Rydah had just started to pull her away, then stopped to stare at her. Jenya knew she presented quite a sight: her nipples were hard, her face flushed, and her pussy swollen.
He couldn’t resist her. He nodded and tipped his head toward the fence. Jenya hurried over to take her place next to the other slaves, eager to prove herself. She bent over and gripped the handles on the other side. This position felt strange to her, the way her heavy breasts hung low, her soft white ass raised up to meet him. She looked back to see him free his cock from his pants.
For a moment, she felt a twinge of embarrassment at her position. She noticed several shoppers had paused to take in the scene. Jenya, bent over the fence as she was, knew they had a clear view of the intimate folds of her flesh, the wetness there, and her master’s cock poised at the entrance.
Time seemed to stop as she waited there. She heard her bell tinkle as she shook with sexual tension. Then she felt his cock at her entrance and she rolled her hips to meet him.
She gasped as he thrust hard at her, causing her bell to jingle loudly as it swung back and forth. Jenya gripped the fence tightly, fearful that he might break it, he was pushing so hard. The feeling was quite different from breeding in his bed—she could really feel his cock reach deep within her. There was a little pain, but she bore it stoically, proud to be on display.
She felt ever inch of his cock in her, moving back and forth. Because of the angle, her clitoris wasn’t being stimulated and she resisted the desire to touch herself. She was a slave, her feelings didn’t matter.
In just a few moments, Rydah released his seed. Jenya cried with joy as his essence filled her.
She waited, bent over, while her master held tight against her. The other two slave girls left, yet Rydah remained inside her. She knew this would better plant his seed within her and she thrilled at the spectacle they made. Finally, he pulled away and refastened his clothing.
Straightening up, Jenya turned to see Lyrda suddenly avert her eyes, embarrassed to be caught staring. The corner of Jenya’s mouth turned up as she followed her master out of the market, their mingled juices dripping down her legs. Her joy at being taken by her master in public was tempered by the wasted seed. She would have preferred to lie on her back until his seed had a chance to impregnate her.
* * * * *
Back home, she began sorting out the food, trying to find the best places for everything. She asked her master if he wanted her to put things in a certain order and he just waved his hand. “Put them wherever you want, Jenya—you’ll be making the meals.”
His words pleased her—her presence seemed welcomed. She knew some breeders had been sent back to the pens for various reasons and they endured great shame whenever it happened.
Jenya didn’t want Lord Rydah to reject her. She considered herself fortunate to have been selected by him. She carefully washed herself, for she knew masters wanted their slaves to be clean and sweet-smelling. Her breeding passage ached a little, a dull pain that she bore proudly. She was fulfilling her duty. She wanted to rub her clit to bring an end to the tension she felt, yet she did not. She would wait for her master’s touch.
They had an excellent meal that night. As part of her training, Jenya knew how to cook many delicious dishes, using whatever ingredients the master might prefer. Her lord had no unusual tastes, so it was easy for her to cook. She used the small oven outside, next to the fountain.
He complimented her on her dishes as she hovered nearby, ready to refill his wine or bring him more food. Slaves, of course, didn’t eat with their masters unless specifically invited. She would eat in the kitchen later, after he had been taken care of and the table cleared.
After dinner, he relaxed on the couch, his belly full. She sat at his feet, savoring his touch upon her arm and shoulder.
She wanted to feel his touch all over her body. She wanted to break through his cool exterior, to hear his praise of her behavior so far. She remembered last night, when he took her into his bed. She had been frightened, but he made her feel at ease. When he bred with her, it felt so right, no matter where they were. She couldn’t wait to do it again.
Did he feel the same way? What did he think of his new slave?
After another hura, Rydah rose and stretched. “It’s getting late, slave. Let’s go to bed.”
She stood and nodded, her head down. “I can make up a bed on the couch, if that pleases m’lord.” She waited breathlessly for his answer.
“I know I forgot to get a cot this sun. And this couch will hurt your back. Why don’t you sleep with me again tonight? I want to breed again, anyway.”
He said it so casually—he didn’t seem to notice the effect it had on Jenya. Her chest swelled with pride, and her pussy became damp. Her knees grew weak. “Y-yes, master.”
She followed him up the stairs, her chain jingling along with her nerves. Rydah stepped aside at the head of the stairs and Jenya took her cue. She slipped past him and lay on the bed.
Jenya felt more at ease this time as she spread herself for her master. When he lay between her legs, she sensed he was more comfortable as well. Their arms encircled each other, naturally, as if they had been breeding for many moons. She felt his hard cock on her stomach as he nuzzled her neck and brushed his fingers over her erect nipples.
Jenya, her knees raised, waited impatiently for her owner to fill her. After just one sun, she found she needed him inside her. Her training hadn’t prepared her for all the emotions she felt. They taught her how to accept her duty, how to serve her master, yes. But she longed for acceptance, for an emotional link between them. Certainly, Rydah was a decent man, a good Lord. He treated her well, so far. Yet her heart wanted more recognition, more feedback. Did it dare even ask for love?
Finally, he moved down to align his cock with her hot, wet pussy. It went in smoothly, as if it was meant to be there. She sucked in her breath and lay her head back on the pillow. Her hands rested gently on his biceps.
He began to thrust. Jenya marveled at his quiet power. She watched his face as he watched hers. Their eyes carried on an entire conversation. Hers told him how happy she was to be here and his eyes let her know he’d made the right choice, all those rynes ago.
Already, she was becoming used to the size of his cock, the way he thrust himself into her, that expectant expression on his face. She wanted his child badly. She hoped she would be a productive breeder for him. When he emptied himself into her, she cried with joy and release.
Chapter Six
Her master fell at once into a deep sleep. Jenya was too keyed up with emotions to slumber, yet she didn’t want to rise and risk awakening her lord. She stared at the ceiling in the dim light from the moon and let her mind drift back to the moment when she knew Rydah would be her master. It was during her very first Inspection…
Jenya stood with the other chosen girls, feeling like a baby compared to them. They had breasts! And hair “down there”! Still, she was proud. She had been chosen for Inspection! Out of forty girls, only eleven had been selected for this honor. Jenya couldn’t believe that a Damon had expressed interest in her on her very first time on Display.
She noticed that the other girls looked at her strangely, like they couldn’t believe it either. Especially the older ones, the thirteen-ryne-olds. They had gone on Selection many times, only to be rejected each time until this sun. Seeing her, a little wisp of a girl, chosen right away had to be what made their eyes burn with jealousy.
Jenya couldn’t help but stand a little taller. She wished she had breasts she could thrust out, like the others. She could only hope that the Damon would recognize her potential as a breeder.
She waited to be called.
One at a time, the girls were escorted into a private chamber to meet with the mysterious Damon who had selected them. It was hard for all of them not to get their hopes up. The Damons must’ve seen something in them, so it could very well lead to purchase. Of course, they knew that many girls who had been chosen for thi
s honor ended up disappointed when the lord found some flaw, some reason not to put down a deposit.
If they were not purchased, the girls would be returned to the slave pens, fearful that no one would ever want them and they’d end up in the general breeding pool.
Jenya watched as Lepnal, a pretty twelve-ryne-old, was summoned. Syminton or one of his close associates always accompanied the slave into the private chambers to ensure nothing happened to his property. Jenya knew they would stand guard while the hands-off Inspection was performed, answering questions about the girl. Lepnal almost bounced from her spot in line to follow behind Mirdar, Syminton’s son. Then they disappeared into a room.
Lapars later, Jenya was summoned by Syminton himself. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the girls behind her as she fell in line behind the lord and couldn’t resist wiggling her hips a little as they headed for a private room. She thought she heard a giggle behind her.
The door opened. Syminton stood aside and let her enter first. Her fine chain shook along with her nerves. Inside, several fire poles illuminated the room. A man stood near the far wall, his back to her, as was the custom. She strode to the center, where a small circle had been painted and placed her feet inside.
“She is ready, m’lord,” Syminton said.
The man turned. Jenya caught her first close-up look at the man she would come to know as Lord Rydah.
He did not introduce himself. She would not, in fact, learn his name for two more rynes. It was she who must impress him, not the other way around. Jenya stood as tall as she could, barely five capeks. Again, she wished she had breasts. Suddenly, she felt a twinge of anxiety.
How could this lord want her as a breeder?
He approached. His face revealed nothing about him, yet she did not fear him. Perhaps that came from the softness in his eyes. She could only look at him in glances, as she had been taught to stare straight ahead, keeping her shoulders square and her arms at her sides. He walked around her twice. Syminton stood nearby, waiting for questions.
“She’s scrawny, isn’t she?” the lord finally said.
Jenya’s heart sank. She blinked back tears.
“She is merely young, m’lord,” the slave master said, using the formal term, though he was a lord himself. Jenya knew that was good for business. “I debated putting her up for Selection so soon after she turned ten, but I believed her to have a certain charm that a discerning Damon might spot.”
Rydah turned. “And you think I’m that person?”
“I don’t know, sire. You did ask for her. There must’ve been something you saw. I suspect it’s the same thing I did.”
“And what did you see?”
Syminton turned to her. “I see a future beauty. An excellent breeder. Look at how her hips are already widening. True, she’s quite young. It’s hard to tell at this early age. Give her a few rynes, however, and I believe she’ll bring a high price.”
Jenya trembled. She feared she might wet herself with fear or pride, she wasn’t sure which.
“What price do you put on this scrawny girl this sun?”
Syminton paused. Jenya knew he had to be careful. If he picked too high a price, the Damon might be offended and walk away. And Syminton could be stuck with that price even if she did not develop as he suspected she would. While he could raise a price at any time, it was considered unfair to early bidders to lower the price later if the breeder didn’t sell. That was why so many excellent breeders ended up in lower castes—it represented the only way a reputable breeding farm could cut the price of a slave.
“Well, since she’s so young, I’ll give you a fair price,” Syminton said. “Say four hundred remars. No doubt in later rynes I could get twice that amount. But since you’ve expressed interest in her first, I have to pay respects to your keen sense of breeding flesh.”
Jenya held her breath and watched the lord’s calm face. Was that price acceptable? She had no idea what kind of master he might be, but somehow, she felt drawn to him. She tried to will him to select her.
“Very well,” he had said at last. “I’ll put a deposit on her. Brand her for me.”
Jenya had swelled with pride—and a little fear. The branding, she knew, would be more painful than the brand she’d already received. Instead of one small symbol on her upper arm, she’d receive five or six numbers on the upper portion of her buttocks. The other girls said it stung for two suns. And yet, having those numbers meant she’d been selected. Her future was set. She would one sun walk the streets next to a Damon, and live in his house!
“You won’t be disappointed, m’lord,” Syminton said.
She remembered those words now as she lay there in the dark next to her new master. Jenya hoped that he felt Syminton had been right. She knew she would do everything to make sure that she never gave him cause to regret his decision.
Chapter Seven
About mid-morning, two suns later, a man knocked on the door, just as Rydah was settling down to work on a new set of pages. Jenya ran to the door and opened it. He overheard them exchange greetings.
“Master,” she said, coming toward the desk.
“Yes, what is it?”
“The man from the slave pens is here.”
“Oh!” He jumped up. He’d been looking forward to this. That damn chain was constantly in his way—now he could have it removed.
The man wore a Craftsman’s cloak. “Rand’s greetings, sire. My name is Pentel, from Syminton & Son.” He shifted his bag of equipment to his left hand so he could greet the lord with the proper salute—right hand to left shoulder.
“Of course! I’ve been waiting for you.” Rydah returned the greeting.
“I hope your breeder has proven to be satisfactory? You’ve tried her out sufficiently? You have a dal to decide, you know.”
“Oh, I’m very satisfied, yes. Excellent merchandise.”
Jenya blushed and stared at the floor.
“Good! That’s good. Well, I won’t take much of your time. I just need to take her outside to finish the brand, and unlock the chain. That is, unless you’re concerned she might run away.”
“No. She’s very obedient. I think she’s happy here.”
Jenya wanted to nod in agreement, but she knew they weren’t paying any attention to her.
“Now I have to urge some caution…sometimes these slaves pretend to be happy, only to run off the first chance they get. We’ve had to chase down a few like that over the rynes.”
“I’m sure about her. You can remove it.”
“Very well.” He turned to Jenya. “Slave, I need some charcoal. Go fetch it for me.” She bowed and went to the kitchen.
“I won’t take you from your work any longer, sire,” Pentel said. “We’ll just be out back for a bit. It takes a little while for the charcoal to heat up the brand.”
“Hmm. Actually, I’d like to watch you brand her. Would you call me when you’re ready?”
“Of course, sire.” He went to the back door and motioned for Jenya to follow him.
Rydah returned to his duties. Like before, when he had been waiting for his breeder to be delivered, he found it hard to concentrate. He shuffled the pages, studying the words of the high priest, letting his mind wander.
About a half-hura later, Pentel called from the rear doorway. “We’re ready, sire.”
The lord rose and hurried to the back yard. He found Jenya, chained to the slave ring, shivering and clearly afraid, as Pentel heated up a small brand in the brazier. The charcoal glowed gray, the tip of the brand, red.
Rydah felt sorry for his slave. He hated to see her be branded again, yet he knew it was necessary. She wouldn’t officially be his until the “X” brand was completed.
“Would you like me to hold her?”
“Would you, sire? It would make the brand go on more cleanly.”
Rydah approached Jenya and held her by the arms, just above her elbows. She seemed happy to have him near, for she stopped shivering and gazed int
o his eyes.
“If you would, please, sire, just turn her and have her lean against the wall, so her left shoulder is exposed. There, that’s it. Now, slave, don’t move or it will just hurt worse.”
Jenya never took her eyes off her master’s face as Pentel aimed the small, red-hot brand just below the “V” on her shoulder. He pressed it in quickly, then jerked it away. The brand hissed on her skin, causing her to yelp involuntarily.
“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Actually, it was bad, but at the same time, Jenya felt inordinate pride at having the X marked on her. Now the world would know, she thought. She was no longer a virgin, but a full-fledged breeder. Tears came to her eyes.
Pentel unlocked her chain from her collar and handed it and the key to Lord Rydah, in the event he ever wanted them. The chain could be clipped on at any time. Then he packed up his equipment, except for the hot brand, which he carried in his free hand. He nodded his departure and left, no doubt on to some other Damon’s home.
“Are you all right?” Rydah asked.
His concern touched her. Here she was, a mere slave, and he was worried about her. It did hurt a lot, but she didn’t want to admit it.
“It’s okay, m’lord. I can put some butter on it.”
He took her arm gently and examined the angry mark. It had been well done, he had to admit. The small X was shallow, but clearly visible. He felt an elation borne of possessiveness.
Rydah led her inside, and left her to tend her burn while he returned to his desk. He tried to decipher this priest’s handwriting and lamented most priests’ lack of training in the written word. They claimed to be too imbued with the grace of Rand to be concerned about spelling and penmanship. Oh, well, he reflected, if they were better writers, he’d be out of a job.
He worked another hura before he decided to take a break for lunch. He hoped Jenya could serve him with her injured arm.
“Jenya!”
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