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Cam's Camera: Slave Girls

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Eulalia

Poet Laureate
Staff member
Be brave, young slave,
Your girly games are done,
Rome's won!

No friends, childhood ends,
Alone
Some brute's to own.

Your turn, cheeks burn,
Flick back your hair.
Men stare.

Displayed, afraid,
Flesh to be sold
For gold.

Undressed, breasts pressed,
Touched where you know
Men shouldn't go.

You're bare, don't dare
Complain,
Even of pain.



"Where caught?" "Up north."
"They're wild."
"Just a child –

A kid. What d’you bid?"
"Ten" "No, fifteen."
"Okay, thirteen."

"A deal. Slut, kneel!"
Wrists feel
Bonds of steel.

Now stand the brand
Burning your thigh,
Don't cry.

The man commands.
He rules.
No time for fools.

Walk quick to his stick,
Sharp goad,
Stony road.

"Whore's brat, sewer rat,
How long will you take
To break?"

On your knees to please,
Obey,
Only way.

Rome's home,
Puppy slave,
Bitch's grave.
 

Eulalia

Poet Laureate
Staff member

Picture by Kamerijk/ CamCrux - here's the text I wrote for it
(which had better be rescued from the Taliban of DevArt)


‘Mighty Lord Minos, King of all Kings, my honoured husband,’ the Queen Pasiphae spoke humbly, ‘I bring you awesome tidings, with a good gift, from the Goddess Hera, consort of your patron, Zeus, the Supreme.’


The king stroked his chin in his usual, meditative manner, when considering great matters.

‘What are these tidings, wife?’

‘That beautiful bull, come from the sea, to signal and proclaim your unchallengeable kingship –‘

Minos nodded,

‘He is not to be sacrificed, that is not the will of Almighty Zeus.’

‘But surely, wife, there can be no other meaning in that omen? A marvellous bull is the worthiest offering to my father Zeus, it can have been sent here for no other reason?’

‘No, with humble respect, my Lord,’ the Queen spoke modestly, ‘Hera assures me, that is not her husband’s intention ... what does intend, neither I nor even the Goddess can tell, it is a mystery yet to be revealed. But, in the mean time, he sends, by his and Goddess Hera’s miraculous aid, another gift ...’

‘What is that?’ The King’s eyes glinted at the thought of another god-sent gift.

And so I, sweet-spoken Eulalia, youngest daughter of the king of conquered Athens, brought captive here on that dragon of the sea that flies the golden flag of the sea-lord’s imperial fleet, am led into the presence of the mightiest man on earth, naked but for a flimsy, faded rag they made me wrap around my loins to hide my female assets from the eyes of the Palace Guards. And the bronze slave-band locked on my upper arm that marked me out as the one for ‘special delivery’.

The King eyes me thoughtfully, stroking his chin. Queen Pasiphae has a knowing, cunning little smile. Two others are staring at me too, a nervous young bronze-collared slavegirl standing ‘at the ready’ in the corner, herself clad only in a light piece of cloth tied with a rough cord to serve as a minimal tunic, her fingers clutching nervously at its ragged hem. Later I was to learn her name, Keigera.

And a proud tawny hound, his rich red collar matching the King’s own robe, his expression as he stares at the newcomer as haughty and judgemental as the monarch’s own.

The air in this private palace chamber hangs heavy with thundery warmth, spicy scents from the courtyard waft in through the open doorway on a light, cooling breeze, mingling with the odours of human and hound, the smell of the slavegirl’s fear – and mine ...

After an endless silence, the King speaks, quiet but commanding,

‘Show us your girl-parts, slave.’
Feeling my cheeks and body flush with fear and shame, I pull back the scant covering. The dog sniffs, the Queen’s smile widens, the slavegirl bites her lip. I hear my heart pounding.

‘She is a virgin?’

‘Of course, my Lord,’ replies Pasiphae.

‘Very well,’ says King Minos, ‘I think this is a worthy gift from the Goddess. My Master Zeus puts thoughts in my mind concerning His wishes for this girl. Our young men and maidens are trained and tested in the practice of bull-leaping, those who succeed win honour for their athleticism, those who fail die on horns. This young woman will be trained to perform the bull-dance, and will, at the Festival of the Mating Time, be set to face the great Bull that Zeus has sent from the sea. Whether she wins honour and proves herself fit to remain a slave in my household, or whether she is destined to die as a sacrifice, the outcome will reveal.’

I bow my head, accepting my fate. Guards are summoned, they lead me away to meet the Bull-Master, to prepare for my ordeal.
 

fallenmystic

Governor
I really love the expression on the girl's face. Obviously, she has learned enough to know the consequence of screaming or covering her chest, possibly from experience. However, she hasn't become insensitive enough not to feel the shame. The burning sense of humiliation and the anxiousness right before the moment her owner deprives of her remaining modesty is so vividly expressed on her face.

The girl behind might be feeling pity for her friend, or she could be feeling it to be her own shame, remembering the last time she was displayed in front of a potential customer for an inspection.

And the other girl on the right could be probably thinking "How can you ask him to strip her? You are a woman too! Don't you understand how humiliating it must be for a girl to be stripped naked and bare her womanhood like that?"
 
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KageKamen

Governor
This is so humiliating and frightening! That bastard of a slave monger standing behind me has threatened me, saying that if I don’t bring him a fat price by noon, he’ll have me flogged and sold to the impresarios who stage the arena entertainments and are planning a mass crucifixion event for the afternoon session. But how do I bring in a good price? I am not experienced at such things. Isn’t being naked enough? Should I stand and pose like some of the others are doing? Stick out my chest? Spread my legs and sway my hips? I just don’t know what to do!
"Fortunately" a man soon approaches you. "Get up, girl, let me take a look!"
 

MahaShiva

Executioner
Published simultaneously on Crux and DA : Roman street scene.

View attachment 914203

A fantasy vision of a slavemonger's shop in Rome, in the vicinity of the temple of Castor and Pollux (it is unlikely that slaves were sold naked on the streets ...)

The shabby front should not mislead : the Greek Kleitos specializes in "fine young females" and his business is worth millions of sestercii.

The two girls on the left are war captives, one from Pannonia, the one standing next to her from Britannia, both captured as loot by legionaries and brought back to Rome.
The girl kneeling on the right is from Achaia and was sold by her impoverished parents. The statuesque black girl was imported by a Phenician merchant from Alexandria, along with other young women, among whom one Amica.

If anyone would like to lend a voice to these girls, to express their feelings, memories, fear of the future etc. They are welcome.
Great job, Kam! A heck load of work to get this street come to life, for sure. I have the same background scene saved on my computer, but the thought of how much work it would take to populate that deserted street has always been able to dissuade me from doing anything with it. Kudos to your dedication to the craft!
 

MahaShiva

Executioner
Be brave, young slave,
Your girly games are done,
Rome's won!

No friends, childhood ends,
Alone
Some brute's to own.

Your turn, cheeks burn,
Flick back your hair.
Men stare.

Displayed, afraid,
Flesh to be sold
For gold.

Undressed, breasts pressed,
Touched where you know
Men shouldn't go.

You're bare, don't dare
Complain,
Even of pain.



"Where caught?" "Up north."
"They're wild."
"Just a child –

A kid. What d’you bid?"
"Ten" "No, fifteen."
"Okay, thirteen."

"A deal. Slut, kneel!"
Wrists feel
Bonds of steel.

Now stand the brand
Burning your thigh,
Don't cry.

The man commands.
He rules.
No time for fools.

Walk quick to his stick,
Sharp goad,
Stony road.

"Whore's brat, sewer rat,
How long will you take
To break?"

On your knees to please,
Obey,
Only way.

Rome's home,
Puppy slave,
Bitch's grave.
Bravo, Eul! This is so well-done, in its intricate form and heart-felt verses, that I don't even know what else to say. Suffice to say that I have yet to see a more poetic portrayal of slavery than from your marvelous pen, and I rather doubt I ever will.
 
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