The Thief and his Willow

The Thief and his Willow

Here is the next chapter for all readers! The story will move right along. Enjoy!

Chapter Three: New Arrivals

-

Bakura awoke the next morning to the sound of shuffling. His violet eyes shoot open, and he turns his head over to two of Zorc’s slaves. They were folding out a long airbed on his floor, clothing it with fuzzy red sheets.

Cocking his head, Bakura asks, “What the hell are you doing?” The two slaves are startled. They stand and bow their heads low, but not nearly as low as if they were speaking to Lord Zorc.

“Forgive us, Sir Bakura, we did not mean to wake you,” spoke the slave with dark brown hair. “Our Master, Zorc, has asked us to place this bed in your chambers for when your personal guest arrives.”

Personal guest? It took Bakura a moment to understand what the slave had meant. When it dawned on him, he smirked. He was going to have his very own slave. And he got to choose. Chuckling, Bakura stands to his feet. He always slept in his finest dark purple kilt. He grabs at a fine red robe, and puts it on, it hardly covering his chest.

“I thank you, then,” Bakura smiles. “But if you would, please place the bed a little closer to my own.”

The two bow their heads in understanding. “Yes, Sir Bakura.” When the two slave women finish their duty, they lower their heads in a bow before taking their leave.

The entire thought of no longer sharing an empty chamber thrilled Bakura to the bone. He was looking forward to the day’s passing, and to Jalal’s arrival. Of course, Bakura was never happy to see that terrible man, but this day was about occasion and choosing. Bakura couldn’t care less if the slaves arrived by the hands of the Devil himself.

Bakura kneels down, pushing at boxes hidden underneath his bed. Contained in those boxes were some of his most treasured possessions, even if half of them were stolen. But their were few precious items he had kept safe since the death of his family. He reaches for that specific box, and pulls it from under the bed. Carefully, he opens it, peeking his head in. There sat a broken watch and some books that once belonged to his father. Bakura lifts them, and sets them aside. They are not what he was seeking. Underneath these items was a special item that belonged to his mother. Bakura pulls it out.

A fine dress, wrapped in brilliant white with golden laced collars. The front was laced with the same golden material, falling over nice white fabric that had a delicately designed flowery image of white roses printed on the dress. It’s sleeves, long and tight. And the dress itself fell long, flowing at least to a woman’s ankles, if a woman wore it.

The dress had been Bakura’s mother’s marriage dress. And she had wanted to see Bakura’s ’fiancée’ in it when it was her son’s turn to wed. Sadly, Bakura’s mother never lived to see her son turn the age of ten. But Bakura has kept the dress safe -- from dust, insects, and other thieves. It looked freshly new.

A soft smirk spread across Bakura’s lips. How he craved to see a fine woman in the dress. And perhaps soon, he shall.

Placing the dress safely back into the box, Bakura sets the watch and books over it, closing it and hiding it back underneath his bed.

He rises, ready to greet Zorc on such a fine day.

A day that may be one to remember.

--

“Bakura, Jalal shall be arriving shortly with his next finest selection,” Zorc said, looking down at Bakura. Bakura was bowing, keeping his head low. “Again, I expect you to bring me the best choices. Can I expect this from you?”

Zorc asked the same question every morning.

Bakura would answer. “Yes, my Master.”

But that morning worked a bit differently. Zorc softly chuckles, catching Bakura’s attention. Bakura’s violet eyes rise, trying to peek through his own white locks of hair as Zorc continues to chuckle.

“Bakura,” Zorc grunts, “Have you not forgotten our conversation the other day?”

“I have not forgotten, Master. And I must thank you again for this generous gift.”

Zorc nods. “Is it not sad when a man cannot share the warmth of his bed with a fine, beautiful woman?”

Was Bakura expected to answer? He was unsure. And he was rather uncomfortable. Zorc took notice, and he began to cackle forcefully. “You may take your leave now, Bakura.”

Lowering his bow, Bakura takes his leave.

He shuts the doors behind him, thinking over Zorc’s words. He hadn’t thought about the impact of change that may occur when he gets his slave. She’ll be his and his alone. She’ll obey his every order. She will eat with him, sleep in the same chamber as him, and bathe in the same tub as him.

Everything.

Bakura holds his heart. His body shakes with nervousness. Why was he so nervous?

“Damn it,” Bakura shakes his head. “Get a fucking hold of yourself, Bakura. There’s nothing to worry about. She will be nothing more but a slave. My slave. Mine to command. Mine to do as I please -- to hug, to kiss…” Bakura licks at his lips, his body aching in anticipation. He calms, closing his eyes. “Mine to fuck…” And suddenly the nerves left him, just as easily as they had entered. Bakura laughs. He rubs at his hair, making his way towards the slave drop off, but not before silently whispering two words that even caused him to shudder:

“All mine…”

--

Rye kept her head lowered, copying each of the other women she had been forced to become a part of. Surrounded by nothing but slaves: short, tall, young, and adult. Rye did her best to keep from losing her mind.

Never again would she see her father.

She is nothing more but a slave. And now here she stands, ready to be auctioned off as if she were some fragile artifact.

However, considering her situation, Rye was rather lucky. She was able to keep her mother’s lovely robes. Her face she had washed, to look nice for the arrival of a man Jalal said was the man whose job it was to choose Zorc’s slaves. Rye had fidgeted her nose in disgust. She even felt a bit of remorse for the man, wondering what he was like.

Jalal stood not but a few steps away. He stood with his arms crossed, looking rather impatient. He grumbles under his breath. “He’s late…”

Not seconds after he spoke this did Jalal hear the oncoming footsteps behind him. He turns, coming face to face with Bakura.

“About fucking time,” Jalal snarls. “Bakura…”

“Jalal,” Bakura smirks. He looks the women over. All their heads were bowed. He could not see their faces. He snorts, giving a nod before facing all of the lovely women. “All of you, raise your heads and look straight ahead.”

The slaves felt confused by Bakura’s order. Usually, slave women were to keep their heads bowed as they were looked upon one at a time. But Bakura did not want to waste precious time. He wanted to see each of their faces. He wanted to choose more wisely this time.

Jalal was just as confused as the women. “Bakura, what is the meaning of…?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bakura smirks. He turns his head to Jalal, giving an evil grin. “I just wish to be able to see the face of a woman that is going to be mine.”

Bakura loves watching Jalal’s dark eyes wide in surprise. “What?”

“Zorc has offered me one slave of my own,” answers Bakura with a yawn. He could see each slave woman looking rather interested. But who could blame them? They could live their lives with a monster like Zorc, or a man like Bakura. And out of all slaves Jalal brought in, how lucky they were! “I’ve been his attendant for four long years. He figured I deserved a nice piece of female flesh.”

“You are lying,” Jalal grumbles.

“Am I?” Bakura laughs. “I am being truthful, an order from Zorc, himself. Would I be saying this if he had not? I‘d be in huge trouble otherwise.”

Jalal knew Bakura was not lying. He just could not believe this devastating news -- and yet, he should not be devastated. Jalal believed he could work for Zorc. He wanted to rule over Zorc, but Bakura is by far beating him to the throne.

“Very well,” Jalal growls. “All of you, do as he says.”

And the women obey. They lift their heads, and they stare straight ahead. Rye copies the others, listening to the order. She tried to turn her eyes -- to see this Bakura. She could not believe her eyes. He was beyond handsome, buff with very tan skin. She knew that most Kumal citizens were born tan to dark-skinned, but this man was an exception. She watches him start near the front of the long line of women. She was seventh in place. Lowering her eyes, Rye wondered how to react when this Bakura got to her.

Bakura was amazed at the beauty of these women. He knew it’d be difficult to choose which he would like. He began with the first, a lovely purple-haired woman with black eyes. However, she looked much older than he. Asking for her age, Bakura’s theory had been correct. She was five years older than him. Too much! So Bakura moves on.

The second woman was rather cute. “What’s your name?”

“S--Sabrella,” she answers.

“Sabrella,” Bakura repeats. “How old are you, Sabrella?”

“Sixteen.”

Bakura nods. A bit young, but lovely. Bakura still had twelve more women to gaze upon.

He continues, not caring much for numbers three through six. He sighs, rubbing his head with frustration. This was harder than he thought it’d be. So many women! He wants to just get this over with, but he knew he had to take his time. He steps up to the seventh slave in line. Her eyes are lowered.

What the fuck? Bakura thought. This girl was disobeying orders! How dare she? Growling, Bakura shouts, “Raise your eyes!”

And Rye was shocked. She had completely blocked her presence, and before she knew it, Bakura was hovering over her. He demanded her to look at him -- to look straight into his eyes. She obeys.

Violet meets chocolate.

Bakura‘s heart skipped a beat. This woman -- she was breathtaking! Bakura’s gaze fell for chocolaty brown eyes and paling peach skin, a perfect little nose and lovely pink lips. Bakura could hardly believe that a woman with such beauty could exist. But she did, and she stood right there in front of him.

Without even giving a thought, without daring looking over the final women in line, Bakura has already made his choice. He grins in satisfaction. “What is your name?” He had asked so quietly, so peacefully. He knew the young lady was surprised by his sudden change.

“M--my name is Rye,” she answers.

Her voice was just as stunning as her face. Bakura nods.

“Rye,” he repeats, letting the name settle in his mind. “How old are you, Rye?”

By that time, Rye knew she was beginning to sweat. She felt utterly nervous.

The young woman took too long to answer. Bakura snarls, asking her again, only shouting the words. “I asked, ’How old are you!’”

“E--eighteen,” Rye stutters. “I’m eighteen, sir.”

She was so formal, Bakura thought. He could tell she has not been a slave for long. But it made her seem cute, almost angelic like. And Bakura loved that. He took notice of her lovely, long white bangs falling from underneath her headdress. He needed it to be removed.

“Remove that annoying headdress,” Bakura almost whispered. “I want to see what lies underneath it.”

Rye could not believe her ears. But she knew she had no choice. As both Jalal and Bakura’s eyes set on her, Rye slowly removes the annoying top, revealing a long, beautiful set of snowy white hair.

An angel stared back at Bakura. His heart beat twice as fast now, his eyes widening by Rye’s gorgeousness. His entire body ached -- from his quivering lips down to what rest between his legs. And that was that. He did not need to look at the others. He has chosen ‘his’ special someone. He wanted her. He nods.

“I choose her,” he whispers. Rye was the only one able to hear him. Her eyes widen, and Bakura takes notice. He startles out of the trance Rye bared him with, and he turns to Jalal. “She will do!”

Bakura grabs Rye’s arm, pulling her forward. “I’ll also take the freckled redhead, the very first one there, and…” Bakura turned to the other women he had not had a chance to look at. They were all stunning, but not nearly as stunning as Rye. He randomly chose one, and gave Jalal his pay.

“I forgot to mention,” Jalal says as he eyes Rye, “That I had strict orders in making sure one of these fine women would not be pressured to being a sex slave. I was finely paid, too.”

Jalal’s anger raised when Bakura gave Rye that ‘eager’ stare. He knew Rye was very attractive. Why, even he got to watch as she slept peacefully in his carriage. That was a pleasant ride. But the look in Bakura’s eyes, and Jalal knew Bakura wanted her for his own.

Damn!

Luckily, Jalal knew how to ruin Bakura’s moment. Bakura began to grow a depressed expression at hearing Jalal’s words. “Which one?”

Jalal points straight at Rye, never letting his finger bend. “Her.”

“You’re lying!” Bakura shouts.

Jalal chuckles, leaning closer to Bakura. Bakura stepped back, smelling vileness on his enemy’s breath. “Am I?”

Bakura knew Rye was too good to be fucking true, but now knowing she was a ‘specific’ slave. How could fate be so cruel? He growls, still knowing that even if he could not have her, he’d still have her. He turns to Jalal, sneering at the cruel man. “I can’t make any promises.” And with that said, Bakura orders for Rye and the others to follow as he feels Jalal’s victorious smile smiting his back.

-Chapter Three End-

Poor Bakura. Rye is a ’special’ slave, meaning a contract was made to keep her from doing sensual activities. She’ll probably end up cooking and cleaning. What is Bakura to do? He’s got a new crush! WAHAHA! Stay tuned! Reviews are appreciated.