Friday, 1 October 2010

Sold


I was awakened by two slavegirls. They were dressed in their very short tunics, brazenly open in the side, showing too much of their flesh for my liking, for my inner calm.


They attended to me, but made no secret of my status, of what I was. They were attentive but cold, they showed me no affection. When we were done, they brought me through a long corridor to a room where I was greeted by the Slaver.


I had no reason to show him any respect but politeness made me bow my head in his presence. He smiled at me and bowed his head in mock courtesy. He looked me over, from head to toe. I was glad I was still in my robe.


All was lost, I knew that. My freedom gone, lost to some dreadful scheme, some plan I didn't even know about, a plan that would benefit someone other than me. I was a pawn, although a valuable pawn, but I had been sacrificed, sacrificed or utilised.


'It is time, my lady,' the Slaver said and bowed to me while making a gesture towards the door.

'Time for your triumph,' I replied, not wanting to give him the pleasure of seeing me humble myself, not before him, not yet.


I knew the time for him to triumph, for him to see me being degraded, was to come. There was no turning back, now, no way out, but I would keep my head as high as I could, for as long as I could.


He clapped his hands and, instead of the two slavegirls, two young men entered. They were dressed in tunics and sandals, but although they were servants those were the tunics of free men.


I was taken from the room, the two guards by my side and the Slaver in tow. We stopped at the foot of a stair. Sun was shining in through the doorway at the top and I could smell the day outside. It was a hot day.


I stood in the shadow awaiting my turn to climb those stairs. I heard the noise from the commotion outside, the people shouting, the growling and barking of angry men, eager men.


I heard my name being called. I heard a voice call 'the former...' before the roar drowned the announcer. I didn't know what title he had given me, but whichever one he had chosen, it was gone now, stolen from me, and could never be given back.


I climbed the stairs with my two young attendants. I was moving from the shade, into the sun, and it was as if this transition spelled my doom, signified my move from freedom to captivity.


The Slaver entered the stage with me and was greeted by the Auctioneer. He nodded at the Slaver and looked me over. Then he turned to the crowd.


We were standing on a platform that was built from stone, attached to the Slaver's house, his castle, where he kept his stock.


As I got used to the scorching sun, I saw the sea of heads below me. The square in front of the Slaver's castle was packed with people. Most of them were men, staring and smiling men. Some were women, but not many.


I had been at the square, myself, and I had been bidding on girls on this very platform. Never had I seen the place so crowded as now.


When I had been the buyer, I had looked at the girls, tried to assess their assets, tried to figure out if they were strong enough or lithe enough, what I could use them for. I had partly been a calm and collected buyer, but partly I had pitied them, thought they had looked miserable and scared as they stood in their nudity, being watched by the crowd.


'Strip,' the Auctioneer said, his voice authoritative but calm.

'No,' I replied.

He took a long and hard look at me. Then he turned to the crowd.

'The lady doesn't wish to show her assets to you. She prefers to keep her clothes on.'

The people laughed. He turned to me.

'But how will they know what they are buying, if you don't take your clothes off?'

'I will not take them off,' I replied.

'We are waiting.'

'No.'

'Strip,' he repeated, a lot more menace in his voice, this time.

'No.'


He made a gesture with his hand and I felt hands grip my arms. It was my two young attendants. I knew there was no point in resisting it. There was no way out.


I felt my robe being torn down from my shoulders, revealing my body. I felt the fabric of my dress slide over my skin, with a sense of disbelief.


I had never been naked in the presence of men. The only ones who had been allowed to see my body had been my mother and my maidens in waiting. It was unthinkable for a woman of my standing to reveal her body in public. Yet it was done to me.


The Auctioneer nodded again, and I felt my robe being pulled down from my hips and in an instant, I stood naked in front of the crowd.


My pride forbid me to try to cover up, although there was not much pride left for me. There is no pride allowed for a slave, there was none allowed for me. I had been stripped naked on the Slaver's platform. I was to be sold and the buyers had to be allowed to assess my assets.


The crowd went wild. They stared at me, leered at me, shouted and me and cheered. They cried out at the Auctioneer and I heard bids being given.


I wondered why they were so excited. Surely it couldn't be the sight of a naked woman, a naked me, that excited them. There were naked women on this platform, every day.


Was it because I was of noble birth, that I had lost my standing and now they could enjoy the sight of me being humiliated in public?


Another thought entered my mind. I heard the bids and knew I was selling for more than most slavegirls were sold for. I was valuable.


An unwelcome pride about being valuable struggled with the overwhelming shame of having to stand naked before the people, being auctioned off like an animal. I was valuable and it spoke to my vanity. Together with that sensation came the bitter pang of the knowledge that I had been stolen, that I would not gain from my sale. I was to be given nothing. It was the miserable and fat Slaver, who stood licking his lips, who would make a profit. I was the commodity.


When finally one bidder had outbid the rest, I went for a price at least ten times more than I had ever paid for a slave, even for a strong young man. I stood rooted to the spot, watching the proceedings as if they didn't concern me, as if it was someone else, not me, being sold.


When my buyer presented himself, I saw who he was. I knew him well. He was a man who had been a guest in our house, who had looked at me with lust in his eyes and a cruel smile on his lips, the man whom my father had rejected as my fiancé, who had undone my father's bid for power, and made it clear he would take his revenge. I knew, in my heart, that it was he who had planned my enslavement. I knew all to well that he had made this happen. And now he had bought me, now he owned me, and I was not even to be his wife, I was to be his slave, his property.



13 comments:

Paul said...

Janice, that last thought must be bitter indeed.
Yet in a culture that has slaves, she will get used to her new station.
Love and warm hugs,
Paul.

Anonymous said...

Dear Janice:

What an exciting story. Nice gradual description of the girl's feelings, facing her fate. I specially enjoyed 4 moments, that i feel as capital: the moment when you cross from shadow to sunlight, at the stage, (from liberty to captivity); when you refused to undress in public, and they striped you by force, (your dignity being stoled and your pride being broken); your vanity, when you noticed to be a valious animal, (so after all, your strange imagination makes you enjoy the moment); finally, the moment when you discovered to be sold to your ennemy, facing the real dimension of your degradation, and leting an opened door to many evolutions of this story. I'm sure that he bought a wonderful slavegirl.

Thank you,

L.

Oxbridgeman said...

Dear Janice, This is a miniature literary gem with its gradual unfolding of the woman's internal descent from freedom to slavery -- from the freedom to reject to the forced acceptance of the former fiance. The attached picture is not only illustrative of the story but remarkable in its own right.
Oxbridgeman

Mick and Molly said...

Lovely story....makes you wonder how she adapts to life as his Slave.

Janice said...

Dear Paul, there is something about the cruelty of the situation that really entices you, don't you think?

Dear L, it is strange and fascinating that people think so alike. Those are pivotal moments when I write and you pick up on them too.

Dear Oxbridgeman, thank you for the praise. I am glad you liked it. I like the picture too, although I had not a Roman setting in mind, it captures the story quite well.

Dear Mick and Molly, welcome to my blog. Yes, you do wonder. There is always the possibility of continuing but I don't feel obliged to do it. We will see.

Hugs

Janice

Alan said...

Dear Janice,

beautyful new experience. Since the beginning of your blog there is such a rich and breathtakinlgy wide spectrum of imagination here.

The intensity seems even to increase for me. Viscerally.

Thank you so much, for not withholding anything.

Alan

Anonymous said...

Perhaps you are not to be the buyer's slave. Perhaps you will serve his wife. I imagine her wealthy, but plain, haughty but jealous. The buyer brings you home and presents her as a gift, knowing how unwelcome a gift such a beauty must be. You turn. pose and bend for the wife, hearing her hiss of disapproval.

And no matter what rags you are dressed in, no matter how pale from maltreatment (the effects of which never show, but which you feel constantly, burning and chafing under your rough shift) you remain desirable.

The husband summons you at night, and grinds his hairy thighs against your raw bottom, chuckling, then groaning loud enough for the household to hear.

And if she gives you to the guards the next night, and listens to their shouts and your moans, or if she uses you for your nimble tongue on her cunt or full lips on her toes, the pleasure you can give, and the humiliation you can endure, enrages her all the more.

Andres

Lea said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Lea said...

Dear Janice :)

I can't resist adding a comment here, now, too.

Just that Andres' addition to your great story is -- quite inspirational ... thank you, Andres.

Lea

Anonymous said...

Janice, I love your choice of imagery. This looks to be by Bougereau or Alma-Tadema...or am I wrong on both guesses? I sent you an e-mail with the first two chapters of a story yesterday. I know you get a lot of messages and e-mail, but I would love your feedback. BTW, I have a GREAT story entitled 'A Slave for Five Days'. It's very intense...let me know if you'd like to read it.
Fritz P.

Anonymous said...

Should have a contiuation of this story.

Anonymous said...

Read "Online Book Review of Harem Girl -M. Saalih's hot and steamy sexy romance story."

Anonymous said...

good story, and would be a good continuation,