Captivated

© 1999

Ecstasy by Bertrice Small

prologue

The tall, veiled woman in the voluminous, brocaded blue robes scanned the platform carefully. Her dark eyes moved slowly and calculatingly over each of the naked men, discarding, then flicking on to the next. Finally, she raised a gold-braceleted arm, and a fat, white beringed finger pointed."That one," she said.

"The gods! The gods!" the slave merchant half moaned beneath his breath, but then he brightened a bit. This woman was the one buyer who just might find suitable the most difficult and dangerous slave who ever had passed through his establishment. He fixed the creature with a stern look. "Step forward," he commanded. "You are to be examined."

The man looked down from his great height at the short, plump worm attempting to order him about, and considered his usual form of rebellion, which consisted of shouting and swearing in his natural tongue and intimidating those attempting to enslave him with bared teeth and fierce looks until they finally sent him back to his cell. Then, for some reason, he looked directly at the tall woman in blue. He could see nothing of her but her fine dark eyes. They were dancing with amusement, as if she could read his thoughts. He stepped forward silently, frankly intrigued. After all, he reasoned to himself, he couldn't spend the rest of his days in that stinking prison.

"What is his history?" the woman asked. Her voice was deep and very smoky. "From where did you obtain him?"

"A caravan brought him in from the west several weeks ago," the slave merchant said. "He is a barbarian, and while he speaks our tongue, I can learn nothing from him of his past, great lady. But he is strong, as you can see, and would be suitable for your mines, or your fields."

The woman emitted a sharp bark of laughter. "Indeed," she said dryly, her gaze lingering on the slave's large genitalia, and then, "Help me onto the platform, Master Ashur, so I may better see this possible purchase."

The slave merchant signaled to his assistants, and they aided the woman in blue to climb the steps.

"Elevate him so I may see him better," the woman instructed, and a smaller platform was immediately brought for the man to mount. Now his prospective buyer began to slowly circle him, touching him here and there. The skin was healthy and fine. She ran sure hands over his well-muscled calves, feeling him start just slightly. The hands moved to his buttocks, squeezing gently, pulling the cheeks apart to determine if he was a lover of women, or a sodomite. Satisfied he preferred female flesh, she said, "Step down," facing him again, and he obeyed her. "Open your mouth for me," she instructed him quietly, and, to her surprise, he did. She peered into his facial cavity, seeing rows of white teeth. "You have all your teeth," she noted approvingly, "and they are strong and healthy. That is good." He closed his mouth, and she looked directly into his eyes. They were very blue, rimmed in thick dark lashes, and the whites about them were quite clear. "Step back up again," she said, and moved back so she might view him fully.

He was a very tall man with broad shoulders and chest. His frame was large, yet delicate. His hair was black as a raven's wing, long, but tied back. The rest of his body was fair and smooth but for the bushy thatch of midnight-dark curls between his thighs. She noted that both his hands and his feet were well shaped and elegant. His face was long, with a long, refined nose, high cheekbones and forehead, and a big, narrow mouth. A tangle of dark eyebrows rose over his oval-shaped eyes. The jaw was determined, and his square chin had a dimple in its very center. He was neither a peasant nor slave-born, the woman decided. She could scarcely believe her good fortune, but hid her delight beneath her veiled face.

Stepping directly in front of him once more, she pushed his thighs apart with a firm fist, and, reaching up, cupped his balls in her palm. She felt the faint quiver run through him, but, looking up, she saw his handsome face was totally impassive. She fondled him, mentally weighing his sex in her hand. It was heavy and well made. Releasing the pouch with their twin jewels, she took his penis in her hand, and began to work it. She had previously noted its unusually large size. Now she wanted to see exactly how large he would become, and how quickly he could be aroused.

Unable to help himself, the man's cheeks flushed to be so publicly used, but, helpless to the wickedly skillful fingers caressing him, his eyes closed and he let himself enjoy the sensations of pleasure now beginning to sweep over him. The gods! How long had it been since he had possessed a woman? He had almost thought that part of himself dead and gone, but this odd female swathed in her blue shrouding was proving otherwise. At the same time he felt ashamed at what was happening to him, and struggled to hold back, but the woman would not allow it.

"I would see the copiousness of your juices," she said softly. "Release them for me now." And then she stepped away from him.

The sultry sound of her voice was mesmerizing. He could not have helped himself if he tried. With a groan he discharged the hot seminal fluids, spattering their creaminess onto the platform below him. When the last drop had been jolted from him, the blue eyes opened. "Have I passed your trial, lady?" he murmured low and defiant.

Looking directly at him, she nodded imperceptibly, then turned to the slave merchant. "He will do, Master Ashur. What price do you put on him? Remembering that I am probably the only buyer you will find for this great barbaric beast."

The merchant swallowed hard, but common sense overcame greed. "If he were less difficult I should ask ten gold latkas, great lady, but, under the circumstances, I think five will suffice."

"Four," she replied, handing him a silken bag.

The slave merchant's fingers slowly closed about the pouch. Then he took it from her. "Going once!" he cried in a loud voice. "Going twice!Sold to the High Procuress of Kava!"

chapter 1

Dagon, Prince of Aramas, watched as the blue-robed woman murmured her instructions to the slave master. Then, without a backward glance at him, she moved away. The sale was over for the day, and the slave merchant turned to Dagon.

"Do you know how fortunate you are, barbarian? That was the lady Zenaida of Kava. If you can manage to keep that vicious temper of yours under control, you will live a life of luxury servicing the women of Kava. That equipment of yours looks as if it will give a lot of pleasure." He snickered. "You are to be bathed now, and then sent to the lady's encampment. They depart tomorrow for Kava."

Dagon remained silent, and followed the merchant's assistants to the public baths, where they announced to all who would listen that the barbarian had been purchased by the High Procuress of Kava. A murmur of excitement rippled through the steamy baths as he was put into the hands of the head bath master. His companions sat down to wait for him.

"What is this place? Kava?" he asked the bath master.

"It is the fabled city of women," came the reply. "Have you never before heard of Kava? No one is certain where it is, for those who have attempted to follow the Kavan caravans claim those very caravans disappear right before their eyes, leaving not even a trace upon the sands of the desert road. Once a year their High Procuress comes to Ramaskhan looking for male slaves.They only buy males.

"Kava is ruled by women. It is said their wealth is endless, and their land fabulously rich and beautiful. Great shipments of gold and precious gemstones from their mines pass through our land regularly. Silk from Kavan looms is famous and greatly sought after, as is the fine light wool cloth they produce."

"How do you know it is a city of women?" Dagon asked. He wanted as much information as he could gather about these women who thought they now owned him.

"Once, a very, very long time ago," the bath master confided, "a slave escaped from Kava. He finally reached Ramaskhan. It was a long and dangerous trek. He lived but a short time afterward. Before he died, he told of the city of Kava where men serve the women inhabitants but are not permitted in the city after dark except on rare occasions. He told of a place where the male children are taken from their mothers when they reach the age of eight years. Then those boys spend the next eight years being trained as warriors. It must be true, for that is another of Kava's exports. They sell cohorts of fighting men. The absolute best mercenaries to be had."

"If no one knows where the city is," Dagon said, "how is this all accomplished?"

"At the time of the winter solstice," the bath master replied, "Kava's female warriors bring the cohorts for sale that year to the winter festival, which is held outside the gates of this city. They never have enough cohorts, of course. The demand for Kavan cohorts far outweighs the supply. Some years they bring but a single cohort, in other years, perhaps two or three. Once in my memory, they did not come to the festival at all… Now, will you seat yourself, please. I wish to wash your hair, and I must pare your nails." The bath master busied himself as he continued to speak. "You are a fine figure of a man, and will undoubtedly sire many sons on the beautiful women of Kava."

Dagon said nothing more. He had learned enough. He would never see Kava, but it would make an interesting tale to tell when he escaped back to Aramas. Once home, he would slay his traitorous twin brother, Nogad, who was even now usurping his rightful place as first heir to the King of Aramas. He would use the Kavan caravan to leave Ramaskhan, and two or three days into the journey, he would disappear into the desert to make his way back home. He had two deserts, and three seas to cross, but he would regain what was rightfully his. Nogad would regret the day he crossed his elder sibling.

When Dagon had been bathed, and a fresh length of clean linen cloth had been wrapped about his loins, he was taken to the encampment of the lady Zenaida. A leather-clad woman warrior took charge of him at the camp's perimeters as the slave merchant's assistants bid him farewell, but not before making a few snide remarks regarding his amatory future. The leather-clad warrior looked scornfully at the pair. Without a word, she motioned to Dagon to follow her, leading him to the largest tent set directly in the center of the camp. She pulled back the entry flap.

"Go in, barbarian. The High Procuress awaits you," she said.

He moved slowly through the entrance. Inside, the tent was luxuriously furnished, and the blue-garbed woman, now veiless, was seated upon a small dais. She was quite beautiful despite her girth. Her skin was the color of the white jasmine flower, and looked to be as soft as silk. She had an elegant nose, and a small rosebud of a mouth.

"Come in! Come in!" The plump hand motioned him forward, the black eyes sparkled. "Sit down opposite me. Are you hungry? Of course you are," she answered her own question before he might. "I doubt the fare in Master Ashur's slave pens is either tasty or even palatable."

Half a dozen young women were setting down platters and bowls from which tasty odors were emanating. The gold goblet near his hand was filled with a fruity red wine. His nostrils visibly twitched.

"First tell me your name, and then you may eat," the lady Zenaida said. "I'm sure you already know who I am. Ramaskhan is a city of gossips," she chuckled.

"I am Dagon, Prince of Aramas," he said without hesitation, and then reached for the goblet.

"And just how did you come to be in Ramaskhan's slave markets, Dagon, Prince of Aramas?" she asked him, reaching for the bread.

"I was betrayed by my twin brother, who desired to have our father's throne," Dagon said. He pulled a small chicken apart, and began to eat hungrily.

"You were the elder," Zenaida said.

Dagon nodded, swallowing. "By about a minute or two, lady. They say when I was born, Nogad's hand was fastened about my ankle as if he were trying to prevent me from coming into the world before he did."

"A formidable opponent," Zenaida observed. "Eat now, and then we will talk more," she told him.

He ate slowly, carefully, not allowing himself to be fully satisfied lest he make himself sick. It had been several months since he had had a decent meal. He finished the chicken, a loaf of bread, and then swallowed down a dozen oysters, liberally quaffing the red wine so that his cup was refilled twice. When a platter of fruit was offered to him, he took a peach, splitting it with his two thumbs, and eating it with a grin of delight even as the juice ran down his chin. Finally, licking his fingers clean of the peach juice, he looked directly at her. "Do you always feed your slaves so well, lady?"