Scum from the Steppes

[Peony]

Another collaboration between Peony and Fossy. This story begins in the Eurasian plain that stretches between the Dneipr and the Danube, and is set in the early 2nd Century, during the times that the Emperor Trajan was persecuting and destroying the Dacians.

Prologue

I remember my mother. I would say I remember suckling at her breast, but that would be untrue. I remember watching her prepare to dance in the Khan’s tent, painting her eyelids, threading gold through her hair.

She was a slave, I was born a slave. Born on the endless plains beneath the sky. My name was given as Hirene, and my mother told me that though we were slaves, we should always remember that we were Scythians and that our homeland was the place they call Taurida. But now we were slaves, and always moving with the horde. I was lucky. Pretty baby girls lived. Boys disappeared, some to be groomed as catemites, some to work, with the girls with no looks, in the kitchens or worse. Some were just abandoned. So I was lucky.

My playmates were the other girls. As we grew we exercised to become strong and flexible, and soon we were tumbling in the entertainments. My best friends were Luna and Elyssa. When we were not practicing we played together or watched the older girls and the women as they prepared for a festal performance in front of the Khan’s guests.

But then everything changed. There had been talk in the great camp of a threat coming from the beyond the forests. And one morning, before the sun had risen, the threat arrived with fire and screams and blood. Everywhere people ran from the horsemen and their bows and swords. We three hid beneath the skirt of a tent and with wide eyes watched the slaughter. Watched as women were pulled down and defiled. Watched as my beautiful mother was stripped, her breasts cut from her, her belly torn open.

And then they found us. Laughing and shouting in words we did not understand. They bound my wrists and Elyssa’s but before they could tie Luna she ran… we watched as they hauled her down, watched as the tore the clothes from her, watched as they impaled her and raised her on a stake, watched her in her death throes. We watched with wide eyes and could not stop watching. Everything was changed.

I remember how they threw us over their horses. How we left the smoking ruin of the camp. How we left my mother and Luna and everything that had been our lives.

And we grew older and stronger and we learnt the language of the new tribe who had taken us. Slowly we forgot our sadness and found new friends and slowly we ceased to be tumblers and became dancers. And we travelled, sometimes towards to rising sun, sometimes towards the moon. We travelled to the great bend of the river they called the Danu Apr and by its rapids a huge camp was raised. Tribes from far came and added their tents and covered the plain and the sounds were of horses and men and we stayed in our enclosure and practiced for the dancing that would be part of the great celebration.

We dancing girls would eat and sleep together, we would comb each other’s hair and paint eyes and lips and shave each other’s bodies until we were so smooth that our skin reflected the light of the torches at night. And afterwards I would lie close with Elyssa and we would part our lips and kiss and our fingers would open each other and bring us joy. And we knew that now we were of an age, we were not just dancers. We would be the Khan’s concubines for him to use or give away. We would dance as the men drank and sang and then, as the night became long we would be passed, first to one, then to another, until at last we were taken to a tent where we might lie for the night or until they were so sated by their wine that we might quietly creep away to our own beds and wash the sweat from our bodies and once more fall asleep together.

We knew all too well the cruelties that were around us. The executions of traitors or slaves who had disobeyed. We knew the cries of men and women as they were whipped and tortured and bound on crosses. We knew the whimpers of men who had fought challenges or been injured in battle and whose bodies were torn by knife cuts. We knew that death lingered close. We knew that war and battles drew it closer and that defeat meant slaughter. We knew we were slaves, and that others owned our bodies.

And so life went on. We lived our lives as dancing girls as well as we could. Some days were good, some less so. But we lived. We ate good meat and drank horse’s milk and we were strong and young and we had each other… Until one morning when, as the smoke from the camp fires drifted silently to the sky, a howl pierced the silence of the day.

The news spread quickly. The great Khan was dead. No-one knew how. Perhaps poison? Perhaps an excess of wine or too many times with his favourite concubine? But now he was dead, and nothing would be the same again.

Preparations were made around the camp for his burial. Slaves were pressed to dig the chamber for his bier. In the kitchens meats were roasted for the funerary meal. Vessels of wines were brought from the stores. All was a hectic rush.

And then we heard. There would be a sacrifice at the burial. His favourite, the dark-haired Scythian, and with her… there would be eleven others. All dark. To accompany him to the after-world. And… and my lovely…Elyssa… my lovely… she was beautiful and she was dark… And the men came from tent to tent and pulled us out and looked at us and sent me and the other fair-haired ones back and looked again, and pointed at Elyssa and tied her wrists and with others, from other tents, took her away.

We could hear them, in the shaman’s yurt. All day the sounds of moaning as prayers and incantations were laid upon them, as they breathed-in the incense and drank the secret potions as they were made ready for the ceremony. And in my solitude I cried. I wept.

The next day we were all assembled, thousands of us. At the front his family, his wives, his children, his chieftains and their blood men. Then the rest of the tribe, and then, at the back, us, the slaves of the tents. The dancing girls and concubines. The children of the slaves. And I prayed that she would be insensible to what was coming, that the smoke and the draughts would leave her to float through the awful terrible ceremony that was coming.

There were blasts on horns and drums and cries and the bier was carried from a tent to the centre of the circle where the grave had been dug, where his armour and gold vessels waited for him on his last journey. Words and incantations were uttered. And then the eleven girls, all of dark hair, all naked, all beautiful, who would be his travelling companions, were led out and, all looking confused and lost, were tied with leather thongs by their wrists, their hands almost touching in a line. And then the shaman and his helpers came to the first and wafting smoke from the incense burner over her, uttered secret words. I looked along the line, how lovely they were… their hair, woven with flowers, tied softly behind their ears. Easily they breathed, as if they were going to their beds of an evening. And then the shaman raised his knife and the eyes of the first girl opened wide and a look of terror appeared on her face and at this moment they all realised that what was happening was real, and he took the knife and almost gently opened her from her ribs to her sex and the blood flowed and was caught in a silver bowl and her bowels fell from her and she made the most awful moan. And then it was the next and then the next and then Elyssa and then the next and the huge crowd wailed and the sounds of their screams was swallowed but I could see their faces and the realisation of the agonies they were enduring as they slowly bled to death.

And then the favourite appeared. Walking proudly to the end of the line of dying girls. They did not tie her, but removed her gown and offered her the bowl from which she sipped the blood of the girls, then raising the bowl, poured the contents over herself. The blood ran over her hair, her face, her breasts, her belly, her legs. And then she took the knife, and staring forward, and without a sound, slipped it into herself, and opened herself, as the others had been opened. And as she bent forward in agony, they raised her hands and bound her and she joined the others in that terrible sacrifice. And slowly they died. So slowly. As the laments sounded out over the plain.

I was alone. Luna and Elyssa had gone. I was a slave girl and I knew in my heart that I would face death soon. Dancing girls and concubines do not live. We are destined to die young.

The horde split and I was taken with a group who said they were called Dacians, who were travelling away from the rising sun and towards the moon. I danced, I was taken. I was sold and exchanged. I was passed from one lord to another, a gift or a debt or on the toss of the tumbler. Some of the men were good and kind, some not so. I was loved and I was whipped. I travelled. I was but an object for their pleasure.

And after many months we came to the place they call Trajan’s Gate and we knew that there would be a battle. The Romans were camped by the great river. And whoever won the battle would feast and celebrate and girls would dance and be taken by the men who drank wine from horns. And whoever lost would be slaughtered or taken in slavery beyond the river.

We waited. We heard the sounds of battle. We saw the smoke. And it was the Romans who came…

 

[messaline]

To be continued, of course ...... I hope !

 

[Loinclothslave]

And it was the Romans who came

Somehow I suspect it won’t just be the Romans who come…

Excellent beginning, @Peony , I echo @messaline with pleas for “more”!

 

[Fossy]

Scum from the Steppes – Chapter 01


Tiberius Claudius Maximus arrived late to the cavalry’s pursuit of the Dacian troops. The Roman auxiliaries had already been repelled twice in attacks against the enemy, but they still maintained close pursuit and kept the Dacians in their sight.

Now it would be up to him, leading the battle-hardened cavalry of the ala II Pannoniorum, to finish off those Dacian bastards. Maximus was a highly respected and highly decorated veteran of the Roman cavalry. He fought under Emperor Domitian in the first Dacian wars as a member of the cavalry of Legio VII Claudia. As he got older and his regular term of military service expired, he took the very unusual step for a Roman citizen of signing up to serve with a unit of auxiliary cavalry made up of foreigners.

Now well over forty years of age, Tiberius had served as a leader of auxiliary cavalry in both of Trajan’s wars with Dacia. His authority was never questioned, and when he arrived at the battle ground on the mountain side, he took immediate charge of the fight.

“My Decurion, we think that King Decebalus is with these Dacian troops,” a horsemen told Maximus when he arrived. “One of our men, who we then unfortunately lost in the attacks, thought he recognised the King, but he was uncertain”

“If that is true then we are all rich men!” Maximus exclaimed. “Caesar will be very generous to the men who capture Decebalus.”

“How will we know if it’s him?”

“I saw Decebalus at Aquae when he came to make the old treaty in Rome. He is a tall man and broadly built, like our Emperor. I will know him when I see him.”

“Yes, sir.” There was a pause before the cavalry man added, “What are your orders?”

“We’ll attack from all sides,” Tiberius ordered. “Cut off escape in every direction. Take prisoners! We want slaves and I want Decebalus taken alive.”

******

The battle from that stage had been brief, bloody and victorious for Tiberius Claudius Maximus. He had found Decebalus who, in fearful anticipation of being taken prisoner had slit his own throat and left Tiberius with his head to take back to Emperor Trajan.

Inside the decurion’s battlefield pavilion, there was a hubbub of activity as the final preparations were underway for the presentation of a small contingent of the captured Dacians, both male and female.

The heat was suffocating inside the large tent, the dazed captives, all filthy and naked, could barely stand, and the venalicius were bickering about who would hold them upright for inspection.

“Get these bastards, scum from the Steppes, in line,” shouts could be heard from several quarters.

Meanwhile, in the gathering audience, men were mulling about, some too drunk to walk, others falling asleep, while still others were distracted, deep in conversation. Over by the side of the stage, stretched out along the couch, Tiberius sighed and then stood to move towards the hastily assembled lines.

As he approached, the Dacians either slunk back or stuck out their chests to face him off, but it was the girl directly before him, sitting on the cold floor, that grabbed his attention. She was slight, but, despite the fact that she was attempting to shield her nudity with her hands and arms, it was clear she was perfectly formed.

"Remove your hands and stand up girl. Show yourself to me" The Senior Roman Officer commanded.



The blonde captive girl moved her hands as instructed and rose slowly to her feet.

“What is this, dried blood?” Tiberius asked, rubbing a spot on the girl’s cheek, sending shivers down her spine.

“Erm, I’m not sure, sir, it could of course be blood.”

“Why would that be? Has she been beaten … or raped?”

“What? No, my decurion, Sir, not before the inspection, never. But we encountered a little trouble as we dragged the slaves here. A drunken centurion and his henchmen tried to take her for themselves, before I could remedy the situation, sir.”

Tiberius laughed. “I bet they did. A street brawl, I take it? Well, no harm done, but this one is a true beauty. What’s your name girl?” The nude prisoner stared at her captor through wide eyes, defying him by saying nothing.

The Decurion laughed and took the male slave next to her by the balls, grabbing and twisting in his fist.

“Tell me, Maximillian,” he said turning to the Venalicius who was accompanying him. “Do you think these good patrons will be interested in buying a male slave whose balls have been twisted away from his body?” Tiberius pulled harder making the man howl in pain.

“What’s you name girl? Tell me or I will pull his balls off and his cock with them, then stuff them in your mouth!”

The girl gasped and shook her head, before muttering “H … H … Hirene,”

“Speak louder girl.”

“Hirene, is my name, I’m called Hirene.”

Tiberius smiled and nodded.

“Good girl …” he released his grip and the poor man in line fell to his knees doubled over in agony.

“Do you crave this bitch as your war booty decurion?”

Once again, Tiberius chuckled, “Maybe I do. Get her onto the stage, she can go first.”

There was a pause in the inspection as they turned to watch two monstrous brutes drag the slender, blonde-haired young girl up the rickety wooden steps and onto the stage. The naked, disoriented creature was pale and shivering; her bare feet scraping along the wooden boards of the platform, her eyes almost closed and unfocused as she was pushed into position.

The initial auction of the meagre, menial slaves was often to the fighting men … their spoils of war.

******

Tiberius leaned over to Maximillian and said with a leer, “Show time!”

“And first on the block this afternoon, an especially unusual and particularly rare offer for your consideration! A pretty young thing who I am certain can be tamed into submission for your pleasures.”

The auctioneer’s voice echoed through the hot air trapped inside the pavilion, causing the men to rouse from their naps or hush the buzz of their conversations.

One of the assistants gripped Hirene by the jaw; his fingers pressed cruelly into the young girl’s flesh as he positioned her face for a better view.

“I present a lovely Dacian girl, a delightful thrill for those of you who prefer the nubile flesh of a pretty whore for your playthings. Estimated to be around nineteen years of age. Good health, solid bones, a body like a dancer. But she requires training.”

The crowd snickered, as one idiot shouted, “Is the skinny slut at least house broken?”

The bidding began. “I offer two hundred denarii!”

The auctioneer laughed and then hollered, “Did I forget to mention she’s a virgin, ripe for defiling?”

Tiberius grinned and whispered to Maximillian… “Like Hades cock she is, you old rogue … she’s been well broken already …”

“Four hundred!” The auctioneer motioned for his men to turn the naked girl around.

“Surely you noticed this perfectly shaped, delectable and, let me repeat, unsullied backside, gentlemen? You won’t find a more round, tighter rump at any auction this year, and these delectable faded whip lash scars on her back …”

“Four-fifty!” Tiberius eyed the Dacian’s attractive, shapely bottom for a few moments before turning to the venalicius. “So, Max …”

“Sir, are you going to bid? The price is climbing quickly.”

The Head of the Auxiliary Cavalry grumbled, sat up straight, and shouted in his deep, rich voice, “Five hundred denarii!” Then he relaxed, returning his attention to Max. “… And, as the handler, you are the official fellatio trainer for these sluts, correct?”

Max grinned. “It’s an exhausting job, sir.”

“Seven hundred!” Shouted another bidder.

“Oh, for the love of Diana.”

Tiberius glanced at the stage and yelled in an annoyed tone, “Eight hundred!”

The steep boost in the bidding caused many in the audience to laugh and hoot and holler.

Then they realised it was Tiberius himself who was bidding and any counter offers ceased to be made.

Hirene was his …


To Be Continued ...

 

[Peony]

Scum from the Steppes – Chapter 01


Tiberius Claudius Maximus arrived late to the cavalry’s pursuit of the Dacian troops. The Roman auxiliaries had already been repelled twice in attacks against the enemy, but they still maintained close pursuit and kept the Dacians in their sight.

Now it would be up to him, leading the battle-hardened cavalry of the ala II Pannoniorum, to finish off those Dacian bastards. Maximus was a highly respected and highly decorated veteran of the Roman cavalry. He fought under Emperor Domitian in the first Dacian wars as a member of the cavalry of Legio VII Claudia. As he got older and his regular term of military service expired, he took the very unusual step for a Roman citizen of signing up to serve with a unit of auxiliary cavalry made up of foreigners.

Now well over forty years of age, Tiberius had served as a leader of auxiliary cavalry in both of Trajan’s wars with Dacia. His authority was never questioned, and when he arrived at the battle ground on the mountain side, he took immediate charge of the fight.

“My Decurion, we think that King Decebalus is with these Dacian troops,” a horsemen told Maximus when he arrived. “One of our men, who we then unfortunately lost in the attacks, thought he recognised the King, but he was uncertain”

“If that is true then we are all rich men!” Maximus exclaimed. “Caesar will be very generous to the men who capture Decebalus.”

“How will we know if it’s him?”

“I saw Decebalus at Aquae when he came to make the old treaty in Rome. He is a tall man and broadly built, like our Emperor. I will know him when I see him.”

“Yes, sir.” There was a pause before the cavalry man added, “What are your orders?”

“We’ll attack from all sides,” Tiberius ordered. “Cut off escape in every direction. Take prisoners! We want slaves and I want Decebalus taken alive.”

******

The battle from that stage had been brief, bloody and victorious for Tiberius Claudius Maximus. He had found Decebalus who, in fearful anticipation of being taken prisoner had slit his own throat and left Tiberius with his head to take back to Emperor Trajan.

Inside the decurion’s battlefield pavilion, there was a hubbub of activity as the final preparations were underway for the presentation of a small contingent of the captured Dacians, both male and female.

The heat was suffocating inside the large tent, the dazed captives, all filthy and naked, could barely stand, and the venalicius were bickering about who would hold them upright for inspection.

“Get these bastards, scum from the Steppes, in line,” shouts could be heard from several quarters.

Meanwhile, in the gathering audience, men were mulling about, some too drunk to walk, others falling asleep, while still others were distracted, deep in conversation. Over by the side of the stage, stretched out along the couch, Tiberius sighed and then stood to move towards the hastily assembled lines.

As he approached, the Dacians either slunk back or stuck out their chests to face him off, but it was the girl directly before him, sitting on the cold floor, that grabbed his attention. She was slight, but, despite the fact that she was attempting to shield her nudity with her hands and arms, it was clear she was perfectly formed.

"Remove your hands and stand up girl. Show yourself to me" The Senior Roman Officer commanded.

View attachment 1194179

The blonde captive girl moved her hands as instructed and rose slowly to her feet.

“What is this, dried blood?” Tiberius asked, rubbing a spot on the girl’s cheek, sending shivers down her spine.

“Erm, I’m not sure, sir, it could of course be blood.”

“Why would that be? Has she been beaten … or raped?”

“What? No, my decurion, Sir, not before the inspection, never. But we encountered a little trouble as we dragged the slaves here. A drunken centurion and his henchmen tried to take her for themselves, before I could remedy the situation, sir.”

Tiberius laughed. “I bet they did. A street brawl, I take it? Well, no harm done, but this one is a true beauty. What’s your name girl?” The nude prisoner stared at her captor through wide eyes, defying him by saying nothing.

The Decurion laughed and took the male slave next to her by the balls, grabbing and twisting in his fist.

“Tell me, Maximillian,” he said turning to the Venalicius who was accompanying him. “Do you think these good patrons will be interested in buying a male slave whose balls have been twisted away from his body?” Tiberius pulled harder making the man howl in pain.

“What’s you name girl? Tell me or I will pull his balls off and his cock with them, then stuff them in your mouth!”

The girl gasped and shook her head, before muttering “H … H … Hirene,”

“Speak louder girl.”

“Hirene, is my name, I’m called Hirene.”

Tiberius smiled and nodded.

“Good girl …” he released his grip and the poor man in line fell to his knees doubled over in agony.

“Do you crave this bitch as your war booty decurion?”

Once again, Tiberius chuckled, “Maybe I do. Get her onto the stage, she can go first.”

There was a pause in the inspection as they turned to watch two monstrous brutes drag the slender, blonde-haired young girl up the rickety wooden steps and onto the stage. The naked, disoriented creature was pale and shivering; her bare feet scraping along the wooden boards of the platform, her eyes almost closed and unfocused as she was pushed into position.

The initial auction of the meagre, menial slaves was often to the fighting men … their spoils of war.

******

Tiberius leaned over to Maximillian and said with a leer, “Show time!”

“And first on the block this afternoon, an especially unusual and particularly rare offer for your consideration! A pretty young thing who I am certain can be tamed into submission for your pleasures.”

The auctioneer’s voice echoed through the hot air trapped inside the pavilion, causing the men to rouse from their naps or hush the buzz of their conversations.

One of the assistants gripped Hirene by the jaw; his fingers pressed cruelly into the young girl’s flesh as he positioned her face for a better view.

“I present a lovely Dacian girl, a delightful thrill for those of you who prefer the nubile flesh of a pretty whore for your playthings. Estimated to be around nineteen years of age. Good health, solid bones, a body like a dancer. But she requires training.”

The crowd snickered, as one idiot shouted, “Is the skinny slut at least house broken?”

The bidding began. “I offer two hundred denarii!”

The auctioneer laughed and then hollered, “Did I forget to mention she’s a virgin, ripe for defiling?”

Tiberius grinned and whispered to Maximillian… “Like Hades cock she is, you old rogue … she’s been well broken already …”

“Four hundred!” The auctioneer motioned for his men to turn the naked girl around.

“Surely you noticed this perfectly shaped, delectable and, let me repeat, unsullied backside, gentlemen? You won’t find a more round, tighter rump at any auction this year, and these delectable faded whip lash scars on her back …”

“Four-fifty!” Tiberius eyed the Dacian’s attractive, shapely bottom for a few moments before turning to the venalicius. “So, Max …”

“Sir, are you going to bid? The price is climbing quickly.”

The Head of the Auxiliary Cavalry grumbled, sat up straight, and shouted in his deep, rich voice, “Five hundred denarii!” Then he relaxed, returning his attention to Max. “… And, as the handler, you are the official fellatio trainer for these sluts, correct?”

Max grinned. “It’s an exhausting job, sir.”

“Seven hundred!” Shouted another bidder.

“Oh, for the love of Diana.”

Tiberius glanced at the stage and yelled in an annoyed tone, “Eight hundred!”

The steep boost in the bidding caused many in the audience to laugh and hoot and holler.

Then they realised it was Tiberius himself who was bidding and any counter offers ceased to be made.

Hirene was his …


To Be Continued ...

she's so lovely! and she knows she's going to die...

 

[prtn]

interesting beginning!

 

[messaline]

Well done and rather historic ...

 

[Peony]

Scum from the Steppes – Chapter 02

Many of them. Armoured and filthy from battle. Many. And they would take us, slaughter us. Many of them. Hungry for us. Hungry for more blood, more killing.

But sometimes it was better to be like me. A slave. A dancing girl. I had become used to being sold, or given, or stolen. I was used to the whip and to hardship. I was used to my friends being taken from me and killed. And I was pretty. The men all said so. Elyssa said so. I was pretty, I could dance, I could fuck. And I knew suffering. The King's family knew nothing of these things. Wives and children, soft bodies and used to being served. Now they would be slaves too. If they were lucky. The old and the young and the ugly were of no use, they would just be killed. If they were lucky it would be a sword to the neck. If not... Well, we knew of the Romans. We knew how they loved to kill and enjoyed shaming their captives, hanging them naked from crosses. To die slowly. There would be a field of crosses today.

A pretty dancing girl, a concubine, has some value. I was lucky. But that hadn't stopped some of the soldiers, drunk on wine, trying to take me. I was ready. I had been raped before. Perhaps they would rape me and slit me open. I remembered my mother, her howls as they ripped her breasts off, cut her guts from her. I was ready. I would always die young. That is what happened to dancing girls. I remembered Elyssa, in paradise with the great Khan. Her eyes as she realised, through the haze of the shaman's smoke, what was about to happen to her. That she was to be cut open, her bowels falling before her to the ground. She had gone through it. I could go through it too, if that was how things were to be.

Then life was returned to me. A fight, and I was taken away from these men, and into the tent with the other captives. The head man of the Romans was there, lying on a couch, smiling, looking at his spoils. Looking at us.

They stripped my clothes from me. I knew I was pretty. Someone might want me, like others had in the past. In time, perhaps I would learn their tongue. Perhaps I would live in one of their fine houses... Perhaps I would not have to dance anymore, or be exchanged in a game of dice... Perhaps... Or perhaps it would be bad. My mind flittered everywhere. But only the gods knew... But at least their leader seemed to like me. He asked to see my body. He asked me my name. I told him. Perhaps he would want me?

They pushed me up on the platform they had made out of rough planks. Now I would find out.

I didn't understand the money they were shouting about, but the sums seemed to be increasing. I was pretty, and they could see that. Men would want my soft breasts and my hard body, my lovely eyes, my fair hair. Men would want to have themselves in my cunt. I was prettier than all the others and prettiness has a value. Someone would want me. Even if it was just to fuck me and kill me. Someone would want to own me.

And then the bidding ended, and I was someone else's slave. Not a Dacian now, but a Roman. And it was him - their leader, lying on the couch. I was to be his slave... It was better than dying on a cross. I would live. At least for a while. Because deep inside I knew that slaves and dancing girls to not lead long lives. They die young. And I knew that even if in this moment I was to live, I would still die young... I would die while I was still pretty. But for now, I would live.

 

[Fossy]

Scum from the Steppes – Chapter 03


The holding cell where Tiberius could more closely inspect his purchase was little more than battle-field shack, constructed as a temporary structure … there was a whole row of them located at the far end of a set of slave barracks.

Inside the ‘cell’, one small window allowed a beam of orange-infused afternoon sunlight to stream into the middle of the space. And at the centre, standing in the waning golden spotlight, stood a naked and disoriented Dacian captive named Hirene.

Hirene, her limbs numb from the position she had been forced to hold, arms stretched high, wrists chained, her weight balanced upon the tips of her toes. Despite her obvious dancer’s physique, the girl could barely stand, and would have fallen in her exhaustion without the support of her manacled limbs, but she was ideally positioned for her purchaser’s personal hands-on appraisal.



She could hear muffled words, but couldn’t see clearly through the relative gloom. Her eyes wouldn’t focus, and her lids were so heavy she could hardly force them open more than a crack.

“That was crazy price for a savage bitch like this,” Maximillian said to Tiberius as they moved further into the small room

Hirene’s spine stiffened as she tried hard to swallow and lubricate her parched throat.

It was time for her to perform, to quell her insolence and her hatred. Her last scraps of hope, not to mention life, depended on it.

Even though she couldn’t move a muscle, Hirene’s pulse raced. Tiberius Claudius Maximus … the bastard who’d ordered his legions to destroy their city and ruthlessly massacre Hirene’s adopted countrymen during the wars? As reality sunk further in, Hirene shivered uncontrollably and broke into a cold sweat.

Tiberius looked her up and down for a few moments, before nodding with satisfaction.

“Payment in full will arrive with you by tomorrow morning. I trust my word will be sufficient collateral for this evening.”

“Yes, Commander. Anything you wish,” Maximillian replied.

“What an inspiring creature you are.” Gripping the girl by her slender upper arms, Tiberius spoke over the Dacian girl’s shoulder with genuine concern in his voice,

“Max, she’s shivering terribly. Perhaps she is ill?”

Maximillian pressed the back of his hand against the slave’s forehead. “Yes, I can see she’s shaking, but it’s not from fever. Her skin is cool to the touch. It’s shock, anticipation and fear of the unknown … she is in fine health, you have my word.”

Tiberius nodded and cupped Hirene’s jaw to lift her face. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?” The decurion traced a finger down the gentle slope of his property’s small, slender nose and across the girl full, soft lips.

“Such a pretty face … delicate and graceful …” The Roman commander paused, before adding quietly, “She’s breath-taking.”

As Tiberius lightly brushed his fingertips over the swell of the captive’s cheek and then over the curves of her arched eyebrows, he sighed. He inspected the Dacian girl’s arms and upper body before squatting down to scrutinize her perfectly formed legs.

“Are you pleased with her, sir?”

“Her body is exceptionally fuckable Max, but I’m not assessing her beauty. I am looking for any markings, tattoos or brands that could tell me more about who she really is …”

But there was nothing. “She’s clean.”

Tiberius then made a closer inspection of her hands, held high above her head. He took each of the Dacian’s hands into his palms and ran his experienced touch over the slave’s slender fingers. They were strong but smooth and unscarred. They bore no calluses or other damage caused by hard work. The Roman officer coughed to clear the lump of desire in his throat.

“So, you will be keeping her, sir?”

“Yes, she will travel back to Rome with me.” Tiberius reached down to spread her thighs with his fingers and cup her mound, covered by a barely visible down of short blonde hair, causing the young girl to gasp.

Without warning, Hirene pulled away from Tiberius’ rough touch, lifting her droopy eyelids and glared blindly at her owner.

Calm and in control, Tiberius stared back, savouring the fierce look in the girl’s glare, eyes that betrayed an angry, beautiful young woman filled with desperation and defiance and raw resilience.

He seized the slave by her long, damp blonde hair.

“Do not fight me, girl.”

With one last feeble token of resistance, the girl jerked her head away, and suddenly her eyes rolled back into her head as she lost consciousness and fell limp, held up only by the chains.

Even though the Dacian girl was young and fit, the oppressive heat and constant brutal manhandling had taken their toll.

After he exhaled a breath, Tiberius shook his head and laughed.

“Well, she will be a handful, won’t she? I’m definitely keeping this beautifully feral slut, Max, but not in Rome. My wife would throw a fit if she discovered a Dacian mongrel like this wandering about the mansion. We’ll transport her down to my Campanian villa to be properly trained.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will stay with her, Max. Make sure she remains untouched. First thing tomorrow, we’ll leave this suffocating oven of a Godforsaken place and head south for the refreshing breezes of the Campanian coast.”


To be Continued ...

 

[messaline]

... for the refreshing breezes of the Campanian coast.”


To be Continued ...

OF COURSE !!!

 

[Peony]

Scum from the Steppes – Chapter 04

I had imagined they would take me to his tent. I was his slave now and he would want to have me as soon as he had washed the dirt of battle from himself. He had paid so I was his to use and he would surely want to use me. I was fine with it. It wasn't the first time. I would dance for him and then show him how a Scythian concubine can make love. I would be proud and arrogant first though, just to excite him. I would show him that a slave can still be strong and haughty. That would arouse him. I had to work to make him truly want to have me. Not a throw-away toy but a girl who he would want to keep, to dress in beautiful clothes and jewels. A girl who would live.

I had, in those brief moments, imagined this. But I was wrong. He was a Roman, and I should have known.

They had taken me to a tiny wooden cell, they had chained my wrists above me. I was stretched, my toes barely meeting the ground. I was hurting. Why? I thought he wanted to fuck me. Now I thought he just wanted to see me cry in pain. Well, he wouldn't. I would not cry for him.

They came, talking in their foreign tongue. Talking about me. Looking at me. Touching me. I wondered if they were deciding how to torture me. How to kill me. If that was their pleasure then I was ready. I would join Elyssa. I wasn't afraid. I would always die young.

He put his fingers onto my sex. I recoiled. He would have to wait! He pulled me by my hair. I stared at him. He would know I was not afraid. He uttered some threat. I was not afraid. He could kill me if he wanted. I was afraid of the pain. I was afraid of the suffering. But not of him. Not of death.

He said something to his man. Then left. And I was left hanging from the chains. My body stretched out. My wrists burning. Sweat covering my trembling body. The light that slanted across my nakedness faded. It was becoming night...

 

[Fossy]

Scum from the Steppes – Chapter 05


At the Casa di Nostrum, the Villa of Tiberius Claudius Maximus on the beautiful Campanian coastline of Southern Italy, Hirene awoke with her head pressed against something cool, hard and wet.



Without moving a muscle, she kept her eyes closed and assessed the situation. Her wrists were securely joined behind her back with what felt like rope chafing her skin. Both ankles were bound together by heavy shackles. No blindfold, no gag. she opened one eye and realised her cheek was resting in a puddle of drool.

She was still naked, but a cloth of some sort had been draped over her body, and although her stomach was empty her bladder was full to bursting.

Lying on the floor, she tried to recall the journey from Dacia, to this place by the sea that seemed so far away.

For most of that endless, bouncy wagon ride along paved roads and dirt paths, she had been flat on her back, barely covered, wrists tied to the floor of the stuffy covered compartment. Twice a day, that man named Maximillian had fed her; twice a day, he’d allowed Hirene to relieve herself in a wooden bucket.

The captive girl counted the five times they’d stopped for the night. Each time, two men had chatted outside the wagon’s back door about the weather, women, and the public baths, whatever those were, in some place called Neapolis.

They never mentioned the slaughter of her kinsmen, of her friends, the decimation of her life. When the wagon had stopped late on that last night, the pungent sweet stench of horse manure hung heavy in the air. Maximillian carried her to a small room on the upper floor of a building next to the stables.

Carefully, he’d deposited Hirene on a cushioned bed, removed her blindfold, and secured the chain attached to the shackles binding her ankles to the sturdy bronze frame, and here she had remained.

The door to the room opened and that same man, Maximillian, entered.

“So, you’re awake then. No need to pretend any longer, Dacian, open those big eyes of yours for me.”

Several moments of silence passed.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” the man shouted.

Hirene opened both eyes, and glanced up at the man, but remained stationary in her bound position on the floor.

“Well, that’s a start, but you will need to respond better than that in all manner of things, if you’re to become Tiberius’ concubine,” the man laughed. “You’re going to be a lot of work girl, and you had better be worth it, or you will lose your usefulness …”

Hirene blinked, but kept her eyes fixed on Maximillian as he reached out and jerked her up to a standing position; Hirene struggled to keep her balance, forcing Max to steady her with a firm forceful hand.

With a grin he pointed to a bronze pot, that had mysteriously appeared form somewhere, in the opposite corner of the room.

“Move and empty yourself into this before you piss all over the floor!”

Hirene stood still, despite the pressure threatening to burst her bladder.

“I said piss in the pot!” she didn’t move and said nothing.

Maximillian tore away the skimpy cloth from her body and pointed at the juncture of her thighs before then directing his finger at the pot, with the exaggerated gestures of a teacher instructing an ignorant child.

Max sighed lifted up his tunic, took out his cock and pissed into the bowl while Hirene watched, an ever growing expression of disgust developing on her pretty face. Within a few moments, he had drained himself and once again indicated for the girl to do likewise.

“Now you girl. Piss!”

With raised eyebrows and a sigh, Hirene crouched down and before her audience of one, emptied her bladder into the pot. When the flow had ceased, she looked up at the repulsive man who was watching her.

“Good. Now, let’s see if you’ll eat this stew, I saved for you. It’ll be cold by now, but it’s good.”

After she had raised herself from the pot, the man pushed Hirene down to a seated position in the corner and rewrapped the meagre cloth around her naked body. He held up the bowl, then stared as, despite her wrists being bound, the girl took it, and hungrily wolfed down the meal.

When she had finished, the man wiped the residue off Hirene’s mouth and delicate chin with the edge of her cloth, and sat back, studying her carefully.

“I am called Maximillian,” he said slowly, pointing at his chest. “Now you need to rest because soon they will come to prepare you, for tonight you will dance for your Master and his guests.


To Be Continued ...

 

[Peony]

Scum from the Steppes – Chapter 06

I know his name. Maximillian. But that is all. The rest of their words mean nothing. If they want me to understand, they need to point. I know to obey. I am a slave.

Five nights we were travelling. Rough roads that shook me and bounced me in the covered wagon. My back continually torn by the harsh planks. Unable to move. My wrists bound. I had no desire to escape. I was just waiting for this torment of heat and dust to end. To arrive wherever we were going.

Salt air and the sound of water crashing. Rolling sounds. Not like the thunder of the rapids on the Danu Apr. So this is what they call the sea? I cannot see it. All I can see are the confines of my cage. And then the softness of a bed. But still I am shackled, chained to a metal frame. Why do they think I am going to run? They don't need to do this. Maybe they are going to kill me... But why bring me all this way just to kill me? Maybe they have some special plan for me. Maybe. I so want to piss... I... I am hungry and thirsty and I so want to piss...

He comes again. He calls me a Dacian again. I am a Scythian. I don't understand him. He is telling me something. Then he shows me. Thank the gods he is letting me take a piss. I am so full. I empty myself.

He gives me food, this man Maximillian. He says his name, and points to himself. I know his name. The food is cold but I am so hungry. He speaks some more to me. I don't understand him. Why is he feeding me? Is he going to have me killed? Does he want me for himself? I don't care. I am a dancing girl who will fuck if he wants it. I don't care anymore. At least I am not in a cart now. At least I have eaten. He can do what he wants. He points to the bed. He wants me to sleep. He doesn't want to fuck me. It's up to him. I am his slave. I don't care. At least I am alive. A few days more at least. Then maybe he will fuck me or maybe he will have me slaughtered. Like the others. I don't know. I don't care anymore. But I'm not afraid. If he has me killed there will be pain. I saw Elyssa's eyes. There will be pain, but then it will be over. I'm not afraid of death. I'm afraid of the pain, but pain ends. I am not afraid of him. I will not let myself be afraid of these Roman men. They can do what they want. I'm just a slave girl. They can do what they want...

 

[Fossy]

Scum from the Steppes – Chapter 07


Her head swam with the sweet scents of the oils rubbed into her skin and her eyes burned a little from the heavy make-up. Hirene had transformed from a captive slave girl to a vision of beauty and grace, the colours making her even more beautiful than even she could have imagined.

The men of the women who had cleansed her and made her up came by and made her pose for them before she was allowed to dress.



Once the skimpy fabrics had been hung from her along with the delicate gold chains, Hirene’s shapely hips made the shifting silks swish against one another every time she moved and the soft embrace of the fine fabrics engulfed her ample breasts.

Long golden bracelets snaked up her arms and the sides of her hair had been weaved into thin blonde plaits with gold-tipped ends. Tiberius spared no expense in preparing his dancing girls, who are to bring amusement to his guests and satiate their deepest desires.

It had taken most of the day to prepare Hirene, and their work had been cut out getting her to sit still long enough to have her face painted, and her silks adjusted.

Now, the moment was almost upon her and her inherent defiance was taking a backseat to a sense of rising nervous anticipation, as she wrapped the silks draped over her thighs, around her fingers in nervous patterns, before inhaling a deep breath just as the guards opened the doors to the banquet hall for her to step forward.

Hirene was almost blinded by the warm sparkle of lights and the rich colours and fabrics that surrounded her. Silk panes had been hung from the ceiling to partition the room slightly and low tables were heaving under their heavy weight of drinks and food.

Servants milled between the joyous groups of people, chattering amongst themselves. Guards lined the walls, giving the festivities an air of formality that made a heady mix with the lavish celebrations.

From his carefully carved and adorned throne, Tiberius watched his guests with great satisfaction. He had held back his natural desires to use the new slave from Dacia, but this was to be her first exposure to him since the day of their arrival.

Then the music began, with Hirene’s heart beating like a drum in her chest

Hirene began to twirl and sway in time with the sultry notes, spreading her thighs knowingly, intent on pleasing the audience and in particular her new owner. She knew that, despite being pampered, she was still only a slave and her life could change in an instant, so she needed to keep Tiberius sweet.

Her steps became ever more sprightly, jumping and swirling about as she had been taught and trained, but adding in just enough of her own flavour to stand out from the crowd. The music took over her whole body, and she could feel eyes starting to rest on her and with every moment that passed, an all-encompassing feeling of release engulfed her as she danced for the man who would control her life.

The gods would not have brought her there if they did not have great plans for her, she was sure of it. As time passed, Hirene could feel a heat starting to burn inside her stomach.

Her eyes fluttered, clear depths glancing around and revelling in the attention the men and their concubines gave to her.

Tiberius was watching her closely, enjoying the gentle sway of her hips and the feminine curves of her body, imagining exactly what he would do to his captive concubine in a little while … his dark gaze held steadily upon her and, for him, the rest of the room seemed to drift away. Her swirling moves became more animated and Hirene threw herself to the dance, every movement designed to please her owner …


To be continued ...

 

[Peony]

Scum from the Steppes – Chapter 07

...so yes, you could say I am vain. And proud, and maybe arrogant... I am a slave, not even owning my own body, but when I am painted and perfumed and my nakedness is draped in fine gold, then people look at me and desire me. Men amd women. I have lost the filth of the journey and the chains on my wrists and now I am not just pretty, a pretty girl for fucking, I am beautiful.

And I am dancing in a beautiful tent, richly draped in crimson. I am turning and twisting. They stare at my gold hair, my breasts, my tight body, my cunt as it appears and disappears behind the fine curtain of gold links... I am golden. I am too lovely. They want me. They all want me. To take me and lie with me.

But I am dancing for the man in the throne. He is the one that matters. Maximillian is his slave it seems.

I dance to him, arching my back over his legs, looking into his eyes, my breasts rising towards him. I tempt him, I draw away. I must make him desire me.

I must make him want me. My lips, my face, my arms, my legs, my body, my cunt. I need him to want me. He is my life... I come close and move away. I kneel before him, my body writhing. All the skiĺls I know, letting my sex rise towards him. I am seducing him. He must want me...he must want me...

 

[Fossy]

Scum from the Steppes – Chapter 08


Taking her cue from the fact that she is alone with him, and the way he is looking at her, Hirene stands and moves brazenly towards her new owner, raising herself onto the tips of her toes, until her lips find his.

Gone are the delicate gold chains and the skimpy silks to be replaced by a translucent shift, thin enough for the outline of her perfect body to be clearly seen against the glow of the wall torches.



It’s a bold move on the part of the slave girl, as she is not yet his concubine, but Hirene knows enough to risk her position by taking the lead, in order to encourage this alpha Roman Officer between her thighs.

He tastes warm and wet with wine.

He tears his mouth from hers, stares into the slave girl's eyes, and her heart flutters into her mouth … did she do the right thing? But Tiberius’ smile only widens.

Carefully, practiced, his loincloth and cloak come free with a twist of his finger, falling onto the shiny black tiles of the luxurious flooring, as the girl lets the skimpy shift fall too so that they may appraise one another’s denuded bodies.

Emboldened by his response to her kiss she grasps his cock in her fingers, and gently closes her hand into a fist. He is already hard, long, thick and rigid …

As she wraps one hand around his erection, Hirene cradles his balls with the other, weighty and full. She knows that one wrong move could signify her demise, but she also knows that the real way to a man’s heart is through his cock, and though she hates the Roman race with a passion, Hirene is also a survivor, always managing to do what needs to be done.

“You act with boldness slave girl. How do you know what I want? Do you yearn to be so close to death? Does it excite you to stand at its precipice?”

Hirene looks up at this monster of a man and her lip trembles, but instead of speaking out her reply, she responds by stroking the length of his cock, gently pumping her fingers over the shaft and using the slickness gathered at its head to aid the motion.

In reciprocation his hand runs over the top of her thigh to cup her ass, pulling her to him. As he does so his other set of digits slides between the heat of their two bodies into the thin patch of hair between them.

Tiberius’ fingers slip inside her, curling against her already slick inner walls.

“You are eager for me,” he says.

“Yes,” Hirene replies, but, somewhat provocatively, does not add the word Dominus as a suffix …

Tiberius laughs. “If that is so, let me taste your desire,” and, gripping the cheeks of her bottom, he lifts her high into the air, swinging first one leg over his shoulder followed by the other, positioning her cunt against his face.

The Roman’s tongue lashes at the folds of his dancing slave, as her fingers gather in his hair, pulling him taut by the roots as she gasps out loud with each wet stroke. He sucks long and hard at the engorged nub buried at the peak of her pussy, his face coated anew with wet desire. At no point does he struggle to keep her aloft.

Possessed by lust Hirene reaches upwards and braces her position against the roof beams for support as his tongue becomes a spear, darting inside her to suck at the soft, pliant interior.

Still the head of his cock looms below her, his length so stiff it surely must ache. Hirene moans into the vacant air before her, her body alive, fuelled by lust and desire …

Tiberius’ tongue does not relent in its mission, his arm looped over her thigh, which presses against his ear. The pad of his thumb finds the hard button at the juncture of her swollen lips and she cries out. A sensation so strong rushes into her that, eyes closed, Hirene fears the afterlife will claim her through pleasure alone.

But she does not want this desire-fuelled storm, to end … and she aims to prolong it.

The girl bends at the hip and whispers into the ear of Tiberius, “You have tasted my flesh, now let me feast on yours before I drown in desire.”

The Roman laughs loudly, setting Hirene down onto the ground once more, a smile on his face, his chin glistening from her ministrations, whereupon her legs quiver as she attempts to stand on them.

With her hand wrapped firmly around the base of his erect shaft, kneeling, she takes his cock into her mouth, lowering her lips deep over its thick length until she can take no more.

Tiberius very clearly approves, his thick legs buckling like trees pulled from the ground, a deep rasp in his throat groaning out as he raises his head to the sky, locked in pleasure. He thanks all number of gods as Hirene works with her practiced mouth, and her hand in unison.

Given the Roman’s reactions, it would seem her experience is coming to the fore, and she briefly lets the head of his cock free from her mouth, running her hand over the shining, inflamed helmet, and then moving her touch back down to its base.

She repeats this motion, an interplay of hand and mouth, until heavy breathing tells her that her owner draws close to spilling his seed. Hirene smiles before drawing her lips tightly around his shaft whilst pumping faster … He holds her head gently, eager to fill her mouth.

She motions ever more rapidly, until she can sense his climax is imminent. It is at this moment she moves her free hand between his legs, between the hard mounds of his buttocks, and slides a finger into his anus.

“By the gods!” he cries, before the cock in her mouth fills it fast with hot seed.

Falling to the smooth, hard floor, satiated they breathe in harmony, calling upon their own gods, thanking them for such an exhaustive coupling.

With his new little dancing slave-slut, Tiberius is well pleased …


To Be Continued ...

 

[Peony]

Scum from the Steppes – Chapter 09

I am with him. He has chosen me...I made him. I am the loveliest. I believe this. I must. My gold dancing jewels are replaced by the sheerest of gowns, which is soon around my ankles. He wants me. I know his name but not his tongue. But his tongue is soon inside me. In my mouth.

He's strong but helpless. He whispers things and I reply. In my language. I speak seductively. We find a way to understand.

He lifts me. He eats at my sex. I reach out for the beam above and hang taut as he enters me with his tongue and mouth. He grabs me. I feel my senses tumbling. Now I want him inside me. I want him to fuck me.

He owns me and he must have me. He is my way to staying in this life. But somehow I know inside, even as he fills me with his seed, even as we fall together united in gasping frenzy, somehow I know that he will have me killed. That my life will not be a long one with this great Roman. I am a slave girl and I will die young. I will die soon.

And he enters me again...

 

[Loinclothslave]

Wildly erotic. A gorgeous scene even without the rarely spoken peril Hirene faces.

@Fossy I’ve never heard that position for cunnilingus described so vividly. Bravo.


Is it conceivable Tiberius knows a little Dacian given his high station and duties?

 

[Fossy]

Is it conceivable Tiberius knows a little Dacian given his high station and duties?

It is certainly conceivable that Tiberius knows some Dacian having spent so long in the region. Hirene is actually Scythian, who spoke ancient Arabic ... he may also have picked up a few key words of Scythian. Either way the 'Sounds-of-Sex' and the 'Language-of-Love' always wins through ...

 

[Fossy]

Scum from the Steppes – Chapter 10


Several weeks after Hirene had first been brought to Tiberius’ Villa on the Campanian coast …


Hirene’s beauty and skill with the lasciviously sexual side of life meant that Tiberius soon became addicted to her. She was in his bed at night and by his side during the day. Despite being away at war for many, many months, not once did he think to visit Rome so that he could see his wife Aemilia and his Children, eight-year-old Julius and Ophelia who was a year younger …

Life was good for Tiberius and he intended to keep it that way. But on the fateful day that his wife arrived unannounced, everything changed.

******

“What is it?” The Senior Roman officer’s patience with his bumbling servants was wearing thin.

“Your wife, my decurion, she is here.”

“What? My wife? Here … but how …?”

Any further discussion was cut short as the doors burst open and in stormed Aemilia, Tiberius’s spouse of many years, causing Hirene to remove her hand from the swelling groin of her owner and jump away from his lap.

“Husband, I see you are keeping yourself busy while you are away from me, your obvious energy must be down to all that sea air …”

“Aemilia, what a … surprise …”

His wife laughed scornfully and nodded her head in the direction of Hirene. “I think you missed the word ‘pleasant’ out of your sentence, husband dear.”

The room fell silent as a smirking Aemilia stared at the captive girl who had quite clearly become more than just a slave to the great Roman soldier. “Who do you think you are girl? I am his wife … I am the mother of his children … I am the one he married …”

Narrowing her eyes, Hirene returned the glare and then opened her mouth. “Yet I am the one he comes to when he has a hard on …”

There was a collective gasp around the room as Aemilia suddenly appeared to be having trouble breathing.

“Hirene …” Tiberius, in an attempt to quell the simmering explosion, speaks, he says, “… you are free to return to your quarters.”

The younger girl senses that she is being dismissed and feels the sickness welling in her stomach now that she realises exactly what she has said and done.

As she makes her way to her room, Hirene hears the hysterical voice of Aemilia carrying through the halls.

Oh, you stupid, stupid girl, what have you done? She asks herself.

******

Waking with a start, sweat beading on her brow, Hirene looked fearfully around her room for the terrifying apparition that had appeared in her dreams, but finding only the four walls of her new home and the moonlight dancing on the windowsill. She breathes out a sigh of relief.

It’s okay.

She’s safe now.

But she is not. Someone else is here.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, the tip of a blade sits under her chin. It lifts upwards and the shadow holding the knife becomes solid form. It’s Aemilia.



“So,” she says, her voice calm and controlled, quiet in the night, “… you see fit to embarrass me in front of my husband, my whole house?”

“I never meant to, please …”

The blade presses harder indenting the flesh of her throat. “Silence.”

Moving downwards, over her throat, pressing against the soft upper edges of her breasts, the knife-edge runs over the naked skin teasing.

“I should take your life,’ Aemilia continues, “… but that would be a waste, would it not? A body so fine put to the slaughter?”

Hirene remains frozen as the older woman tilts the blade forward and it slides lower, its very tip now resting against the exposed nipple. Tiberius’ new found concubine gasps.

“You will follow me to my chambers, understand?”

‘Yes, Domina,” the younger girl replies subserviently.

Aemilia laughs, removing the blade. “Oh, I am not your Domina, child, but by the end of the night perhaps you will wish I was. Now, follow me.”

Remaining naked, Hirene wraps her arms around her body to keep out the chill of the night. She follows Ameillia’s slinking form through the resting house.

What horrors await now her in these walls, what appalling torture?


To Be Continued …