Caelia's Tale

Sarah panted, her stomach heaving against the arm of the throne, her arms outstretched before her as the Troll King stroked a narrow leather strap across the backs of her thighs. Sweat had broken out on her forehead, her lips were chewed and the bottom one had split in the middle, leaving a little rouge streak of warm blood. He had been striking her there for little over an hour.

‘What is your name?’ he asked, his tone heavy with authority, but as soft as silk.

‘Caelia, Master,’ she replied, loudly, as he preferred.

‘And what are you?’

‘Your slave, Master,’

He lifted his arm high and then striped her one last time, but with a blow that was hard enough to raise an instant welt. The backs of her thighs were ugly with stripes and blooming purple bruises. He had broken the skin here and there so little smears of blood accented the hot, swollen pink.

He stood upright and walked around the throne room, catching his breath and exercising his body from stiffness. He often told Sarah how she should remember how hard her punishments were on his body as well, that she should be grateful he was so dedicated to her instruction.

Without a warning, he was back, clutching at her hair and pulling her to standing with it from behind.

‘Today is a special day for you, plaything,’ he said, breathing hotly against her ear.

‘Master?’ she replied, a squeal in her throat as beads of sweat dripped from her chin.

‘I have something for you,’ he let go of her hair and pushed her down to her knees. Sarah looked down at the flagstones, squeezing her eyes shut to ignore the pain her thighs were currently screaming. Her head was pushed down further and then something was cold and hard against her neck.

It was a collar.

‘Did I earn this Master?’ she asked, surprised at the wonderment in her voice.

‘Yes, you did. You pleased me today, you have behaved well,’ he said, securing the silver loop around her neck, making sure it was nice and tight.

Sarah swallowed, her throat pressing against the metal. She wasn’t sure what it was made of, but she remembered hearing or reading something about Faerie folk being poisoned by iron or steel… perhaps it was actual silver? Anyway, she was in his good books for now and it wasn’t to be sniffed at.

Then his hands were on her hair again, pushing her head down and forward, his other hand pulling hard at her hip so she would adjust her posture. He may be pleased with her, but her duties would clearly not cease.

Sarah was accustomed to slavery now and she liked to think she did it well, even if she naturally resented every moment of it. Her soul had been successfully broken, her will now focused on the acquisition of food and comfort. Keeping her eyes on the floor felt natural now, her time in the mortal world like a pleasant dream she had one night long ago.

She felt old, somehow. As though she had lived in the troll kingdom all her life. Perhaps she had never left the Underground the first time around and her life as a famous actress, wife and mother had been but fantasy. She had always had such a lust for the fantastical.

He positioned himself behind her and the hand that had been on her hair moved down, grasping roughly at a breast and squeezing it, ignoring her involuntary yelp of pain. He was inside her in an instant, solid and slicing, splitting her dry sex in two. Goroth had gone past the point of thorough exploration of Sarah’s body, he knew where she felt pain now and knew where she felt pleasure and was Master to both of those sensations.

Sometimes he would be lenient and would cradle her body in a possessive, heated way, kissing her hair and temples and lips as though she were Venus herself. She would feel almost comforted by his benevolence. Then other times, times like these, he would use her body as though it were nothing more than an object. An object that was warm and mostly yielding, not that he would care if it wasn’t.

Remembering her earliest instructions when she first arrived at the castle, Sarah opened her mouth and began to emulate the sounds of lust, trying to sound as though she were in the throes of ecstasy.

Wailing and crying for more, Sarah left her eyes open this time and stared straight ahead of her.

Goroth came, a white hot explosion inside her.

‘Thank you Master!’ she exclaimed, her eyes cold and dead.

*

After she was given her collar, Sarah seemed to become popular again – for a while. Her visits to the throne room were increasing with the odd extra day and then she was there seven days a week again, just like she used to be. Nothing much changed when it came to the beatings and sex, he still used her constantly and unrelentingly, his appetites for violence and lust constantly competing with each other, reaching the most savage extremes.

And then one day, when she was summoned, Goroth looked somewhat changed. He sat on his throne with his eyes peering through the wide castle window, distracted and annoyed.

She knelt before him and looked up obediently when he snapped his fingers.

‘We have something to discuss,’ he announced, looking completely serious and not at all in the mood for sex or discipline, which in itself was a dramatic change.

‘Yes Master?’ she queried nervously.

‘I’m afraid it’s time for your departure,’

Sarah’s eyes widened.

Her heart started to thump softly in her chest, her hands clasping into nervous, clammy fists by her sides. She wished she had the energy to be angry, but all that would come was fear, on a tide of curdling nausea. Her heartbeat seemed to be echoing around the room. Could he hear it too?

‘Where am I going, Master?’

‘I’ve had you now, I grow weary,’ he said, arching an eyebrow and turning his eyes back to the view beyond the window. It had been raining steadily all morning and the drops pattered unrelentingly against the glass.

Sarah swallowed dryly, trying to think very carefully about her words. She didn’t want to say anything wrong now of all times. It literally was a matter of life or death.

‘And the other girls? They have been here much longer than I…why do I not curry your favour anymore?’

Sarah began to crawl salaciously towards Goroth, placing one hand in front of the other, a tilt in her back pushing her breasts forward and her bottom out. He eyed her without moving, his back as straight as a whip and his mouth a thin line. She reached his feet and laid her head on one of his boots, nuzzling against it.

‘The other girls know me better, they are more accustomed to my… tastes…’ he said.

‘But am I not more beautiful? Does my body not please you, Master?’

‘Yes, it does. But I have a better use for you,’

Sarah began to kiss his boot with dry lips, holding onto it with both hands, trying desperately to sound purring and wanton.

‘Master, please do not cast me aside!’

‘Caelia, I am warning you. Desist, at once,’

‘What about my collar? You claimed me but two weeks ago…’

Sarah’s fear of what he was going to do with her had dulled her responses and instead of doing as she was told, she grasped onto his boot even harder. Without warning, he kicked his leg out and sent her tumbling on her back down the steps that led to his throne. She sucked a breath in, clutching her side. It felt as though she might have broken or at least fractured a rib.

‘I warned you slave, now obey me and kneel,’ he commanded.

Sarah slowly turned over and then crawled into her kneeling position. Still breathing painfully and clutching her side she turned her eyes to his.

‘I grow weary of the less… entertaining slaves quickly. You bore me and I desire a change. A collar represents ownership, not preference,’

‘Ho are you acquiring us? Can you not only take someone when a child has been wished away?’

‘Yes,’ he said, waving his hand dismissively, ‘something like that,’

Sarah’s stomach roared with anger and her chest tightened. What was that supposed to mean? Had she been kidnapped?

‘Anyway, tomorrow night I am throwing a dinner and dance for some fellow royalty and special guests. You will be the entertainment. I will get rid of you there, as a special display,’

Everything the other girls had said was true.

He was going to throw a party and kill her there as some sort of merry making activity. Sarah stiffened and lost herself for a moment, her mind reeling and everything going dark. Then she was back again and he was talking, discussing people he had to impress and duties he had to uphold. She couldn’t take it in, she was twenty-five years old… that was all… what had she done to meet a demise like this?

Then she couldn’t remember anything else. She was escorted back to her cell and told to think very hard about the way she was to present herself the following evening.

Instead, Sarah cried herself to sleep on the hay.

*

The next morning was bathing time. The dark room was sweltering hot and each of the six baths steamed perfume clouds of pheromone. Sarah sat in the one nearest the fireplace where Goroth had burned her clothing on her first day, the licks of the flames reflecting in her eyes.

The girls chattered and chattered, ignoring her distance for quite some time. Sarah rarely joined their conversations anyway, never that particularly animated, so they didn’t notice anything was wrong. Sarah didn’t mind, she was too occupied with thoughts of the night ahead and how exactly she would ‘leave’, as it were…

She imagined him throwing her on a huge burning fire and hoards of ugly trolls and other creatures cackling as she screamed and writhed, turning black. She imagined him inviting his guests to descend on her with tiny daggers, each of them inserting one until she was impaled and bleeding to death. The morbid thoughts turned over and over, her bathwater cooling and the other girls growing quieter.

‘Caelia?’ Nixie asked.

‘What?’ Sarah replied, turning her head slowly to face her.

‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘She’s leaving tonight,’ Nurse said, as though it were a fairly normal activity. The girls stared at her for a while and then Sarah nodded, confirming that it was true.

‘Already? What did you do?’ asked Ellette.

‘I don’t know, I asked him to keep me. He kicked me to the ground and told me I was boring him and that tonight at a party he would get rid of me,’

Delphine gasped, pressing a plump hand to her mouth. She was one of the larger girls and always black and blue with bruises.

‘Well, sister, it was short but sweet…’ Esme muttered, somewhat sadly.

All six of them stared sadly into their bathwater, as Nurse stoked the fire.

*

Sarah was led into a room later that evening.

Her exit from the cell and her goodbyes to the other girls made her feel like a dead woman walking. She hung her head and followed Gaarn, her pulse racing so fast she thought she might faint. Again, she hadn’t been fed for a day or so and her mind was fuzzy, but anxious. He thrust her inside the room and then handed her a roll of parchment, locking the door after her.

The room was small, but exotic in appearance. A dressing table replete with bottles and powder puffs and perfumes stood at the far side of the room, a candelabra lit with dripping ochre candles. Incense burned in a bowl on the floor, wisps of scented smoke curling all the way up to the ceiling. The floor was lushly carpeted and covered with thick, extravagant rugs. The walls were hung with silk hangings depicting exotic flowers in different rainbow colours.

Remembering the scroll, Sarah opened it and read.

She recognised Goroth’s calligraphic handwriting from other writings she’d seen him with. He instructed her in green ink to find a bottle of fragranced oil and to rub her body with it from head to toe, to give it pliancy and shine. Then he asked her to arrange her hair in a provocative style and to decorate her body with the things she found on the dressing table.

Sarah sighed, laying the scroll down. Sitting in front of the table she peered into the candlelit mirror and looked into her reflection. A thought of her baby rose and then fell, just before she began to cry.

*

Gaarn came to fetch her.

Sarah had oiled her body as instructed, her entire skin now coated with glistening, perfumed lubricant. It showed off nicely the curves of her hips and the heaviness of her breasts, smaller though they now were through malnutrition. She ran some of the oil through her hair to give it control and shine and combed it through so it lay soft and dark on her shoulders, a few tendrils teased into loose curls to frame her gleaming face. Her lips were rouged lightly and her cheeks pinched to glowing.

In a box on the dresser she found a tear-shaped green jewel and she placed it between her eyebrows, to catch the light and accentuate the honeyed green of her eyes. Around her ankle she wore a few silver chains and with that, her final outfit was complete.

She followed Gaarn from the room through the endless shadowy corridors, the chill in the air prickling her skin.

And then she was placed in another room and told to wait.

*

The party was next door to Sarah’s waiting room, she could hear the revelry through the wall. Though the walls were made of stone and were very thickly set, sounds reached her through the cracks in the cement and gave an insight into what sort of party it was.

There was laughter, both male and female and lots of polite conversation. It sounded very civilised and she couldn’t hear any of the squawking or whooping of the trolls. It must have been human only. Or was it Fae? Whatever, it sounded like a fairly formal event, but one that was being immensely enjoyed by all in attendance.

About an hour passed and then she heard trumpets blaring, as though someone was being announced. Well, she knew that Goroth was a King, so it wasn’t surprising that other royalty would be there. She would be the entertainment for them no doubt… if he had someone important to impress, then why not have her dress up like the textbook slave?

She giggled to herself, wanting to pretend this was still an acting role, but not having the strength to do so. Was she starting to lose her mind now? Could fear do that?

Nerves began to build. The terror seemed quelled for now. It was miles away somewhere in the back of her mind where even she couldn’t reach it. Was this adrenalin? She wondered to herself, kneeling on a green silk cushion.

More time passed, perhaps another half an hour. There was no clock on the wall, but Sarah had grown accustomed to counting seconds into minutes so she could keep an idea of what time of day it was.

Gaarn opened the door when she was miles away and lost in thought. She jumped out of her reverie and froze.

‘No, I don’t want to,’ she said, before he even had chance to speak.

‘Get up,’ Gaarn grunted.

‘I don’t want to die, please!’ Sarah cried.

‘He will come in here and get you himself if you don’t come with me and that would be most inadvisable,’

Sarah began to sob, but Gaarn reached forward and grabbed her by the wrist, hauling her to her feet with little to no effort. Then she was being marched through corridors again until they reached two double doors, one slightly ajar.

‘Please Gaarn, I’ll do anything…’ she pleaded.

Gaarn shook his head despairingly and pushed the doors open, dragging her behind him.

The room fell silent as each and every face turned to watch her.

The revellers all looked so similar, in varying shades of black and grey. Ball gowns and elaborate suits with feathered details, Regency style wigs, masquerade masks and petticoats. Sarah took a breath and stared all around her, silenced now as Gaarn pulled her through the throngs of mesmerised revellers, her feet pattering on the checkerboard floor. The only substantial noise was her feet, it sounded deafening to Sarah.

Some people moved closer to get a better look, some were chattering softly to each other, with giggles and whispers. Others lifted their masquerade masks and gazed down on her naked, oiled form through the eyeholes, their lips twisting into smiles of frosty amusement.

How many times had they seen this? How many girls had died this way?

Goroth sat on a throne very similar to the one in his actual throne room, only this one held burning torches and was much more ornate. He wore dress apparel, with a long black-buttoned tailcoat and a grey waistcoat with a black silk cravat. He looked charming actually, with a touch of cold malevolence. His face was a mask of pale scorn and he wore a silver crown atop his braided raven hair.

‘This is the gift to bond the unfortunate demise in contact with our Kingdoms, Jareth. I hope you find her pleasing and suitable,’

Goroth turned to look at the blonde haired man standing by his side, replete in a grey shirt and breeches, an owl feather cloak on one shoulder.

‘Yes, I suppose she will be adequate,’ he said and smiled at Sarah with mismatched eyes.