by Opal Carew
He disappeared back into the house and reappeared about a half-hour later to fling a large cloth bag beside her. It made a loud clunk when it hit the wagon floor. Probably filled with all kinds of treasures and whatever money he’d found in her father’s office. She heard him attaching the horse to the wagon, and a few moments later, the wagon jerked forward.
Hours passed and she must have dozed off, but a sudden lurch of the wagon jolted her wide awake. Nightmares of men pawing at her, their large, rough hands touching every intimate part of her, left her in a sweat. The rope around her wrists and ankles cut into her skin. The gag was damp with saliva.
Outside, the throng of a city market sounded around them. Vendors calling out to attract buyers, carts rumbling past the main road, horses snorting. The smells of fruits, spices, and cooked meat assailed her.
They were close. She cringed, her whole body rigid with fear. Her shaky stomach quaked, almost to the point of vomiting.
The noise reached a crescendo, then slowly diminished as the cart continued and finally stopped. They would be at the back corner of the market, away from the buyers. Her father had pointed out the place to her many times. This was where the slavers made their deals for new stock. It was illegal on Turan to buy or sell slaves, but the authorities looked the other way as long as the dealings were discreet and the right people were paid off.
Moonlight glinted in her face as Bahrd slung back the tarp over the back of the wagon. His knife blade flashed, grazing her skin as he sliced through the ropes around her ankles. Blood oozed from the small nick he’d made on her foot, and it stung sharply, but she hardly noticed as he hauled her to her feet and out of the cart. Her legs ached from lying immobile on the wagon floor for so many hours, but she hobbled to keep up with him as he dragged her forward, his meaty hand tightly wrapped around her forearm.
The sky was black and studded with stars, but unnatural light shone all around them. They approached a large metallic wagon, rounded and shiny, the likes of which Shena had never seen before. By rights, it should not be allowed here, nor should their artificial lights, given that technology was banned from Tarun, but the slavers took a great many liberties with the law.
Several hooded figures stood outside the wagon, interacting with locals. All the slavers wore long, tan, hooded cloaks. Sometimes a flash of rust-colored leather clothing and dark brown boots and gloves could be seen as they moved. One of the slavers glanced toward them as they approached.
“I’m bringin’ this lass to ye for sale. She’s Wakefield’s daughter. A virgin. He’s talked to ye about price before.”
Below the hood, piercing eyes flashed, locking on her. Then the man nodded. “Follow me.”
He opened the door of the metal wagon and led them inside. Two men glanced up from their conversation. They wore the same garb as the other slavers, but their hoods were down, draped over their shoulders and backs. One had dark, shoulder-length hair and a moustache and beard, while the other had fine, short blond hair and was clean-shaven. The dark-haired one stood up and approached them. The man who’d led them inside spoke to the other two in a language Shena didn’t understand, and then Dark Hair grabbed her arm and tugged her forward.
“Wait a minute. I ain’t been paid yet,” Bahrd complained.
“We must verify that she’s a virgin.”
A chill started along Shena’s neck and shivered down her spine.
Bahrd started forward to follow, but the hooded man stepped in front of him.
“Out of my way. I want to watch.”
Dark Hair stopped and glanced back. So did Shena.
Bahrd shoved the man in front of him, smaller by at least a head. The man touched Bahrd with one gloved hand, and he lurched backward, clearly in pain.
“You will sit and wait,” the slaver stated with authority.
Shena continued staring behind her as Dark Hair dragged her forward again, through a doorway, toward one of her greatest fears. He closed the door behind her, and she glanced around to see a large chair-like thing made of long pipes or rods of some sort.
“Sit,” the man commanded.
She glanced at the contraption, uncertain. Dark Hair grabbed her arms and spun her around, then backed her into the thing, pushing her downward. A strap slung under her thighs about six inches from her knees caught her weight, and another hugged her back at her waist. He grabbed her right wrist, positioned it above her head, and strapped it to the vertical rod on the right side of the chair thing, then took her left wrist and attached it to the left rod. Next, he tugged her leg forward, parallel to a horizontal rod extending straight out in front of her, and strapped her ankle to the hard metal. Similarly, he restrained her other ankle.
He stepped toward a high table jutting out from the wall, where he tapped on buttons and stared at some kind of changing display. With a whirring sound, the rods started to move, flattening out, positioning her in a stretched-out, horizontal position; then the ones at her ankles separated, opening her legs.
Chapter 6
Shena’s breaths became short and hollow. The man stepped toward her, scissors in his hand, and pushed up her gown, exposing her underwear. She gasped as he slipped his finger under the white cotton at the crotch and tugged the garment away from her body, then clipped the cloth with the scissors, exposing her most private flesh. Her face burned.
Oh, God, this is really happening.
He slid his hand away, his fingers grazing her pubic curls. What was almost more frightening than his touch was the total look of indifference on his face. He returned to his controls and tapped at the buttons. A movement near her ankles her drew her attention. A silver device moved toward her, a long, slender oval, like a fat cigar, moving upward between her knees. She tried to close her legs, but the straps held her firm. In fact, she realized that she couldn’t move her lower body at all. Panic roared within her. Her wrists strained against the straps as she tried to kick her legs, but nothing happened.
The device continued moving higher, now between her thighs. She sucked in deep breaths as it came closer, zeroing in on her womanhood, and her breath caught as the cold, hard metal nudged against her.
Her vision blurred and she felt faint.
Oh, God ... Oh, God ... Oh, God.
Was it going to thrust inside her?
Thoughts spun wildly through her head, but the device stopped when it firmly pressed against her soft flesh, slightly parting the folds.
She released the air from her lungs, then drew in another breath. They were checking if she was a virgin, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t be very useful if the test itself broke her maidenhead.
Every muscle tensed, she waited for what would happen next. Her shallow breathing left her feeling light-headed. Suddenly, nausea rolled through her stomach as something -- or things -- seemed to crawl into her, like the legs of some giant spider. They crept up the walls of her vagina, then continued moving deep inside her, probably into her womb. She lay stiff and shaking as the things prodded her insides. She had never known a moment so long or filled with such dread as she now experienced. It seemed like hours as the tendrils swirled inside her. Then painfully, slowly, they withdrew. The cold device eased away from her.
Her head flopped back, her neck resting on another strap. At least that was over. The whirring began again, but this time, the rods drew her upright and folded her forward, her backside thrust behind her, her legs still held wide apart. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel a cold metal device brush against her buttocks, then settle firmly against her anus. It pushed forward a fraction more, opening her a little, and then the tendrils invaded her again. Tears prickled at her eyes as the device squirmed within her, fluttering against her insides, torturing her with an almost intangible touch. A few moments later, the tendrils slipped out, and the device drew away.
This time, the whirring rods returned her to a sitting position, but another device approached her face. When she tried to jerk away, she found she couldn’t move her shou
lders, neck, or head.
The device pushed between her lips, and the tendrils explored the inside of her mouth, then slid down her throat. She felt the need to gag, but her body did not obey. She felt sick at the invasion of her body, but she wondered if the butterflies in her stomach were nausea, or the legs of the device swirling inside her.
The tendrils withdrew, and Shena, once again able to move, immediately threw up all over the sterile-looking white floor. Her captor didn’t even look up as the foul smell of her vomit filled the room. A small, round device on wheels, about a foot around and three inches high, scurried across the floor and disposed of the mess, leaving the floor gleaming white once again.
A few moments later, after tapping on his buttons and staring at his device, the man released the straps at her wrists and ankles. She immediately shoved her gown down to cover herself. He pulled her to her feet and led her back to the other room, then pushed her into a chair. A regular one this time, although not like the wooden ones Shena was used to.
Bahrd stared at her as if she might have found a way to cheat him; then he turned to the slavers. The original man who’d brought her and Bahrd to the wagon had left.
“Well? Where’s my money?”
“In good time.” The blond man wrapped a thin, black cord around her wrist. “We must take her statement next.”
“Her statement? And why do ye think she’ll tell the truth?”
“Because this device will tell us if she’s lying.” The blond slaver turned to Shena. “Have you ever had vaginal intercourse with a man?”
She dropped her gaze and shook her head.
“I need you to answer me out loud. Have you ever had vaginal intercourse with a man?”
“No.” The word barely came out audible from her tense, dry throat.
“Have you ever had anal intercourse with a man?”
“He’s askin’ if a man ever stuck his dick up yer ass,” Bahrd leered.
Her already flaming cheeks flared hotter. “N-no.”
Good God, why would they ask such a thing?
“Have you ever had oral intercourse with a man?”
Her eyes widened, and she locked gazes with the indifferent gray eyes of her interrogator for a split second before shifting to stare at her hands. “No.”
“Why don’t you try that answer again?” Blond Hair said, voice matter-of-fact.
“He’s askin’ if you ever sucked a man’s prick,” Bahrd interjected. He leaned forward, his mud-brown gaze intense. “Have you?”
She remembered the feel of Keern’s rigid cock in her mouth, the way she had lovingly stroked it with her tongue.
“I ... But that’s not sex. I’m still a virgin.”
Bahrd’s hawk-eyes locked on her with keen interest.
“Yes or no,” Blond Hair asked.
She nodded.
“I need you to --”
“Yes,” she said out loud.
“With how many men?”
Her hands clenched around the arms of the chair. “One.”
“How many times?”
“Once. Only once.”
“So? What does this mean?” Bahrd demanded.
“Technically, it means she’s a level-two-B virgin.”
“What’s that?”
“Level-three means all three orifices are virgin. Two means two are; one means only one. Level-two-B means only the mouth is not virgin, and level-two-A means the anus.”
Bahrd lurched to his feet and started unbuckling his pants as he moved toward Shena. He pulled his dangling prick out of his pants and pushed it at Shena’s mouth.
Shena cringed in revulsion.
Dark Hair grabbed Bahrd’s arms before he could push it against her lips.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Well, I ain’t been paid yet, and since she sucked cock before, I’m aimin’ to get my share before she’s sold.”
“Not a wise business move.”
“Eh?”
“I said she is technically a level-two-B,” Blond Hair explained. “In cases like this, we have some leeway. Given only one incident, we don’t have to disclose that information and can sell her as a full virgin.”
Bahrd lurched forward again.
“If one’s okay, two won’t make a difference.”
Blond Hair shoved Bahrd back into his chair.
“When buying a virgin, our patrons desire a woman who is naïve in the ways of sex,” Blond Hair said. “Two times can very well make a difference, but more importantly, it will put us outside our regulated tolerance level. We have a clear understanding with Mr. Wakefield. He is entitled to the full amount for this virgin. If you wish to have her perform oral sex on you, you will be required to pay the difference.”
He eyed Shena. “How much?”
Shena knew he’d be reluctant to admit that her father was dead. They’d probably buy her anyway, but the weight of her father’s status behind the deal gave him a better bargaining position.
“One thousand local credits.”
“A thousand?” His fists clenched. “No woman is worth that.”
Shena gulped a sigh of relief as he shoved his limp member away and zipped up.
“Look, you’re not leaving for a few days,” Bahrd continued. “How ’bout I bring back a few friends, maybe twenty or so. We’ll split the thou’. A lot of ’em would love to fuck her face. Fifty each wouldn’t be so bad.”
Shena shuddered at the thought, her already queasy stomach lurching.
“Out of the question,” Dark Hair responded. “If you paid the thousand and used her, she would then be officially classified as level-two-B, and we’d make her available in the brothel while we’re here. In that case, we would keep the thousand plus the fifty per man.”
Shena shuddered again. Her father had told her the slavers often put their slaves into the local brothels. A big attraction was the night they made the locally purchased slaves available. The men seemed to love the opportunity to be with women they knew and couldn’t have had before.
Bahrd’s expression turned sour. “Fine. Just give me the money.”
Several moments later, with the exchange of money and a bill of sale declaring payment for a full virgin, Bahrd was on his way.
Shena glanced around, wondering what would come next. She didn’t have long to wait. Dark Hair grasped her arm at the wrist and elbow, and before she had a chance to pull away, Blond Hair pressed a metal rod against her skin. Searing pain and the smell of burning flesh assaulted her at the same time. She cried out, tears prickling at her eyes. When he removed the rod, she saw a circle about an inch in diameter burned into the tender white flesh about three inches from her wrist. A single line radiated from the centre of the circle to the edge.
Dark Hair exclaimed in some foreign language, then yelled at Blond Hair. He disappeared into the other room and returned a moment later, holding a metal device. When he brought it near her, Shena cringed, but Blond Hair held out her arm while the other held the device to the branded skin. Seconds later, the mark, along with the lingering pain, disappeared.
What an amazing healing device. But why in the world had they inflicted the brand on her, only to remove it? Blond Hair continued to hold her arm, and Dark Hair put the healing device down, then grabbed the rod again. He fiddled with a lever on the end of it, then pressed it into her flesh once again. She cried out, then whimpered as they branded her once again. This time the mark was a simple circle.
Dazed, she stared at the angry red skin as the men placed metal bands, connected by a chain, around her wrists. One of them led her out the door and around the back to a truck. She’d heard the word in reference to the self-powered vehicles the slavers, and some of the other rich merchants, used to transport goods from the spaceport to the market. Another transgression allowed to the wealthy off-worlders who could buy themselves past the law.
The door on the back of the truck creaked open, revealing twenty or more women packed inside, sitting along each
side of the truck or on the floor. Her captor pushed her inside and closed the door behind her. A little light entered the dismal space from a small window in the door. No one said a word. Shena continued to stand, uncomfortable with so many bodies so close.
About twenty minutes later, the door opened again and two more dazed women were pushed into the truck. The door closed behind them.
A rumbling started, and the vehicle lurched forward, slamming Shena against one of the newcomers, who hit the door with a thud. The floor bounced below them. Shena pressed her hand against the door and eased herself to the floor, as did the other two women.
About a half-hour later, the truck stopped and the door opened.
Four hooded slavers stood outside.
“Get out.”
Shena was glad of the breeze across her face as she pushed herself from the truck and the heavy closeness of the air inside.
The slaver ship lay about a hundred meters ahead. Big, flat, dull silver. The hull, which had always appeared smooth from a distance, was made up of all kinds of panels with handles and devices jutting out. The ships had always looked so tiny up in the sky, but this one seemed gigantic, with its yawning door and the darkness within.
The guards herded the women onto the ramp leading to the door. Shena’s knees almost buckled as she realized her father’s nightmare threat had finally become a reality.
She had been sold to the slavers.
The large hatch closed behind them, blocking out the setting sun and probably her last view of her world.
Shena and the others were led to a large open area just inside the ship’s entrance. One by one, their chains were removed, and they were left standing there for a long time. Finally, a tall, bearded man followed by two guards came and led them into a narrow corridor. After a few turns left and right, one of the guards opened a door to an empty room about fifteen feet square. The women plodded inside, glancing around. In the walls, there were niches about six feet long and two feet high. They were stacked six high, about twenty-four in all. Shena did a quick count of the women. Twenty-two including herself.
