Ravija, la kajira.

Born into peasantry in the midst of that infamous port town, the jewel of gleaming Thassa, none other than Port Kar, she knew she was destined for more than what life proffered to her at birth. She was shamed in clothes likened to rags in the gossamer shadow of the swirling robes that swathed wealthier (most undeserving) women of the city, adorned in jewels seemingly plucked from the night sky above. Envy began to brood behind the bittersweet chocolate of her smoldering gaze at a young age, and the blossoming beauty took steps to insure that her future would not be as poverty-stricken as had her past.
With careless abandon, she warped into a tomboy of sorts, running with the gaggle of mischievous boys who knew the streets, and likewise it's taverns and dens, like the backs of their tricky hands. They accepted her because she was particularly good at what she did, and she was not unpleasant to look at, even with all that sable hair tucked selfishly beneath a dowdy cap borrowed from one of the older scamps. She did not neglect her family, but on the contrary, shared the wealth.
When she was older, and could grace the well-lit banks that were presented at taverns with one of her friends as an escort, her income tripled. Paga-sloshing men were hypnotized by the young woman's dark beauty, so tantalizingly displayed beneath a teasing drape of veil. And when dainty fingertips brushed adoringly at one chiseled forearm or another, the gentle tugs that victimized unguarded purses were unacknowledged.
In this way, the life she most certainly deserved was found. Slowly, but surely, by the time the beauty was slipping into womanhood at 17, she had built herself a small fortune. The bulk of which was spent vainly, in cosmetics, silken robes, veils, jewels..with a portion going to her tolerant family, here and there. When she graced the streets of Port Kar with her beguiling presence, it was in utter style. So much that she drew the envious eyes of women with more status, and the roving eyes of their men.
It was like any other evening, that tinge of salt rode the wind, and made the night crisp, yet tainted..as always, with the cursing of a rowdy sailor or two. Thassa gleamed and winked beneath it's tugged blanket impishly, and each tavern or den along the scented wharf was brimming with men on leave, deep into their pockets to guarantee a never-ending stream of paga. Greed powered the little beauty that night, for she might have taken a small vacation from her occupation, had she not spied the particularly wealthy looking patron, a debonair-looking swashbuckler, carousing with what had to be his very own crew. Already, she could invision the things she might buy with the contents of his (surely heavy) purse!
There was no grand plan, simply procedure, which never failed. Her beauty dazzled all, she knew. Each and every man within could drink of her alone and be more dulled at the senses than by any vat of paga known to Gor. Slowly, a path was forged to the loud corner of the tavern, a trail of mouthwatering scents floating in her heavenly wake, she drew the eye of many, quietly though..for the dark, brawny one at her side discouraged any attempt to interact with the stunning woman beneath a stalwart boot-heel. Many wondered what her place in the tavern was though, and adoring eyes became slightly hard, and bitter and angry at the woman's aloofness -- as women in taverns should be readily available, naturally. A first mistake, for not all attention is desired.
In passing, a strategically released kerchief of fine silk fluttered on air scented by her presence to kiss innocently over the leathered toe of a singular, shined boot. Beneath the masculine furrow of thick brows, a gaze as piercing as ice, and yet as lulling as the rhythm of Thassa herself met with the pristine intentions of her gaze, broken only by the flirtatious flutter of lengthy lash. A tool of the trade, a perfect mouth shifted with practiced precision to form apologizing words, which was met with a curt nod as the bit of silk and lace was lifted within strong hand from his footwear as if it were the tail of an urt. It was given back off-handishly, and while his attentions lie in the retrieval of the kerchief, slender hands set to work at the taper of his hip, where a mighty purse indeed should have hung in wealthy waiting, and where instead, she only met the closing steel of a his hand!
Smirks and snickers began to surround her as her own protests were drowned in the kaska-like drumming of her racing heart. Her companion was strangely silent and helpless, and she felt a circle of bodies closing about her. Still, her agile hand was caught in the justified clamp of his, and persistent tugs could not loosen his angry grip. Any interjections posed by the dark escort were silenced by the many men, and vanquished altogether by the tossing of much coin. Her close friend stalked off and out of the tavern much wealthier than he had expected to be from this outing, for him -- his night was coming along exceptionally well.

She learned the swashbuckler's name by repeating to him what was plainly chiseled into the feared collar she then wore. "I belong to Gabe of Port Kar." A respected pirate and thief himself, it was laughable to him that she thought herself so far advanced in her skill. He was convinced that he could tame the arrogant woman, a conquest taken not so much for her beauty, as for the negative teasing from his own crew. And so the beast was his. A horrible slave, it was nothing that ship-life wouldn't solve. She spent her first night on the magnificent vessel in the bowels of the ship, fuming, stripped, and wearing the brand of a common slave, not to mention the brand of a thief, the miniscule letter partnered with the scorched kef. The owner of nothing, and owned.
She found her lot an easy one once she succumbed, which was realized as bliss, but only through a long and tiring bout of denial, hurt, hatred, scorn, and underlying desire, all forged easily by his simple yet utter mastery. She found that in his presence she was most a woman. And soon enough, his men saw that he had indeed taken the sable-haired one and fashioned her as he had wished to do so. She grew to love the life that her wealthy Master's ship provided, the feel of Thassa rocking beneath her and salted wind sifting through luxurious hair. A newfound freedom discovered, her sole purpose in living was to serve her Master, and please him, and once she set to this task with feverous want, she became his slave completely. And he gifted her with silk, and slave jewels, cosmetics, perfumes, and trinkets and other rare treasures. She was taught to dance, and serve him in all ways. She was slave, and she wanted nothing more than to be always at his feet.
A return to Port Kar always sparked interest in the native slave, bred wily and adventurous by the port town, she as most anxious on every docking they took there. Master Gabe scratched habitually at his unkempt chin, ruffled his precious slave's sable mane and raped her mouth firmly, pulling away (all too soon) to grumble an order, give the wench coin and send the beauty on her way with a firm slap to silk-captured rump. On a mission, she was down the docking ramp and anonymous in the rambunctious streets of Port Kar in the next ihn, tracing her way to the well-known tavern. Within, the paga was ordered and to be gathered by the propertied who found much amusement in the recollection of the one before him and her present state, for he could not speak to the lowly slave without a silly grin permitting the words that gave hint to inwardly chuckled laughter.
He disappeared to fill many bottles with requested and paid for paga, rumored to the best out of this tavern. Her training had been excellent, and the slave knelt aside, seemingly unaware of a particularly weighty gaze that took pleasure in each mere aspect of her.

..more to come.