Caralissa's Conquest

by Reese Gabriel

  Hope. There was hope. If for no other reason than that Telos had let slip that Romila was still in the castle and that she would see her tomorrow. At their auction.

  Chapter Nine

  Cara the slave girl knelt naked in her chains watching the makeshift stage, a wooden platform hastily erected in the castle grounds. As this exact moment the naked Romila was being made to spread herself painfully wide upon it. She was on her back, her hips raised as the crowd full of strangers cheered wildly. Sweat covered her body, along with fresh red welts from the auctioneer’s whip, the lash having induced her ready cooperation with his commands, lewd and disgraceful as they were.

  The need to display her thusly was understandable, of course, considering that Romila was being sold as a pleasure-house girl, a woman whose value would consist solely in her ability to arouse men through her own subjugation and degradation. She must not only know how to submit, but how to arouse men in the process. Could she make them hard by prostrating herself to their whips, by throwing herself to their feet to be beaten and taken? Could she drive them half mad with desire, begging with her bound body and eyes to be abused at their hands in the pleasure rooms?

  The auctioneer was most brutal in his appraisal. He told the audience that he felt she was too thin, too frigid and inexperienced. Cheeks red, tears streaming down her face she was made to display herself, in all her imperfections. Twice she was brought to orgasm by hand, and even here her deficiencies were fully noted. Caralissa would have strangled the man if she could. He had no right to wound her pride this way. Then again, Romila was a slave now and as such she had no right to her pride or to any identity at all, save that thrust upon her by a master.

  ‘What am I bid?’ the man roared, his head cloaked in black cloth as he slashed across Romila’s vulnerable belly.

  Caralissa winced, as though struck herself. Were she able she would take all of Romila’s pain. But there was nothing she could do, save wait her own turn on the stage, and her own fate.

  A number was called out, none too high.

  The auctioneer displayed shock. ‘But lords and ladies,’ he said. ‘Surely she is trainable?’

  Romila was pulled up onto her knees, the man’s hands in her hair. Using the back of his whip as if it were a penis, he thrust it between the lips of the stunned girl, forcing her to take it deep. She gagged, fighting the sensation of the leather. The auctioneer was relentless, moving it in and out. Romila’s hands were over his, ineffectively trying to stop the assault.

  ‘Put your hands down,’ the man ordered. ‘Down, and between your legs.’

  Romila went pale, her eyes desperate. She tried to shake her head, to resist, but his gaze was like iron. After a few seconds of feeble protest Romila did as she was told, commencing to masturbate, it shamed her greatly though it proved a boon to the bidding.

  Higher and higher numbers were shouted as the girl awkwardly pleasured herself, all the while servicing the whip handle with her soft and gurgling mouth. At the peak of her shuddering a phenomenal price in gold was announced, and the auctioneer drew the bidding to a close. Shaken, stunned, Romila was removed from the stage, her body thrust into the hands of a dark-robed man, his face veiled.

  Romila’s owner. Or her owner’s agent. Either way, she was now sold, Caralissa thought in amazement. Her sister’s body, her person, her very being now belonged to someone else, a stranger. A pleasure-house owner, if Telos’ earlier threat were made true. In which case she would be put on display, compelled to serve drinks and to have sex with an endless number of strangers on a nightly basis, earning for herself little more than the amenities one might grant a household pet.

  As they dragged Romila away, a heavy chain now secured to her neck, Caralissa despaired of ever seeing her sister again. What good were all her hopes, what good in the face of steel chains and whips and men who paid money for females, bidding on them as if they were horses or dogs? What good when it was now her turn to perform, to be assessed and sold?

  ‘Your sister did better for us than we’d hoped for,’ the auctioneer whispered, helping her delicately up the platform steps, her bare feet pressing gingerly on the wood surface. ‘Which means we expect all the more from you.’

  Caralissa reached the top step. They allowed her to wait a moment there as they hauled up the large contraption. It was quite simple in design. A flat base, covered in some sort of thick material some fifteen feet square, and in the centre a vertical spike-like object, tapering into a rounded knob, smooth and ebonite. There were gales of laughter as the men set it in place. The thing was nearly a foot and a half high and very much the shape of a man’s shaft.

  Caralissa turned pale. Its purpose was all too obvious.

  ‘Do exactly as I say,’ the man commanded, releasing her from the shackles and seizing her left breast. ‘And be quick about it. Any trouble from you and I won’t be dainty with the lash the way I was with the other little slut. Understand?’

  Caralissa nodded, her sensitive nipple cruelly twisting in the man’s grip.

  ‘I hope so,’ he growled, pushing her down by the neck till she was on all fours. ‘For your sake.’

  His first command was for her to crawl upon the base and kiss the shaft. Upon closer inspection she saw it was a perfect representation of a penis, though far longer than any she’d seen in real life, even among the cavalry officers.

  ‘Rub your tits on it,’ he barked.

  Caralissa put her firm breasts against the cool, seamless material. Closing her eyes she released a tiny moan. She could imagine the things that were coming next, the things she’d have to do before these men. They were sickening things, and yet she was aroused nonetheless. What a slut she was!

  ‘Squeeze your tits around it. Move them up and down. Faster. Faster.’

  She wrapped the shaft in her soft flesh, pleasuring it there as though it were inside one of her other openings. In order to get close enough she was required to kneel up and spread her legs on either side of it. It was a hard material, but flexible nonetheless. The feel of it was making her hot, making her need to do things, sexual things. And yet she’d have to await his orders, no matter how long he made her wait.

  ‘Put your cunt to it, now,’ he said, punctuating the request with a slash of the whip across her back. ‘Juice yourself.’

  Caralissa cried out as she thrust herself forward so that her sex was in direct contact, lengthwise. She shuddered as she slid herself up and down, tentatively. The fragrance of her arousal was heavy. Shutting her eyes against the sea of faces, she began to yield.

  A bid was called. The number was respectable.

  ‘Remember, gentlemen, lords and ladies, this is the former queen. Would you not like to own her? To have her body to caress or beat, to put to your every whim?’

  More bids; he was prickling their interest.

  ‘Put your mouth down over the top of it,’ the man told her, laying a stripe across her buttocks. ‘Hands behind your neck.’

  Caralissa obeyed, linking herself by mouth to the shaft. She did not need to be whipped another time to know she must suck. She had to put her chin to her chest to take in the top of it, though once achieved it was a wondrous sensation. Dirty, disgusting, and yet very pleasurable. The shaft was like a lover. She was fused to it now, from her face down to her delta. It was a clever device, diabolical yet brilliant. She’d thought the design awkward at first, but she realised its nefarious purpose. For even as she felt the need to rub her clit faster and faster against the side, she found herself drawing the end deeper and deeper into her mouth.

  Whimpering and mewling she deep-throated the thing like a demon, desperate to obtain the friction necessary to orgasm. Her motions, and the passion evinced by it, seemed to impress the buyers, for she was now at a hundred and fifty thousand, already ten thousand more than her sister’s price.

  ‘Look at her, friends. Have you ever seen suc
h a natural slut? Which of you would not wish to be this lucky piece of rauxite?’ he joked, naming the particular material from which the shaft was composed. ‘Which of you would not like to train her to please you this way?’

  Of course they all would; who in their right mind could resist the naked, aroused girl, subjugating herself, reducing herself in all their eyes to little more than a hot, sleek animal?

  ‘What would you do with her?’ he pressed, inflaming their imaginations and libidos alike. ‘Would you keep her naked, chain her to your bed, lock her in a cage, flay her each day with your whip? Or would you be more merciful, allowing her clothes, giving her tiny scraps of dignity so that you might have the pleasure of taking them back from her?

  ‘Would you require her, with her mouth and cunt and arse to earn her scraps of food, her rags? Would you compel her to lay for passers-by, for friends and enemies, would you tattoo her skin to mark her forever or is there some other dream of yours, secret and untold?’

  Romila’s asking price was now doubled. Hands were flying fast in the air, men were wildly applauding and cheering. And it was all for her.

  ‘Enough game playing,’ said the auctioneer to Caralissa. It is time they see how well you can screw.’

  The word ‘screw’ seemed apropos, for indeed that is exactly what Caralissa was forced to do, having to go up on tiptoe to fit herself over the end of the elongated shaft. She gasped as the auctioneer commanded her to squat and impale herself. The shaft filled her, making her throb with shame and need.

  ‘You know what to do, slut,’ he bellowed, treating her to another taste of the whip, this time across her belly. Caralissa did her best to move upon the thing, though it threatened to tear her apart. Sweat-covered, she began to writhe.

  ‘Surely you would want to have this for yourself?’ he proclaimed, shaming her even further by referring to her as an inanimate object. ‘The flanks, the arse. The shattered remnants of her will as queen?’

  Caralissa touched her hands to her heaving breasts. She was able to push the shaft deep, very deep. She was going to come and there was nothing that could stop her. The bids were rising. Three, four times the value obtained for her unfortunate sister. The man was shouting, touching her, making them laugh and cheer and bid.

  On and on it went for what felt like hours, and then finally the man shouted, ‘Sold!’ and the auction was over. They pulled her from the shaft. A steel collar was put around her neck, connected to a long chain. She was dragged from the platform and across the courtyard to a waiting wagon. It was windowless, made of thick slats of wood. Unknown hands thrust her deep within and the door was locked behind her. A few moments later she heard the sound of a whip, the sound of men ordering horses forward.

  The wagon was on the move. Dazed, stunned, in the dark, she lay upon the floor, feeling the vibrations of the road underneath. The reality was only just beginning to sink in. She had been sold. Separated from her sister and sold as if she were a common animal to the highest bidder. Everything she knew and loved was gone; an unknown place awaited her and an unknown life. Her face dotted with tears, the jarring road at last lulling her, she fell into a deep sleep, silent and dreamless.

  She was still unconscious as they took her from the wagon many hours later. Taking her in the back way of the arched wooden structure, down the stairs and into the basement, the black-shirted men laid her upon the floor. The surface was rough, made of stone. Caralissa stirred but did not awaken.

  ‘Douse her,’ said a female voice, harsh and imperious.

  Buckets of water were poured upon the sweat-stained girl, she spluttered at once, sitting up with a start. ‘What are you doing?’ she cried.

  A whip cracked the air between her shoulder blades, the tip singing her flesh. ‘Silence, pleasure-house girl.’

  She rubbed her eyes. Where was she? A slave keep, most likely. One of the locked chambers where girls were kept when not in use by customers. But which pleasure-house was it? Was she still in Orencia or had they crossed the border?

  ‘She seems a bit skinny,’ she heard the woman say. ‘I’m not sure the customers will go for her.’

  ‘She has the mystique of her former office,’ said a male voice, deep and gruff. ‘And she’s passionate. At auction she stiffened every prick. My own included.’

  ‘Spare me, Jolar,’ the woman mused. ‘A good breeze stiffens your prick.’

  Caralissa beheld the pair. The woman was tall with long dark hair, jewel-green eyes and a veil that covered her lower face. She wore silk pantaloons and a vest. The man sported a pointed moustache and a long thin beard, terminating in a braid. He wore silk as well, a suit of green and lavender along with leather boots. The woman was shapely, her healthy bosom accentuated by a tight waist.

  ‘Down, girl,’ growled the man, noting Caralissa’s gawking attention. ‘Pay homage to your mistress, Lady Fira.’

  The whip whistled through the air again, this time hitting her full in the back, she fell forward in pain, her palms bracing her as she fell to the stones.

  ‘Crawl to us, slut,’ Jolar ordered.

  She obeyed, not being anxious to taste the lash any further. When she reached their feet, the man raised his foot, pressing the toes of his boots down upon her shoulder. He did not wish her on all fours but upon her belly. The stone was hard and cold, indenting her from chin to thighs.

  ‘Behold the Lady Fira,’ he repeated with great fanfare, though at the moment Caralissa could see nothing but the floor. ‘Proprietress of the Silver Veil. You are her property now, available for her and for her customers, howsoever they may wish to use you.’

  Caralissa grunted in pain. The boot was hurting her whip-bitten back.

  ‘Secure her hands behind her back,’ said Lady Fira. ‘Put her on her knees before me.’

  Two of her men performed the task with lightning efficiency.

  ‘Better,’ Lady Fira nodded. ‘Now we can talk.’

  Caralissa strained her hands against the tightly wound leather thong. ‘Where am I?’ she demanded, determined to regain the upper hand.

  Jolar looked at her in fury. Rearing back his palm, he was prepared to hit her with the flat of it.

  ‘No,’ Fira said, causing him to freeze instantly. ‘I don’t want her face marked.’

  Jolar grumbled an apology - not to Caralissa but to the Lady Fira.

  ‘I am sure Cara wants to be a good girl,’ Fira said, taking a step forward, sliding her pantaloons down over her waist to reveal a glisteningly bare and shaved sex. ‘Don’t you, Cara?’

  Caralissa felt nauseous. Fira was stepping from the pants and putting her crotch inches from her face. It was obvious what she was going to do, and the very idea of it made her sick.

  ‘Have you ever tasted a woman, my dear?’ Fira crooned with deceptive sweetness. Caralissa shook her head. Never. Not even in her dreams. ‘You will taste me, Cara, or be lashed. The choice is yours.’

  Caralissa locked her jaws. She’d never allow herself to do such a thing - never. She would die first.

  ‘How dare you disobey!’ cried Jolar, his voice rising an octave in pitch.

  From behind came the inevitable, the whip cracking across her buttocks, hard enough to make her scream. Immediately Caralissa thrust her face into the woman’s opening. The scent was deep and musky, the aroma almost overpowering. Tears grazed her cheeks as she began to move her tongue to find, as she knew she must, the deepest recesses of the woman’s slick opening. Lady Fira shifted her hips, allowing Caralissa deeper access. The juices ran down Caralissa’s chin and across the bridge of her nose. The others were watching, which made it all the more disgraceful... and also arousing. For between her own legs Caralissa was aware of the familiar moisture, the strange stirrings. She only hoped they would not notice and think worse of her. She was a civilised woman, a former queen. Even now, on her knees, slavishly servicing another female, licking
and caressing her sex as though her mouth were a man’s cock, she had her honour.

  Honour was everything in a place like this. For so long as they imagined her to have some dignity, some sense of decorum, she could hope to avoid the worst of pleasure-house life. Even so, she knew it would not be easy. The endless parade of men, the acts, relentless and demeaning, night after night. How ironic to think she’d spent so many hours herself in pleasure-houses, watching in dreaded fascination, wondering with a morbid curiosity what it might be like to submit, to be owned and passed from customer to customer.

  Caralissa’s mistress moaned. It was the self-satisfied sound of a cat, a predator. Using her talon-like nails, Fira pressed Caralissa’s face into the desired position. It was the clitoris, of course, that Caralissa knew she must find and pleasure. It was Varik who introduced her to this tiny wonder in her own body and he’d also been the first to exploit it, using its sensitivity to manipulate her into exquisite submissions.

  She wished now that she’d had occasion to teach Romila a few things before they’d parted ways. It would be harder on her sister, much harder, if she did not know how to sufficiently please the patrons of her house, not to mention her master or mistress. It would be up to the goddess to keep her safe, she supposed.

  ‘That’s it, girl,’ Fira croaked. ‘My, but you have a gift.’

  Although she did not wish to, Caralissa glowed at the compliment. It was a testimony to how far she had declined that such a remark might be taken well by her, as if she were naught but a slave, one whose sole purpose was to give pleasure.

  Fira cried out, exclaiming her obvious joy. Holding Caralissa fast against her she began to rock, the juices pouring copiously till the hapless slave began to cough and sputter. Obediently Caralissa continued her ministrations till the woman’s orgasm passed, a fiery peak over which she rode with reckless abandon.

  At last Caralissa was released. Now if only she could have a little attention herself, she thought, to complete her own dangling climax.