The Slave World Abductions Ch. 03

He ran his operation out of a pawn shop next to an alley. The little nook contained a big orc, probably his guard or enforcer, as the only other occupant. A cramped, dusty place, with a wall of junk behind a counter.

I knew I'd found him on first sight. He was at his counter examining an object in his hand with a loupe. The object, and another around his wrist, gave him away: wristwatches.

I walked in and closed the door. I kept an eye on the orc.

"You here to pawn, I offer fair trade or bid price," he said, not looking up.

"I'm not here to pawn. I heard you broker."

"A little bit of this and a little bit of that. What product you looking to buy?"

"An exotic. I heard you do under the table."

"Depends, how exotic?"

"Outside the Compact. My client wants one for some bragging rights."

"Ah, so you're subcontracting. Smart move," the goblin nodded toward the orc.

The orc went to the door and locked it, chanting a brief spell as he did so. He did the same with the window, closing the slats.

"Orcs aren't good with magic but this spell's simple, and no one will disturb us while we deal."

"That's good to know," I smiled. Very good to know.

"Draw up a chair."

"I'll stand. I want to make this quick." I went to the counter. "What are those things you're fooling with?"

Muck Muck held up one of the watches. "I have no idea. They look to be time pieces of some sort but this one has no proper dial, just strange numbers on its face that change every minute. By what means I know not."

Of course you wouldn't, it's digital. "May I see it?"

The goblin handed it to me. "I'm thinking of consulting with an alchemist. He might help set a price. Right now I'm setting it at two silver crowns. The other one, I might keep. The leather on its band is the highest quality I've ever seen."

Timex Silver Tone bracelet watch. The type of cheap watch a librarian or waitress would own. Maybe a dancer. "Can I see the other one? I've traveled a bit. I might tell the make of the leather."

"I doubt it," the goblin grinned, "I got it from some slavers who'd snagged six exotics for auction."

"Oh?" This was getting better and better. The watch was a Versace, very expensive. I turned it over, personally inscribed, "MT", Maria Torres. Dead to rights.

"You're right, I guess. Well, down to business. Any of the exotics available?"

"Not so I'm afraid. I auctioned them off, sent the payments to the contractor, scored a good commission."

"Hmmm, tell me the name of the contractor, or buyers. Maybe I can score a purchase from them."

"I already told you enough. Any further info requires a fee," he held out his hand.

"Oh, okay." I reached into my coat, took out a throwing knife, and drove it into his wrist. I took out another and threw it into the orc's mouth while it was open for its surprised snarl.

Orc's brains are a little slow when they're not fighting. It took a few moments for the orc to realize it was dead. He toppled like an oak.

Muck Muck was cursing and screaming with operatic fury. He moved his free hand to grab the knife. I grabbed it, placed it on the table, and drove another knife into his other wrist.

The thing about sticking knives into goblins on counters is you make sure to chant a force spell, so the blades drive deep into the wood.

"I think I'll forgo the fee. I'm more into taking into custody stolen property," I said, taking the watches.

"You whore got piece of hogshit!"

"Don't insult my mother... or hogs," I flashed him my Ronald Lacey grin. Toht's smile was a good and proper expression for moments like this. I drew up a chair, sat down, and propped my feet on the counter.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions. You can choose not to answer but then I'm going to have to skin you."

"Who in Hades' ass are you?"

"A man very displeased over your naughty behavior. Now, first question. Who contracted the auctions?"

"I don't know. The slavers had the contract. There was no name on it. I only signed and set them up."

"The slavers belong to any particular clan?"

"They were a mix. Some from the Sawtooth Clan. I recognized a couple from the Red Horde. They had a shaman. His markings were Black Mountain Tribe, and another. He had no markings but I could tell, he was Svartalf nobility. He had that smell. The rest were tieflings and human cutthroats."

"Uh, hmmm, Black Mountain Tribe." The largest, most powerful dark elf crew in the Southern Marches. Their shamans were the best, and most expensive. A lot of money spent here. "Who won the bids?"

"A lot of the Quality. They were the only ones who outbid everyone else."

"You have a ledger?"

"In the back."

Asking Muck Muck the name of the buyers would only bring lies, and skinning him would take too long. I jumped over the bar and went to his office. I disarmed his magic traps; the sleaze wasn't good with his security in any case. He was a messy shitrag though, and an opium addict. Opium grows in abundance on Svartalfheim, one of the few Midgardian imports. The ledger was on his desk.

Muck Muck was squirming in pain when I returned. The abductees were taken at different points, so I didn't expect to see them grouped together.

"Your ledger has a section for exotics. I'd have thought you'd want to hide them with the others."

Muck Muck's face was pained and sour. "It helps with the tax records. The Council gives deductions for exotics."

"Uh huh," a note for the Old Lady.

I scrolled through the section. Most of the "exotics" were listed from open realms, elf and human settled. Muck Muck wouldn't straight out write Midgardian. I found them under an Atlantean listing. Six prospects, all with descriptions matching the abductees.

"The exotics. Describe them."

"You think I remember every property I sell?"

"You remembered the slavers. You want me to fillet that arm to your shoulder?"

"Well 'gulp' when you put it that way. One was tall, short flaxen hair, green-eyed, well-built with good haunches, like an Aesir."

Sara Sundstrom.

"One was golden-skinned, eyes like almonds, hair like polished Midgardian mahogany, haughty and imperious. I'd say it was a pleasure seeing her broken, but I don't think the treatment took."

Maria Torres.

"Another one, she had dusky skin, eyes of dark amber, mahogany hair like the other. Reminded me of the Lemurians. Saucy like the golden-skin too. I don't think the treatment took either."

Lola Pandit.

"The fourth was short, flame-haired, eyes like a clear blue sky, wore those glass spectacles I heard some humans use. Reminded me of a Gael from Tir na Nog. She was easier than most; quiet and submissive, but very responsive. She's a hidden pain luster. The nose knows; I could smell the heat on her."

Kim O'Brien. A masochist. One thing for goblins; their talent for sniffing out dark traits is legendary.

"And then there were the twins. The slavers didn't know which to take, so they grabbed both. Young virgins. The best and highly prized. Strange-colored hair like the fairies, probably dyed. Wide azure eyes. Mirror images, complete opposites. The darker-haired one, saucy like the gold and dusk skins. Her sister, quiet and submissive like the flame-hair. No hint of pain lust though. The breakers 'accidentally' took their virginity. A pity, it affected their value."

Jill and Jane Rosenberg. Muck Muck confirmed the six. I recognized four of the buyers. There was an X next to the Rosenberg sisters.

"The buyer for the twins is unlisted. Why?"

"The buyer was an ogre. Grunk."

An ogre. The girls were deep in it. I ground my teeth. I couldn't make a rescue yet. Not at this time of year.

"So that's it, right? That's all you want? You're a Lighter, right? Tell 'em I cooperated. Those girls are from Midgard, right? I didn't know, honest."

Elven knives assisted in his cooperation. I couldn't tell what pissed me off more. The casual, boastful way he described the abductees, or his insult to my intelligence. Any one in the business knows New Atlantis, New Lemuria, and Tir na Nog has no tech for watches, and while Alfheim does, brokers know not to mess with Light Elves... at least not directly.

"Oh don't worry. I'll put in a good word at the Department." I took out one of the grenades.

"What's that?"

"Looks like I drove the knives too deep to pull out." I pulled the pin, set a spell delay, and placed it between his hands. "This ought to help."

I left the goblin looking curiously at the metal object. I put on my hat and walked out, carrying the ledger. Thirty seconds later the competition among the brokers of the Eighth decreased by one.

The Waitress.

Lola rocked her hips, bouncing up and down. The Amir's big, thick cock went deep. His peach-sized balls slapped wetly against her vulva. She did most of the work.

She made sure to keep her head high, in part because her defiant attitude turned him on. Not giving him the satisfaction of submission being the other reason.

Turning on the Amir wasn't something she wished. Her wishes for him had more to do with agonizing, unanesthetized castration and sodomy with a barbed spear. Keeping him tuned up, though, kept him distracted.

Lola kind of felt lucky after a fashion. At least the "person" who'd bought her wasn't some orc, tiefling, or goblin. Ifrits were part of the djinn race, as she found, and Amir Shaharabad was, like most Ifrits, kind of gorgeous.

His cut body and male model face made it easy to accept the lack of hair, olive-colored skin, pointed ears, horns, and fangs. The tree trunk impaling her pussy took some getting used to, however.

The first time she viewed it stunned her speechless. She'd never seen a cock that thick and long on anything outside of a horse. Lola didn't think it would fit, but the sessions in the Market dungeons loosened her pussy enough to accommodate. Most of the time since was frequent pussy pounding.

A burst of fluid heat in her womb, followed by a spritz of white semen, roused Lola from her ruminations. Good, he's done for the day.

She looked down finally, taking satisfaction in the Amir's glare.

"I will make you cum yet bitch!"

Keep dreaming, shit dick. Lola took care not to say it out loud.

"Get off and clean me up."

Lola did as told. The Amir's cock slurped out, followed by a flood of his semen. Per his wishes, Lola made sure his seed dripped on his body. After which she knelt down and licked it up. She said not a word. She rarely spoke to him except to say, "As you wish Master."

Shaharabad lay watching his slave lick him clean. She was fascinating, infuriating, magnificent. She did everything he told her yet wasn't submissive. Are all women from Midgard like this?

He did not regret the high price paid to acquire her. Maybe I should look into acquiring more from her world.

She finished and sat up, gazing with that cold, haughty look which so captivated him at the auction block. He rang for his servants.

"Take her back to the harem," he told one, "Draw my bath," he instructed the other, "And clean these sheets."

The first servant took the slave's collar chain and led her away. Shaharabad growled after her, "I will break you, you have my vow."

"If you must... Master," she said, without looking back. Her brief hesitation before saying master, a message meant only for him. My vow, but if the dungeons couldn't break her, how could he? He savored the challenge.

Lola settled into her bath. The harem was the only place in the palace where the slaves didn't wear chains. The slaves didn't wear anything for that matter, inside or outside the harem. The Amir preferred his slaves nude. Lola couldn't remember the last time she wore clothes. It's been awhile definitely.

The Amir kept his slaves comfortable, at least; more than comfortable. The harem's accommodations shamed five star hotels.

Torches, lanterns, and braziers with incense to provide light, heat, and perfumed air. A heated pool, Olympic-sized, for swimming and bathing. Thick satin pillows piled high for sleeping. Deep tubs kept constantly filled with heated rosewater, and changed out frequently.

"Luxury," she spat. She was still a slave.

The only power she held over Shaharabad was her refusal to submit. He tried everything: whips, threats with a hot poker, gang rape. She called his bluff every time. She knew he would not mutilate a high-priced slave like her. Who deliberately trashes a Ferrari?

Her thoughts and plans, from the moment of her kidnap, to six months ago, as she reckoned on this world, were focused on escape. Then the situation changed and, until she figured it out, escape was deferred.

First, she had to survive the harem. Evidenced by the flash of steel at the corner of her eye.

A quick jerk of her head moved her throat from the slashing razor. A quick grab gripped the hand which held it.

Her fist slammed into a belly, doubling over her assailant. Lola grabbed her head and forced it into the tub.

She kept a tight grip on the razor hand, while holding her assailant's head underwater.

The attacker flailed frantically until she weakened enough for Lola to grab the razor. Lola held the assailant underwater for another quarter minute, and then pushed her back.

The attacker lay, gasping and coughing, her glare towards Lola poisonous with malevolent hate.

"Nice try Alea."

The bedraggled blonde elf spat, "Slut! Human trash!"

"Try me again, bitch, and I'll introduce you to a Midgardian concept. It's called a Glasgow smile. Thanks for the razor."

The elf slunk away. Alea was a vicious bully, and the Amir's favorite until Lola displaced her.

Lola settled back into her bath. "Fucking trouble all around," she muttered.

To Be Continued.