"The House Slave" (closed)

[Alice2015]

"The House Slave"

(closed)​

Naomi stared toward the woman in the door of her home in surprise. "What do you mean, they are returned?"

The excited neighbor responded, "The Legion! The Thirteenth! It has returned. It crossed over the Rubicon this very morning. It is in Italy. And Naomi, my friend ... Lucius was seen leading a squad of horsemen."

Naomi's eyes widened at the unbelievable news. The woman could see the doubt in the supposedly-widowed woman' eyes and swore, "My boy Hector ... he saw him. He saw Lucius. By the Gods ... he is alive."

As the woman rushed off to inform yet more Legion wives of their husbands' imminent return, Naomi just stared ahead at the meal she'd been making. It wasn't for her, of course, even though she'd been nibbling on the less desired parts that weren't intended for the serving platters.

No, this meal was far too extravagant for Naomi, with expensive and difficult to find fruits, vegetables, nuts, and roots, as well as the best cuts of pork and veal. No, this meal was for Lady Clara of Sesii and Brutus. The noble woman and her Palace Guard lover met in the privacy of Naomi's home once, sometimes twice a week for their romantic trysts.

Renting out her bed -- as well as affording the privacy of the basement entrance that came in off a seldom used underground passage -- was how Naomi had taken to paying her rent and supporting her child after her husband had been declared dead and his Family Benefits pay discontinued. He'd left four years ago, while Naomi was still pregnant, and less than a year later, he's been included in the monthly announcement of battle field deaths and disappearances held so horrifyingly public in the town square.

And now ... he was alive and returned?

Naomi didn't believe it. She hurriedly finished the meal preparation and delivered it upstairs to the only-now-snuggling lovers. She announced the news of the Legion's return and asked to be dismissed. She was, and less than an hour later, she was standing on the side of the North Road with hundreds of others, awaiting the imminent arrival of the heroes of Gaul.

The excitement of the crowd was palpable as first the runners, then the scouts, then the lead cavalry units passed by. Soon, the air was full of the sound of Legionnaire armor and citizen gratitude for their conquering heroes. Naomi searched the face of every rider, knowing that Lucius would be mounted if, as the neighbor had said, he was leading a unit of horsemen.

When the last of the mounted units passed and she hadn't seen her husband, Naomi wasn't sure how to feel. She'd been without her husband for so long, and now to get her hopes up to see him and not was very confusing. She was about to turn and take the farm road back to the city when she heard a new sound rising from the crowd. Looking back to the continuing train of men, wagons, and beasts, Naomi realized what the crowd was getting riled up over: slaves.

There were jail wagons filled with men and women of all skin colors. And behind them, many more slaves were led by lines tied around their wrists or waists. Naomi made eye contact with one woman and wondered about her. From where had she come? What had she done there? Had she been a soldier's wife, as Naomi had been, or might still be? And what would her future be here Rome as a slave?

Just about then, Naomi overheard the women next to her discussing what soldiers did with female slaves. She wasn't surprised, of course, not by that. What she was surprised by was the sudden appearance of a man who she was sure was Lucius, atop a steed following closely behind the last group of female slaves. She walked out away from the crowd until she made eye contact with the man, who immediately smiled broadly and called out, "My wife!"

Naomi exploded with joy, falling to her knees as she called back, "My husband!"



Back in their home the following morning, Naomi awoke to the early morning sun in her eyes and a searing pain in her loins. The joy of having her husband back and of his having his wife back had taken a toll on her long-ignored pussy. She grimaced as she rose, calling out for Lucius but getting no answer.

She about cleaning herself and her home, and early in the afternoon, her husband returned. Lucius talked about his many adventures while away; and Naomi talked about her hardships without his manly strength and military pay. She was overjoyed when he dropped a heavy coin bag on the table and explained that it was every piece of silver she should have received while he'd been away.

They ended up back in bed again, that night and for six nights to follow. By day, Lucius continued his duties within the Thirteenth; and Naomi continued her duties as a not-widowed-wife and mother. They put their money toward securing a business -- pottery sales and such -- and were content with the knowledge that they were to be together again, as a family.

Then, one afternoon, Naomi looked up at the sound of her husband entering the home only to find him with a woman in slave's garb. She stared for a long moment, thinking that the woman appeared familiar.

Then she remembered seeing the woman amongst the sex slaves, and -- without true cause to think the worst -- growled, "Why do you bring this whore into our home?"

"She belongs to me," Lucius said. He corrected, "She belongs to you, my wife. And she is no whore. She is your servant."

He went on to explain that she was part of his war spoils and that when he left for the front in two days due to a resumption in hostilities, the Germanic woman named Ilsa would remain behind to help Naomi with the work of the home and business.

Much of their conversation came in the form of fighting, as Naomi was certain that her husband had been fucking this whore, and Lucius -- rather than deny it -- only reminded his wife several times, "I came home to you, woman. To you and our child and our home and our business and our future together."

 

[Jezebel1669]

Everything about the city felt wrong, from the cobbled streets to the stones houses. Ilsa's tribe were nomads, with homes that could be carried on their horses with them as they tracked through the wilderness. Or at least they had been.

She didn't know the details, only that her Chief had somehow angered the barbarian Romans to the south of their lands. Whatever the slight was it had led to war. At the time the warriors had not cared, they lived for fighting and were good at it. Together they had carved their clan's name into the trees for a thousand leagues. In truth they barely held a hundred, but it was wise not to correct a warrior when he was boasting, especially not a virile one whose bed you were looking to share.

Looking back on that night Ilsa was glad she had not argued, the warrior, along with all the others from her tribe, had never stood a chance. The organised and prepared lines of the Roman army hadn't even been breached by their charge before they were cut down like straw dolls. The strength of their armour, the power of their blades and the determination of their resolve had shattered in the wind.

After that the womenfolk and children had been herded, herded into cages as though they were animals and shipped off to the corners of the Empire. Ilsa had been told that she had been chosen by one of the officers, a man named Lucius, to be taken to their home city, as though it were some great honour, rather than a life of slavery.

That night, after the army had pitched their camp, the man had come to her and shown her exactly what to expect in that new life. As he lay grunting and sweating on top of her, his hands groping her in a rough and tasteless manner, she had merely lain still, tears rolling down her cheeks as she remembered the night of boasting around the fire.

After weeks of traveling, weaving through the recently captured lands with new slaves added to the cages with every stop, they finally arrived in the 'great city', only to find themselves moved from the rickety carts to underground pits. Each day 'noble' people would come and visit, going away with a handful of the slaves for whatever purposes they planned for them. Some whispered of sacrifices to dark gods, others of cannibalistic feasts, and Ilsa could believe anything of these wretched animals.

Finally her turn came, the officer who'd used her body as he'd wished so many times came to her cage telling her she was going home. At first her heart had surged, thoughts of the trackless forests and a horse beneath her filling her with joy, but as she was loaded onto a cart and driven deeper into the city she realised it was not her freedom her had come to grant, but her death.

 

[Alice2015]

Naomi spend the next two nights satisfying Lucius's lusts, while he spent them reassuring her that he would come home to her again, alive and well and laden with more wealth.

"Two legged wealth?" she'd asked in obvious reference to the woman sleeping in a corner of the home's first floor, a chain around her ankle.

Lucius had tired of trying to convince his wife that he hadn't partaken of the girl. Instead, he'd tried to remind her of the value of such a beautiful, healthy slave. "You can not care for family, home, and business alone. And you will no longer let noble women soil our bed with their sweaty, spewing pond scum lovers."

"I will not kill her," Naomi promised, though her tone left her husband wondering as to her sincerity. When asked by Lucius, she also assured him, "I will not destroy her value either."

That, of course, meant make her unpleasing. One day when Lucius returned, he would likely sell the whore to a lesser noble man or merchant; and if she still retained her beauty, Ilsa would still fetch a good price, even if she'd already reached the almost unprofitable age of 24, 25, or more.



Naomi held her daughter's hand tightly and waved her blue scarf from amid the crowd as she watched the assembled Legionnaires -- 3000 strong, with another 3000 in support -- perform an impressive right face and, at the trumpet call, begin marching up the North Road. Her eyes were yet again clouded with tears as she entered her home to find Ilsa standing there, eyes down, waiting to serve her Master's wife.

"Whore..." Naomi murmured as she reared back and slapped the girl so hard it send her to the floor. She stood over the girl for a long moment, then went to the home's second floor to put her now crying daughter in bed...



When she descended in the late evening, Naomi walked swiftly to where Ilsa waited, brandishing a sharp knife that glinted in the light of the many candles illuminating the still relatively dark home. She stood before the woman for a long moment, the hatred evident for this woman who had so often sated her own husband's desires while Naomi herself had remained chaste, not knowing whether she was to be alone forever or not.

But she didn't gut the woman as Lucius had feared she might. Instead, she knelt down, grasped the thick rope that linked Ilsa's ankle shackle to the wall, and cut it clean in two. She stood and again stared into the Germanic barbarian's eyes for a long moment.

"You may leave ... walk out that door and never come back," she began. After a moment, she clarified, "If you do ... you will be branded a runaway slave. You will be caught and returned to me ... after which the Law allows me to have you whipped every morning and given to a different Legionnaire every night for three moons ... at which point I will have you cut open with a filet knife and hung from the Temple walls as a lesson to other runaway slaves."

She gave Ilsa a moment to picture herself nailed to the wooden cross beam of the temple, then smiled devilishly and added, "Best thing about it is ... the Senate will reimburse me for your loss, which will satisfy Lucius's fears that I let your value go to waste."

Naomi turned and crossed to the wooden table and set the knife down. When she turned back, she finished in a calmer tone, "Or ... you can resign yourself to the fact that you are mine to do with as I please ... and when my husband returns from slaughtering the rest of those Germanic barbarians ... he will sell you to a noble who might enjoy your presence more than I do."

She returned to stand close to Ilsa, asking, "What shall it be, whore?"

 

[Jezebel1669]

For several long moments Ilsa said and did nothing, merely kept her eyes starring at the floor. Just as it got to the point where Naomi was wondering if the girl had even heard her Ilsa finally began to move. Reaching down the girl pulled at the dirty shift she'd been wearing for the last two weeks, not having been given any other clothing since entering the household.

As her ankle came into sight she let go of the dress and moved her hands to the large shackle bound just above her foot. Pulling at the end of the severed rope she tugged the shackle clear, dropping it with a loud clang onto the tiled floor before her. She dare not touch the mess of bloody, bruised skin which marked where the shackle had been fastened, instead she simply lowered her dress back down over it before pushing herself up off the floor.

Standing with her hands held in front of her, ask she had been instructed at the slave pits, she looked down at the floor ion front of her Mistress. "I have given my word," She said simply, in a tone which implied that such a statement should explain everything, but with language which seemed stilted and broken.

The girl obviously had only a sparse knowledge of the Roman tongue, but now she used all she could of it, "I do not know the customs of your people, but to mine your word is your bond. I have given my word to serve your husband, to serve your family, however you desire me to. My bond will not be broken."

With that Ilsa fell silent, at once humble and wilful before her Mistress.

 

[Alice2015]

Naomi studied the girl for another long moment, wanting to simply plant the knife in her chest but knowing that it was the wrong thing to do, on so many different levels.

Instead, she backed away a step and called out, "Bora!"

In an instant, the house's second slave was rushing in from the kitchen to bow to Naomi, saying, "Yes, m'lady."

"Clean her up," Naomi ordered. She looked Ilsa up and down. "Burn those rags. A tunic. Sandals, too."

She stepped closer and jerked the simple slave's tunic up to expose the bloody, infected ankle. "That, too. Send the boy for the doctor, for salve."

She stepped back again, gave Ilsa a final once over, then ordered, "She is learn to clean ... cook. Take her about the neighborhood. Show her were to retrieve water ... dump the waste."

When Naomi made a dismissive gesture, the older house slave bowed her head again, responding, "Yes, m'lady."

The lady of the house turned and headed for the stairs, to return to her child, who at the moment was the only person around who would show her true love...

 

[Jezebel1669]

It took almost a week for Ilsa to learn the routines of the household, following Bora everywhere she went and silently following any and all commands given without complaint or comment. In fact she was so silent her Mistress began to wonder if she was deliberately so, being insolent and disrespectful out of malice. Unfortunately the girl seemed to be doing her job as well as could have been expected in her condition.

On the second day the doctor visited the house, seeing to the Mistress's complaints and ailments and advising on preventative medicinals which had been acquired by the local apothecaries. Only as an afterthought did he make his way down to the kitchen to examine Ilsa.

"The good news is you won't lose the foot." He told her with mock joviality, "As long as you keep using the balm I gave you and rest the leg as much as you can the inflammation should clear up in a week or two."

It was good to know the slave hadn't been permanently damaged, but a couple of days later she was still hobbling as she walked and as dinner was being served she lost her footing, her leg collapsing under her as she dropped the amphora of wine she'd been carrying over the front of her Mistress's dress.

 

[Alice2015]

Naomi leaped from her chair in shock, holding her arms out wide and looking down at her red stained, casual wear tunic. Bora rushed forward, first inconspicuously pushing Ilsa out of arms reach of the mistress, then conspicuously pulling Naomi's drenched dress out away from the skin to which it was clinging.

"M'lady, remove it," Bora said, already trying to untie the bows. "I can save it ... remove the stains ... dye it if--"

Naomi slapped the old slave across the head, knowing that Bora was only trying to keep her mind off beating the younger slave to within an inch of her life. She helped Bora remove the gown, which -- with the exception of her sandals -- left Naomi standing nude in the middle of the eating area.

"Get you mistress a clean gown," Bora growled at Ilsa.

"Stop!" Naomi commanded, pushing the old servant out of her way as she surged toward Ilsa. She reared her hand back and slapped the younger woman, knocking her off balance. A second slap sent Ilsa back onto Naomi and Lucius's bed. Naomi attacked the young woman, crawling upon her and continuing to slap her.

The reaction may have seemed a bit extreme for spilled wine if it wasn't accompanied by Naomi's growling accusations of Ilsa having had sexual relations with Lucius. Her words reflected a true belief that her husband and her new slave had been passionate, consensual lovers as opposed to the truth, which was that a noble man had been availing himself without consent of a sexual slave.

Once she'd beaten and slapped Ilsa so extensively that the girl was no longer even attempting to defend herself, Naomi went still. She was sitting atop the slave's waist, still naked ... and she realized that the fury of the attack had excited her ... sexually.

Naomi reached down to Ilsa's tunic and with fierceness, ripped it open, revealing the girl's breasts. She stared at them for a moment, her angry mind asking Why would Lucius want to spend time with THESE in his mouth? She slapped Ilsa one more time, then crawled slowly off of her and moved casually out into the bed chamber's floor once again. Her chest was rising and falling from the exertion of the attack ... and possibly the sexual tension it had caused.

Naomi looked to her left and found Bora silently begging Ilsa to simply remain where she was, fearing that any action by the girl would only invite more damage. She looked straight ahead once more, and -- as if nothing had happened -- directed the older slave, "Clean me."

 

[Jezebel1669]

Without saying a word Ilsa moved across the bed and slid her legs off onto the floor. A little unsteadily with her still healing ankle she rose to her feet and quickly resumed the same subservient, demure pose she always took when awaiting commands, her breasts swaying gently on full display as her eyes darting over surreptitiously to Bora for a moment with a knowing, fiery defiance gleaming within them.

If she had to she would take the beating without uttering a word of complaint, but she would not back down, not give in. She had given her word that she would serve the family, and she would to the best of her ability, but in her mind that did not make her theirs.

By placing themselves in her hands, allowing her to prepare their foods, maintain their beds and even bathe them when requested to they were placing themselves at her mercy. If she ever chose to break her bond with them, it would be a simple thing to end their lives in any number of ways.

But she was honourable, as were her people. Her word had been given, and she would not break it.

Instead she merely stood and watched as Bora slowly soaked towels in the bowl of water, wiping them over their Mistress to clean the spilt wine and sweat off her skin. Ilsa's eyes remained steady even as Bora reached between their Mistress's legs and with a towel cleaned away the stain which had appeared there.

 

[Alice2015]

As the old house slave rubbed the cotton rags of fire-heated water over her body, Naomi couldn't help but feel pleasure rising within her. She loved being touched this way, so much so that she had Bora bathe her more often than was truly necessary.

Naomi had never had a sexual interest in Bora, of course. The slave was 20 years her senior, near-ugly, and too subservient to have the will and skill to properly please and satisfy Naomi in that way. And, of course, there was the fact that Bora's last sex partner had been Lucius's grandfather, who had bought the ugly little thing as a house slave and then passed her down through the family lines as was often done. Bora, Naomi surmised, wouldn't know what to do with a woman's pleasure button if it came with an inscribed tablet of instructions.

Naomi could have bought the services of that kind of whore if she'd been so driven. Or she could have simply borrowed a sexual adept servant from one of her Merchant Class friends. But she'd never taken the time. Naomi had taken care of her needs during her husband's absence with her own fingers. It had never been as satisfying as her husband's touch, and the touch of a sex slave probably would have been better yet. But, that was just the way things had gone.

When the mistress of the house turned in place to allow Bora to wipe down the back of her thigh, the house slave looked up with a bit of surprise. It wasn't Naomi's job to turn for Bora's convenience: it was Bora's job to move the bowl, move her position, and continue.

What Bora didn't understand was that Naomi wanted to look at the young, beautiful slave while the older one was caressing her skin with the warm towel. Ilsa's gaze was on the floor, where it should have been; but Naomi's gaze was walking up and down the young servant, resting occasionally upon the barbarian's still exposed breast.

When Bora moved the once-again wetted towel to between her thighs to get the last of the wine, Naomi surprised the older woman yet again by parting her thighs a bit more. She said softly, "Finish."

Bora glanced up again in surprise. Her mistress had always taken the wash towel at this point and cleaned her more personal area herself. But when she hesitated, Naomi glared down at her, so she moved the rag up her mistress's leg to gently clean all about Naomi's upper thighs, groin, and even over the folds of her womanhood.

Naomi hadn't realized it, but her chest had begun rising and falling more noticeably as the slave got closer to her pussy, and when Bora hesitantly wiped the again-warmed wet towel over her now-swollen lips she drew in an excited breath that -- despite her efforts to prevent it -- made an audible sound that was unmistakably intimate in nature.

"Give me that!" Naomi demanding, snatching the towel and slapping Bora's hand away. She waved Bora away, then looked in Ilsa's direction and waved her away, too. "Get out! Both of you! Leave me!"

Bora stood, backed away, then snatched Ilsa's hand to lead her away.

"Kitchen!" Naomi screamed at the departing pair, causing Bora to continue to lead the younger slave -- her breasts still exposed -- to the stairs and downward. "I am not to be bothered!"

Once the pair were gone, Naomi finished wiping between her thighs, then tossed the lightly pink stained towel into the equally pink water bowl. She moved to her closet and picked through the clothes until she found something that made her remember good times with Lucius. She missed him. She missed his laugh, and his love. She missed his touch, which she'd gone so long without and then only gotten back again for a handful of days before he was again away to the Front.

She moved to her bed, clutching the dinner wear to her naked body, trying to recall the last time he'd removed this from her and made love to her. Then, she set it aside ... laid back ... and masturbated herself to a softly crying orgasm that -- despite her efforts to prevent it -- was audible to the women working in the kitchen downstairs.

 

[Jezebel1669]

By the time they reached the kitchens the bruises on Ilsa's face and arms were beginning to show, blossoming brightly against her pale skin. Bora quickly moved over to the stove and began to busy herself cleaning up the bowls and pans which had been used to prepare the evening meal before calling to Ilsa to bring her some water.

Limping slowly on her injured leg, she hobbled over beside the older woman and placed the large bowl of water on the surface in front of her. For a moment Ilsa just stood there, waiting as Bora began to scrub down the surface before her mouth opened, about to speak only to stop, holding her tongue indecisively.

"What is it girl?" Bora asked, her tone at once impatient and caring, "If you have a question just speak it. I probably won't bite." With a smile the old servant looked over at Ilsa with almost maternal grace.

For a heartbeat Ilsa wondered whether she could trust the woman, after all she had been ion the service of these devils for many years, and must've been party to many of their sins and crimes. As the moment passed Ilsa decided she had to take the chance, after all the woman had been nothing but kind to her since her arrival, even helping to salve her injury when she needed assistance.

"Is she often like that?" Ilsa asked, half whispering as she leant closer, fearing that even up in her chambers the Mistress may hear them.

"Like what dear?" Bora replied, never taking her eyes off the stove top as she vigorously scrubbed the washcloth over it.

"So violent and..." Ilsa didn't even know how to describe what she had just seen. In her tribe it was unheard of for one woman to touch another in the manner she had just witnessed.

Stopping for a moment Bora dropped the washcloth into the water, turning her head to look at the young woman for a breath before speaking. "The Mistress is a very passionate woman. She has her moods, as we all do, but at heart she is not a bad person." Turning towards Ilsa Bora reached up and took hold of the girl's chin, gently turning her head one way then the other as she examined the livid marks forming on her face. "For some reason you seem to have earnt her ire, although for the life of me I can't see why."

Watching the older woman as she reached into the water bowl, wringing out the washcloth before returning to her scrubbing Ilsa knotted her fingers together nervously. "I think I may know why." She said meekly. "I think she suspects that I lay with her husband."

Bora's hands froze and her eyes darted towards the young woman sharply. "Did you?" She asked, her tone suddenly cold.

Tilting her head indecisively Ilsa tried to think what best to say. "I did lay with him," She said slowly, "But not by choice."

"He forced himself upon you?" Bora asked, her tone once again softening towards the young girl.

"Many times. During our journey here he... 'visited' me almost every night." She admitted in a quiet voice. "Some of the others said I was lucky to have been chosen by him. Others were used by many men, but I was only his alone." As she spoke Ilsa's voice began to tremble. "I did not feel lucky... I felt..."

A tear rolled down her cheek unbidden and Bora stepped towards her, pulling Ilsa's head down onto her shoulder as she hugged the poor creature tightly. "I know dear, I know." She whispered supportively, "You are not the only one to have been 'taken'. I wish I could tell you it will not happen again, but the truth is, this is our life now. If they wish to use our bodies we must let them, or we may face far worse fates."

As the two women stood there consoling one another they could hear the ecstatic cries of their Mistress echoing from the bedchamber above.

 

[Alice2015]

"Send the whore to me ... with wine."

Bora looked up from the platter of food she'd brought upstairs for Naomi's meal. "Yes, m'lady."

She bowed her head slightly and turned for the stairs. She hesitated for a moment, wanting to beg her mistress's mercy on the young woman who had only copulated with Lucius only against her will. But she knew that to even mention such a thing could end up with her being pushed down the stairs or her neck cut.

She continued downstairs, half filled a flagon of wine from the large clay pitcher, and handed it to Ilsa. She warned softly, "Keep your eyes down. Do not speak unless spoken to. Keep your answers short but complete. And never again defend yourself against your Lady's blows."

Bora had seen Ilsa holding her hands up before herself defensively when Naomi beat her earlier. It was, of course, the instinctive thing to do when someone was pummeling you. But, it hadn't been just someone beating Ilsa: it had been her mistress, and Bora knew from her early years with Lucius's grandfather that it hurt less to simply take the one blow that knock you to the ground than it did to take the ten fended off ones and then the final one that dropped you.

"Go, girl," Bora insisted, urging Ilsa toward the stairs. "Go ... and be good."

(OOC: I'm going to assume Ilsa will do as commanded. If not, just ignore this portion and I'll delete it.)

Naomi was standing at the glassless window, looking down upon the street through the opened shutters. The street below the house was filled by the masses, going this way and that to celebrate the Autumnal Harvest of the Full Moon. They were joyous, drinking and laughing and grasping at the body parts of strangers who, for the most part, only laughed and grabbed back.

It was sinful ... and it made Naomi wet with desire for her absent husband. She flinched from her reverie, realizing that Ilsa was standing near the end of the bed upon which she'd been beaten hours earlier with a flagon of wine. She studied the girl for a long moment, then slowly crossed to take the container, drink from it, and set it aside.

She reached up, taking Ilsa's chin in her hand, ignoring the girl's reaction to what she probably thought was the first blow of another beating. Naomi turned the slave's face this way, then that. As if inspecting a dropped vase for damage, she said flatly, "No permanent damage. You will heal without becoming ugly."

She turned away, taking up the flagon again and sipping from it as she often glanced back to look over the young woman. After almost two full minutes of simply padding about the room, sipping the wine, and studying Ilsa, Naomi said softly, "Remove your clothes."

 

[Jezebel1669]

For a moment Ilsa wasn't sure what to do. On the one hand she had no reason to bare herself before another for no reason other than to satisfy their whim, on the other Bora 's warning rang in her ear. Ilsa made her decision and reached up to unfasten her tunic, after all they were only clothes. To her nomadic people there was no shame in nudity, she'd had to share enough huddles in the depths of winter to know that.

Unsure what her Mistress intended for her Ilsa erred on the side of caution, taking her time to carefully and deliberately remove each item before folding them carefully and placing them neatly on the table.

 

[Alice2015]

Naomi continued her slow pace around the room as Ilsa slowly undressed herself. She hadn't meant for the girl to be so ... responsible in her actions, neatly folding each piece of clothing and setting it aside. But she found it a bit tantalizing to watch Ilsa's body being revealed bit by bit.

One by one, the removals revealed more of the young woman ... the full length tunic uncovered her arms and shoulders ... the chemise her youthful, firm breasts ... the slip her long, sleek legs. As Naomi ogled Ilsa, she realized that once you got past the bandaged ankle, the life time accumulation of small scars expected of her barbaric upbringing, and -- of course -- the slowly blackening bruised that had already begun swelling her face, the young Germanic woman was actually quite beautiful.

Her slow to and fro pacing had been bringing Naomi closer to Ilsa's backside. She stopped just inches behind her, slightly to the left. She reached a hand out and laid it softly upon the slave's back. She was cool to the touch, which wasn't surprising as she was standing nude in the cool air of the poorly heated home.

Naomi watched her own fingers as the caressed their way up Ilsa's back to a scar near her neckline. She asked in a quiet but firm tone, "You got this how...?"

She listened to Ilsa's answer, then caressed the fingers slowly back down the girl's back, to the far side of her spine, then back to this side, until -- putting more of the soft flesh of her fingers upon Ilsa -- she caressed her hand gently over the girl's tight buttock.

"And this...?" she asked, pressing her finger to what looked almost like a puncture hole. Sharp stick? A rock sliver from falling? A cruel man's punishment? "How did you get this one?"

She began moving around to the slave's front side, bringing hand with her, onto Ilsa's hip, over her lightly trembling fore arm, to the prominent front hip bone of the girl who needed to put on some healthy weight. Naomi continued past Ilsa's front side until she was standing off to the other side of her, though in front, not in back as she had been.

Naomi's gaze moved all about Ilsa's front side but spent most of its time on her youthful breasts. They were beautiful and perfect, with the exception of one final blemish just below the left breast's nipple. The mistress caressed her finger tips up to the flaw on the otherwise wonderful orbs, asking with a softer voice, "And this...?"

As Ilsa answered, Naomi caressed the scar ... then around it a bit ... then -- for the first time looking at Ilsa's face -- out wide enough for her finger tips to just barely brush the under edge of the breast's fully hardened nipple.

It may have seemed like the first steps of a seduction of the erotically lovely girl, until -- in a soft, non-accusing tone -- Naomi asked, "Did you enjoy having my husband's cock inside you?"

 

[Jezebel1669]

As she felt her Mistress's fingers stroke over the hard skin on the back of her neck Ilsa flinched, recalling the day she'd received the wound. "Raiders came," She began simply, "The warriors were away hunting and the attack came as a surprise. A small child was alone in the middle of the camp and a rider tried to charge him down. I flung myself in his path and pulled the child to safety, but was not fast enough to escape his blade myself."

Naomi's fingers felt warm against Ilsa's skin and as they made their way lower she could feel her body begin to warm as well. As the woman's hand stroked over her buttock Ilsa wanted to squirm, whether away from the touch or towards it even she did not know.

Feeling the pressure of the finger against her old wound caused Ilsa to blush, "That was my own fault," She replied, "We were out hunting down a deer and I moved the wrong way. One of the other hunter's arrows caught me, and my cry startled the deer away." She didn't want to add that the hunter had later cared for her wound, pressing his mouth against it tenderly before moving his lips... lower...


As her Mistress stepped around her Ilsa couldn't help but dart her eyes up for a moment, glancing at the woman's clothing. Compared to even the creates of cloths from her own tribe Naomi seemed like a goddess stepped to Earth, the soft, loose material barely touching her skin with folds and ruffles which at once hid and accentuated her femininity.

When her Mistress's fingers moved up close to her nipple Ilsa froze. This was the one scar she'd hoped Naomi would not have asked her about. Desperately she tried to think of the best way to answer the question honestly, and disguise the truth.

"You..." She began, quickly cutting herself off before starting again with a deep breath, "A man forced himself upon me an I tried to fight him off. Once he had beaten me and taken what he wanted he left me with the mark to remind me of my place."

She had expected her Mistress to step away, her curiosity sated, but instead Naomi stepped closer, her hand moving up to threaten Ilsa's nipple even as her Mistress leaned in tightly, glaring at her slave. When she asked her question Ilsa turned her head away, not wanting to look the woman in the eye as she replied.

"I cannot speak badly of your husband Mistress, I know my place."

 

[Alice2015]

Naomi asked, "Did you enjoy having my husband's cock inside you?"

"I cannot speak badly of your husband Mistress, I know my place."

Naomi slowly lifted her second hand to Ilsa's forearm, up it to take hold of her elbow. She squeezed it tightly, to keep the woman from moving away, then with a flash of her second hand, slapped the slave across the face. It was nothing compared to the beating she'd given the girl early. It was only intended to remind her who was the mistress and who was the slave.

She reached her extended finger up to Ilsa's chin, raising the girl's face to force Ilsa's now glazed over eyes to look into her own. In the same calm voice as she'd used before, Naomi asked, "Did you enjoy my husband ... whore?"

 

[Jezebel1669]

She stood there defiantly glaring at the woman as she felt Naomi's fingers holding her arm tightly, expecting any second for another blow to land. Ilsa didn't care though, she had done her best to protect the honourless thug she had been forced to call her Master but if this slattern wanted to hear the truth from her then she could have it.

With fire in her eyes Ilsa fixed her gaze on Naomi's eyes as she spoke, with pure honesty, "No, I did not."

 

[Alice2015]

"No, I did not."

Naomi continued to stare into Ilsa's eyes for a long moment. She could feel the defiance in them, and by all rights, she could have slapped the slave once more, or even had her lashed.

But she didn't.

Instead, she lowered her fingers from Ilsa's chin and turned away to again begin her slow walk about the bedroom. She glanced back at the girl a couple of times, and when she did the last time, she wore a bit of a knowing smirk. "I believe you."

She turned away, then turned back and opened her mouth to say I often don't myself, but didn't. Her sexual relationship with her husband was of no concern to a slave.

She turned toward the top of the stairs and called down, "Bora! Have a litter brought round. I shall be going out."

"Yes, m'lady," the old slave called from downstairs.

Naomi turned and stared at Ilsa for another moment, conspicuously ogling the naked girl's fine body. She gestured at her dismissively, saying, "Get dressed. Be gone."

She turned toward her dresser, then stopped and spun around with a sudden realization. "That scar..."

She crossed to Ilsa again, reaching out to place a finger tip upon the scar just below the girl's firm breast. She touched it for a moment, and was somehow pleased to see Ilsa's nipple harden even further than it already was.

"Did my husband do this?" she asked in that same calm tone of earlier. She could see the answer in Ilsa's eyes, but before the girl could answer, Naomi turned away again and said, "Return to your work--"

She almost say Whore but didn't. Instead, she finished with a word she hadn't spoken to the slave since her arrival, "--Ilsa."

 

[Jezebel1669]

For a moment she was unsure of herself. This... 'woman' had been nothing but vicious and spiteful to her ever since Ilsa had arrived in the house. She'd beaten her, humiliated her and now seemed on the cusp of denigrating her even further.

In her own lands she would've been well within her rights to challenge the woman to an honour bout, and Ilsa doubted the pampered queen knew how to handle a knife as well as she did. They weren't in her lands anymore though, and from what she'd heard those lands may not even have existed anymore.

At the same time, something had changed in her Mistress, something Ilsa didn't quite understand. Perhaps it was her honesty, the fact she'd admitted, even indirectly, what had transpired between herself and the woman's husband. Either way Ilsa thought it best to let things lay as they were for now.

Quickly picking up her clothes and curtseying politely, aware as she spread her legs that she was exposing both her breasts and her crotch to the lady, Ilsa turned and made her way own the stairs. She was shivering by the time she reached the kitchen and moved over to the fireplace before starting to redress.

"Are you okay, child?" Bora asked as she approached the young woman, resting a hand on her shoulder compassionately. "Did she..?" The question hung in the air between them, not needing to be finished.

"I'm fine," Ilsa answered, pulling her garments around her body as she looked back at the housekeeper with a reassuring smile. "I just got a little cold, that's all."

Bora studied her for a moment, trying to tell if the girl was hiding something from her, but after a moment she nodded her head with resignation and turned back to her work. If there was something, and Ilsa chose not to share it with her, then it wasn't her business. Just as long as the girl knew that if she needed to share, Bora was there for her.

Ilsa went about her work, filling a bucket with water as she prepared to clean the house. With the Mistress away it would be a good time to scrub the bedroom floors, to make them shine. As she moved towards the stairs, her ankle aching under her, Ilsa turned back towards Bora a question rising in her mind.

"Do you know..." She began softly, not knowing exactly how to ask the question, let alone whether it was her place to know such things. "...has the Mistress... taken lovers?" Her face flushed with embarrassment as the words slipped from her mouth.

Even in the loose-knit family groups she'd grown up with, who you took to your bed was your own business, not to be spoken of openly unless marriage or pregnancy were being discussed, but something about Naomi's disposition seemed to suggest that she needed a release, an perhaps that was something Ilsa could help her with.

 

[Alice2015]

"Do you know... has the Mistress... taken lovers?"

Bora slapped a hand out in Ilsa's direction, acting as if trying to physically chastise her for such a question but far out of reach. "Hush, child. Do not ask such questions."

The older slave went upstairs to help Naomi dress and prepare herself for a night out with her fellow Merchant Class friends. When the litter arrived, the pair headed back down the stairs, and as Bora headed for the door, Naomi paused to look at Ilsa, whose equipment suggested that she had plans for some major house keeping.

Naomi met the older slave at the door, but before she left, she spoke to her quietly. Once the mistress was gone, Bora went to Ilsa, took the rags and water bucket from her, and -- with a curious smirk on her face -- informed the younger slave, "Our lady says you are to cease your work for the night, get off your feet, and soak your ankle. You are no good to her crippled."



(OOC: Going to jump us ahead.)

Naomi returned to her stern treatment of Ilsa for the next couple of days, with the Mistress's orders and commands being short and direct. But the abuse the young slave had suffered had at least ended. There was no more talk of Lucius or the girl's interactions with him during his Legion travels.

"Wake up!"

Ilsa had only been asleep a couple of hours that third night when Bora shook her awake, demanding, "Wake up! Your lady needs you."

The older slave rushed about the slave's sleeping quarters, gathering up her shawl and scarf as she explained, "Your lady has a fever. I am going for the doctor, but you must go to her bed and keep her warm."

She waggled a finger at the girl's sleeping shirt, saying, "Go to your lady. Take that off. Keep her warm. I shall return shortly."

And with that, she was down the stairs, the candle she held dancing eerie shadows off the interior walls of the dark house.

In the bedroom at the other end of the second floor, a naked Naomi was wrapped tightly within her regular blankets with two additional ones tossed over her. The fire raged in the hearth, and yet the room couldn't warm up against the abnormally cold night outside the walls.

Naomi shivered so horribly that her teeth chattered. She was incoherent with fever and wouldn't have realized someone crawled in with her at all, let alone who it might be.

 

[Jezebel1669]

Fro a moment all Ilsa could do was to blink incoherently as her dreams blended with the waking world, bringing her strange mixed visions made with elements of both. When the trees finally gave way to the walls of the house she now called home Ilsa finally pulled herself onto her feet and considered what she had been told.

"Go to your lady. Take that off. Keep her warm. I shall return shortly."

Obediently Ilsa pulled the night shirt up over her head before folding it carefully and placing it to one side. She reached for her day clothes and paused, the orders hadn't specified whether she should wear them or not, only that she should remove the night shirt.

Thinking back to what she'd experienced since first arriving in the house she made a decision and turned away, heading for the Mistresses quarters naked. Her place was to follow orders, not to make them up for herself. If she hadn't been told to dress then she should not get dressed, at least that's what her sleep addled mind told her was right.

Her ankle was feeling much better now, the ointment the doctor had given easing the swelling and clearing away the puss. It still ached as she climbed the stairs, but at least it could now hold her weight without crumbling under her. The change made Ilsa feel happier than she had since arriving in the house, possibly since the night by the fire with her boasting warrior. The thought of him helped warm Ilsa on the long cold nights, and tonight had been no different, how she longed to be held in his arms once more, among the trees and the wind as they rode their horses hard through the night.

As she stepped into the chamber she could see Naomi spread out on the bed, tossing and turning, the sheets gathered around her feet from where she'd thrown them ion an effort to cool her body. Ilsa had seen the woman naked before, several times, but as she lay there in the candlelight, her body glistening with sweat, Ilsa came to see her in a whole new way.

Moving over to the counter Ilsa reached for a bowl and cloth, pouring some water into the bowel before making her way up beside her Mistress. Placing the bowl carefully on the nightstand Ilsa dipped the cloth inside, letting it soak for a moment as her eyes wandered down Naomi's body.

For a moment Ilsa was surprised to see not a single scar, blemish or mark on the pure smooth flesh. Among her own people even the most careful rider would be expected to have been wounded at some point, the only ones who weren't were cowards who ran from every battle they faced.

Ilsa had to once again remind herself that these were not her people, their ways were not the same and as she slowly reached out, softly stroking the cool, wet cloth over her Mistress's burning skin she began to see the advantages of the safer, secure life Naomi had lived.

 

[Alice2015]

Naomi felt the cool cloth on her skin, but it was a long moment later before her brain caught up with the current circumstances: Bora was away, so...? As she opened her eyes and caught sight of the whore, she wanted to lash out ... for no particular reason at all other than the fact that she was ill, in anguish, and wanting to give her misery to someone else.

But simply moving was painful, so her hands remained where they were, clutching in desperation at the wrinkled, sweat soaked sheets. She closed her eyes again, resigned to fact that she was in no condition to be choosing about which slave comforted her.

After a bit, she felt the cloth -- wetted again with the cool water -- moving over her collar bone ... over her sternum ... over her breasts ... over her belly. Somewhere deep in her pain addled mind, Naomi yearned to be held by her husband ... yearned to be held by any man ... yearned to be held by anyone..

More than anything, she just needed a warm body next to her, sharing its heat. And, if by chance, it felt good to be next to that body for other reasons ... well, so be it. Naomi opened her eyes again and, seeing Ilsa reach to wipe the sweat from her lower belly, reached out and snagged the girl's wrist.

"Lay with me," she said weakly. "Warm me ... so cold..."

She didn't have the strength to force Ilsa next to her, but it was obvious by her tug, that she wanted the naked, warm body next to her...

 

[Jezebel1669]

At first Ilsa didn't hear her Mistress's command, so intent was she in soaking her body with the cool water from the bowl. Moving her way down Naomi's body with the same precision and care with which she performed all her duties she reached down towards her Mistress's crotch, the damp towel pressing against her Mistress's sex for a moment before Ilsa felt the tug on her wrist.

Turning her attention to her Mistress's face she saw the woman glaring at her through the mist of her fever. "Are you deaf, whore?" Naomi asked with the same brittle tone Ilsa had learnt to expect from her, yet sounding so weak, so helpless there was none of the fire she'd learnt to fear, "I told you... to lay with me."

Leaving the cool, wet cloth where it lay Ilsa lifted her injured leg and knelt on the bed for a second before stretching out her hand, placing it on the sheets beside Naomi's head before lowering herself gently beside her Mistress. She didn't even realise that for one brief moment her breasts had swayed towards Naomi's face, barely pulling away in time to avoid pressing against her lips.

Stretching herself out along the bed Ilsa rested an arm over her Mistress's chest, carefully placing her hand against Naomi's sternum to avoid touching her perfectly formed breasts. Lifting her leg Ilsa wrapped it around Naomi's thigh, her knee grazing her Mistress's crotch for the briefest of moments as Ilsa made herself comfortable, her naked body pressing against Naomi's

 

[Alice2015]

The sudden warmth Naomi felt against her was simply magical. She felt another quick shudder run through her body at the sudden surge of heat, then she simply pulled the slave's body tight into her as if Ilsa was a gigantic water bladder filled from the fireplace's kettle.

"Good..." Naomi murmured, not even aware that she was speaking.

She adjusted her hands to pull Ilsa's warm body closer in the places where she wasn't yet feeling relief. As the girl had slipped a knee over her mistress's waist, Naomi, too, lifted a knee to better press her cold thigh in between Ilsa's own. The result was that the slave's pussy was pressing firmly against Naomi's hip.

"M'lady, the herbs," an unexpected voice called from the top of the stairs. It was Bora, already back from the little shop at the end of the block. She hesitated for just a moment, looking at the two seriously intertwined bodies before moving to the table and mixing the newly bought crushed leaves in a pitcher of hot water. "It will--"

"Bedding," Naomi interrupted. After a moment she repeated, "Bedding."

Bora moved to the end of the bed and quickly pulled the bedding up to cover the two women, then backed away finishing, "The herbs will be ready shortly, m'lady."

A moment of silence passed before her mistress told Bora in a weak voice, "Leave us."

Bora gave Naomi a quick bow of the head -- even though her mistress's eyes were closed -- then moved back to the table, stirred the herbal concoction, and returned back down the stairs to do anything else she could think of that her lady might ask for in the minutes and hours to come.

But there were no orders to come from Naomi. The merchant only pulled the slave girl tighter to her ... and -- now warmer and more content -- slowly drifted off to sleep.

 

[Jezebel1669]

At first Ilsa wasn't sure what she should be doing, simply lying there as her Mistress panted and moaned through her fever. Then she felt Naomi's hand on her side, pulling her closer, followed by her knee sliding up between her legs. Ilsa had seen some of the woman in her tribe laying together on warm spring nights, had watched them caressing each other's bodies, but until now she had never thought of doing it herself.

Feeling the pressure of Naomi's thigh as it pressed against her crotch Ilsa shifted her hips slightly, rubbing her lips against the woman's leg until she felt her lit softly bump against her skin. It felt good, even that small amount of contact, so Ilsa softly began to move her hips a little more.

Just then she heard Bora's voice calling out and Ilsa froze where she lay, unsure how the older woman would react if she walked in on them laying like this. She knew a Mistress's whims were sacrosanct and that they must be obeyed, but Naomi had never told her to start humping her legs, as she was just about to do.

Blushing turned her head away, burying it against Naomi's neck as Bora pulled the covers up over them both before standing patiently beside the bed. Ilsa didn't want to look round, fearful of seeing the scolding eyes of her only friend burning into her.

Once she was gone Ilsa remained still for a long time, simply snuggling up against Naomi as she drifted off to sleep. Ilsa was unsure what to do as she held the trembling, shivering body close. She had not been ordered to stay, but she had also not been ordered to go.

Urges were rising up inside her and she knew not where they came from. Her hand wanted to slide the few inches over it would take to hold her Mistress's breast between her fingers, her mouth wanted to kiss her perfumed neck, her hips wanted to press themselves against hers and gently stroke their most sacred of places together in a blissful union.

Aching with desire, Ilsa merely lay there, her body wrapped around her Mistress's as she too was lulled to sleep.

 

[Alice2015]

"M'lady...?"

Naomi blinked her eyes open over several seconds as Bora whispered again, "M'lady?"

The mistress of the house had been deep in a dream about her husband. Like most dreams, it was filled with fantastical occurrences and details that, in real life, would have been considered magical or just plain odd. It was a pleasant dream for Naomi, as it included holding Lucius tightly to her as they made the most satisfying love of their marriage.

Awaking, she found herself intertwined with another body, but it wasn't her husband's. She lay on her side, spooning Ilsa. The young woman was before her, buttocks and backside pressed solidly into Naomi's breasts, belly, groin, and thighs. The girl's upper arm was wrapped around her own, holding it tightly over her rib cage and around to the front where -- rather surprisingly nice -- Naomi was very noticeably cupping the younger woman's firm breast. Her lower arm -- which had been blissfully asleep but now with Naomi's rousing was waking with a thousand pins stabbing it -- was under the still sleeping girl's neck, the hand of that appendage wrapped around to the girl's shoulder.

The two of them was as close to one as they could get. The warmth of the girl and the memory of being so ill struck Naomi quick enough that she didn't explode at anger over the reality that she was wrapped in full nudity with the whore who had kept her husband happy for all those weeks while Naomi herself had been home alone caring for the family and business.

"M'lady...?" Bora whispered again. When she saw her mistress look up to her, she went on, "You should drink the tea." Bora looked to Ilsa, then back to Naomi. "Shall I send her away."

"No," Naomi said softly before she truly considered her answer. She hesitated a moment, then whispered, "She came to my bed out of her own volition?"

"I sent her, m'lady. If that was wrong, I take responsibility. The punishment should be--"

"Leave us," Naomi cut in, her slightly louder words causing Ilsa to begin to stir. She slowly -- and rather reluctantly -- removed her hand from the younger woman's breast and began trying to work the pained arm out from under Ilsa's neck. "She did as she was told. You did as you thought right. No harm. Leave us."

As Bora departed and Naomi rose to rest her upper weight upon her still tingling elbow over the girl. Ilsa's facial profile was ... interesting, was the word upon which Naomi settled. The mistress had never had a Germanic slave nor even spent much time the households of other Merchant Class women in which the northern slaves worked.

As Naomi studied her for a long moment, she came to the simple conclusion that Ilsa was a beautiful woman, regardless of her place and position in Lucius's home.