by Rue Chapman
"Sharid, my dear friend,
This is the slave I told you about. She is now yours, but she knows nothing of that as yet. She thinks she is simply delivering a letter to you.
She is disobedient and lazy, she does few of her assigned tasks, and those badly. She is rude and outspoken, with none of the proper respect a slave must show. She even refuses to share my bed and give me the comforts a slave should offer freely to her master.
I'm too ill and weak to train this girl as she should be. I know your strict reputation and trust that you will deal firmly with this disgraceful creature, I hope you can teach her to obey and punish her as much as she deserves.
Many thanks for the new slave, and I'm sorry it's such an unequal trade - I know that the one you're sending me will be trained to your usual exceptional standards, and this one is so lazy, wilful and disobedient. Your methods will be sorely tested with her.
Good luck my friend,
Masri."
Sharid finished reading the letter and surveyed the messenger. Instead of kneeling quietly, head bowed, while she waited, as any respectful slave delivering her owner's message would know to do, this girl was standing in the centre of the room and turning to study the tapestries and rich furnishings around her. Sharid waited until she turned back to face him. Even then she didn't drop her eyes in modest humility or even look abashed, as a decent slave should do. No, this girl met his gaze without any proper, respectful behaviour at all.
This was the large main room of the house; tapestries decorated the walls, bright rugs covered part of the patterned tile floor. At one end of the room were low couches, and piles of silk and satin cushions in rich colours. At the other end was a dining area, a large low table surrounded by seating cushions. Doors all along one side of the room opened out onto a courtyard, the sound of the waterfall there masking the street noise from outside. All of the main rooms opened onto the courtyard, there would be a section at the back of the house for the slaves. The house of a rich man, even wealthier than Masri. But not one she'd want to work for.
"Is there any reply?"
To dare to address him at all, and to do so without any of the proper terms of 'respected sir' or 'this worthless slave needs to know'... to speak to him at all, and in that way - Sharid ground his teeth as he tried to maintain self-control. Yes, this one needed some long and painful lessons in the behaviour and obedience of a well-trained slave. Masri's long illness had robbed him of the strength he needed to tame that wilful attitude. Luckily, Sharid had all the vigour Masri lacked. As this creature would soon discover.
"Kneel."
"What?"
Still the girl didn't have the decency to obey as a good slave should. This one was going to need some firm measures. Sharid's expression was stern, his glare was icy, his voice had the edge of command that make it impossible to disobey. "Get on your knees. Now."
Liri slowly got to her knees, her expression mutinous. How dare he speak to her like this? He wasn't her master. She was onto a good thing with old Masri, he never did any of this slave rubbish. Most girls wouldn't take the slave option, they preferred to do their time in prison. But Liri didn't fancy the hard work and strict discipline there - twelve hour shifts in the prison factory, seven days a week, and the guards were always quick to use their heavy leather straps and wooden paddles on any poor girl who just fancied a bit of a rest, or a quick gossip with her workmates. Doing your time as a slave meant total loss of freedom and control, but Liri knew that a smart girl could persuade any man to do what she wanted. And when old Masri bought her two months ago she almost danced home with him - she knew he was going to be easy. Three years with him instead of four years hard time in a cold grey stone prison - no contest!
Who did this idiot think he was, ordering her about. She'd just delivered a letter, for goodness sake. Liri glared at him, "So, do you have an answer?"
"I have all the answers."
Oh great. He wanted to play games. She sighed, "Well, in that case you won't need me so I'll be getting on home." She stood up and turned to go.
"Get back here."
She'd never heard a voice like that. Quiet and cold and deadly. She turned slowly, "I - I have to get back to my master..."
"I'm your master now."
"What! But - no, he can't do that!"
Sharid's cold silence stopped her protests. He waited until she'd spluttered into silence, "I gave him the girl I'd been training. And you are now mine."
"But... but I didn't pack... I need my things..."
"Slaves own nothing."
"But... you can't do this!"
"SILENCE!" His voice echoed off the walls, startling Liri and sending a shudder of cold fear through her. "Now, I wish to inspect my new property. Stand still."
Liri stood still as ordered, trembling a little at the shock. This wasn't how she'd planned it at all, and she knew that her usual tactics wouldn't get her very far with this one. Slave owners were permitted to punish slaves as they saw fit - they couldn't kill, maim or mark permanently, but apart from that there were few rules. You were told all this when you signed the forms. Men were mostly bought to do heavy labour in fields and factories, women were usually house slaves, some worked in shops and factories, but owners could demand any service they wished from a slave, at any time. And enforce total obedience. You were warned, you consented to that when you signed. And then you had no right to consent to or refuse anything until your time was served.
And this owner was going to demand a lot more than old Masri. And enforce it.
Liri shivered as he walked around her, studying her like a horse at a show.
Sharid saw a comely young woman, not tall - the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. Her hair was as raven-black as his own, cut short - one of the marks of a slave woman - and just brushing her shoulders in a riot of curls. But her eyes weren't dark like his, they were a pale silver-grey. And her skin was much paler than his olive, weather-beaten tones - hers was pale as alabaster and fine as porcelain. She'd pink up quickly under punishment. Sharid was pleased - he loved seeing a well-punished slave with her red bottom glowing brightly, a lovely contrast with pale skin. And this one had already earned more in a few minutes than his last slave earned in six months.
Sharid smiled as he thought of sweet little Ciera, always eager to please, she'd barely required any correction at all. Masri would find her far more helpful and comforting than this one would ever be, with her pert attitude and her angry glare and - her clothes! He stepped back to look at her clothes.
Slaves usually wore a simple shift of unbleached calico, two rectangles caught at the shoulders with a few stitches or bone pins, tied at the waist with rope or a strip of fabric, and falling to mid-thigh. Or just a strip of material tied around the hips. Or nothing at all. If the master was entertaining, the slave may be given a shift of coloured cotton, or transparent chiffon.
But this one - she was dressed more richly than most merchants' wives. He wondered how much of Masri's gold she'd spent on herself. A skirt of fine linen, a jewel-bright turquoise, covered her from waist to ankle. Over that a large strip of silk, patterned in greens and blues, wound around her body, covering from under her arms to her hips. The ends went over one shoulder and were caught in place with a gold brooch. Small turquoise pendants dangled from her ears and hung at her throat. At least her feet were decently bare, she'd left her street slippers at the door (richly embroidered, he noted), as good manners demanded. Slaves weren't given house slippers, bare feet were enough for them.
Liri hated standing like this while he studied here - it was embarrassing. She didn't know who was in his household - anyone could come in.
And then she felt his hands fumbling at her shoulder, at the gold pin there. To her horror the pin was loosened and removed, tossed to a nearby low table. Liri held her arms tightly to her sides to hold the material in place.
"Hands on your head."
"But -"
"NOW. And I will never hear you argue or protest a command again. If you are permitted to address me you will address me as 'Master' or 'sir'. You have much to learn, and it will be the hard way. Get those hands on your head, you disgusting creature!"
His voice was like ice. Miserably Liri linked her fingers on top of her head.
"Keep them there." She shivered at his tone. Maybe she should have been a little nicer to Masri. Maybe he'd give her another chance...
The bright silk slowly unwound from her body, sliding over her skin as it slipped to the floor. Liri closed her eyes as she felt the cool air against her skin.
Sharid stepped back to study the girl, naked to the waist, in front of him. He walked around her, admiring that pale, perfect skin. She gasped as his fingers trailed down her spine, then around her waist. His large hands gripped her narrow waist, the fingers spread wide over her ribs, then his thumbs just brushed against the underside of her breasts. He could feel her heartbeat, rapid now, the girl was trembling a little. He ran his hands up her sides, then his fingertips circled each full breast. He loved girls with figures like this - narrow waist, broad hips and full breasts. He circled the pink tip of each breast, then gently pinched the little pink nipples, feeling them harden as his fingers teased them. Small nipples - very nice. And the pink stood out so well against that smooth pale skin.
It was time to explore further. He fumbled a moment with the fastening at the side of her skirt, hearing a soft whimper from the girl as the skirt fell to her feet. He frowned - how dare she! How dare a slave wear underwear - and black lace at that! Only if her master required it for his own titillation was a slave allowed such luxuries - usually she was required to be bare under her shift to allow easy use and access. But this one - black lace panties - she needed some serious training indeed.
Sharid hooked his fingers into the sides of those disgraceful panties, easing them down her legs. The girl clamped her legs tightly together - another bad habit she'd lose quickly or suffer the consequences. He tapped her ankle, "Apart."
Slowly she shuffled her feet apart a little. She'd learn to obey faster, too. Sharid moved behind her and eased the panties down slowly over her full cheeks, enjoying the firm flesh. Then around to the front, sliding them down over the triangle of dark curls, hearing her gasp as the fabric slowly parted from the last tender skin, leaving her bare to his gaze as the panties moved down her legs.
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