Lord of Avalon

by J. W. McKenna

  Lord of Avalon

  J.W. McKenna

  Jenya is Lord Rydah's newly acquired slave. Having waited eight rynes for his breeder to be old enough to come to him, he finds her irresistible both in bed and out. Rydah's slave has learned everything there is to know about pleasing a man and meeting his sexual desires, but he will soon find out there is far more to her than that...more than he ever dared to dream.

  Lord of Avalon

  J.W. McKenna

  Prelude

  Houston, Texas, September 2035

  Jack Baxter was surprised to see his wife kneeling naked on the rug when he came home from a long day at NASA’s Houston headquarters. He rocked back on his heels, then quickly shut the door, afraid neighbors might catch a glimpse. He stared.

  “Your breeder awaits, m’lord,” Joyce said, fighting to keep the grin off her face.

  Jack paused, then blinked, taking in the sight of his dark-haired wife. She still looked good to him after six years of marriage. Beautiful face. Great smile. Terrific sense of humor. And now she’s greeting him naked. Naked! Her breasts were full and white, contrasted by the dark triangle of hair between her open legs. He felt his cock stir at the sight of her.

  Sudden realization hit him. He cocked his head to the side. “You’ve been reading my notes again, I see.”

  Joyce looked up and grinned. “Yes, um, master.”

  “All right.” He laughed and held up his hands. “Perhaps you can explain to me why the Avalonians turn you on so? It’s not exactly a progressive planet, you understand.”

  She stood and approached him, kissing him on the lips. “I know. It’s the raw sexuality of it. I mean, think of it—an entire planet where women are kept as ‘breeders’ for the ruling class!”

  “Not all the women,” he corrected, pulling her close to him with one arm, letting her feel the hardness of his cock. “There’s the Noblewomen…”

  “Oh, I know!,” she said, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. “Still, doesn’t that turn you on?”

  “Well, sure, but I’m a man. We’re Neanderthals, remember? We get excited by girls in beer commercials. What makes a feminist like you all hot and bothered by this research?”

  “It’s the secret fantasy of many women to be held and ravished by a handsome, powerful man,” she said, rubbing her nipples against his shirt. He could feel them like hot embers on his skin.

  He raised his eyebrows. At 5-10 and 190 pounds, he didn’t exactly fit the profile of a ravisher. Nevertheless, Joyce loved him, he was sure. “So I guess this is your subtle way of telling me you’d like to be ravished tonight?”

  She looked up and gave him a soft pout. “Oh, yes, there will be sex tonight, no doubt. I’m ovulating. But that’s not what this is about,” she said, indicating her nakedness.

  “So, then what?” Jack asked, puzzled. Like most men, he thought linearly—woman naked, woman want to get laid. Especially since they’ve been trying to start a family for months now.

  “The story. It’s time you told me.”

  “Ohhh, that.” He stared off into space. “But I haven’t written it yet.”

  “Jack, you’ve been gathering notes for months! Ever since that ship started sending back data! I know you’ve plenty of material for a book. I want to hear it.”

  Jack nodded. It was true. Ever since NASA’s first starship had reached the third planet around the star Cyrus eleven months ago, a treasure trove of information had come flooding back.

  The planet that NASA named Avalon had humanoid life! The world buzzed with the news. Probes were launched that helped scientists get a close-up view of the planet. From the probes, a picture of the humanoids’ rather unique civilization emerged: the natives of Avalon were reasonably advanced. They had a fully-developed language, art, transportation and a community structure that indicated the civilization had reached the equivalent of 17th century Earth.

  They operated under a strict caste system; the higher-ranking members ruled the society and lower-ranking members served those above them. Women could be equals, although those who weren’t considered Noblewomen or free members of the upper castes were kept as “breeders” to serve the rulers of the planet.

  Apparently, it had not always been so. U.S. scientists learned that the use of breeders had been instigated by high priests many years ago when inbreeding among the ruling class threatened the stability of their leadership. Too many offspring had been born demented, physically weak or with damaging genetic diseases. Without knowing for sure that inbreeding was the cause, the priests nevertheless managed to hit on a workable solution.

  Their ruling literally saved the higher castes and it elevated the priests to a much more powerful level than before. Priests became the top-ranked Damons, the de facto rulers of the planet, supplanting kings. The breeder program grew and developed until it was institutionalized through the creation of “slave pens” for young women.

  Jack had learned all this because it was his team that was responsible for transcribing the tapes of conversations, once the language had been deciphered. From them, he had developed a good overview of the society, but it lacked emotion and detail.

  That had bothered Jack. The public hungered for news about the planet and he didn’t think they were satisfied by the dry facts and statistics provided by NASA. So Jack began taking notes about the humanoids themselves: Who they were, what they ate, how they lived. From that, a story began to emerge—a story about a master and his slave. A story that clearly excited Joyce to no end.

  If she can get so turned on just by notes, he mused, maybe I’m onto something here. He grinned down at his wife. “Fetch me a martini, slave, and maybe I’ll tell you about it.”

  “Ohh. Yes, master!” She scurried off. He watched her ass appreciatively as she disappeared into the kitchen.

  He mock-swaggered around the room, stripping off his tie as he made his way to the couch. He sat down heavily and placed his feet on the coffee table. He resisted the urge to thump his chest.

  In the kitchen, Joyce mixed a couple of martinis as she thought about this mysterious planet. She’d read all the news stories, but it was Jack’s notes that had really had excited her. When she had read through his latest batch of notes earlier today, Joyce made up her mind to find out more about her husband’s book.

  She remembered a science fiction story she had read as a teenager that had given her a similar reaction. It had told about a planet where all the women were submissive to the men and acted as slaves to them. The women, though locked up or chained, were well-tended and well-loved, usually by very strong and virile men. She’d masturbated many a night after reading some of the more steamy passages.

  Now there really was such a world and Jack had the story locked up in his head. He’d been taking notes for months without writing a single page! She was determined to find out more. She wasn’t above using her body as an enticement.

  She grabbed her thigh-length silk robe that had been draped over a chair and slipped it on. Then she brought the martinis out to the living room. Jack’s face fell when he saw she had covered herself.

  “Hey, what happened to Slave Girl?”

  “Slave Girl will return if you behave yourself.” She handed him a cold martini. “First, you’ve got to tell me what you’re working on. I only get bits and pieces. You use terms I’ve never heard of: dal, ryne and capeks, for example.”

  “Ahh. Those are measurements the Avalonians use. A dal is about a week, a ryne a year, a capek is about a foot.”

  “Why don’t you just say so!”

  “Because they’re not exactly equivalent. I’m trying to be scientific—”

  Joyce shook her head. “I don’t care about that. I care about the sexy stuff. Like the relationship between this
Lord Ry-dah or whatever his name is, and his slave, Jenya. You have to tell me about them!”

  Jack nodded. Those names were real enough—taken right from the transcripts. In fact, that had started him thinking about a novel based on Avalonian culture. By taking bits and pieces from other transcripts and adding details about planet life, he’d begun developing a love story.

  It had surprised even him that he could ever imagine writing something like that. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t been able to actually start the book. Yet the story seemed to write itself in his head.

  “Okay,” he told his wife. “But you’re going to have to encourage me.”

  “What? Kneeling naked on the floor isn’t enough?”

  “Come here, sit on my lap.”

  Joyce didn’t need further encouragement. “Yes, master,” she breathed as she settled in, her martini rock-steady in her left hand. She took a delicate sip.

  Jack smiled, took a sip himself, then pulled aside her robe so a rosy nipple was exposed. It thrust out in arousal. He thumbed it with his free hand.

  “All right.” He leaned back, letting the story spill out of his imagination, sparked by the facts he had gathered over the last few months and fueled by the alcohol and his amorous woman. “This Lord Rydah, you see, was about to take possession of his new breeder…”

  Chapter One

  Lord Rydah couldn’t help but keep his ears pricked for the jangle of the slaves’ coffle. Such lines regularly passed by his window on their way to their deliveries to wealthier Damons. He’d often paused to watch, with growing longing, the line of young, naked women as they shuffled past, guarded by two or three old warriors.

  His envy would soon be put to rest. This very sun, the coffle would stop by his humble home. He had saved a portion of his salary as a scribe for many long rynes to purchase a young breeder named Jenya.

  Rydah, a third-tier Damon, lived in Blethryn, the third-largest city on the planet Avalon. The youngest of five children, had grown up as a quiet and studious boy. He secured a job as a scribe, a noble but obscure profession among the ruling Damons. His task, which he had been performing for eight rynes now, was to edit and copy the texts of the priests so their words could be sent to other cities. Blethryn was home to the Cabal, the priest overlords of the society.

  He bent to his task of editing the High Priests’ documents, tongue peeking out of the side of his mouth, a small smear of ink on his ear where he had brushed it with his free hand. His hair swept dark and full across his head in the traditional style of the Damons. Hair reflected the standing of its wearer: long or bushy for the Damons, medium for the Craftsmen, shorter still for the Merchants and cropped close for the Laborers and Warriors.

  Rydah reversed the bow of his back to ease his aching muscles. He’d really have to get a taller desk. His seemed to have been designed for a much shorter person. But that was a luxury to a man saving for a slave, so he’d put up with it. Now that his slave was paid for, he’d be able to afford some new furnishings. Among the first would be a cot for Jenya, he decided. It wouldn’t do to have his breeder huddled on the floor with the crawlies, would it?

  For another hura he worked, pausing only to stretch or wiggle the cramps from his fingers. Then, a faint sound drifted to his ears: the sing-song rhythm of chains in the distance, coming nearer. Lord Rydah smiled slightly to himself, then tried to pretend not to notice as the coffle arrived on his street.

  The jangle stopped suddenly. Rydah hunched over even farther, relishing this moment that he’d waited so long for. Another smile slipped across his angular face.

  There came three knocks on his door.

  Sliding his chair back, the young lord rose slowly and walked with exaggerated casualness toward the door, as if accepting a slave was a common occurrence in his house.

  Ho, hum, another slave—where shall I put this one?

  He opened the weathered panel and peered outside, his face composed, though his heart beat rapidly in his chest. A toothless old Warrior stood outside, his slave whip held loosely in his right hand. >From the looks of him, he’d been away from the battlefields for a long time. Herding slaves was probably all he could handle now.

  “Lor’ Ryda’?” the old man mumbled.

  Rydah nodded gravely, trying hard not to grin.

  “I’m deliverin’ you’ breeda, m’lord.” He gave a stiff bow.

  Rydah looked beyond the man to the slaves. He counted seven in line, each woman chained to the collar in front of her, their hands handcuffed together in front of them. He could see the sheen of sweat across their bodies, their naked breasts heaving with the exertion of their journey through the streets. By Rand, they were lovely! As they shuffled in place, the soft tinkle of their breeding bells sounded pleasant to his ears.

  Going down the row, the lord spotted Jenya second from the end. “Thank you, bring her in.”

  The man turned and unlocked Jenya’s collar chain from the women on both sides of her. The last woman in line was quickly rechained to the coffle. The guard led Jenya by her chain to the door, the little bell between her legs announcing her presence.

  “Wait,” Rydah commanded. He had noticed that Jenya’s feet and legs were covered with dust and mud from the streets. “She’s too dirty. Would you mind taking her out back and fastening her to the slave ring?”

  “A’ course, m’lord.” The old guard bowed again and moved away.

  Lord Rydah closed the door and smiled behind it. He’d wanted nothing more than to drag her in and start the breeding process immediately, but that was not befitting a lord.

  He would force himself to wait.

  Rydah returned to his desk and sat down. He worked for another hura before the twitching in his groin made him push back his chair and stand up.

  It was time.

  He strolled past the kitchen to the rear door leading to the courtyard, eager to see the young woman who would become the mother of his offspring. The long rynes of waiting fell away with each step. He opened the door and stepped out into the bright Cyrus sunshine.

  Jenya was standing quietly, facing the stone wall, a four-capek section of chain leading from her neck collar to the ring. Her eyes were downcast. Rydah saw that her wrist restraints had been removed. Nevertheless, she kept her hands loosely clasped in front of her as an obedient slave should.

  If she heard his approach, she gave no notice. She remained motionless except for the slight puckering of her nipples. Sweat dripped between her breasts.

  Lord Rydah paused to take in his new beauty. Some Damon could afford several breeders and have houses full of children. That he could only afford one made his purchase all the more sweet.

  Jenya was an exceptionally good-looking woman, with an oval face surrounded by golden-blond hair and a strong jaw. Her breasts were large, but not overly so. His eyes swept down the slender plane of her stomach to her wide hips, ideal for birthing. His eyes were drawn to the small bell that hung below the triangle of downy hair and announced her every movement. The bells were designed to bounce against the clitoris to stimulate the breeders so they would be ready for their masters’ cocks at any time. His gaze traveled lower, to her sturdy legs that could work many huras on her feet and easily support a child in her belly.

  He was glad that he had recognized her beauty early, so many rynes ago.

  Rydah reached out to touch her shoulder and felt her tremble. His eyes fell on the small “V” that had been branded onto the skin of her upper left arm. In a few suns, a representative from Syminton would come out to brand an upside-down “V” just below to make an “X,” indicating she was no longer a virgin and was, in fact, now the property of a Damon. Rydah turned her body slightly and observed the small six-digit number branded on the upper curve of her bell-shaped bottom.

  If she ever ran away, the brand would trace her back to him.

  But where would she go? Slaves only ran away when they were mistreated. The punishment for a runaway slave was not pleasant. Still, Syminton had
cautioned Rydah to keep her chained up for a while, until she could be proved trustworthy—or until her belly swelled with his child. That seemed to settle even the restless ones.

  He stepped closer and brought his hand up to her chin. She didn’t resist as he raised her face to his. Her blue eyes were wide and questioning—and a little fearful.

  For the first time, Jenya studied the face of her new master up close. She had seen him from afar, of course, as he stopped by to check on the growth of his slave. She had been afraid of him then. But now, standing before him, she saw something in his eyes that calmed her.

  “It’s all right. Don’t be afraid.” Rydah unlocked the chain from the ring, letting it hang down between her breasts, almost to the floor.

  “Would you like to use the privy?” he inquired.

  She nodded shyly, her eyes downcast.

  He pointed to the small structure and watched as she stepped inside. She left the door open, as she had been trained not to hide herself from her master’s eyes. He watched unabashed as she emptied her bladder in a noisy stream into the hole, her tiny bell jingling.

  He brought her to the small fountain and told her to pump water into the bucket. When it was half full, he indicated she should wash the dust and dirt off her body. He stepped back and admired the way she moved, the shine of her hair when wet, the shimmering curves that winked in the sun. When she was done, he stood nearby, studying her until the sun dried her skin.

  Rydah led her inside. She squinted in the dim light of the room, illuminated only by the bay window in front and a smaller window in the kitchen. If she disapproved of his humble home, she made no sign. The girl simply looked around, taking in the small kitchen, the living room that contained only a battered old couch and the desk. Her eyes traveled to the stairs, then away, as if she didn’t want to be caught looking somewhere she wasn’t supposed to.

  “That’s the loft,” Rydah said quickly. “It’s just my bed and clothes. You can sleep down here. I’ll go out tomorrow and buy you a cot. The couch, I’m afraid, isn’t too comfortable for sleeping.”