Free Trade

[Stella]

Wild? That was an interesting, but certainly not unheard of request. There were very few of Jamil's girls who fit such a description, mostly because the truly wild presented a liability and those who only pretended to be wild with clients usually were easy to see through and therefor were not really "wild." Recklessness was something that was rare in a whore, because men wanted to be able to feel powerful and in control. That was why some men were prone to beating the girl that was servicing them, but there was also an opposing complex that some men possessed. Some wished to feel essentially powerless. Often the powerful or the self-absorbed wished for a girl with this "wildness," and it was a common enough niche for Master Jamil to own a few different girls with the same talent for pleasing such men.

"I am thinking human, not other," she said. They had a few elf girls and a handful of others, but humans were obviously among the most popular.
"Send someone and girl I will tonight. Where?" It was the last thing she needed to know. A location, of course.

She had already filtered through the many whores in her mind, and had chosen one. One descriptor was all that was needed. There was no other girl wilder than this one that belonged to Master Jamil.

[Solana]

Solana gave the whore directions and felt a thin thread of adrenaline grow strong within her. It was exciting to push the envelope and tread deep within a well of possibility that she might not come out of. It was also frightening, for she was unused to that sort of work and had only directed others in pursuit of goals that, in the end, were not entirely her own. She could be making a serious mistake; it could work out in her favor.

When a hand suddenly clasped the back of her neck and shook her, she realized she might have dove in a little too deep.

"What are you doing?" Hamah said, and Solana twisted in her grip away from the whores. It was bad to fight the other slave, but she couldn't have the whores knowing that she was doing this without proper authorization. She turned again, just far enough to offer an awkward sort of reassuring wave and smile, and then fought to take a few steps away. She didn't want them to hear her conversation.

Hamah took a grip of her hair, instead, and gave it a good yank. Solana yelped. "Taking initiative! Get your hands off me!"

The response was a shove, and when Solana turned on the other woman she received a slap. Fury boiled within her, but she choked it off and coughed instead, feeling her expression contort into something that wasn't quite subservience.

"What did you do?" Hamah asked again, and Solana bent to pick up some strange and exotic fruit that had fallen from her basket.

"Master is entertaining tonight. He will want for entertainment. The books have an allotment for that." She spoke just loud enough for Hamah to hear, and didn't look up to see her expression. She didn't need to to know the other woman was angry.

Hamah took a firm grip of Solana's hair, and started to march in a direction away from the whore's quarters. Solana had to twist awkwardly to keep up with the woman without getting a clump of hair pulled out, and she knew her face was burning red in shame and a fury that was not in her best interests. She knew a few people stared, so she tried to not draw any more attention than she had to. Her, of all people, treated like some wayward brat? She would make Hamah pay. Later, when she was able.

When they reached the Master's residence she was ready to do something terrible to Hamah now. There had been degradation in her life before. There would have to be in the courts of Morua, because that was how nobility worked. But it had never been so low and common before. It was a humility she'd had no intention of enduring. It pissed her off. But it pissed the Steward, Kamesh, off much more.

Five lashes after the evening supper. It cooled her off.

"You did what?"

Hamah had taken Solana straight to him. She had hoped she would be able to find someone with the ambition to realize that it was a way to get into the Master's good graces. And then it would be a way for Solana to get into that person's good graces. She needed someone who could use her mind. She needed someone she could step on later. She hadn't intended for Hamah to see her in the market, and this was not the way she'd wanted things to go.

"I ordered whores for the Master's evening. Was that wro-"

It hurt much more when it was a man slapping her. It dazed her. She had not the clarity of thought to be angry at him, in that moment.

"On whose authority?" Kamesh asked. It was a side of the Steward Solana hadn't seen before, and for once she felt the insecurity of her position keenly. He was no longer someone that she could sneer at securely from a position of higher ability -- he was someone who could hurt her. And from the expression on his face, he intended to hurt her. The ball of exciting adrenaline in her stomach shrank into something that made her cower away from him. She wasn't acting.

"I thought. . ." she whispered, and dared not look at him. He knocked her down, and his voice got incredibly loud. He was screaming at her, but she could barely make out the words. It would be his head if she did something that the Master didn't like. His head, even if they sold her off for being a bad slave. He kicked her.

It wasn't like Morua, where she could claim responsibility of a situation if it backfired. She had no power. She had nothing.

When he was done with her, she didn't think she could stand, but he told her to. And because he told her to, and she knew she must not anger him, she somehow managed to. She cowered before him, but he had spent himself for the moment, and his eyes had moved off her to some point far in the distance. He chewed his manicured nails as he thought with narrowed eyes. Hamah stood quietly off to the side. She had not spoken during the spectacle, but she seemed satisfied.

"The menu must change." He finally said, voice hoarse and strangled. "This will come out of my wages and your hide." The calm was almost worse. "I will announce this as my congratulations to him for his success on the project. I must speak to the cook. As for you."

Solana cringed.

"The garden paving stones should be scoured clean. Make it presentable. We will serve there. Do not disappoint me."

Solana scurried away, trying not to limp too badly, to do whatever it took to keep herself from being hit again.

[Stella]

Lyla took the directions down mentally and then made a motion with her hand so the tribal girl followed her. The older whore didn't look back as the slave was reprimanded, and truth be told, did not even notice it happening. The girl could not help but peek behind her shoulder on occasion, frowning and struggling to keep up with Lyla's lengthy stride until they rounded the bend in the road and the slaves were out of sight. The girl hadn't been desensitized to such violence yet, but Lyla had been dealing with it for decades. She no longer felt sympathy for slaves as she had as a girl.

When they returned to the tavern, Lyla expressed the slave's request to a Supervisor on duty, who tossed the idea around in his head until he swept behind the kitchens to talk with Master Jamil about the matter. The Supervisor returned with a nervous expression, and explained to Lyla.

"She'll make money off them, you know she will, but best send you and another girl to keep her in line. She's broke anyway," he said. Her spirit had been broken some time ago, and the Master did not believe she would try to rebel.
"Ah'm no going," answered Lyla haughtily, and folded her thick arms. "Send some other." The Supervisor looked annoyed, but he did not question Lyla's response.
"We'll send Suhkra and Ness, then," he shrugged.
"Ness? Hah! She can not girls handle," laughed the whore.
"Jutaria."
"Yes, fine," she agreed. Lyla, because she worked closer with the girls, knew their temperaments and tendencies better than any actual Supervisor. They usually came to her for such things. Jutaria would be fine. Hopefully. Assuming, of course, that their wild whore wasn't going to pull another one of her nonsense stunts.

"Stella. You're requested elsewhere tonight. Ready in twenty."
The Supervisor turned away, leaving Stella to decide what she was going to do with the man, who was clearly hoping to pay for more in-depth service. Twenty minutes was not long enough to please her client, clean herself up, and prepare for an outing. That just wasn't going to happen. She moved closer to the man in the chair, who had been greedily fondling her breasts, his bony fingers stuffed generously into her dress. "Afraid ah'll haff te leave early, sir," she whispered in an uncharacteristically sweetened voice.
"Nae! Ah haffen't gotted wot ah came fer," he told her, and slipped one of his hands around her waist. She didn't hesitate in pushing him back forcefully in his chair so that he slid and the legs of the chair squealed against the wood floor.
"Next tiem, sir," she hissed, and swept away in her heeled shoes.

Suhkra was a Semerkhet native. She had been born and raised in this place and was sold into slavery when she was a girl by her family, who had used the money to leave town and begin a drug trafficking operation. They had promised to return for her. That was fourteen years ago. She was twenty now, and had been a Jamil girl for eight years, "saved" by a scouting Supervisor who had seen her as more than a child labor slave. She had dark hair, braided into tiny little braids and tied at the back into a sort of pony tail. Her eyes were large, deep brown in color, and her skin was dark, but not black. She was experienced and desensitized. She was sent with Stella to provide a secure backup plan, of sorts.

Stella was dressed that evening in a dark, burgundy-toned skirt that had a slit running up the side to show her legs whenever she moved. She had been dressed in an outfit meant primarily for dancers to match the woman who would be looking after them tonight. Her top was too tight for even a girl like her who was used to such clothing abuse and could barely be called anything more than a bikini top with sheer fabric running over her abs. It caused her breasts to look as if they would burst from her clothes at any given moment. Beside her, Suhkra was dressed in a leather outfit not entirely unlike the one the little tribal girl had been wearing earlier. It was good for the heat, but it was terribly impractical except for a whore.

Ahead of them a few strides was their supervisor for the night, a woman older than both of them by a decent number of years called Jutaria. She looked much like a gypsy dancer, mostly because of her outfit. She had very long, light hair and creamy white skin. She was wearing sheer silk pants that had slits going up the sides on the legs, all the way to her upper thighs. All of her skin was exposed except for a top that hid her breasts, with small pieces of gold that dangled in a net formation from below them onto her abdomen. They were three very different entertainers, sent to please a rich man and earn lots of cash for Master Jamil.

The three women headed up a cobblestone street to the manor with white stone and a red roof. The property was quite large, but that was to be expected of any place labored by slave workers. They entered the manor and stood in a great entry hall, awaiting further instruction.

It was Stella's first outing since she had come here. They had never trusted her enough to leave the tavern before.
She was not planning to disappoint them.

[Solana]

Adomankh was a relaxed man. He was a planner, someone who got things done in a meticulous fashion that accounted for chance. He had his lieutenants, and he treated them well when they did well and didn't bother him with small things a rat could figure out. If you were in his employ, you did not cause problems. You did not make errors that could be traced back to you. You upheld his standards of perfection and you did not mar his reputation.

Things did not go wrong around Adomankh. So, he was relaxed.

The man he worked for was stern and reticent, a master mage who was incessantly peering into the unfathomable and the weird. He required a person like Adomankh, whose solidity in the world of the physical was unquestionable. This man, Fenyang, had money. Adomankh doubled that money, and took no small portion for himself. It was a likeable situation for both of them.

Adomankh had had a breakthrough in the project he'd undertaken for Fenyang. He was in a good mood, waiting and relishing the moment when he would tell his superior of the good news. First though, celebration with two of his allies and, if such a word could be applied, friends. When Kamesh told him that girls had been ordered, he took it as his due. It was expected of his workers that they make much of him. He was, after all, a prodigy in his own right, and used to being made much of. Even if this event was trifling compared to past achievements, he still appreciated the effort. He had not been wrong to make Kamesh his Steward.

Merysi and Fadil came at the time they were expected, bringing the ritual smokes and spirits for celebration. Such things made Fadil violent and Merysi foolish. It amused Adomankh much, and he looked forward to their reaction to the girls. The only disappointment thus far had been the slave assigned to Kamesh, who was doing the majority of work for the evening. It was proper for Kamesh to put his slave forward thus, but she'd been unseemly with a bruised face; no doubt she'd made the mistake of underestimating Kamesh for all his fussiness, and thought to talk back. It amused Adomankh, for he would never take on a man who could not hold his own.

So he had made the slave put an attractive veil over her unsightly bruises.

It was a suffocating veil. It made tasks such as carrying and scrubbing and balancing trays of food difficult for her. She knew he did not care. She knew none of the slaves care. She didn't dare care, because the promise of five lashes hung over her like a pallor. Once the supper was over and the guests bade a good night, she would be taken out to have her back flayed open. She'd seen whippings before. She knew what they did to such delicate flesh as her own. Solana could only hope that by her good behavior and Kamesh's good fortune of a pleased Master that her punishment might be lessened.

She was to watch the girls, and be stationed in the room where all the devilry occurred. It was beneath her station, and she had been assigned on purpose. If anything went wrong, it was her fault, and she would probably die a slow and painful death after Kamesh beat her. She had never been beaten before. It broke past her sneering exterior, and frightened her more than she could reasonably express. She had never been so weak.

She went to fetch the whores. She couldn't quite make out the scandalous quality of their costumes from behind her veil, for which she was glad, but she could see enough that skin was featured prominently. "Come." She told them briskly, using what remained of her dignity to inject cold steel into her voice. "You are to wait in the antechamber off the garden until you are called for. I hope you are rested, for it is to be a wild night."

And once they were in the antechamber, Solana thought, she would 'adjust' her veil to see if any of the women was the wild one she had so hoped for. She would not bear it if her plan had not succeeded. She could not, after what had happened.

[Stella]

Skin. It was, perhaps, the most useful attribute a woman had. It had a strange amount of value to it, value that could be easily milked if women showed such skin for money. It was all too simple to hypnotize men simply by showing a naked calf, thigh, even a wrist. Men with money had developed a stronger resistance to these sorts of strategies used by whores, and like prey evolving to predators, Woman had adapted their game plans to suit the situation however necessary. It generally worked, though it was true that you had to be careful about your audience. At times, showing less skin was more mysterious and invited lesser men to pay for each item removed, but this wasn't like that.

This was of a higher class nature. But high class, unfortunately, did not guarantee safety.

A slave, female, with a strangely misplaced veil came to greet them in the hall. The women all looked at her, with Stella being the least interested. She was, instead, viewing the details of the manor, taking peaks at the architecture and recalling, regrettably, the Jones mansion and its white marble hallways and hedge animals.

She followed the oddly subdued woman, her mind in another place entirely, a place which was arguably no better than the one she was in. The voice of the slave was icy and harsh, but despite that there was something very broken about the way she walked and moved. The nature of the veil was altogether strange; it could have been fashionable, perhaps, had it not been draped over the woman's face with no evident reason and had it not clashed so terribly with her dirtied clothes.

As the three woman walked to the vestibule, jingling as their bells and gold pieces tapped and sounded against each other. When they reached it, they each slipped off their sandals neatly at the sharp command of Jutara so that their feet were beautifully bare to match their exposing outfits.

The room smelled of either incense or perfume, Stella could not tell which. She ran her tongue across her teeth.
To not have a knife with her was making her more nervous than usual, and she began to shift her weight from one foot to the other, as if practicing a dance ritual. Jutaria narrowed her eyes, but said and did nothing.

Suhkra, on the other hand, was watching the slave.

[Solana]

As the whores removed their shoes, Solana too adjusted her veil under a pretense of needing air. She pulled it away from her face, fanning herself, and got a good eyeful of the three whores. She found that she could not remember, exactly, the face of the woman she'd seen in the slave square, and felt desperation clutch at her chest. That one, surely? But time had passed, and she had spent much of it in some form of duress or another. The whore might be the one she'd seen with hands tied to a pole, but she seemed so. . . so. . . demure. Strange, they were all almost ladylike in their demeanor, waiting calmly and quietly. Where was the wildness she'd asked for?

Sharp words bunched up in her head and caught at her tongue, but she could feel the barbs of the trap she'd made for herself digging in. She couldn't yell, pitch a fit, put anyone in trouble for incompetence. No one listened to her at the manor. She was in disgrace. She was on her own.

Maybe that girl was the same one, maybe she wasn't. Solana would have to make do with whatever she'd been given.

Solana replaced her veil, and made herself smile. "Master is celebrating tonight, with his friends. He will want to see something exotic, that he has never seen before. He is a well traveled man. I hope you have the means to keep him happy, for there will be extra bishani if you surprise him."

The words were out of her mouth before she could really think them through, so intent was she on proving one of them as unruly as she needed. As dangerous as the one she'd seen. It has to be her.

She was saved by a bell. No, the bell, and she clapped her hands. "There. Go. I will be in attendance should anything extra be needed."

No matter the weight of skill she carried as an actress of lies, she could not stop the waver in her voice at those words. Kamesh knew she was no commoner. He knew the revulsion a woman of her former class would have for the unspeakable acts that would unfold. So he had put her on door duty, so she would be in the presence of such unforgivable behavior.

She waited for the whores to proceed her into the private garden that waited beyond.

Adomankh was at the center, as was his right. He presided over the garden in a great wooden chair: a massive luxury that often provoked comment from his guests. Its heft and weight made it seem as if a miniature throne, and he sat like a great lion within its imposing shape. He had a well manicured beard, and dark eyes that held an intense interest in the doorway and the whores soon to come. He was somewhat small of frame, but he carried himself well.

Merysi sat to his right, balding and red cheeked with a great, bulbous red nose. He was no stranger to spirits, and he chortled and whispered merrily. Specks of saliva, food, and wine sat upon his beard like ornaments, glinting occasionally in the dim lighting. His was a bearlike form, hulking and ponderous except for his broad, foolish face. He was not native to Semerkhet, that was clear.

Fadil, to Adomankh's left, was dark and brooding. His eyes and teeth were bright against his skin, and his hair was oiled in the obnoxious way of lordlings. He was smiling, and it was unpleasant next to Merysi's oblivious cheer. He had already undone the top of his robes, so the skin of his chest peeked out beyond the loosened folds. His face was smooth.

These three were wealthy and rich men. They were not the princes of young girls' dreams, not the handsome devils common to the fantasies of foolish young noblewomen. They were predators, perched at the top of a pile of necessities to making their individual fortunes. Theirs were not hard, rippling bodies; they did not spare time for physical fitness amidst the hardships of making money and the softness of dwelling in excess.

Softness, yes, of the flesh of women, for whom they would not perform or care for the comfort and satisfaction of, for they cared for nothing but their own amusement. They used the tools at hand, just as Solana did.

[Stella]

Opposing sides within a person was what often caused the primary source of tension. This was usually portrayed through posture and expression, but when under strict rule and pressure to be relaxed, you simply learned to ignore the tension, hide it away. The issue was that masking such foul tension inside a person for too long could lead to problems later on, but so far Stella was doing remarkably well with all of that. Perhaps it had been years of her oddly quiet behavior helping her along, her antisocial tendencies guiding her in fooling her Supervisors after what had happened two weeks ago. They trusted her, even if only just. They trusted her enough to know that she would not act out.

Their real issue was that they trusted their clients would not do anything out of the ordinary. But what was ordinary in this trade? This was a strange, despicable place to have a business of pleasure running. Jutaria was on guard due to these clients having money and being first timers for Jamil's girls, not to mention the request for a "wild" girl. Stella had stopped moving around and was standing still, her nervousness seemingly abandoned and replaced instead by a more standardized version of Woman, waiting like cattle to be prodded forth to their destination. She did not recognize the slave who was with them, not even when her peculiar veil was removed for the briefest of moments. But then, Stella wasn't paying much attention to the woman.

She spoke of the want for exotic sights and of extra cash, which only Jutaria seemed to actually understand and take in. Stella had long known that she no longer had the "luxuries" that she once did. She, too, was a slave. She had little to no control over what she received for her efforts and generally received very little. It was rare for her to receive bishani at all, which was in part due to her being relatively new and a known trouble maker. She received food and board, but it was more important what she didn't receive when she did her job correctly; it was abuse that kept her functioning properly, which was exactly the way that her master wanted it.

Eventually the bell did ring and they were all three sent back outside to the gardens. The late evening heat was not so bad, but there was a lack of breezes in this part of the world and Stella was thankful, at least, that her clothes allowed her the chance to breathe for once.

There were three men in the garden, and none of them were particularly handsome, but Stella no longer had any care for physical appearances. It was not only a poor judge of character, but these were also clients. Clients were clients because they had money, and the rest was just pointless details.

Stella did not smile. It was impossible for her to fake in such a situation. She sensed something very foul in the air around these men, and her instincts were usually right. Jutaria, however, grinned at them as she moved with naked feet, the gold pieces of her garb jangling like an advertisement. "My lords," she bowed her head. Her fingers snapped behind her and Suhkra hurried over to her right side. Stella was slower, but her body was oddly confident. She stood by Juaria's right for a moment. All three whores giggled as if out of excitement on cue, and then began to dance.

It was a simple, easily learned dance of hip and foot movements, synchronized (quite imperfectly) and teasing. It advertised the way that each girl's body moved. Jutaria was the most skilled, by far, in such dance and Stella was barely beyond any beginning stages of it, but they weren't here to show off their dance skills. They were here to show off their bodies. They waited for a movement or signal from the men, while each of them eyed each man suggestively as if truly interested in their company.

They were not, obviously. Stella was remarkably good at acting it, however, grinning boldly at the smooth-faced man. She did not trust these people at all, and had a particularly bad feeling about this outing. Her guard was up, but she held back.

[Solana]

The men waited like lions, perched and ready for the moment they could feast. Even while drunk, Merysi knew better than to sup before the Master of the evening, of the manor, of the whole universe if only he could stretch out a hand and grasp it. But they stared, and their eyes were worse than the sweatiest of hands. Cunt or tit; didn't matter where they came from. Long as they were clean and serviceable, the vessel itself didn't matter. Adomankh held out a hand as if calling a trained animal to it.

Solana was horrified. Trapped. She couldn't help but watch.

On cue, Fadil spread his robes a little wider, so the triangle of his flesh grew with a long elongated point facing down his body to the lump at his hips. Merysi patted his broad lap even as he sloshed drink down his throat with ease of long practice. As if gross shadows, Solana watched their outlines merge. It was a terrible parody of what transpired in the marriage bed, Solana knew. It was as base and bestial as it was unnatural.

The mens' desire mirrored back at them through the skillful body language of the women. It was complicated, a play of convenient trade that had nothing to do with Solana, but she hurt. She was tainted, and even with the muggy heat a new sweat all of its own making broke out over her body.

Adomankh was her master, and it was him she watched. It was him she looked to, whom she hated with each second and breath that almost sobbed through her mouth. She would overthrow him. She would kill him. His hands were broad and well made; almost an athlete's quality. Another lifetime that could have become reality. Yet when his hand sought a certain target between the legs of the girl closing in on him, she looked away, and saw Merysi fondling his girl with such strength and ferocity that she thought he might intend to rip her apart with his hands. Her own skin contracted in shivers, both pity and rage soaring up within her.

Merysi was a rough man. He hauled at cloth and hair, breast and hip, always clutching tightly as though the female might slip away unmolested. He caught a nipple between his fingers and squeezed until Solana almost choked in the certainty that it would burst into bloody gobbets and spatter him. It didn't, so he hauled the girl around until she straddled him, and he began licking her like a dog licks a bone, all slobber and prickling beard.

Fadil was the only passive one. He was eager, but he slumped back with an odd smile curving his lips, looking from the girl to his cock. He leered. His lips moved, and from his expression Solana knew he was taunting, but she couldn't hear him through the roaring in her ears. He waited for the girl to move over him, and only once did he interrupt her; she'd placed her fingers lightly on the robe to peel it apart of the lump in the middle, and then settled her hand on the --

it was the first time Solana had seen a penis in her life

-- prick within, squeezing it so the color of her skin paled a little, but then Fadil sat forward, reaching up to her jaw to trace her chin and pull her down, down.

Solana almost vomited then and there. Only the foulest of daimons could behave in such a lascivious manner. She knew she should cover her eyes, but she was captured by the glint of saliva on the girl's tongue, and of the strange and ugly organ that she laved with saliva. Fadil leaned back, groaning, eyes fluttering shut and that smile still marking his face until Solana could only clench her fists with the urge to choke him.

And Adomankh. Her Master, who still had his hand between the girl's legs, thrashing against those unmentionable parts. It was clear he was waiting for something, though what Solana couldn't say. He frowned a little, and looked up as if challenging her, the vessel of the objects he wished to use, and did something else that finally had the girl gasp a little, and then HE pulled her forward and stuck his face --

She had to look down, feeling that she was near to swooning. She heard them then, the wet smacks and grunts and moans and girlish little yelps that seemed to echo the mens' deeper growls and chuckles and foul words. Some stink started tainting the air, and without being told she knew that it was the smell of sex and changers knew what.

Did they like it? Did they like it, the little sluts.

No, Solana wanted to scream, no they don't, but it's their job! Of course they are whores, that's why they're here!

Oh, they wanted it, they wanted it so bad, couldn't resist the call of cock, could they.

They don't give a rat's ass about your ugly bodies, Solana fumed.

And then she looked back up -- what other choice had she?! -- and almost ran away at the sight of Merysi, fat belly swaying over his erect penis, pushing down the girl to her hands and knees, the head of his empty wine bottle pressed to her clenched asshole.

[Stella]

She hated it. She always had. There had never been a single time in her life when sex had been pleasure based; even her first lover, she had done it to please him, because she had loved him. And Sylvia had arguably been the same, although the relationship itself had been different in its own right. Sex was purely a tool used for different purposes in different circumstances. With Sylvia at least it had been enjoyable, but here it would not be. That was a blessing that Stella knew she would never have again. Tonight it was a tool and only a tool for money. For her, it was more a tool for survival than anything else, as she would see little, if any, of the money she earned.

Though it was the beardless man Stella had chosen (he looked easiest), Jutaria gave her a subtle jab in the ribs and a look that told her that she was here specifically for the central figure. She appeared frightened, tiny dots of sweat rolling from her brow, her eyes wider than they had been before. It was impossible to tell if any of her behavior was reality. It was in her nature to be nervous in the right situation, and it was natural for her to be on guard, but not scared. Perhaps it was the heat. Perhaps it was the disturbing scent of fear and malice clinging to their skins, or perhaps it was simply Stella subtly illustrating what she was good at; trickery.

He was disgusting, and she was disgusted by him, but she was disgusted by nearly all men. She had expertly moved atop him, and his hand had easily found its target. She purposely relaxed her lower body and appeared to meet his movements with subtle motions of her own, as if enjoying what he was doing to her. She was disturbingly quiet, as she was not a moaner, and so the only sounds from her were the unpleasant smacks of flesh, saliva, and whatever other dirty bits that this grotesque gathering had brought upon her.

Jutaria was attending to Fadil beside Stella, busily sucking prick as she had been long trained to do. She never bothered to look up at him, instead simply using a combination of too-gentle touches of her hands and fingers and her tongue to pleasure him in the simplest way possible. If she was lucky, she would receive no more from him. The work itself had her too distracted to give any attention to Suhkra, whom she had forced on the man who gave her chills because she had thought she could handle it.

She could not.
Suhkra, a thin, dark girl in her leather outfit, was quite mismatched with the large, hulking, terrible man she was supposed to be pleasing. That was not really an issue in itself. The first issue was of course that all three girls knew instinctively that Merysi was dangerous. The second was that Suhkra was inexperienced when it came to dealing with rough men, as she was so desensitized to everything and so dead inside that she had learned simply to "take it" like she was supposed to.

She moaned at first in girlish tones that were supposed to arouse and encourage, but as he grabbed her and squeezed her, moving his hands over her as if trying to see how easy it was to simply rip her apart, her sounds shifted in tone and urgency. Pain began to tease at her skin, but she ignored it, thankful when the man began using his tongue as it brought brief relief from his harsh hands.

All three of the girls had forgotten the slave was even there, and really there was no reason to notice her. Stella was beginning to grow almost impatient, biding her time and pretending to enjoy, but her nature teased at Adomankh for a moment when she took one of her hands, pinned it against his disgusting, hairy chest, and dug her nails into him while she pushed him down.
She could hear Suhkra beside her and could see the large man in her peripheral, and knew something was wrong.

Suhkra tried to pretend, but that bit of self-preservation that had never really been beaten out of her forced her to moan with displeasure as she was forced onto her hands and knees. The remains of her tiny outfit were barely even dangling from her skin after Merysi's clawing hands had gotten hold of them, her tied hair with the little braids starting to come undone despite its sturdy purpose.

[Solana]

It was not wet.

That was the first warning to a part of the body that was used to expelling. It was the opposite of the cock-enticing pussy, but still it did not deal in dryness. It needed lubrication. Solana had not even known it might be used for any other purpose than ridding the body of waste. She had not seen an asshole before, not unless it was on a horse or animal, but that was a foul thought indeed, and she was not one to ogle the rear end of beasts. Or women, whores though they may be. Her nails dug into the flesh of her palms. The girl did not scream. How did she not scream?

Merysi was smiling. He smiled at the object of his wild affection, and he grinned at his compatriots. He was waiting for them to see, to notice, to egg him on and praise him for his ingenuity.

Oh Changers, Changers, oh. . ..

Merysi's smile lost its edge, and he pulled the bottle away, swinging it aloft like a trophy at the other two men to get their attention. The other hand he kept on the girl, as if she were a stray animal that might bolt.

Fadil looked first, eyes half lidded and brooding at the interruption. He had laid a single hand on his woman's head, as if in congenial benediction. As if he would caress her like an equal lover who cared. Yes, as if he had some grace left within him, but as he looked at Merysi, and understanding dawned there, he smiled. Solana let out a little animal sound of despair, because she knew then that there would be no stopping. She didn't need to see Adomankh break away and chuckle, she didn't need to hear his words.

"A new trick for your pony, then?" His voice was beautiful, soothing. Exactly the voice a leader should have.

"For my bitch!" Merysi's deep laugh shook the fat of his belly, and it vibrated throughout all of his flesh in a series of ripples. It was repulsive. He slapped her ass, and Solana could see from even that distance that her body had relaxed just so when he had pulled away the mouth of the bottle from that puckered hole.

It was not gentle.

One last waving salute to the men, and then the neck just. . .

disappeared.

Inside.

Solana's eyes went wide, wide, open until her very sockets hurt. But even as she clenched down in her secretive places, she knew she had never experienced a hurt, a shame -- it was unbelievable. She could not comprehend.

It came out.

There was a noise, a wet embarrassing noise that came from the girl's wrong end, and Merysi was laughing so loud, too loud. So loud he could not hear, see, feel the terrible pain and hurt he was causing.

"Whoosies girlie, didn't drink it all! Here then, drink it up so I can fill your holes up proper!"

[Stella]

A little voice in Suhkra told her to relax her muscles. A tingling, terrible sensation raced along her spine and trembled throughout her arms and legs, causing her knees to shiver and quake while the heat of the region and of aroused men made generous amounts of sweat prickle and roll down her dark skin. The tremble was a nauseous fear of the pain, a pain which she had taken before but never like this. This was new, and what was left of her spirit told her that it would be terrible, that she must find a way to escape. But that was overruled by her need to stay here, to avoid what would happen if she did not accept, if she ran.
Death.

The pressure against her anus relaxed as the bottle was removed, but it was exchanged by a more forceful grip on her from one of Merysi's sticky, fat hands. His fingers stuck to her back like he had glued them to her from the combination of sweat and a firm hold, and the girl let out a small gasp in nothing but fear, lost on the crowd aside from Stella's all-too-watchful eye.

Stella's grip on Adomankh tightened, her nails forcing their way into cloth and skin as he spoke. She tried not to pay attention, she tried not to care. Yet despite her dark, cynical nature, she could not simply abandon a human being not so far away from herself, she could not ignore her and focus her thoughts elsewhere. And, really, where else was there to focus them to? What else had the world brought to her, what more could she ever hope to see and hear and smell?

She heard Suhkra made a horrible shuddering sound, a strained scream, not a moan. She heard sounds she had hoped her ears would never have to cope with, violent noises and pleading screams. She heard a strange word of Suhkra's native tongue, and it was obvious that she was crying from her tone.

Something inside her was torn, so that even when the initial pain had ended, it burned ferociously and without mercy, worsened by alcohol and lack of moisture. Salting the wound was not enough to describe it. It was as if her insides had been pulled apart and had razors jammed between the cracks of exposed flesh and blood. The red that tainted the place of violation was not only wine.

The bottle was held in front of her as her legs and arms quaked and shivered and her spine tightened with humiliation and anguish. Then she understood what he wanted her to do. Saliva slipped from her mouth and mixed with the tears soaking her chin. She did not have the strength to look at him and beg for mercy. She did not have the strength to do anything except what he wished her to do. He held the bottle for her so that he did not have to loosen his grip that kept her down. She choked on the foulness of wine, Merysi's saliva and that of herself in the bottle, and her body would not, could not resist the urge to reject its contents.

As she swallowed her body tightened so harshly against her forced position that she felt vertebrae in her back pop and a muscle in her shoulder tear. She vomited the little that she had eaten onto the garden ground of dirt and dust.

Stella burned with a kind of hatred she had not known for some time. Her fingers reached for the place her knife was usually kept but there was nothing there.

Think.

[Solana]

Merysi giggled, and gazed upon the prone body of his rented whore with something like fondness.

"Good girl."

Fadil groaned and let his head fall back, rolling his eyes out of Merysi's direct view. "Stop showing off." He said, though it was obvious the words had not been drawn from him out of any great concern.

Merysi giggled again, looking over at his friends with a giddy sort of grin. He kept a hand on Suhkra, caressing her with all the finesse of a mating boar. Solana pressed herself against the wall, disgust drawing her face down into a mask of discomfort as Merysi pulled Suhkra's ass cheeks wide apart, and examined the damage he had done. He was happy with it. He was pleased with Suhkra's strained reaction. It was making him so very hard.

He lowered his face to really stare at her asshole, and then pushed his face in to lick at the thin dribble of blood. He blew against it, and then teased it with the bottle. "Oh, you want more, don't you, whore?" He was cajoling, demanding.

Adomankh was ignoring Merysi, instead looking at his girl with a touch of dislike. He could tell she was distracted, tensing at the wrong thing and not loosening to his pleasure like she should be. He jiggled her a little bit, and pulled her down so he could nuzzle and nip at her throat. Stella was lucky; Adomankh took his pleasure from making girls melt from his self-assessed skill and mastery of the sexual arts. He was, in many things, opposite from Merysi.

Who had pushed Suhkra down.

Merysi had carefully put the wine bottle aside, and was casting about for something else to use on Suhkra's devastated body. Solana might have once considered herself a sadist for the things she had done in her quest for power, but she was experiencing a darker type of sadism, one that was so much more personal. So much worse. Unbidden, her hands had contracted in the material at the juncture between her legs. She had never known that she might one day be grateful to be clothed. She had taken her prudishness as a matter of pride, and her virginity as a badge of dedication to her chosen art. That it could be trespassed in such a manner . . . She had never known.

Merysi had found the bowl of fruit that had been left as an afterthought of hospitality; something that was given for nibbles and gluttony, but often never fully consumed. As it had been left mostly untouched, it became objected to his attention. Suhkra was left blessedly alone for those few scattered moments; it simply did not occur to Merysi that she might try to defend herself or escape. She was a doll to his pleasure, like a faceless line of bodies before her. She might be broken at his whim, and if broken she would be easily replaced.

He selected two figs, of medium girth for their kind. There had also been melon, sliced into edible wedges. He selected one of those, as well.

"You have a loose pussy, girl?" He asked sweetly, tenderly, before he dropped his fruits to the side and propped her just so that he might shove two fingers up her vagina and swirl them around, a little. "Reckon you've been used mightily, hm? Well, I'll take care of that, and sweeten you up." The wedge was first, and he gave no indication of his intent but for a single, clipped warning:

"You keep these inside of you, hear? If you drop them out, I will be very displeased with you. I know you want to be a good girl."

He kissed the base of her spine with a gentleness that seemed out of place for him, compared to the violence that had transpired. "Good girls get rewards." He tickled her clitoris, as if to tantalize her with the prospect of being pleasured.

Then he shoved the melon wedge up her pussy. It was clear from the way he smiled that he didn't expect it to hurt; his leer bespoke a need for humiliation. He leaned over her then, his belly and prick brushing over her rear and leaving a wet spot at her flank from the pre cum that dribbled from the tip. He held the figs out of her vision. "I promised I'd fill you up, sweetie." He whispered to her, before rudely shoving first one, and then the other fig up her backside in rapid succession.

Solana was hyperventilating.

"Don't drop these, you slut." He kissed her ear, and then moved around to the front of her. He was grinning quite cheerfully, darting a glance at his buddies, ogling their whores, looking for more affirmation that he was so very clever.

Merysi slapped Suhkra's face a few times with his cock to make sure he had her attention. "Suck it, you whore."

[Stella]

Objects.

These were not times where women were so often treated with just equality. With the introduction of magic to the world so long ago, there was a new element to the frustrations of women in a world of men, but this night was not about the ill treatment of their sex. This was about status. This was about the horrors that slavery could bring to society, horrors that none but those who knew and felt it day in and day out understood or fully acknowledged.

Stella had never been treated with genuine kindness, and she had never been exposed to the middle class lifestyle, other than lonely men who had tired of their wives and laborious jobs. But, prior to being taken from her last home, she had also never known true hardship. She had been beaten and spat on, kicked and forced to vomit; these were not new behaviors. But never had the gap between herself and her clients ever been so wide, and never had she been so lifeless, so cowardly, that fear had replaced all but the very tips of sanity still clinging to her mind. Slavery was not a thing of sunshine and roses. These other women had known things far worse than Stella's greatest nightmares, but they could still feel. They felt even when they were not supposed to feel.

The slave who watched clearly did not understand this trade at its worst.
She had never seen these things, never heard such a scream.

Stella felt herself be handled and nuzzled with a level of gentleness that contrasted so greatly when the man behind her that it made her feel almost sick. These men needed to die. They all needed to die. But there was nothing she could do now. She could not take on three men twice (or three times) as large as herself with nothing but her bare fists and half-naked body. Oh but she wanted to kill them, there was no mistaking that horrible burning desire in her heart, if she still had one.

For now she blocked Suhkra's softened cries out of her mind in the hope that whatever horrors were happening behind her were lesser than the ones before. The motions of attempted pleasure from the man beneath her she took as a signal to preoccupy herself with moaning and tensing, trying to pretend like she still had a soul. She tilted her head as if so taken with him and licked his neck, and as she tasted sweat and the dirt of his foul skin she was only too tempted to bite until he bled.

Jutaria had an easier job, so desensitized that even the voice of Merysi and following cries of the girl did not keep her from delicately sucking prick with an unnatural expertise that only came with disease-rich experience. This was as Suhkra dropped down to nurse her pride, too stunned at the pain and the disturbance to do much of anything. In fact when he returned to play with her she instinctively rose back up as much as her quaking arms were able to, chewing the inside of her cheek so hard that it bled, and then burned sharply at the bile she could still taste in her mouth. Terror gripped her when he spoke, and it told her to do as he said or the pain would be worse. The pain would take her, and she would never again be free.

She had clenched her hands so her knuckles were supporting her upperbody. She had done that earlier without realizing it. Her dirty, naturally painted nails had dug far into her palms, and for a moment of peace she focused so acutely on that pain that everything else went away, like a bad dream.

Then a terrible pain forced her arms to drop her front for a moment. Her throat hurt. The back of her tongue was desperate for water to get rid of the acidic bile and the crying had made her hoarse. She didn't have the strength to scream, and instead emitted a sound of surrender while he did more, and tried to do as he said.

She pushed herself back up while trying to hold the alien objects. Her dark face was dirtied with the terrible moisture of his prick. She swallowed a lump in her throat and would not lift her eyes. Saliva slid down her lip because she was too terrified to lift her hand and wipe her mouth. It didn't matter. Suhkra did as she was told, performing an act she had done many times before, but never as it was now. Her body was slowly breaking. She tensed sharply as one of the figs started to slide, and in desperation she tried to busy Merysi with a sensitive movement of her tongue when she felt it drop.

[Solana]

The sound of the anus expelling was a nasty noise. A squelch, a gasp of air, and that final terrifying thud. Solana saw it, and she could not help the rebellion of her stomach. She grew dizzy, and went to her knees, and vomited up the meagerness in her stomach. It burned, it tasted foul, and still she knew deep in the part of her head that screamed for the other girl, she knew it was nothing as to what these women had experienced.

The smell of shit grew stronger.

She couldn't breathe. Air was choking her. She couldn't catch her breath, the dry sobs came so fast and so quick so she could only try to gasp quicker. She put her hands over her mouth to stop herself, so afraid was she of being heard. Yet even over the frantic beat of her heart and the clamor of her breath, she heard what was next.

"What a bad girl." It was Adomankh, remarking drily for Merysi, who was quiet. "Mery doesn't like bad girls."

Fadil was giggling, and the wet whisper of flesh and flesh changed somehow. Solana didn't look. She still felt queasy sick. She wanted to vomit again, but she couldn't get her breath under control to even let the bile come out. Her stomach cramped.

"These girls aren't for you to cut on." Adomankh's voice was sharper, colder, and completely unyielding. "They're for fucking."

At that Solana did look up, eyes too wide again, but she only caught the blurry edge of Stella's expression, and she felt a kinship with it. She knew it. She felt it. She hungered for it.

Too quickly her eyes kept moving to what she feared most. What she couldn't keep herself away from. Merysi had pulled out his knife -- a polite blade meant for the cutting of meat and vegetables, or fruit -- and had put the tip to Suhkra's cheek. His cock was buried in her mouth, her nose pressed up against his pubic hair. "What? Have you truly never fucked through a cut hole?" He was grinning. It was all a joke. A big joke. Ha ha, let's reduce a living woman to shreds that she might be merely meat for fucking.

It was simply too funny to be funny. Ha ha. His belly was quivering. Solana stared at it, but she could not form the thought. The dark and bloody thought hovered behind her lips, the notion to cut him and fuck him until he was a stain on the ground. She didn't need words for it. She felt it behind her horror and her sickness.

"Do you truly wish to pay for disfigurement? I will not. You are my guest, but that is not a cost I have agreed to shoulder. You insult my hospitality."

The knife was withdrawn.

The cock was withdrawn, too.

Merysi grunted assent, but it was given only grudgingly. "Another time, then. I shall find something to fuck her naughty holes, instead." He sounded bored and petulant. A toy had been taken from him, and he resented it.

He left Suhkra where she was, trembling and miserable. He went to his stool, made out of tough plant material that had only a superficial resemblance to the polished wood of Adomankh's chair. The legs were rough, left to resemble natural beauty. This was likely done on purpose, to offset the grandeur of the chair all the more. Merysi swung it around so he could see one of the legs. This pleased him, for he took it to Suhkra.

Changers.

"You're a bad girl." He whispered. Solana could barely hear him. Then he draped himself over her, his belly oozing onto her back, and he put his lips up to her ear. He didn't let her see the stool, but from his wicked expression Solana could only guess at the verbal torture. He reached with his free hand to alternately fondle and slap her left breast, and he ground his cock into the upper cleft of her ass, forcing her down with his weight.

He retreated only a little. He put it at her ass, teasing the abused hole, and retracted the melon with his other hand. He moved to shove it into her mouth.

"Merysi," Fadil said, his tone of voice implying this was a tired old trick with no entertainment value left to it.

Merysi very briefly turned to grin mischievously, but then he focused all of his attention into putting the fig back into her ass, though this time he took some time with it. He fucked her with it for a short while before he used the chair leg to push it deep, deep inside.

"You're such a slut. Cock and fruit aren't good enough for you." He hissed, and then he shoved the leg up into her pussy, deep enough that Solana could see the moment it was forcibly stopped from within. "That deep enough, you whore?" He asked, and just kept going, in and out. Stop. Stop. Blood. Blood.

Blood.

"Merysi!" Adomankh was frowning, and gripping his girl tightly by the hair, as if he had only just noticed what the other man was doing. "Merysi, what by the War did I tell you?" His voice was dangerous.

It was too late.

[Stella]

Suhkra tried only too desperately to distract Merysi, a name she knew too well, from what was happening behind her; she moved her tongue and ignored the foulness in her mouth to please him, doing anything to keep him from punishing her further. It was a cruel kind of irony that said Suhkra was the smallest and youngest girl there, that she of all three would be paired so unfairly, pitted against a man easily three times her size and a mentality that only came with humans and the like in power. It was crueler then that the other two men seemed almost to encourage the ridicule, the hostility, the pain.

She had never stood a chance against him; she knew that now.

The knife pressed against her cheek and its tip made a small dot of blood appear there. A basic instinct within her told her to shy away from the knife, to escape his fat-fingered grasp and run and run until she could not run anymore. But her mental strength had failed some time ago, so she continued to suck his prick and await the inevitable fate that the knife foretold.
Aie kanag, aie kanag, she chanted in her head. Cut me, cut me.

One of the other men spoke, and while she sucked his cock in a robotic fashion, they bickered. A coping mechanism struggling to keep her awake and active pushed the thought of the knife against her anus far away. She was a shell, lingering on the dim hope that she would be able to carry on with her life after this engagement.

Stella's eyes burned with a want for cruelty to these wretched men. She burned with a strong desire to break from Adomankh's oddly tender hands and retrieve the knife. In the past, she had done foolish things like this, but she knew well enough that even if she did succeed in killing all three men, she'd be caught, and killed. Her life was not worth a thousand of theirs.

She ignored the sounds, ignored the desperation of the fellow woman, ignored everything except for the despicable touch of the man she was still on top of, focusing on the wet smacks of flesh on flesh so that the disgust and mechanical nature of her actions might make everything else stop.

So long. It felt like it had been so long, but it hadn't. They had been here barely over an hour, and most of that had been waiting in that room. Time didn't exist in this weird little realm of sex and torture.

"Merysi!" He grabbed her hair; she made a noise and struggled.
A weird thud.

A few of Stella's hairs broke as she twisted her head around to see what had happened as Adomankh spoke. Suhkra had fallen over; she looked dead. She wasn't, her chest was moving. The forced trauma to her anus and vagina had done more than make her bleed. He'd broken something, and she was bleeding. Her face looked dirty, her fingers were caked with dirt and sweat. Her mind had done her a favor and forced her to lose consciousness and the ability to continue holding herself up.

"What have you done?"
Jutaria spoke what Stella was not permitted to speak. They were rented whores, but they were not being payed to withstand such things, and Jutaria had seen trauma like this before. As far as she was concerned, her time here was void if Suhkra was in serious trouble; she sure as shit wasn't staying to make these idiots come if the youngest needed a doctor. So she did the sensible thing a supervisor would do, moved off of Fadil, and flew to the dark-skinned girl in the now ripped and ruined leather outfit. She put her fingers to her neck to check her pulse.

Stella had her eyes on Merysi, ready to spring from Adomankh's lap if she needed to.