Continues from The Hunt (II)
The morning was a pristine virgin still unsullied by disappointments, regrets or broken promises. Father Sun rose high and seemed to open his arms to her, as if commanding her to yield, as she must, to his light.
I love the early mornings. The day is new and full of possibilities and the sunlight is still sharp and cool and fresh like spring water. I felt especially happy this morning and cherished the feel of the sun’s warmth caressing my naked shoulders and the fresh little kisses that the soft morning breezes gifted upon my bare breasts.
I was up early to fetch oils for my Mistress’ bath before breakfast and the streets were still quiet and almost empty. The shops were just opening but most of the Masters would still be in bed and the only humanity to be seen were other slaves, either working in the shops or clearing up the refuse and debris of last night’s festivities from the streets.
It was going to be a warm day. Dressed in no more than my loin skirt and collar, I received wolf whistles from a small group of street cleaners as I made my way to the apothecary. They worked naked – apart from a cloth to cover their manhood – and the sight of their hard wiry bodies, moist and shiny with perspiration, aroused me and suddenly I felt the call of my own desires.
Most of the town’s cleaning slaves were from the southern Sacharian desert regions and were tanned and fit with almost perfectly sculpted bodies. They were a graceful people well-known for their openness and hospitality.
Further up the street I stopped and, feigning interest in the contents of a shop display, I watched their reflection in the window.
One of them saw me and called to me. Then another. Another exclaimed that he must have died and gone to heaven because he was seeing angels. Suddenly I was made subject to a whole chorus of amorous Sacharian poetry. Many of their calls were actually elegant and quite poetic and I was compared to roses, angels and various kinds of fruit. When they started to get a little bit too bawdy, I smiled and moved quickly on. I didn’t want any trouble for any of us. But it was spring and there was joyful flirtatiousness in the air. Why shouldn’t we slaves also revel in and praise the beauty that surrounds us?
After collecting the package from the apothecary, I crossed the square and walked down the Via Principalis with its statues of long dead military heroes. The men were realistically sculpted but much larger than life. They were all portrayed as powerful figures; muscular, with firm thighs, tight hard bottoms and, of course, the artists had made sure that there would be no question about the size or beauty of their manhood. The sight of them excited me greatly and had I been alone there is no question that I would have been stirred to pleasure myself to them.
But the statues were dead. I wanted life. Flesh and blood. Muscle and bone.
Some slave boys were pulling carts of oranges to the market. I’d never seen so much tasty fruit in one place. One of the boys smiled at me. I turned and watched his back as he walked away. His arms were long, powerful and sinewy and his naked back was hard and straight. He was bare assed and as he walked his ass cheeks swayed so elegantly… so invitingly…
I sighed. I so needed to taste a man. I loved my Mistress with all my heart but sometimes my sex required a man’s passion. A hard brutish desire to hold me still, penetrate me, raise me and make me soar…
So many dreams… One day…
I crossed over the road in to a tree-lined avenue and walked past the large elegant villas with their carefully slave-tendered gardens ablaze with the purple, reds and yellows of spring. They were gorgeous. So full of life.
My Mistress had rented a villa at the end of a street that was backed by wheat fields which seemed to glow yellow, and in the breeze the wheat hissed and seemed to ebb and flow like the sea. It was a glorious transfixing sight. It took my breath away for a few moments but I needed to hurry as I had to make sure my Mistress’ bath was ready and that enough pots had been boiled for the hot water.
The pots would be heavy and although I had two slave maids, Risa and Soraia, to help me, they would be busy preparing breakfast.
The two girls were both from the same village and had been bought in a slave auction in Mannasius last year. My Mistress had actually only needed one maid but both of them had looked so petrified throughout the bidding, clinging tightly to each other’s naked bodies like sisters, or a pair of lovers tortured by the idea of being made to part, that she didn’t have the heart to split them up. So she bought them as a pair.
“They looked like a couple of kittens about to be drowned,” she said.
Recently, she confided to me in her bed that it wasn’t just that she’d felt sorry for them; she’d also been suddenly overcome by an overwhelming desire for them and had been incredibly aroused by the way they’d held each other during the auction. “I wanted to bed the both of them there and then,” she laughed.
They were young and hadn’t had much slave training but learnt quickly. They’d only needed regular whippings for the first few weeks. After that, Mistress had left any day to day discipline to me.
Image – Nikki Dial
I was head house slave so all the responsibility for the smooth running of the household fell to me. Risa and Soraia are actually lovely girls and we get on really well however they still have a habit of dawdling if I’m not there and if anything went wrong, or ran even a little bit late, Mistress would make me whip them in the back garden and then later in the day she would probably devise some “amusing punishment” for me too.
But I needn’t have worried. The girls had everything under control and the pots of hot water were ready to be moved to the bath when I arrived. The bath water only needed to be warmed up a little as my Mistress just liked to linger in the bath for five or ten minutes after I had bathed her. Then she would come out and swim a few laps in the house pool to freshen up before breakfast.
After breakfast Soraia and I give her a morning massage and dress her. She can sometimes be a bit sharp with us in the mornings – especially if she’s been out late the night before – so we work silently and I think both of us have a kind of sixth sense for her moods – we can often tell just by a look or a gesture what she wants from us.
Despite our Mistress’ sorrow, it is a happy house. The slaves all love her – there are six of us at present – and I think we realize what a really good Mistress she is. She is strict with us, but sometimes she needs to be. Risa and Soraia are both a couple of excitable and very naïve 17-year-olds. She can occasionally be rather moody but there is none of the random cruelty that exists in other houses.
All of us are devoted to her. She is like a mother to us. Once collared by her no slave would want to leave her for another. If you asked any of us we’d tell you that we wear her insignia on our collars with genuine pride and I know for a fact that there is many a slave envious of our good fortune.
Perhaps, if the house lacks anything at all, it lacks a Master. I say this out of love for my Mistress. I often sense her loneliness. However, with the customary three year mourning period for the death of her husband about to come to an end, she will be free to search for happiness with another. She will become eligible once more and I prey the gods will guide her and give her the wisdom to choose well.
Continues The Hunt (IV)