Lord of Avalon

by J. W. McKenna

  Jenya nodded, waiting. She expected to be bred right away and the thought both terrified and fascinated her. Growing up in the slave pens, she’d seen the couplings between the house breeders and the hand-picked donors. It was all part of their education. The Merchants or Craftsmen brought in were often gentle, but Warriors were universally cruel and brutal.

  She’d never seen how a Damon made babies, but if she could believe the whispers of the other virgins, some were just as brutish as Warriors.

  “Jenya.” She startled at the sound of her name. “Are you thirsty?”

  She hesitated, then nodded, wondering if this was some sort of test. From a water bucket on the kitchen counter, he gave her a ladleful to drink. She was careful not to spill a drop. She’d heard that many masters were very strict about following their rules and she didn’t want to anger her new master.

  “More?”

  She nodded.

  Another ladle of water disappeared. Lord Rydah liked to watch her swallow, the way her throat moved in the soft light. He could imagine kissing that neck. He shook the image away. She was not his wife, merely a breeder. He might yet marry, if a Noblewoman with the right combination of status and means came along. It was socially acceptable to marry only within his station. And, it would be difficult to achieve a higher station, even if he chose to.

  Marriage, of course, would have no bearing on Jenya. She would continue to bear his children if he took a Noble wife. If his wife also had children, they would have a higher status than his slave-born children, although those distinctions tended to disappear with age. Some of the brightest, most successful Damon children came from breeders.

  It was possible for a breeder to achieve some social status, but it took many rynes. For example, Lord Fyrad, his father, had stayed with his breeder—Rydah’s mother—for thirty rynes, and by now she was accepted as if she were practically a Damon. She even donned clothes, although not many. She still wore her collar, of course. As long as she was careful not to trade on her borrowed status, she would maintain an unofficial “honorary” title that was not quite slave, yet not nearly Noble.

  Only Noblewomen were called Ladies. Fyrad had never found a suitable Noblewoman—or perhaps he found no one better than his slave, Saranya.

  Rydah realized Jenya had returned her gaze to the ground while he had been lost in his reverie. She stood with her feet slightly apart, as she had been trained, her hands clasped behind her back, the chain hanging between her beautiful young breasts.

  “Are you hungry?” Again, she hesitated. “Look, Jenya, you’re going to have to talk to me sometime. I promise I won’t beat you if you tell me you’re hungry.”

  Just the faintest wisp of a smile touched the corner of her mouth. “Y-yes, master.” Her voice was low-pitched and velvety smooth. He had to strain to hear her.

  “Good. I’ve got some fruit and a half-loaf of bread. Please fix us both something to eat.” He went to the far end of the living room and sat down at his desk. Too late, he realized he hadn’t chained her to the slave ring in the kitchen. He decided not to correct his mistake, to see how she might react. It would be good to know if his new purchase had thoughts of escape.

  As he bent to his task, he heard the girl rummaging through the kitchen, trying to find utensils and cups. He smiled in quiet relief. In a few lapars, she came to him, chain clanking, carrying a plate for him. She bent over and placed it on the desk, being careful not to get it near the priceless scrolls he was copying.

  He breathed in her scent: sweetness and musk. She straightened up and started to move away in her jingling gait he already was becoming accustomed to.

  “Wait,” he said.

  She froze.

  With a wave, Rydah drew her closer. Reaching up, he found the small lock that connected the chain to her narrow metal collar. He didn’t have the key—the slave pen representative would bring it when he came with the branding equipment. The sellers did not encourage new buyers to trust their slaves too soon, so they didn’t provide the key right away. If they did, there might be many more runaway slaves to capture.

  Rydah sighed. “I can’t very well have this chain in your way all the time, now can I?”

  Jenya was startled. She’d heard from the other virgins that new owners liked nothing more than to chain up new breeders and have sex with them several times a sun. The worst situation was for a breeder to be brought into a family where the master already had grown sons. Then they’d all take turns at her, and the master would accept the babies that were produced no matter who the father might be. They could nearly wear a breeder out.

  Yet her new master seemed worried about her chain. It certainly didn’t bother her—she’d been chained in one way or another since she was ten and had moved into the virgin slave quarters with the other girls.

  To be unchained—well, it would be like being undressed. She might be naked, yes, but the chain somehow gave her dignity. To explain that to someone who had never worn a chain would be impossible, she knew.

  Jenya took a step back, confused.

  Lord Rydah, sensing he’d said something wrong, decided not to talk about removing it. “How about we wrap it around your waist like this, okay?” He used the small hook at the end to fasten it in a loop around her waist. The girl looked relieved.

  Odd, he thought.

  He knew he had much to learn from his breeder. Jenya bowed and moved away. Sighing, Rydah returned to his work.

  Jenya stood in the living room, watching her new master. He wasn’t at all what she had expected. He seemed in no hurry to make babies with her. She admired the way his work seemed so important to him. That he wasn’t a rich Damon meant little to her. Later, it might grate. Right now, she was happy to be owned by a member of the ruling caste.

  Her job was to have his babies, as many as he demanded—or could afford. From the looks of his surroundings, one might be all she’d be having.

  Jenya felt her nipples harden as she thought about Lord Rydah making love to her. Well, hardly love, more like a mechanical pumping to lodge a baby within her. She had been trained not to become too emotionally involved, but how could she not? The whispered conversations among the virgins about love were far more interesting than the dull lectures on duty and obligation that the mistresses subjected them to.

  The other virgins told her that some masters actually fell in love with their slaves. Could it be possible? Was Lord Rydah capable of such emotion?

  Watching him hunched over this books, Jenya decided, no, he probably wasn’t. With her luck, he’d be a cold fish that only purchased a breeder out of familial obligation.

  Her nipples shriveled. She stood, legs slightly apart, arms behind her, and waited, like a dutiful slave should.

  Chapter Two

  As Jenya waited for her master’s orders, she allowed her mind to drift back to the first time she had ever seen him. She had doubted he had been interested in her at all. He was among a dozen Damon who had come out to examine the newest crop of virgins.

  She was just ten rynes old. It was her first Selection…

  Being naked in front of these strange men did not embarrass her or the other girls. They had been taught at an early age that clothes were not necessary for breeders. When older, they would have to be accessible to their masters at all times.

  They were all very proud to have been selected for the Damon caste. Other, less desirable girls had been sorted out into lower castes by the pen owner. The most wretched of those would be bred to Warriors or Laborers. Jenya shuddered at the thought of their fate.

  She walked into Selection with forty of the girls, all ages ten to thirteen, their thin chains clinking noisily. The older girls were nervous, for they hadn’t been selected yet. If a breeder hadn’t been chosen by a Damon by the time she was fourteen, she’d be considered rejected, and either sent down to the lower castes or shipped off to another region where she might have a second chance at a Damon lifestyle.

  Jenya knew she was small for her
age, with undeveloped breasts and no growth between her legs. Lord Syminton had hesitated putting her up for Selection—there would have been no shame in holding her back a few months until she grew. But he had made the decision just this morning, seeing something in her that might attract a sharp-eyed Damon. Syminton had been in this business for many rynes, and he could spot a beauty in the making. He told Jenya he suspected she had those characteristics.

  So Jenya had been included in the group that marched out proudly, looking down as they had been taught, but glancing up surreptitiously to see the type of men who might breed them in a few rynes.

  By high lord law, no breeder could be touched until she had turned eighteen, but that left a lot of room for study, training, selection and preparation. Already, Jenya’s arm itched with the small “V” that had been branded into her upper left arm just last dal, the mark certifying to all she remained a virgin—and would until she was delivered to her new master. It was part of the Syminton guarantee.

  Jenya glanced up and tried to memorize the faces around her. She had seen many fine cloaks as she walked the circuit. But the faces were hard to discern during her brief peeks. Some were stern and foreboding, while others seemed open and friendly.

  She and the girls were in a shallow round pit, about two capeks below the level of the Damons who stood in a large circle around them. This served two purposes, her teachers had told them. First, it established in the girls’ minds that they were the underclass. In the slave pens, they knew they were the most desirable breeders and that feeling naturally went to their heads. By placing them below the level of their future owners, it brought home to them their true position. Second, it allowed the Damons an excellent vantage point to see them, while not actually being close enough to touch them. Touching them was prohibited, although some Damon tended to think they were above such laws. But this way, only by jumping down into the pit could they approach them and strict social customs would prevent anyone from attempting it.

  “Slaves, you may look up,” Syminton intoned and as one, forty faces, including her own, tipped up toward the men. Immediately, they each broke into big smiles designed to attract a rich Damon.

  By some chance, Jenya was standing right below the man she would come to know as Lord Rydah when she heard the command and found herself looking right into his piercing brown eyes. She blushed and glanced down again, fearful she might annoy him somehow. The lord’s expression did not change, so she risked another look as the slaves began walking their circuit again.. She turned her head over her shoulder to catch his eye again.

  * * * * *

  Lord Rydah, still bent over this scrolls, rubbed his eyes and cast a glance back at Jenya. She was standing still, her eyes closed, swaying slightly on her feet. She looked so inviting.

  For eight long rynes, he’d been waiting. He remembered the sun he first saw her like it was just a dal ago. She had been with many other girls, but when she looked up and smiled, it was as if she suddenly had been the only one in the pen.

  Seeing this young girl, so shy and yet so curious, touched him. His eyes roamed over the other girls, but kept coming back to this small, fair-haired girl. His mind gave conflicting point-counterpoints as he studied her. She hardly seemed the breeder type. Her legs were rather thin, although her hipbones seemed adequately wide. She had no breasts for nursing, although she was quite young yet. And she seemed to be intelligent, although it could be just the way she smiled at him.

  He looked around at the other lords and saw them pointing out girls for closer inspection, yet none chose the little blonde. They seemed to prefer the ones with fuller hips, more developed breasts and a slightly saucy gait or flirtatious look. Oh, these older breeders knew all the tricks!

  But not this girl. He thought maybe she had been paraded out too soon. She seemed unsure of herself, as if puberty was too far away to give her a hint of what she might become. He started to select another girl for a one-on-one examination, an older girl who had nice wide hips and budding breasts that promised to be well-able to nourish a Damon child, but he couldn’t bring himself to point.

  His eyes roamed over the circling line of girls, coming back again and again to the girl he would come to know as Jenya. He knew that only if he selected her for Inspection would he learn more about her. Inspecting her didn’t mean she was “the one”. Many Damons carefully studied many girls before selecting their breeder.

  Rydah realized that he was reluctant to choose her because of what the other lords might think. Perhaps they’d surmise that he chose this thin one because he preferred boys, or because he couldn’t afford a full-figured breeder.

  He laughed at himself when it became clear that this girl was the one that most interested him, and he was only rejecting her because of his shaky social standing. Here he was, surrounded by Damons of much higher social order, and he was deferring to them without even being aware of it. Though he swore such things did not matter to him, here was evidence that they did.

  He shook off his embarrassment and caught the elder Syminton’s eye. “That one,” he said, pointing to the thin blonde. “I’d like to hold her for Inspection.”

  He purposefully did not look at the other Damons, though he could feel their stares.

  Chapter Three

  Lord Rydah came out of his daydream and was surprised to see the light fading outside. He rubbed his eyes. Just a few more pages and he’d be finished. He scratched a match and lit the two candles on his desk, then returned to his task. His eyes swam in and out of focus.

  Rydah checked his timepiece—the courier would be by in less than an hura.

  He turned, suddenly aware that he’d been ignoring Jenya for a while now. She stood impassively in the living room, her chain still hooked around her waist. For just a moment, he admired her body again. He longed to take her into his arms and slide his hard cock deep within her. He could imagine her warm wetness, her rapid breathing, her small arms encircling him.

  He found himself breathing shallowly in anticipation. “Jenya,” he said.

  She opened her eyes, startled.

  “Come here.”

  She came to him quickly in her jingling stride. He directed her to stand next to his desk. “I’ve got just a few more pages to do. I know I’ve been ignoring you. But I have to finish this work tonight. It would help encourage me to work quickly if you would stand here by my side. I want to feel your presence.”

  She nodded and stepped close. Rydah inhaled her scent again. Her hair smelled like fresh rain. Her skin had a natural, sweet perfume. He closed his eyes and drank in the delicious odors.

  His cock grew hard. He glanced over to see her firm young breasts at eye level. His eyes drifted down to the downy fur at the triangle of her legs and the hint of the pleasures below. “Spread your legs apart,” he ordered. She obeyed instantly.

  In spite of his efforts to finish his task, he allowed his hand to reach out and flick the bell, causing it to bounce against her clit. He noticed the muscles of her upper thighs twitched in response. He watched, fascinated, as her labia parted and swelled. Her clit peeked a shy greeting from behind its hood.

  That was a stupid idea, he told himself. I’ll never be able to finish my work now. All I want to do is breed her.

  Jenya was no fool. She could see the impact she had on her lord. She resisted a smile. The man was human after all. She could see the bulge in his breeches. Jenya felt a sense of pride and power for the first time.

  Now she knew why the bell had been such an important adornment to her body. She could remember dreading the moment her clit-hood would be pierced, yet knew she would not be presentable to her lord until it was done, so she had gone to the clinic with determination…

  The other girls had told her that it hurt, yes, but only for short time. The way they held themselves with self-assurance and satisfaction made Jenya wonder if they suddenly thought of themselves as holy.

  Lady Margeld, the Noblewoman of Lord Syminton, escorted her, naked, down
the corridors until they reached the right cubicle where the two nurses awaited. “This won’t hurt much,” she assured Jenya. “You know why we do this, don’t you?”

  “To stimulate my reproductive organs so that I might be more receptive to my master,” Jenya said by rote.

  “Yes, but do you know exactly what that means?”

  Jenya grew embarrassed. “Um, it’s to rub against my clitoris and make me want to breed all the time.”

  Margeld’s face broke into a broad smile. “That’s right! All the Damon breeders have them. You want to be ready for your master at all times. Only then will you be a successful breeder. Now, I’ll leave you to the nurses.” She turned and left the room, leaving Jenya at their mercy.

  A nurse with a hooked nose directed Jenya to sit up on the padded bench that was raised at one end. She fastened her legs with straps to both sides, pulling her thighs far apart.

  “Here, drink this,” the second nurse said, thrusting a cup into her hands. Jenya looked at it questioningly until she responded. “Don’t worry, it’s just something to relax you, so it won’t hurt.” She gave her a kindly smile. “I’m Agthar, this is Tumira.” She pointed at the hooked-nosed woman.

  Jenya swallowed the contents of the cup gratefully. The liquid burned going down and brought tears to her eyes.

  Agthar made her lay back on the slanted table until she was resting comfortably.

  Tumira immediately dove between her legs and began pinching the fold of flesh above her clit. Jenya, though not embarrassed, felt uneasy at the familiarity the nurse showed with her virgin parts.

  “Right here,” the nurse said softly, more to herself than to Jenya.

  Agthar tried to distract Jenya by holding out the tiny bell that would soon be permanently attached to her. “Isn’t it lovely?”

  Jenya, reaching out to touch it with her fingertips, had to admit it was. The bell was no more than a calabon in length—maybe even a little shorter. The delicate jewelry was hand-crafted in mindira, the rare, yellow-white metal mined in the Pincarn region. A narrow ring made with a sturdier mindira alloy allowed the bell to swing freely. Jenya held it up and listened to its soft but clear tinkle.