Yana’s submission greatly pleased him. Perhaps more than he probably should. His purpose of claiming a slave in Asher City did not include him completely playing the part; he was there to witness for himself how his father lived; to understand why his father had to leave his mother.
Yes, he knew to understand he had to be in his father’s shoes to some extent but he told himself to never truly get involved. He told himself he wasn’t going to be one of those people who exploit the less fortunate for their weaknesses. But what is he doing now?
A foreign emotion filled his chest every time he looked at her. She was calm and appeared to have no questions… As if she had already accepted what was set forth before her. She accepted that she was a slave, there was no doubt in her actions around him.
When she wore the ring he knew it was final; she was his slave and his alone for as long as he permitted.
He waited patiently for her to tell him who her first master was. He had heard stories of masters trading slaves for new ones or re-selling them in the black market when they disobeyed or were defiant. Yana appeared to be neither. Having and being a slave in Asher City was a life-long commitment. It was only up to the master when and if the slave could be set free. And as he sat there waiting for her response, he wondered how it was for her. If he wasn’t her first, did he want to know how it went for her? How much was he willing to learn about her past? Masters that he had encountered told him proudly that masters do not owe their slaves anything. They take from their slaves and do not have to give anything back. How cold and cruel, he thought. But not in the same position, is he willing to share his life with this stranger?
“You are my first master,” she then spoke, her voice remaining meek and soft.
This surprised him. And inevitably excited him. “Your first,” he said much to himself as a confirmation of what he heard. Lowering his head to see her face much better, he wondered, what had gone wrong in her life that placed her before him today? He assumed nobody wanted to be a slave; someone owning you like you’re a piece of furniture and could do to you whatever they pleased. And he assumed the same thing about her- and this bothered him. He wondered what she was thinking.
Bothered might he be, he was anxious, all in all. What did it mean to be the first master? She hadn’t had any before him, clearly, she wouldn’t have anyone to compare him with. The thought played in his head and that same foreign feeling arose from within his chest. It was suddenly clear to him - he realized the power he had over her. Glancing at the simple ring she wore, possessive words echoed in his head: My slave. Mine.
“Slavery is in my family… It’s in my blood.” Her next revelation confused him and further more fed his curiosity. The question was, would he dare get pulled into it? Now he questioned his new found liking to this power he just realized. He felt like a hypocrite not wanting to be one of the exploiters but here he was doing exactly that. This irritated him; something that had been happening since he got to Asher City. He had always been a patient person but something about this place that was eating him, turning hi, And he didn’t like it one bit.
He frowned, thoughts still entangled in his head, “Very well,” he looked her in the eyes, “You’re aware how this works,” he might’ve said the last words harshly, feeling mad, but not at her but to himself. “Shall we go through the rules,” his head was pounding. He got up and sat behind his desk, not acknowledging the fact that she had been standing the whole time. He took the pencil and with his left hand started scribbling on the paper. “You are to address me Master at all times. You are not to disobey or disrespect me. Your time-” he paused feeling a bit overwhelmed, “Your time is my time. I own your freedom. I tell you when you sleep, when you eat, when you go out. You are my slave,” the last words, terrifyingly, sounded right when he uttered them…
He swallowed and licked his lips before he continued. “People call me Stig. But you—” this he firmly stated, “you will only know me as Göran.” He wanted her to know him by the name his father once used, because what he was now was someone he completely do not recognized. He felt he had become his father.
Breathing out, he momentarily closed his eyes. He needed to calm down, “Do you have any change of clothes? We’re going out for lunch,” he opened his eyes and looked at her once more.
She nodded at his reaction at being her first, she could feel that this pleased him and inside it gave her an eery feeling. She was pure, unused. She feared that this would be the only time in her life from now on that she would feel the same way. She hadn’t wanted to be a slave just as she was sure no others truly wanted to be slaves and yet here she was. It made her feel sick to her stomach but she remained stoic. She wouldn’t be very defiant; she’d heard that that often or not made matters worse.
When he spoke, it slightly terrified her. He addressed the rules and she grew sullen, he owned her now. She wasn’t Yana anymore, she was a slave. Her body was his just as her actions were, she seeked comfort in knowing that he could never control her thought. They were her silent diary, her silent defiance.
She shook her head slowly- looked down once at the bag beside her she had carried in with her. It contained only a few items, clothes mostly from home. She wasn’t entirely aware of what she was allowed to bring, how personal the items may be. “I have some clothing mas-Goran… but I’m not sure if they’re fit” she spoke anxiously. Her clothing were fit for a farm, long floral dresses, most used and worn. She was poor, she didn’t own the type of clothing that many in Asher wore.
She bent down in front of him, pulled a dress up from her bag to show in example. She oddly feared judgement.>>
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