Sex Slave Ch. 02

Chapter 2: Charise

This is a copyrighted work of fiction. All rights reserved.

All characters engaging in sex in this story are at least eighteen years of age.

Many thanks to editor Lin Hall for his excellent suggestions.

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Warning: this chapter contains explicit descriptions of violence, torture and sex. Please read it at your own discretion.

****

A cold terror grew in the pit of Keven's stomach as he subtly scrutinized the strange man with the high-pitched voice. There was something very odd about this man—a wrongness that seeped out and manifested itself in his mannerisms, in the tone of his voice, in his choice of words. Keven was certain that this man was without compassion, without remorse, without any semblance of humanity.

Master Rim regarded Keven intently, but no emotion showed on his face. It was as if he were examining an interesting insect before he began to pull its legs off.

Keven shuddered inwardly, fighting to maintain an aspect of tranquility. Why had he talked Rees into getting him into this? He had been so sure of himself. So sure that he would be able to bargain with Master Rim for their freedom. He had been eager to put himself in front of this madman.

Rees had warned him, but he had not listened. He had insisted. He'd been trained in negotiations by some of the best ambassadors in his country, but nothing in his experience had prepared him for Master Rim. He had not realized the depth of their master's insanity. The madman did not care what Keven had to offer—had not even let him speak. He had immediately made clear there would be no chance of freedom for him. He would die a slave. Possibly very soon.

Keven fervently wished that he were back in the slave pens, back amongst the filth and squalor, sleeping on his blanket on the stone floor, clinging to the remnants of his life. Now it was too late. Keven had made a grave mistake—he had drawn the madman's attention.

He suppressed another shudder.

The man stared at him in silence from behind the railing above him.

Keven was a specimen in a cage.

Finally he spoke again, and a chill raced anew up Keven's spine when he heard the odd, childlike voice, so incongruent with the man's middle-aged authority.

"So—Rees has pleaded your case for you, and succeeded in getting you an audience," Master Rim trilled.

"Yes, Master." Keven's voice came out in a whisper. There was not a speck of moisture in his mouth.

"You are from Endora, of course, as is he. Handsome people, you Endorans."

Keven wasn't sure how to respond to this comment. The man's face was unreadable.

"What is your name, slave?"

"Keven, Master."

"Keven?"

"Just Keven, Master. I am a slave. I need no other name." Keven cast his eyes on the floor and discovered that he was holding his breath. Was his comment out of place? Would it arouse the madman's ire?

"Just Keven," the man said quietly. "You have denounced your noble family then?"

Keven looked up sharply. How does this man know? It must be a guess. It is a reasonable deduction ... I am fluent in Kreoley and have spoken it in the slave pens.

"I am a slave," he repeated.

"A slave who has requested an audience with his master?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Please forgive me, Master." Cold sweat began to trickle down Keven's bare back. "Return me to the slave pens and I will never ask for anything again." He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "I will serve you well, Master."

"Already your liver has turned to piss?" the man chided in his chilling voice. "Cowardice doesn't become you, Keven. I would have expected more from one of royal birth."

Keven felt the blood drain from his face. How much has Master Rim guessed? Even Rees doesn't know I am a prince of Endora. An apology was on the tip of his tongue when he thought the better of it. Instead he looked up at the man and met his eye bravely.

Master Rim's gray hair was pulled away from his face, caught neatly at the nape of his neck in a short ponytail. His jowls sagged and dark half-moons shadowed the skin under his eyes, but his gaze was sharp, like a bird of prey. Keven sensed that nothing would escape his notice.

His portly frame was clothed in a gaudy parody of the latest fashion: a dark blue velvet doublet and hose, laced with an overabundance of gold and silver trim, and a matching plumed hat that sat at a jaunty angle on his head. The hat was incongruous. His clothing was of the finest cut and quality, obviously very expensive, but overdone, audacious. If he had worn such an outfit to the court in Endora there would have been much snickering behind his back.

Keven met the man's scrutinizing stare and it was all he could do to hold it. His discomfort was intense.

"How old are you Keven?" the man asked. His tone was condescending.

"I am eighteen, Master."

"A handsome eighteen-year-old nobleman, and still a virgin?"

Keven started. Rees told him that? He felt his face grow hot with shame.

"I find that hard to believe, Keven." The man narrowed his eyes and his glare intensified.

Keven shifted his gaze back to the floor. "It is true," he heard himself say faintly.

"So, tell me how this sad situation came about." His voice dripped sarcasm. "Tell me how, with a household no doubt full of beautiful, willing women, you ended up in this sorry state."

Keven swallowed. He did not want to tell this madman any personal details of his life. He reached for an explanation that was different from the truth. But even as he searched for something plausible, he knew that he would not be able lie to this man.

"Do you like men?" the man guessed. "You have the look."

"What?" Keven looked up startled. "No. No, I like women." What look?

"Hmmm."

There was silence for a long moment while Keven stared at the wealthy lunatic apprehensively and tried to decide what to tell him.

"Well?" the man urged.

Keven suspected the madman did not have much patience with slaves. The words tumbled quickly out of his mouth then, chasing each other in fright.

"I tried when I was fourteen!" he said. "One of the young maids who came to clean my bedroom ... we were almost ... a few more seconds and I would not have been a virgin anymore. But my father came in just then, tipped off by my older brother."

He stopped talking and took a deep breath. "That was the worst beating I've ever gotten. My father was furious with me."

"And that stopped you from trying again?" the man asked, as if daring Keven to confirm this statement.

"Well, no. When I was almost sixteen, I ... one of the girls who helped in the kitchen was very pretty, and had huge ... well ... we hid in the corner of the wine cellar one evening. Again, I was very close, but this time it was my mother who walked in on us. She had seen us sneaking off together and guessed our intentions. That was worse. I didn't try again...." he trailed off, lost in the unpleasant memory.

"Your mother had you beaten?" the man questioned.

"No. She just talked to me."

"Did she tell you about the horrible diseases, with painful boils, that you can get from sex?" The corner of the man's lips twitched. He seemed to enjoy playing with Keven.

"Yes, she said that," Keven replied slowly. Am I such a coward that I will tell this madman intimate details of my past?

Master Rim regarded him coldly, expectantly.

He took a deep breath and continued, "She also talked about the responsibility that comes with being a father and about minding people's feelings."

His mother had sent Claire away and had talked to him for more than an hour in the cool dark of the wine cellar. He had been overcome with guilt and shame, and it was much worse than the caning he had received from his father a year earlier.

"I guess she made an impression on you." It was more a statement than a question, but Keven confirmed it with a small nod.

"After that I did not try again," Keven said. "I dated, of course, girls of my own station. I even held hands with them and kissed some of them, but they were all virgins themselves, untouchable until marriage."

Keven's face was hot with shame still. He hated this man for pulling the story out of him. He had not even told Rees these details.

"And now you're a slave with no opportunity to even speak with a woman."

Keven nodded, miserable. He hoped this lunatic would be done toying with him soon.

"It is a touching tale," the madman said. He did not look touched. His expression was blank—chilling. "I am going to give you a gift, Keven."

A gift! God above! Keven did not want any favors from this man.

"I would hate for anyone to die a virgin in my slave pens. I am sure you are aware that most slaves don't live very long. I will make sure you experience the greatest pleasure on earth before you die."

Keven just stared at the man. Was he threatening to kill him, or take his virginity, or perhaps both?

"You see, I am not without compassion."

Keven barely managed not to choke at this statement. Whatever reasons Master Rim had for his gift, compassion was certainly not one of them.

"I do believe you are a virgin, of course, but Charise will know for certain."

Charise? The cold knot that had been growing in Keven's belly hardened into an iceberg of mammoth proportions. He desperately wanted to beg Master Rim to send him back to the slave pens, unscathed. But he knew he could not refuse Master Rim's gift. To even bring it up might push the madman over the edge.

"And Keven, if you have lied to me, I'm afraid I will need to do things to you that will be ... unpleasant." Master Rim smiled. It was the first expression Keven had seen on his face and it was ghastly.

Keven focused on breathing normally. His could feel his heart pounding and his head felt light. He was sure he was as pale as a ghost. He wondered how Charise would be able to tell his virginity. He fervently hoped she would not misjudge him.

Master Rees spoke again. "I have arranged a romantic interlude for you. Charise will be here in an hour or so. I suggest you clean yourself up and get dressed. Help yourself to the refreshments on the sideboard. There is some very fine brandy." He paused and gave Keven what was almost a benevolent smile. "Charise is a dear girl. I think you'll like her."

"Thank you, Master," Keven whispered. His voice had deserted him.

"I hope you don't mind if I watch," the madman said. He burst into a maniacal laughter that made every hair on Keven's body stand on end. "Of course you mind, but it doesn't matter. I'm going to watch anyway!" He moved away from the railing and disappeared from view, but Keven could hear his laugh slowly receding and he quaked in horror.

After Keven was sure that the madman was really gone, he lost no time in helping himself to the brandy. His hands shook as he poured it. He took several deep breaths to steady his nerves. The man was a raving lunatic and Keven had purposely put himself in his hands. I am such an idiot! Now I understand, Rees. I understand what you meant.

He smelled the brandy's heady scent before the liquid touched his tongue. It was sweet and thick; it burned the back of his throat pleasantly going down. The madman knew his brandy. This was some of the finest Keven had ever tasted, and he was accustomed to fine things.

The room he was in was very much as Rees had described it. At the center of a great amphitheater, it was one of probably six wedge-shaped rooms. Its high stone walls were ceilingless, affording the audience a clear view into the room. Rees had said that the only audience he had ever had was Master Rim, always standing close at the railing to watch. Keven shivered.

The room had more furnishings than Rees had mentioned. A fire blazed in the great fireplace along the inside wall and a leopard-skin rug softened the hearth. There was the large iron bed, complete with manacles at the four posts as Rees had described, but it was covered with silk sheets and a luxurious mink coverlet was draped across its foot. Keven noticed that a jacket and breeches had been laid out there for him. There was also a small mahogany table with two matching chairs, and a heavy, ornately-carved sideboard stood along the wall. Silver candelabra with tall beeswax candles graced the table and the sideboard.

A small tiled pool dominated one side of the room, and it was full of steaming water. Fluffy towels were folded on the floor next to it. Keven saw that there was also soap and some small bottles of oil in a basket near the pump. This was what he'd longed for during his months of captivity. "Hot water, soap and a towel," he had told Rees. Now he would give it up in a heartbeat to be returned dirty, but whole, to the slave pens.

He turned his attention to the sideboard. In addition to the brandy decanter and snifters, the sideboard held a bucket of champagne on ice (where had Master Rim gotten ice this far south?), crystal champagne glasses, a silver tray laden with cheeses, fruit and nuts, and a basket overflowing with small slices of bread.

The food looked wonderful. He had been living on gruel and stale crusts for months, but his stomach was churning too much for him to consider eating. Instead, he divested himself of his filthy slave breechclout, kicked it under the bed, and climbed slowly into the hot bath.

****

An hour later he was clean, dry and dressed. The clothing provided for him was missing some of the customary pieces, most notably a shirt and undergarments. The green brocade jacket fit him well and he imagined that the color matched his eyes nicely. The breeches were knee-length knickers of chocolate-brown cotton velvet, and they laced at the crotch to fit snugly. That was all he had; no stockings or shoes, nor hat had been provided. It seemed strange to him to wear such a fine jacket without a shirt, but his chest and stomach were well-muscled and he thought, perhaps, he looked sexy.

He was surprised at the butterflies that were flitting to and fro in his stomach. It was not fear of Master Rim this time he realized, but rather fear of this girl he had never met who would arrive soon to take his virginity. He was not sure exactly what it was he feared, but he acknowledged his nervousness to himself and crossed to the sideboard to pour another brandy.

A slave walked along the top edge of the walls and extinguished most of the torches, which had been placed at frequent intervals along the apex of the wall. As the slave made his round, the room slowly fell into shadow until finally it was lit by only a few flickering torches and the glow from the hearth. Keven lit the candles in the candelabra. Master Rim knew something about setting a romantic mood, he thought wryly.

He paced nervously until he realized he was pacing and forced himself to stop. A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he glanced up to see Master Rim seating himself in the front row of the otherwise empty amphitheatre. A wave of cold fear washed over him. Berating himself silently for cowardice, he settled down on the leopard skin rug in front of the fire, trying to ignore his audience.

He was reclining on the rug, staring into the flames, when he heard the door open. He jumped to his feet and turned to face the woman who had entered the room.

She paused just inside the door and they surveyed each other. Her auburn hair was swept away from her lovely face. Caught in a clasp at the back of her head, it cascaded around her bare shoulders in ringlets. Her large brown eyes held a hint of mischief that was echoed in the playful pout of her lips. Her skin glowed pale in the firelight. She was wearing a gown of burgundy silk that clung so perfectly to her figure that Keven could see the dip of her bellybutton and the hardness of her nipples beneath the fabric. The dress was held up by thin straps and the neckline plunged to a deep V, showing off the curves of her voluptuous cleavage.

Keven caught his breath. She was gorgeous enough for his dreams.

She smiled at him warmly and took a few steps forward, moving with the grace of a feline, her breasts bouncing seductively under her gown.

Keven suddenly realized he had been staring at her a moment too long. He crossed toward her. "I'm ... I'm sorry. Your unparalleled beauty has made me forget my manners," he stammered. It had been a long time since he had felt so awkward with a woman. He bowed deeply and smoothly to her and was lent assurance by the act of performing perfectly a movement he had done thousands of times. "My name is Keven."

"I am Charise," she said, affecting a dainty curtsy and proffering a manicured hand to him. She spoke Endoran, his native language, with a slight accent.

He took her cool hand in his and brushed his lips against the back of it. "Enchanted," he murmured. As he straightened up and reluctantly let go of her hand, their eyes met. Her deep brown had tawny flecks.

She smiled at him again, but he felt a question behind the smile. She's wondering why we're here, he thought. He stared at her, transfixed. How can I possibly have sex with this perfect, elegant woman? He felt his face growing hot with embarrassment.

She looked at him for a long moment and her eyes traveled downward; they took in his shirtless chest and lingered a moment on the crotch of his tight pants before they returned to his face.

Now he was sure his face was red. "Please excuse me." He turned away to hide his ill ease. Moving to the sideboard, he glanced toward her. "May I offer you some champagne?" he asked.

"I would love some," she said in a low, sultry voice. She glided across the room toward him and he could not keep from watching her curves bounce and sway under her slinky gown. A heat built in him and this time it was not all embarrassment.

He realized again that he was staring at her, and he quickly busied himself with opening the bottle of champagne. While he was doing this, she came to stand next to him. She stood very close—closer than was proper. She did not touch him, but he felt the heat of her body next to his and he smelled the spicy sweet scent of her skin.

His knees were suddenly weak and his hand started to shake while he poured the champagne. He focused on steadying his hand and missed stopping the flow in time on the second glass. The pale liquid bubbled up and over the brim, running down the stem onto the sideboard. He reached for a napkin, but she already had one in her hand.

"Here, let me get that." She smoothly wiped the wood and the stem, and handed the glass to him.

He smiled at her sheepishly. Why does she make me feel as if I'm twelve years old? Normally he would have been deep in conversation by now, laughing and joking and enjoying his date. He picked up the other glass and handed it to her.

"What are we drinking to?" she asked, holding her glass up for a toast.

To the loss of my virginity? He did not say that aloud, but the thought had come to him and tied his tongue in knots. He tried to think of something witty to say, but his mind wallowed in self-consciousness. He smiled instead and his gaze slipped from her face down to her cleavage. Her breasts were round and full, her nipples perfectly outlined against the thin fabric of her gown. A surge of sexual excitement flooded him. He opened his mouth and closed it again quickly. She was still waiting for him to suggest a toast.

"To ... um, to ... beautiful..." He intended to say "women," but in his addled, distracted state, the word that came out was "...breasts."

As soon as he said it, he was mortified. His faced blushed with a deep heat and he was about to take back what he said with a thousand apologies for being so crude. But she laughed delightedly and said, "To beautiful breasts!"