1 comments/ 5582 views/ 3 favorites A Statement By: justtheone >> I Was Inspired By/I Pretty Much Basically Stole This Idea, or the germ of it, from a series by Ashley Zacharias, which I half-liked and half-didn't, so I've tried my own version, adapting the scenario to my own tastes and kinks and quirks. Also be advised, this one played out as a talky mindgame, and ended up rather softcore, so please don't flip out on me when it doesn't get as rough-and-tumble as most of my tales turn out by the finish. There's much to be said for subtlety, sometimes. 1. Honoria made a sour face, as they surveyed the gallery from the top of the stairs. "I must tell you," she whispered, "I'm having second thoughts about this plan of yours. Third thoughts, as well." Arabella nudged her with an elbow. "Come now, my dear. Don't lose your spirit. I need you with me, if I'm to make this work." They were dressed as if for a grand ball. Arabella had insisted on paying for both the brand new bespoke gowns, and she had clearly spent a fortune on the pair. Honoria wore gold, while Arabella was all in white, almost as if for a second marriage, except she had a tiara in place of a veil. She had never looked more marvelous, not even on her real wedding day. "Please reconsider," said Honoria, "It's simply too ... provocative." "Provocation is the entire point." "I know it is, and yet ... I fear for you. This is, in fact, outright dangerous." "Only to my reputation, which my esteemed husband has rendered into pathetic tatters already. Do you see him yet?" "Yes. Over there at the far end, his back turned. Sherring's beside him, and Lord Highbury." "Just as we expected. Let's go down and begin." "You're quite sure, Arabella? It's not too late to turn back." "You are mistaken indeed, Honoria. It is far too late." 2. Arabella's husband, Creighton Brahm, was the third richest man on the planet, and considered the handsomest, while Arabella herself was a descendent of the Foxgraves, one of Avonlea's eleven founding families. Their marriage, not three months old, had been the event of the season. And now her husband had come to the body market to purchase an alien concubine. Arabella wasn't going to stand for it. Society expected her to turn a blind eye. Her husband was by no means the only man guilty of participation in this scandalous affair. It was nearly an epidemic. Most of the nobility had bought themselves one, or if they hadn't yet, they were planning to. Even a few of the wealthier members of the mercantile class, generally so cautious and stodgy in all their affairs, had succumbed to the infection. In fact in some circles, you would hear such a purchase described and justified as an act of patriotism. Almost a duty, in order to demonstrate and reaffirm the supremacy of their species in this sector of Living Space, now and forever. Self-serving poppycock, in Arabella's opinion. There'd been a war. Not on Avonlea itself, thankfully. It was fought on their neighboring planet, over its resources. A people called the nymphs (not by themselves, that was only humanity's name for them) had tried to settle there, which wouldn't have been a problem except they tried to stop humanity from harvesting the planet's goods. The dispute gradually escalated to violence; humanity prevailed. The nymphs were driven from the system, saving a few thousand captives. It was believed that the nymphs, had they won instead, were planning to conquer and occupy Avonlea and enslave the entire population, with the use of nerve-control devices. The nymphs were very beautiful, sensual creatures, with a decadent and amoral culture. In the past, small numbers of humans on other worlds, in other systems, and members of several other sapient species, were said to have been captured, abused and humiliated by the nymphs in this same fashion. Or so ran the rumors. Now, as payback, triumphant Avonlean humanity would use those very slave-machines upon their creators. Female nymphs had the gift of telepathy, and remarkable sexual capacities. As concubines, they could give their owners pleasures beyond the reach of any human woman. All this, regardless if perfectly true (which was very much doubtful), provided absolutely no excuse. No modern decent honorable gentleman should lower himself to purchase sport with such creatures. The concept in itself was beastly and disgusting, and a deep, heart-wrenching, unforgivable, mortification to any and every woman in such a man's life, be she mother, sister, wife or daughter. Such wicked humiliating misbehavior should never be tolerated, or else the morality of their whole civilization was proved nothing but a sham and a cruel joke. Arabella knew she was not the only woman of Avonlea to believe this. Yet nobody so far had dared to speak out, not once—at least no member of the classes that counted. There had been a few unruly demonstrations in the cheaper marketplaces among the less fortunate, and some critical screeds published in the gutter press. Did no good at all. Mere meaningless noise among the stinking rabble. Everyone that mattered, every woman of name and position, thus far they had made no comment. All her peers seemed to have decided the only solution to the problem was to pretend it didn't exist. How craven. How weak. A daughter of the house of Foxgrave was made of surer stuff. She would show them all. Personally. 3. At first, when they made their proposal, all the auctioneer did was frown scornfully upon the pair of them as if they'd just somehow insulted him. He was a balding man, with a long, horsey face. "Is this meant to be some sort of joke?" he said. "Not at all," replied Arabella, "I am entirely in earnest." "Come now, be sensible. You wish me to ... to sell you into slavery?" "More accurately, I wish to sell myself. You will of course broker the transaction." "But how do you imagine such an arrangement is supposed to work? My dear lady, a slave can own nothing, by law. Who gets the money, at the end of the day?" "It is all spelled out quite clearly in the contract I just handed you, if you would be so good as to look it over. The money, as you see, will go to a charitable endowment for orphans of the war—less your commission, which is set at the usual percentage, is it not?" "It is. Yes. All in order, far as that goes. Yet I confess myself to remain baffled. And appalled, on top of that. Surely this is no serious offer. You are a woman of great name. You must be trifling with me." "I assure, I am not. And such arrangements are not without precedent, upon our planet. Members of the nobility have been enslaved before. On several notable occasions." "I know my history, dear lady. Yes, it's happened, from time to time. It's hardly commonplace, all the same. Whenever it occurred, it was always a great and terrible scandal. A huge upheaval of our planet's entire social order!" "Unquestionably. And each occasion, the disgraced nobles sold very profitably, according to the records I found. I would have expected a man of your line of business to show far more interest in this kind of opportunity, rare as it tends to be." "My lady, such a thing is only done in answer to vast insoluble debt, or to capital crime. It hasn't happened in decades. You are not bankrupt, are you? Nor is your husband. And you have not committed murder or treason—of if you have, you've never been arrested or tried for it, that I know of. And a man of my position certainly would." "Those reasons are necessary for the state to make a citizen a slave," said Arabella, with a flash of her eyes, "It is not the state that has decided this—I am doing it to myself, for other reasons, reasons of my own. I have reviewed the law carefully. There is no rule against it. It is my choice to make." "Don't you understand? You would renounce your citizenship. All your rights! Forever!" She nodded. "Yes. It amounts to a form of political defection. Only I won't be leaving the planet." He snorted. "It amounts to much worse than that! What is the matter with you? Why would a woman like yourself want to set yourself on such a course? It sounds like madness!" "That is why I've brought my companion with me. Honoria can vouch for my sanity and my health, as well as my seriousness. And she shall serve as a legal witness to our transaction, for your protection. Thus you need not fear reprisal from any quarter, if you agree to my terms. She will testify that this is not something you yourself have tried to force, trick or bully me into, but that you are only, in good faith and conscience, acting as my agent to complete this business, as I desire. Is that not perfectly fair?" The auctioneer answered with another question: "Does your husband know about this?" "Not yet," Arabella said, with a fierce smile. "Then how do you think he'll react, were I to allow this farce to go forward?" "I expect he will have no choice at all but to purchase my bond. Provided he wishes to keep me in his house." "Ah," said the auctioneer, his frown inverting to a smile, "Now I begin to see the game." "It is no game, sir." "Sounds like one to me. This is all on account of the nymphs, isn't it? Let us be frank. You're pissed at him for coming here to buy one, and this is your clever way to call him out on the matter. A bold play, indeed, if you'll allow me to say so. Too bold, perhaps. Have you fully considered the ramifications? You'll make a laughingstock of the gentleman, all across Avonlea, at a single stroke." "Not my husband alone, I think." "I don't think you've comprehended the lasting damage a thing like this will do to him. To his name and his position—and to yours, as well. A disgrace of such magnitude could ruin the pair you for life. And the lives of your children too." "We have no children, sir. My esteemed husband, at present, is only interested in the acquisition of a concubine. However, I take my marriage vows seriously. If he no longer wants a wife, then I shall do my best to become what he desires instead. We must hope he appreciates the effort I'm making." "My word. Well. I ... I sympathize with your situation, my lady. But you must reconsider. You're taking all this too much to heart. Just because a man buys a slave doesn't mean he's stopped caring for his wife. The one thing has nothing at all to do with the other." "I cannot agree with that opinion." "Then—forgive for saying so, my lady—you are naïve." "Ha! Whether or not the man cares for me to any significant degree is, at this stage, an irrelevancy. Quite beside the point. Coming to this place, as he's chosen to do, has demonstrated a fundamental lack of respect. To me, to the wedding vows he took, and to his own honor, whether he's willing or not to acknowledge the fact. It is time the arrogant ass was made to comprehend that, once and for all." The auctioneer was frowning again. Now he nodded. "I see you are, indeed, determined upon this scheme." "I am." The man produced a black metallic sphere from the pocket of his jacket, pushed a button on the top of it, and then released into the air, where it floated at shoulder height between them, humming softly and with red lights blinking in a whirl around its circumference. "I have just activated a crown-certified recorder. Let there be no mistakes, as we proceed." Arabella nodded. "You must understand, once you sign this contract, there is no going back. Enslavement is for life. Your master may free you, but only him. The choice is entirely is. It is not a choice, in my experience, that masters often make." "Arabella's husband will free her," said Honoria, "Soon as he buys her and takes her back home." "Don't be so sure, my dear lady. Is that what you're both counting on? Gallantry, on his part?" "More than that," said Arabella, "Honor." "Yes," said her friend, "Imagine what a beast he would look like if he didn't? Keeping his own wife as a slave! Ha! The whole planet would censure him. He couldn't hold his head up in the street." "The whole planet will scorn him already, if he's driven his wife to sell herself in the body market." "Exactly!" said Honoria, "Freeing her immediately will be his first step to public redemption. He'll know it's the only thing he can do." "Yet even if he does as you hope," said the auctioneer, "your marriage will still have been ended. It won't just pick up where you left off. Doesn't work that way. You'll have to remarry. You'll have to regain your citizenship first. That's a lengthy process, you know." Arabella literally waved these factors aside, with her nose in the air. "Very well, then," said the auctioneer. "Please follow me to the ... preparation rooms." They did. Through a green door and down some stairs, to another heavier metallic door at the bottom, painted red, and with a pair of guards in masks and armor, with tall spears. "Before we go in," said the auctioneer, "and sign the contract, and move forward with the sales preparations, I'm going to give you one last chance, Lady Brahm-Foxgrave. To back out of this. Just say the word right now, and I'll tear up this document. If you like, you don't have to say anything. You can just turn around and go back upstairs. If you don't—if you follow me through this next door—then that's it. You are committed." "But she hasn't signed anything yet," said Honoria. "Anyone taken through a red door like this, without a crown-issued gold badge like I have"—and he held up his, from his pocket—"or having stepped through of your own volition, then by the law of our planet, you've become a slave. It's a kind of ritual, from far back in the founding era. This is a Door of Damnation. Enter and you're legally obligated to sign the enslavement contract afterward. If you don't, you'll be compelled to. The document's only a bureaucratic formality. Going through the door is what counts—and having your genetic identity scanned into our system by the sensor array built into the frame. And as for you, Miss," he said to Honoria, "This also means you can't come further with your friend, unless you want to join her in bondage. You must say your farewells here. Or don't. It's entirely up to you. Until or unless you pass through this door." And he disappeared through it. Arabella gave Honoria a quick, light hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Wish me luck." Honoria clung to her, "Don't do this. I'm very afraid. Let's go back. Right now! Please come back upstairs with me. Please, Arabella." She snorted and shook her head. "No. I'll not succumb to cowardice. This is my choice. Not only that—it is my duty. I'm doing this for all the noble-blooded women of our world, Honoria. I can't back out now. This is too important. Goodbye, Honoria. But I'm certain in my heart I shall see you again quite soon. Once this is all over and done with." "Wait! Arabella! Please don't!" She didn't listen. She shoved through the door with her head held high. 4. Her husband—her former husband, that is—had a room exactly like this. His study, he called it. Very doubtful either man had ever done much that could be called studying in these chambers, though there were many books along the walls, and a broad desk before the windows. It had a great fireplace and tall upholstered armchairs and an expensive rug. There were small pieces of statuary in the corners. Creighton's were classical human figures; Faber had abstract shapes, instead. That was the only difference that Arabella could detect. Lord Clarion Faber was her husband's—her former husband's—principal business rival. And yet Creighton Brahm was by no means this man's only or greatest enemy. He was not a popular individual, in Avonlean society. Notorious, was the best description. He had courted her, for a time. Not for long and never seriously. Arabella believed he only made the gesture to rankle Creighton. The ploy had worked, if that was his aim. Creighton was said to have nearly challenged the man to a duel. He had denied it when Arabella eventually questioned him over the rumor. She'd accepted his word, though only half believing him. He did not seem to realize that she would not at all have minded if he'd fought Faber, provided he did not allow himself to be bested by the man, nor go so far as to slay him. Faber was a few years older than Creighton, yet he happened, or perhaps contrived, to look younger. He had blonde hair he let grow slightly too long, and lazy, insolent posture. His manner of speech had a quality of laziness as well, drawling and contemptuous. He was wearing a dressing gown the same color as the wine in the glass in his hand. He did not have slippers on, and she couldn't help but notice he had a bright silver ring on the big hairy toe of his left foot. A barbarous ornament, in Arabella's estimation. It gave him an absurd piratical look. The fact he was barefoot in front of her—that alone struck her as uncouth. Inappropriate to his class and upbringing. Her husband—her former husband—would never have let himself be seen by his servants outside his bed chamber or the bathroom in nothing but a dressing gown, unless the house had caught fire, and even then, he would make damn certain to have, at the very least, a matching pair of slippers on his feet before he left his room. There are certain fundamental standards that men and women of high rank must scrupulously maintain. It may seem a trivial matter—in the long run, for the protection and continuity of all, it is not. As to Arabella herself, standing in the exact center of the room before the man who had just purchased her bond, she wore nothing, save a heavy metallic collar around her neck, attached to black chains running down her front that constrained both her wrists and her ankles. This shameful and demeaning exposure was nonetheless entirely appropriate to her current rank, if it could called be that, when one no longer possesses a proper rank of any kind. Because now she was only a slave. The property of this man. Her former husband's notorious and despicable rival. Faber had outbid Creighton, when she was auctioned. Simple as that. Perfectly legal, in every respect. And everyone knew it was a vile thing to have done. No other man in that place would have dared to try. Of course such considerations as restraint, decency and honor were meaningless nothings to a heartless rake and blackguard like Clarion Faber. Thus, here she stood, rather than where she had planned and expected to be. All was lost. Yes, all was lost. She should have listened to the auctioneer. She should have heeded his many doleful warnings. Now she was doomed and there was no escape. No possible hope of a reprieve. She felt hollow inside. She felt detached from herself. Not actually standing on that spot—only floating in the air instead, like an untouchable formless spirit. Like she'd died and turned into a ghost. Ghosts aren't real. None of this was real, none of this mattered. Perhaps she was asleep and dreaming. Or this was all just a silly story and she was only a character in it some perverse pathetic lonely fool had made up, to amuse himself. Fondling his prick while he conjured her and the torments she must face. "Arabella," said her new master, sipping his wine and smacking his lips in a disgusting manner, "Now that you're here with me—now that it's just the pair of us, in private, I would like you to explain to me, exactly, if you can, why in hell you put yourself in this position. What madness took possession of you?" "Was it not clear enough at the auction?" "Forgive my dullness of perception. Was it meant as a jest?" "Not at all. Why does everyone think that? God save me, I acted entirely in earnest." A Statement of What i Learned Several months ago, my Princess and i came upon some troubles in our relationship that almost ended it. The problems were all my fault, caused by my failure to set priorities as well as i should and by my habit of panicking too quickly upon confronting serious problems in life, which for me have been frequent. The near-disintegration of our relationship began in mid-July 2010. During a conversation, the topic came up of whether a person from a relatively normal upbringing can understand the feelings of someone from a traumatic background, particularly the person's attitude toward society and life. i come from a very dysfunctional and often abusive and poor family. Princess comes from an affluent and quite functional family. In what rapidly became a heated argument, i maintained that sincere empathy across such a divide is impossible, while Princess held the opposite position. We'd had this argument before, but due to concurrent problems with my family, in particular my mother's schizoaffective disorder and her frequent paranoia, my mood was already sour that day. my tone in the argument turned bitter, and the issue was not resolved. Princess and i communicated rarely for an entire week afterward. We patched things up for another month, then lingering bitter feelings on my part, mixed with stress from my mother's recent arrest for domestic violence and from my applying to graduate school and juggling a semester, once again put me in a state of mind such that i failed to display the deference and adoration Princess deserves and demands - in fact i was outright scathing in some of our conversations, as well as quite fixated and disturbed by the current political and economic situation of the U.S. (i am very interested in politics.) Princess tried to be understanding and helpful, but i rebuffed Her efforts angrily, as if they were insulting. Eventually, Princess broke contact with me. At first i was satisfied with the turn of events. The satisfaction lasted only a few days before i started to miss Her. Over time, the pain of Her absence from my life became severe. It began to sink in just what i had lost. i am something of an odd recluse who, at age twenty seven, remains a virgin and who hasn't had a friend in eleven years as a consequence of largely self-imposed isolation. Having grown up with frequent evictions, stretches of living in motels and even foster homes and a homeless shelter, with severe and frequent parental fighting (sometimes violent), and with having worried daily for as far back as i can clearly remember, it is needless to say that my personality is rather warped. i go to college and am an excellent student, yet i seldom socialize with anyone outside my family; weird and at times abusive, emotionally and in the past, physically, they are the only people aside from Princess around whom i am generally comfortable. i have a distaste for society on the whole. For years, i have felt like a pariah in what is supposedly the society of which i am a member, and this chronic feeling has caused me tremendous grief, to the extent i'd considered joining a monastery simply to be done with the world, even though i am not religious. Prior to and during our month of arguing - rather, my arguing and Princess' attempts at reconciliation by assuaging me - i viewed Her as a symbol of everything i am not and that i believe i should have been: outgoing, comfortable, accepting of and accepted by our own society; stable and self-assured. At times, i resented Her. All the time, Her opposite background added to Her allure for me - and it still does - as desire is naturally transgressive and people want what they believe they cannot have. Princess is also brilliant, beautiful, even kinkier than me, and just nice and sweet, with a wonderful personality, which also lure me to Her and make me love Her. So our bond consists of much more than just transgressive desire on my part. Princess has been gracious to me from the start. She never judged me for my weirdness, relative poverty, or even my bitterness. Before meeting Princess, other girls i tried to talk to had dismissed me swiftly as inadequate, and the ones who flirted with me, i'd blown off out of insecurity. Princess' understanding nature and Her strong and persistent interest in me were so touching that i loved from the start. She is unlike any woman i've encountered. From our first conversation, when i was forthright about my background and current poorness and isolation, and She accepted these things as if they were unimportant in affecting Her interest, i wanted to be Her devoted slave, learning how to serve and please Her and doing all within my power to advance Her happiness. i would think that despite the bad start to my life, belonging to Her would make it all worthwhile. And She did make me Her slave. When not perturbed by the circumstances of my life (family, economic stress etc.), or by my academic ambitions, which are a major source of worry for me, my fawning adoration of Princess and my drive to please Her in any way, along with Her decisiveness, power, beauty, kinkiness, and loving nature, made for a wonderful relationship. We frequently exchanged declarations of mutual love, and She was training me to be the alpha boy of Her future stable of slaves. i even sucked cock for Her. Nonetheless, i often doubted how Her love for me could be real. This was merely the neurotic result of insecurity, but i have prone to neurotic insecurity. When i initiated the lengthy process of applying to graduate school in July, my stress increased. i see now that in the past, it was not uncommon for my priority list to shift such that my academic plans often outranked Princess, though i scarcely noticed it and never admitted it to myself. Considering my lack of funds and dependence on aid, as well as the fact that the university to which i was applying is 8,000 miles away and i feared that the distance would strain mine and Princess' relationship, and ongoing familial strife, my stress level went through the roof during summer. Though it remains unclear to me, i suspect that my provocation of Princess was intended to ruin our relationship and drive Her away, so my life could be simpler, less stressful, and i could travel to another continent for school without always worrying if this would damage our relationship. i might have figured, in this haze of activity and time-consuming and energy-demanding concerns, that it was better to bring our relationship to a close before i left than to let it decay slowly as a result of inadequate contact. When Princess did break contact with me, it took less than a week to realize the mistake i'd made. In emails, i begged Her to take me back, to make me Her slave again, to wreak havoc on me as punishment. i thought of Her constantly, missed Her horribly, and even reconsidered the monastic plan, as a way to divorce myself from the world and maybe forget Her, or at least do penitence for the stupidity i'd committed. i even sent Princess messages begging Her to command me to commit suicide so as to escape my misery. i was admitted to the school, but wasn't terribly excited for it. Then my family ended up in a protracted squabble with our landlord and was evicted. We were facing homelessness. i stopped caring, for the most part, about school, as what i'd studied seemed so far removed from real and pressing matters that i found it irrelevant. i also began to doubt some of the material on the simple logical and material grounds. In short, my whole world was coming unglued. i still contacted Princess at least every few days, often daily, and though usually i received no reply, we did converse occasionally in the four months since the catastrophe of late August. But from late October to December 27, i heard nothing from Her. The eviction was looming, no new apartment had been found, my mother was in the mental hospital, my father was losing his mind and drinking constantly, my brother had withdrawn even more than usual and refused to discuss anything about our present situation, the semester was ending and i had final essays to write and exams to take, and i was unsure if going overseas was really an option financially due to the falling value of the dollar. Christmas was horrible; no one in my family did anything to recognize it, we merely worried when the police would throw us out and then we'd have to relocate to a motel. We were moving items to storage, and i was getting ready to lose my mind. On December 27, Princess emailed me, and we had a conversation. i told Her what had been going on in my life. i have always been required never to conceal information from Her, no matter how shameful and vulnerable. We had an excellent conversation and i wept like a child. It seemed there is hope in the world after all. In the coming days, we re-established our relationship. We even exchanged statements of love for each other. Then i was evicted and moved in a motel with my bizarre family. Luckily i was between semesters, so it didn't interfere with my performance in school. By about Christmas, i'd stopped even looking for apartments, and my dad had stopped before this. my brother never tried, being too withdrawn to engage in the world, and my mother, who has some fire and energy, was hospitalized. After we reconciled, Princess demanded i steer my family through this situation, as i am the one who keeps us on an even keel. Shortly after our conversation, i looked up apartments on craigslist and found one that looked promising. Over the coming week, we were allowed to sign a rental agreement and move in from the motel where we'd been living. Princess is proud that this disaster in my life has been mitigated. She commanded that i write this essay detailing what i'd learned in those four months of absence. What i learned is simple: a person who loves You and accepts You, lumps and all, is far more fulfilling than the pursuit of extremely abstract knowledge and self-aggrandizing, goal-seeking behavior. A deep and intimate relationship with another person is more real than a bunch of mental phantoms like ideals, goals, and insecurities. It is necessary always to remember this when i find myself deeply disturbed by immediate circumstances, so that i realize what is important and worth protecting, and what are just artificial worries that stem from over-valuing relatively unimportant things. i also learned that Princess is human too. There was a part of me that often suspected She could never love a person like me - that i was too scummy for Her to care about. She told me, when we reconciled, how much pain i'd caused Her. To learn this stung my heart, and the guilt has been strong ever since, though i know better than to fixate on the guilt and be driven to neurosis by it. Because Princess is human in this way (divine in others), i have a very strong need to protect Her. i would die for Her, and even live for Her. i want Her to be happy, loved, emotionally secure and confident, comfortable with Her relationships, knowing what She needs from them will be attained. Princess is lovely and precious. To protect Her in this way, and any other way, is an honor for me as Her slave. * Anyway, this has been a long story, perhaps uninteresting to readers aside from Princess, and if it is, i apologize for wasting Your time. There is more i can say and write, but this exhausts what is on my mind at the time of writing, and i'll need to do more thinking before i can clearly say more about this topic. A Statement "You mean to say, you disgraced yourself like that deliberately and knowingly, and in doing so, you disgraced your husband just as much. Or worse." "My husband had disgraced us both already. I simply set out to bring that shame into the open air, for all to see. I forced him—and everyone in that place—to face up to what he'd done and what he was still doing to the women of this world." "Then your ... performance, shall we call it, this was meant as a grand political statement, not simply an ill-considered prank." "I suppose you can put it that way. Yes." "Very good. I see." "But do you? Why do you smile like that? You're mocking me! I was sending a message to my husband in a fashion that he, nor no one else, could ignore." "I'm sure you must have succeeded. Yes indeed, you certainly staged a profound and impactful piece of theatre. A wonderfully melodramatic spectacle. Yet, the cost ... to your name, to you rank. Do you regret the decision? Was it truly necessary to push the matter as far as you have?" "It seemed so, beforehand. I felt it was the only way to get through to him. Not only him alone—all the great men of our society." "Myself included?" "Yes. But ... but it wasn't supposed to turn out like this." "I'd gathered that. Your husband was supposed to purchase you, not I." She nodded, incapable of speaking past the great stony lump that had suddenly formed inside her throat. Arabella had, sadly, not handled herself as well as she had believed she would, when the time had come for her to be displayed in the body market before the babbling crowd of nobility. Her courage and fortitude had failed her, in the moment of crisis. It was hard to look back on. As hard to look back on as it had been to experience it while it was happening. She had thought she would be stronger. She had thought she would stand up there proud and defiant. It had all gone wrong. Much of that difficulty had been in light of the auctioneer's decision to present her on the stage unclothed, just as she stood now in Faber's study, collared and chained. Most slaves, day to day in the body market, were typically presented in a simple, sleeveless black tunic and sandals, and there was usually no need to bind them like animals during a sale, except on occasion for particularly unruly individuals who had not yet accepted their fate. Arabella had expected her presentation to occur in that same ordinary contemporary no-nonsense manner. Then the auctioneer had chosen at the last moment to display her in exactly the fashion as all the captive nymphs were being presented on that day. Much more dramatic. Because they were not human, and because they were captured enemies, and because they were all exceptionally beauteous, golden-skinned creatures intended primarily for sexual subjugation, they were arranged in lines upon the long display stages naked and spread-eagle within rectangular frameworks, moaning and whimpering in their abject misery. The same thing was done to Arabella. She had not managed to endure that treatment with stoicism. She had broken down, and made rather a noisy fuss. Not that her tears or exclamations of protest could do her any good at all, not then. Far too late. The canny auctioneer, wise enough to protect himself and the reputability of his organization ahead of time, had played out the recordings he'd made of their business arrangements on large overhead screens to the entire crowd in the gallery, twice from beginning to end, before Arabella was brought out into the open to be seen and examined, and then auctioned. Thus there could be no doubt—no question—that she herself had asked, in fact demanded—for everything that was being done to her. While the auctioneer was himself was only carrying out her instructions as her dedicated sales agent, with, cruel as the arrangements appeared, a bit of theatrical and stimulating flair. Her husband's face ... He had looked as bloodless as a corpse. He had not been able to speak—had to depend on his friend Sherry to bid for him, when the sale opened. Sherry had kept stuttering, and could never bring himself to set his eyes directly on her, not once, not for half a moment, the entire time. Then when Clarion Faber began to make himself heard ... Oh God, the horror she had felt. She had nearly lost control of her bladder upon the stage, in front of everyone! Faber had no trouble looking straight at her. Straight into her eyes, with an expression that was gleeful, and hungry. No surprise there. Why hadn't she factored his interference into her plans? How could she have been such a blind and childish idiot, not to realize he would be there on the scene, with everyone else of name and note, and take immediate advantage of the opportunity? It had amounted to practically suicidal stupidity, on her part. No other slave in history had sold for as high a price as she had, for whatever such a record was worth. Her husband—no, her former husband—would have nearly bankrupted himself if he'd pushed the bidding any higher. Faber must have come dangerously close to the same brink. He was known to be the wealthiest man on their planet, while Creighton was the third wealthiest. Yet richer though he was, he wasn't that much richer, in real terms. Just a bit. A fraction. It had been enough, anyway. For him to triumph and Creighton and herself to be defeated and disgraced. No undoing it now. "Don't weep, silly child," said Faber, snapping her back into the present moment, "Listen to me. It was for the best, Arabella. Believe it or not. Inserting myself into the drama as I did, and when I did, it will actually have helped your demonstration. The efficacy of it. If your husband had been permitted to win the bidding, unchallenged, and got you back safe into his keeping right away, it would have undercut the entire thing. You have to recognize that, my dear. There would not have been enough sacrifice and poignancy, otherwise. Not a high enough cost. Together we've elevated the show from a ludicrous if rather alluring stunt of exhibitionism, to a piece of high romantic tragedy. You needed me to step in at the climax, and provide a proper villain. It is a role, I know, that suits me." "We are all villains in this matter. Every citizen." "Yes, quite. Everyone except you at this stage, I suppose, thanks to your societal martyrdom. Only think it through! Doing what I did, that's brought the fact home to everyone. Now they'll all want to disassociate themselves from the dastardly devilish behavior of a chap like me. I think your plan will have worked, Arabella. You just brought an end to the concubinage of the nymphs. Congratulations." "Do you mean that? What is going to happen to me now?" "Well, what else? You shall serve me, of course. That was the transaction. We have to see the business through. Together. You must meet your commitment, Arabella. It wasn't playacting. It really happened. You were auctioned, and I purchased you." "Then you won't ... you will not ... relent? In light of who I am, or who I was ... and what it was for." "Release you, you mean? I suppose it's an option I should consider. I have been genuinely moved by your story, after all. That would mean I am supposed to be chastened and humbled by your actions—that was your principal motivation. And yes, you've succeeded, to a large degree. Thus I should, if I was a true gentleman, tear up your contract right this instant and set you free! The work of a moment! Ha! I could have my servants fetch you something fitting to clothe yourself, then quickly put you in a coach and send you back to your husband's estate—your former husband, excuse me. Or wherever else you might prefer to go, instead. Very noble and admirable of me, if I chose to do those things. Redemption, or at least the beginnings of it, for both my blackened heart and blackened name." "Will you? Would you? Please?" "Would your former husband have freed you, in my place? Doubtless you expected him to, once he brought you home. Having learned his lesson, you believed he would immediately have to free you and forgive you, and furthermore, abase himself at your feet for his callousness and lechery, driving you to what you did. Our world, our class, would never allow him to do otherwise. Not without irrevocably losing the last little sad wispy shreds of besmirched honor you've left him with. Brilliant! In his shoes, you know, I might murder you on the spot, or I'd blow my brains out, or perhaps both, one right after the other. A much better, more comfortable course than having to look you or anyone else on this planet straight in the eye ever again. But Creighton ... no. He's too much a coward for that sort of thing. At least in my opinion. I suppose neither of us will ever be able to know for certain. Not now." "He would have done the right thing, in the end. I have to believe that." "Yes, you do. I'm sure I'd feel the same, in your position. The alternative is unbearable, isn't it? Unthinkable. Now, with a man like me, the expectations aren't at all the same. No constraints. I'm already a notorious blackguard on the outside of everything. I can do what I please with you, can't I? And thumb my nose at the rest of society, whatever they think, whatever they say. It won't be any different than the shit they think and say already. Your husband's too cowardly to live like that. Always was. Yes, the more I consider it—he'd have freed you, right away. He definitely would have, the poor booby, and then prostrated himself pitifully, just like you fantasized. You'd have triumphed! Brought him to heel like a dog, exactly as you planned. Not because it was the right thing, though. Not really. Not deep down where it counts. That's where you're mistaken, my dear. He'd only have done it because he wouldn't have the stomach or the balls to do different. And master you." "And will you? Is that your intention?" "It's what I want, yes. Look here—look at this bulge in my crotch. Ridiculous, isn't it? Yet you don't dare laugh at me. You're too frightened. I frighten you, don't I? Of course I do. Tell me, Arabella, when was the last time your former husband fucked you? I suspect it's been quite a while, hasn't it? In fact I suspect he's never properly fucked you at all. Answer the question—you're my slave and if you don't obey my commands, you'll have to get punished for it. You know how disobedient slaves get punished, don't you? Sure you do. Unless you have a perverse desire to feel what it's like to be whipped, in your nakedness, while I watch, then answer my question." "I don't know, Lord Faber. I couldn't say exactly. Several days. A week or thereabouts." "Did you enjoy it, Arabella? Is Creighton a good lover?" "Yes of course he is." "You're a poor liar, Arabella." "I am quite sure your idea of what constitutes enjoyable sex is not the same as mine, my lord. My husband never fucked me, that's true—because he's not a beast and neither am I. We do not couple like beasts. It's an entirely different thing, when we ... join, and if you have no understanding of that, then I can only pity you." "Oh, indeed, I stand corrected. Let us talk of your lovemaking, then—that entirely different business of yours. Is it frequent? Is it passionate?" "Frequent and passionate enough." "Ha! Is that so?" "Men and women of our position have crowded and exhausting schedules, as well you should understand. Many responsibilities fill the hours of our nights as much as the days. It is difficult to have private time together. And it is rare. But it didn't matter—my husband has always met my needs and expectations, and I believe I always met his." "Nonsense. And you know it! Why in the hell was Creighton buying himself a nymph concubine? Not to scrub the floors and wash dishes in the kitchen. Nor for 'lovemaking', Arabella." "Every man has his weaknesses. Everyone has a dark side. I've saved him from falling into it, or at the very least I tried my best. And if you set me free, I'll have saved you as well. Or at least prompted you to start crawling up out of the pit." "Only if I let you go. I might not, Arabella. I might keep you. I might go ahead and fuck you, right here and now. What do you say to that?" "All I can say is ... is ... Please don't, Lord Faber. All I can do is ask." She knelt down on the fancy rug. "Please. Free me and send me home. Don't close your heart to me. Don't keep me in shameful slavery. Don't abuse my helplessness. Don't succumb to lust and darkness. Have pity on me. Be a better man." "God, Arabella. When you beseech me like that, the wickedness within me ... it actually flares." That remark made her start to weep again. "Please don't hurt me. Please don't. I beg you. I beg you, Lord Faber." "Hush. Hush now, and get back up on your feet. It's embarrassing, frankly. I shall not hurt you, Arabella. I'd like to make you scream my name, but I've no wish to make you suffer. Well, not in the way you imagine. You don't believe me—you don't understand. How could you, poor wretch? I want you to like it, when I fuck you. I want you to enjoy it as much as I will. If I take you. I want to show you how much more you'll like a bestial fucking from me than any of that sad dutiful cautious lovemaking you used to receive so rarely from your pathetic weak fool of a husband." "But I won't! I don't want to like it. I don't want it to happen at all and I don't want to enjoy it, even if you're ... somehow skillful and powerful enough to force pleasure into my chained body, one way or another. I don't want to be conquered and humiliated by you. I don't want to be fucked like a beast. For I am noble! I am a daughter of the Foxgraves! I don't want to be your slave." "Yet you are. Here you are. A proud daughter of the house of Foxgrave, naked and chained before me, dripping your sweat all over my floor. I own your body by law. I own both those beautiful exposed tits of yours, and I own your tight little pink cunt. And all the rest you have to offer, from your adorable earlobes clear down to the tips of your toes, scrunching up my rug. I can do whatever I like with you, whenever I like and as much as I like. And there are a great many different things I would very much like to try." "You ... you shame me. I am so ashamed. You humiliate me and you fill me with terror! It delights you to torment me! You are evil!" "Yes, I am. But you did this to yourself. Never forget that! I'm not to blame. It was all you! You've disgraced your lineage. You brought yourself here! By choice, Arabella! By your own choice!" "Not for this! Not for you! It was a mistake! I was stupid! It wasn't supposed to end this way. You weren't supposed to buy me! Oh God! My God! It wasn't supposed to be you." "But it was. Creighton failed you. Creighton Brahm will always fail you." He produced a tiny black key from his pocket, and then he unlocked her collar and her manacles. After that he shrugged off his dressing gown and handed it to her, turning his back as she covered herself with it. Without the dressing gown, exactly as she'd expected and imagined and dreaded, he was entirely naked. His body was much more muscular and impressive than Creighton's. His erect cock looked larger, though she only glimpsed it for an instant. Of course it did. He said: "When you recognize the truth of what I've told you, Arabella, you will come back to me. When you're ready, you will return to this house of your own accord, and present yourself to me again in this very room. When you do, while I watch, you will then remove whatever clothes you have on at the time, and hold out your hands for the chains I've just taken off of you, and accept the collar once more 'round your throat. And then once you've done all those things, we shall ... continue, from this point. When you have chosen to. When you want it." He pressed the button on his desk to summon his servants. "No," she told him, "Never. That will never happen." He kept his back to her. "If you let me go, I'll never return. You'll never have me in this position again. I swear it. You're wrong about my husband and you're wrong about me." "Perhaps I am," he said, still not looking at her, "But I don't believe it. I believe I'll see you again very soon, Arabella." "Never. Never. I'm sorry. But no. Never. No." The butler opened the door behind her. "A coach for Lady Brahm-Foxgrave," Faber said, "and suitable raiment, before she departs." The butler coughed. She thought at first he was responding to his employer's state of undress. That wasn't it at all. "Pardon me, sir. The lady you spoke of. No such lady exists upon this planet. Are you referring in jest to this mere slave, sir?" "She's no longer a slave. I've just now granted her freedom. For the moment. Take her home at once." "Yes, My Lord. I understand, sir. As you say. The title, however ..." "What? Oh, yes, quite so. Fine. You're correct, of course. By law, the title remains ... lapsed. Regardless, see to it that this ... woman ... is treated with dignity. Give her good clothes and comfortable transportation to the Brahm estate. At once." "Very good, sir. At once, sir. Please follow me ... miss." "You have my thanks, Lord Faber," she said, before she walked out, "and my gratitude. And ... and my respect. You made the right decision." He shrugged, still not turning. "I've given up nothing, Arabella. Nothing. Soon enough I know you'll come to understand that."