Slavemaster's Woman, The (3 page)

The action pulled King Mecor’s gaze to the
solid wall that was Tarken’s chest.

Tarken smiled inwardly and with satisfaction
as he watched the knob in the king’s neck bob up and down with his
hard swallow. He had the sense that Mecor was intimidated by him,
though the royal’s expression remained inscrutable.

Mecor cleared his throat and dragged his
attention away from Tarken. He again, paced in front of his throne,
hands clamped together at the small of his back. “Word from the
slave trader is that she’s unmanageable.” Abruptly he turned, his
stride taking him up the three steps of the dais supporting his
throne. He settled into the plush seat, sinking into it and then
shifted left to lean an elbow on the armrest.

Tarken stifled a snort.

The large and ornate piece of furniture did
not suit the king. It seemed to swallow the pompous royal, making
him appear as small and weak as a child. The image was deceiving
however, for Mecor was in truth, a powerful king. He ruled not only
Buranis, but held rulership of two nearby planets, Mecoridom, as it
was renamed by his ancestors, and Plestus which was another family
name. Both worlds were conquered by his kin centuries ago, and it
is written in the tomes that the battles were violent and bloody.
Continuing his family’s legacy, Mecor also conquered Shetasi and
Orboka, two planets situated at a nearby wormhole.

Many hated the king and his lineage, but
though he had plenty of enemies, he had just as many
followers—bootlickers would describe them more accurately. Tarken
had no opinion. He was there only to do his job and do it
proficiently, though some might think the same of him as well. He
really couldn’t care less what others thought however.

Yanking back from his wandering thoughts,
Tarken realized he’d been blocking out the king’s blathering.
What was he saying? Ah yes, the girl
. Whoever she was, she
must be a novice of slavery. Otherwise, her strength in will would
already be broken. If not her will, then the lack of obedience
would certainly have earned her a broken body or death even. Though
Tarken wasn’t one who believed in beating a slave into submission,
there were many who did.
Most did.

“…therefore I’m sending you.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”
Why bother with this
particular slave when so many others were already properly
trained?
Tarken had to wonder.

He’d been serving his Majesty for many
solars, and knew King Mecor always had a motive for his actions.
The girl, whoever she was had to be extraordinarily desirable or
possess some special powers or talents that the king planned to
use, or rather abuse.

“Retrieve her.” King Mecor pierced the
slavemaster with severe, black eyes.
Evil eyes.
“And bring
her to heel.”

“As you wish, your Majesty.” Tarken tipped
his head in a relenting pose.

Maybe she’s a virgin
. Suddenly Tarken
felt sorry for the female. “When do I leave?”

“On the morrow, so make ready. You will meet
the crew at the
Moon Crasher,
come sun’s first peak.”

“What liberties do you give me with this
slave?” Tarken was probing for information.

“Whatever it takes.” The king snorted
callously. “Fuck her, rape her, beat her for all I care. As long as
she’s obedient by the time she arrives.”

The comments gave Tarken a smidgen of
relief. “Very well, your Majesty.”

Apparently, the woman Tarken was retrieving
was not a virgin, otherwise Mecor wouldn’t have given him
permission to fuck her. He’d heard of the king’s penchant for
taking virgins by force, that he took sick pleasure with hearing
them scream in pain when he pierced their hymens. It was the reason
Tarken tried to get to them first, as he always took care with the
untouched.

“Dismissed Tarken.” The king waved him off
with the back of his hand.

The slavemaster bowed before turning to take
his leave, his shoulder bumping against one of two royal guards
posted at the grand chamber entranceway. Nothing more than a placid
grunt was exchanged between them.

* * * *

Mecor watched the slavemaster as he exited.
Standing, he descended the stairs in front of him and stopped.

“Close the doors,” he ordered his two
sentries posted at the grand chamber entranceway. “Remain outside
and see that I’m not disturbed.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” they responded in
accord, both bowing as they backed out of the room. There was an
echoing clanking as each tugged an iron loop, dragging the double
doors until they thundered together as they were fully shut.

“You summoned us your Majesty?” Scoac
emerged from behind the massive velvety curtains framing Mecor’s
throne. He bowed respectfully to his king. Rube, his younger
brother was just behind him.

“Why is that the first thing all say when
they come to my chamber?” Mecor glared at them. “Obviously, if
you’re here I summoned you. Otherwise, you would not be here.” He
pivoted and his pace stretched to the other side of the room.

Scoac didn’t answer as he followed the king
to his table and then waited for his Majesty to sit down first.
Rube followed behind both of them, taking a stance nearby.

The king stared at them and then scowled.
Pressing his palms to the table top, he leaned toward them, his
body at an ominous angle. “Well!” he boomed loudly in a voice he
knew was intimidating. The king had no tolerance for ambiguity.

Scoac, snorted. “Well, what your
Majesty?”

“Why do all who enter this chamber ask if I
summoned them?”

“No one comes here willingly, Anzer.” He
addressed the king by his first name. “Only when summoned. Your
subjects fear you. Perhaps it’s a way of reassuring themselves that
they had indeed been summoned…Less they lose their heads.”

Mecor bawked, and then after a short pause
he laughed uproariously. He liked being feared. It made him feel
almighty as it should be. He was the king after all—highest ruler.
His subjects should worship at his feet. “Sit.” The king lowered to
his chair.

Scoac obeyed, taking the seat to the right
of Mecor with Rube sitting to the other putting his brother between
himself and the king.

“You leave on the dawning.” Mecor hesitated,
eyeing Rube suspiciously. “I don’t recognize you underling. Who are
you?”

“He is my younger brother, sire,” Scoac
answered in his stead. “He has lived on Trinitrese with my mother
since the time she left my father. He has only recently returned
here to his birth planet eager to carry on as a loyal patron and
blood descendants to the kingdom of Buranis. I assure you, Rube can
be trusted.”

If eyes could burn, Mecor’s surely would’ve
disintegrated Rube on the spot. “I had a brother once.” The king
then snickered. “Brothers cannot always be trusted.”

“I assure you, sire.” Rube gulped before
forcing an arrogant facade. “I am here only to serve Buranis and my
king.”

“It won’t be pleasant to have your head
sawed from your body inch by agonizing inch, should you betray me,”
Mecor commented. “How can I be assured to trust you,
subservient?”

“I was raised in the royal courts on
Trinitrese, sire.”

“Yes, yes Trinitrese is one of my allied
holdings. “Though not as secured as some of my other planets in the
Adar Rhiannon Galaxy.”

“I pledge that I am wholly loyal and pleased
to serve, to keep the rulership of this kingdom with the bloodline
that deserves it. I am of your bloodline and quite proud of what my
mother has taught me of it, and of your fierce dedication to the
well-being of the Mecor kingdom.”

“Then your mother has done well with you.”
Mecor shifted his attention to Scoac. “Once you have obtained the
slave, keep a careful eye on her behaviors at the various ports,
for I’m sure she’ll unwittingly betray herself.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Scoac answered, bowing
dutifully.

“And let no one stand in the way of
delivering what I want. Kill whomever you must, to give me what I
want.”

“Does that include the slavemaster, Anzer?”
Scoac asked.

“That includes the slavemaster.”

Chapter Three

Tarken entered the Rystral trading post,
tired and sweaty from his travels. He studied his surroundings—not
upscale, but not tawdry either. It would be a comfortable place to
stay for a few dawnings.

Heads in the lobby turned toward him, and
then immediately turned away at his less than friendly glare. He'd
chosen to wear plain, non-descript clothing and scowled at the
king’s cousins, Scoac and Rube who stood to either side of him.

They were adorned in full-dressed Burani
colors, both in regal vestments as overt as formals worn during
ceremony on Buranis. Their formal attire blatantly revealed their
identities, bolding announcing that royalty had arrived. Even worse
than that, the guards, ten in all that had accompanied them were
also flaunting about as if prudence was the last thing on their
minds. It would surely make them targets of thieves and scammers,
or encourage harassment by enemies of the Mecor domains.

Their entire accompaniment and procession
would produce a situation Tarken wished to avoid.

On spotting them, the hotelier scurried from
his place at the receiving counter.

From the look on the man’s face, Tarken
thought he might lick their boots he seemed so eager to please. His
features told Tarken he was from the planet Zurka, apparent by his
pointy ears and pointy teeth, long skinny body and fingers nearly
ten inches long. His skin had a yellowish hue that made him look a
bit sickly, but it was quite natural to his race.

“Welcome m’lords! We’ve been expecting you!”
he announced.

Tarken tipped his head in question at the
comment.

Scoac cleared his throat. “I sent word ahead
that we were due to arrive.”

“My name is Toob’ri, and I am at your beckon
call.” The hotelier bowed.

“Just show us to our rooms,” Tarken replied.
So much for discretion
. It appeared as if the whole damn
place had been informed of their upcoming arrival.

“At your request, yes, yes!” Toob’ri turned
snapping his finger for a hopper to carry their bags.

With a hover cart in tow, a younger Zurkan
hurried over to them. “Right this way!”

Toob’ri’s enthusiasm was disgustingly
overzealous as far as Tarken was concerned, but from Scoac’s and
Rube’s expressions, they seemed to be basking in it, offering a
short wave or nod to every patron they passed on the way to their
rooms. Flaunting their presence was making Tarken uneasy, and he
attempted to distance himself from the pair by snatching the
security clip from the Zurkan porter. He hastened his pace and went
directly to his reserved room on the second floor.

Unfortunately, Scoac and Rube were given
occupancy in the chamber next door.

Groaning, the slavemaster rued the king’s
law that only royals be permitted to pilot the star vessels.
Otherwise, he'd have brought his own crew. He had to wonder how
Mecor would react if he knew that Tarken was skilled at piloting.
Having arrived on Buranis by commuter ship, it was something the
slavemaster kept secret however. One never knew when a quick egress
from the planet should arise, and it was always unwise to reveal
all of one’s skills unless necessary.

Flinging his bag on the bed, he removed his
cloak and boots. He then moved toward the hygiene chamber to wash
up. When he opened the door, a very pretty woman sprang to her
feet. Briefly, he was startled, but when Tarken realized she was
naked from head to toe, he perused her body and his shaft began to
stir.

“I am Ayia,” she said with a curtsy, her
sight falling to his partially stiff member. “I have been assigned
to serve you during your stay.”

“I want to bathe,” Tarken told her with
uninterested emotion and turned back to the sleeping chamber while
she readied his bath.

His arousal of the female waned, his cock
softening quickly. When she announced his bath was ready, Tarken
sauntered to the hygiene chamber, lowered into the hot scented
water, closing his lids, allowing Ayia wash the grime from him. She
lathered a sponge and massaged it over his body. He felt himself
relax as she washed him thoroughly, particularly enjoying the feel
of her fingers massaging his scalp before she moved to other body
parts.

Tarken opened his eyes when her touch left
him, but realized readily she wasn’t finished yet. With her hands
wrenching the sponge, Ayia squeezed the excess moisture from it
before lathering it up once again with the soap. She bathed his
skin, his chest, his abdomen in slow sinuous circles. His cock grew
stiff again as she ministered to his body.

Wrapping his arm around her waist he pulled
her to him and growled. “You are here to serve me, are you not?”
Tarken took her hand and placed it on his now throbbing member.

Ayia smiled. “I am here to serve you in
every way.”

“Get in and straddle me,” he told her.

She immediately obeyed, climbing into the
tub.

“Turn around.”

Again, she obeyed.

Tarken reached up and grabbed her hips,
guiding her downward. He slid his cock into her and then reached
around to grab her breast. He began to fuck her. She moaned and
groaned as if he were the best thing she’d ever had, but he knew
this was just part of the service. On a sigh, he pushed up on her
bottom. She raised enough for him to withdraw from her. He then
brought her ass to rest on his thigh. He never thought it would
happen, but Tarken was actually bored. He didn’t even have the
desire to come.

Women were all alike. Flesh to take one’s
pleasure on and ministering to their need for the same, it was sex,
pure and simple, the enjoyment of it easily forgotten after a good
eve's sleep.

“You’re not pleased with me, m’lord?” Ayia’s
expression revealed her fret.