tagChain StoriesKismet Ch. 01

Kismet Ch. 01


Author's Note: Following is the first chapter of a new chain story which I hope many of you will enjoy. This idea came to me from an Avatar that a poster in Literotica's forum uses. The image is of a painting titled The Slave Market. The artist, Jean-Leon Gerome has many works of art that are quite lovely. This particular one made me wonder what kind of story the writers, here at Literotica, could create for her. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well as the upcoming ones that will include works from both experienced and new writers. A heartfelt thanks to LoquaciousLady for editing. Comments are very much appreciated. Thank you and enjoy. ~ RedHairedandFriendly

Hera stared at the woman displayed before the men of the village. Tears fell down her face as she watched strangers paw at her. They ran their hands down her figure, squeezed her breasts, forced her legs apart, and invaded her privates with thick fingers. Yet, she knew in her heart that none invaded her too deeply, fearing the wrath of whomever won the right to possess her. Hera's gaze shifted to Mada, a woman she'd considered her friend; a woman she'd visited once a year for the past eighteen years. This year however, Hera knew would be the last. She would never see Mada again, nor would she ever return to her homeland. Mada had plans for her; she would not grace the market place stage, nor would she have to witness the disgrace of her daughter. For that Hera was thankful.

Shouts brought Hera back to the trembling, yet proud form of her daughter. Her black hair had been freed of its bonds; it flowed down her back, over her shoulders and caressed the round cheeks of her ass. Her hair, Hera had told her often was her crowning glory. Yet here in Azerbaidistan, it was not only her hair that drove the bidding up, but her skin as well. The creamy white flesh bore no flaws; her emerald eyes made many stop and stare in awe. Afsoon was unique to the people of Azerbaidistan and her uniqueness, as well as her untouched maidenhead would make many envious. Hera closed her eyes as a shout of victory came from the one man she had prayed would not win her daughter.

Risay smirked. His dark gray eyes connected with Mada's silver ones. He bowed his head slightly, then glanced at the battered woman that stood unwillingly beside the Sultan's wife. Her lips were swollen; her eyes blackened, presumably by the beefy hands that now gripped her arms to her side. One of her wrist looked to be cocked at an odd angle. Risay wondered if her legs, hidden behind the thick skirt she wore, bore similar damage. Obviously Mada had no use for the woman she'd once called friend. Risay knew why too. Mada had shared with him the story of Hera after they had spent hours exploring each one's flesh.

"The bitch was my friend," Mada muttered as her naked and well used body lay atop Risay's, "she came here every year. We walked through the village. We shopped. We danced for Azlan. We laughed like children. She dined at my table!"

"Yet, she hid this secret from you?" Risay asked, his fingers toyed with the sweaty locks of Mada's hair.

"For eighteen years she kept this secret." Risay kissed the Sultan's wife's head and then trailed a finger down her jaw, before rolling her to her back. "She only told me now because she feels she has no choice. Her husband has died and all his goods are left to Afsoon. But Afsoon is not his! She is Azlan's! If the men in her country discover her lies, then she will lose all."

"So why come here? Why confess all to you and not Azlan?" Risay asked just before his mouth moved to nibble on Mada's neck.

Mada moaned softly, tilting her head to give her lover easier access to her delicate flesh. She wanted him to be more vigorous in their love-making, but knew this was something she could not have. If she were marked by any other than Azlan she would not live another hour longer.

"Because I am her friend," Mada sneered, "she came to me in hopes I would appeal to Azlan and convince him to take Afsoon and her into his world. She loves him!" Mada shouted, pushing her lover away and rolling to her stomach. Her hands moved under her chin and she propped herself up, pouting like a child.

"And you do not want her here?"

"I was fooled Risay. I did not know she was bedding the Sultan, my Azlan. I share him with so many women. I wanted one to be just my friend, to not look upon the Sultan and desire to pleasure him. I wanted someone that was not out to gain something for themselves, but to..." she sighed and licked her lips, opening her legs when she felt Risay's hands nudging them apart, "...just be my confidant. I thought Hera was that."

"But she was fucking your mate."

Risay's cock slipped easily into the slick opening of Mada's pussy. He grinned as her muscles clenched around his shaft. As he pumped in and out of her, she explained that Hera had been fucking the Sultan from the first visit she and her husband had made to Azerbaidistan. She had fallen in love, Hera had told her, but because she was already wed, she had to stay with her husband. Her husband had been a great business man and every year they came to the country to trade with the people, staying as honored guests in the houses of Azlan.

That first month Hera had gotten pregnant; she had no doubts that the child was Azlan's because her husband was aged and they had never consummated their marriage vows. The marriage had been a business arrangement. Hera would be the hostess of great parties and run the nobleman's house and he would provide for her and her family, a family that was not financially secure and needed dowries for their other daughters.

Risay had listened as his cock had found release once again in Mada's sex. He knew she would not birth his children, nor any man's. Her last child, a son, had almost killed her upon his arrival into the world and the result had left her barren. He pulled from her, flopped onto the bed and closed his eyes. Mada rolled back over, cuddled up to him and continued to pout, then later as she readied herself to leave Risay's bed, she began to plot.

"Azlan will return in a week," she said as she fastened a gold belt to her waist, "I need you to arrange an auction."

Risay frowned. "Azlan will not be happy to have missed one and if you are thinking to sell Hera..."

"No. I will not sell Hera. I do not want her anywhere near Azlan and selling her would not keep her out of our lives...my life. Her daughter though," Hera sneered, "she is beautiful. She has her father's face, stern and proud. I want that pride wiped from her ivory features. I want her mother to see her daughter in the hands of a madman. I want her to go to her death knowing that Afsoon suffers."

"And who is this man?"

Hera laughed. "You, my dear."

Risay's brows rose. "Me?"

"Yes, I do not love you like I do Azlan. You know this. I do however know how you treat your slaves. I have seen the bruises. I know the stories of how they are abused if they make the slightest mistake, if they do not pleasure you the way you wish to be pleasured. Make her suffer Risay... for me."

"Then why not give her to me? Why an auction?"

"Because I want Hera to watch her daughter be humiliated. There is no reason other than that. I have been humiliated for eighteen years! That I did not see the truth infuriates me! I have been fooled. I have been laughed at and now... Hera can watch the one thing she loves more than life fall to the hands of you, a well known abuser of women."

Risay's laughter echoed through his bed chambers as Hera slipped out a hidden door and made her way home. Armed guards, paid handsomely for their silence, remained at her side until she reached the harem courtyard.

The skin on the inner side of Afsoon's cheek was sore and bleeding. The metallic taste of blood did little to aid her in focusing on something other than the hands that pawed at her. Her gaze had held that of her mother's for as long as possible. The welts and cuts that littered the once beautiful face would forever be etched in Afsoon's mind. The woman that stood next to her held an air of grace and her beauty was apparent. The colors she wore were ones that Afsoon knew to be the colors of Azerbaidistan. She also knew by the stories her mother had told her while growing up, that the woman was her father's wife. Afsoon had no qualms calling another man her father, though she had never met him. The man whom she had lived with, the man that had given her his name because he'd wed her mother shortly before she'd gotten pregnant, was not someone she ever loved. Nor was he someone she would miss as she heard the final bid being held and confirmed.

Her green eyes flew to those of the winner. Fear shot through her as she saw the sneer on his face directed toward her mother and a look of satisfaction when he looked at Mada. Mada...how had her mother been so wrong about her long time friend?

Afsoon had been told that the Sultan's wife was a remarkable creature. Kind. Considerate. Compassionate to the plight of the poor. Yet when Mada had heard the story surrounding Afsoon's birth and her sudden appearance at Azerbaidistan, Mada had struck Hera, ordered guards to take her and Afsoon away and for two days her mother was beaten in front of Afsoon, repeatedly violated by the guards. Afsoon was threatened the same treatment if she breathed a word to any of her true paternity.

She would have screamed the truth had it not been for the threat to her mother's life. Afsoon had lived for only one person... her mother. Her life with her foster father, as she referred to him, was not one she had cared for. She was no more than a servant to him. Lord Byran had been a cruel man. Cruel to her. Cruel to her mother; even more so, Hera confessed, after learning of her affair with Azlan. Yet, he had continued to visit Azerbaidistan fully knowing his wife was bedding the Sultan. Afsoon however had never been allowed to travel with her mother. At home she'd remained until Byran's untimely death; her mother immediately packed their belongings and sought passage on one of Lord Byran's ships before all learned of Afsoon's true heritage.

Byran had left everything to his daughter; why? Hera's opinion had been that in time all would be revealed to their more notable friends and humiliation like none other would fall down on her and her family. They would be financially destroyed, so what better way to avoid the potential downfall than to hide from it? Afsoon begged her mother to not flee, but to stay and fight. Hera refused. Now Afsoon stood, no longer a free woman, but one that would be used just like her mother had been used the nights prior to the auction.

Renewed excitement from the crowd made Afsoon's attention return to the present. She was pulled off the stage and another woman, equally bare of all clothing took her place. Two men, both elegantly dressed in long tunics moved to either side of her. One took a firm hold on the silver chain that had been attached to a collar on her neck. He tugged it, spoke harshly to her and pointed toward a group of servants as well as horses.

A house seal bearing a black rose sat snuggly on the shoulder of each man. Afsoon's gaze ran quickly over their figures, noting a blade attached to each hip. For a brief moment she thought of escaping, grabbing a blade and thrusting it into its owner. Yet the words of Mada echoed in her ear. She was too remain passive on the auction stage. She was to submit to the wills of all the men that touched her. She was to go willingly to her Master or...her mother would suffer even more.

Afsoon was taken away. A cry of anguish echoed through the market place. Afsoon knew it to be the cry of a mother losing her only child.

Risay remained in the village. He had no doubt that the woman he'd just purchased would be cared for. The men he'd entrusted her to were loyal servants. They knew their place and would take Afsoon to his home where she would be treated like a goddess. Mada was convinced she was a virgin, a treat that Risay's men knew he would enjoy deflowering. When the physicians in the market had confirmed her innocence still existed, he had paid handsomely for it. He snickered to himself as he entered one business after another, conducting transactions that he normally would have handled during a scheduled trip. He found himself looking forward to breaking in the young woman.


Afsoon had not fought the guards; the looming voice of Mada accompanied her throughout the trip to what she knew was to be her home. Her eyes had remained on her clenched fists. Her naked body had remained viewable to the guards that had taken her from the market place. They'd placed her in the back of a wagon; a pale white canvas shielded her from the sun and other prying eyes, yet the men had climbed in behind her. She had remained impassive as they spoke candidly about what their Master would do to her. Heat flooded her features as they described the man whom she would serve. She learned his name and was soon rewarded with the stories of how he liked to have his women pleasure him.

By the time they reached their destination Afsoon was shaking. She wanted to flee, yet knew in this country she was nothing more than a piece of property. What freedom she had held in her world was no longer available to her. She had no voice and if one felt she did not exist, then exist she did not.

One of the guards bellowed loudly once the group had exited the wagon. A woman appeared, her features showed her age as did the silver of her hair. Afsoon looked imploring at her, hoping to find some shimmer of compassion and friendship. A sliver of humanity existed no where in the woman's hard stare and the hope Afsoon held within her chest melted away. There would be no freedom from this place.

With a deep sigh, she squared her shoulders and followed the old woman down a rocky path. Trees and various flowers grew along side the worn walkway. The fragrant blooms went ignored by Afsoon. Each step she took brought her closer to what she knew, from her mother's stories, to be the harem of her Master. She swallowed nervously; when she entered a courtyard of giggling and chattering females all noises ceased.

The old woman clapped her hands, gathering the attention of all the females. "This is Afsoon. She is to be bathed and readied for Master Risay."

Soft mumblings came from various groups. Afsoon tried to remain impassive as dozens of eyes stared at her. She could feel various degrees of curiosity as well as hostility. Her mother had tried to prepare her during the short times they were allowed to speak with each other. She had told her how the men of Azerbaidistan would wed one or two women, but keep dozens, sometimes hundreds or thousands in their own mini-community. These women were part of the Master's harem. Once Afsoon had agreed to the terms Mada had set forth, the stories of her childhood became more real.

A movement to her left brought Afsoon's attention to a woman who looked to be a few years older than her eighteen. She tried to divert her gaze from the thin veiled figure as she closed the distance between them. The woman was beautiful, Afsoon quickly saw. Her hair was black. Her skin bronze. Her eyes were almost as dark as coal. Immediately Afsoon felt a connection and once again hope sprung anew.

"Afsoon, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Malay." Malay took Afsoon's hand and tugged on it gently. The old woman nodded then walked away. Malay shot a look to several of the other women and most all turned away. "I am sure Master paid dearly for you. I shall prepare you myself, for I wish to please him."

Afsoon went with the other woman. They left the harem courtyard, crossed a threshold that opened into a great hall. Down the hall Malay led Afsoon; they passed intricately carved statues of various gods and goddesses. Paintings. Tapestries. Artifacts that Afsoon had never seen or known existed had been placed on tables of what Afsoon thought was marble. Risay had paid handsomely and it seemed that he could have gone higher if the need had presented itself. This knowledge did not sit easily on her shoulders. A wealthy man was a man that took great means to protect what was his. Afsoon was now his.

"Here we are."

Malay's voice brought Afsoon out of her musings. She stared at a large pool of water. Steam rose from the rippling surface. Several servants, dressed in less finery that the veils of Malay stood ready to serve. Malay clapped her hands and the servants acted quickly. One woman approached Afsoon, the collar and it's matching chain were removed. Another slave disappeared, only to return a few minutes later with a pile of what Afsoon would later learn to be the clothes she would be expected to wear.

"A bath," Malay whispered, motioning to the pool.

Afsoon stepped forward, timidly at first and then more boldly as the servants chuckled behind their upraised hands. Malay shot them a knowing look and their giggles ceased. Afsoon gave a grateful smile to the woman as she slipped into the water. She breathed deep, recognized the scent of roses and remembered the symbol that the guards wore on their person and the etchings on their swords. "Why roses?" she suddenly asked.

Malay smiled softly, disrobed and slipped into the water with Afsoon. She patted the girl's arm, when she saw the shock of sharing a bath ride over her features. "I am only here to wash you, prepare you for our Master. I am pleased you speak our language. The black rose is what Risay's name stands for, it is his family symbol and though it is a flower, one should fear the thorns."

"Black roses mean death where I come from."

"Risay brings death too," Malay answered back. Her voice had been easy to read. It was the voice of reason, a voice that spoke of certainty and acceptance of fate. "Go under the water and wet your hair. I will wash it."

Afsoon did as she was told, dipping her entire body under the steamy surface. While she stayed submerged the thought of never rising bubbled to the forefront of her mind. She could stay under the water, breathe it in and end this life another had forced upon her. Another face suddenly appeared, it was the face of a battered woman. A woman that had crossed an ocean hoping to save herself and the life of her daughter. Afsoon rose from the water. She would not take the easy way out. Somehow she would make Mada pay for the crimes against her and her mother. It would take time and right now time was quite plentiful.

Malay's hands worked scented soap into Afsoon's long locks. She massaged her scalp, caressed her neck and twisted the soapy suds several times before having the slave girl submerge herself again. When Afsoon rose up a second time Malay was there with a pumice stone in her hand. "Sit on the edge and give me your foot," she softly demanded.

Afsoon watched as if in a trance as the harem slave worked the stone over her legs. She scrubbed softly at her thigh muscles, caressed her knees and calf muscles with care. Her feet were treated with a more vigorous washing and then Malay touched her sex. "You will need to be prepared," she whispered softly as her fingers brushed across the thick black curls of Afsoon's pussy.

"Please don't," Afsoon begged. Her hands came up to cover her exposed sex. Malay frowned and pushed her fingers away.

"It will not hurt," she told her. Malay snapped her fingers. A servant appeared and Afsoon watched as a sharp blade caught the light and its steel glinted threateningly in the slave woman's hand.

Afsoon acted on instinct, grabbing Malay's hand and reaching out to grip the knife. It cut into her skin, causing her to cry out. Malay released it, not willing to fight the young woman. Instead she watched Afsoon rise from the water and search for an exit. She took two steps before four guards appeared. Their arms were thick like trees, their hands beefy and strong. Each one held a blade longer than any Afsoon had seen before. They stepped toward her. Malay watched with interest as the dark-haired Afsoon tried to take stock of her situation.

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