My captive begs to be fed

"My victory over you is something I will savor," I said. "I will not conquer you all at once. I will take my time with you. I will completely devastate you and remove your defenses entirely."
My captive has has resigned herself to her fate over the last hand. Having not eaten in better than five days, given only water, she begged food. "I am hungry, Master," she said to me. Understanding that her refusal to beg for food would only get her strapped to a Physician's table with a funnel in her mouth and a tube down her throat, she crafted her words and her mien carefully to avoid that indignity. I was not unaware of her behavior, nor bothered by it. I do not require her, at this moment, to be genuine. She is, within reason, allowed recalcitrance. She is permitted to struggle, to reconcile her fate. There are limits, of course. If she becomes bothersome or shrill, it is a simple thing to gag her. Too, I am not completely averse to putting the belt across her ass at this stage. I am simply in no hurry. She is on my schedule. Her wrists remain shackled and she continues to wear the same garment she wore on the day she was chained. I have, of course, altered it significantly. The skirts of her robes have been shortened. The sleeves have been completely removed. Though I have allowed her to retain the slippers, she has been denied veils. It has not occurred to me to be cruel to her, but I do not intend to be gentle. She will learn what she is. She will learn, too, what I am.

The Progress of Six

Six Girl seems to be progressing nicely at the Capacian House. I am well aware of the rigors of her training and she does not complain much, making mention of her tribulations only when prompted to do so. In the last passage hand or so, the effect on her physique is starting to show. Like most bath girls, she is getting leaner through the middle. Her arms and legs, too, have started to take on some swim-specific definition. I am assured, too, that her cardiovascular health and respiratory limits have been steadily improving. She seems determine to succeed, though she recently came to understand that her success might ultimately lead to her sale. Her training at the Capacian is something of a trial period. She is a beautiful girl, there is no arguing that point, but she must demonstrate her endurance while learning an entirely new skillset. Early comments on her progress indicated she had the desire to learn, but questioned her strength, both physical and emotional. The most recent notes I have received from Andreas, one of the men overseeing her training, judge she has about a sixty-five to seventy percent chance to complete the program. Her fitness, I am told, is commensurate with expectations due the time she has spent training. She has proven, mostly, her determination in the face of adverse conditions. She completes the lowest tasks assigned to her competently and does not complain. The only reason she is not one hundred percent assured of finishing the program is that most girls that get this far fail in the last months. It is a matter of statistics, I am told.
I have given her some responsibility in managing my shackled captive as well. I can hardly have the woman chained to the floor of the main room at all hours of the day, so I have decided to put her on the second floor in a room with Six. In her chains, dressed in the robes she wore the day she was chained, Six was put to the task of bathing her. That will continue.
Another note - the captive, asked if she was hungry yesterday morning, indicated that she was. Six was directed to bring her a half-ration of gruel and put it before her. I fed the first morsel of it to her myself, pushing the dollop adhered to my finger past her lips and teeth. I could tell by the tension of her jaw that she considered biting me like a recalcitrant animal. Fortunately, she did not. When she was told she was permitted to address the remainder of the bowl herself, without the use of her hands, of course, she scoffed and disdained to eat another bite. She will come to regret that decision.

Captive Audience

Just a little pin prick.

I let my guard down for a moment and found myself stuck by the poison pin of a woman. Noemi, to be exact. The day had not gone the way I had envisioned. You see, I own this woman. I have, in a legal sense, owned her for some time now. Several hands prior, nearly two passage hands to be more precise, she had committed several actions befitting a slave girl. Six of them that included, but were not limited to; face-stripping herself in the presence of a man. She was told on that day that she was owned and confirmed that she understood the fact before I dismissed her from my presence. Of course, she would have said anything to get out of that office that day, but it does not change the severity of what occurred. That day, I took the time to draw up her Writ of Enslavement. I had it signed and notarized and filed the document in the appropriate places, including the Hall of Records of Ar.

But the pin prick...

I had been forewarned of this woman's poison pins and, of course, expected no less from any free woman. It was foolish of me to let my guard down. I had sent for her, knowing she would come to the Cylinder of Justice due her greedy nature and to sate her curiosity. The letter was delivered by a functionary of the offices and stated plainly that her 'immediate attention was required to discuss an issue of property.' She, herself, of course, was the property with which there was an issue. She was, collared or no, a slave girl living the life of a pampered free woman. I had allowed her to do so, giving her the freedom to leave after accepting her submission. It is a fine thing to tear down a woman's defenses and utterly devastate her in one grand gesture, but it is also equally delightful to let her have the length of the chain, so to speak, for a time. She knows she is shackled, but she allows herself to believe it is not so. 'There is no collar on my neck!' She tells herself. 'He would not dare to make me a slave!' She protests in the depths of her mind. All the while, she knows the truth. He would dare to do so. He has already done so. It is you, woman, that have to reconcile this. He is allowing you time to absorb the truth. How long will he give you before he simply pulls the net out beneath that wire you walk upon? Do you think you he would allow you this slack in the chain if it did not please him to watch you struggle?

I swam for a moment after being pricked.

My eyesight was clear, unclouded. I could feel the cool floor beneath me. I could see her crawling about me, taunting me. She chose this moment to speak to me. To protest my cruel treatment of her. I could not move, but I was completely cognizant. This was the toxin described to me by the Physician, Sertorius. Paralysis was induced, but consciousness was not forced away. She reveled in her small victory, but that victory would be short-lived. Whether it was the guilt of her conscience or somehow, inherently, she knew she could not run from me. She knew I would rouse from this and put the men and the sleen at my disposal on her trail. She had made a poor choice and tried to do what she could to reverse the misstep. She administered the antidote. Another pin prick that sent a sudden warmth through my limbs and torso. The movement came slowly, but she was not hurrying from me. She was saying her farewells. She was warning me....warning...me not to come after her. I pushed myself to my feet and called into the hallway. Her guard, Marcus, was there with her. I indicated I wished to speak to him. Though he is her guard, he is a citizen of Ar. There was no reason to refuse an audience with me, a fellow citizen, a magistrate of his city.
We spoke. I showed him the Writ to which he immediately admitted ignorance of his employer's indiscretions, and the level of them. He could not remain employed to her, a slave, any longer. He understood this woman had nothing at this point, that she was unable to tender his salary, were he even amenable to working for her, which he clearly was not. He agreed to furnish me with a list of her property and holdings, with the numbers of her accounts on the Street of Coins and other various assets and interests.
Noemi, two days later, would still be wearing the same robes as she wore that day. She would find herself chained at the wrists and shackled at the ankle in my Anbar District residence. She would, in time, be taught much more. She miscalculated. She is now my captive.

Sertorius; A Golden Dancer

Sertorius was not pleased by my request. I found it intolerable to leave the Anbar or even the cul-de-sac in which my residence stands, but I needed the care of a Physician. He carried with him his usual pleasant demeanor and delightful couchside manner, scoffing at my resistance to walk my own indolent ass into a more 'proper' district where a thorough examination could be conducted. After having a slave of his apply some antiseptic oils, scraping it clean with a stirgil, he saw to the retaping of my torso. I mentioned to him that it was a bit tight for my liking, but he merely muttered about my posture and left the dressing as it was.
I had plans for that evening, a fête of some sort for one of the politicians of Ar, a man named Bonnane. It was not my usual choice of entertainment, to be certain, but the invitation came from one of my peers in the Magisterial ranks and I was resolved not to remain a recluse forever. It seemed as good a time as any to be seen in public.
Flame-eaters, wire-walkers, jugglers and the sort performed in the spacious hall. The wine flowed freely and musicians kept the atmosphere festive. I was seated next to a rather large fellow, a man of Tor judging by his coloring and choice of dress. His name, too, suggested a southern origin. "Tal to you, man of Ar," he said. "I am Ibrahim, Merchant of the Kasbah!" I responded in kind, though I was starting to think it was a bit premature for me to be out of doors or, at least, my first destination might have been somewhere less ebullient. I had allowed Elise to accompany me, and indicated that she should pay attention to the technique of the men playing the tabor and kaska. She was given the opportunity to learn to play different hand drums and when a chance to further her training arises, I see to it she makes the most of it.
Bonnane, the guest of honor and owner of the House and Hall within which we dined, seemed in good spirits. Jovial, in his cups, his eyes lit when a golden cocoon started to lower from the ceiling. I had assumed it was a gift of some sort and that gift would be a woman. Ibrahim, the apparent giver of such generous measure, exchanged a smile with Bonnane, confirming my second assumption. The first assumption, that the gift was a woman, was confirmed as the cocoon unfurled to a hammock and a tall female with dark hair, painted from forehead to toes completely in gold, stepped out. She danced for a time, an elaborately choreographed routine that removed veil after veil from her face. I was beginning to feel a bit uneasy and that was only increased when the man Ibrahim gained my attention, sliding a lockbox my way before taking his leave. I was about to protest, not comfortable with accepting this fellow's parcel uninformed as to its contents, but the dancer turned her attention to me. Crawling, she removed her veil, the last veil, as she met my eyes. She placed a coquettish finger before her lips and uttered 'shhh.' I saw a small blade spring from a bracelet at her wrist. She then turned on her knees, stood and spun back toward the dais where the guest of honor sat with eager anticipation. As the music swirled, she flung herself between the man's legs, slicing at the high, inner part of his thigh. In the next moment, she was spinning away from him and being hurried from the room. The time between crawling to my table and doing murder between the legs of the guest of honor couldn't have been more than a few ihn. Had she not shown me the blade, I would have been as oblivious as the rest of the room to what occurred. I did not remain at my table for long, instructing Elise to carry the lockbox left by the man, Ibrahim. There was a truth that was starting to unnerve me as I took my leave from the house of the recently deceased politician Bonnane. It was a truth of many layers. The scent of clove root was on the air. The woman painted gold was no dancer. Most disturbingly, I knew the Killer of the recently deceased politician Bonnane.

Resolution

I never made it out of the cul-de-sac, having lost the desire to leave the sight of my Anbar domicile. The pull of sanctuary is strong and I've become a bit reclusive. In years past, I would have left for a time, forsaking the comfort of my city. Wanderlust is a strong pull. I have made a career of the vagabond life, but I have never considered walking away entirely. I could lose a year or two in the bazaars of Tor, I think. Donning the salwar and kameez southern men are often seen wearing, drinking the sweetened teas, learning the scents and cultural idiosyncracies of another city...all are appealing. I could venture north, instead, and revisit the mountain city of Thentis as a guest of Clark, of the House of Clark. Perhaps I would revisit, too, the notion of a companionship with Constance of the Vintners. She was young when her Father, a good man called Gerald, proposed the union. I had the glow of success about me at the time, I suppose. The Fall of Agamedes had just been staged in an outdoor amphitheater at the foot of the Sardar, a true world production. She was a lovely girl, a delightful, bright conversationalist and though it is not a requirement in such a relationship, I was assured by her hand maidens that she was not without beauty. She was simply too young. She deserved the chance, I thought, to mature a bit.
If not spicy, sweltering Tor or crisp, clean Thentis, there are a dozen other destinations that I feel a certain pull toward. Dawn on the road to Ko-ro-ba, Sunset on the Genesian Coast or the filthy wharf taverns in the Thassan Jewel, Port Kar, are all but a few. The low rolling hills north of Venna, too, with the groves of ka-la-na and olives viewed from a certain humble villa beg my attention. I know, however, that I will not be leaving. Not at the moment. If I am to see the world, I must first honor the duty I have to my city, to her People. I must gather the will to leave this lotus amongst the filth and show my resolve.

When I walk beside her
I am the Better Man
When I look to leave her
I always stagger back again

Once I built an Ivory Tower
So I could worship from above
When I climbed down to be set free
She took me in again

When she comes to greet me
She is mercy at my feet
When I see her bitter charm
She just throws it back at me

Once I dug an early grave
To find a better land
She just smiled and laughed at me
And took her blues back again

When I go to cross that River
She is comfort by my side
When I try to understand
She just opens up her hands

Once I stood to lose her
When I saw what I had done
Bound down and threw away the hours
Of her garden and her sun

So I tried to warn her
I turned to see her weep
Forty days and forty nights
And it's still coming down on me.

[Eddie Vedder. music from the motion picture Into the Wild]