by Lily Harlem
As he paced toward the palace, she rushed to keep up and stay the correct distance from him. She was glad to have walking to concentrate on. The pain on her ass cheeks was acute, and her apprehension about the coming parade threatened to take over her emotions.
They climbed up several layers of steep steps. Briella grew breathless and was glad when Gast paused at each dogleg for her to rest.
As they grew closer to a huge stone archway, a hum of voices greeted them.
“We need to hurry. We’re last to arrive,” Gast said, tugging her lead.
“Yes, Sir.” She found the energy to add fuel to her final few steps.
At the archway, Gast paused.
The parade ground was vast and towered over by huge walls with turrets spaced at wide lengths throughout it. Standing at the base of the walls, several deep, were Roun men. There appeared to be a number of slaves, but mainly it was just men. They all had keen, interested faces and their gazes were scouring the masters and decorated slaves standing in the center.
Briella’s attention was brought to the king. He presided over the ceremony from a huge brass throne with black bird feathers pluming from his crown. He had a thin face and long limbs. Dressed in scarlet, he gripped the armrest of his throne as he scanned the slaves who were lining up with their masters in a neat row.
“Walk,” Gast said, tugging her lead.
Briella fell into step behind him, aware of faces turning toward her.
She was glad of the skirt to cover her ass and pussy, but wished her breasts didn’t jiggle so. When her master looked at them, clamped and heavy, she enjoyed his attention. But these strange men, they made the hairs on the back of her neck spike.
Gast steered her to the end of the line, next to a slave with long red hair dotted with beads.
She took up her submissive pose, head bowed, hands clasped, as he stood behind her, lead draped over her shoulder.
She knew he was hating this. All of these people staring, and him having to obey orders, conform. Gast was happiest in his own dome, living by his own rules.
“Masters and slaves,” the king called. “I welcome you to the parade of the arrivals. We are pleased with a day of three suns and one moon for the males of Roun to enjoy the spectacle of perfect domination and submission.”
A gentle round of applause echoed around the courtyard walls.
Briella stared at the dust that had collected on her boots and listened to the sound of her master breathing behind her.
“I wish the slaves to look up so I can admire the Zoid women’s female faces.”
Briella looked up.
The king was staring straight at her.
Her stomach lurched. Her heart skipped a beat.
I hope you don’t make me too proud. Gast’s words came back to her
The king gave her a twisted smile and stood. Then, much to her relief, he moved to the opposite end of the line. His paces were long and sure; he wasn’t an old man, but virile and athletic.
She wondered how many slaves he had in his palace.
“It seems much effort has been made by the new masters to present correctly,” the king said, starting a slow walk down the line of slaves. “I’m pleased and I’m sure the crowd is, too.”
Again the crowd clapped; this time there were a few whistles.
Briella was glad to have Gast with her. Many of these men would have been denied masterhood. If they’d ever broken Roun law, were jobless or without a single occupation home they’d built themselves, then they weren’t eligible. At the camp they’d been told that it was an honor for Roun men to be chosen to have a slave and many on the planet were jealous.
The thought of these slave-less men having free access to her was frightening. They seemed fascinated by breasts, curves, and femininity. She was in no doubt they’d want to touch her, stroke her, lick her, and possibly beat her.
A small tremble wended its way up her spine.
“It’s okay, slave. I’m here,” Gast whispered.
She pulled in a deep breath and steeled herself. Yes. Her master was with her. He would protect her and ensure her wellbeing. He’d promised her that. She was his responsibility. He would see to it that she was well.
“When a new group of slaves arrive on Roun, we are proud. Proud to assist our planetary friend Zoid in their time of need. These women have shown themselves to be receptive of medication and eternally grateful for the life of servant-ship that we, the men of Roun, can give them.” The king’s voice was getting louder as he walked down the line toward Briella.
“And now that we have babies being born, something my ancestors believed would never happen, I’m proud that my ruling years, my wisdom, my negotiation skills created that and I will be forever in history. If I hadn’t worked the deal with the Zoid king.” He paused. “Who I have to say is as stubborn a king as I’ve ever met.”
There was a widespread chuckle.
Briella frowned. It was disrespectful to have her honorable old king spoken of like that. He’d taken on a dying planet from his father, a rock with no hope and people who were unable to enjoy fulfilling lives, and done the best he could with broken tools. The deal he’d made with Roun had been only one of several to ensure the survival of the Zoid species, even if not on their original planet.
“If I hadn’t made that momentous deal,” the king went on, “there would be no beautiful slaves, no domes and tents and bricked abodes being served by Zoid women. There’d be no new Roun children being created on our planet.” He raised his hands to the sky, fingers outstretched. “Thanks to the suns and the moons, for through them we have been blessed.”
This time the applause was wild and raucous. The clapping ricocheted around the palace walls. The soldiers on the turrets fired their weapons into the air, huge puffs of purple smoke billowing behind them.
The newborns, the children, really were a celebrated thing. Briella wondered why they hadn’t been mentioned at the training camp. Were the tutors concerned that the slaves would refuse their medication for fear of becoming with child?
If so, they needn’t have been. Certainly not from her perspective. She would adore giving birth to Gast’s child. To see it cradled in his big strong arms, watch his face as he spoke gentle words to the tiny scrap of life they’d made together. He was so big and strong, and the child would be so delicate and in need of him.
Just the way she was.
“Ah, slave, I see your thoughts are elsewhere.”
Briella snapped in a breath. The king stood directly before her.
“Your Majesty,” she said, quickly bowing her head and dipping her knees. “It’s a great honor to be on Roun; myself, my family, and my king thank you for your outstanding, and forever to be remembered, generosity and wisdom.”
“Oh, Gastion, you have quite a Zoid woman here.” The king hooked his finger beneath her chin, and although speaking to her master, directed the words at Briella. “Talkative, respectful, and outstandingly beautiful. You must be very proud.”
Briella closed her eyes. She didn’t want to stare at the king. That would land her in trouble. But the way he’d raised her face left her little choice but to look at him.
“And how is she taking her medication?” the king asked.
“Acceptable, Your Majesty,” Gast said gruffly.
“Only acceptable? She is not ensuring you get pleasure?”
“That’s not the purpose. It is to sustain her life.”
“Oh, Gastion, do not think that I was born yesterday. I’m a man as much as you are. Medicating slaves is pleasurable. If it wasn’t, these men,” he swept his hand in the direction of the crowd, “wouldn’t be here wishing they were masters and allowed, on rule of I, the king, to medicate Zoid women and take pleasure from that.”
“It’s a great honor and I take it very seriously,” Gast said.
“I’m sure you do.” The king slid his hand from Briella’s chin, over her collar and to her sternum. He pressed gently with the tip of his fin
ger. “She is every bit as beautiful as your last slave.”
Briella heard Gast’s sharp intake of breath and the lead, resting over her shoulder, jerked slightly.
“What was her name?” the king said. “Oh, yes, Skylar, she was indeed like the sky. Bright and vibrant, keen for medication. Well, from me anyway.” He chuckled.
Gast stepped forward, his arm brushing Briella’s shoulder. She had no idea what the king was talking about. How would he know about Gast’s ex-slave? How she reacted when medicated?
“What’s the matter, Gastion? You don’t like to think of your king medicating your slave?” There was mocking in his voice. “That would indeed be disrespectful. I am at liberty to medicate any woman I want. Take pleasure from their bodies and force their submission.”
“Skylar was content with me,” Gast said. “She was thriving on Roun. Wasn’t that the deal? Our planets were moving forward together? Everyone healthy and happy.”
“A deal, yes. But not one you made. Your semen was a commodity I traded, and Skylar, well, she was… special.”
“To me, not to you.”
“How dare you.” The king rushed to Gast, pushed his face up close so their noses almost touched. “All of the Zoid slaves are special to me. I ordered them here and my ships transported them here. If I want to medicate anyone of them, I will, and no one will stand in my way.”
“You had no right to take her away from me.” Gast stared at his king, belligerence in his voice and in his eyes.
“I have every right to do whatever I please; this is my kingdom, I am lord and ruler, or had you forgotten that?”
“No, I could never forget that.” Still the same air of forcefulness.
“You speak as if that is a bad thing. That I am the king of Roun.”
Gast was silent.
The king reached forward and took hold of Briella’s lead where it had sagged in the center.
Gast gritted his teeth; he didn’t release the leather strip.
“I will have this one, too,” the king said. “In the hope of teaching you, a master of Roun, a lesson. I am your king, I own all of the slaves. I can do whatever I please, and just so you are in no doubt, she will enjoy my methods of medication very much. I like to get… how shall I say… imaginative.”
“No,” Gast said, puffing up his chest and rounding over the king. “You will not take her. I will not allow that to happen again.”
“You have no choice,” the king shouted as he snapped the lead from Gast’s grip.
Briella toppled forward, staggering on her heels, her neck yanked. What was happening?
“Leave her,” Gast bellowed. “She is mine.”
Chapter Eighteen
Chaos ensued. A swarm of guards, all with weapons, surrounded Briella, Gast, and the king.
Briella was tugged to the left, Gast pushed roughly to the right.
She squealed.
He roared.
The king laughed.
Rough hands gripped her arms, and although she lost her balance and toppled, she remained upright. Guards were all around her, their big hands all over her body.
She was being dragged away toward a turret. “Master!” she cried, her voice so loud it scratched her throat. “No! No! Please.”
Her wails of distress were ignored. Fear pulsed through her. What was happening? This hadn’t been how the parade was supposed to go.
She could hear Gast shouting. Calling for her. “Slave. I will come for you, I will—”
There was a dull thud, then his voice could no longer be heard over the jeering crowd.
She scanned the arena, her gaze falling briefly on Nhah, whose mouth was open in horror and her eyes wide.
A chest-aching sob ripped up from Briella. Her master. Her beautiful master. What had they done to him? She needed him. Wanted him. He was her protector.
The guards continued to manhandle her, rushing her through the crowd. She was groped and her hair stroked by the men she went past. Tears sluiced down her face. Her vision blurred.
Suddenly silence surrounded her. She’d been pushed into the base of a turret. The walls were stone and before her was another set of steps. Flames lit the way upward and their shadows danced on the walls.
There were two guards still with her, one on each side, each gripping her upper arm.
“No, please, take me to my master,” she said, looking around frantically. Why was she here?
“Remember your place, Zoid woman,” the guard on her left said, his voice gruff. “You do not have the privilege of asking for what you want, let alone receiving it.”
“But my master, Gastion Ribald Newton of Reme, I am his. I should be returned to him.”
The guard who’d spoken reached around and unclipped her lead. “This will be returned to him… if he wants it.”
“He will want it. He’ll want me.” She glared at him. “And he’ll get me.”
He laughed, his nose wrinkling and his large teeth seeming to glow in the dim light. “I doubt that. This is the second time your master has had an altercation with the king.”
“Why? What was the first?”
“You don’t need to know.” He tugged her toward the base of the steps.
Before she knew it, Briella was stumbling upward. Her chest was tight, her breaths short. Her heart beat fast and terror and confusion abounded in her mind.
On and on she was pulled up the stairs. They twisted and turned and as they went past the open slits that worked as windows or shooting points, the sound of the braying crowd echoed in.
Eventually they reached a heavy door with a huge lock. The guard on her right turned a black key and shoved the door open.
It led into a circular room with a stone floor with large glass windows that looked out at the parade ground.
The guards pushed her in with a rough shove on her back. The beads pressed against her skin as she cried out.
Luckily there was a makeshift bed in the center of the room and she landed on that, arms outstretched, breaking her fall.
“A slave woman should not demand anything,” the guard who’d been quiet on their trip up the stairs said. “Being here on Roun and being medicated is our gift to you. You need to show the king more respect and accept that you will belong to any master he sees fit.”
“But I want…”
The door slammed shut and she was left alone.
Some of her hair had come loose and she pushed it behind her ears, studied the room she’d found herself in.
It was sparsely furnished; save for the bed there was an empty table, shoved up against the wall, and a toilet in the corner, partially screened by a thick red curtain.
She looked out of the low and panoramic window. The crowd was still clapping and hooting, though she could see no sign of either Gast or any other masters and slaves. It seemed they’d been dispersed.
Because of her and Gast?
She didn’t understand any of it.
She just wanted her master.
Crawling fully onto the bed, she curled up, fetal-like, hugging her knees and tucking her head down. She hoped her breaths would come easy again after the rush up the stairs, but as she lay there, willing normality, she realized that wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t just out of breath from the energy she’d expelled; it was also because she needed Gast to medicate her.
Willing herself calm, she ceased all other movement, knowing she needed to conserve air consumption.
What would happen?
Would they just leave her to die?
If only Gast had medicated her before the parade. She’d be okay for a while. But he hadn’t, and she knew that within the hour she’d be on her last breaths.
Unless the king decided to save her. What if he medicated her? The thought of him coming to this room, his cock stiff for her and his imaginative ways of medicating at the ready made her shudder.
She didn’t like him. He had meanness in his eyes. He wasn’t the man of honor he thought himself to be. He
was egotistical, self-centered, a king who thought of his needs before the people of his planet, be they masters or slaves. He just fooled himself and others into thinking he had their interests at heart.
Twenty minutes later, Briella’s fingernails had taken on a faintly blue shade.
She stretched out on the bed, hoping to elongate her chest, allow easier access for the meager amount of air coming in. The clamps dragged and she made the decision to remove them.
As she released them, the blood rushed to her breasts, the pain of it stabbed at her nipples. She’d known the pain to be erotic and sensual when Gast had removed them as he’d medicated her, but this time it was just pain; functional, cruel pain.
Luckily, though, it quickly faded to a dull ache.
The parade ground was quiet now. She guessed the crowd had disbanded but she didn’t have the energy to check.
She closed her eyes, let the blackness wash over her. She hoped her death would be quick. That suffocation in this alien atmosphere would be painless and merciful. She’d heard stories; it was like drowning, they said, darkness engulfed you and then you slipped away into nothing.
She’d hoped she’d never have to find out.
Gast. I need you.
Another ten minutes passed. Her thoughts were disjointed. She spread her arms out, trying to maximize her rib expansion but it made no difference.
Suddenly the door opened.
She blinked open her eyes.
Standing before her was a Roun man. He wore a mask, the way the healer had, with just slits for his eyes and a hole for breathing. His broad chest was bare of clothing but adorned with ink in a swirling pattern that reached over his right shoulder. He wore black trousers teamed with leather boots that laced up the front to his knees.
“The king has sent me to medicate you,” he said gruffly.
She whimpered and turned away. She only wanted Gast’s cock inside her. That was the way it was for her now.
“You have two choices,” he said, shutting the door. “It’s me or die.”
She pushed to sitting and stared out of the window. Where was Gast? Was he still in the palace? Surely they could have sent her master to medicate her.
