52 comments/ 60288 views/ 81 favorites Maidens and Drakels Ch. 01 By: magicsplash Even at night, the cold Northern sky was bright, illuminated by the huge sea of yellow stars splashed across the pitch black canvas like fireflies against the darkness of a cave. A vast Airship sailed noisily underneath its celestial grandeur, spewing thick pillars of dark smoke from its towering exhaust pipes into the frozen clouds of mist and soot that swirled incessantly around its steel-plated hull. It was a rumbling machine of roaring engines and clanking gears, entirely devoid of portholes or wasteful decorations, and menacing black cannons jutted from its side like spikes, promising certain death to any pirates foolish enough to test its defenses. Beneath it rested neither sea nor land- only the vast emptiness of open sky, and an occasional floating island. It was the Aurorus, the flagship of the Arcadian fleet, returning from conquest loaded to the brim with treasures, slaves, and victorious soldiers. If it had been anything less than magnificent, it would have been an insult to the Emperor himself. In its belly, two girls huddled together, cradling each other in their arms. Both were beautiful, and they looked to be of the same age. One had soft brown hair which curled very lightly against her head, hot green eyes, and sensual features. The other had straight golden locks, innocent blue eyes, and was sobbing into her friend's soft chest. "Shh, Sophia." The one with brown hair said, holding the other girl close. "It's okay, we'll make it through this. The Arcadians can take our homes, but they can't crush our spirits- right?" "But they can May, they can." Sophia sobbed, wrapping her arms around her friend's chest, and burying her face in her dress. "I've seen... I spent every summer of my childhood in Arcadia's countryside... y-you don't know the terrible things they do to slaves there." "Sure I do." May whispered softly in reply, "We had slaves in Leyland too, remember?" Sophia shook her head violently. "It's not the same." She said, "In Leyland, slaves at least had rights. If you killed them, you were prosecuted for murder. If you treated them cruelly, they were set free. In Arcadian, everything in different." "How so?" May coaxed, stroking her friend's hair soothingly. Sophia's gaze flicked up, and May flinched as the full force of her friend's powerful blue eyes bore into her. "It's all just a sport there, May," She whispered. "To break a girl's spirit- to turn her into a mindless sex doll. To put a man in the fighting pits and make him wrestle with drakels- drakels bred to kill. And nobody cares, May. It's just how things are done." May couldn't suppress a shudder. In Leyland, the drakels were a nuisance. They stole sheep from farmers' fields, and would occasionally attack a passing Airship only to be warded off by the sailors on board. But in Arcadia, they had been domesticated-with terrible results. The thought of fighting one of them, with their big black leathery wings and cold yellow eyes, made her shiver with primal fear. But for the benefit of her friend, she swallowed the lump in her throat, and steeled her features. "I see." May said, her voice grim as she stared up at the dank wooden ceiling above the slave bay, "You're right Sophia. I am ignorant. I don't know what it's like there. But that doesn't matter. I still won't let them break me down. Even if it means I have to die, I'll stay my own person. I belong to nobody but myself." She took Sophia's chin, and tilted her face up, kissing her friend on the forehead. "Promise me you'll do the same." She whispered, "For our people." The other girl hesitated, but then reluctantly nodded. "I-I promise." Sophia replied. *** The Aurorus landed on the east side of Treest, an Arcadian city. It was the biggest centre of commerce in the Empire, and the island upon which it sat was connected to Arcadian itself by a massive steel cord known as the 'silver belt', which ran with gondola-trains by day and night. This meant that in their spare time, the nobles of the capital city could easily take the trains to visit in their afternoons, and be back home in time for tea in their evenings, providing an ideal situation for merchants. The slaves were herded out onto the main sorting dock, alongside livestock and shipments of water, fruit and vegetables. They were made to stand in a line, while the Hounds (as the royally-sanctioned slavers were called) trod up and down , and coldly inspected each slave one by one. May felt like a cow being sold for the slaughter. The elderly, the men, and the children were put to the far left, while the pretty girls were sent right. Those with purple bracelets, like Sophia and May, were immediately separated into a special group of their own, no questions asked, not even for the older and plainer ones. The purple bracelets were the tokens the Hounds used to mark those of noble blood. The girls who wore them would be taken to a special auction house, where they would be bid upon by the rich and powerful Arcadian elite. To many men, the prospect of enslaving and degrading a formerly proud noble appealed to their twisted sexuality, and the Hounds wanted to wring every copper piece they could out of their lovely acquisitions. Once the sorting was done, the Hounds tied each slave's hands together cords of brown leather, and led the shackled group of noble girls off the docks and into the market city itself. May cast a glance behind her as they left the ship that had brought them further than twelve thousand miles from their homeland behind for the last time. The city was far more lively than May had expected, and despite her justifiably sour disposition, she was impressed by its size and prosperity. It was covered with tall red brick town houses, paved stone alleyways, and elegant aerial walkways. Its people were a diverse crowd. There were coal black Tahinians, and waif-like Emestrians. There were sulking beggars, and tall men dressed in silks. There were no gardens to speak of, but that was to be expected- water was scarce on most islands, and only the very richest had the luxury to spend it growing flowers and grass. Leyland had been lucky to have one of the world's few natural lakes by its capital, and its people had been spoiled for it. Frequently on their walk, May caught sight of hawkers selling freshly fried meats, tools, dried brown tobbaco, and trinkets gathered from all over the world. They passed several shops that had their store front signs painted with a curious mark- a lightning bolt caught in a fist. May recognized the symbol, but she wasn't sure what it meant. Cocking her head, she nudged Sophia in the side with her elbow. "Wasn't that symbol printed on some of your old guns?" She whispered. Sophia glanced up, and when she caught sight of the symbol, nodded her head. "Oh yeah. That's the sigil of the Taglight family." She said, keeping her voice low. "They're not too popular in Leyland, but here, they're huge. They make all sorts of things -clothes, toys, candies- but most of their profit comes from guns and Airships. Their engineers are really top class. The official military engineers are a bit of a joke in comparison. " There was an unmistakable pride in the way she spoke. "How do you know so much about them?" May asked, with a frown. It bothered her how ignorant she was about Arcadian culture. How could she fight something she didn't understand? "Before the war, my family used to have really strong connections with them." Sophia admitted. "I stayed at their estate during all my summers here. They had two boys about our age, and both were really nice to m-" "- stop chatting!" A Hound barked at them from the front of the queue. May glared at him, but he raised his baton threateningly, and she reluctantly turned her face away from her friend and quieted down. They continued along the busy streets until eventually, they reached a station built right at the end of the silver belt. May's jaw nearly fell out of her mouth when she saw the vast iron cable, thick as an airship, anchored deeply into the island's solid rock. It was almost too elegant to be man made. It looked to her like a strand of spider web that had been taken, enlarged, and dipped in molten steel until it had cooled and turned silver, and stretched out like a tightrope between the islands. They were sent into the station, and loaded into a cramped gondola-train that smelled like sweat, tears, and misery. May wrinkled her nose in disgust. They smell of slavery. She guessed that they weren't the first group of slaves to travel to the auction house in this train, and that would probably wouldn't be the last. The Arcadians had been invading other countries for twenty years now, and every time they annexed a new province, the markets of the Empire swelled with a fresh batch of product. Leyland had only been their latest acquisition. The gondala-train came to life with a wheezing cough as its steam engines fired up, and it lurched to a shaky start, chugging towards its destination by pulling itself along the thick steel cable that held it aloft, only open sky beneath it. Looking around, May sought out Sophia's eyes and gave her a reassuring wink. The train was an utterly new experience for May. Leyland's abundance of water meant that its primary source of income was agriculture, and it had never been forced to industrialize. But though the sight of the whirling clouds underneath her was terrifying, she put on a brave face for her friend. The real horror was waiting for them at the end of the line. *** Elsewhere in Arcadia, far away from May and her plight, the soft morning light fell into a bright and tastefully decorated room. It had two clear glass windows, an oak dresser, an antique grandfather clock, a golden chandelier, an elegant night stand upon which rested a small gas lamp, a teak desk covered in neatly folded stacks of letters and business accounts, and a large bed with beige covers, which held a man who seemed to have just recently woken up after a long sleep. The man yawned as the sun's rays tickled his eyes, and he stood up, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was precisely six in the morning. His waking hour. Good. If he had awoken any later, he would have called himself a lax fool, and remained irritated for the rest of the day. This would not have been unusual. Lord Conrad Faulkner was, even on the best of days, a very irritable man. It was a trait natural to his Faulkner blood. Like their sigil, the wild black Drakel, the Faulkners were widely renowned to be cold, merciless cutthroats. They were the family that always seemed to be involved when something in Arcadia went wrong. Every scandal, every untimely death, and every unfortunate act of piracy- if you followed the trail back far enough, your search would likely lead you to the grounds of their old shambling Manor on Lux Lane- although more often than not, you would end up dead in the process. That was just how the Faulkners did business. Despite or perhaps because of this fierce reputation, the Faulkners had prospered. They were among the richest and most influential families in all of Arcadia, and it was always a good idea for an up and coming merchant to maintain good relations with their head, lest he find his entire fleet mysteriously spirited away over night. Conrad stood up and neatly made his bed. His servants would have done it for him, but he didn't believe in being inconsiderate. That was not how a gentleman behave- and for the head of the Faulkner family, at least the appearance of civility was necessary. It encouraged loyalty among his servants when he treated them as kindly as he did, and it took only two seconds of his time. A servant had better access to his master's secrets than anyone, and if loyalty was not encouraged, there was nothing to prevent them from selling those secrets to the highest bidder. Conrad had many enemies would would be more than willing to pay out a generous sum for anything that could incriminate him. He crossed the room to his plain grey mirror, and smiling tightly at his reflect, took his razor from its place atop the dressed, and began to shave his face clean of hair. This was another courteous gesture. An unkempt man was an untrustworthy man. Conrad took great pride in his appearance, and did everything he could to keep his body in top condition. He was tall, muscled and athletic. His hair was a dark black, and his eyes were cold and grey. His nose was straight, his hands smooth and precise, and his nails cut and clean. He was very handsome, but in a steely, frozen sort of way. The shave took little more than a minute. Once he was groomed to his satisfaction, he placed his razor back on the dresser, crossed the room, and sat down at the teak desk. He began to review his papers with a frown. There were several outstanding loans he had made to various members of society, as well as long financial reports from all of his various pirates. Some were doing well, and others needed to consider that they would like to have written on their gravestones. There was a polite knock on the door- two taps, a three second pause, and another tap. That would be the butler. "Come in Edward." Conrad said, glancing up from the desk. A young man, clearly fresh out of his apprenticeship, entered the room carrying a silver platter topped with expensive white china, and a large plate of eggs, bacon, and toast. "I have your breakfast, sir." Edward said, setting the plate down on the desk. "And Count Stoker is here to see you. He says he is in no rush." Conrad sighed, and steepled his hands against his face. "Very well, show him in." He said, reluctantly. The Count was an old friend of his, it was true, but he lacked tact and cleverness altogether, and often trod a little too heavily on Conrad's thin nerves. Stoker's mind was like a sledgehammer: with great effort and a fair bit of luck, it could occasionally smash a hole through a wooden wall, but it could never perform surgery without killing the patient. Conrad was quietly eating his second egg when Stoker entered the room, dressed in a dark suit, and smiling like a fat cat given milk. "Conrad!" He said, throwing his arms up in the air in brotherly greeting. "Jonathan." Conrad said, stiffly. He did not accept the hug- instead, he stood to his full hight, and proffered his hand, his eyes cold, but not angry. Stoker shook it enthusiastically, his grin never leaving his face. "How have you been, my good man?" He asked, as he pulled up a free chair, and sat down next to Conrad. His eyes wandered to the paper in his friend's hand, and Conrad promptly flipped it over, slamming it down on the desk. "I'm well, thank you." Conrad said, "and yourself?" "Oh, good as I ever am!" Stoker replied. "The wife's been giving me a little bit of trouble lately, but I persevere." He let out an amicable chuckle, inviting Conrad to share in his misfortunes. But Conrad would have no part of it. "Would you like me to have one of my men sort her out?" He asked, his eyes never leaving Stoker's. Stoker was aghast. "No, Gods no." He said hastily, throwing his hands up into the air as if to ward off some invisible blow. "It's just a little lover's quarrel, that's all. There's no need for your, uh, help." "That's good." Conrad said, dryly suppressing a smile. "I always liked Maria. It would have been a shame to see her pass away so young." For a few moments, there was silence. Stoker stared hard at his friend's face. "I can never tell when you're joking, you know." He finally said, "and now you've got me flustered. Here I was, coming to you with an offer of entertainment, and you bully me like this!" "Oh I see. How rude of me." Conrad said eyebrows rising. "Entertainment?" "Yes, entertainment, right!" Stoker exclaimed. He set his hands down on the desk, and leaned forward conspiratorially, as if they were in crowded bar and he did not wish to be overheard. "When was the last time you had a woman, my friend?" He asked, with a sly grin. Conrad gave a slight frown. "Just two days ago, Stoker." "Two days-?" Stoker said with astonishment. Then his eyes narrowed knowingly. "Oh, you mean a prostitute." Conrad gave a quick dip of his head, indicating that indeed, he did mean a prostitute. "I thought as much." Stoker said, with a shrug. "I don't know what it was about Lydia, Conrad, but ever since her death- you really haven't been yourself. There was nothing you loved more than breaking a good slave in. Nothing more satisfying to you than that sweet moment when some pretty little thing's will snapped, and she became yours. But now it's like you've lost all your old passions entirely." "My sister's death had nothing to do with that, Stoker." Conrad replied coldly. "I just... grew up, and moved on to other pleasures." "Oh?" Stoker asked, leaning back in his chair. "Like what? Sitting in your room all day, plotting dark deeds, and cheating honest families out of their life savings?" He nodded pointedly towards the paper Conrad had set face down on the desk, and at the window, to the hustling city outside. "Admit it. You want to experience what it's like to own a slave girl again, and you just don't know where to start!" Conrad sighed. This was exactly Stoker's problem- he would always get himself involved where he wasn't wanted or needed. But evidently, his heart was sat on this. "Very well, enlighten me." Stoker's grin split across his face. "There's an Auction today at the Jubilee Auditorium. Fresh slaves from all over Leyland and Emestris. All of noble birth. I mean to pick one or two of them up myself -for the missus and me to bond over, you know- but she can't stand to be in the same room as me right now, and I have an extra ticket. Won't you come along?" Conrad considered the offer. He didn't really want to go, but if he refused his friend now, he was likely to have trouble with him down the road. And Stoker was right. Recently, Conrad's life had settled into a rhythm. Things were getting boring. Routines were becoming stale. It was long past time he bought himself a new girl, and livened things up. With a nod, he agreed *** The gondala-train journey seemed to take hours. By the time it was done, May had a cramp in her leg from sitting pressed up against the wall for the whole trip, and Sophia had almost fallen asleep. They were let out by the side of an imposing white building made of worked marble, which glared white in the afternoon sun. The flag of Arcadia, a blue star on a red field, flew proudly on its roof. It reminded May of a Cathedral, except that seemed dedicated to the power of the Emperor, and not the glory of God. Each girl was assigned a Hound dressed in a black suit, and told he would be responsible for preparing her for the auction. They would be paid a two-percent commission on her sale. May have her Hound an appraising glance up and down, not unlike the one she herself had been forced endure earlier at the docks. He had short brown hair and a lanky build. "Well, you don't look so tough." She said, with a challenging smile. The Hound responded with a large grin of his own, revealing his yellow, decaying teeth, of which he was missing several. The stench was unbearable, and May turned her head away in disgust. "Does it run in the family?" She quibbed. The Hound ignored her remark. "Follow me." He said, his voice bland. With a reluctant sigh, May decided to do as she was bid. Her rule was only to resist when she could see a clear benefit to doing so, or at least, no way in which things could end extremely badly for her. In this case, she could find none- her hands were still tied, and his baton was rather monstrous looking. He led her through the front doors and into the building's spacious white hallways, which were decorated with paintings, vases, and other pieces of art. Some of the works were quite famous, and May couldn't help but wonder if they had been purchased legitimately, or simply stolen from various countries during Arcadia's wars of conquest. Probably the latter. Maidens and Drakels Ch. 01 They reached a small black door built into the side of one of these hallways, and stopped. The Hound pushed it open and showed May inside. She found herself in a small room tiled with a glass pottery-like substance that she did not recognize. There was a mirror on the wall, and an elegant iron seat with a hole in it that May had never seen before, but knew from books was called a 'toilet'. There was also a cubicle on the far end of the room, with a small tap at the top. It was something called a shower. It used far less water than a traditional Leyland bath, and was used far more often on islands that lacked rich natural reserves of water. "Undress." The Hound commanded, and pointed to the cubicle, "Clean." "I'll only undress if you leave the room." May said, shakily, but with surety. There were certain lines she was never going to cross. The Hound raised his baton at her threateningly, but she when she didn't flinch, he reluctantly lowered it to his side- he would probably be punished if he damaged the goods too badly, and besides, he was getting a good commission on her sale. He stepped forward, and undid the ropes on May's hands. "You have ten minutes." He said, as he left the room to stand by the door. "Finish quickly." The shower was hot and wet, and as the accumulated dirt of several days rolled off her body, May shivered in pleasure. It made her feel a little guilty to see so much clean water turn muddy and go to waste, but it would probably be recycled and reused. That was the only reason they could afford to waste it on slaves. When she was done, she grabbed a white towel from a rack in the corner, and wrapped it around her dripping body. She stepped out, only too late to realize that her clothes had been taken from her. "Damn." She spat. So it had all been a ruse. The Hound was standing in front of her, his now-trademark grin plastered across his smarmy little face. Evidently, he loved his job. He took his hands out from behind his back. In his right fish, he held a pair of thin red panties. In his left one, an equally revealing red bra. His eyes were laughing at her. He held them for second, then released his grip and let them flutter to the ground. "Dress." He said, eyeing her lustily. "Go fuck yourself." May said. If he thought she was going to wear that humiliating get-up, he had another thing coming. The Hound gave a shrug, "Dress, or go naked. Your choice." For a moment, she thought about it. Going naked would have been the rebellious thing to do, but she also knew it would probably please the Hound -and the customers- all the more. That was something she wanted to avoid doing. Even if it meant enduring the shame of dressing up like a whore. In humiliating silence, she wrapped her towel as tightly as she could around her body, and clumsily lowered herself the floor, grabbing the bra and panties with her free hand. Then, taking great care not to let the towel slip away, she disappeared into the shower cubicle again. Then using the towel as a curtain, she began to get dressed. It took her a few minutes of heavy breathing to come to grips with the outfit she wearing, but finally, she emerged clad only in the embarrassing garment. It barely covered her nipples and lips of her pussy, and most her ample breasts were clearly visible. She tried to hold her head high, and take it in stride. It wasn't like she had worn anything more modest when she had swam in Leyland's great lake, she reasoned. This was just the same, only without the water. "Relieve yourself." The Hound said, pointing to the toilet. "I don't need to." May hissed, and tried to walk past him into the light. But the Hound caught her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip. "Yes you do." He growled, yanking her back inside, and pointing to the toilet. Without thinking, May punched him in the face. *** Conrad and Stoker arrived at the Auditorium in the late afternoon. The doorman greeted them with a bow, and after accepting Stoker's tickets, handed them each a claim card, which reserved them a pair of excellent seats near the back of the auction room- the perfect place to sit if you wanted to watch your opponents without getting caught. "Enjoy the auction, my lords." The doorman said with respectful nod, "I am certain you that you will each find what you are looking for." As they walked past him, Conrad smirked, "Unlikely." The interior of the Auditorium had been decorated and cleaned from the auction. The floors were waxed, and every speck of wall, ceiling, or window was sparkling. It seemed the day's theme was red, as every piece of furniture they passed was painted crimson, and every servant wore a bright red suit. Conrad even caught sight of a few of the girls, and they too, wore tiny red underwear. They found their seats (which were unsurprisingly also red) and sat down. There was a tall clock in the corner, and Conrad checked the time- quarter to three. The auction would begin at three o'clock, which gave him ample time to study the other attendees. From his superior vantage point, Conrad was able to watch the attending members of the Arcadian elite trickle in. He caught sight of two who he knew quite well- Lord Benjamin Redlaw, and his wife Margaret. They owed him a huge sum of money. How it was that they thought they had the funds to waste on a new slave was beyond him, but Conrad made a mental note to confront them about it later. When Margaret saw him, he was gratified to see her blanch, and whisper something furtive to her husband, who looked at him with an expression of horror. But by now it was too late for them to make their escape. The auction was already beginning, and Conrad had already seen them. Their best bet would be to claim that they had simply come to watch, and not to purchase- however hollow it might ring. "My lords, my ladies!" The announcer, a tall Hound with a scar on his left cheek, began, "Welcome to our humble Auction! Today for your pleasure, we have assembled some of the most beautiful, exotic, and fiery girls of noble blood from all across the provinces. They are guaranteed to fill your nights with endless fun, as you torment or tease them as you see fit. Let's enjoy ourselves, shall we?" He turned aside, and Conrad watched with mild interest as the first few girls were led out one by one. It took him only a moment to decided that he wanted none of them. They were plain, and lacked any sort of emotion on their faces. In fact, their eyes were downcast, and they seemed resigned to their fate. He guessed that they were the last sweepings from Emestris. Hopefully the girls fresh from Leyland would be a little more appealing. Still, they were snapped up quickly by a group of minor nobles who seemed to have come together, and likely did not have the funds to compete for the bigger fish. Maybe they didn't want a rebel on their hands. "That's all we have from Emestris today my friends," The announcer said, bowing as he unknowingly confirmed Conrad's guess, "The remainder of the slaves were all flowers plucked straight out of Leyland." The next girl they brought in was much more to his taste. Not only was she a golden-haired beauty, she was also sobbing loudly, as if just being on the stage was causing her pain. It was delightful. Tears were so much better than apathy. Beside him, Stoker murmured a low grunt of approval, and Conrad felt him cock harden inside his pants. He had to think unpleasant thoughts until it went back down. Oh yes, Stoker was right. He could definitely use a new slave. The announcer began to drawl, listing girl's behaviour, age, sexual experience (she was eighteen and a virgin) and a variety of other small and insignificant pieces of information. Conrad felt himself grow rather irritated. Usually they started with a slave's name first, and followed with details after. What was the reason for this special presentation? His question was answer by the Hound's next words. "Her name, my lords and ladies, is Sophia Bishop." It was as if the room had been hit by a tornado. Instantly, it was filled with loud shouts, rapid conversations, and panicked whispers. Several people stood up in their seats, shouting out bids which were drowned out by the noise. Others were still, but trembled slightly, gritting their teeth in anticipation. "Quiet please!" The auctioneer shouted, obviously slightly annoyed, "Calm down. Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please return to your seats, the bidding will begin momentarily." He ad to bang his gavel against his wooden podium several times to regain control. Conrad had no sympathy for him. If you were going to sell a Bishop in a slave auction, you had to be prepared to deal with an enthusiastic crowd. The Bishops had been Leyland's family of spymasters. In the waning months of the war, they had desperately orchestrated the deaths of over two dozen nobles across Arcadia- at one point, they had even attempted to assassinate the Emperor himself. For every man they had killed, the Bishops had made fives times as many enemies. No wonder this Sophia looked so terrified. In the crowds eyes, her appeal had just shifted from sex to revenge. Reading her name last must have been a clever plot to bait the audience. Conrad guessed Arthur Fenix, a pouncy but clever Hound with a flair for the theatrical, was responsible. Before he had become a Hound, he had been a street urchin who worked his way up to modest wealth on the back of tobbaco sales. He was a clever salesman, and a master of manipulating large groups of people. The bidding started out small and fast, but quickly rose to extravagant heights. Conrad offered a bid of his own three times during the proceedings, but at each attempt, he was rebuffed by Marisa Marlgrove, a wealthy young noblewoman with nerves of steel. Conrad knew her history very well. Both of her parents and two of their friends had been killed in a steam explosion set off by an agent of the Bishop family. It was only natural she would spend whatever she had to take their revenge. It would have been discourteous to continue bidding against such resolve (although he was certain he possessed the funds to clean her out ten times over) and so, Conrad politely desisted. This left Marisa with a single real competitor: a young man Conrad didn't recognize. His had bright gold curls, grey blue eyes, and a charming smile plastered stupidly across his face. He was sitting on the balcony, which meant that his family was either very old, or heavily connected with the slave trade. Conrad guessed the latter. For every bid that Marisa called out, the young man would calmly double it, his smile never leaving his lips, no matter how ferocious Marisa's glare became. They crowd was following their exchange like a pack of hyenas thirsty for blood. "50, 000" Marisa cried out. "100, 000." The young man countered. "150, 000!" "300, 000." It was obvious which one of the two had more money to blow. Funds were getting tight for Marisa, and she had to know by now she was not going to win. If she pulled out before things became too drastic, she could at least save herself some face- but Conrad knew she wasn't going to. The Marlgroves always had more pride than sense, and nothing to back it up with... "Marlgrove Manor.' The girl said, desperately. Beside Conrad, Stoker's mouth opened and shut silently. The crowd went quiet. For the first time that night, the cocky young man frowned. It was a rather unpleasant sight. His upper lip curled, and the features of his handsome face contorted in a mixture of annoyance and disgust. The tension was thick and palatable. Marlgrove Manor was the ancestral home of the Marlgroves. It had been in their family for as long as any historian could remember. It rested on a private island all of its own, high in the sky above the Arcadian mainland. During a rare rainstorm, the Manor's many ponds would flood with fresh water, which provided a major source of income for its owners- nearly all of their income, in fact. To give it away was unthinkable. But then, Marisa was the last of her line. When she married away or died, the Marlgrove name would marry or die with with. Perhaps she thought it fitting that the Manor would be sold to acquire the daughter of her parents' killers. For a few moments', the young man said nothing. Then, just before the auctioneer's gavel could descend on the podium and declare Sophia sold, he abruptly rose to his feet. "One Imperial-class Frigate." He spat, his voice practically dripping with venomous hatred. The crowd gasped. Instantly, before any other bids could be offered by either party, the overly eager auctioneer shouted, "Sold!" and slammed his gavel down, sealing the girl's fate. Smart choice. Even if he had wanted to, Conrad himself could never have matched that bid. It would have been absurd. But that wouldn't have stopped Marisa from trying, and the Hounds would have been forced to offend a powerful young woman by refusing whatever it was she offered. In all of Arcadia, there were only six ships of the Frigate class. Each one of them was a mighty behemoth, armed to the teeth with cannons, engines, and top-class steel plating. It was thought one of them was the equal of a fleet. Four of them belonged to the Emperor himself. Two of them belonged to the Taglight family, which gave Conrad a very big hint about who the mysterious young man probably was: Lauchlan Taglight, the heir to Taglight Industries. His father was dead, and his ailing mother had passed control of the family business to him. It certainly explain his seemingly endless supply of money. But why had Taglight done this? As far as he knew, the boy's ailing father had died from a natural disease- not by the hand of the Bishops. The girl was ravishingly pretty, but girls just as attractive could be bought for a much lower sum at other establishments, and she was certainly not worth the cost of even a small Warship- much less a Frigate. There had to be another reason. Conrad resolved to find out what it was. The Bishop girl was led away into another room, where she would be bound, shackled, and prepared for her new master's pleasure. In the past, slaves had been locked in a room, but otherwise left loose until after they had been purchased, unless their buyer made a special request. But that policy had resulted in many escape attempts, and two gruesome deaths, and had been done away with. Conrad noted with slight amusement how delicately the Hounds seemed to treat her. They almost seemed scared to touch their skin. They must have been worried about losing their once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to acquire an Airship worthy of a King. The crowd was given several minutes to settle down. Then, after some minor shuffling, the auction began anew. "That was something, eh?" The auctioneer asked, eyes twinkling as he looked at the crowd, "This next one up is her friend, so if any of you are up for a little vicarious revenge, go for it!" He winked at Marisa, and then laughed loud. "Ha, who am I kidding? That was once in a lifetime. Please welcome May Sinclair, everybody!" A girl was dragging in from off stage, kicking and screaming like a wild animal. Her hands were tied together by a rope, and she was being pulled by a particularly disgusting looking Hound. Like the other girls, she wore an outfit consisting solely of a pair of red panties and a tight bra. Unlike the other girls, her eyes sparkled with fire! "Isn't that fight wonderful?" The auctioneer teased, "I suspect this nineteen year-old beauty will be a bit of a tough nut to crack, my lords and ladies, so the timid need not apply!" When the girl was close enough, he grabbed a rough handful of her hair, and forced her to face the crowd. "On the other hand, look at this lovely face of hers. Definitely worth a good bit of cash, if can break her." He winked. "Anyone up for the challenge?" Conrad was. This was just the slave he had been looking for. A girl to resist him, entertain him, and finally, give her sweet submission to him. After which he would throw her away to some brothel, and find another. That was the best part. The instant the bidding started, his hand was up, and he was tossing out his money with the rest of them. The others player for the first few minutes, but as it slowly dawned on them that they were bidding against Conrad Faulkner, they dropped out one by one. It was always nice to see the reaction he inspired. *** The moment she was sold, May was too busy fighting her Hound to see how had bought her, which was a mistake. If she had been given the choice, she would liked to know which sick twisted fuck was going to be raping her (or attempting to) over the next few days, until she found a way to escape. But unfortunately, her little disagreement with her Hound in the bathroom hadn't ended well. In retrospect, she supposed it wouldn't have killed her to use the toilet. They led her off the stage, down the halls, and into a small dark room that smelled like vinegar. They forced to her knees on the ground, tied her legs to the floor, and shackled her hands on a chain above her head, in such a way that her whole body was put lewdly on display. It made her exposed and vulnerable, and May hated it. Then, they wrapped a thick red leather collar around her neck, and left her there alone, allowing May time to study her surroundings in peace. To May's horror, the room was filled with shelves, all lined with a collection of evil looking things. Whips, leashes, gags, clamps- everything that could have been used to hurt or degrade a person, it was all there. Some of the things looked completely alien to her, but it was the things that looked like stuff used on farm animals back home that scared her the most. She wondered if patrons had to pay to use the gear, or if it came free with the purchase of a slave. For a few long minutes, she sat in silence, exactly the way they had left her. But then she heard a click, the door to her room swung open, and a tall, dark, neatly dressed man came into the room. His smile reminded her of the sensation of ice being rubbed across bare skin. Very, very cold. This was supposed to be her new owner? The dark man smoothly lowered himself to the floor until his face was only a few inches from her own, and gripped her delicate chin, forcing May to look up at him. "Name?" He asked. May gritted her teeth, and wrenched her head out of his hand as hard as she could. "You already know it." She hissed, holding his gaze. The ghost of a smile flicked across the man's face. May couldn't help but suspect he was enjoying her resistance. "I'd rather hear it from your own lips, sweetheart." The man told her. There was a long moment of silence. "May." She finally said. "May Sinclair." There was no reason to play his stupid game with him. "What's yours?" Ignoring her question, the man patted her on the head like a child. "Very good." He teased, and raised his eyebrows, "I don't suppose you're related to Viscountess Adella Sinclair, are you?" This made May's eyes narrow suspiciously. "What do you know about my grandmother, you bastard?" She demanded. If this Arcadian had done something to her, May would- "I've heard a few stories about her." The man said, interrupting her thoughts. "She was called the 'Lioness' in her day, wasn't she? Leyland's first female Airship pilot. Can you fly a ship too?" Pause. "No," May lied, "I never learned." In fact, she was quite competent. Her natural wits made her a good hand with a small and manoeuvrable ship. "That's too bad." The man said, "If only you did, I might have been able to find you a place on one of my ships... oh well, I'm sure there are plenty of other things you have to offer me." He slipped his arms around May's back, and quickly found the clasp to her bra. "Why don't we take a look?" Fuck. Maidens and Drakels Ch. 01 Before he could finish, May hocked a wad of saliva in her mouth, and spat it in his face. The man fell back with a shout, and scrambled a few paces away. For a moment, his eyes blazed with fury. May was sure that he was going to kill her. The abruptly, the passion faded, and he regained his cold, controlled demeanour. He calmly wiped the spit off his cheek, as he stared down at her. "That was disgusting." He said, standing up and dusting off his pants, "I see I have a lot of work to do with you." "Oh, I'm so sorry Master. Please don't hurt me." May whined, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The man gad turned his back to her, and was reaching for something on the shelf. "Yes, quite a lot of work. First rule. Watch your mouth, or you'll lose your privilege to use it." May snarled and fought him as he grabbed her by her hair, and forced her head back. He shoved a hard metal ball inside her mouth, and secured it behind her neck. Then with May unable the fight back, the man took a dark black leash from the wall, and waived it tauntingly in front of her face a few times. "Poor little slave. I wasn't going to use one of these, but you leave me no choice." With a grin, he attached the leash to the collar around her neck, and tugged it a few times, testing its strength. "Ready to go?" *** Conrad led his new slave into the Jubilee Auditorium's lobby, glancing back occasionally to make sure she was keeping up. It would have been a shame to accidentally hurt her pretty neck by yanking too hard. Her slender arms were tied behind her back, she had a ball gag in her mouth, there was a red collar attached to a leash around her neck, and her legs were chained together in such a way that she could walk, but not run or kick at him. She was too wild not to be restrained, and it was a very attractive sight. Conrad couldn't wait to get home and punish her for spitting on his face earlier. In Arcadia, an auction was as much a social event as a commercial one. The lobby was the place where the guests at the slave auctioneer met up after the event to schmooze, compare their purchases, and say their farewells. Today there was a great deal of bitterness in the air. In the corner, Conrad could see Marisa Marlgrove shooting daggers with her eyes at Lauchlan Taglight, who was surrounded by a circle of admirers. Turning to the left, Conrad caught sight of Stoker, who was leading a pretty little red-haired thing on a leash behind him, and looked just about ready to leave. When Stoker caught his friend's gaze, he smiled wide, and ambled over, tugging his slave behind him. "This is Adriana Robbins." He proudly declared, a cheeky grin on his face, "Isn't she pretty? I bought her while you went to fetch that one," he said, nodding to May, who snarled at him from behind her gag, "I hope the wife'll like her. I we'll give her a new name together." "I'm sure Maria will." Conrad replied. "If I remember right, she's always been a bit jealous of people with red hair." The girl on the end of the leash whimpered, her eyes big and terrified. Stoker grinned. "I hope so!" He said, and glanced at the door, "Now if you don't mind, I'll be leaving. Once you've grown bored of your new girl, we should go the auctions again some time." As he left, Conrad glanced back to May, who he noticed was inspecting the end of her leash. "Don't even think about it. The leash is a clever object. There's no easy way to slip if off your neck." He warned her. In response, she only gave him a death glare, and looked away, her eyes sparkling with tears of frustration. Though he disliked talking when it could be avoided, Conrad's curiosity got the better of him, and when Taglight detached himself from the crowd to refill his wine glass, Conrad pounced. "Mr Taglight." Conrad said, approaching from the left and proffering his outstretched hand, "If I am not mistaken?" Taglight turned to look at him in surprise. "Oh, uh," he flushed, momentarily losing his composure, "yes, yes, you're right." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, and then smiled amicably. "Forgive me, I am on little bit of an edge, so to speak." He shook Conrad's hand firmly, looking him straight in the eye. "And do I have the pleasure of speaking to Lord Conrad Faulkner?" He asked. "You do." Conrad said, with a curt nod. Per tradition, he also motioned to the girl on the leash behind him, "and this is May Sinclair." He added, allowing Taglight a polite view, "my new slave." Taglight gave May a dutifully admiring glance. She was standing still, and it appeared almost like the girl had given up fighting him, but Conrad suspected she was only biding her time. "Very nice." He praised, his voice warm and open. "A beauty fit for a man of your status!" "Oh, hardly," Conrad said, brushing away the obligatory compliment with his hand, "She's very pretty. But compared to the girl you brought- well, I suppose she could compete, but she'd never win." He looked around blankly, as if noticing for the first time that Taglight did no have his new slave with him, "But where is your darling girl?" He inquired. Taglight took another sip of the glass of red wine in his hand. "Sophia's waiting for me in the other room. I'm not sure I'm quite drunk enough to speak to her yet." He gave an awkward laugh. "I must say, Taglight, I was rather surprised when I heard your bid." Conrad said carefully, trying to be tactful. Why in all the stormy skies would Taglight need to be drunk to speak with his slave? Taglight smiled ruefully, "You and every man in this room." That was no help at all. Conrad would need to be more direct. "What possessed you to trade away a Frigate for a slip of a girl like that? That's a hefty price for only a passing fancy." It was a huge understatement. Conrad's voice was slightly colder than before. Most sane men would have gone scurrying for cover by now, but Taglight didn't seem worried. He didn't answer the question right away, instead, turning to face the wall of the lobby decorated with the sigils of various Arcadian noble houses. "Tell me Lord Faulkner, do you know my family words?" He asked. It was clear he was making a point Playing along, Conrad shook his head, "I'm afraid I don't." Taglight raised his arm, and pointed straight ahead of him. Conrad followed it to the Taglight sigil on the wall, a closed fist catching a lightning bolt. There were small words written in cursive underneath. "Never forgive a traitor. Never forget a friend." Taglight recited. The pieces fell into place. "I see." Conrad said, with a meaningful nod, "and since both you and I well know that the Bishops were no traitors to Leyland, that can only-" "- I consider that girl my friend, yes." Taglight said, cutting him off before he could finish. Arrogant bastard. One did not simply interrupt a member of the Faulkner family. "I know her from my childhood, and I would hate to see her end up like this one here." He said, nodding to May again. Conrad decided that he didn't like Taglight one bit. "Well, aren't you a good man?" He said, coldly. "Where were those heroic ideals of yours when Emperor Pentecost overthrew his sister? I seem to recall that your family rallied behind him rather quickly. Almost treasonably quickly, in fact. Have you forgiven yourselves yet?" The younger man actually blushed. "I am not my father, Lord Faulkner. I will not condemn his decision, but neither will I condone it. But we have a new Emperor now, and what you speak is close to treason." "Is it?" Conrad asked, with a thin smile. "Poor boy. When will you learn? The truth is always treason. Isn't that why you shut down that little printing press of your brother's last month?" Taglight's eyes grew wide in surprise, and he opened his mouth blankly. "Oh, I hope you don't think that anybody was fooled. Everybody of consequence hat 'terrible unfortunate chemical explosion' you told the journalists about was just a ruse to burn every last copy of that rebel book he was producing." For a moment, Taglight was frozen. Then, he grinned uncomfortably. "And I here I thought that nobody was the wiser. Always the smartest man in the room, aren't you Faulkner?" "Oh, you'll get there in a few years Taglight. Until then, you have a lot to learn" The two men regarded each other in silence. It was Taglight again who broke the silence. "Very well then, Lord Faulkner. Let's speak no more of treason to one another, and be on our separate ways." "Agreed." Conrad said, "Come along slave." He tugged May's leash. Then just as he realized with horror that while he had been talking with Taglight, she had circled around him and sat down on the floor, he found himself crashing face first into the ground as he slipped over her outstretched legs. * *Author's Note: This is my first submission on this website, and also my first foray into non-consensual erotic literature (although I've been an avid reader of both for years). I'm also not a big follower of Steampunk, but I figured I'd experiment with it. I know this story is nothing close to top-quality on the site, but if it generates enough interest, I'll definitely continue it until the end! If not, I'll throw it in the trash heap and start something fresh. I had a little bit of trouble deciding which section to put this in, but I ultimately settled on non-consent over BDSM or fantasy. Though BDSM is going to be prominent in the first few chapters, its presence will gradually wane over time, and I feel the non-consensual theme is going to be much stronger than the fantasy one. If this first chapter was a little boring in some places, please point out how and where so I can edit it! I try to do a good job of telling enough without giving it all away, but I'm not always very good at it. Likewise, if you like a particular bit, let me know what it was, so I can get a sense of how people reading my stories think.*