Surrendered

by Evangeline Anderson

  This had all been done on Greed’lik’s advice—a little show for Thorn’s soon-to-be Mistress’s benefit. According to the intelligence gathered by the Kindred, Mistress Neh’sanna took on only the biggest, the strongest, and the fiercest slaves.

  Thorn had hoped that by catching her attention early with the angry display he and Greed’lik put on, he would make an impression on her.

  “Zzhe will not be able to put you from her mind,” the Horvath had promised. “When the zzilent auction startzz, she will bid only on you, Commander Thornx.”

  A show of defiance had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time but now the male beside him was telling him that the other slaves wanted to be here. Could that be right?

  Thorn looked around at the other males on display. Almost all of them looked nervous or anxious but now he saw what he had missed earlier—their faces were also filled with a painful kind of hope. They didn’t fear a future under the rule of a Yonnite Six Mistress—they longed for it.

  How strange! How could any male long to submit that way? He remembered the thick black strap-on phallus he’d seen Mistress Neh’sanna wearing in the holo Commander Sylvan had shown him before he had accepted this task. He hoped he wouldn’t have to endure penetration with that beast during his mission, though if he did, he would count it just another form of torture. But how could any male long for that? Long to spread his thighs and allow his Mistress…

  His thoughts broke off when the attendant standing at the tall double doors that led into the slave auction space blew a single, high blast on a marrow-horn. The sweet, silvery note seemed to echo against the high ceiling and all the males shifted, getting into position for the entrance of the Mistresses.

  Thorn saw most of them strike poses to better display their bulging muscles. The male beside him swept his long black hair over one shoulder as anxiously as any female getting ready for her first public ball.

  Pathetic. Thorn simply stood there and waited. Though his hands were tied behind his back, his pose was relaxed yet alert.

  Soon enough he saw her. He’d gotten only a blurred impression before but now he had to admit, she was a beautiful woman. Petite yet perfectly formed with lush curves, Mistress Neh’sanna came striding confidently through the double doors looking like she owned the place.

  She was wearing a pair of tight white trousers and a flowing white shirt to match, open to reveal just a hint of cleavage. A black corset cinched her waist, emphasizing the fullness of her breasts and hips. It matched the black boots with impossibly high heels she wore.

  Thorn found that he couldn’t stop looking at her. The holo Commander Sylvan had showed him didn’t do her justice. She had creamy skin and large, dark eyes fringed thickly with long black lashes. Her face was exquisite—like a doll’s face made by a master craftsmen, from her delicate nose to her full red lips. A waterfall of wavy black hair fell to the small of her back, swishing with her confident strides. Thorn’s hands, still tied behind his back with the unbreakable leather-steel bands, itched to touch those silky strands.

  Stop it, he told himself harshly. She might look beautiful but she’s cruel, like all the Yonnite Mistresses. She’s as deadly as the blood snails they used on you on Tantor Prime.

  He lifted his gaze and ignored her even as he saw the males around him trying their best to get her attention.

  Mistress Neh’sanna would come to him. He had seen the wide-eyed looks of all the Mistresses as Greed’lik led him struggling and shouting into the auction room. Though he hadn’t gotten a very good look at Neh’sanna’s reaction to their little show, he knew she had seen him. He had made an impression and she was said to enjoy a challenge—she would come.

  * * * * *

  Neh’sa lifted her chin as she strolled into the grand auction hall. It was decorated in a most gaudy fashion with every spare inch gilded or draped in gold cloth, but she didn’t care about the décor. What she was here for was to find her next project—a male she could train to be a true, whole-hearted submissive.

  It should have been a good day. She had already purchased some of the rare Druvian E’lo stones for her collection and the seller had promised they would be shipped to her in short order. Also, the choices at the silent slave auction were said to be uncommonly fine. But despite all that, there was a cloud on Neh’sa’s heart. There always was on the day she had to let one of her well-trained submissives go.

  Lo’im. She sighed her latest submissive’s name to herself sadly. She’d had him for a year—she had bought him at this very auction an entire cycle ago. Because the slaves sold here were willing and eager to serve, it was the best place to find new submissives. And Lo’im had been one of the best she had ever trained.

  Neh’sa only took on one male at a time and she was very particular about who she chose to train. The male she chose had to be a perfect physical specimen –both large and strong because he would be charged with protecting his Mistress’s life as well as serving her every whim. The ideal submissive must also be willing and eager to please—a male who longed to devote his life to one female alone and to serve her until his dying breath. He would be owned by her, body and soul, and he must have no shame or reservations about it.

  Lo’im had been such a submissive—one eager to live and die for the right Mistress. Neh’sa had matched him with the perfect owner—Lady Tandy, a young woman of the upper class of Yonnie Six who had never owned a body-slave of her own before. She was quiet and shy but sweet—not a sadist like many Yonnite Mistresses who pushed the button on their slave’s pain collar the minute any little thing displeased them.

  Neh’sa refused to sell to those kinds of women—the sadists or the jaded, rich snobs who only wanted one of her well trained submissives—“Neh’sa’s boys” as they were called—as a status symbol.

  In the same way she took care what males she chose to train, she also took care which Mistresses they went to. And she made the women who got her trainees sign life-long contracts promising never to sell them and never to use pain collars or other agony-causing devices.

  That was not to say that pain had no place in the training and maintaining of a male submissive. Neh’sa was no stranger to the whip, the crop, the flogger, and the cane. But there was a time and a place for such things—they must be used judiciously and in the proper way.

  True devotion and submission came through love and loving punishment, not hatred or sadism or the bored and petulant application of the pain collar. True submission had to be earned.

  Neh’sa loved all of her submissives in her way, though she never allowed her emotions to carry her too far. After all, she had only a single cycle with each one before he must be given to another so there was no point in losing her heart. Once, long ago, she had made that mistake and the pain she still felt when she remembered that time had been her reward.

  It was better to train slaves for other Mistresses and not allow herself to get emotionally attached. Though she would miss Lo’im, she would be proud to give him to his new Mistress during the Devotion Ceremony later. The two of them would make an excellent couple.

  Still musing over Lo’im and Lady Tandy, she strolled around the broad, circular stage, looking over the slaves for sale.

  There were no more than twelve males assembled on the stage this time—a smaller number than the year before. Well, no matter—all she needed was one as long as he was the right one. But so far none of them was catching her eye, though many were trying to.

  She saw how they posed, putting their muscular bodies on display, begging to be chosen. They kept their eyes cast down, barely daring to look at her modestly from under their lids as she passed them, making her way in a circle around the round auction stage. They were all prime physical specimens, their muscles bulging, their cocks long and hard between their spread thighs. Even the smallest of them was on the large side—the better to bring honor to a Mistress who wished to display only the finest male as her body-slave.

  Neh’sa stalked around the stage, t
aking in the view, considering. At last she came to stop in front of the huge, wild-looking male who had been dragged in by the Horvath slaver, right through the artifact sale earlier. The way he had been shouting and struggling had really disrupted things, making a very disagreeable scene.

  Now, however, the huge male was silent. Since the Horvath slaver who had brought him in was too busy licking his own eyeballs with a forked tongue to notice her, Neh’sa took a moment to study the slave.

  He was by far the biggest male there. Though even the smaller slaves dwarfed her own petite frame, this male made her feel positively tiny, even in the high heeled black boots she was wearing which added six inches of height to her diminutive five foot two inch frame. Neh’sa estimated him at easily over seven feet tall with heavy musculature to match his impressive height.

  The male saw her looking at him and didn’t look away or cast his eyes down modestly as the rest of the slaves were doing. Instead he stared at her almost insolently, as if daring her to buy him. He had direct eyes that were strangely mismatched—one bright green and the other deep blue. Both had bright motes dancing in their depths that reminded Neh’sa of sparks flying up from a fire. Dark stubble covered his strong jaw, giving him a rakish look and there was a defiant set to his impossibly broad shoulders that spelled trouble.

  Neh’sa frowned. True, he was a fine physical specimen—possibly the finest she’d ever seen despite the strange eyes—but there was no place in her life for a rebellious male who had no wish to be owned.

  Still, she couldn’t seem to look away. And as the slave didn’t drop his gaze either, they appeared to be caught in a staring match. Liquid black eyes warred with mismatched green and blue and neither appeared willing to concede defeat.

  As Neh’sa watched, another perspective Mistress approached the auction stage.

  “Oh this is a nice one,” she cooed looking up at the tall, defiant slave. “And so feisty too—look at how he dares to make eye contact with his betters! I like a little spice in a male.”

  “Would my lady wish to take a closer look?” one of the auction attendants asked solicitously. He was dressed in a long, deep purple robe and curly-toed golden shoes as all the attendants were. “A more detailed inspection can easily be arranged.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I would like to have a better look,” the other Mistress said.

  She had bright pink hair teased into a puffball around her narrow features and she wore a dress of the same shade, making her brilliantly monochromatic. Neh’sa knew her by sight – it was Lady Fauntleroy, an empty headed social butterfly who cared more about the latest trends than the state of her slaves’ health. She pitied the large male if he was bought by this particular Mistress.

  The auction attendant extended a small step ladder from the top of the stage and held out a hand for Lady Fauntleroy who accepted it eagerly. She climbed up onto the auction platform and began to circle the tall slave in a predatory way.

  “My my, such a fine specimen! But what’s this?” She looked down at the slave’s massive phallus which was still completely flaccid. “How is it that all the other slaves are excited to be here and you’re not my dear?” she asked the slave who did not deign to answer. Instead he kept his eyes locked with Neh’sa’s, completely ignoring the other Mistress even when she began to paw his body.

  Neh’sa watched as Lady Fauntleroy seized the male’s shaft in a none-too-gentle grip and began to stroke. But though she rubbed vigorously up and down his considerable length, his phallus never even twitched.

  “What’s wrong with this one?” Lady Fauntleroy demanded of the auction attendant. “Is his equipment not working? It appears to be broken. I can’t have a slave who is unable to achieve an erection – it would be a great shame and I would never be received in the right social circles again.”

  “I’m so sorry my lady,” the auction attendant apologized distractedly. “I’m certain he was checked before we allowed him into the auction. I don’t know why he will not rouse to your touch.”

  “I don’t know either,” Lady Fauntleroy said with a petulant jerk of her puffy pink hair. “I’m certain it’s not because he doesn’t find me desirable. I’ve never had a slave yet that didn’t want me – not that they can have me. Of course I don’t allow any sort of penetration but still a working phallus is a must in any body- slave. For display purposes only, you understand.”

  “Of course my lady.” The auction attendant bowed his head respectfully as she exited the stage in a huff.

  Through it all, the slave had remained completely still, not even twitching when Lady Fauntleroy had manhandled the most sensitive part of his anatomy. It was the strangest thing but Neh’sa had the feeling he had willed himself not to rise to the other Mistress’s touch—as though he had kept his body from reacting to the intimate stroking by the power of his mind alone—a thing she had never known a male slave to be capable of.

  “I see you didn’t care for Lady Fauntleroy’s methods,” she said, surprising herself by speaking to him.

  A low growl rumbled up from his deep chest.

  “Is that her name? Nearly as ridiculous as her hair.”

  Neh’sa privately agreed but she frowned at him reprovingly.

  “You must never speak of a Mistress that way—it’s disrespectful.”

  “Why should I respect her?” the massive slave shot back. “I don’t even know her.”

  “Knowing her or not wouldn’t make a bit of difference if she bought you and put a pain collar on you,” Neh’sa pointed out, which was exactly what someone like Lady Fauntleroy would do.

  “I don’t give a good Goddess-damn about her or her pain collar,” the slave rumbled. “Pain doesn’t bother me.”

  Somehow, Neh’sa knew he wasn’t just boasting. Any male who could control his body’s reaction to pleasure could certainly control pain the same way. This slave would not be easily touched by anything—and such a male would be entirely impossible to train. She ought to turn and go this minute and never spare him another glance.

  Instead, she ascended the steps the auction attendant had lowered for Lady Fauntleroy and came to stand before the massive slave.

  Even in her highest heels she had to look up at him. In turn, he looked down at her, meeting her gaze unwaveringly.

  “Hello Mistress,” he growled sarcastically. “Did you come up to examine the merchandise like your little friend did earlier?”

  “Lady Fauntleroy is not my friend,” Neh’sa said quietly. “In fact, I quite despise her.”

  Her words seemed to surprise him because his mismatched eyes widened, then narrowed.

  “So why did you come up then?”

  “I don’t know,” Neh’sa said honestly. “Perhaps to get a better look at those extraordinary eyes of yours. Are you Kindred?”

  The slave frowned and shrugged his shoulders grudgingly.

  “Part Kindred,” he agreed gruffly.

  “Interesting.” Neh’sa nodded thoughtfully. “And what’s the other part?”

  “None of your Goddess-damned business,” he growled and added, “Mistress,” with elaborate politeness.

  Neh’sa frowned and began to walk around him in a circle, examining him.

  “If you were mine, slave, you’d pay for your insolence.”

  “Why don’t you buy me then, Mistress?” he taunted. “Buy me and punish me?”

  “It seems you’ve already endured punishment—quite a lot of it.” There were marks on his broad back, just between his shoulder blades. They looked like burns but they had the shape and configuration of whip strokes. Strange.

  Lightly, Neh’sa ran her fingertips over the scars. And though the massive slave hadn’t so much as twitched when Lady Fauntleroy had been yanking on his shaft, now he flinched from Neh’sa’s gentle caress like an animal expecting a blow.

  He’s back shy—and no wonder, Neh’sa thought, withdrawing her hand. It looks like someone really worked him over.

  Despite his insolence she
felt a surge of pity for the big Kindred and a stab of fury at whoever had mistreated him so. He might have had the makings of a good submissive once. Often it was the angriest and most dominant Alpha males who most needed the emotional relief of giving up control to a firm but loving Mistress.

  But this slave—this half-Kindred and half-whatever he was—had been ruined by mistreatment. It looked to Neh’sa like he had been tortured and not just physically. She could feel the pain inside him. Earning his trust and healing the raw, open wounds in his soul would be the work of a lifetime—not a single cycle which was all she had to offer.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, walking around to face him again and looking up into those lovely, mismatched eyes. “Whoever did that to you should be punished themselves—there is no excuse for mistreating a slave so.”

  A look of surprise passed rapidly over his sharp features but then his face hardened.

  “It doesn’t matter. I told you—pain doesn’t bother me.”

  “I think it does,” Neh’sa said quietly. Reaching up, she cupped his hard jaw which was bristly with stubble. It prickled her fingertips but the skin underneath felt soft, vulnerable. “I think it bothers you a great deal.”

  She wasn’t talking about physical pain and from the startled look on the big Kindred’s face, he understood that.

  “I…you…” For once he seemed to be at a loss for words. Looking into his eyes, Neh’sa saw that the sparks were flying faster, almost like a fire about to ignite. She wondered what the other part of his heritage was. But maybe it was best not to know.

  “You’re beautiful, you know,” she murmured, looking up at the massive Kindred. She allowed her hand to trail down from his cheek, stroking lightly over the strong cords of his throat to the broad planes of his chest. “Beautiful on the outside…but broken on the inside.” She knew it was true—she could feel his brokenness—his pain.

  Her words seemed to do something to him. He shivered under her hand, again reminding her of an animal that expected a beating. For just a moment his mismatched eyes were completely defenseless.