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I don’t regret having been
pressed into slavery. I regretted it at the time. I was devastated when they
took me away and tattooed slave numbers on the back of my neck. But now, when I
can look back and see how it turned out, now I don’t regret it at all.”
    Cherry shrugged. “I know what’s in
store for me. When I get close to forty and don’t bring much at auction any
more, I’m going to be sold as a labor slave. I’ll work hard at some dangerous
job and die before I’m forty-five. But my childhood friends? They’re going to work hard at bad jobs for their whole lives and still die
before they’re fifty. I was never destined to live a long life, so slavery
hasn’t cost me anything.”
    “I understand,” Irene said. “But
that still doesn’t make it right.”
    “And I still don’t understand
you,” Cherry said. “You know that you’re going to die as a labor slave when
you’re in your forties, too, right? So you’ve lost decades of your life. You
would have had thirty or forty years as an elderly lady in a big manor with
fine things and servants to take care of you. I’ll never understand why you
don’t regret throwing that away. Anyone in my neighborhood would have done
anything to have your life as a lady. I’m not exaggerating. They would have
done anything. Anything.”
    Cherry didn’t take her leave.
Without another word, she rose and went back to her cell.

 
    * * *

 
    “I want you to fuck me.” Irene stared at Lord Snow
defiantly.
    His eyes automatically flicked
down to her bald crotch before he could bring his gaze under control and roll
his eyes back up to look at Irene’s.
    “No.” Then he laughed. “You
haven’t learned much about being a slave if you think that a lord cares what a
slave wants.”
    “I’m a good fuck,” she said. “In
fact, I’m a great fuck. I’m truly amazing. I’m a master cocksucker. My cunt has
talents that you’ve never experienced. My asshole is to die for. You’re missing
out.”
    “No.”
    “You can fuck me up, down, and
sideways. Fuck every orifice in every possible order.”
    “No.” But he sounded just a little
uncertain. He was weakening.
    She looked down at his crotch. His
pants weren’t exactly tented, but they looked like they were bulging a little.
    “Then beat me. Paddle me. Flog me.
Take a strap to me and make me regret my mistakes. You can even take a cane to
me and autograph my back with scars. Make me remember you for the rest of my
life.” There was definitely a leavening in his pants now. “Humiliate me. Turn
me over your knee and spank me with your bare hand. Make my ass twitch and
shudder. Use your brute strength to bring tears to my eyes.”
    He had a tent pole now.
    It took a visible effort for him
to say, “No.”
    “Please. I’m begging you.” She
slipped from the chair and knelt before him. “Fuck me. Beat me. Whatever. Do
something to me. Please. I’m begging you on my knees. I didn’t enslave myself
to live a life of celibacy. If I wanted that, I could have stayed married to
James.”
    “Be quiet, slave!” He looked
angry.
    A slave who angered her owner past
a certain point was putting her life in danger. “Yes, sir.” She shut up.
Getting him to call her a slave instead of Irene was only a small victory, but
it was something.
    She hung her head and waited.
    “Get back in that chair.”
    “Yes, sir.” She rose from her
knees and slid back into the chair in a single, smooth, graceful motion. She
kept her head bowed.
    “I didn’t bring you in here so
that you could service me. I need to talk to you.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    She waited.
    After a minute, he said, “Oh,
hell. Get out of here and send one of the others in. Fuck, no. Send in two of
them.”
    “Which two?”
    “I don’t give a damn. Whoever’s
out there. And don’t make me wait or someone’s going
to regret it.”
    “Yes, sir.” She scrambled out of
the room.
    Tamarind, Cherry, and Peach were
in the kitchen. “Tamarind and