Collared Freedom {{Lord Alexys Zephyrai and Wistful Dream}}
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Lord Alexys Zephyrai on 05-01-2010, 07:23:28</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Collared Freedom {{Lord Alexys Zephyrai and Wistful Dream}}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lord Alexys Zephyrai</strong> on <strong>05-01-2010, 07:23:28</strong>
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				Not that he needed a reason.<br><br>Well, okay. If anyone asked, Rakesh would tell them that he was simply tired with the absence of challenge. After all… one had to work only so hard to get a succubus in heat. That is to say, not very much at all. And when one was as practiced and as naturally talented as Rakesh, well then! But the truth remains that Rakesh did <em>not</em> spend his time with the local demonesses; in part, they were too eager to please him. They simply weren’t worth his time.<br><br>Being a demon prince, there’s not much to do around the domain. His court dealt with most things, leaving him free to enjoy himself. Which meant every demoness looking to make a name for herself wanted him… or at least wanted him to want her.<br><br>Rakesh wasn’t interested in such things. He, at least, enjoyed the rush that came from a challenging hunt. As a child, he’d gone off to hunt game now and again, playing catch-and-release until he found something substantial enough to take home for food to his father’s cooks. He learned quickly that it was more rewarding to bring home one large catch than several small ones. When he was older, he’d led his brethren into war against a neighboring country… and found that the same applied. The greater the foe was, the more dangerous, the more pleasure he took from downing that foe. He had no enjoyment for slaughtering the helpless.<br><br>The same applies, notes Rakesh to himself, to everything in life. The rarer a dish is to come by, the better it tastes. The more one has to save up for a purchase, the more one uses it. The harder one works to perfect a skill, the more meaningful that skill becomes. And the more one must convince a woman to bed him… the greater the enjoyment from the result.<br><br>Of course, most women of other countries weren’t likely to venture willingly into his realm, and Rakesh wasn’t about to go traipsing about in another land for extended periods of time. These were the thoughts that were going through his mind as his team of feltaurs pulled into the customer stables for Corona Slave Market and Auction… not that he needed a reason.<br><br>He hopped out of the carriage, a swift motion to his driver – a burly devil with no wings of his own and a knack for feltaurs – sufficing to tell him to wait as Rakesh himself entered the main compound in search of the man who ran the joint.<br><br>~=~<br><br>“RaKESH! Rakesh, Rakesh!” A stout man in lavish garb ran up to him from the auction-stand he was setting up and clasped his hand, smiling widely. Caeld, the proprietor of Corona SMA, was entirely bald, plump but not overly so, with visible muscles rippling under his fat. His eyes gleamed money, and his voice was loud and clear. Rakesh took his hand and shook it. It’d been at least five years since last he saw the man… and each time he did he was amazed at how well he was doing for himself.<br><br>Caeld, for his part, was truly glad to see the demon prince. When he first began Corona SMA, Rakesh was one of his largest financers in terms of pure cash. That, combined with a few demonesses, sealed a friendship between them. Aside from people such as the master slaver Lunos, Caeld’s right-hand man Gon, Gvet the Headsman, and Ferret – all of whom worked for Caeld directly except Lunos – Rakesh was his biggest supporter. Every so often he’d send another little gift-bundled succubus the slavemaster’s way.<br><br>“It does me good to see you, Rakesh! Things going well? How’s the palace holding up? The last one you sent me sold for twenty thousand!” A businessman first and last, Caeld’s talk always turned to money sooner or later.<br><br>Rakesh merely smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to sell you this time, Caeld, my friend. I’m here for a purchase.” Not that he needed a reason.<br><br>Caeld’s face fell, but brightened immediately. “Good, good! So be it. Shall I show you around and recommend something, or would you prefer the hustle and bustle of the auction? It <em>is</em> the first of the month today.” Caeld set up an auction for special merchandise the first of every month.<br><br>“Truth be told, I’ve no idea what I’m looking for…”<br><br>“Auction it is, then! See something you like, great! If not, the market’s always here afterwards.”<br><br>Rakesh nodded. “I’ve got ten thousand in gold, another ten thousand in immediate barter, and I can promise you the first feltaur foal of the year.”<br><br>“Ah, Rakesh,” Caeld sighed, mopping his brow apologetically with his sleeve, “you know I can’t make special deals on auction. And you <em>know</em> I only take gold, paid up front, at auction. However… since you’re a friend, I’ll let the on-site bankers no not to charge you any interest for barter and loan.”<br><br>Rakesh nodded gratefully, left Caeld to his pre-auction work, and stepped back into the courtyard where other bidders were lining up. It was about five and a half hours until noon, he guessed… only thirty minutes until the auction began.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Collared Freedom {{Lord Alexys Zephyrai and Wistful Dream}}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>06-01-2010, 08:00:33</strong>
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				Eyes of a glittering bright amber shone in the dim lighting of the cell she was kept in, the green sparks in them, like leaves floating upon a pool of water caught in the setting sun seemed stark as she glared at the door, waiting, hoping, but despairing even in that. Hope was with her, in her heart, for some sort of escape from this cursed place and yet it tasted like ash in her mouth for she knew it to be false. After all had not the past year of her life seen too many false hopes to allow her even a glimmer of one here? How cruel the world was. <br><br>Impatient, with herself, with the world at large and most specifically with the slave driver who would not see sense she shook back her long hair, the mane of firey tresses dirty, damp and matted after her long captivity. She couldn't bare to be touched, not here or by the men who would have 'bathed' her in their crude way, and so she bit at them, clawed, kicked, anything to keep them from putting their hands on her, anywhere near her, better to stink then to be handled like livestock. And she was not to be touched, no, not she she virgin Elvin princess, what a price she would fetch when her turn came. Which would be today. <br><br>Mirna lifted a hand, running it through the tangles of her silken hair, still so soft to the touch even after all the lack of care given to it; her eyes were fixed on what she could see of the sun from her cell, so little information, but then she tied to the earth and could feel it creep slowly over the earth. Today was the first of the month, the day she had been told by the fat troll who ran this place the auction that would decide her fate would be held. She had spat at him, he hadn't taken it overly well. <br><br>It was hard to remember, to think that she had once been so sweet and bidable, so happy to be pliant and flow like a willow in the wind with whatever changes came to her life. That had been before the Drow, before the burning and sacking of her homeland, not the capital, no, not yet at least. But first the borderlands and then inward, ever inward, pressing and destroying. Long dark honey lashes fluttered shut to try and abate the pain that took hold of her heart. Her people, a year she was gone from them now, how much would they have lost? How much had she lost? She may have still been a virgin but she knew such terrors, such horrors she would never be the same again. The girl shifted on her small ragged pallet and felt the pull of the healing welts on her back. It hadn't been too long since she had been brought here by the Drow, a mere forenight, she thought; their deep cutting whips had left marks on her that still stung like hell. Mirna bit down on her lower lip, hissing at the pull of her skin as she shifted, trying to get more comfortable. <br><br>Today she would be sold, worthless, even to the enemy of her people. It was so hard sometimes, so hard to remember who, what she was. A Princess, once, now a slave, lower then a political hostage. The Drow had kept her at first, humiliating her with menial labor, forcing her into things she had never dreamed of, but they would not violate her body. It had no worth to them, no attraction, even as a woman she failed utterly; her people needed her, their Princess and yet where was she? Helpless, bound, wounded, worthless. The words, thoughts beat down upon her until she wanted to scream but her pride had not broken enough for that, just as it had not broken in those dark fiends hands. That had been why she had summoned the courage to stab one of the princes, to gut him where he sat, or at least she had thought she had when he tried to tie her up and whip her. She had run then, not knowing that she had failed in killing him. Only a few days she had lasted before they caught her, tortured her and then washed their hands of her. <br><br>Worthless.<br><br>Yes, perhaps she was, but the slaver would get good money for a virgin Elvin princess, she knew that, he did as well, even with the marks on her, even stinking to the nine hells, even with her glorious fall of sunset hair matted and tangled. It was what she was that was worthy, not who. Mirna slitted open her eyes, staring at the small window in her cell and wished with all her heart she had the strength to take her own life and end the suffering.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Collared Freedom {{Lord Alexys Zephyrai and Wistful Dream}}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lord Alexys Zephyrai</strong> on <strong>22-02-2010, 15:16:55</strong>
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				Rakesh waited impatiently, his fingers drumming on the stiff wooden chair Caeld had dragged out for him. There were no cushions, and the upright back didn’t allow for much comfort; the courtesy was merely to keep the demon prince off of his feet. It was the only chair Caeld had on hand that could be pulled out into the courtyard at such short notice. Crossing and uncrossing his legs, he allowed his mind to wander. What sort of slaves would Caeld be selling today? The proprietor of Corona SMA never auctioned too many that were too similar. The auctions were meant, in part, to showcase the variety of Corona’s stock… and Caeld, masterful as ever, never failed to impress.<br><br>But while Rakesh sat and attempted not to do something as unbecoming to his position and stature as fidget, Caeld’s men had been sent to prepare the goods for the auction. Each staff member oversaw the preparation of his or her own acquisitions, chose – under the guidance of Caeld and Gvet the headsman – those representatives of the stock as a whole that would fetch the best prices at auction and would pull the biggest crowd. The slaves were then taken from their cells, washed, oiled, rebound, and taken to the block to await their purchase.<br><br>Of course, there were always exceptions. Some were not washed – as they still bore war paint from their initial capture. Some were not oiled because doing so would ruin their skin’s natural sheen. Some had to be further conditioned, some disciplined, some bound more or less strictly than others. Some were designated for product previewing pre- or mid-auction. A select few – more docile than the rest and clearly trained for the task – were pulled aside for the Free Samples.<br><br>And then there was this new catch. VI #2607490359702, 1-Caeld-1. The records kept, besides numbers, information about the particular item – race, age, eye and hair color, measurements, new or used, acquisition. This one had all of that, true, but she was an exception. In the records borne by Gvet the headsman, there was an extra added note: “*No conditioning.” This was rare in and of itself, but in Caeld’s own records there was an addendum. In those many files that Caeld kept, there were very few with addendums: those notes were reserved for very special cases. And such a case was this acquisition.<br><br>As Caeld made the rounds looking for who to put up for auction, he flipped over his notes to that item’s registration, written in a bold, firm script, quick and yet unrushed:<br><br><em>VI #2607490359702, 1-Caeld-1<br>Elf, age ~70 (and scribbled in the corner, “~21 hum.”)<br>Bought for 30k from (here was written in a far more elegant hand, in the language of the Drow, some name and title that he had not the expertise to read without his translator)<br>Meas. Height….</em><br><br>He shook his head and flipped past the usual notations to the addendum, written in shorthand.<br><br><em>Daughter of some Elven noble; would not say whom. Likely high-ranked. Unused. Beaten. Not conditioned. Temperament B prime. Not to be beaten, conditioned, used. To be sold on Fourthmonth, Firstday. No lower than 120k; start 75k.</em><br><br>And under that, in a more hurried manner:<br><br><em>Mem. Refuses to be bathed. Clean before auction.</em><br><br>Well, it was fortunate she wasn’t going to be put up on the block for a while yet today; she was late in the roster, and still had yet to be cleaned. Caeld blinked and turned to Gvet and his men, the headsman having long since picked those he’d present. “Gvet… Give 1-C-1 a good cleaning. If she won’t let you touch her, tie her still. Use buckets and hoses if you must; I want her ready in two hours.”<br><br>The old grizzled headman nodded. “Yee-ap. Ye want I should shmooth thingsh too, bowrsh?”<br><br>“No, Gvet… just ensure she looks presentable. Perhaps comb her hair. But no oil.”<br><br>“Yesh, bowrsh.”<br><br>“Oh, actually… I’ll oversee this as well.”<br><br>“But, bowrsh…”<br><br>“If she’s ready in two hours, the auction will only begin ten minutes late or so; it may still be on time if we hurry. Is Lunos with us this time?” Gvet shook his head. “Pity. Well, send Gon out to placate them if things get messy. I’ll take care of 1-C-1.” Gvet excused himself and made for Gon to give him the additional duty, and Caeld continued on his way, marking off other slaves to auction on an extra copy of his list that he held – stopping only when they reached the annex to Holding Room A: Caeld’s own little holding room for special deals.<br><br>Inside there was but one item, in the center cage; her ankle attached by four feet of thick chain to a ring in the floor – for the cages, at least, did have stone floors as opposed to the packed earth around them – and her wrists wrenched up behind her, bound between her shoulder blades. She was not gagged, blindfolded, bound further in any way, perhaps to prevent rope burns, for Caeld had hoped that all marks on her would heal. He’d given her the largest cage in the room, too: eight feet tall, ten square feet at its base.<br><br>Caeld stood there for a moment, admiring her form, dirtied and bound as it was. Yes, he thought, she would fetch a fair price indeed. “Good morning, 1-C-1,” he said at length. “Today is your lucky day; in a few hours, you’ll be rid of me.”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Collared Freedom {{Lord Alexys Zephyrai and Wistful Dream}}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wistful Dream</strong> on <strong>09-01-2011, 02:19:49</strong>
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				When her solitude was intruded on she ignored the man, ignored the name that he called her that was not her name. She was not a thing, no matter what else the Drow had stripped from her, regardless of how much she hurt and how angry she was she was not a thing. She was Mirna, she was an Elf, she was a woman. She was Mirna. She told herself that over and over, as if saying it would make it so, fearing that whoever she was sold to would break even that part of herself she retained from her. <br><br>She would get back home, one day she would return to her people and she would help them. <br><br>The man moved into the room, still talking and finally the princess swung her amber and green eyes to fix on him, haughtiness in her features as she spoke in slow, elegant words. "I have a name. And rid of you and into the hands of someone of even less class and intelligence no doubt." Her gaze turned wary, calculating, she had known this moment would come, how could it not? They were going to have to clean her up in order to auction her for a high price, and likely dress her in elegant clothing as well. Her nose wrinkled, disgust touching her beautiful features at the thought of the slaver touching her. <br><br>"I propose a deal slave master, if you let me bath myself I won't bite, kick or scream today. I will give you manners a King would weep for." It was daring, it was more proud and haughty then she ever had been in her life. But being fluid and pliant had gotten her no where, being too proud and acting arrogant and righteous just might. 
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