The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Wizard Enslaved — “The Slut of Alcaeus”

Author’s Note: This is the fifth “Alcaeus” story, preceded by “The Mark of Daox,” “The Whore of Utiae,” “The Huff of Noalassa,” and “The Bride of Shossin.”

The ship’s rocking and the sound of the crew yelling and working on the deck above told Leusa they were nearing port. Holding back tears, she curled in her Master’s cot, forlornly, and thought comforting thoughts about his cock.

The slave could not help releasing a soft groan of need or keep from sliding her drawn-up thighs together and squirming. The image in her mind elicited a recollection of that same member sliding inside her, fucking her; and the remembered sensation stirred the constantly smoldering wet fire between her legs, caused her nipples to harden and her flesh to crave stroking. This was the physical part of her slavery: she had the melon-sized breasts, soft and sensitive body of a sex slave, and the appetites to match, in constant physical awe of and need for men. She loved cock. She needed to handle cock, taste cock, give and derive pleasure from the cocks inside her; and the more, the better. It was a magical enchantment; yet not the only enchantment imposed upon her. On Leusa’s back, high on her left shoulder blade, was a mark: the Mark, which defined and informed her of her state of slavery more so even than her body’s everlasting, sluttish arousal. Leusa’s memories went back no further than the placement of this tattoo on her skin. Her life, her very memory of herself as a conscious being—albeit not a person, but a piece of property—started little more than a few months ago with a cloaked figure touching that tattoo on her shoulder with a gloved finger. She had been held, her limbs motionless, in a wooden slave rack. Appropriately, her first impression in life was of that of being held in delicious bondage.

The cloaked figure had stood back, and the new slave—she had not yet even been named—caught her first glimpse of a man, the artist who had tattooed the Mark. And after just a moment of life, the slave’s breath had been taken away and she almost died.

He was magnificent! There was lust, certainly; but it was more than that. Seeing him, she had immediately recognized the inferiority of herself, his masculine superiority. She did not know her name, but she knew she belonged to him. She had no memory of specific men, yet she knew men in general were her Masters, that she was their forever slave; and it was right, fundamentally right, that this was so.

And when he took her, not even bothering to release her from the shackles, but simply taking hold of her haunches and penetrating her there and then in the rack, she had known, truly, that she had found her rightful place in the universe.

It was another magical enchantment on her, Leusa knew; and didn’t care; not that she would have been capable of changing it even if she had. The Mark imposed a set of beliefs in her, though she felt no imposition, and in fact was grateful for them. The Mark helped her recognize herself as a sex slave, and appreciate all the better the glory and exquisite pleasure she must receive in serving men with her similarly enflamed body.

So, it was not an awareness of her slavery that had brought tears to Leusa’s eyes. It was her foreknowledge that as soon as their ship made port, her Master was going to sell her.

Otieria had been kind. She and her new husband had entertained Leusa’s Master and the Woman-Wizard Menupao for weeks, in deepest gratitude. Otieria had even offered her thanks to Leusa, a mere slave! At length, the three of them had taken their leave of Seat Holder Fradlex and booked passage back to De. That had been nearly a month ago. Now, they were nearly home.

Leusa’s lips quivered. She loved her Master so much. But the distance between them had grown too great. It was her fault, she knew. She had had the temerity to disapprove of her Master’s actions, when Lord Teuthes had sought his aid. And some reason, her Master had accepted her disapproval, without comment or punishment. My sale will be my punishment, Leusa thought. For some slaves, the matter of who owned them was irrelevant. One master or another, it was all the same to them.

When Otieria had been the slave Eura, one of many Euras in Shossin, one just as good as another, she had been of that mind, or lack thereof. Yet even as a Eura herself, Leusa had still loved her Master.

Loved him, not just men in general, for whom all she felt was lust and awe.

Slaves traveled lightly. Sighing, Leusa gathered her few necessaries into a bundle and prepared to leave the ship. As she was picking things up, though, she noticed something had been added: a small knife.

She held it. “Where did this come from?” she asked nobody in particular.

She remembered: being incapable of talking about the matter closest to her heart with her female friends. They would have condemned her as a slut. For their own protection and peace of mind they would have condemned and ostracized her. The City of De possessed the second greatest slave population among the island-republics. Certainly, it was one of the largest outside the great mainland empires farther west. More than one out of every ten Deinians was a slave. These numbers, however, were wildly disproportionate: while only one man in twenty was a “slave boy,” one woman in seven was a “slave girl.” While commoner women did not live in constant fear of enslavement, a reduction to slavery was the most common punishment for any serious crime. Noblewomen were largely immune to such penalties, or had been, for with the recent public enslavement of Lady Eria Scarphn a very longstanding precedent had been broken; but, notwithstanding, noblewomen were expected to maintain a rigorous decorum in public, much more so than their male counterparts, who could get away with the occasional fucking of a slave girl in the actual Senate chambers with only a slight rebuke.

Of course, that was all public. That was mere appearance. It was expected that any high-ranking woman made the occasional (or frequent) use of a slave boy (or girl, if their preferences ran in that direction: there was no stigma, in De, anyway), provided that the sex was performed in private.

It was a double-standard. There was a public, high-class Deinian veneer of respectability that nobles of either gender had to adhere, but the female version was much more stringent. Men could publicly own sex slaves. In fact, the more they owned, the greater their prestige: it was a sign of virility. Women, on the other hand, did not publicly own slaves. They could, legally; but such ownership was best kept discreet. The sole slave boy in a nobleman’s stable of sluts was a stereotype, albeit an often true one: owned by the husband, really the fucktoy of the wife.

Outside of a wizard of the Nycclethnim Order, a woman of De publicly owning a slave was admitting to sluttishness. There was an ancient law that called for the enslavement of slutty commoners in De and the exile of equivalent nobles. It was rarely used, but it was used.

Leusa had fucked slave boys. Her preferences did not run to slave girls. The fucktoy she had once owned, discreetly, had been hard, handsome, and devoted; yet Leusa had gotten rid of him within only a few months, selling him to another discreet woman. While the fucking had been pleasurable, for her part she had experienced no real passion.

She had searched for love and passion, within the limits of her class and gender. Leusa had often wished she had been born common. Commoner women, despite the greater penalties to which they were subject, had an easier time of it, Leusa believed. They weren’t so bound by the strictures of “respectability.” They had greater opportunities to find love. Thoughts such as these were among those she could not share with her friends. Most especially, she could not share the fact that only once had she found the love and passion she was seeking, but that it had been while in the arms of the man-wizard Alcaeus, serving him as an abject slave girl.

This was a truth that dared not speak its name.

* * *

Leusa dropped the knife and staggered. What in the hells was that? The cabin was spinning. She fell back into her Master’s cot.

She remembered, again, uncontrollably: the sensations. The unbelievably delicious, powerful sensations of a man’s total mastery over her. Long after Alcaeus left, Leusa relived what he had done to her on the magic carpet. He had asked her, the fine noblewoman, “What are you?” and she had responded, fervently, truthfully: “I am a slave girl, master. Your slave girl.”

“And how do you feel about being a slave girl?”

She had never felt so exquisitely feminine as she had at that moment. “I love being a slave, master,” Leusa had said. “Thank you for using your poor slave.”

It wasn’t just the sex. It wasn’t just having the wizard’s cock inside her, although that had felt so good, so right, him being inside her, atop her, using her, fucking her, establishing his mastery over her. It was, rather, the feeling of submission she had truly relished. The spell on the carpet had made it manifest; but it was a manifestation of something that had been inside her already, a craving for total domination by a man that she had had since puberty. Leusa had always loved men. She had liked looking at them. Once, when she was a teenager, she had come across a man, a common worker, receiving a blowjob from a slave slut in an alley. Rather than turn away in disgust, as any proper lady should have, the young noblewoman had instead hidden herself and watched, fascinated, touching herself between her legs. The slave had been on her knees before the standing man. The standing man had had his back to a brick wall. Both of them had had their eyes closed, both of them clearly enjoying the attentions of the other. The man had had his hands tightly in the hair of the slut, and he had been pushing into her, fucking her mouth; and between gasping slurps the slave had been groaning in pleasure; and the teenage Leusa had moaned and touched her mouth and wished she had been in that slave’s place. After the man left, the slave girl had climbed to her feet, a little unsteady, yet smiling; and for a brief instance the two of them, Leusa and the slave, had exchanged glances, the slave just coincidentally having put her eyes in the right spot for this to occur. Neither had breathed for a moment. Then the slave girl had licked her lips, lowered her gaze, and went on her way.

By any rights, the slave girl should have apologized to the young noblewoman. But she had not, for the slave had but recognized another slave in Leusa’s gaze. Or such was Leusa’s own thoughts on the matter.

Leusa wanted to be a slave girl. She wanted to obey men. If she did not become a slave girl, her life would be a waste. She would not have been, in her mind, a true woman.

The decision, once made, she went about with practicality and discrimination. Leusa had no desire to end up the laughingstock Eria Scarphn had become. Besides, it was nobody’s business but her own. As she had with the man-wizard, she sent out invitations to the appropriate parties. But because this was purely a transaction of property and not a social occasion, as it had been with Alcaeus, Leusa had them enter her place of residence secretly, through a servant’s entrance.

“I wish to become a slave girl,” she said to the prefect, once the introductions had been made.

* * *

Leusa put her hands to her head and squeezed, moaning. Incredible vertigo.

She remembered: there had been four of them in her study when she had made her declaration, “I wish to become a slave girl.”

There was herself. There was the prefect, Lampos, a public official of the Deinian Senate. There was the enslaver, Jereg, a representative sent by the Lords of Daox, the most common purveyors of slave girls in De. Finally, there was the woman-wizard, Menupao, a guild member of the Nycclethnim Order, the premier women-wizards of the island-republic. Leusa had held her head high, and she had looked each of them in the eye, unafraid. Or so she had tried to seem.

After a moment, in the dead silence that followed, Lampos had turned to the wizard. “Ma’am?”

The Nyccleth had looked at Leusa, her eyes narrowing. Finally, she said, “She is not under any form of mental compulsion. She is merely a slut.” Leusa had not reacted to the slur, for it was obviously true.

The prefect turned next to the enslaver. “Does she meet with your approval, sir?” he had asked.

The Daoxechent, Jereg, by way of reply, instead addressed himself directly to Leusa: “Will you undress, lady, so that I may render a judgment for the prefect?” Leusa had been prepared for this. She had had on only a loose robe. She shucked it off and stood before them nude.

The enslaver had her turn a few times, had her lift her arms, then go to her knees. Eventually, he said, “Yes. Her flesh is of the finest quality. She will make a superb sex slave.”

Lampos spoke to Leusa then. “The law still does not strictly allow for the enslavement of a member of the nobility. A bill allowing this is only being discussed as we speak.” The public enslavement of Eria Scarphn a few months ago had occurred only under highly unusual circumstances, though it was this event in itself that was prompting the change in the law.

“Consequently,” he went on, “this surrender of your freedom will have to take place in steps. Not only will this make your enslavement legally proper, it will give you time to consider the ramifications of each step, which I feel is appropriate.”

“This is not necessary,” the woman-wizard had said, huffing incredulously. “I can simply take her now, if she is so keen to become a fucktoy.” Leusa had stiffened: her whole body had gone rigid under the wizard’s sudden mental influence. Like a puppet, then, she had been forced to go to her knees again. The same heat and wetness she had felt under Alcaeus’ domination filled her, yet not the same: though the lack of control had felt good, she did not enjoy it as much, because her controller was another female. She wanted to belong to a man.

“Release her, please, ma’am!” the prefect said loudly. “This is not the way this should be done!”

The wizard had rolled her eyes; but she did release Leusa, who, free to move again, stood up gasping. The Daoxechent enslaver brought her a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.

“Thank you,” she told him.

“A pleasure, my lady,” Jereg had said.

“The Lady Leusa Ioles has made clear through her legal advocates that she wants to be made a Daoxechent slave girl,” the prefect said to the wizard. “Your guild is being paid solely to determine that the noblewoman is in her right mind and without mental compulsion as she makes this difficult personal decision. Can you confirm, ma’am, whether these conditions are met?”

“Yes,” Menupao had said, sarcastically. “The slut is sane. No one is fucking with her mind. But this is still a waste of time.”

“As you see it,” Lampos told her. “Then your duties here are done, ma’am. The proper documents will be sent for your signature. If you please.” Leusa had hastily put on her robe again and rang a bell for one of her free servants. Still rolling her eyes and laughing, the woman-wizard had been carefully escorted out, rather like an alchemical solution that might explode at any moment.

“Apologies, my lady,” the prefect told Leusa, afterwards.

“It could only be expected,” she had replied, contritely. “She is right, though, you know.”

“As you see it,” Lampos said, smiling politely. Then he, herself, and the enslaver had discussed the necessary arrangements.

* * *

Leusa’s head was swimming. Images from . . . the past? were sweeping over her. They were confusing her. Who was she? Was she a slave? Had she been a slave?

Was she . . . free?

“Lady Leusa!” Leusa turned to see who was calling her name. She looked down upon herself. What had happened to her clothes? She was wearing the rag of a slut! A hand clutched her shoulder.

She looked up. It was the woman-wizard, Menupao.

“We have to hurry, Lady Leusa,” she told Leusa. “Your abductor will be here any minute.” She picked up the knife that had fallen. She slipped it in Leusa’s hands. “You’ll have to kill him in order to escape.”

“Escape?” Leusa asked, weakly. She appeared to be in a ship’s cabin.

“He’s abducted you, Lady Leusa! He means to make you his slave. You’ve got to kill him before it’s too late.”

“But . . . but I don’t understand . . . .” Menupao put a hand to Leusa’s forehead.

“Remember,” the wizard told her.

She remembered, again: another delegation arriving from the Senate. They did not use the servants’ entrance. An independent prefect tried to argue Leusa out of her decision. Failing that, in view of witnesses, the Lady Leusa Ioles had signed a document surrendering her noble status.

The bulk of her wealth went to her heirs, as if she had died: distant familial relations, the most of them, though she left generous pensions to all her free servants, who individually thanked her before leaving, some in tears. The only major change she had made in her bequests was an accommodation for the money the enslavers of Daox had paid her, in advance for her flesh.

She would hardly be in a position to use the cash herself, after all.

This money, a pittance, really, ultimately, was to be paid to the state, she was informed.

“You are no longer a noble,” Lampos had told Leusa, after the signing. “You may stay here for the night, of course.” He indicated Leusa’s house, emptied of servants and valuables. “If you should change your mind, I will make arrangements for you to travel to the eastern estates under an assumed name, where you may seek employment. There are many orchards and mills there that still employ free servants. You could still have a fulfilling life as a free woman, Leusa.”

“Thank you, Lampos. I will see you tomorrow.”

* * *

But that was then. Leusa held the knife in her hand. She looked at it, then hid it in the bundle she carried. “Where am I?” she asked Menupao, who was walking beside her. They appeared to be on a ship. They came onto the deck. They were on a ship. In fact, they were docked at a port.

“Alcaeus the Man-Wizard has taken you captive, Lady Leusa,” Menupao told her. “You must kill him if you want your freedom.”

“My freedom?” The wizard touched the back of her head.

She remembered: a smaller delegation arriving, the next day.

This was understandable. Since she was no longer a voting member of the republic, she was no longer considered important enough to try and save. Lampos still came, though. In view of witnesses, then, Leusa had signed away her citizenship of the City and Island-Republic of De.

“You are no longer Deinian,” the prefect had told her, afterwards. “Legally speaking, that is. You can no longer stay in this place. The state will put you up for the evening in a public hostel for foreigners. Please, do not try and leave without permission.”

“I understand,” Leusa had said. She had been so frightened. But she was determined to go through with this. She had to. Leusa was no scholar. She was no expert in human behavior. She was not under the impression that all women felt the same as her, that all women felt a genuine thrill while in the company of men, that when a man spoke to her she felt it was her rightful place to listen. She had no special insight into her own gender, nor did she want one (and what a horribly boring world it would be if all women felt the same as she!). She did not know about others; but she did know that this was how she felt. Leusa was no virgin; nevertheless, all but one of her previous sexual encounters had been uniformly unsatisfactory. Aside from one, she had received more pleasure from her own hand, fantasizing about a master taking her, than she had had with any other male. She knew the reason for this, too. These men had unfortunately treated her as an equal partner, or, worse, a superior individual, because of her noble status. They had not made her serve them the way she had wanted them to make her serve. Only her encounter with Alcaeus had been as rewarding as she had hoped, and that was because she had had no memory of being the noble Lady Leusa Ioles while on his magic carpet.

She had only been the wizard’s slave slut, his abject fucktoy. Leusa realized fully what she was giving up—her freedom, her way of life, her dignity, her pride—but, deep in her heart, she knew (well, hoped) to receive things of equal or even superior value—self-worth, a mission in her life, a man to serve and love without reservation, without restraint . . . the ability, overall, to love unconditionally, to give everything that was in her heart and in her soul to another, without any limit imposed by culture or society, the aimless expectation that she must live first for herself.

Slaves could do that (only slaves could do that), for everything—literally, everything—was expected of them.

Leusa hoped, too, to receive love.

In becoming a slave, Leusa realized she would no longer be “Leusa.” As a Daoxechent slave girl, she would lose all memory of her previous life. Yet memory wasn’t so important to her as value and happiness and love, and she was more than willing to surrender it.

She was willing, in fact, to surrender everything.

“Tomorrow morning, a pair of city guards will come for you. Do not resist them. They will bring you to me by force, if necessary.”

“I understand. It won’t be necessary.”

“I know. They will escort you to my offices. If you should change your mind, I will make arrangements for you to travel to Western Dommodon under an assumed name. There is a ship leaving tomorrow evening. I have already requested space on it.” He had sighed. “I do not know what your life could be now, other than as a slave. You have no money. You have no protection under the law. You are a rightless individual in De and a foreigner everywhere else. You would almost certainly end up in someone’s stable within a few weeks, at most.”

Leusa had shuddered. “Yes. I know.” What she had done already, what she had set into motion, was so terribly irrevocable, it threatened to overwhelm her. But necessary, so necessary.

“But none of that is certain,” Lampos had added, insistently. “Not yet. You could, still, somehow, have a fulfilling life as a free woman, Leusa.”

“Thank you, Lampos. I will see you tomorrow.”

* * *

Leusa looked around her. Lampos was gone. Menupao was gone. She found herself standing on the dock, amid all the boxes of cargo. Men were working, ignoring her. The small knife was hidden in her hand, cupped within her palm. ‘All you have to do is slip this into his side,’ she “heard,” a voice inside her: Menupao’s. The voice told her exactly where to place it to make an instant kill.

The Man-Wizard, Alcaeus! He had made her a slave! An overpowering rage seized Leusa.

She took a step, looking for the bastard.

She remembered: a sleepless night and the next morning guards escorting her into the prefect’s office. There were only two men waiting this time, Lampos himself and the Daoxechent, Jereg.

The guards left them alone as soon as they were told. This is it, she had thought. Finally.

The prefect picked up a document from his desk. “This is a bill of enslavement, Leusa,” he had informed her. “It does not require your signature. Since you are a woman without means, without legal citizenship, you have no official recourse at your disposal to prevent your enslavement. Strictly speaking, even this bill isn’t a necessity. You are like unto the savages from the Barbaric Isles or the Jungle Continent, or a prisoner of war without hope of ransom. You fall within the rights of citizen capture.”

“I understand,” Leusa had said. The Daoxechent stood by the desk, silent, staring at the floor.

“Here,” Lampos had said. Beside the bill, there was a small stack of coins. The prefect had picked them up. “These are yours, if you want them. They are what the Daoxechents have paid for your flesh.”

For the first time, Leusa felt a shred of indignation, of remaining pride. She had hoped that this was behind her. “So little?” she had asked.

The Daoxechent did not lift his head; but he spoke: “It is a common price for a common girl. It represents flesh and only flesh. We would have paid more for the noblewoman, Lady Leusa.”

“But . . .”

“You are no longer that noblewoman,” Lampos had said. “You have already given up that identity.” He held out the coins. “Take them. Start anew. You could still have a fulfilling life as a free woman.”

“No,” she had said. “Make me a slave. That is the only way I shall ever find fulfillment.”

The Daoxechent enslaver had looked up then, finally. “Kneel, slut,” he had commanded her.

She had, of course, obeyed. She had been waiting for this so long.

The prefect returned the coins to the desk. Picking up a pen, he then put his signature on the bill of enslavement. Barely had he lifted it from the paper when Leusa felt a hand grab her by the back of her hair and push her head down. It’s done, she remembered thinking. I am a slave. I am a slave girl. And then the shackles had gone around her wrists.

* * *

Leusa wasn’t sure where she was. She looked down at her wrists. No shackles. She wasn’t sure who she was. Was she a slave? Was she a noblewoman? Had she ever, truly been a free woman? (Had she wanted to be?) But on the dock she spotted Alcaeus, the wizard. She loved him. She hated him! He had introduced her to slavery! He had made her a slave girl! He turned and saw her and smiled.

He approached and said something to her.

She didn’t hear. Leusa held the knife, smiling at him. She knew exactly where to plunge it in.

She remembered more: the first taste of slave paste, the evening of her formal enslavement. It was a bland gruel, like eating unflavored rice. If not for the texture inside the mouth, one would hardly have noticed the eating of it. Of little appetite, Leusa had eaten nothing the day before; nor had she been given time to eat, or opportunity, the morning of her enslavement. Slave paste was all she had, and would have, for the next week.

Her clothing, that morning, too, had been simple, a mere servant woman’s shift. Upon her enslavement, she had had to leave even that behind. She was removed from the prefect’s office naked, taken down hallways with her head bent forward and low by the grip of the Daoxechent’s hand, unable to see before her. No one told her where she was taken. No one told her anything.

This was, in a way, her first real awareness of herself as a slave, for no one bothered to tell slaves anything, unless it concerned their duties. Leusa was put into a cell and chained to a wall.

I am a slave, she had thought. I am a slave girl. There were times, that first day, those first weeks, that she had cursed her own stupidity, times that she had regretted her decision. This was only natural. Yet in the wee hours of the morning, lying on her side on a plain mat, cold, her wrists shackled together, she could not help but feel she was in the right place.

When she started to regret, she would think of the man-wizard fucking her on the carpet; and the heat of that memory, the wetness in her cunt, would remind her she had made the right decision.

Her breasts started to tingle first, within three days of her new diet. It became increasingly hard to sit still. Her skin had began to feel tight and sensuous. Despite the water she was provided in her cell, she was always thirsty, and it did not occur to her what she truly thirsted for until, a few days into her captivity, a Daoxechent enslaver—not Jereg—came to exercise her. As he had made her stretch and move about, flex and lift, Leusa’s attention had remained fixated almost continuously on the man’s bulging cock. As she wet her lips over and over in his presence, licking her lips, touching herself when she thought he wasn’t looking, the thirst for his cum had only grown and grown. I am a slave, she had thought. I am a slave girl.

* * *

As a slave girl, Leusa found herself standing before Alcaeus, knife in hand, the point at his side. He was staring down at her, but he had raised neither his hands nor his magic in his defense. He seemed incapable of fighting her.

“Leusa?” he asked, incredulously. Do you mean to kill me? The question went unspoken but assumed. “You made me a slave,” she accused him. He had approached, meaning to embrace her, and she had drawn the knife. She quickly had him at a disadvantage. He hadn’t moved out of the way at all. She could easily kill him. ‘Do it,’ she “heard” in her mind. ‘Do it. Do it!’

She remembered: squeezing her thighs together, unable to relieve the wet agitation that had grown to consume her attention, day and night, the week after her enslavement. Eventually, Leusa was hooded and taken in a carriage elsewhere, moved to a larger cell that she shared with other women undergoing the same slow metamorphosis. The diet of pure slave paste lasted only a week—after that the growing sluts they were becoming were fed ordinary gruel and greens.

And always, lots and lots of water, which never satisfied their true thirst for a cock in the mouth.

Men started to look better. The love she had felt for men grew stronger, more powerful, more primal. Lust preoccupied her thoughts. She had dreamt of cock at night, daydreamed of cock during the day. Her talks with her fellow slaves concerned only the one subject—men. The heat that eventually surfaced in her, in all the slaves, was very much like what she had felt on Alcaeus’ magic carpet. That heat had come, and now it stayed, filling Leusa with a constant fucking need. It wasn’t quite the same; but it was the closest to that true heat she had come to since the carpet. Leusa came to know even better than before that she had done the right thing in making herself a slave girl. She had come to more than liking men by then—she worshipped them! She had come to more than like seeing them—they all but glowed in her presence!

Leusa’s breasts gradually grew to balloon proportions. Her ass, too, had filled out. Moving about, the slaves being walked for exercise, became less and less a workout of their muscles than a constant jiggling and wriggling of their growing girly parts. Not all of it was unpleasant, though. There were daily massages to relieve the aching of their bodies as they changed. Initially, these massages were given to them by slave girls, already Marked and trained, experts in their craft. Later, they were occasionally given to the prisoners by their male captors. That had been heaven, pure heaven.

Daoxechent men examined them daily, though they refused to fuck them, as the slaves always begged them to do. The men, her masters, used measuring tapes to gauge the daily size of Leusa’s boobs. They spoke of them as orchardists spoke of growing fruit. They used special tools to measure the tightness and resiliency of Leusa’s cunt. Her cunt, after all, was what defined her now . . . .

* * *

Leusa shook her head, trying to clear it. She was so confused. Was being a slave . . . bad?

“Leusa,” the man-wizard said. “What’s wrong?” She still had the knife at his side. He could have wrestled it from her, easily. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

‘You’re his weakness,’ Leusa “heard.” ‘Kill him. Kill him now, slut.’

But did she really want to? After all, he had helped her become a slave. Was that . . . wrong?

For her?

Leusa collapsed to the ground, shaking. All the memories were coming too fast. She was drowning. Alcaeus, her master—no, her Master!—was holding her, trying to ease her spasms.

Leusa felt Alcaeus pull something from his pocket. He had kicked the fallen knife away. She felt the Pecthent pendant go around her neck . . . the pendant that gave a Daoxechent slave girl back her memory. It had helped her before, in Shossin.

As soon as it was around her neck, a lightning bolt seemed to strike her.

She remembered, finally, ultimately: a rumor had spread that the slaves were to be taken to Daox. Barely did a day go by then, though, that Leusa was taken away in the night and put once more alone in a cell. For a time, she had feared she had done something wrong, had failed her masters in some unforeseen way. She had seen men as her masters by then, truly. They could be nothing else, with her appetites and her need to serve them, the way they glowed and proclaimed their masculine superiority to her simply by breathing and looking handsome. A day went by; and then Leusa was removed from her cell; and she was put into a slave rack; and her body was secured firmly, so firmly that she could not move; her shoulder especially was held still within the framework; and a man had come in, a handsome man, delicious; and with inks and needles he carefully tattooed her shoulder. I am a slave, she had thought, being Marked. I am a slave girl.

She remembered a woman in gray robes. She had touched the Mark on her shoulder and . . . .

Leusa snapped out of her delirium. “I remember everything,” she said, in amazement. “I was . . . a noblewoman.” She had already known that, actually, her Master had told her . . . but now she knew, absolutely. She remembered everything.

The slave girl looked around her, in disbelief. She looked at the knife on the ground. Had she actually tried to kill her Master? She touched the pendant at her throat. She remembered everything, her entire life, both before she had been a slave and after. And there was no confusion in her at all. No anger, either. I’ve always been a slave, she thought, and knew it for the literal truth.

Her Master was still holding her, looking concerned. Leusa opened her mouth to say something.

She stiffened, instead. A power outside of herself seized control of her limbs. Her body pulled away, reached for the knife, went to stab . . . Alcaeus the Man-Wizard jerked his head to the side, and the knife flew out of Leusa’s hand, out into the bay.

Suddenly, Leusa couldn’t breathe. Her heart stopped. She was dying.

“PAO!!” Alcaeus yelled at the top of his voice. “RELEASE HER, OR I’LL KILL YOU!”

There was a beat without a beat. Then the power outside of Leusa let go. Her breath burst in a compulsive gasp. Her Master picked her up and held her, tight. “Oh, Master,” she cried out, and held him. She cried for a long time as he held her.

At length, they stood again. Leusa’s Master gripped the pendant around Leusa’s throat and lifted an eyebrow at it inquiringly. Leusa couldn’t let go of him.

He turned them around to face a double row of boxes. “Come out,” he said. He waited.

A few moments later, enough time that Leusa wasn’t sure what was going to happen, Menupao emerged from the darkness.

“You tried to turn her against me,” Alcaeus said. “That was your first mistake.” Leusa cuddled inside his arms, still trembling.

“I can’t believe she actually wants to be a slave. Even now.”

“That was your second.”

The two wizards stood facing one another on the dock, boxes and crates all about them, about ten paces apart. To Leusa’s eyes, the woman-wizard appeared nervous. If her Master made a move toward her, the slave was certain, Menupao would turn and flee. Yet Leusa knew her Master would never strike a woman first, let alone murder her.

“If you kill me, the Nycclethnim will declare a guild-feud on you and your slut,” Menupao said, finally.

“And if you should ever set foot in the City of De again,” Alcaeus said, “the Ainchonnim will declare a guild-feud on you. You tried to kill me.”

They stared at one another, Menupao glaringly, Leusa’s Master composedly. Neither could employ magic on the other. Against an ordinary man, Menupao might still have thrown a dagger telekinetically or strangled him with his clothes; tossed one of these heavy crates in his direction; she just wouldn’t have been able to read his mind or manipulate his flesh, the way she could easily do with another woman. But against a fellow wizard, even these most neutral usages of magic would be futile; and, of course, the reverse was true for Alcaeus against her.

She could have attacked him physically; but the woman-wizard was a beautiful, frail thing; and she did not appear armed with anything except jewelry.

“Very well, then,” the wizard said; and she started to back away slowly.

“Very well.” Alcaeus stood his ground. Menupao took a few more steps, then she turned on her heels and fled out of sight. A moment later her Master breathed a sigh of relief.

“What will you do now, Master?” Leusa asked, staring up at his glorious self.

“Against Menupao?” he replied, gazing down. “Nothing. I’ve already informed my guild-brothers of her murder attempt.” He tapped his forehead and winked at her. “It’s a violation of treaty.” God, she loved him. “Her punishment is her humiliation and her exile from De. Both will cost her dearly with her sisters, the former more than the latter, I think.”

“No, Master,” Leusa said. “I mean . . . .” She looked down at herself.

“Oh.” Alcaeus did a strange thing. He went to one knee and knelt beside her while she stood. Leusa’s stomach began fluttering. She went down beside him. He reached out and held the charm dangling from Leusa’s throat. She felt a painless flicker of force at the back of her neck. The charm and chain fell into his hand. “This no longer has any magic. You absorbed it. Multiple spell interaction.”

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“Don’t be. It’s a good thing. Pao did me a favor.” He dropped the pendant to the ground. With his other hand, he touched the side of Leusa’s face. “I was going to sell you,” he told her.

“I know, Master.”

“But . . . I’ve changed my mind.” The fluttering got more intense. Leusa’s heart was beating so fast, she was afraid it might burst from between her breasts. “I’m going to keep you.”

Leusa almost died, from happiness.

“But no more moodiness.”

“No, Master.”

“I regret what I did to Teuthes. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, Master. I’m sorry, too, Master.”

He looked her in her eyes. “What do you remember? I mean, how much do you recall of your old life?”

Leusa smiled. “Everything, Master. I remember everything.”

“The carpet?”

“Yes, Master. Even the carpet. It was the most glorious moment of my life. Save for right now.”

Her Master laughed shortly. “So, everything.” He grunted. “That makes you the only Daoxechent slave girl in the world with a whole memory. I suppose that makes you a valuable commodity.”

“If you say so, Master.” She blushed.

“I would have to be a fool to sell you.”

It was Leusa’s turn then to laugh. “You are no fool, my Master.”

“No, I’m not.” He stood, and she looked up at him. Then, even though he was a wizard, he used his hands and not his magic to open the front of his trousers. “I love you. Blow me, slut.”

“Yes, Master,” Leusa purred; and there on the dock, in front of any onlookers who may have chosen to witness, she bent to perform her loving task, a task she hoped to perform every day—or as many times a day as she could entice her Master for the privilege—for the rest of her life.

Her Master gripped her by the hair.

Joyfully, the slave girl sucked his cock.

END