying in the inn’s big bed, he retied her arms snugly behind her, and ordered her to try to please him with her feet. Stacy managed to do better, this time, than she had at the hussy-feast, and Master Antor rewarded her with a delightful cuddle. Afterwards, he replaced the arm-tie with a relaxed set of bed-fetters. Stacy fell asleep just as the second lock clicked shut.
The next morning, Stacy was released from all bindings for an hour, a sure sign that she now belonged to a private master.
“Enjoy it while you can, my sweet Stacy,” Master Antor told her. “We still have the ride to Starsilver tower.”
“May I ask how long the ride will be, master? And what you plan for me once we arrive?”
“The ride here took two days,” the dark-elf said. “Riding back will be a bit slower; you lack the skill. Or so I’ve been told.”
“That’s right, master,” Stacy said. “I’ve never learned to ride. I’ve been on a pony a couple of times before, but that was years ago.”
“Well then, this should be new and interesting for you. You won’t be on a pony. You’ll be on a mule – a slaver-trained mule. I brought Grey Sherriff along, as well as Melco and Varava. Speaking of whom: You have my permission and command to cast Waterlast for yourself and Varava this morning.
Stacy had met Melco Whitesand and Varava the evening before. Melco was Master Antor’s halfling valet, and Varara was Melco’s goblin slavegirl. They had seconded the small green woman to Stacy as a personal maid, and now the two slavegirls dressed quickly in their riding outfits. Both outfits were well-made, with Stacy’s being outright elegant, but both were obviously slavegirl riding outfits. Among the other touches, they were tailored to be worn without footwear of any sort.
As commanded, Stacy cast the waterlast day-spell before going to the stables. There she found Master Antor waiting with Melco and the mounts: A horse for Master Antor, a pony for Melco, a donkey for Varava, and the mule Grey Sherriff for Stacy. Grey Sherriff and the donkey were slaver-trained, which meant that they wouldn’t obey their riders. Instead they obeyed the one who led them.
“Up you go,” Master Antor said, and up Stacy went into Grey Sherriff’s saddle. Her wrists were tied to the pommel, as were Varava’s. The collared goblin maid was cheerful about it. Stacy tried to be cheerful too, as they set off, but as Master Antor had noted, she had no skill as a rider. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever even met a mule in person before. Horses and ponies, yes, once or twice. But not any mules.
=O+O+O=
The trip to Starsilver Tower took two and a half days. Stacy felt thoroughly exhausted by the end of the first day, as well as cheerfully annoyed. Cheerful because it was fun and different to ride as a captive, with her wrists tied to the pommel. Annoyed because the others were good riders who considered their pace to be slow and easy. They were merely tired when they reached the inn, rather than completely pooped. To make it worse, it turned out that Gray Sherriff had the easiest gait of the four animals. So much so that Stacy was able to see it herself, after Master Antor pointed it out. So Stacy ought to be the least tired, not the most. Except that the others knew how to ride a horse. Or pony, or donkey, as the case may be. And Stacy didn’t.
The second day was less tiring and more cheerful, but just as annoying. Just as annoying because it was less tiring; a less-tired Stacy had more room to be both cheerful and annoyed. She did learn that Master Antor’s horse was Quest, that Mr. Marco’s pony was Amulet, and that Varava’s slaver-trained donkey was Jingles. She also began to learn the day-spell that Master Antor used to ward off saddle-soreness. What she didn’t learn about were Master Antor’s plans for her, once they reached Starsilver Tower. Her dark-elf owner smiled and refused to reveal anything, beyond his intent to take full advantage of her, afterwards.
In any case, Stacy was too dead tired to enjoy even minor amusements after the first day’s ride, and almost too tired to do so during the second night. They did cuddle, and cuddling was nice, but Stacy still felt impatient for more.
“It’s a gift of Dee,” Varava said as they rode together on the third day. “Slavegirls always want more sex than their masters. Imagine how horrid it would be if it were the other way around.”
Stacy looked up to where Master Antor was riding on Quest. She and Grey Sherriff were following behind him on a long lead. Her master was tall and purple-dark, exotically handsome in a lean-muscled way. He was also lordly-rich, and had an air of assurance that would have weakened Stacy even if he hadn’t owned her. She wanted him, oh yes, and she could hardly wait to reach Starsilver Tower.
=O+O+O=
Starsilver Tower came into sight shortly before noon. It had been only a half day’s ride, so Stacy only felt half exhausted. They passed through Nalanque, a rural village that mostly made wine with a side of cheese. They climbed Nalanque Hill, with vineyards on its sides and Starsilver Tower on its peak. The tower was actually a manor house, built of light gray stone, with a tall round turret left over from an older fortification. In the stables, Master Antor untied Stacy’s wrists and helped her down from Grey Sherriff. A groom led the mule away.
“Tonight,” Master Antor promised. “Tonight I will help myself to you, Stacy. For this afternoon, however, I want a steam bath and a nap.” He gave her a sly look. “We will not get much sleep tonight.”
And as Master Antor commanded, so it was: A steam bath, a late lunch of raisin bread, little sausages, cheese, and tea, and a nap in the great bed of the master bedroom. But not in bed-shackles.
“I may as well make use of this,” Master Antor said as he padlocked a chain to the ring of Stacy’s slave collar. The other end, Stacy saw, was anchored to one of the thick wooden bedposts. She considered this chaining muzzily, as Master Antor held her in a cuddle. Then they both fell asleep.
=O+O+O=
When Stacy woke again, she was no longer in the great bed. Looking around, she saw the circles and implements of a sorcerer’s tower. It was Master Antor’s tower; he stood before her as she floated above a circle of Air, cut off from the grip of Earth. Stacy was even more naked than she had been in the great bed. Her collar was missing. She looked about and saw it floating over a smaller circle to her left. To her right, her princess-diadem floated above a third circle of Air. She made a small noise of panic.
“Do not be afraid, my sweet Stacy,” Master Antor said. “I will never release you to be a free woman.” He smiled. “I simply wish you to wear my own collar. So now…” He held a finger to his lips, commanding silence.
Stacy kept silent as Master Antor opened a small casket. She watched him bring out four silver cuffs that lacked hinges and locks. He spoke a word with power, and snapped the first cuff on Stacy’s left ankle. She felt the shock of magic as it went in place without opening. Master Antor repeated the process, snapping the second cuff on her right ankle, and the third and fourth cuffs on her wrists. He spoke a simple command and the cuffs vanished. Another command and they reappeared, this time with chains attached, short chains between ankles and wrists, and a longer chain between the short ones.
“Oh!” Stacy said.
Master Antor shook his head. Turning away, he retrieved another item. It was Stacy’s old ball gag. “Open wide,” he commanded, popping the ball into Stacy’s mouth and buckling the strap behind her neck.
“Mmm!” Stacy said.
“Better,” Master Antor said. “However…” Again he held a finger to his lips.
A fifth silver ring came out of the casket: A larger ring, a slave collar. But Master Antor did not snap it onto Stacy’s neck. Instead he spun it into the air and shouted. The collar vanished with a flash. He shouted another word with power, and Stacy’s leather collar burst into purple flame. The flames roared, consuming and concealing, and when they vanished the new slave collar floated above the magic circle. Master Anton’s silver collar, the one he had waiting for her during the ride to Starsilver Tower.
Raising both arms high, Master Antor shouted a final word. A long word, one that required several syllables to hold its power. The silver collar vanished from its circle, and Stacy now felt it around her neck. Her princess-diadem had vanished as well, but Stacy could still sense it. Her new collar now held the vanishing-diadem enhancement of her old one.
Master Antor didn’t do anything so crude or un-elven as wiping the sweat from his brow, but he did sag a bit as he let out a long breath. Then he grinned, a hunter’s grin, and pounced. “At last! Now I will bed you!” he cried. Stacy felt gravity grip her again as he pulled her from the circle, but Master Antor showed himself to be stronger than he looked. He slung Stacy over his shoulder and carried her lightly off.
They reached the master bedroom quickly; almost quickly enough for Stacy. Master Antor removed Stacy’s gag by mundane unbuckling; it had no special enhancements on it. He spoke the command to make the silver cuffs vanish from wrists and ankles. “I want ropes for this,” he said. “Soft, well-used slave ropes.”
The ropes went on quickly, wrapped and knotted. One rope for each arm and leg, with the far ends tied to the heavy wooden bedposts. They made Stacy helpless, spreading her for plunder. Then the plunder began. Master Antor’s hands teased and excited, and did that wonderful thing to Stacy’s nipples again. Stacy felt the pleasant frustration of being held by the ropes, as she pulled and struggled against them. She felt Master Antor’s legs and feet move down her own, and the tide of happy helplessness that rose up in response. She tasted his vigorous kisses, returning them eagerly. She felt him inside, hard but tender, and pulled again at the slave ropes in a futile struggle to embrace him. He plunged and stroked and spoke smug endearments in a deepened voice. A screaming joy overwhelmed Stacy, and she squealed with utter delight.
Princess Stacy soared, bound naked in the great bed. She was helpless. She was a slavegirl. She belonged to Master Antor. And at that moment it was the best thing ever.