Command and Vanquish Ch. 01A

Chapter One Addendum: When Lord Rayth meets Alenya

*********

He walked down the steps and stood over her trembling body. "You didn't know it was illegal for you to use your native language? I find that hard to believe."

He waited. He didn't know what to do immediately, and she didn't speak. But she began to softly cry. He bent down near her, hooked a finger under her chin, and lifted her tear soaked face. The look in her eyes, he'll never forget. Through the tears, her eyes were strong. They said to him, "I'll obey you in everything, but you can't ever really own me." Ironically, he had never been more compelled to make a purchase in all of his life.

He looked seriously into her eyes. "I'll make a deal with you," he said, a twitch of a smile catching his lips. "I won't tell anyone...if you promise to sing for me like that when we're alone."

*********

Seated around the table, Jaimeth and Rayth were welcome guests in at the foreign lord's dinner party. Business wasn't the reason for the visit, as dinners usually entailed, but this relaxed atmosphere was for diplomatic relations, and a display of the lord's loyalty.

"Ah yes," the lord invited as the meal was beginning, "please enjoy yourselves. Anything you wish, you please only ask," he smiled graciously, extended his hand, and sat as the serving slaves set the dishes around the guests.

Jem gave Rayth a playful nudge, grinned, and whispered "missed you."

"I'm sure you did."

Rayth's breath caught as he saw her; there she was again! Fortune smiled on him: she had been assigned to serve the dinner guests for the night. Instantaneously she recognized him too, almost spilling the platter she was carrying. Her eyes immediately pled with the sole witness to her forbidden recital. Why did he have to be with the royal entourage of Pangain, and more frightening, the right hand man of Prince Jaimeth? She had heard stories of Jaimeth, none of which allowed her comfort around him. What could the man sitting next to Prince Jaimeth do to her, especially after she flaunted her native language in front of him? She only now recognized the magnitude of power the striking spectator had.

Rayth winked in effort to answer her silent plea: he wasn't going to hurt her, or give anyone else reason to. His enchanted sapphire eyes grazed over her: he wasn't going home without this coveted treasure.

Wink or no, Alenya was afraid: would that guest tell her master what she had done? ...and what did he mean by "if you promise to sing for me when we're alone?" She decided that Rayth was to be treated with extreme caution...no, she thought, extreme attentiveness in order to sway his mercy.

After dinner, the men moved to the sitting room to enjoy a variety of special native drinks. Full and satisfied, the guests lounged as the slave poured, all listening to the host's plans for renovating his castle.

Alenya knelt in front of Lord Rayth, and nervously asked him, "drink, Sir?"

Rayth said absolutely nothing, just stared at her. He was fascinated, and even he couldn't explain why. Alenya's eyes shifted, and she began to slightly tremble. What was he doing? What should she do? Should she leave and serve the others? She waited, nervous.

After several minutes, Jem picked up on Rayth's unremitting gaze. Rayth's visual journey over the girl was soaking in every detail, every curve. Jem now watched the scene, barely paying attention to their host. After a while, Jem interrupted,

"Sir, my friend appears to be captivated by this lovely serving slave."

"Oh! Yes, your majesty, she is very special. A nice girl, she has plenty of spirit. She is new, only recently sentenced...perhaps another girl will do a better job to serve you." He motioned to call for another girl.

"No," Rayth said softly, looking calm and relaxed, "this one is doing just fine."

Whether it was to antagonize Rayth or the host, Jem told the host, "Show her off for us."

"Of course, your majesty!" he said, graciously. "Alenya!" he called cheerfully. "Assume the inspection position for my guests."

Alenya felt like crying; all she wanted to do was get away from Rayth. For some reason, she felt she could bear this humiliation in front of anyone but him. To assume her inspection position, she set her bottle down and moved to the center of the room beside her master. Getting down on all fours and spreading her knees wide, she thrust her ass in the air. Her head was thrust up as she kept her back down but shoulder even, exposing her breasts.

Her master began to slide his hands along her if she were a favored horse, showing his guests her muscle tone, how full her breasts were, squeezing them, spreading her ass cheeks through her dress, teasingly tickling the soft flesh on her feet to watch her wiggle and jump. Her master pointed out all the lovely places on her body, and his plans for how he would work her. As her body was displayed, Rayth could hardly stand it.

Uninvited, he crossed the room and crouched down directly across from her face. His breath gently caressed her, making her skin tingle. She refused to look into his eyes, which made him smile, try as he may to suppress it. He reached out and stroked her blushing cheek softly with the back of his hand. When the host finished his presentation of the girl, Rayth, still staring at her face, softly said, "How much?"

Both Jaimeth and the host lord laughed. "Sir!" laughed the host, "the girl is not for sale! I couldn't part with something this lovely."

"Neither can I," Rayth said. "How much?" he looked at the host. "Everyone has a price."

"Sir," the host seemed uncomfortable, "I'm really very reluctant to sell her. She isn't even broken in yet, and I believe she has the makings of a superb slave."

"You're not entirely dissuading us from a purchase," interjected Jem, smiling, but narrowing his eyes at the host. Jem always got anything he wanted. Nothing was intangible.

"Us?" thought the host, before saying, "Your majesty, it would not be my choice to sell her, but if you are very insistent, I hope you would be generous enough to compensate my loss."

"I wouldn't dream of any other way. Would you consider the offer of," and Jem offered the host an ridiculous sum of money; none have ever paid more for a slave in record history.

"SIR!" laughed the host, ecstatic! "For that sum, I will have her delivered to you with my own carriage!" The host's face sobered slightly when he realized Jem was completely serious. Shrewdly and disbelieving such good fortune, the lord suggested, "Your carriages must be full for your trip home; allow me to, um, say good bye to her, and have her sent in the morning."

Satisfied, Rayth took his seat once more. Jem leaned over to whisper, "You're lucky I like you so much. But I had to buy her: your eyes glued to her the way they were, I thought you'd have to leave them here."

*********

The next afternoon, Rayth was biding his time by fulfilling his promise to spar with Navin. Several other guards were in on it: Navin had ordered new swords for a couple of them to try; if they worked well, the entire guard would be equipped with the new blades. Just to be sure (and to have a bit of fun) a very intense sparring match was planned to test every conceivable angle and situation.

Rayth, Navin, and the guards pulled the new swords out of their boxes, and soon were hacking away at one another. As the laughter and clanking metal seamlessly mixed, it was dubious as to whether they were working or playing.

*********

Upstairs at the main Hall entrance, a knock came to the door. One of the guards pulled it open to find a puny messenger holding the leash of a half nude girl, standing gracefully with her eyes respectfully lowered.

The burly guard looked down at the messenger, physically intimidating him. "What the hell is this?"

"Sir," the messenger said, arrogant and extending a position of power of the guard, "I must deliver this girl to Lord Rayth, who purchased her last night."

"Lord Rayth's busy," the guard moved to take the leash, "I'll take her inside."

"Noooo..." the messenger shook his head and pulled back the leash, "I am to have his signature on my receipt that says this is the girl he purchased. We don't allow for mix ups when such large sums of money are exchanged."

"I can sign for it," said the guard, and moved to take the receipt.

"No, I need HIS signature."

The guard was getting irritated, "Look little man: Lord Rayth is busy, he's not to be disturbed. You can leave the girl and he can sign your little paper later."

"I'm not going Anywhere until I have his signature on my receipt."

The guard was now fully irritated, and with a growl said, "Come inside, wait here." The guard grabbed the receipt, crumpling it, and took a hold of Alenya by her collar. He dragged her down the hallway, not allowing her to fully stand, but her head at his hip. When he got to the staircase, he still didn't let her up, and half dragged her falling body down every step. All she could do was try and position her hands and feet to make the fall less painful.

The commotion of a body falling down the steps made the sparring men stop what they were doing and look up in curiosity. Rayth saw his new girl being pulled towards him, and had a mix of emotion: sad that she was being treated so roughly, but elated that she finally arrived.

"Lord Rayth, forgive me Sir" started the guard, "I didn't want to bother you, but a piece of shit upstairs insisted on having your signature after you agree this is the girl you bought. Want to look her over and sign, Sir?"

Lord Rayth eyes smiled, unable to unlock them from the girl kneeling in front of him. She looked up at him with tears of pain in her eyes, and smiled at him weakly as she was instructed to by her old master. Through a cracking voice, she recited her rehearsed mandated speech: "Master, I would be very pleased if you would agree to let me serve you."

Rayth's eyebrows arched, surprised, and his heart clenched. Her trip through the Hall had tussled her hair, and he gently smoothed some of the stray strands of hair out of her face. "Well, I'd like that too." His eyes glinted genially. "Are you going to be good, do whatever I tell you?"

She nodded weakly, "yes, Master."

"I'm not going to have any problems with you?"

"No, Master."

"Am I going to have to whip you often?"

"I hope not Master."

"Alright then." He took the receipt from the guard, signed it, and handed it back. "Thank you. Take the girl and let her in my room, she can wait for me there."

"Yes, Sir. Come on" he said to Alenya, as he grabbed her collar to drag her back up the steps.

"Guard! That's a hell of an expensive slave. Use some care while taking her back."

The guard shrugged, "Sure, sir. Com'on" he gently tugged Alenya's arm, and allowed her to walk.

Once in his room, Alenya was overwhelmed by this contrast to her former free life. She had never been surrounded by such wealth: his enormous bed on a raised dais, the marble floors, expensive carpets, crystal wine glasses... Her free life was simple and meager, but happy, caring for working parents' small children before they were of school age. One day as she was walking to work, and apparently the night before a protest had consumed the street. The policing guards were still processing arrests and assessing the damage; they were in a very foul mood, and directed their anger at the entire neighborhood. One of them asked where she was going and what she was doing, and afraid of what they might do, and she made the mistake of her life: she ran. They thought she had something to do with the protests, chased her down and grabbed a hold of her. Toying with her, they took turns raping her, taking their frustrations from the previous night out on her small body. To silence her from reporting the rape, they created charges that said she had helped plot the protest and resisted arrest. She was sentenced to slavery. The lord of the land had legal rights to her, and eventually it was he who had sold her to Rayth. She hated the fact that she could be sold, and Rayth, as gorgeous and kind as he seemed, was still a living symbol of the injustice done to her.

What kind of man held her captive, she thought? She began to look through his books, in his closets...

*********

Rayth entered his room, terribly sweaty from the sparring. He laughed when he saw she jumped; she had been looking through his clothes, and felt "caught" when he walked in.

"No, its okay, you'll have to get used to my things and where they are." He sat on the bed, and looked at her as she got on the floor. He didn't know how to feel. Should he tell her that she didn't need to kneel for him? Should he be strict and not get too close? He cleared his throat.

"I...uh, am not used to having a slave of my own." He looked around a bit, trying to think of what to say. "I've been using the slaves that come with the Hall, I've never had reason to have my own." He smiled, eyes trying to asses her reaction, "So you're a first for me."

His wet hair was matted down to the beads of sweat on his forehead, and as he looked down at her, she thought he looked adorable. He also seemed somewhat kind to her, not terribly harsh in his tone or manner, which made her feel relieved. She didn't know at the time that he would sway from kindness to strictness, sometimes rapidly, as he felt out his balance of being a personal Master with his own slave. She would take it in stride however, understanding the unspoken sentiment that he liked her, and she didn't want to lose that.

He stood and paced the room, trying to think of rules and instructions. "You'll sleep in the slaves' quarters with the rest of the Hall's slaves, but you're to be at my disposal at all times. When you're not directly with me, you'll be taking care of everything in my rooms. I'll have the head slave show you around the palace to help you find the cleaning rooms, the kitchens, supplies, and so on." He paused and thought for a moment. "But you can start that tomorrow."

He looked down at her. "Do you have any questions of me?"

"Yes," she said, "how do you wish to be addressed?"

He thought to himself, How DO I wish to be addressed? "Master" of course would set the proper relationship, but he was dying to hear his name roll off of her soft, sweet lips.

He walked over to her, then crouched in front of her. The closeness of him made her nervous. He held in his hands a plain but elegant slave collar. "I had this made for you," he said, somewhat quietly. He set it on the floor, and reached to take her old slave collar off of her. As he did, he said, "you will call me 'Master' once you begin wearing this," he smiled crookedly, "Don't put it on just yet. I want you to say my name. Say, 'Rayth.'"

She licked her lips then said "Rayth". Like sweet music stirring him, he had to indulge.

"Say, 'I belong to Rayth.'"

"I belong to Rayth."

He gentle placed his own collar around her throat, and as he did, he murmured in her ear, "Say, 'Rayth is my Master.'" The collar clicked as it locked shut. She looked up at him with innocent eyes: "Rayth is my Master."

He stroked her face as he savored her expression: so pleasant, but not broken; hopeful, but not expectant; nervous, but not terrified. He looked down at her parted lips, so soft, allowing a gentle current of air to rhythmically escape, revealing her anticipation. As if drawn in by a slow force of gravity, his lips found their way to hers, indulging the longing his skin felt for hers. Satisfying the hunger of his lips, his tongue grew envious, and gradually it worked its way into the smooth moist opening her mouth created. Enjoying the taste, his hunger grew, and soon he was crushing her mouth with his own in a passionate kiss of possession and love. Tongues intertwining, caressing one another's mouth, a frenzy of passion growing. He felt he couldn't taste enough of her, and in his eagerness leaned into her, bending her backwards; he placed his hands behind her shoulders to guide her to the marble floor, laying on top of her, pinning her beneath the weight of his body. A slight involuntary rocking of his hips was accompanied by the arching of her back. He placed his hands on her shoulders to support himself, and accidentally broke the seal of the kiss, too soon, ripped away like a bandage from a wound. When they parted, he sat up slightly and felt dizzy. He looked down at her in lust and shock: What kind of power did she have over him already?

He shook his head, as if trying to break the spell, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He wiped back his hair, and wringing the sweat from his had, he said huskily, "As you can see, I need a bath. I'll call to have my tub filled and the supplies brought, but then you will bathe me and wash my hair."

She blushed at the thought of seeing his obviously well defined body nude, but smiled at the irony of nudity between Master and slave. When a slave is commanded to strip, she feels a certain vulnerability, and feels her nudity is a service to her Master. When a Master decides to strip, his nudity he feels places him in a position of power, to be served in intimate ways. Why the same act is regarded differently depending on who is doing it, she didn't know. What she DID know was that while bathing Rayth was supposed to be service to him, she was going to personally savor the sight, smell, and touch of his skin.

As he knelt beside her still laying body and began to disrobe, he wondered which of them felt more awkward. He was comfortable with how his body looked, and had been nude with countless slaves, but this one was different. He didn't just want a bath, he wanted to have an excuse to make her explore him.

As soon as the male slaves finished filling the tub with steaming water, they left and Rayth sank his body in. She tried to keep her eyes lowered as she tried to hold back a smile; she wasn't sure who, she or he, was going to enjoy this more. She tried to be serious, respectful. He was still her Master; he could severely hurt her for any infraction, and she didn't entirely know what he was like yet.

Rayth tried to look calm but serious at the same time. In reality, his heart was racing, but he kept his eyes hard as if he were going to watch for any mistake she made. She reached for the rag and soap, but that's not what he wanted.

"No, girl. Stand behind me; wash my hair first."

She gracefully rose, and moved behind him. She got on her knees, so she could cradle his head in her arms as she ran water through his hair. Using her fingers, she lightly combed his scalp, running fresh water through his ash blonde strands. His hard eyes looked up at her, watching her face as she watched her work. She caught his stare at her, and her breath caught; she stopped moving. His eyebrows raised slightly: "continue." She nodded quickly.

She took some soap, and lathered it in her hands. Using her fingertips, she massaged the lather into his hair, kneading it in tiny circles to wash it. He closed his eyes, feeling the rhythmic pulse emitting from her fingers' work, enjoying the delicate touch of hands. The sensation almost drove him mad, her hands supporting the weight of his head, knowing they would be working their magic down his entire form. Delicately finishing the lather, she began rinsing away the white foam, carefully shielding his eyes, combing the water once more over his scalp. Water coursed through his hair and over her hands; she enjoyed the smell of freshly bathed masculinity. She pressed a final swipe backwards with the flat of her hand, trying to squeeze the excess water out before she toweled his choppy tresses.