Lord of Avalon

by J. W. McKenna

  He straddled her. Her eyes flitted from his face to his hard cock. He knew she was scared. He heard her chain rattle and her bell jingle as she shook.

  She spoke suddenly. “D-do you want to chain me, master?”

  Her question startled him. He knew breeders remained chained in the pens so they would be used to constraints—many Damon thrilled at having a woman chained up, ready for them, helpless. It furthered their total subjugation.

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Very well, m’lord.” She lay back. He saw her trembling. She reached down and flipped the tiny bell up out of the way. The jingle seemed loud in the sudden silence of the room.

  He tried to make her feel more at ease. “This it not supposed to hurt.” However, he worried that taking her virginity might indeed hurt. Should he go fast or slow here? He didn’t know.

  After all, he was a virgin too. Not that he would ever share that news with a mere slave!

  Rydah placed the tip of his cock at her entrance. Her wetness quickly coated the mushroom head. That pleased him. She had been well trained. Buying from the best had such advantages.

  He pressed in slowly. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened slightly. The more he pressed, the wider her mouth opened, he noticed. He pulled back and nearly smiled when her mouth narrowed. In, open; out, closed.

  Her fluids had lubricated her passage completely. She was ready.

  He pushed in one more time, right up to the thin wall of her virginity, satisfying himself that she was, indeed, intact as promised. Then he pulled back and plunged deep into her. Her eyes opened fully and she gasped. He saw the beginnings of tears.

  He barely moved, just enough to press the shaft of his cock against her clit. She felt hot and wet and tight around his cock. He loved this sensation—and the power he felt over his slave. No wonder Damons brag about their breeders!

  Rydah rocked against her, relishing the stimulation in his erect member. Her tiny bell was muffled by the press of their flesh together. A new expression came over Jenya. Her mouth fell open again. She began to rock with him. He felt her hips move under his.

  She was beginning to enjoy this!

  Her pleasure drove him onward. Rydah pumped faster, letting his cock dictate his need. Jenya’s eyes fluttered closed, and she started to make noises in her throat.

  “Oh, oh, oh.” Then, “Oh Rand, oh Rand.”

  Jenya had never imagined it would be like this! The pain quickly faded, replaced by a feeling that spread throughout her body. Without thinking, she reached around and grasped the roundness of his ass and pulled him to her. When she realized what she was doing, she let go as if her hands had been burned.

  Rydah wanted to tell her to continue, but thought maybe it wouldn’t be Damon-like. He wanted to lose himself in this girl, yet he felt he must keep a certain distance.

  They rocked back and forth, trying to learn each other’s rhythms. Rydah allowed himself to be swept away by the sensations. The hardness of his cock, the tightness of her breeding passage, the wet sounds of their lovemaking.

  No—breeding, right?

  He looked down at Jenya and caught her looking right back at him before she lowered her eyes demurely. He wanted to tell her it was all right, but he said nothing. He watched as a rivulet of sweat coursed down her neck to pool in the hollow of her collarbone.

  She’s so beautiful and now she’s mine, he thought. Mine. He thrust harder into her. Her lips parted. He wanted to kiss them, but didn’t.

  Rydah, who had been waiting for this sun for many rynes, felt the moment approach. His seed rose up in him. Drops of sweat flung down onto Jenya’s naked body. He closed his eyes and felt his cock throb. He sensed she was nearing the peak of her pleasure as well. With a sudden roar, he pushed hard into her, his ball-sack slapping the apex of her legs. He released his precious seed into her and she grabbed him hard by the shoulders, wrapping her legs around him. The chain rattled as she shook with desire.

  “Oh, Master! Master!” she cried out. Her hips continued to twitch for several seconds as their pleasure ebbed. Finally, Rydah pulled free, breathing hard.

  “You are now a true breeder. Congratulations,” he said awkwardly.

  She stared at him, then looked away. Inside, her emotions were in turmoil. The breeding had been everything she had been taught, yet her master seemed a little distant, even cold. She hoped she had performed adequately—she had even achieved an orgasm. Wasn’t that all right? Perhaps she should try harder next time.

  Rydah rolled over and immediately went to sleep. He had forgotten to chain her. It didn’t matter—Jenya had absolutely no desire to run. Despite his aloofness, she believed this man had the potential to be a good master, she decided. Then sleep overtook her and she drifted off, a contented smile on her face.

  Chapter Five

  Jenya awoke first and was delighted to see her master snoring peacefully next to her. This was unheard of! To share the master’s bed the first night!

  She knew she would be relegated to the downstairs as soon as he bought the cot, but she enjoyed her temporary high status nonetheless.

  Slipping out of the bedcovers, she padded downstairs, holding one hand on her chain and the fingers of her other hand to her bell to keep them both quiet.

  Her breeding passage felt strange. It leaked fluids, which made her want to press her thighs together. She looked down between her legs and made a face at the sticky fluids, tinged with blood. She went outside to relieve herself in the privy. Later, as she washed up, it occurred to her that she had not been chained at all since she arrived.

  He trusts me already?

  The feeling gave her a warm glow. She had no desire to run from this lord. Besides, when she had been twelve, she had seen what happened when a breeder ran away.

  She remembered the girl clearly. Glynda had been brought back after running away from a second-tier Damon. Before they punished her, they allowed her to stay a sun with the other girls, so she could tell her story and they could judge for themselves the folly of running—slaves had to learn to accept their fates and make the most of their roles.

  Glynda had been purchased by a second-tier Damon who had recently lost his breeder in childbirth. He needed someone to take over caring for the baby…

  “The baby was an ugly little brat,” she said, tearfully, as she awaited word on her punishment. “It cried all the time. I had no milk, so every sun, I had to milk goats to feed it. My master wanted me to care for the baby, keep the house clean, fix all his meals—and be ready for him whenever he wanted to breed, which was often!”

  Tears ran down her cheeks. “I tried to keep up. I really did! I’d be in the middle of cleaning or feeding the baby, and he’d be right there, demanding his rights to my pussy! I did everything he asked, but within two moons, I was so tired I could barely stand up.”

  “He grew angry at my exhaustion, so he’d beat me. I’d be crying, the baby would be crying and he’d be standing there with his crop in one hand and his big cock in the other, ready to breed with me again as soon as he finished beating me!”

  The girls clucked in sympathy. Jenya thought Glynda sounded a little spoiled, but she made no comment. She wondered if her lord would want to mate all the time. The thought made her nerves spark.

  “Finally, I just snapped. He went out for the sun and left me unchained—usually he had me on a long chain so I could tend the baby. I took the baby to a neighbor’s house and left it with the slave there, telling her I had to run to the market. Then I ran away. I hoped I could reach Zandir, but I was picked up within a dal.”

  The girls murmured and told her how unfortunate she had been. Jenya could see a few cast looks at Glynda that indicated they too thought she had given up too soon. The baby, according to her, was almost a ryne old, and would soon be walking and talking. Just a few more moons and the baby might become a delightful little child. And Glynda would have grown heavy with child herself, so the toddler would have a playmate eventually.

  Ins
tead, she was back in the pens, a failure at age nineteen, ready to be sent down the castes to be mated with a Merchant or worse.

  Lady Margeld came for her later, leading her out by her chain, not saying a single word to her. She had a look of disappointment on her face that Jenya had never seen before. Glynda’s failure was Syminton’s failure, Jenya supposed.

  A hura later, they gathered the girls into the boxes overlooking the breeding pens. It was a tight fit, as all forty young virgins were present.

  Below, the punishment pole had been erected in the empty room. Glynda was facing the pole, with her hands tied above her head and her ankles fastened to the bottom. The girls could hear her whimpering already.

  Syminton’s son Mirdar had come in carrying the large lash. He walked all the way around the pole, swishing it and seeing the effect it had on her.

  Mirdar spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Glynda, you are guilty of running away from your master, a master who selected you at age twelve and paid for you over a period of six rynes. Yet just two moons after delivery, you ran away. You have brought shame on the house of Syminton & Son.”

  Glynda’s shoulders shook.

  “For your punishment, you will receive fifteen strokes of the lash. After you recover, you will become a house breeder for the Laborer caste.”

  There was an audible gasp from the girls. Laborers! Only being named a Warrior breeder could have been worse!

  Glynda began to sob. Jenya doubted she even felt the first stroke, so devastating was her demotion. She was sure if Glynda could have another chance, she’d endure her life at the Damon’s house with a lot more grace. But it was too late. The lawyer had already chosen another breeder, as was his privilege. Syminton guaranteed their breeding slaves.

  Glynda cried out as the second blow fell. Jenya could see thin lines of blood in the welts that were left on her skin. She knew from her lessons that the wounds were not deep, but might leave scarring. Not that it mattered. Laborer breeders didn’t have to look pretty.

  For several long lapars, the blows fell. Glynda passed out near the end and simply hung from her arms, her knees bent on both sides of the pole as the final two strikes marked her. Mirdar got a bucket from the corner and splashed water on her, causing Glynda to come to and gasp in pain and shock.

  She was left there while the girls filed out silently, their pale faces reflecting the brutality of the beating. Each of them vowed never to run away, no matter how bad it got.

  The punishment had had the desired effect.

  Jenya had seen Glynda only once after that. It was nearly a ryne later when she was returning from her exercises outside their living quarters. She spotted Glynda getting some sun, her belly swollen with the seed of a Laborer. She looked miserable. Jenya, out of deference to her, did not acknowledge her presence.

  Jenya shuddered at the memory and hurried into the kitchen. She looked over her new master’s meager larder. Only a hard crust of bread and some cheese remained. Sighing, she fixed a meal for her master, then started up the stairs to the loft.

  She hesitated. Would it be better to stay downstairs and not to assume that she would be allowed upstairs except for breedings? Would he grow angry at seeing her? It was hard to know! She decided to risk it—he might enjoy having breakfast brought to him.

  Jenya sat on her heels by his bed for another twenty lapars until her lord awakened. When he saw her, he smiled, lightening her heart considerably.

  “Thank you, slave.” He took the bread, covered in cheese and took a bite. “I don’t have any renda left, do I? It helps me wake up.”

  “No, master, I didn’t see any. Perhaps I should look again?” She half rose.

  “No, no. I think I used the last of it two suns ago. We need to go to the market.”

  Jenya was secretly pleased to hear that. Not only would they get some much-needed supplies, but she could be shown off as the slave of a Damon! The other slaves, owned by mere Craftsmen and Merchants, would be so jealous!

  After he ate, he took Jenya outside with him while he visited the privy. When he used it, he shut the door, of course. She waited patiently nearby, eager to prove herself worthy of his trust.

  “Come,” he said, as he washed up in the small fountain. “We must go to the market while the best produce is available.”

  He took the end of her chain and fastened it to his belt. There was a small loop there that he could hook the chain to. Some used padlocks, but Lord Rydah didn’t sense that Jenya wanted to escape. She seemed happy to be here with him.

  He led the way, Jenya behind to carry his baskets. He looked proudly about as they approached the market, catching the envious glances of other Damons as he led his beautiful new slave. Some of them, he remembered, had urged him to sell her contract and make a small profit. Now he saw envy in their eyes and it thrilled him.

  Jenya, padding along behind, felt similar pride. She altered her gait so the tiny bell between her legs would jingle as loudly as possible, though it was still barely audible. When it bounced against her clit, the rim stimulated her, causing her fluids to seep out along her slit.

  Along the way, she recognized a few breeders who had been sold before her. One in particular, Lyrda, had always acted so superior to Jenya. She had convinced herself that only the most powerful Damon would buy her.

  Yet when Lyrda’s fourteenth birthday approached and she began to face the very real possibility she might not be selected, the haughty girl lost much of her arrogance.

  Jenya had grown tired of Lyrda’s putdowns, which didn’t make any sense because Jenya had been selected, not Lyrda. If anything, it should be she who looked down on Lyrda. But that was not Jenya’s style…

  During the last six months of her stay in the Damon slave quarters, Lyrda began to get desperate. She was put up for Selection three more times before the end, and each time, the other girls told Jenya that she had flirted shamelessly with the Damon buyers.

  Syminton did not punish her, for he knew she was worried. As she should be. Everyone could see the flaws that the Damons saw but had hoped they might be overlooked. She was pretty enough. Her biggest problem was her rather narrow hips. She might not have any problems in birth, but many Damons did not want to take the risk. They liked the wide-hipped girls with the sturdy legs, like Jenya. True breeders.

  A month before her fourteenth birthday, Lyrda came to Jenya to ask if there was something she should be doing differently. Jenya didn’t know what to say. After rynes of acting superior, now she came for advice?

  “I don’t know,” she said softly, trying not to hurt the girl’s feelings. What could she say—make your hips wider? “You have one more Display, I think you’ll be selected.”

  The sun of her final Selection, Lyrda was beside herself. She bathed carefully and used too much perfume. She brushed her hair until Jenya was worried it would be pulled from her scalp. She even took the drastic step of shaving the hair between her legs, in an effort to appear younger and more desirable to the Damons.

  Nothing worked. When she came back from the Selection, unselected yet again, her despair was total. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. No one dared approach her. She had become a pariah, as if by speaking to her, her bad luck might rub off on another.

  Jenya felt sorry for Lyrda, despite the girl’s former arrogance. When Syminton called her into his office, she went with shoulders slumped, totally defeated. She returned less than a hura later, in a black mood. Whispers soon followed: “Lyrda’s demoted to the Craftsman caste. She goes up for auction in a month.”

  In retrospect, Jenya thought she got off easy. Craftsmen had talent and value, even if they weren’t rulers. Lyrda could have become a house breeder or been sent to the hill regions, where Damons weren’t as fussy, but living conditions were much harsher.

  If Jenya hadn’t been selected by a Damon, she could have found honor in bearing the children of a Craftsman, she believed. Still, she mused as she fingered the number etched into the skin of her upper
bottom, I am one lucky girl.

  Jenya smiled at Lyrda as she walked by and secretly delighted in the downward cast of the young slave’s head as her eyes evaded hers. The deference was demanded by her lower caste.

  * * * * *

  At the market, Lord Rydah seemed as if he wanted a little of everything. He placed fruits and bread and meat in her baskets, a gabon of freshly ground renda, then followed with pastas and vegetables. Within a hura, she was loaded down with goods.

  He must have some money, she decided. How else could he afford all this and a slave too? For a moment, her thoughts were tinged with jealousy as she contemplated that he might purchase other slaves, casting her down in the hierarchy as newer, younger girls came into the household. It wasn’t something that the Ladies taught at the pens, but the girls knew it happened all too frequently.

  She determined that she would do everything possible to please her new master.

  Her next opportunity came a few lapars later, when they passed the breeding fence. She watched as Lord Rydah paused, taking in the sight of two slave girls who had been bent over the railing by their masters. Ostensibly, the fence had been erected for masters who needed to keep breeding their slaves and didn’t want to interrupt their marketing to take them home, but most people recognized it as a place for masters to show off.

  As Rydah stopped to watch, Jenya felt her loins contract, then expand. New fluid began to fill her slit and run down the insides of her legs. She watched as the two young slaves—hunched over the low, padded fence, the round globes of their asses held high—accepted their master’s cocks, their faces imbued with lust and pride, their little bells jangling mightily. Jenya stole a glimpse at master’s breeches and saw his cock stirring there. She ached to line up next to the other slaves, to take her master proudly as they did. She had to wait, however, for her lord to decide. Perhaps he was too reserved for such a public display. Unconsciously, she stamped one foot, causing her tiny bell to jingle anew.