by J. A. Buxton
All constructive feedback to improve my story is welcome. Chapters 01 thru 05
“Walk toward me, slave. Stop hiding like a coward in the shadows. I want to see if what my manservant purchased will amuse me.” Emonan took another sip of tea while he waited for her to obey his commands.
Emonan, the commander of an army of ruthless warriors, constantly needed to refresh his stock of females. He vaguely remembered the delight he felt while experimenting with his first concubine. On his 12th birthday, one of the presents he received from his father was a terrified, teenage virgin purchased from the local slave market. Twenty-five years later, Emonan easily became bored with the dozen women in his harem.
Now on this hot, desert afternoon, Emonan was sitting in the relative coolness of his large tent. He hoped his manservant’s choice of a new concubine would overcome his current state of ennui. Without a war to fight, he needed the excitement only a willing or, even better, an unwilling female could provide.
The 18-year-old girl hesitated at first when she heard his abrupt orders. After she finally moved out into the shaft of sunlight coming in through the tent’s open flap, her blonde hair appeared like a swirling halo around her head. The muggy afternoon heat had brought the glow of perspiration to her face and caused the sheer material barely covering her to cling to her voluptuous body. Emonan could see her bare feet peeking out from under the long outfit, and he frowned at the sight of her painted toenails.
The desert sun beat down on the outside of the large, canvas tent, but inside it was reasonably comfortable. Scattered around the dirt floor were satin cushions of varying sizes and colors. A glass-based water pipe waited unlit on a low table. Next to it was a tray filled with sesame halva and other sweet delicacies. The delicate aroma from a pot of lemon tea filled the tent. Emonan was next to the table, holding a glass of the hot tea in one of his hands. There was a bored look on his handsome face at the slowness of the female to obey him. His other women knew to fear this benign expression since he usually followed this with some form of punishment.
The young girl finally made her way to where he reclined on a large, silk cushion. The intoxicating sway of her body as she moves shows promise for tonight, he thought. A smile crossed Emonan's face so rapidly, it might never have happened. He watched her eyeing him in an arrogant manner, and he hoped this meant she would be a challenge. The rest of the women in his harem no longer did anything except cower away from him in fright. When she came even closer, he saw the elderly female slave had already fastened the thin, leather cuffs around the girl’s ankles. These proclaimed his ownership to all the other men in his army. Tiny silver bells attached to the leather tinkled softly as she shifted nervously from one foot to the other.
His newest concubine had arrived only hours before, and he was seeing her for the first time. Her pale hair hung in loose curls down her back, and it inordinately pleased him to see his manservant had found him a blonde. All his other women had dark hair like his, and he was ready for some variety in his harem. “My servant did well at the slave market. What is your name?”
“My name is Gallia, and I am not a slave.” Her dark-blue eyes stared sullenly at him. “Your servant kidnapped me from the city while I slept at my father’s home. I demand you return me there immediately.” Gallia decided the fool sitting in front of her might respond better to a threat. “I'm getting married in two days, and my betrothed will not be happy if I’m not there waiting for him. He is rich with powerful friends. You do not want him as your enemy.” She quickly took a step back when she saw Emonan's eyes narrow in anger. Gallia was young and spoiled by her indulgent parents, but she was intelligent enough to recognize danger.
Earlier, Gallia had awakened from a drugged sleep miles from her home. An elderly woman was standing over her. Silently, she pulled Gallia to her feet and pushed her toward a large, tin container. After roughly stripping off the girl’s nightclothes, she nudged her to step into the tub. Gallia cried out in pain when the old woman pushed her down into the scalding-hot water. Her cream-colored skin quickly turned red from the heat. The old woman began scrubbing her with a rough cloth smelling of some exotic flowers, all the while muttering about how ugly her master’s newest concubine looked. When the ends of Gallia’s long hair became damp from the bathwater, the old woman yanked her out of the tub and quickly patted her body dry.
After a hot and exhausting morning of drilling his men, Emonan had visited the same bathhouse to remove the accumulated dirt and sweat. Refreshed and ready to view his new concubine, he wrapped a clean towel around his waist and hurried outside the steam-filled bathing area. His bare feet kicked up the loose dirt despite his trying to be careful. Seeing how quickly his white towel became filthy, Emonan started cursing in frustration. I hate this place, he thought, heading across the army campground. It never rains, the bugs get in our food, and my women are a bunch of silly sheep. Finally entering his tent, he gave a big sigh. What I wouldn’t give for a good war right about now. My sword is turning rusty without a coating of an enemy’s blood.
The sight of their young commander making his way across the crowded compound had his men grinning. The rumor of a new female arriving had spread throughout the camp. Some of the older men hoped she would improve his foul mood, at least for a few weeks. Others, younger and more in need of a woman, wondered how long it would take for her to displease him. All of them, young or old, looked forward to exploring her naked body sometime in the future.
A week earlier, Emonan had ordered three frightened concubines to leave the safety of his harem. He watched the women, no longer under his protection, disappear into the noisy crowd of two dozen, bearded warriors. The weakest of the females soon died in agony when forced to service these lusty, brutal men. Even the repeated ravishment of the last two concubines failed to quench their lust. The news about a young girl had the warriors wagering on how long before their bored commander exiled her to their tents.
Once inside his tent, Emonan went to stand in front of a small, copper trunk. He lifted the embossed cover and removed an ornate robe his mother had given him on his last birthday. She had spent hours embroidering symbols of peace and prosperity on the dark-green satin using precious threads of gold.
* * *
Bathed, perfumed, and dressed only in a collection of silk veils, Gallia now stood a short distance away from the stranger who slowly rose from the cushion. At five-foot-ten, Emonan was only two inches taller than she was. His brown eyes were so dark they appeared black, and his recent bath had turned his thick hair into a mass of tight, black curls. Unlike so many men in his army, his face was clean shaven.
With the magnificent robe hanging loosely around his muscular body, he motioned for his new concubine to come closer. Annoyed by her insolent behavior, Emonan angrily dug his bare toes into the coolness of the floor’s packed dirt. Once she reluctantly obeyed him, he glared down at the young girl. Even the coolness of the satin material rubbing against his warm flesh failed to sooth his growing fury.
When the floor-length robe swung open, Gallia could see his bare chest covered with coarse, black hair. The only other clothing Emonan wore was a form-fitting undergarment. These white briefs began at the waistband and ended at his upper thighs. Emonan’s exposed skin was dark against the whiteness of this garment. Unknown to Gallia, her captor usually wore only the briefest of clothing. After exhausting himself with one of his concubines, he would recover his strength by relaxing outside in the sun.
Emonan reached out to cup her chin in one of his large hands. “You dare to give me an order?” His low voice was soft, but there was an underlying menace to it. “You will never do that again, or you will die.” With that threat, he released her chin and moved his hand down her neck. He saw the female slave had chosen to drape Gallia in five veils of red silk covering different parts of her body.
“I will examine you to see if I will keep or discard you. You will call me Master at all times, even if I find you unappealing and give you to the men in my army.” He slowly pulled the first red veil off and let it fall to the tent’s dirt floor. This revealed her breasts, and he nodded in approval. The soft mounds appeared generous enough for his future pleasure. He flicked a finger over first one pink nipple and then the other, ignoring the innocent virgin’s shocked gasp.
Satisfied so far with what he saw, he removed the second orange veil. When this uncovered his concubine’s flat stomach, he ran his hand over her body. “Soon this will be full and round when you carry my son in there.” He also ignored the outraged objections of his newest possession.
Emonan knew sons, even if only by his concubines, would guarantee his immortality and secure his place in the afterlife. His timid wife, pressured by her father into an arranged marriage with Emonan, failed to provide him with a son. Leila had disgraced herself by giving birth to a daughter nine months after their wedding. One year later, his wife lived in the distant city with his parents, her frail body heavy with Emonan’s second unborn child.
“Yes, my manservant chose well. Your body is slender, but,” and he placed his hands on both sides of her body, “you should have no problems delivering many sons.” He had displaced the third dark-green veil while measuring the width of her pelvis, and this left two more veils to go.
“Please, I want to go home. My father will pay you well for my return.” Gallia tried in vain to pull away from those strong hands. Instead, she felt his long fingers moving to stroke her stomach before reaching for the fourth veil. She couldn’t keep back her frightened tears when the light-blue material dropped away from her body. By now only one sheer, pale-yellow veil draped precariously around her hips.
“Did I not tell you to call me Master? Never speak to me without acknowledging me in that way. Do you understand?” He remained silent until he heard a frightened, “Yes, Master. I understand.”
“The old woman should have removed that before I saw you,” complained Gallia’s new owner at seeing her blonde patch of pubic hair through the sheer silk. He reached for the last veil, and his anger disappeared when he saw the material fall away from her. The tall blonde was everything he had demanded his manservant find for his harem. He knew he would enjoy stroking her shapely legs. He imagined ordering her to wrap them around his waist before he took his pleasure within her young, supple body.
His hot gaze returned to her face, and he paid no attention to the tears flowing down her cheeks. Unwilling to wait any longer, he roughly tangled his fingers of one hand in her long, blonde hair. His other arm went beneath the round cheeks of her ass, and he easily lifted her off the ground. Emonan could feel her frantically trying to free herself. The warrior in him was enjoying his captive’s useless attempts to push herself away from his body. He released her hair and used that arm behind her back to pull her toward him. In this way, he immobilized her arms and only stopped when he felt her breasts pressed against his chest.
“Slave, I’m stronger than you are, so stop fighting me.” He gave her this order, even while hoping she would disobey. After the boredom of his other women, Gallia’s fierce spirit thoroughly delighted him. When he shifted her into a better position, he was able to push his heavy arousal between her wildly thrashing legs. Only a thin piece of cotton material separated their two bodies.
Emonan breathed in deeply of the faint floral scent coming from her overheated flesh. He recognized the expensive jasmine bath oil his old slave reserved for his special occasions. Catching sight of the pile of cushions on the dirt floor, Emonan knelt and placed Gallia on top of them. Realizing his robe would be a hindrance, he shrugged out of it and tossed it to land on the floor. After that, he stretched out on the cushions while making sure to keep Gallia underneath him with no chance of escape.
Emonan leaned down and covered Gallia’s full lips with his greedy ones. When he roughly forced his way into her mouth, he could still taste the mint tea the old servant had given her to drink earlier. His agile tongue ravished her for a few minutes, enjoying the absolute power he had over her. After a few minutes Emonan reluctantly lifted his head. There will be time tonight to taste all her delightful places. I must remember to reward my manservant for finding this blonde temptress.
Knowing he had important duties to finish before he could fully enjoy his newest concubine, he turned to recline on his side. This allowed Gallia to crawl off the cushions and quickly get to her feet. “Go now,” he ordered. “One of the guards standing outside my tent will take you back to the harem.” When he saw Gallia about to pick up the veils, he continued, boredom once again firmly in his voice, “No, leave them. The slave knows what I want when she sends you to share my bed this evening. Now leave.” He watched the enchanting, blonde beauty hurry toward the tent’s open flap.
Gallia no longer glided gracefully across the tent as she had before his inspection. With the removal of each veil, she had come to realize her life as she once knew it was over. The dark-eyed stranger, who arrogantly ordered her to call him Master, now owned her.
Gallia knew what had just happened was only the beginning of her captivity. Although she feared Emonan after the rough way he treated her, the innocent virgin had no idea of what he had planned for her that evening. She only felt relief she would no longer have to marry the man her father had chosen. Why couldn’t Father have found someone other than Wesler for me? At least this one is rather handsome in a dark, menacing sort of way.
Her sudden laugh confused the burly guard walking ahead of his commander’s naked concubine. He didn’t know she had suddenly realized life with a young warrior might be more challenging than a boring marriage to the bookish, too serious merchant. Although she knew she had to marry the man her father chose for her, Gallia did not love Wesler or even particularly like the man. She often caught herself trying not to yawn while listening to him explain his work.
Once the guard left her at the harem’s open entrance flap, Gallia eagerly stepped into the large tent. She was ready for whatever awaited her inside. Nearly a dozen women immediately surrounded her. The teen listened as a rapid flurry of questions came at her. They ranged from the merely curious, “Who are you?” to the hopeful, “Will your family come here to rescue you?”
An older woman noticed Gallia was shivering from the relative coolness inside the tent. She tossed the young girl one of the coarse, cotton garments Emonan required them to wear when not with him. “Put this on while you hear what my rules are. You may think that rutting fool has the power over whether you live or die, but I’m the one who will decide your fate.” Selene was one of the five women Emonan’s father had given him years earlier to seed his own harem. She had survived her captor’s brutal treatment and now ruled over the other females with a firm hand. The other four women were either dead or living in the warriors’ tent where they prayed nightly for death.
Gallia grimaced as she pulled on the shapeless, floor-length dress. Her sunburned skin was tender from the few minutes out in the desert heat. When she moved, the rough material rubbed painfully against her body. “I don’t like this ugly dress, and I refuse to wear it.” After saying that, she removed the offensive item. When she tossed it back at Selene, she heard horrified gasps from the other women. Ignoring Selene, who stood there with a stunned look on her face, Gallia began walking around the spacious area to explore her new home.
The tent's heavy canvas trapped the sweltering heat of the day. Instead of the colorful piles of satin cushions she had seen in Emonan’s home, the predominant color in the harem was brown. Gallia spotted two rows of faded blankets laid out on one side of the earthen floor. Unnoticed by her, a woman lay on one of them deep in the tent’s shadows curled up in the fetal position and moaning in pain. Nobody went near her since this was a familiar sight after one of them returned from spending time with Emonan.
“What is that smell?” complained Gallia, wrinkling her nose from the strong odor coming from the other side of the tent.
Story continued in next segment.