Niraare: A Slave Betrayed, Ch. 01

"If you'd be so kind with our guest, Niraare." Therion instructs.

When his favorite slave stares back with fire in her eyes, Therion looks to a nearby guard. One wielding a long, black whip for slave instruction; a tool that Niraare nearly considered herself beyond the use of, save for Master's personal entertainment.

The man unfurls the whip. Glancing down, Therion's slave experiences fear - fear of the whip's use, fear if Therion decides he's actually going to sell her to the brothel mistress.

She breaks eye contact with her Master, crawling down the steps to in front of the throne before deciding she'd walk.

Niraare places her hands obediently, slowly, on the back of her black hair. Wearing no more than her panties, her slave collar, sandals and two pieces of gold jewelry on her wrists today.

She spins slowly, showing off her tight body to everyone in the council chambers. Her Master, his servants... Andromache.

Andromache smiles with interest as Niraare shows obedience. Gods, she's be such a draw in a brothel. Wealthy men would pay hundreds of pieces for one night alone with Lord Therion's favorite slave dancer. At least, his former favorite.

Niraare ends the slave pose facing Master, not the potential customer, as slave custom ordinarily required. She had no intention of marketing her body to this whorer.

Staring at Master not now with fiery anger, but fear. Realizing she's ultimately a slave, and that her fate is not hers to decide. Whispering the quietest plea to her owner, visible more from her lips than in sound.

"Master, please do not sell me."

The blonde mistress of prostitutes comes up from behind Niraare, stroking her shoulder and back sensually. She's soon speak to her with every bit of respect to which she spoke with Therion, whether she meant it or not.

"Seven thousand," Andromache offers as she cruelly smiles in Niraare's face. Gods, no.

Therion himself smiles darkly, his very expression spurring a quiet "no" from Niraare as tears began to form in her eyes.

"Seven thousand." Gods, no!

Pathetic sobs soon escape from Niraare's mouth as laughing taunts suddenly expose themselves in Therion's council chamber. There was quite an appetite to see Master's "favorite" sold as a whore, it seemed.

"Master, please, no!" Niraare begs tearfully, two guards approaching from behind her to suddenly seize and chain her arms behind her back. Restraints she hadn't felt in a long time.

"Please don't sell me," she sobbed desperately, furtively. Suddenly realizing how foolish she'd been to give herself to this bastard, as a free woman. Realizing what it meant to be a slave; regardless of her skills and talents in the erotic arts.

The memory of the night she was seized by the Remosan pirates suddenly came into Niraare's memory for the first time in many years. Her home village burned, roughly stripped of her clothes and placed in chains. That truly was the night her fate was decided; not today; not even the night she'd decided she wanted to wear a collar again.

"Excellent!" Andromache cuts over her complaints with an acceptance of the detail. "I can pay in full. Today."

The darkness of the transaction doesn't the three slaves the brothel mistress had been offering in return for Niraare, but they're at least well trained enough to understand that they are property. By virtue of Niraare being sold to the mistress of their brothel, they'd escaped such a fate, with the prospect of serving one of the most powerful slaver lords in Remos in a warm and luxurious palace being far more preferable than serving sailors and scum in a brothel.

"Of course," Therion says of the mistresses' proposal. "She's well trained. She'll make a fine whore for you, when she's done pouting about it."

"Fuck you," a tearful Niraare lashes out at her Master. Using language she'd have never dreamed of using for her owner just minutes ago. Being sold as a whore will do that.

It's no longer Therion's responsibility to train and instruct this slut, but he's not one to be disrespected in his own council chambers. He nods to his guards, two of whom unsheathe black slaver's whips. It'll be instructional for Therion's new pets, in any event.

The harsh lash of the whip stings Niraare's back and her tits, the chains on her arms preventing her from shielding herself from their blows. A well-trained slave such as Niraare would instinctively know not to cover her tits from punishment, and even the current circumstances wouldn't override her training.

"Lord Therion, I had planned on returning to Remos City in two days. With your kindness, I would be grateful to lodge my new slave in your dungeons until she's to leave with my caravan."

Therion nods with understanding. "Yes, such an arrangement is most appropriate. In the meantime, let's see these gold pieces of yours."

Niraare won't be given the luxury of seeing the gold that her Master would receive for her sale. Two guards yank her forcefully from the council chambers with a tug of her new chain leash, treating her as an indebted freewoman who was being freshly enslaved. She can't hide soft sobs from the guards, although they're not going to have any pity on her.

Gods, it's been two years since she's even been in Master's slave dungeons. The stairwell to the dark and dim chamber is located in a door in the palace kitchen.

The regular tugs on the silver chain resume when she's led to the dungeon cell block, sparsely lit with two torches and intended for new slaves, and those who defied Master. Or those who had fallen from his good graces. Like Andromache's new whore.

Therion's thugs finally undo the silver chain restraints from Master's ex-favorite as they open a cell door to shove her inside.

"Enjoy yourself at the brothel, whore."

The future whore dancer crumbles into a corner of her dark, dismal cell, crying quietly as the guards finally leave her to her fate.

Cursing Andromache. Cursing her Master, his betrayal. Cursing herself, for her foolishness in accepting his collar two years ago.

He'd regret this one day, Niraare decided. His gold would be of no use on the nights he'd pine for his favorite. He'd never have a dancer as talented and erotic as she again. One considered among the most skilled in all the lands of Remos, she knew.

Even if Niraare had to dance on the stage of a Remos City brothel to a new audience to prove it.