0 comments/ 22989 views/ 3 favorites Within the Plains of Turia Ch. 01 By: simply_cyn The girl known as Alena was shoved to the block in Turia. It wasn't as grand as some that she had been presented upon but nonetheless it was, indeed, a slave block. Her natural instinct, the earth girl inside, the one that still answers to Louise, is to run and get away from the unknown and the fear of what lies beyond. But the slave girl that she has been trained to be on this barbaric world where she was brought to serve and please men ... this girl tips her chin haughtily, the insolence beholding only that of a proud slave flashes in the depths of stormy Thassian blue eyes. Fighting back the trembling she can feel in the pit of her belly, she glances over the throngs of people jam-packed into the small area, her body on display upon the high block. Swallowing past the fear, she assumes a beautiful haughty standing position as the slaver begins the bidding and as she feared, it is low. Times like these she is again reminded of what she truly is ... just a beast, an animal for their amusements and she grits her teeth in anger. How dare them! Do they not see the human being that she is? Do they not see the countless hours she spent in the training pens of Ar itself?? Sleen! All of them! And she could smell them ... Tuchuk sleen! They were the worst. A shudder of apprehension trembled down her spine at just the thought of it. And then she is startled back to the moment at the auctioneer's bold boast that she is a trained pleasure slave from great Ar itself followed by a murmur that slips through the crowd along with cries of proof be handed down to them so they might know he speaks the truth. Alena's lip curls a bit with the anger she feels inside and can not help but toss curls of copper haughtily at the unbelievers and then stumbles a bit, albeit gracefully as the slaver pushes her forward, hissing in her ear, "Dance slut." As she steps off the sales block in one fluid motion she can hear him bellow to the crowd, "You want proof?!" His question is answered in a flurry of voices. "Are you prepared for the beauty that this girl can possess?!" he screams, lifting the slaver's whip high above his head to be rewarded with a shout of encouragement from the crowd and he cracks it in the air above the girl's head for punctuation. She moves in a sensuous graceful motion even as her heart beats a thousand beats a minute, knowing that she dances for his honor, sure agile steps carrying her forth upon the high platform before them so that they all might see. Flashing eyes defiantly sweep over the crowd that watches, their roars of approval serving to straighten her bared spine even more. With a haughty shake of crimson-hued locks that shimmer down her back in a lewd display of molten fire beneath the brightness of the lights that illuminate the high platform upon which she stands, the girl momentarily defies the crowd with the simple proud stance that only a slave girl of Gor can possess. She can feel their approval, the widening of their smiles, and the settling of their resolve to see how she performs in comparison to the slaver's boasts. Even as the crowd begins it's chanting, the slaver's voice fading into the booming depths of the roaring of the masses stretched before her, she breathes evenly and deeply, trying to calm that inane need to flee. The earth girl in her burns to scream out her defiance to those that look upon the bared form of what they see ... just a simple slave girl. She can see the hunger in the men's eyes that move over her exposed flesh in a deliberate rape. She also can see the fearful and spiteful looks of the free women that glare their hatred at her insolent beauty. Sinuous nude flesh is exposed as the slave within twitches nervously. A fearful thought creeps along her bared spine as she knows her beauty and the knowledge that she could, indeed, wind up in the arms of a Tuchuk sleen only to be a slave to the bosk and the land. She suddenly cries out as the slaver's whip cracks overhead causing an immediate response by the trained beast within her. Slender arms shoot up above curls of beaten copper that caress in a waterfall of color down her bared spine. Hips twist slightly in a shift of sumptuous curves, one lean dancer's leg turning to toe point, the arch of her foot delicately beautiful as she waits in a golden silhouette of heated skin and crimson strands. But even now her teeth are bared beneath the bewitching smile that flickers over moist berry-stained lips, blue eyes flashing her defiance even as her beauty remains immobilized as she stands ready and waiting for the first strains of music. She can feel the threat of silver tears sting in stormy Thassian blue eyes that fall beneath the gaze of those that watch. The slaver's voice quickly fading from her consciousness as she hears only the beating of her heart and the desperate cries within to be loved and cherished as only a true slave can be to one that brings her forever to trembling knees. As the music swells in the crowds of those that surround the block, her trained dancer's form begins to move even as one lone tear slips unnoticed down a flushed cheek. Slightly parted lips shield its path as the salty drop disappears into the moist dark cavern of her lips even as voluptuous form begins to writhe in erotic delight upon the platform. The crack of the whip is quickly forgotten beneath the chants of the crowd un-needed as her slave heart drives her body into motion. She is driven by an inane wildness that creeps into each turn. Each pivot and twist of wanton flesh is caught in the overpowering lights that ensnare in her a mindless bond-maid circle upon the platform before the sales block that mocks her plight. Her chin tips haughtily as she fights back the scream that she can not be tamed ... forming a lump in her collared throat. Slender arms elevate through strewn curls of fire as if caught in an enraptured torrent as she spins wildly in circles only to stop and gyrate in enticing motions. Hips thrust forward in succulent offering as hands and fingers beckon even as she fights that within her that screams to be free of this torment that continues to haunt. Stopping in mid-dance to the clash of the cymbals, her eyes blaze over the crowd as a hushed whisper flows through them as they are caught in the insolence of the barbarian girl before them. She is branded as a slave that yields beneath the sword but yet her actions still remember days spent as a wild creature of the forest, running free as a panther girl in her desperate flight from the fire that rages white-hot within. With a spin that sends curls of beaten copper in a swirl of flame to the gasp and cheers of the crowd, she begins anew to yield to the beating of the drums and the wild trilling of the lute. The slaver's calls penetrate her concentration to send an occasional tremor snaking down her spine, fear created once more of where she may find herself in a short hour as fingers brazenly stroke and search as she displays her beauty and insolence before them. Writhing in succulent offering, her hands glide effortlessly over the sinuous plane of slave belly. Trained slave's body continues to betray the girl's most innermost desires as she moves upon the raised platform in supplication to the Free. She can not help but brazenly display the physical features that beg to be pleasing to one that would own her even as her heart cries out for him. Blue eyes flash in defiance and fear of losing herself completely beneath his will and with a cry that rips from full parted lips, lavish flesh is displayed in an arch of her back. Copper tresses cascade downward before she twists in agony upon the block to the delighted cries of the crowd wanting to tame the girl beneath their gaze and even, possibly, daring to own her. Alena can not help but contort her luscious body to their desires before spinning to a stop. Long shimmering strands whirl about her lithe form like tongues of fire, hands above glorious curls as if they were before the dance begins. She looks out over the crowds even as the drums echo for her to spiral to her knees, looking ... searching ... wondering if he is there. Biting back the sorrowful sob that threatens to send her shaking to the platform below, she tips her chin defiantly as she takes her place back upon the block as the cymbals crash to an end. There Alena is proudly displayed as only a Gorean slave girl can stand. And then suddenly, fresh tears spring to the depths of her blue eyes as she hears the slaver's voice echo across the awed crowd. She can feel her heart plummet at his words. "What am I bid?" is the cry. Within the Plains of Turia Ch. 02 “They’re coming! “Run for the gates of Turia!” The herald lifted again and again as the grass itself bent and shook in tides towards Turia, the high-walled Gorean city lying in the midst of the huge prairies claimed by the Wagon Peoples. Spirals of dust rose into the air as the bosk were driven closer, the rolling sound of pounding hooves almost deafening as people ran towards the nine gates. Kolchoi approached first on his kaiila, the point in the arrow of outriders that approached closer to the city. Today he would boldly enter the city as his curiosity drove him to the slave pens and block for some unknown reason. The grass shimmered in the sun like surf beneath the sure pounding of his kailla’s feet, the fleeing clouds above like an impending warning of his approach. As the herd settled and slowed behind him, Kolchoi continued on his trek to the city, the kailla’s footfalls steady and sure. A wide grin marked his scarred face as he heard the villager’s screams of terror even though he meant no harm, at least this day. His weapons sheathed but not left behind; he turned his kailla towards one gate in particular, the breeze rustling the net of colored chains that hung before his face in protection from the fur-rimmed helmet that adorned his head. “Fools … the lot of them,” he thought as he was the only Kataii that approached the city, the wagons left behind and no outriders accompanied him on this trip. He was simply there because it pleased him to do so. His shield held loosely in his grip mostly out of habit, was lacquered yellow which matched his bow, the slender line of his light lance strapped across his back. His dark flesh glistened black in the streaming light of the sun. Being a lone rider, the gate he approached was not shut before his entrance. Lone riders of the wagon peoples had entered the city before but were always watched carefully. He knew that he would not be the only one in search of something within the markets. Groups of outriders were more danger than one simple Kataii warrior. Glancing up to the guardsmen lining the gate that he rode through, he could make out their furrowed brows … their exchanged glances to one another as if in silent communication to keep a watchful eye on him. A hidden smile flickered over his lips beneath the veil of chains as he turned his kailla to the right, the sounds of an auction reaching his ears. He could make out the beat of drums … the cries of the crowd, and knew that whatever piece of flesh was being sold was performing first. He was in no hurry but decided on a whim to at least visit the sale for a while. Stopping just short of the sale area, he dismounted his kailla, releasing it to the handler there with a coin pressed to his weathered hand. Depositing his helmet onto the horn of the saddle, long strides took the lean warrior into the throngs of possible purchasers that watched the girl upon the block. Some gave way to his size and strength, the color of his skin and markings on his face invoking enough terror to let him go where he pleased. With this factor heavily in his favor, Kolchoi was able to make it close enough to the sales block to get a good look at the girl in mid-dance. His dark eyes took in the appearance of the girl before him and it didn’t take much to know that this girl was originally from Earth. Her coloring and hair didn’t match those native to Gor. That, coupled with the defiance shooting from her blazing blue eyes, was enough evidence for that deduction. The black warrior took his stance, feet shoulder width apart, arms folded over his massive chest. Although his gaze took in the beauty of the girl before him, the exquisite movements of her stretching limbs and the fire that radiated from her very being, his senses were in tune to those around him. He knew that his presence alone was enough to send most of them screaming “Sleen” into their homes. If they only knew how much most Wagon Peoples couldn’t even bear to be in their city, they would relax. But they were only weaklings that could not survive outside the walls of their precious prison. He would have spit upon their feet but that would have been putting forth too much effort. His interest was now solely upon the girl that was upon the block before these fools, her chest heaving in exertion as she finished her dance and took her place back upon the block. As her eyes spit venom at those that watched, he read in her the natural instincts of a slave girl and knew, in that moment, that she was to be his. As she stood before the crowd, Kolchoi could see her fear … both that of the sale itself and perhaps the feelings that were battling within. Her dance had been proof enough of her true nature, of her desire to be found on her knees before strong men. He could smell her fear of that very nature she had expressed through her movements but he also could see the fear that she would be purchased and perhaps, even, her fear that she wouldn’t. The auctioneer’s voice pierced the stunned silence of the crowd that had seen her performance and were able to glance into the slave girl she had tried so hard to keep hidden from them. “What am I bid?” came his cry and he was answered by dozens of voices lifting, shouting out prices for the barbarian girl standing in silence, shimmering tears kissing her eyelashes. Kolchoi kept quiet only long enough to see where the auction was going, his dark eyes riveted to the girl standing so proudly as only a Gorean slave girl can do. He was pleased to hear that the crowd appreciated the girl’s beauty and natural slavery as the bids were shouted out and confirmed by the auctioneer, who continued to display the girl as a true slaver would. As the bidding began to slow, he paid more close attention the price that she was fetching and smiled, knowing he had more than enough. “One gold tarn,” the auctioneer sang out, his look sweeping the crowd for one that would pay more. “Do I hear another offer for this trained pleasure slave?” Kolchoi knew he was lying. The girl obviously had natural tendencies but she had not been properly trained … at least, no yet. His dark eyes watched her features tighten, knowing that she would sob out if given the chance but yet, she did not. “Going once … going twice …” the slaver continued his eyes in a continuous sweep of the crowd. As a single tear slipped down the girl’s face, the auctioneer’s whip going into the air to signal the end of the sale, Kolchoi’s voice boomed through the crowd even though he had not shouted, “Two gold tarns.” The crowd’s sudden buzzing told him all that he needed to know. His price would not be topped even though it was the low price for a slave sold in Ar at the Cerulean. Dark onyx eyes of the Kataii Warrior meshed with the wide blue eyes of the girl on the block as she gazed upon her new Master as the auctioneer ended her turn upon the sales block. Kolchoi’s smile was triumphant as her eyes dropped in defeat, another tear sliding out over her flushed cheek. She would prove to be worth her weight in gold … of this he was sure.