Slave Unbound Ch. 02

Chapter 2

Slave's Burden

**Characters and text are protected under copyright law

Disclaimer: This story is not meant as 'erotica', but dark adventure-fantasy. It may contain material that sensitive readers might find uncomfortable. Please be advised.

The surprise of seeing the Baron, dressed in fine coat and pants of an amber color, gold-headed walking stick in hand where he'd used it to tap upon the table for her attention, stole any quick action or speedy apology from Leita. What was more, she was certain this was the first time the man had looked directly at her since the day he'd first handed her to his wife as a present. Now, however, he seemed to be taking very careful and intense notice of her.

"Master Baron!" She managed finally, overcoming her shock and lunging for her bucket. "I'm sorry, Master, I was just curious." Her voice jittered with panic and horror, her mind spinning in anxious anticipation of what he might do.

The entire scope of Leita's experience with the man was mostly at a distance, and almost always with him engaged with other nobles or his wife. She had no idea if he was as demanding and cruel as his wife, or perhaps even more so. Might he strike her with his cane for her show of laziness? Or would he simply tell his wife of her irresponsibility? Her heart fluttered nervously, expecting rebuke and punishment at any moment.

To her surprise, however, the Baron simply laughed softly and patted gently at the air. "Calm yourself, slave." He said in a soothing tone, leaning a little as he shifted the cane in his other hand to come to rest against the floor. "Don't be afraid. It is fine." His voice had the cadence of someone trying to calm a frightened animal.

Pulling up short of her wash bucket, Leita fidgeted a little, facing towards him submissively, with her eyes cast downwards. "Please, Master. Mistress will beat me if-" She began nervously, not even fully sure where she was intending to take the plea.

Baron Wilholme stepped forward, reaching out, and put a steadying hand upon her arm, face passive, a soft smile on his lips. "It is fine." He reiterated. "I will not tell the Baroness you were watching the parade, if you don't. I can't say that I fully blame you for doing so." His smile deepened and he moved to stand before the window beside Leita, looking down on the festivities below. After a moment, he glanced over at her and gestured for her to have a look as well.

For a long moment, Leita hesitated, uncertain if the nobleman was perhaps testing her. Reluctantly at first, she turned and resumed looking back out her own window, though she stole glances towards the Baron as though expecting to catch him raising his cane to strike her for doing so. However, he merely returned to looking out at the passing performers and gladiators, seeming to enjoy the scene.

For a minute they stood there silently, watching the procession slowly travel by, seeming almost as equals before the spectacle. Her anxiety faded some as the moments passed and nothing bad happened, but she remained hesitant and uncertain. It felt somehow wrong to her to be standing here so casually with her owner, watching the parade together. The sense that there was something more going on here continued to tickle at her.

"You are the slave girl I purchased in Haneel some years ago, are you not?" He asked casually, almost as though making idle conversation with a peer. His gaze remained on the parade below as he spoke.

"Yes, Master." She answered cautiously, turning his direction obediently. This was as much an ingrained reflex as anything. One of the first tenants of a slave was to always turn to face their Master or Mistress when being addressed by them. It also felt more proper to be standing before her owner giving him her full attention than simply standing next to him watching entertainments.

She also realized she felt a bit honored that he remembered her after all these years, not to mention still recognized her, a long way now from that young girl he'd purchased. She wondered if he'd kept track of her, making note of her as she grew over the years. He'd seemed to never give her any sort of recognition before now, but she'd also never paid that close of attention to him.

He glanced at her, grinning at her natural submissiveness. He gave a little gesture to say that she could continue looking out the window before he continued. "I thought so. You've certainly grown since then. I remember you as just a little thing." He looked her over casually. "I suppose you are still a bit of a little thing." He chuckled.

Standing less than an inch over five feet and petitely built, Leita thought she must indeed appear tiny compared to the tall and robust nobleman, who was easily at least six feet tall and healthy of frame. Despite her diminutive stature, she was quite agile and clever when it came to reaching things or performing tasks meant for someone significantly taller. In fact, she was so adept at climbing that she was often called upon to scale the grand cabinet in the main hall, which stood a towering fifteen feet tall, to fetch things set on the highest shelves. She sometimes wondered if she'd be asked to do so just because the other slaves enjoyed seeing her nimbly scurry up the shelves as easily as they might climb a stair.

"And I do believe you have grown quite pretty as well." The Baron continued, openly admiring her now. "If I remember rightly, you were a rather pretty child even then. So many pretty little girls grow out of those youthful looks, but you seem to have improved on them." He gave her an appreciative smile.

"Thank you, Master." She replied demurely, again turning to fully face him as she addressed him. His manner was putting her a little more at ease, but a slow revelation was beginning to creep into her. Though not educated, Leita was very perceptive and not especially naïve. She knew what such compliments from anyone of authority meant where a slave was concerned. It made sense now why the Baron had not been angry, why he was being so nice to her. Perhaps he had noticed her before now or perhaps he'd only just really looked at her for the first time in years, but his eyes told that he was currently very aware of her as a pretty girl. A pretty girl he owned and had right to take liberty with.

Though this revelation produced a new nervousness for her, Leita was not particularly alarmed or frightened by this understanding. She was a slave, her body did not belong to her. She'd long ago come to terms with her place in the world. It would not be the first time she'd had to endure liberty taken with her, nor would it likely be the last. It was just a facet and fact of her existence as a slave.

In the last few years, she'd had countless hands put upon her by guests of the Baroness, had been cornered in multiple places and required to lower to her knees to gratify the baser lusts of such guests. Once she'd even had to perform such acts on a female guest. Always, such dealings were kept quick and quiet, often ended with a threat for her tell no one of it, lest they claim her a liar and have her beaten or some other worse punishment. Perhaps the Baroness would have been angry at them for making such use of her house slave, perhaps she would not care, but Leita assumed that it would be her that the Baroness would be angry at, not any of her guests.

Around the time she was first coming into her maturity, one of the older male slaves, Barten, took her maidenhead, gently and compassionately, so that she would not have endure the sting of it under less sympathetic hands. He'd talked her through the discomfort and the embarrassment of it, soothed her afterwards. Though she could not say it had been very pleasurable, nor had it been meant to be, she was grateful for it. Ironically, she'd not since had anyone make use of her in quite that way, only ever probed her with fingers, pinched or rubbed places, or made use of her mouth. However, she'd remained prepared to one day surrender herself to the act and had long made peace with it.

It was simply something she took as inevitable.

Though the Baron's gaze was not lewd in manner, nor were his eyes glaring at her in a hungry way, she was certain of his intentions. The certainty of it made her insides squirm a little and her mouth go dry. Likely, he would soon order her to her knees before him and he would take what was, by law, his to take. If she were lucky, he'd only be interested in her mouth. Once it was over, she would rinse herself and quickly return to work, him receiving what he wanted and her managing to escape punishment for losing herself in watching the parade.

"Do you know the significance of the parade?" He asked off-handedly, casually returning his focus out the window. His patience and lack of urgency caught her off guard and she wondered if maybe she had read the moment wrong.

"It is for the Arena, Master." Leita replied, glancing towards it a moment before looking obediently back to him. "But that is all I know, Master."

"It is a parade of the Arena and its players, yes." Baron Wilholme said with a slight nod. "However, it is not actually, for the Arena, per say. It is part of the festival of Ba'lyn Ur Shae, honoring Caruenos, one of the divine patrons of the Arena."

Intrigued by this, Leita glanced again out at the procession, taking note for the first time of elements within the crowd she'd not spotted before. People carrying peculiar items and dressed in strange garments. She noticed that many of the performers had decorated pins on their clothing and realized only now that much of the music she'd been hearing was the same tunes repeated over and over. The new information of what she was seeing seemed to transform the parade into something even more enigmatic and entrancing.

She turned slightly more towards the window, her attention to the action outside growing. Suddenly, there was so much that she'd missed that leapt now to her attention. Meanings to the body painting and fetishes on the gladiators, the canticle-like aspect to the music, people in the crowds actually nodding their heads in prayer. What was previously just a flashy show now carried a far deeper and reverential feel. She could suddenly see the religious tone of it all, coloring all the, otherwise outlandish, interplay of dramatic flair.

"Caruenos is the God of Conflict and Battle." The Baron said, now right beside her, making Leita jump in surprise. She'd been so caught by the revelation that she'd not registered him moving near to her. "It is to him most of all that the Arena is devoted. His divine crest sits high up on the wall of the arena and victorious gladiators typically raise their weapon in salute to it when they survive a battle upon the sands."

Leita turned to look up at the Baron, though his eyes were still focused outside, she could feel his true attention was right here, upon her. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body radiating. She became hyper aware of how much bigger than her he was, his size suddenly seeming imposing. A heady perfume wafted from his clothing. He bore a handsome bearing, was very distinguished looking. She realized he was alluring even, seemed charming just in how he held himself. Where the situation different, were she not simply his to take as he pleased, she might have found the thought of pleasing him enjoyable.

Despite his charms and pleasant aspect, Leita felt her stomach leap and lurch anxiously. If she'd had any lingering doubts of his ultimate intentions, they were completely banished now. His slow game of talk and seduction confused her though. He could have roughly commanded her to take up a position and take him into her at any time. He did not have to take the time to woo her, try and put her at ease. Somehow, that he was taking his time, made it both more and less unnerving. While it made what was certainly coming seem less base and ugly, there was a bizarre feeling in her that such honey hid something far worse than just a few unpleasant minutes, followed by a sour taste in her mouth.

Her mind raced, breathing heavy. She realized he was saying more to her and she struggled to push away her thoughts and anxiety, to pay attention to what he was saying.

"Ba'lyn Ur Shae is the celebration of Caruenos's sacred week." He continued, seeming to draw subtly closer, his body gradually coming into contact with hers. "The festival offers him a week of special and especially brutal combats within the Grand Arena in hopes of his hunger for battle being sated and not bringing war to the lands." He softly put his hands on her shoulders and turned her about to look out the window. She realized only now that he'd left his walking cane leaning against the wall beside them.

"There will be special events and games, brutal combats to the death among some of the most famous gladiators." He continued, his eyes outside, but his hands now traveling along her body, slowly moving lower. "It really is a wonderfully bloody and beautiful sight to behold. The betting houses often make a lot of money during this time."

Leita was trembling now, feeling his hands casually drawing up her dress, so much so that the metal rings in her collar and restraints tinkled like little bells rattling in their housings. He was pressed close enough now that she could feel his arousal against her. The sensation of open air tickled across her rear and hips, exposed now.

"Would you like to see such bloody games, slave?" He asked her, his voice light, breathy, his excitement audible in his words. His hands were caressing her buttocks, slipping between her inner thighs. She realized that the inevitable day had finally come. She saw nothing of what was before her, frightened and nervous, remembering the taking of her maidenhead those years before, remembered how it had initially pinched and hurt. Bartan had promised her that it would be easier the next time, but that she would need to make herself relax.

However, she found herself completely unable to make herself relax at all. She fought to swallow back her nerves and embarrassment, reminding herself that, as a slave, this was going to happen whether she wished it or not. Her body was his to use, fair or not. The tenser she was, the more it would hurt, or so the other female slaves had told her.

"I...d-don't know, M-master." A tear grew in her eye, rolled quickly down her cheek as she felt him gently put a hand to the middle of her shoulders and press her forward, leaning partially out the window, his other hand guiding her legs to part slightly. A finger slid slowly into her. Another tear chased the first down her cheek.

"I think you would, slave." The sound of his codpiece unbuckling made Leita struggle to make one final attempt to relax. She focused herself on the performers and the procession below, made her mind fixate on the people and the sights, and trained her ears on the music. She told herself that it would be over quickly and wouldn't be horrible if she let her mind go somewhere else. She felt something else begin to push inside of her.

A breathy gasp forced its way from her, wincing against the uncomfortable friction in that sensitive place. She prayed for it to not take long. She'd been told that it usually was much faster than when it was in her mouth, she hoped that was true. Again, she fought to put her attention on the parade and not think about the Baron and his lust.

As the moments passed, her body finally beginning to ease, she found the experience becoming tolerable. Like Barton had, the Baron was moving against her slowly, gently. Her body was responding on a physical level, making the passage of him within her smoother and easier. She even found that it was starting to feel somewhat pleasant.

Despite this, there was still a sharp sense of embarrassment, half-hanging out of a window, her dress pulled up around her waist, and the Baron behind her. Her cheeks flushed crimson, her breath becoming faster and more labored, as much from her humiliation as from the baser physical sensations being stoked. She wanted to be done, to be allowed to return to her work. Deep within her, she felt more keenly than she ever had her place as a slave, felt more sharply than she ever had the unfairness of being not a person, but a piece of property.

Down below, another low wagon rolled past, an Orling gladiator upon it. As she looked upon him, he looked upwards, his gaze falling upon her framed in the window, being jostled from behind. For a long moment, their eyes met. Two slaves, one made to die in battle, one made to work and toil, neither having the freedom to choose anything different for their lives. For a moment, Leita felt a spark of kinship.

However, it was instantly extinguished by the sly and lusty grin that parted the warrior's lips, a wry and sardonic smile that spoke of the predator that he was. It made Leita feel suddenly stripped bare to her soul, humiliated more deeply than she had ever known. A powerful sense of awful nausea churned in her innards and she feared she might vomit violently. Strangely, she could not pull her eyes away from that leering face with that amused grin. She felt trapped by it, suffocated by it.

An impulse to beg the Baron to stop, to resist against him, surged through her, tears welling up in her eyes like seas of regret and horror. She shuddered violently to fight against the desire to struggle, felt her body growing taunt. Behind her, the Baron seemed to take her quivering as some kind of positive sign, or at least to be stimulated by it. His pace quickened, as did the force with which he thrust into her.

Leita managed to clamp closed her eyes, needing to master herself and her emotions, to shut out everything. Her Master making now rough use of her, the Orling gladiator below, the humiliation of the moment. For a few seconds she thought that she just might be able to push it all away long enough for it to be done and over.

After those few seconds, however, a shrill yell broke through everything, brought everything happening to a sudden halt. The voice of the Baroness ringing in the chamber tore Leita's eyes back open and had the Baron flying backwards away from her. Leita whirled in utter, horrified panic, seeing the Baroness looming in the doorway of the dining room, eyes flashing with rage, her face red as blood.

The Baron was quickly retreating across the room, refastening his clothes and smoothing himself, acting as though there was nothing at all to be ashamed of in the moment. Leita felt a bitter resentment to his aloofness, but felt far more powerful emotions as the realization that the Baroness's furious eyes were trained not on her lustful and unfaithful husband, but on her. There was no surprise to the understanding that it would be she who would bear the blame and the punishment for his indiscretion.

As though she were the butt of some horrible joke against her, as though to add further insult and injury, the horrible churning in Leita's guts came to a head and, mind swirling at all the possible, terrible, punishments about to be heaped upon her, Leita vomited into the floor.