The following days were spent waiting for Kraznys to assemble the Unsullied, which provided me with an opportunity to explore the slave markets of Astapor. The air was thick with the cries of merchants and the murmurs of potential buyers. It was a grim reminder of the city's dark economy, where lives were bought and sold like commodities. As I wandered through the market, something caught my attention—a commotion around a particular stall.
Curiosity piqued, I approached to find a slave master showcasing a girl who had garnered much attention but, notably, no bids. Her striking appearance set her apart from the other slaves on display, and as I drew closer, my heart nearly stopped. It was Arya Stark. The sight of her, shackled and displayed as a sex slave, was a shock. I had last seen her escaping King's Landing, helped onto a ship in the hopes of reaching safety. Yet, here she was, reduced to this terrible fate.
Seeing Arya Stark transformed into a mere sex slave stirred a different kind of emotion within me. Instead of sadness or anger, I felt a twisted excitement. The contrast between her current submissive, broken state and the fierce, independent assassin she might have become if not for my interference was stark and exhilarating. The thought of her corruption and downfall, from a noble Stark to a mere sex slave, was oddly thrilling.
As I watched her, standing there with downcast eyes and an air of resigned submission, a sense of lustful anticipation filled me. Arya's new role, far removed from the warrior's path she might have walked, was a testament to my influence and the power I held. The idea of experiencing her now, in this submissive and corrupted form, was intoxicating.
Missandei, ever perceptive, noted my interest and began negotiating with the slave master. I remained calm, my exterior betraying none of the dark excitement I felt inside. Arya was now a commodity, a prize to be claimed, and I intended to add her to my collection. The price, though high, was of little concern. My wealth was vast, and acquiring Arya was more than just a purchase.
As the negotiations continued, I couldn't help but imagine the possibilities. Arya, once a potential threat with her fiery spirit and potential for deadly skills, was now a tool for my pleasure. The thought of her submitting to me, her former defiance replaced by compliance, was deeply satisfying.
The slave master, eager to finalize the sale, detailed Arya's training and skills, emphasizing her newfound submissiveness and obedience. The description only heightened my anticipation. Arya's transformation was complete, and now she would serve a new master in ways she likely never imagined.
As Missandei closed the deal, securing Arya's purchase, I felt a surge of anticipation. Soon, Arya Stark, the once-wild wolf of Winterfell, would be mine, utterly and completely. The thought of exploring this new dynamic with her, of experiencing the depths of her submission, was a tantalizing prospect.
With the transaction complete, I awaited the moment when Arya would be brought to me. The game had changed, and I was eager to play this new, thrilling role to the fullest.
As night fell, Arya was brought to my quarters. The room was dimly lit, casting a soft glow on the luxurious furnishings. Missandei stood by my side, her expression a mix of curiosity and subtle satisfaction, while Arya entered, her eyes lowered, and her demeanor subdued. Gone was the fierce girl I had known, replaced by a submissive figure trained to obey. The sight of her, so utterly changed, only fueled my anticipation.
"Leave us," I ordered Missandei, who bowed slightly before exiting the room, leaving Arya and me alone.
I approached Arya slowly, savoring the moment. Her posture was meek, her hands clasped in front of her, and she barely dared to meet my gaze. The transformation was complete—she was no longer Arya Stark, the rebellious daughter of Ned Stark, but a mere plaything, molded by her circumstances into something entirely different.
"Arya," I said, my voice low and commanding, "look at me."
She hesitated for a moment, then lifted her eyes to meet mine. There was a flicker of recognition, perhaps a shadow of her former self, but it was quickly replaced by the trained obedience she had been forced into. Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing, waiting for my command.
"Do you know who I am?" I asked, curious if she still remembered the role I had played in her life.
"Yes, my lord," she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You are my master."
The words sent a thrill through me. This was not the defiant Arya who had once harbored dreams of revenge and justice. This was a girl broken by circumstance, reshaped into a vessel for pleasure and obedience.
"Good," I murmured, stepping closer. I reached out and gently lifted her chin, forcing her to hold my gaze. "You have been trained well, I see. Do you remember your training?"
A slight shiver ran through her, but she nodded. "Yes, my lord. I have been taught to please and serve."
The submissive, almost robotic response was a stark contrast to the fiery nature I had once seen in her. It was a reminder of how thoroughly she had been conditioned, and it excited me. The girl who had once been a wild wolf was now tamed and ready to be used.
"And do you understand what is expected of you now?" I continued, my tone firm but gentle, coaxing her into the role she had been trained for.
"Yes, my lord," Arya replied, her voice steady. "I am here to serve you in any way you desire."
The acknowledgment was the final seal on her transformation. I felt a surge of satisfaction, knowing that I had taken someone who might have been a fierce opponent and reduced her to this—a compliant, eager servant.
"Very well," I said, releasing her chin. "Show me what you've learned."
Arya moved with a fluid grace, shedding her garments with practiced ease. As she knelt before me, her eyes never leaving mine, I felt a rush of anticipation. This was a new kind of conquest, a victory over the spirit and will of a girl who had once defied fate.
As the night wore on, I took my pleasure from Arya, exploring the depths of her submission. She responded to every command with a mix of eagerness and practiced skill, her training evident in every movement. The experience was exhilarating, a blend of power and satisfaction that only deepened as the night progressed.
When it was over, I lay back, sated and content. Arya curled up beside me, her body warm and pliant. She was no longer the girl who had once dreamed of becoming a knight or a Faceless Man. She was mine, utterly and completely, her spirit broken and reshaped to serve my desires.
As I drifted off to sleep, I knew that this was just the beginning. Arya's transformation was a testament to my influence and control on the plot, a symbol of my power over those who crossed my path. The future held endless possibilities, and I was eager to explore them all, with Arya and the many others who would come under my sway. The game of thrones was far from over, and I intended to play it to the fullest, savoring every victory along the way.