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[b][u][center]The Journey to Slavery

Part 3

For Lightsun168

By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

They set out early the next morning, and this time, Arga was awake before he could be tied to the guars and dragged along behind them. The Saxhleel shook his head as they left the major road behind and turned off into the sand hills that ran alongside, huffing as he was forced to climb them.

“I thought that you beasts were supposed to be in shape,” Lenam called from a few paces ahead.

“You…are not…carrying so much metal on your legs…”

“Hmmph. Or you are not as strong as you think you are.”

Arga shook his head, refusing to engage. He was too busy thinking of the ‘mark’ that was going to happen later today.

[i]Mark…mark…what kind of mark is he talking about?[/i] the black and red Saxhleel wondered as he stomped up the hills behind the beasts and the elf. [i]I’m already shackled, already restrained. I can’t use my hands, I can barely walk. What other marks do I need?[/i]

Whatever it was, it was bad enough that the elf hadn’t beaten him last night as he had initially threatened. That did not bode well.

They walked along the crests of the hill, staying in sight of the road but not returning to it. The up and down ‘path’ that they carved along the shifting sand stressed his legs, and he grimaced and bit back groans of soreness more than once as they made their way along. He never complained – he knew that would do no good – but he did think of what he would do to his captor if he ever got the chance.

[i]That spear would look very nice stabbed through your throat…[/i]

But thinking of that made him think of Geel-Sei, so he soon shifted his thoughts of revenge to different methods. Mostly choking or lightning, things that were more…personal.

They walked, and walked, and walked, and the sun rose to their right and slowly ascended. Arga kept his head down throughout, making sure that he kept his attention on the shifting sands beneath his feet. At first, they were softer than the street, but soon, he was wishing they would return to the roads. The constant shifting, the muscle aches that were becoming almost too much to bear, were so much worse.

And as the sun rose higher, it brought something else. He didn’t notice it until it was nearly noon, but then –

“Ah!”

Arga gasped as he brought his foot down on a patch of hotter-than-usual sand. He jumped, only to bring his other foot down on hotter sand. Step, step, step, each step hotter than the sun-rocks in the village in the height of summer.

“Nnngh!”

“What’s the matter, lizard?”

“H-hot sand! Please, can we –”

“We have another half hour before we can turn from here. Be patient, slave.”

“My feet –”

“Be. Patient.”

Either he would get a beating or he would get his soles seared from the hot sands. Even the guar stepped lightly on the warming sands, but Arga had no protection, no way of easing the torment as the sun rose higher and higher.

He gasped, he bit his lips, he shivered as he stepped from one hot spot to another. It was like being kissed by flame, though never so bad that it actually [i]burned[/i] his scales. In minutes, the heat was so bad that his feet started sweating, the moisture clinging to the side and making it cling to him in turn.

That, surprisingly, was the only mercy that he received. The sand turned to mud from his sweat and stuck to his feet. It wasn’t much, but at least it provided a layer between him and the burning ground.

As promised, they turned from the hills of sand after a half hour. He sighed in relief as they stepped into the meager grass and scrub that covered the earth further from the road and hill, curling his toes through the soft grass.

“Considering how you squirmed when the smith was working, I half-wondered if you’d enjoy that,” Lenam called back.

“How could [i]anyone[/i] enjoy that?”

“How could anyone enjoy being helpless and exposed like you did in the other village?”

Arga opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shook his head.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“I saw the twitching. Your loincloth barely held your modesty in check.”

“It…wasn’t…like that.”

“You enjoyed being exposed. Maybe not completely, but enough to tell me one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“You won’t complain about being a slave. Not with the right master.”

The Saxhleel growled deep in his throat. [i]That[/i] was a statement that would never, ever be true. He wouldn’t stoop so low as to [i]enjoy[/i] slavery. That was impossible. That was completely, utterly impossible.

[i]Just because I enjoy…some things…doesn’t mean I want to be a slave.[/i]

Lenam didn’t say anything more, but unfortunately, that left Arga at the mercy of his thoughts. If the elf had at least argued with him instead of just shutting him down, maybe he could have fought more, but in the silence, all he could do was think as the endless grass and soft sand beneath it passed by.

He remembered the time that Geel-Sei had caught him in that trap again, how he had hung from the vine with his foot in the air and the loincloth flopped against his belly. He remembered being helpless, embarrassed, his cock hanging out and twitching just at the idea of someone catching him like that.

Worse, the moment that Geel-Sei had found him, they’d taken it further. A hand squeezing around his ankle, adding to the tightness of the vine around his leg, the teasing fascination that came with the other man looking him over, the feeling of his egg-cousin’s eyes drifting over his body, the hands that followed and teased his ass and cock and – and everything really.

He couldn’t stop it. The helplessness had made him accept it, and he had been so horned up that the other Saxhleel had barely had to finger him a few times before he blew his load over himself.

It had been the first time of many that he had been rendered ‘helpless,’ either at the end of a fight or through some small accident, that had led to him being completely fucked over by either Geel-Sei or – more rarely – someone else in their group. It wasn’t enough to get a reputation for being ‘easy,’ but it was enough to shape…other things.

[i]And I did things for them, too…[/i]

Every time he’d lost, he’d not only been teased, but been a bit of a ‘helper’ for other things. Labor, doing chores, little things for the day or for the day after in some cases. It wasn’t the same as slavery, though.

[i]But I still lost more than I should have…[/i]

Arga didn’t want to think about that, nor did he want to ruminate on what that might mean. It didn’t mean anything, surely. It was just him having some fun with his egg-cousins and people. That was it. That had to be it.

“Look up, lizard.”

Almost thankful to be drawn out of his thoughts, Arga looked up. He blinked at the sight of another burned-out village, though this one was bigger than the one at the side of the lake. This one had a larger temple, and more than that, it had a small fortification around it, old walls that had been shattered and broken. The stones throughout the town had been completely blackened with flame, and he shivered as he imagined the harsh fight that would have taken place here.

“…Why did they use fire?” Arga muttered.

“What was that?”

“I couldn’t hurt you with fire spells. Why did they bother using it here?”

“Most of my people aren’t completely immune to it, only resistant; enough fire, and you can still hurt an elf,” Lenam said as they continued walking around the outskirts. “And you beasts were very eager to leave marks of where you’d been.”

“Hmmmph. Don’t try and make the Saxhleel the villains here. We were only fighting back against your slavers.”

“The fact that you lizards have your own name for yourselves is ridiculous. Bad enough that the Empire calls you Argonians; you are beasts, lizards, scaly creatures to be put to work. Nothing more.”

“That’s why they fought back.”

“And when they burned through the south, incinerating the farms and every bit of food that they came across? When your kind burned through the villages and killed men, women, children?”

“We did not start this war.”

“But you certainly tried to finish it.”

Arga shook his head, looking away from the village. For all that Lenam was trying to twist it around, he refused to give it any credence. The Dunmer were slavers. Even when they were both officially part of the Empire, well before the Oblivion crisis and everything else that had happened after that, the dark elves had raided over the border time and time again. It didn’t matter what edicts came out of Cyrodiil. All that mattered was that the elves wanted their slaves, and the Empire didn’t care enough to stop them from taking them.

And the minute that the slaves did something to try and make them stop, the elves played themselves as the victims. Hundreds of years of slavery against a five-year campaign against some villages on the southern border. They were not the same.

On they went, and he kept his head down, not saying a word.

#

The sun was nearly at the horizon again when Lenam pointed ahead with his spear. Arga looked up to see a faint hint of something rounded poking up from around another hill.

“We’re almost there.”

“Where’s ‘there’?”

“Our destination.”

“Ugh…”

Thankfully, it was a flat route followed by a short hill to it. As they crested the top, he looked down and blinked.

Rather than another village of stone and brick and mud, he looked down on a small mushroom tower. Not particularly tall, no more than three stories, but it was taller than the other, organic-looking buildings around it. A small ruckus filled the air as travelers were making their way to the mushroom tower, gathering around it and pushing to get in as they parked wagons and carts around it.

“What is this place? And what – what is that?” Arga muttered.

“It doesn’t have a name, and it’s not on most maps,” Lenam said, shaking his head and tossing his spear from one hand to the other. “You only find it if you know what you’re looking for. As for [i]what[/i] it is…The Telvanni are always obsessed with their magics and their pleasures. This is what happens when someone of the House gets too obsessed with the second and forgets the first.”

“…”

“It’s a pleasure club, beast. You’ll see a few of your kind down there when we get inside, but don’t bother talking to them. Gulan has them well-trained. You won’t find any allies for any stupidity down there.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Arga muttered.

“Good. Come.”

After finding someone to stable the guar, Lenam dragged the Saxhleel behind him toward the front door of the mushroom tower. The slave-hunter pushed between other travelers, pulling Arga in his wake until they reached a taller, stronger-looking thug at the front door. Black-skinned and humanoid, he wore similar shackles to Arga’s.

“I’m here to see Gulan,” Lenam said.

“Name?”

“Lenam Dravys.”

“Selling today?”

“No, customizing.”

“Boss’s busy.”

“Tell him he’s going to get un-busy if he knows what’s good for him.”

“You go spend some money in the club; if he’s got the time, he’ll see you later,” the Redguard said.

“Do you –”

“Hirelings of the House have authority over those that aren’t part of it,” the Redguard said. “You want to see Gulan, you spend money first. Otherwise, get back in line and wait for someone who cares.”

“…Fine. Show us to a table.”

Stifling a smirk, Arga ducked his head and followed his captor into the building. The shouts and calls of the other elves and travelers faded away, replaced by the faint music of soft percussion and shimmering strings. Strange yellow light glimmered around him, coming from all directions instead of some distant torch or fireplace. He kept his eyes on the ground, watching as it changed from dark gray earth to wood, but he didn’t look up until Lenam pulled him to a table and made him sit down.

As soon as he looked up, he realized what the elf meant by a ‘pleasure club.’ They were surrounded by various circular stages, podiums where Saxhleels and Khajiits alike danced in little to nothing. Males, females, both were on display, with scales oiled and fur shined and groomed to immaculate levels…and slave-marks on all of them.

Arga’s eyes flicked from one to another, eventually landing on a red-furred Khajiit. The feline’s face was completely blank, his eyes glowing subtly with a faint green sheen. His mouth hung open as he swayed his hips from side to side, slowly bending his knees as he brought his rump closer and closer to the ground. His tail was high and his hands swayed along his hips and in towards his crotch.

[i]Does he…does he even know what he’s doing?[/i] Arga wondered. [i]It doesn’t look like he can see anything…[/i]

And yet, he danced, and swayed, and stroked. As he dropped his ass to his heels, the Khajiit grabbed his cock hard, stroking it for the crowd. A few Drakes were thrown onto the stage, and the feline rose up again, grabbing hold of the pole in the middle of the stage and swinging around it.

His eyes flitted to another. This one was another Saxhleel, a female one with red scales and a pink middle. She had the same green-tinted eyes as the Khajiit, and she rode the pole as if it was her mate, grinding her hips against it and sliding her sex along it. She moaned for the crowd, her tail high, too, and her cheeks clapped as she slid forward, back, forward, back.

They were throwing money at her, too. She brought one leg down, stepping on it, and didn’t seem to notice the coins sticking to her sole.

One of the other slaves, another Saxhleel, walked over with a roll of parchment. Lenam waved it away.

“We don’t need table service,” he said. “Just bring us two Flin and move on.”

“Yes, Master,” the scaly male said, bowing his head and disappearing into the crowd.

“…I…this…”

“This is where the more exotic or useless slaves go,” Lenam muttered, shuffling closer to the table and crossing his arms. “If you can’t work, if you can’t do something useful? You still have a body, you still have holes. And there’s always going to be some sick person that wants to use a beast instead of work for an elf.”

“…”

“Still, some beasts like it. Rutting creature like you would probably prefer it to the work fields.”

“I’m not a rutting beast.”

“Speech does not make you intelligent.”

Arga shook his head. He really should know better than to argue by now. There was no convincing Lenam that he was anything better than the elf believed him to be, so he didn’t know why he kept trying.

As he looked around the room, he saw one customer walk up to the female Saxhleel, holding out a purse. The female descended from her podium, spreading her legs, and Arga’s eyes went wide as the Dunmer rammed three fingers into her pussy in one go. She moaned, her eyes wide, her mouth opening a bit further as she spread her legs for him.

“What –”

“Lizard, were you not paying attention?”

“He…he’s actually going to –”

“Everything’s for sale here. Gulan makes sure that everyone pays into it, and the bastard gets off on it.”

Arga looked around again. He’d known it, but he hadn’t really [i]known[/i] it to the same extent. The way that the travelers looked at the Khajiits and his fellow Saxhleels took on a completely different feeling now. The hunger wasn’t just for the dancing; it was for what they could do if they had the gold to buy it.

And some of them were looking at him the very same way, and…

[i]No, no, no![/i]

He scooted closer to the table, not wanting to think about how his cock was reacting to the eyes and the feeling of their stare running over him. Arga closed his eyes and covered his face, trying not to think about how familiar it was, even with the darker tones, even with the complete lack of choice and…and the disdain that they had, and –

No, he didn’t want this.

It wasn’t like the stuff he enjoyed.

This wasn’t him.

One of the slaves brought them the Flin that Lenam ordered. Unsurprisingly, Arga wasn’t offered any; the dark elf took the booze and enjoyed it himself, sipping at it slowly. There was no more conversation, either. Arga’s only distraction was the collection of slaves and dancers around him, and the knowledge that this would be him, sooner or later. If he didn’t find a way out of slavery, this was where he would end up, as some brothel toy for whoever had the funds to buy time with him.

Time passed. Customers came and went, and the dancers were shuffled around from podium to podium, sometimes with new ones coming out to replace ones that were too exhausted for whatever magic lit up their eyes to keep them moving. There were slightly more of his people than there were the felines, but it was close enough that it made no difference.

He saw more than just fingering as time went on, too. Some impatient customers pulled their pants down and offered their cocks to the dancers without hesitation, either too drunk or too uncaring to bother getting a room. Sometimes a bouncer would come over and tell them to get a room or get out, while other customers – either richer or who had already paid off the guards – were allowed to get what they wanted.

Blowjobs.

Footjobs.

Handjobs.

One elf even bent his chosen Khajiit over her podium and started railing her ass without the slightest hesitation. Arga tried and failed to look away; something in him wanted to bear witness to what was happening to her.

And something in him wondered what it felt like.

It was around the time that ended and he was finally able to look away that Lenam shifted in his seat. Arga glanced back at his captor, and the elf nodded.

“Finally. Gulan’s here.”

Lenam nodded across the room and Arga turned to see what this mystery elf was. The Dunmer parting the crowd was an older one, perhaps in the elven equivalent of Saxhleel fifties, but still doing reasonably well for himself. A few wrinkles in his face, a few balding spots in his white head of hair, but other than that, doing well. Dressed in a long yellow and black robe, he looked far richer than anyone else in the room.

He made his way to the table and sat down, smirking at the pair of them. Arga looked down to avoid meeting the other elf’s eyes, and the newcomer chuckled.

“Not broken yet, is he?” Gulan asked.

“No. And you’re not going to break him for me.”

“Hmm. Not selling to me, then?”

“No. I’m taking him north, a little past Verarchan, to the New Telvanni up there.”

“Heh. Going to piss off the House with that,” Gulan said, shaking his head. “Not that I care; they kicked me out long ago.”

“They ‘exiled’ you, old man. You’re too useful to be completely kicked out.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You want me to prep your latest wares, hmmm?”

“Yes. He needs some marks for those ones up there.”

“Mmm, been a while since I’ve done that. But of course, I’m willing…with the right payment.”

It was a surreal experience to be sitting at a table as two people bargained away what little bit of personhood that he still had left. He kept wanting to open his mouth and scream, or protest, or [i]something,[/i] but something stopped him.

[i]I’m not a slave…[/i]

Arga had always thought that he’d fight to the bitter end if some slaver came through the marshes and tried to take him. He’d assumed that he’d throw himself against the chains, make it harder and harder to keep him under control, fight everything that the Dunmer would use against him all the way to his last breath. It had been easy to think that on the other side of the border, and easier still before what had happened to Geel-Sei.

But that memory of the blood falling to the ground, that little ‘gulk’ as the last of his friend’s life-blood came free, and the beatings since…

Each time that he opened his mouth, a shiver ran down his spine as all the potential punishments for defiance filled his mind. Every time, he closed his mouth again, too afraid to risk it.

“Payment, payment. You owe me; I’ve brought you how many slaves now?” Lenam muttered. “You can do this one without asking for money.”

“Slaves, yes, but untrained, unrefined. I had to put so much work into them.”

“Still slaves, still bodies that you didn’t have before.”

“You spent more money on his shackles than you wanted, didn’t you, Lenam?”

“What of it?”

“Relax. I don’t need Drakes, or Septims. All I want is something…fresh.”

“…You are sick.”

“Mmm, yes, but it is what sustains me these days,” the older elf said, leaning back and looking down at the back of his hand. “But certainly, it’s better than you leaving with a debt on your shoulders, am I right?”

“…Fine. Take him to one of your rooms and…have your fun. Just make sure that he’s marked, afterward.”

“Of course.”

It was already settled. Arga tried to find the courage to say something, but it was too late. The other Dunmer stood up and looked down at him, offering a hand.

“Come, lizard. It’s been some time since I had some fresh meat.”

#

Arga stood naked in the middle of the room as Gulan walked around him. The older elf tapped his chin as he looked the Saxhleel up and down, nodding to himself. He hissed as the elf reached between his legs and grabbed him by the balls.

“Healthy, certainly. Quite full, too; have you been holding back, beast?”

“…”

Gulan squeezed. Arga hissed, going up on tiptoes for a moment before coming back down, and the elf repeated the question in the same amiable, condescending tone.

“Have you been holding back, beast?”

“N-no space…on the road…”

“Beasts rut and cum and use each other without fear,” the elf said, shaking his head before letting go. “That shame will hardly do you any good as a slave in the house of someone else. Heh. The fact that Lenam brought you here tells me that there’s probably going to be a ‘sick’ buyer in the future for you, someone that will enjoy making use of that body. Not a bad one, either, though perhaps a little too hard in the rear for most. But I like my slaves to have a little…muscle.”

SMACK!

Arga bit back the growl that wanted to escape as he was spanked. Too much defiance here, and he might actually lose something.

“Now, slave. Let me be perfectly clear about what I’m going to do. I know that you’ve hardly had any schooling, so I’ll say this as directly as possible.

“The mark I’m going to give you will own you, body and soul. Once I’ve put it on, your master may command [i]anything[/i] of you. He may demand that you run in place. He may command that you kill another slave. Your body will be his toy, his plaything, and you won’t be able to resist that.

“But even part from orders, I like to give something a little bit extra. This shaft here – certainly decent – will hardly be used without his permission. This?” Gulan chuckled, bouncing it in the palm of his hand. “This will never spill a load without permission again. Without the right magic, without the right word, the best it can do is throb.”

“…I…you…”

“The mark of slavery. Some slaves wear it on their faces, some along their chests. It contains their urges, makes them safe, keeps them from overbreeding unless their master needs it. But I like to put it where it really belongs, where you can see it every time that the slave gets needy. Right…here…”

Arga shivered as the old mage stroked his finger along his scaly groin. A delicate fingertip traced a circle around the base of his cock, a spiral over each testicle, and then ran over the underside of his cock before circling and spiraling over the tip again. There was no magic, not yet, but he could feel what that would do. It would be an enchanted restraint to his cock, and more, to his body.

Everything screamed to run, but where could he go? The shackles would slow him down, and he had no magicka worth a damn. He couldn’t stop this. All he could do was –

[i]No. I will not beg.[/i]

He could not fight, not like Geel-Sei. He could not run. He could not stop this. But at the very least, he could keep from shaming himself by begging.

“I know that look, heh,” Gulan said, pulling his hand back. “The same look as any lizard fresh from the swamps. Pride, heh. No idea what you’re so proud of down there, but all of you have that same fire in your eyes. It doesn’t take long for that to die in mud and metal, but I suppose you can try and hold onto that.”

“I won’t beg.”

“Good. Because I don’t like begging.”

The elf leaned in, grabbing him by the chin and tilting his head down. Arga grunted as the elf squeezed tighter, keeping him from moving.

“My dancers, my slaves, all had that same look in their eye. That fire fades fast, but I don’t need it gone for this. Just…suppressed. Tell me, lizard. Have you ever had a Charm spell used on you?”

“…No.”

“You’re about to.”

The elf’s fingers glimmered with green light. Arga realized too late what the spell he’d seen in the common room had been; it slammed into him before he could stop it.

His breath froze in his throat as the green light filled his eyes. For a moment, all he could see was green, emerald green, brilliant green, bright and shining and all-consuming. There was nothing but the green, nothing but the light in his eyes and in his head, there even when he managed to close his eye-lids.

Then the green turned to something else, something happy, something giggly. He felt almost drunk, his body loose and swaying. He rolled back on his heels, his lips turning up in a faint grin that just kept growing, his lips pulling up past his teeth as the happiness streaked through him.

“Heh…hehehe…”

“Theeeere it is.”

That voice. Familiar – Gulan. Anger tried to rise up but was quickly squashed beneath the bubbling, happy green. He wobbled from one foot to the other as the fingers released his face, falling away.

The green slowly faded from his vision, and he blinked until he could see the older mage again. This time, there was something different about him. No more fear from the elf, but just…happiness. Happy to see him, happier to be around him.

Happy.

Good.

Nice.

Gulan chuckled, patting him on the head.

“That’s better, isn’t it, lizard?” the elf said. “No more thinking. No more anger. All you want to do is just do what you’re told.”

“Make you…happy…”

“That’s right. You want me to be happy. You want to be a good little lizard, obeying the smart elf, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Want to make you happy, obey you.”

“Heh, Charm spells. Certainly takes a fair bit of that brain out, but it makes you so much more biddable. Pity that it never works long-term, but for little things like this…”

Arga didn’t say a word. He didn’t entirely understand what the elf was saying, but he smiled anyway. Gulan nodded.

“Heh, well, anyway. Let’s have a little fun before I put that mark on you. On all fours, lizard; I’m not so old that I can’t enjoy this.”

Without hesitation, Arga dropped to all fours and spun around, facing his ass back toward the elf. The shame and embarrassment that he’d felt weren’t gone, but they were buried beneath an eagerness to make the old man happy. He lifted his tail out of the way, pulling his cheeks apart with his hands, and barely heard the chuckle as the Dunmer slid out of his robes.

“That’s it. Just keep those cheeks spread for me. Good beast.”

“Mmmph…”

“You’re going to be very good for me. Heh, maybe you’ll be back here before I retire; not everyone has the same tastes for your kind as I do. Mmmm, just like that…beg for it, beast.”

[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]

Summary: Arga is exposed to more of the slavery and situation in Morrowind, as well as the humiliation of being brought to a Pleasure Club.

Tags: M/solo, M/M, M/F, F/solo, Pleasure Club, Prostitution, Strip Club, Speciesism, Racism, Morrowind, Argonian, Dunmer, Khajiit, Fingering, Anal, Humiliation, Mind Control, Series, Slavery,