The Spoils of War Ch. 04

(It would be best to reach chapters 1 -- 4 first)

I was in my wedding dress. It was a simple white affair my Mother had put together from some soft linen she had acquired. I felt wonderful. I know that my husband would think this dress is perfect.. He is a practical man who would not want our family to spend lavishly on our wedding. My hair was adorned with flowers my sister had picked this morning. I had some soft slippers that, along with a little perfume and makeup, were the only extravagances my family had indulged in to make me presentable for my marriage.

Though I had used the makeup and perfume, I doubted these were even necessary. My fiancé had told me I would be perfect in his eyes even if I wore a bedsheet. I think that was a sexual allusion, but I was uncertain. I was sure I would find out, I smiled as I thought of the night to come. He was so gorgeous. His chiseled face on top of that strong blacksmith's body encasing his enormous, generous heart. He had an intimidating bearing, but he would never hurt me. I had never been with a man. I knew most virgin brides were anxious, but I could not wait to spend the night with him. I was infatuated with him from the moment I saw him. I had been unable to take my eyes off of him. My infatuation quickly blossomed to love after we finally met and spoke with each other. He was perfect.

He had come to our little town because of the looming threat of war. Blacksmiths were in high demand as our country had a sudden need for their skills in the making of weapons. Most of the skilled smiths in our town had gone to work making weapons. The one remaining smith had taken ill, and word spread of a need for a replacement. Convinced his little village could do without his services for a few weeks, he had travelled to our town to fill in for a time. He might have been motivated to fill his pockets too, though he never overcharged for his work. He planned to return to his village with some extra coin. I promised myself that he would also return with a wife.

I was surely a distraction, coming to his forge to watch him as he worked. The first sight of his shirtless body at work made me gasp. I never actually got over that sight and I looked for any excuse to be with him. I meekly offered help, expecting him to tell me that a slight waif like myself was unsuited to hard work. He did not, however, giving me unskilled tasks like fetching water and working the bellows. He may have expected me to give up in exhaustion, but I would have done anything to spend time with him. He needed the help and he ordered me about. His instructions were firm, but never harsh. I found that obeying him excited me.

Of course my parents noticed that I had begun neglecting the chores on our farm while spending my days at the forge. At first, my mother was appalled to see how smitten I was. She warned me against strange men from other towns and demanded to meet this man who had captured all my attention. When he came to our home for dinner, he alleviated her anxieties quickly. It was clear he was an honorable man.

I began to worry he was too honorable. He had yet to even lay a hand on me, though I had given him ample opportunity. He mostly seemed not even to look at me. My efforts grew increasingly shameless, and I wore less and less when I came to work with him. I would stretch myself and arch my back to display my breasts underneath thin fabric, but it seemed not to move him.

I wondered whether one of the other village girls had caught his eye. He had no shortage of admirers. That horrible blond miller's daughter, Ella, was constantly flirting with him. She would laugh as she wiggled her lithe little body in front of him. I had hoped he would have no interest in the empty-headed Ella. But who knows what men like?

Finally, at the end of a long day, I found him staring straight at me for a long time. The thin, low cut shift I wore clung to my body after hours near the hot forge, leaving little to the imagination. He stepped towards me. I could hardly move. The look in his eye was altogether different than what I had seen in him before. My heart raced as he touched my cheek with his strong hand. I kissed it softly.

"Kayla," he whispered, "dear sweet Kayla. The day after tomorrow, I must return to my home."

My heart sank. Was he saying goodbye? I pressed myself to his chest. I wanted to be strong and choked back a sob.

He grasped my arms in his strong hands and gently pushed me back. I looked up, anxiously. He seemed to be holding me more than pushing me away.

"I would take you with me," he said solemnly, as he looked into my eyes. "As my wife."

I gasped. Joy overcame me. I threw my arms around his neck and pulled my lips to his. His hands slid to my back. His lips parted to mine. The kiss was electric. I could not bear to stop. I wanted him then and there.

He could sense it and broke our embrace. "So that is a yes, then?" He laughed at my vigorous nods. "But not just yet my eager bride. We shall wait until our wedding night. It will be all the sweeter."

How could he resist? I certainly had no such control. At his insistence we walked hand in hand to my home, so he could ask my Father's permission to marry me. My parents were delighted and anxious all at once. My Mother cried, knowing I would be moving far away, and she would see me infrequently, if ever. My Father expressed grave concern that my future husband's village was on the border with the warlike neighboring kingdom. In the end, my Father could see how much I loved him and that he was a good man. I would be happy and that is all they wanted.

So now I stood in this dress my Mother had hastily prepared. It was perfect. I would be perfect. He would love it. We would say our vows and be happy together, forever. My Father walked me to my husband's side and placed my hand in his. The whole ceremony was a blur. I could not imagine greater joy as I heard him promise to love and cherish me forever. We kissed and I felt like we had become one person. A modest feast followed with some dancing and singing. The other girls who had made eyes at him were jealous, but surely they could see our love was nothing they could have matched. Everyone seemed delighted. My Mother cried, but her sadness at losing me mixed with joy. I could not wait for it to end and be alone with my husband.

Finally, he carried me to his room. I was weightless in my arms. I could not stop kissing him as he carried me. When we arrived in the room, he put me down and I stood before him as his bride. He looked at me, his eyes filled with love. He took my hair in his hands and caressed slowly. Even when I had thought he was ignoring me, he had told me how much he liked my hair. Now he could touch it whenever he wanted.

I reached up to untie the strings that held the dress on my shoulders as I stared into his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, I slide the dress down my body, exposing one inch of myself to my husband at a time. He watched closely. The dress puddled at my feet and I stepped out. I removed my undergarments with the same, slow deliberate pace. I wanted every movement to say, "I am yours." Finally, I stood before him, naked and stared into his eyes.

"Husband... " I started to say, but I was interrupted by his kiss. He could stand no more as he pressed his lips to mine. His hands were on my cheeks, pulling my face to his. I was lost in his kiss, but my hands operated on their own, undoing the buttons on his shirt. He straightened up, pulling it off of him with one motion. And then he returned his lips to mine. I had seen his chest many times in the forge, but somehow now, it rippled like it never had before.

My eyes closed I could feel out tongues dance together. My hands, again with a mind of their own, undid his trousers, sliding them down. Only when he was naked too did I press my body against his. I had never been with a man. I had no idea what it would be like. I only knew that I wanted this man. I wanted my husband inside me.

He lifted me onto the bed, my body weightless again. I cooed with pleasure as I stretched out for him. He climbed atop me, pressing his lips to mine again. He could not get enough of my kiss, I thought. It pleased me to think on how long and how often we could kiss. It lasted an eternity, it seemed. Time held no meaning, so long as our lips were locked together.

We needed no more words. That must be why he kissed me when tried to speak. We had said the vows. We were promised to each other for eternity. We would live together, work together, and have children together, I thought. Forever together. What more need be said? My legs slid around his. I had had no instruction, as my mother had spent her time hastily preparing my dress. But my body seemed to do it all for me. Well, his body did it, too. I had no idea whether he had ever been with a woman before. I did not care. He was mine. That was all that mattered. He was mine and I wanted him to take me.

I could feel him press against my tender flesh. I could feel he was about to enter me. Somehow I should be frightened, given all the fear my Mother had put into me about sex. But I had no fear. I knew this was where I belonged. I knew this was what I should be doing. I felt him press harder. I felt a little pain as he pushed into me, but it passed quickly, giving way to something I had never felt before. My whole body tingled.

I spread my legs wide, urging him deeper. Or was it his thrusts that drove my legs apart? I did not know. It did not matter. I moved my body with his. Whether he had been with other women or not, he seemed to know exactly what to do. Slowly at first, then faster. He slid easily deeper and deeper with each thrust. I think I could hear his heartbeat. Maybe it was mine. I wrapped my arms around him and began to moan. I could not help it. I was losing control over myself. I gasped louder and louder. Pleasure was radiating through me. Pleasure I could only have imagined. He was mine. I was his....

"Arrrrrrrgh," I screamed as I felt a bucket of water rush over my head.

"Wake up, slave," a man shouted at me. The vision of my husband faded. It was a dream. This was not my wedding night. I was not in my husband's bed. I was naked, but I was chained to a stone floor with my hands locked behind me. I slowly gained consciousness and the realization that this was the nightmare that my life had become.

"The whip is next, girl, if you won't wake up. I don't want to damage your flesh before your sale, but I will if I have to," he growled at me. I could feel the leather on my back. He had uncoiled it and let it glide onto my body so I would know he was serious. I was struggling to wake up. Whatever drug Jenna had given me was still flowing through my body. The pain of the brands began coursing again through my nerves, forcing consciousness upon me. I rolled over onto my back to prove I was alert, hand hands locked underneath me.

"And what have you been dreaming about, my pretty little morsel?" He chuckled as he stood over me, running the leather whip against my body. I was naked. There was no hiding that I was aroused. My nipples were firm and my sex glistened. "Doubtless you were dreaming of serving in some brothel. What a little slut. I may get some good coin for your body yet. Though it won't match what I got for your hair."

I recognized him. It was Bastia, who seemed to be master of this house of horrors. I scowled up at him.

"What an ugly face you are making for me," he smiled. "Even after I kept the Lady from having you fed to my dogs. Tsk, tsk."

"You'll forgive me if I am not grateful," I managed a reply. Maybe the drug had given me courage. A flick of his hand on the whip and I would be lashed on my stomach, my breasts, or even worse.

"And now we hear that independence that I saw in your eyes," he said. "That will prove useful. Men enjoy breaking in a girl with some fire in her. And it is exactly why I am here for you myself, rather than send one of my men--something else for which you might be grateful."

I said nothing in response to that. I had seen the brutes who worked here. They had delighted in branding me. I dared not think on how they would have roused me.

"You see little slave girl," he continued, "it is imperative that you be sold today. I have a man coming from a ship that will carry you far from here, never to return. He has asked to purchase a few of the new girls--doubtless your friends and neighbors from your village. I plan to include you in that lot of slaves."

"What of it?" I muttered. "Why should I care what horrible brute you sell me to."

"Ahh well, you see, this is your only chance," he said. "If it were up to me, I would keep you here and grow out another crop of that valuable hair of yours. But you now wear the banishment brand of our fair kingdom. I could be fined for keeping you here--even imprisoned. Ohh, I am sure you like the sound of that." He must have seen the flash of anger in my eyes and continued stroking me with the whip. "But you would then be put to death on a spike. And what a waste of slave flesh that would be. No, the silver I may get for your body will buy much more dog food than your scrawny flesh would provide."

My body shuddered as the whip grazed over my nipples. He continued, "so it is in both of our interests that my distinguished visitor decide to include you in the lot he plans to buy today. If he does not, I will have to feed you to the dogs after all. It would be such a shame."

I froze in horror. He continued caressing me with the whip as he asked, "do you understand, slave girl?"

"My name is Kayla," I yelled back at him. I was frightened but my anger was welling up.

He raised the whip as if to strike and stared menacingly. "Your name is whatever we want to call you. And for the moment, we choose to give you no name at all. You are just slave. Slut. Girl. Dog food if you do not display yourself nicely and beg my visitor to buy you. He will expect you to beg nicely. Can you do that? Or should we just throw you to the dogs now?"

I did not move. Part of me wanted it all to be over. I was branded. I was a slave. Why bother?

"You are thinking it is easier then, hmm." He mused, reading my face. "A few minutes of terror and pain and your miserable little life ends. Maybe we should make it worse. I have a couple of days before we would need to destroy you. I have some men who would enjoy making sure you regret your choice. "

I stiffened. I had seen some of the torture devices. And I remembered what Jenna said about the brute who branded me, how much he liked seeing girls in pain. Men who choose to work here must surely be horrible souls.

"And, I think you have something that might keep you going," he said as he let the whip uncoil again onto my body. He slid it over my moist sex and I closed my thighs. "Something in that pretty bald head of yours. Tell me, what was this slave girl dreaming of? Did you have a lover?"

I blushed and he smiled widely, "I am near the mark it seems. Tell me girl. A slave has no secrets. Tell me honestly and maybe I'll be nice and tell you something in return."

I turned away. I did not want to tell him. They own my body, surely not my dreams.

"A girl with whip marks is less likely to sell, but the dogs don't care either way," He pulled the whip back, as if to strike.

"My husband," I blurted out. "I ... I was dreaming of our wedding night together."

That really amused him. I heard his laugh and instantly regretted it. I maybe had thought that telling him would show me to still retain some humanity. Maybe he would see me as a wife. But of course he did not. He was a slaver. He only saw a slave girl, chained at his feet. He only saw chattel that could earn him some coin.

"And what has become of your husband?" He asked. "Did he give his life defending you?"

"I don't know," I said. I wept a little thinking of it. "We were separated when our village was raided. It was chaos. I have not seen him since." Then I thought to ask him, "do you know what has become of him?"

He chuckled, "of course not. Yes, we took some male slaves from your village, but we are hardly in the business of reuniting female slaves with their former husbands." He must have seen a flash of anger again. "Yes, former. Slaves have no husbands. Slaves have no wives. You are property of this slave house. Maybe your husband is here, maybe he is not. Maybe we sent him to the mines. I have no idea. And I don't care."

I cried. Tears began to stream down my cheeks.

He sighed at my response and looked exasperated. "I need you to stop that. Girls who weep are worth nothing. I will tell you that I know some men from your village were sent to the mines. And they will never return. Others have been sold in the city. Was he pretty? Maybe a fine Lady bought him as a plaything. Maybe even the one who bought your hair. That would be a delight. Imagine, he could be used as a pleasure slave by someone wearing his former wife's hair," he laughed. "I wonder if he would recognize it."

I squirmed as he said that. The thought was too horrible. My husband would recognize my hair, I knew it. But I had to calm myself.

He continued, "Others have been sold at the docks as galley slaves. It is a busy port and every ship needs to replace a few men lost during a voyage. Perhaps your husband is chained to a galley."

I began breathing slowly, deliberately. Galley slaves can sometimes escape. Ships get wrecked in naval battles or storms and the slaves might escape. It has been known to happen. I needed to think on something else to get control over myself. "You said you were going to tell me something in return," I said. "I answered honestly about my dream."

"I know you did, little slave girl," he responded. "Hmmm, I do not want you to get the idea that you can bargain with your Masters. But still, what is the harm? Perhaps it will boost your spirits so you can beg to be bought like a good little slut." He paused.

"Will you be a good little slut and beg to be bought?" He asked.

I thought. It was my only hope. What if my husband was alive? Surely he would want me to survive. Surely he would want me to avoid the awful fate they had in mind if I were not sold. Yes, he would. I was sure of it. I swallowed what was left of my pride.

"Yes," I answered.

"Yes, what?" He asked. "Say it all.

"Yes I will beg to be bought like a good slut," I responded, my face turning red. But I was sure this is what I should do. I would survive. He will escape. He will find me.

"Better," he said. "Try again, you left a word out. You seem like a smart girl, try again."

I swallowed my pride again so I might survive. I knew what he meant. "Yes, Master, I will beg to be bought like a good slut."

"Good. But think hard on how you will beg, slave girl, how you will tell my friend how much you want to serve him, how much you want to give him and his crew pleasure," he said. "He will want an eager slave."

I bit my lip. I did not know if I could do that. It is one thing not to cry and to hold my anger inside me. It is another to have to beg to be bought. But to grovel and act like a whore? Could I do it?

"Well I might as well tell you about your pretty hair," he said. "You know it was harvested from your head and sold to a noble lady of our city, who so desperately wanted a unique wig that she would have you destroyed. But you do not know for how much. How much do you think your lovely hair was worth, little slave? Can you even guess?" He smirked.

"I... I don't know," I replied.

"Do you want to know?" He asked

I paused, but then said, "yes."

He chuckled again. I seemed to be an endless source of amusement for him. " Vain little slut. Two gold crowns," he said. "More than I will get for the whole lot of you and your slave sisters from the village. Just imagine, your hair is the most valuable thing about you. Well, it was at any rate."