Shifters, Beasts, and Monsters (69 page)

The Wolf King’s Sex Slave

A tale of erotic werewolf romance by Francis
Ashe

“This one’s sweet, supple, soft, and best of all, the
daughter of some gentry who can’t keep up with his money!” The toothless
auctioneer, with a mouth that sagged on one side shouted above the din of the
crowd. “Bidding starts at twenty senti! Don’t let this one pass you by!”

A short flurry of bidding commenced and then settled when
the price for my freedom reached forty senti. Looking out over the crowd, I
noticed a few well-dressed individuals who were actually bidding. The rest just
looked on, amazed at the spectacle, enjoying the parade of nude women on a
stage.

Briefly, a tall, clean shaven man wearing colors as vibrant
as the sun conferred with a short, fat man standing beside him. They seemed to
be striking some sort of deal. He pointed to me and several other girls before
both men shook hands and nodded.

“I’m buying her for eighty-two, the whole lot for a
thousand. Theric will take the next one. You can stop the bidding now, there is
no more competition.”

“I see, but there are other bid-”

“There are no other bidders. You will now stop the sale. You
get eighty-two for her, and a thousand for the lot.”

Sweat beaded on the grotesque’s upper lip.

“Morzan is not interested in other bidders.”

“Morzan? Ah, yes, say no more. Sold!” The auctioneer,
shirtless to keep cool in the sweltering Lotanese summer, slammed his gavel
down on a block of wood. I winced at the noise, truly afraid for the first time
in my life. “Sold to the curiously dressed Easterner for eighty-two senti. I
hope you enjoy! She’s a perky one. Sure to please! What
are
those
clothes you’re wearing? Zoran?”

“I’m sure she will,” the golden skinned man who assumed the
podium to inspect his purchases curled his lip in disgust when the auctioneer
spoke to him. He neglected to answer the second question, but his accent was
all the answer anyone needed. Golden studs, diamonds and rubies accented the
lines of his powdered face, and the leather thongs crisscrossing his chest
squeezed his trim muscles, made them bulge. “Anyway, they’re not mine. Take
them to Morzan’s holding area. We leave out early. Don’t waste my time, talking,
auctioneer. Your breath smells like a three-day long drunk.”

A rough, leathery hand grabbed the rope between my wrists
and yanked me down from the podium where I was exhibited to a huge crowd of
lechers, courtesans, messengers from faraway kingdoms and curious city
dwellers. When my feet hit the pavement, a scratchy tunic was wrapped about me,
and the man with the glittering face barked a command in a tongue I did not
understand.

I sat, and did my very best to avoid looking at anyone else.
All of us were in the same desperate situation – sold to the king of
Zor.  Truth be told, all I’d heard of Zor were stories in children’s books. It
was supposed to be a winter kingdom, the ground covered in snow all year round,
and for six of the twelve months, supposedly the sun never rose.

“If you’re going to be a king’s slave, best to be a slave to
Morzan,” the gawk-mouthed auctioneer said as I shuffled along the cobblestones.
“He’s rich, he’s powerful, and I hear he’s got an enormous cock.”

I squinted at him, not believing what he’d said. The last
thing in the world I cared about was the size of some king’s endowment.

As we wandered back to the small apartments where slaves
waited before being shipped off for the final night before beginning the
journey East, my thoughts drifted back, away from the heat and the sweat and
the cramped wagon to a time when I was free, when there was no fear, and life
was easy, sweet and carefree.

***

The whole house smelled of cinnamon, cloves and honey. My
mother’s honey cakes, still steaming from the oven, sat on the windowsill. When
I walked past and sniffed, somehow, one of my hands ventured a little too close
to one of the buns that had popped open. Cherry filling ran down the side of
the plate. We ate well, and we lived well. Well enough, anyhow. My father
wasn’t a rich man, but he was landed, so the fact that I was past twenty and
unwed was a little curious to most of the people around the village.

“Hey! I was just gonna clean up that little splotch!” I
yanked my hand away when my mother swatted me with her wooden-handled spoon.

“Jovena, Jovena, sweet little girl. When are you going to
find yourself a man and bake your own honey cakes? I need a granddaughter to
squeeze and hug and spoil.” She drew her face into a broad smile, her eyes
closed like half-moons. She pinched my cheek and sighed.

“You seem worried, mama, what is it?”

“Oh, dear, it’s nothing. I’m just worried about you is all.”
She smiled again, but I could tell there was more behind it that she was not
letting on. “You’re well into your twentieth year and you work far too hard.
You’re a pretty thing. You should be a wife, a mother, and all those things.
You shouldn’t spend your whole life on your father’s farm, slaving away.”

“I don’t mind,” I said. “He needs the help. The crops keep
getting worse, but some day things will turn around and I’ll be able to go off
on my way. And anyhow, you know I don’t want to settle down into some other
farm somewhere else and get fat with age. I want to see the world.”

“So did I, dear girl. So did I.” She looked out the window
for a moment at the corn stalks blowing in the wind before grabbing one of the
cakes, breaking it, and handing half to me. Her eyes and her thoughts seemed
far away. “But things sometimes don’t work out the way they should, you know.
And it’s no one’s fault.”

“You’re worrying me, mama. What is
wrong
?”

“Oh, Jovena,” she sighed, “really, it’s nothing. Your father
is having trouble with the crops again. He’s panicking. You know how he gets.”

I nodded. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, no,” she patted my hand and broke off a chunk of her
cake. “Not for you to worry about.”

A few hours later, papa came home and looked terrible. His
hair was a mess, his face was red, like he’d run the entire way from our little
farm to the city and back. I peeked out of my bedroom door when I heard him
come in, but something told me to stay back and listen.

“Ah! Mama!” He shouted as he collapsed into a large,
hay-stuffed chair. “Bring papa some wine. It has been a long day.”

“Where have you been, Peter?” She poured him a cup. I’m not
sure why he called the stuff ‘wine’ because it was really just a very potent
beer. During good years, he bought wine as well, and didn’t call it ‘beer’, so
the whole thing rather confused me.

“I went to the city, to Lotan. I had to talk with the man
who I buy seed from.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Mmm, the wine is good,” he said and took another swallow.
“Wine is good, but news is not.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, the price of seed is up. Both for cabbages and for
the grass I feed the sheep. Corn is still cheap, but that gives the animals
dyspepsia. It’s all just so expensive, mama. I don’t know what I’m going to
do.”

My mother twisted a little knot in the string hanging down
from her bonnet and stuck it in the corner of her mouth the way she always did
when nerves overtook her.

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure something out. We always do.”

“Ahhh, yes, mama, we do. This time though, I’m not so sure.
The price has almost doubled from last year, and the harvest was just no good.
Unless I borrow the money, or do some work for Jelin the merchant, I can only
buy enough for a quarter of the field this time. If that happens, it doesn’t
matter how well we do. We’ll lose some crops to weather, and so we have –
what – an eighth of a harvest? We’ll be sunk next year for sure.”

He raised his cup for my mother who filled it up again. She
chewed harder on her bonnet string.

I felt my heart almost break as I listened to my father talk
more and more about the work this Jelin was to require of him. Smuggling, a big
cut of the harvest, it all seemed criminal. I sat there, listening, and ran my
tongue over the front of my teeth. I couldn’t let such things happen to the man
who raised me, who cared for me every day and taught me everything. But, no
plans came to mind.

I could go to work, but – no, what would be the
point? I have no way to get around, and he needs me here. Besides, who would
hire me? And what could I do? I’m just a farm girl. What on earth good will
that do me?

Papa finished his ‘wine’ and set the cup down on the table
beside his chair. It made a little clopping noise as he rolled it around,
letting it rock and settle.

“Maybe it’s just time to sell the farm, ah? Move in to the
city. Lots of work in Lotan, maybe I could try being a merchant or a priest.”

Mama giggled at him.

“I think you have to do more than just
be
a priest,
dear. But merchant, I can see that.”

“Daddy, you are
not
going to be a merchant! Or a
priest! You’re a farmer, that’s what you want to be, right?” I couldn’t take it
anymore, so I stormed out of my little room. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”

“Oh and here I was wondering where little Jovie was at.
Silly me!” Papa smiled his big, broad, mustachioed smile. Behind his crinkled
eyes, I knew he was upset. “You’re right though, little girl. This is where I
belong. Here on the land my father farmed and his father before him. It makes
me knees hurt to be in the city.”

Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. I had long ago heard of
markets in the city where people could go to be sold and then, over time, buy
themselves free again. Another girl from our little village went there some
years ago, and when she returned she was wealthy and married.

“Papa, do you remember Meribeth? Do you remember what she
did a few years ago? With going to the city, and-”

“Oh no, no, no, little girl. That won’t do at all,” papa
said. “I need you here to help with the crops.”

“But papa, if it works out the same way as it did when she
went off, you’ll make a lot of money. Enough to buy more land maybe, or at
least hire a couple of hands come harvest time. You could even journey
somewhere with mama.”

He said “no” so many times they started to run together. His
voice got louder and louder, the way it does when he’s trying to convince
himself of something.

“I just can’t do such a thing to you. You’re my pride and
joy, Jovena, and I couldn’t send you off to a place like...like that. Even for
all the money in the world.”

“What is so awful about it? Meribeth went off to live in
some palace for a few years and then she came back wed to a nice man and had a
pair of fat little babies. Mama is always asking me when I’m going to find a
husband and settle down. This seems like the perfect chance to help you
and
get on with my life.”

“You’re such a kind girl,” he said. “Always thinking of your
poor old papa. Jovie, do you know what you’re saying? If you do this, there’s
no telling where you’ll end up. Meribeth was one of the lucky ones.”

“I can’t believe you’re considering this, Jovena,” my mother
was aghast, her face pale and ashen. “You may go somewhere terrible and live in
the house of some awful tyrant who could do things to you that...no, no, you
mustn’t even consider this. You mustn’t.”

Nodding, I sat down on papa’s lap and patted his fat,
whiskery cheeks.

“It will be alright, papa. It always is.”

He smiled again.

The next morning, I was gone before the sun came up.

***

With a tiny bundle of clothes and souvenirs from home which
amounted to three rings and a small, stuffed doll my mama made me when I was a
little girl, I stumbled out into the small clearing where new owners were
busily loading their new acquisitions into wagons. All manner of people milled
about, but the one common trait was that everyone seemed very sullen. Eyes were
all fixed firmly on the ground; no one seemed willing to look up, either at
each other, or at the men pushing them around.

I couldn’t help it though. As frightening as it all was to
leave everything I’d ever known behind and be taken away to a far off land of
which I knew only shadowy rumors and brusque jokes, my curiosity was simply
flaring.
I’m here anyway, may as well take it all in. Why waste the time?
When am I going to see all this sort of thing again? It isn’t every day I
see this sort of commotion, all these different people milling about. Painted
men, women covered in tattoos from hair to their feet, tiny men, men with huge
bellies. Such an incredible variety!

My curiosity and giddiness caught the attention of a man who
was himself standing around and watching the goings-on. His well-muscled,
sun-browned arms were crossed over a mighty chest. He wore no shirt, no helmet
or hat, and his inky hair flowed in a cascade over one of his mighty shoulders.
On his face was a grim smile that almost seemed more his natural facial
configuration than any expression of feeling.

“Girl,” he said in a booming, accented voice. “Where does
the girl go?”

“I...uh...me?”

“Girl,” he nodded. “Where does the girl go? She seems lost.”

“Oh, no, I’m just taking it all in. Never know when I’ll see
such things again. I’ve been bought into Morzan’s harem. I understand the
apartments for his girls are-”

“Ha! Morzan! Morzan, King of the entire world which lies
east of the great river.”

“That’s quite a lot of land to claim. I thought he was just
king of something called Zor?”

“Girl is young, and has an innocent face. Morzan will like
this girl.”

As he spoke in his curious accent, I couldn’t help but stare
at the man towering above me. I’m not tiny by any stretch of the imagination,
but he stood at least a head taller. His eyes were so dark that they seemed to
drink in all of the sunlight and twinkle. He put his hands on his hips and
showed me his sculpted, broad, powerful chest.
If he weren’t so dark, he
could be a statue. Maybe they’ve started painting statues bronze where he’s
from?
I giggled at myself, and the grim, thin-lipped scowl on the man’s
face lightened.