Here's a wildly fun story by the great A.N. Cortez. Enjoy!
You can buy a boy or girl at the market for a day.
A day, mind you, for slavery is a barbaric practice and we don’t do that here. But have you some coins, jiggle the gold in your pockets, and you and I can have our hearts’ desire and our way with it until the next day’s moonrise.
No, not
those young men and women, the Gentle all-a-pretty and blushing on the stands while the town’s Dom bachelors flit from one to another, taking their pick for the day, and perhaps, for eternity. They’re not for the likes of us.
It’s a tradition older than the town. The Gentle ladies’ lips are gently rogued, the Gentle young men touched up in more subtle colours and their hands bound behind their backs with a red sash. They’ll go home to a town Dom, be put through their paces, the whip and discipline so the families can see how accomplished they are. And if they find they suit each other well (accomplishments or not), there’ll be a contract and wedding bells. Yes my friends, a feast, a town celebration, the blushing couple and a contract to cement the respectable alliance between their august families.
There’ll be no shouting here or lewd remarks, pinches and slaps to the small curve of the Gentle’s backs: all of
that is for the privacy of indoors.
The ones we’re after are over there: in the section marked RECALCITRANTS. The disgraced Gentle offspring of the town.
Yes my friends, you can fetch that red-haired girl with freckles and bright blue eyes, that boy with the tawny hair a-shivering, that sullen-looking recalcitrant at the very end of the stands, flinching every now and then at her minder’s whip of nettles. Her skirts are pulled from the back of her knees to expose candy-striped legs and her dark blonde hair falls in bangs around her face, so that she looks like nothing more than a Shetland pony. She’s gagged. They’re all gagged: unpromising to decent folk, for nothing is more off-putting to a respectable Dom than a disobedient Gentle;
very promising to those who like a bit of sport.
No one knows what it is they’ve done. They could have broken their mother’s favourite teacup, for all anyone knows but that hardly matters. They’re in disgrace and no respectable Dom or their families will even think of glancing their way, not while they’re up on that particular block. But common wisdom says there is nothing like a night’s session with a bloody-minded Dom to set a wayward Gentle straight, and besides, there are folk who pay good coin for this privilege. There are Dom townsfolk with the taste who come by this section every now and then, too sensible to inflict their lurid tastes on their own darlings; Dom gentry from other towns who pass by the town every fortnight or so, if not more. They often send the Recalcitrants back to mother and father weeping and penitent, ready for the
real Market, for respectability and a bit of gentleness.
These folk also fork generous coin over for the privilege. It’s arrangement that benefits both outsiders and the town.
With this in mind, the minders of the Recalcitrants bring their charges early. No soft darlinging or cooing and laughter for
them as they are prepared for the market. Instead, their minders shake them from their beds before dawn; strip them; dash them with cold and hot water and only taking care in the dressing up: girls with their corsets and petticoats; boys in their trousers and boots, all in solemn dark velvet as a sign of their penance. Then the binding-gloves, neck collars done up from collarbone to chin, the leash. Finally with whip in one hand and leash in the other, the minders will drive their wayward charges to the marketplace and set them all-a-pretty and disgraced on the stands, to the benefit of foreigner and town.
Mind you, as with most things, things don’t always go exactly to plan. Keep your eye on the sullen-looking recalcitrant, the Shetland girl and you’ll see what I mean.
Now here comes a lady.
A beautiful lady, with short dark hair and a wicked expression. A
foreigner, though she’s dressed as properly as any well-to-do lady of the Empire, and she’s been a frequent visitor for the past several days. Milady is decked out in the colour of passion, a burgundy plume on her velvet hat and her lips touched with rogue. Unlike most of the patrons of the town, she’s all a-glow, her eyes glittering as she surveys the Recalcitrants on the stands.
Foreigners.
A soft trembling ripples through the line of Recalcitrants — all the way to the sullen-looking Shetland girl. Milady takes her time, surveying each recalcitrant, pinching their legs when she can get away with it, for the minders are all-agog. Fine ladies and gentlemen often pass by here, but the minders had never seen the like of her before she came. Milady ignores them of course and sashays her way to the end of the line where the sullen-looking Recalcitrant stands.
“And what’s the story here?” Milady says, as she stops by the Shetland girl’s stall. She points upwards, and the minder tugs at the leash, making the girl step down. Milady reaches out and taps at the gag, her beautiful brow crooking with a question at the Shetland girl’s minder.
“The gag’s customary for this lot Milady,” the minder says. Milady’s eyebrows shoot up even higher.
“Well,” she says and turns to the recalcitrant. “I suppose I can whip the story out of you, can’t I my dear?”
The minder is aghast at her vulgarity, but swallows it when Milady takes out her purse, and puts out two sovereigns, and a glossy pen to sign the contract. Hers until next moonrise.
Milady picks up a leash and tugs. The Shetland girl stands
very still, for she stares at Milady as if she were a ghost.
“Go,” the minder says curtly and smacks at the small of her back. The girl flinches, and the beautiful young lady laughs.
“You come with me, darling,” she says, between peals of laughter. “You come with me. I promise you, it will be such fun.”
Now, Milady tugs the Shetland girl on the leash, guides her through the streets of the respectable town, in the manner of respectable people. She makes the Shetland girl walks before her, guided only by the tug of the leash and the tap-tapping of the whip Milady bought for that purpose.
People turn to look, not just at Milady and the beauty and opulence of her, but at the recalcitrant girl and the gag in her mouth.
“That’s Josiah Rogers’ girl, that one,” they say to each other as the pair pass by.
“His niece.” And they shake their heads at her folly, at the poor family of this stubborn, stubborn girl and go about their way.
Milady pays them no mind, but drives her heart’s desire to her little rented flat near the park. Milady rings the bell: a servant opens the gate: a girl with flaxen hair and pale blue eyes. She gives a courtesy to Milady and her guest: her gaze averted from the Shetland girl and her disgrace.
“Inside, my dear,” she says, and smacks her back lightly with the riding crop. Milady drives her new darling up the steps into her room: a confectionary of lady’s lace and silks, instruments that would be better suited to an interrogation room than one for lovers.
“Now let’s have a look at you,” Milady says to her day’s desire, and undoes the Shetland girl’s clothes.
She sees herself as Milady sees her: tall and china-skinned, patterned with freckles. Off come the buttons, down comes the blouse to her hips and it slides down with the penitent skirt, down her hips. The cheeks of her arse are plum red: an entire week’s worth of being flung over someone’s knee and paddled near to death. Milady tsks and tuts.
“What an appalling lack of imagination your Doms have had,” she says. She ties the Shetland girl’s lease to the post of her gorgeous canopy bed and sits down for a cup of tea, for the servant girl’s brought in her tray. There are cakes on a little plate, cream and sugar and tea, a pot of cinnamon, honey, and, of all things, a root of ginger.
The Shetland girl watches this last thing with interest. Her eyes are very dark and wide: she can imagine where it’s meant to go.
Across the room, stirring cream into her tea, Milady laughs.
“Oh my dear, I knew the moment I laid eyes on you,” she says.
Milady calls her servant girl, gets her to untie the Shetland girl from the bedpost and bends her over a special couch in the middle of Milady’s room. A
very special couch: leather instead of velvet, heavy leather straps lapping across the chair around the waist, the outstretched arms, the leg rests that require the Recalcitrant to kneel.
The collar comes off, the binding gloves are undone though the gag stays. Shetland obediently bends over, kneels and lets the servant girl strap her in, arms, three straps over the torso, and over the calves and thighs, her arms strapped to the cold metal legs. Between the split curve of her cheeks, her sex is glistening.
She can hardly move, and to her credit, she doesn’t try it. Instead, the Shetland turns her head to stare at Milady who seems to pay no attention to the proceedings. She is busy paring away at the root of ginger. The Shetland watches as she dips it into the glass of water on the tea tray, and sashay over to the Shetland girl, bending over her ear.
“There’s a
very good reason why I need to keep you gagged, darling,” Milady whispers. “Let’s see if we can’t make you lose your composure, hmmm? Anne, leave me alone with her, I want her to myself.” The servant girl courtseys, and leaves them both to each other.
Without a word, Milady reaches down, finds the clit, pinches it, rubs
there, dripping and ready, then slips her fingers inside the Shetland’s arse. Slips them in and out, in and out, then slips in the ginger. Inch by inch.
It’s a
large root. The Shetland girl pants, strains, tries to slip her legs wider but can’t. The straps keep her where she is.
Milady shows her a paddle. Black, made of satin and rubber. She turns it this way and that, to let the girl inspect both sides.
“Something pliable and soft,” said Milady. “You wouldn’t think it would sting much.”
Think again.
Milady steps behind her and lands the first blow, against the raspberry cream of the Shetland’s cheeks. The Shetland moans a little, winces.
“And again, darling,” says Milady, and lands it exactly on the same strip of flesh. The Shetland struggles against the straps, bucks and Milady gives her two more in the same breath. The flesh is flushing crimson.
The girl moans, begins straining against the straps, her legs bucking. She’s very wide-eyed and ohs behind the gag as she turns her head to stare up at Milady.
“Are you feeling it now, my dear?” Milady said softly. “Is it the ginger? I believe it stings
very much.”
It does sting. Imagine perfume rubbed in your eye, salt on a skinless wound, it’s there
inside of her and her arms are strapped down and there’s no getting it out. The Shetland bucks and squirms like a mad pony. She can’t help it.
“Oh yes, a little lively now aren’t we?” Milady says. She begins spanking the Shetland with the back of her hand so that the Shetland clenches her stinging cheeks, wincing at the full bite of the juice. They give it to horses and ponies at country fairs, Milady says to the Shetland’s squirming. They do it to give them a bit more life, a bit more spark, and aren’t we excited my dear, oh yes indeed.
Milady smacks her again so that the Shetland wails, very contrary to her upbringing and she bites on the leather gag at once. She is mortified, despite the relentless burning in her arse, her shameless rut against the couch and the fruitless tugging of her limbs. A well-bred Gentle may groan, she may utter small delicate ohs as she’s being put through her paces by her Dom, but she does not go on in this unGentle fashion no matter how much a Dom might try them. But Milady gives her another smack, digging the ginger in and the Shetland howls lets out a string of gagged adjectivals. Milady laughs delightedly and smacks the tender skin.
“Oh darling, what unGentle sounds you’re making. Oh my darling,
what a shame. I believe I’m well within my rights to punish you for that.”
Indeed she is, and the Shetland almost feels she deserves it as the paddle slams down again and again on her cheeks.
Milady has a fast stroke and she’s merciless, spanking her again and again, the same bit of abused flesh. She slams the paddle against the cheeks, as she would at a dusty rug, and leaves the pale flesh raw red and sizzling and the Shetland can’t help it: she clenches at each stroke, sobs behind the gag as the stinging juices burn her inside out so that she plumps up her cheeks — just as the paddle slams down again, and forces her to clench on the stinging ginger root.
She’s in such a frenzy of sobbing, crying and clenching and begging, for what she doesn’t know, that she doesn’t even notice Milady finally slipping the ginger out. She barely registers it when Milady’s fingers begin stroking her there. The sobbing slowly turns into pleasured ohs, a very different kind of begging.
Inside, inside, Oh God, please, I need…“It’s alright my darling,” Milady murmurs, slipping her gloved hand inside as if to soothe. The Shetland moans.
A finger, two, three, four maybe. She rocks against it, well as she’s able to, strapped down as she is. She sobs as it works her, slow and easy and filling her with a welcome ache.
She’s eager enough to take the entire hand in.
#
When the Shetland wakes, she’s robed, the front completely undone. Her wrists are tied and her arms are crossed over her breasts. She looks over at Milady, who’s smiling at her from across the bed. She traces fingers up and down the Shetland’s body.
“Luncheon,” she says, and shows the girl a tray. Orange juice and sliced pieces of toast, roasted potatoes, baked ham and eggs. Slices of avocado and fruit.
The Shetland girl is ravenous. She’s piquant and quiet as Milady slowly unties her wrist. But the instant her hands are free, she makes for her share: buttered toast in one hand, roasted potato in another and she’s devouring one after the other. Milady laughs and presses more food on the Shetland: she’s already dined, watching the Shetland sleep and a very pleasant luncheon it was too. The Shetland slows enough to be more ritualistic about her food. She cuts up the potatoes, lays slices of them on top of the toast, layers them with ham and hard boiled eggs. She devours them the way they are. Milady watches.
“Darling, how long do you plan to stay up on that block?” She says it with a melancholy air. The Shetland tosses her head.
“As long as I like,” she says. The Shetland focusing her attention on cutting and buttering up another potato. “I won’t marry or get myself to a nunnery.” She devours half of the potato, layers the slices on another piece of toast.
Milady’s voice is playful, barely plaintive when she says: “but darling, you don’t belong up there.”
“What’s it to you?”
What indeed. Milady’s a foreigner and the Shetland’s family will never sign a contract with her. Never ally themselves with a wog of a family that they may well never see. Milady drops it.
Still, Milady comes for the Shetland again and again, to put her through her paces in the beautiful little room in the flat. Not the same bag of tricks: that will never do for Milady, and she says the Shetland needs a proper breaking in. So Milady has the Shetland naked and kneeling, keening behind her gag from the wooden pegs Milady adorns her with: breasts and thighs, underarms and the tender of her sex; paddled mercilessly and screeching as she hangs helpless from a harness; and on the third day naked and trembling on her toes. For feet down, the Shetland taps a lever and the box at her feet sends an electric current through wires attached to sex and breast. And goodness, how the Shetland wails at that, though she’s kissed and soothed by Milady afterwards, swathed in a crimson robe of wine. See how Milady loves her darling, she does everything she can to bend her and make her happy.
Afternoon session, with the Shetland tied to Milady’s magnificent bed. To the Shetland’s delight and horror, Milady holds up a carving of ginger. Not phallus shaped: a wedge. The girl whimpers as Milady reaches down again, slips the ginger between her legs, on her clit. It’s soft and cool, quietly building to a burning of a very different kind.
“Please,” moans the Shetland, bucking her hips. She’d do anything, anything, for something inside of her.
“Maybe my dear,” Milady says softly. “But I want to know who it was.”
The Shetland moans.
Milady reaches down. She clamps the Shetland’s lips together, little wooden clothespins biting at the rose between her legs. The Shetland bucks her hips. They’re held so fast by rope, keeping her legs apart. The desire keeps building and this time, there’s nothing to relieve it.
The Shetland sobs and bucks.
“Please,” the Shetland begs, and arches her back.
“What was their name, my darling?” Pinching the inside of the Shetland’s thighs.
It’s not enough, it’s hardly enough, and the Shetland sobs and bucks. She’d do anything, anything, for something inside of her and so the answer is wrung out.
“He was a
foreigner.”
#
They hung his body outside the gates of the town. You might have seen it, fine-rags-and-tatters, long since picked clean by crows. Foreigners, however, need not be alarmed, for the painted sign they placed on his neck says: THIEF. Obviously, it doesn’t apply to respectable, law-abiding folk!
Treat with the town honourably, don’t corrupt their sons and daughters, and you should be alright. It’s because of him we’re all stuck with the Recalcitrants, though I honestly can’t complain.
It wasn’t always so. Yes, the Recalcitrant section was always there, for those with wicked tastes, but foreigners were allowed to come into the market to watch, to purchase a Gentle, for a day or so from the main section. Why not? Hospitality for visitors and besides, a young Gentle benefits being exposed to a wide range of Doms. Get their curiosity for outsiders out of their skin before they finally settle down to serve their Doms and raise their families in this very respectable town.
Imagine the Shetland girl a year ago. It’s her first time at the market and she’s all a-glow. She and her Gentle brother pretty each other up for the day: she’s got a velvet choker with a teardrop of a pearl and her bonny hair is let down. They tie her hands with a pale blue sash and that’s all.
The foreigner’s a young thing: the son of a bourgeoisie family from the Colonies. He’s not completely Pedigree: the dusky skin gives that away for all his polish and Latin. But he’s good enough to buy a Gentle at the Market, bring her home for a day. It would be good for her to learn to submit to someone else’s Desires, even if that someone’s a foreigner. So he pays a sovereign and takes her home, and in the manner of all ordinary young people, they play and discover that they suit each other.
The Shetland discovers she likes the bite of his whip, the way he sets her through her paces, brings her to the point where she’s all-a-howling and then lays her soft and pliant on the bed. He discovers that he likes the Shetland girl’s tart tongue.
There’s no actual fucking: that’s reserved for the marriage contract and woe betide the Dom who breaks the law. But they’re young, they’re in love, they believe anything is possible and so after three days of cavorting, the boy coming back to Market Square to purchase the Shetland again and again and her with no objections, they go to the Shetland’s family to ask for a marriage contract.
What a scandal.
“Our darling and that mutt!” They lamented. What a shock it was to discover that their beautiful little baby fell in love with that, but then young Gentles are so easily led unless they have a good Pedigree Dom to keep them in line. They appease the Shetland’s tears with consolations: you’re too young my darling, there’s no rush, you should go with as many young Doms as possible before deciding, and really dear, what’s the rush?
No, no, we’re not saying you can’t see him again.
They tell her nothing at all, so the lovers don’t suspect a thing. But the family goes to the town hall, presents the case to the magistrate and accuses the foreigner of corrupting their pure Gentle darling. The magistrate agrees and has him dragged out of the flat: he’s sentenced within an hour or so. They tie a rope around his neck and fling him out of the town walls. And all the while, she’s in market square, innocently waiting for a Dom who never arrives.
She finds out days later, after bribing her servants for a word and slipping out of the house under the cover of night. His bones had long since been picked clean and glisten white in the moon.
#
She had herself set up on the block. She refused suitor after suitor until she exhausted her family’s patience — enough for her gentle, indulgent family to let her go. They’re quite sure she’ll come running back when she’s had enough of the wild goings-on the frequenters of the Recalcitrant section demands. They don’t quite understand this is
precisely what she’s looking for.
So when up comes Milady with her games, her wicked pins and needles, her ginger and her clamps, the Shetland is relieved. She’s very different from the darling who died, and wicked enough to distract her from her grief, though she’s all darling and cooing afterwards, promises of love and forever. That is unfortunately the trouble.
Come with me.You? A foreigner?Come now, that doesn’t really matter to you. Just because we take your coin doesn’t mean we’ll sign contracts with you. Now take me back.The Shetland leaves the house at moonrise, as agreed. Her cheeks are sore, and she’s full of ache, but it’s precisely what the Doctor ordered. The corpse, the sad, unfortunate Other dancing on the end of the rope won’t haunt her for another week.
Tomorrow, Milady will sashay up the Square, a bright bloom in her cheeks and sovereigns in her purse. She’ll buy the little Shetland and take her home, put her through her paces and make her shriek until she’ll almost believe she’s in love.
A.N. Cortez is a Filipino-Australian writer of erotica and fairy-tales. She lives in Melbourne Australia with an imaginary menagerie and the scandalous shenanigans of imaginary people inside her head.
