A Slave Girl’s Story Ch. 01

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My day started like any other – the clanging of metal against metal, the slave master’s shout – and I rolled off my pallet, scrambling to my feet. “You -” I heard, obviously directed at me. “There’s work for you today,” the slave master continued. “Get yourself to the House of Ajnabi, the eunuch will tell you what to do.”

He reached out to grip my chin with thumb and fingers, tilting my head upwards then forcing my mouth open to peer at my teeth. “Well enough. Get going, then.”

He seemed to change his mind. “No – first make something to eat, he’ll expect that. And for Horus’ sake, find something else to wear!”

“But what -” I ventured. His response was to lash out, the back of his hand catching me just below one eye. “I thought you’d learnt better than to ask questions,” he growled, turning and walking out.

I stumbled towards the kitchen, looking round. Flour, oil, salt for making the meagre flatbreads that had been my diet for as long as I could remember. And on the stone slab, what was left of the roast meat the guards must have been enjoying the night before. I set to work, mixing, kneading, then folding lumps of meat into the pastry. The embers under the oven were still glowing, and I added wood, blew the flames into life before sliding in the tray. I quickly crammed the remaining scraps of pastry into my mouth to take the edge off my hunger, and slid to the floor, leaning against the wall to grab a few moments of quiet.

Unbidden, the face of my mother swam into my mind. “Darling,” she seemed to whisper as she always had, “just keep believing, things will work out…”

The fragile peace was interrupted by a shout from the archway, and I ducked as a bronze coin hit the wall where my head had been. “You! Get some wine, and hurry up about it.”

I retrieved the coin, and set off across the already-busy square to the tavern, praying that my makeshift pastries wouldn’t burn while I was gone. Mercifully the innkeeper’s wife was there, and she filled a flagon, taking the coin I held. I returned to the slave quarters, and the amphora was roughly pulled from my hands. “Don’t hang around next time.”

The pastry was just beginning to brown, and I stirred the fire, then remembered the slave master’s parting words. I made my way to the room where his crone of a mother usually sat, keeping watch over the things needed for us to do our work – clothes, the baskets in which we could carry burdens for those who hired us.

She looked up as I entered, giving me a wider-than-usual though still toothless smile. “So you’re to go to Ajnabi, then. Well, let’s see what we can find for you. Take those rags off for a start.”

I stripped, resisting the urge to hunch in on myself in any attempt at modesty. The old woman reached out stick-like fingers towards me, squeezing first one breast then the other. “He’d better not want more there, then.”

She shoved my shoulder, turning me round. Her hands grasped my bottom, and I blushed crimson with shame as she parted my cheeks, bending to examine me. “Well, you’ll have to do. You’re the only virgin we still have, anyway.”

I swallowed, turning back to face her. “Where did the others go?”

She gave a derisive snort, rummaging in a pile of fabric behind her. “Here we are.”

I looked at the garment she pushed into my hand. I could see the lines on my palm even through the layers of sheer fabric, and as I shook out the folds I felt tears prick at my eyes. “I – I don’t have undergarments -” I stuttered, and she cackled. “Put it on.”

I slipped the fabric over my head, letting the hem drop, feeling if anything more naked. She looked at me, and quirked her mouth. “Someone had better go with you – otherwise even these poor goods will be spoiled on the way.”

She leaned into the corridor. “Baltun – get in here.”

The biggest of the male slaves appeared. “Mistress?”

“Take this to the House of Ajnabi. Intact, you hear me?”

He grasped my arm. “Come on.”

“I have to get something from the kitchen,” I stuttered, glancing at the crone fearfully.

“Ah, your offering,” she sneered. “If he can stomach it.”

Baltun half-dragged me to the kitchen, looking hungrily at the pastries as I tied them into a square of cloth. “Not for you,” I frowned. “Do you want me to tell the eunuch that part is missing?”

He subsided, and jerked his head towards the door to the street. “Come on, then.”

The temperature was starting to rise, but the air blowing up and through Kayseri Escort what I wore still somehow chilled me, and the feeling of exposure grew as we entered one of the main streets. My cheeks burned at the obvious lust in the glances of the passing men – and some of the women – but Baltun’s presence kept them at bay.

Finally we reached what seemed to be our destination, a building set back from the street, with broad steps leading up to it. “Go,” gestured Baltun.

“But what am I to do?” I queried.

“Not my problem,” he grunted.

I remembered again that the slave master had mentioned a eunuch – presumably some official. I climbed the steps, not even glancing back, and looked around. This was obviously a residence for someone of high rank, and other slaves must already have prepared it. Couches stood here and there, and the bathing pool sparkled temptingly in the sunlight…

I shook my head. My place would be in whatever passed for slave quarters here. A low arch seemed to lead inside, and I passed through, finding what I’d expected – somewhere to prepare food, and a couple of cramped rooms for the male and female slaves to sleep.

But I seemed to be the only one here. I put the package I carried down in the coolest part of the kitchen, and looked to see what else there was. A stone channel led running water into a basin, and there were pitchers, other vessels for drinking. A stack of towels in one corner must be intended for slaves to wash guests’ feet, and jars held the lotions and herbs used in bathing.

I yawned, and decided that with no-one to order me around, no obvious assigned duties, I might as well try to get some sleep. I found blankets, and curled up on the floor, closing my eyes…


The next thing I knew was a bulky figure looming over me. “Up,” came the command, but spoken less brusquely than I was used to.

The newcomer was fat, rolls of flesh on his chin, and his voice was high, thin. This must be the eunuch, then.

I got to my feet, and he looked me up and down. “Have you any training?” he queried.

“I can cook after a fashion, and I know my numbers – I can haggle in the market. And I have served often in the caldarium.”

“Not what I meant,” he muttered. “No matter. Your accent – where were you taken from?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “But my mother always said my father was a Greek, and I speak his tongue.”

Something about this seemed to please him. “Well.”

I hesitated. “What will my duties be? I have brought food, as I was told.”

The eunuch looked at me thoughtfully. “There will be a guest – a foreigner, of high rank. He comes to meet Pharaoh. You will serve him, however he wishes.”

He turned to go. “I will bring him shortly. Be ready to welcome him.”

I heard him making his way laboriously down the steps, and I looked round again, wondering what this guest would expect as a welcome. Food there was – my contribution, and fruit in the bowls – and juices to drink.

Water – he would want to wash, his hands and perhaps his feet. I filled one of the brass pitchers, and took a towel from the stack, deciding that I was as prepared as I could be.

The sun was high when I heard activity again outside. I stood ready, the pitcher in my hand, the towel over my arm. Finally there was the sharp sound of hands clapping, and I took a deep breath, walking out into the light.

The eunuch was there, and standing next to him a man of similar bulk, but very different in appearance. He was well-muscled, and he wore his heavy-looking leather armour as if it weighed nothing.

He glanced at me, then seemed to look away, and I wondered fleetingly if I had already disappointed him. “She will pour water on your hands,” the eunuch ventured, and the newcomer stepped forward, letting me tip the pitcher over his outstretched arms. I used the towel to dry them, feeling a strange sensation as my fingers traced the outline of his muscles through the rough cloth.

I stepped back, waiting for any further instruction, and the eunuch spoke again. “She will bring food, and perform any other service you wish of her. She understands your language, so I am sure you will be able to make your needs understood.”

My temporary master – as he must be – nodded, but something seemed to be troubling him. “If she is not to your taste,” ventured the eunuch hurriedly, “I can obtain others – more sophisticated, perhaps. Of course, that will be expensive.”

Some Kayseri Escort Bayan of what had been said and done to me earlier in the day suddenly began to make more sense, but instead of the fear I’d expected, the odd sensation I’d had a few moments before returned, and I hoped my expression would not betray me as my nipples tingled and I felt a growing moistness between my thighs.

“That won’t be required,” the visitor replied. “Some decent wine, on the other hand…”

He took out a coin – more gold than I’d ever seen in my life – and casually pressed it into the eunuch’s hand. “I will send it directly,” came the promise.

The eunuch left, and I was alone with the stranger. He turned to me, his expression not unkind. “Amsi says you will understand me. What is your name?”

“Charis, my master.”

He nodded. “Well, Charis, when we are alone you can call me ‘Timon’. Or if you forget, ‘sir’ will do.”

He hesitated. “Charis – not an Egyptian name?”

I shook my head. “They tell me my father was a Greek.”

He smiled. “So, Charis, please show me this House of – Ajnabi, wasn’t it?”

“It means ‘foreigners’,” I explained. “Come.”

Timon followed me inside. “What is there to eat, other than fruit?”

“Please, sit,” I indicated the couch nearest the pool. “I will bring.”

I hurried to the kitchen, returning with my offering on a tray. “Have no fear,” I attempted to reassure him. “All this I prepared myself, with things fresh from the market this morning.” I crossed my fingers at the white lie, hoping that the meat had at least been fresh the previous day. Still, he had nothing to fear from deliberate poison, I reassured myself.

“It’s good,” he agreed. I set the tray on a nearby table, and poured a greenish liquid into a goblet. “Here, fruit juice.”

He sipped gratefully, but I could tell he was wondering how long it would take the eunuch to keep his promise about the wine. He waved at the tray. “Please, help yourself.”

I tried to conceal my hunger, forcing myself to eat slowly, but Timon didn’t seem to notice. After a few moments I heard footsteps, and I got quickly to my feet. The new arrival was a slave, and he made the now-expected kneeling gesture toward Timon before handing his burden to me and turning to go.

“Wine,” I explained. Timon nodded, picking up a goblet from the table, unstoppering the skin I held, splashing red liquid into the goblet, raising it to his lips… “No!” I exclaimed without thinking, setting the wineskin hurriedly down and putting my fingers over his on the stem of the goblet.

He let me take the cup from his hand, his face showing his astonishment at my outburst, and I lowered my eyes. “Forgive me. It is my place to check the wine for poison before you drink.”

Understanding dawned, and he watched me raise the goblet to my mouth, the red liquid wetting my lips as I took a careful draught.

My eyes widened. “It is good. It is very good – it must be Pharaoh’s own wine.”

He chuckled. “At least this first time, Amsi gives value for money.”

He reached for a second goblet, topping up both from the wineskin. “Charis, for that you have earned a proper drink.”

I hesitated, then drank again. “Thank you… Timon.”

He sipped slowly, obviously enjoying the wine. “Water on my hands was very welcome, but what I’d really like is to bathe before I sleep.”

I nodded. “There are lotions and herbs, and even – what do you say? A strigil.”

He smiled wryly. “The strigil will not be needed. But lotions sound very pleasant.”

He sipped his wine, looking more relaxed, and finally set down the goblet. “Thank you for the meal, Charis, and for saving me from my impulsiveness with the wine. How can I summon you in the morning, when I wake?”

I stilled, my face showing my confusion. “But you said you would bathe?”

“Yes, but -” he began. “Ah, Charis, where I come from, bath attendants are male slaves.”

I raised one eyebrow. “I am certain they are less well-trained than me. I will fetch what is needed.”

I went to strew herbs on the warm water of the bathing pool, and when I looked up again, Timon was unclothed, his armour laid aside on the couch. This time the tingling I felt was deep in my belly, but I forced myself to keep my body’s response from showing in my face. “The water is ready,” I offered.

Timon walked towards me, giving me a clear view of his body, then slid into the water, Escort Kayseri lying back. “Mm – this is wonderful.”

I remembered that I had a task to perform, and I reached for a small flagon of lotion, pouring the scented liquid into my palms. I sank to my knees on the edge of the pool, and reached out to run my hands over Timon’s back and shoulders. As my fingers touched his skin, feeling the muscles beneath, I wondered what it would be like to have his arms around me, his strength used to keep him from crushing me as he covered my body with his…

I dragged myself back to the present, running my fingertip along a white line on his shoulderblade. “You have scars,” I remarked.

“What soldier does not, if he has actually served in battle?” he replied, his voice teasing.

“Tell me, then, of these battles,” I asked wistfully, wanting to hear of faraway places.

“My longest assignment was in Britannia,” he began. “In the far North, where the people are small – smaller even than you – and they paint their skin blue. Their weapons are only bronze, but sharp – one caught me across the shoulder and cost me a month in Vindolanda.”

It must have been the wine that gave me such boldness. “Such small people, and you could not overcome them?” I mocked gently.

I heard him snort. “One as small as you, I could break in half without trying – unless you too carry a bronze blade.”

I shook my head, forgetting that he couldn’t see me. “No blade. But I can still -“

I wrapped my hands around his neck, tightening my fingers to test his strength. His muscles tensed, feeling like rock under my fingertips, and though I exerted all my strength I was obviously making no impression on him.

Like lightning his hands reached back, his fingers circling my wrists, and I found myself lifted effortlessly over his head, falling into the pool, surfacing with water streaming from my face. “Be careful what games you play with me,” his voice was amused.

I hardly noticed that my garment had slipped from me in my fall, and the water seemed to caress my body as I swam towards him, my eyes fixed on his face. The mood had obviously changed, and I let my feet find the bottom of the pool. “I like this game.”

I reached out to press my palm flat on his chest. “Do you have scars here too?” I asked softly.

Timon’s response was to wrap his arms around me, and I felt a momentary flash of panic now that my fantasy seemed to be turning into reality. He bent to press his lips to mine, and I resisted for a moment, having no experience to tell me how to respond. But something in me stirred, and I found myself softening, yielding to his kiss, then responding in kind, my fingers again on his neck but this time pulling my body against his…

His lips parted from mine, and I felt his arms lift me, scooping me up, carrying me out of the pool. I’d not noticed the sleeping platform concealed behind a screen, but Timon carried me without hesitation towards the richly-draped bed. I suppressed a squeal as he let me drop the short distance onto the covers, then gasped, feeling his body pushing my thighs apart. This time I put up no resistance as I felt his hardness press at my most intimate place, and the flash of fear I felt turned quickly to desire. As he pressed inwards, I felt a brief sharp sting, immediately replaced with utter satisfaction, and instinctively I flexed my hips upward to match his movements as he began to thrust.

I watched his face, seeing his initial concern for me replaced with what could only be increasing pleasure and anticipation. I sensed what must be coming, and breathed softly into his ear. “Don’t hold back…”

His face contorted as he yielded to his pleasure, and his hips now thrust urgently, almost painfully, into me. I felt his hardness within me stiffen even more, and an utterly new sensation as warmth spurted into me once then again. My expression must have shown that I was startled, but my momentary surprise was replaced immediately by a dreamy fulfilment, and I breathed out slowly. “Ahh…”

Timon relaxed, but kept his full weight from resting on me just as I’d imagined he would. Finally he eased his body off me, and I brought my legs together, enjoying the lingering sensation of his possession of my body.

Finally I sighed, my mind forcing me to return to the reality that was my life. “Do you wish me to return to the slave quarters for the night?”

He shook his head. “Charis, no, not after what we have shared. Unless you will be missed?”

I felt a surge of relief, even hope. “If I do not return, the slave master will simply assume that my… duties, require me to remain.”

He reached over to pull the sheet over us as I turned to pillow my head on his chest. “Then let it be so…”

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