Master told me that I had to be a good girl. First and foremost, it was the only thing that I really needed to do. Be good. Why was that such a hard thing to do? He purchased me from traders when I was quite young, and all I have known was his ownership of me. I loved the house that I grew up in. The lush garden and the ruthless games of escape and capture there, the awful pens of torment, the steam rooms and baths. The hall of torture and the contests of sport where I had to run naked, servicing the ranks of gladiators. I loved and hated it all.
I was born to be a slave. I never thought to get away. I am ashamed to admit how much I loved the humiliation and the pain. To hear the roar of the crowd as a soldier overpowered me. The thrum of desire that burned me as hot piss spilled over my creamy-white flesh. Yes, I am a slave and I am proud to be a slave, my Master is the most powerful man in the realm, I don't know what else a girl could want.
Master loved me. I knew it in my heart, for he held me when I cried and he bundled me in my cage and brought me with him when business drew him away from home. I had grown as a woman under his care and though he had sold the other girls that came before me, I was the eldest of his girls. I admit that I had some arrogance. I am a pretty girl after all. There are not many women with flaxen hair and blue eyes on the island. My skin glows like the moon. Flawless except for the lines of Master's whip that mark my inner thighs and the bite marks of his passion against my breast. They are silvery reminders that I should be a good girl.
Ah, to be good. I wish that it were such a simple thing.
I sat at his feet that fateful day. Suffering in sweetest humiliation, smelling of cunt and his cum. My eyes half-lidded as I lipped the underside of his cock, rolling my tongue-tip over his balls. The taste of master, all heady and musky with his powerful desire, was heaven to me. I dripped cum from the side of my face onto my bare breast, sticky with my sweat and the juices of another slave-girl upon my skin. That girl lay curled at my side and I petted her flank idly while my attention fixated on master's cockflesh, knowing just how he enjoyed the hot breath against his groin and my tongue working against his ballsack.
"My Lord?" From the doorway, a man spoke and then, cautiously stepped forward, clutching the bound scroll against his chest. Marcios. I saw him from the side of my eye as I moved my lips against the underside of Master's prick and flicked my tongue up his shaft to savor the salty spunk still on his member. The heat of the day had faded somewhat but the birds in the fig trees remained silent in the shade. The eunuchs still cooled us with the great peacock plumed fans and the sound of water falling from the dozen pools was enough to lull even the most dedicated slave-girl to sleep. "There is word of unrest in the Eastern provinces." Marcios was saying and I could see his dark eyes drinking me in hungrily.
Naked, I lay sprawled on the warm stones, my head in Master's lap, cheek against his dick, well oiled by cum and pussy juices and my body ripe with need as I had not yet been given my own orgasm. I craved satisfaction with a keen pain. Still, I was only a slave and I had learned through the years to put my desires aside and not think about it. I was a well trained Slavegirl. I could not recall not wearing a collar.
As usual, Marcios's loincloth scarcely hid his passion and as my lips toyed over my Master's loins, I wondered at the steel and power of Marcios's manhood. I had never seen it, except for how it made a tent of his groin. He had never sampled the joys of the game. Perhaps if he had, things would not have turned out as they did.
"Is that so?" Master asked quietly, his voice husky with satisfaction; slightly bored even with the news of unrest. "Well, we will have to go and put and end to this I suppose. " His hand settled onto my head, petting my golden hair and spreading it across his thighs to show the contrast of bronze and glittering white-gold.
"The Empress believes you should take a wife. It would be a sign of good faith." Marcios's voice grew rough as he watched from the distance. My hips quivered when Master wrapped his fist in my hair and forced my face down hard against his groin. I heard his low grunt of pleasure as my lips were bruised against the throbbing of his manhood and felt the song in my blood as my hair was pulled painfully tight.
