Author's Note.
I'd originally intended the story to be a stand alone, but on the urging of Gatorhermit and others I found more for the characters. This is a rough draft. I'm looking for opinions. It hasn't been beaten into submission by my Grammar Dominatrix Mistress Red Pen yet so please forgive my comma abuse. Please let me know what you think of where the story is going.
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Alone
. It had never bothered me before. My own company had been my comfort, the only constant in a life in which I had little control.
Lonely
, I'd never thought myself such. More solitary than lonely. But now, since Roth had left, I was lonely. Desperately lonely. The brief glimpse of belonging he'd shown me had so quickly decimated my solitary resolve.
I was lost with him gone;
the thought seemed painfully wedged deep into my very soul. Like the talons of a vicious thorn it stabbed deeper with each breath. Outside the trees had just started to turn, showing the first subtle signs hearkening the start of an early autumn. From my high viewpoint I stared out the water stained window glass at one brown edged leaf, teetering on the edge of a fragile stem, willing it to fall to the ground.
Fall.
So strange to feel such loss.
This aching.
It pierced,
the missing,
hurting so much I was sure that it had physically manifested somehow. Scarred or marked me. I spread my fingers at the center of my chest and pressed into the center of the hurt. I had only known him twelve hours or so. How could it be that without him I was so lost?
After The Choosing he had taken me from the Great Hall up to my new lodgings. In his arms I lay as he swept me up spiral stone staircases, through heavy wooden doors his sure step echoing in the lamp lit corridors. He'd placed me on a bed.
Gentle.
Deep red velvet coverings beneath my naked skin, soft, but not as soft as his caress of his tongue as he lay sucking kisses down the length of my body. He'd fed me from his hand and I'd fed him, from the curve of my neck. At the memory my fingers flew to the slight mark that remained from his teeth. Five days ago now. Five days with not enough air, not enough warmth, not enough....
Him
.
Loss, Echoing loss.
He'd left the morning after The Choosing. His last words to me,
I will return
. But when? Where had he gone? Why had he left me?
"Mistress Chosen, your bath is ready."
Looking away from the window I turned to see my maid Hatha at the doorway Her austere black uniform matched her countenance perfectly. She was as starched as the winged black cap that perched upon her head. I stood from the window seat and followed her into the bathing room that adjoined my suite. Inside the small marble lined chamber I lifted my arms and let her strip off my robe. The first time she had tried to undress me I had resisted. I was not used to the touch of others, especially for such intimate tasks. Ignoring my objections as if I had not uttered a word, she stripped me like a disobedient child. Since that moment I had acquiesced to her service of my body. It was easier than the humiliation of the futile struggle. Hatha's will was unyielding and irresistible, like a water shaping stone. Resistance was as futile as the shore line protesting the tide. In time, water and Hatha would always have their way.
I had come to learn that Chosen did not mean liberated. Selection did not entail me to any sort of free will. I was simply subject to a different set of rules under the watchful eye of Roth's servant Hatha rather than Bandar.
She guided me to the copper bathing tub. A week later I still sighed in pleasure at the sight of the steaming scented water. In the village a full immersion bath had been a weekly privilege. I was not yet used to the luxury of daily bathing.
She held my arm as I stepped into the tub. I no longer fought her for the wash rag; instead I submissively leant forward and waited for her touch. She cleaned my back first in gentle circles. Oddly it did not bother me to be touched so. Ordinarily I had flinched from such contact, now I arched into it as if asking for more. I sighed and sank back against the molded edge of the tub when Hatha had finished with my back, offering her easy access to my unwashed front. I wanted to again ask her where the Prince had gone but I knew she would not reply. Instead I tried another tactic, starting a conversation in the hope that the information I most craved might slip. "Tell me please Hatha, tell me of The Chosen."
She paused, her brow furrowing in concentration as if she weighed each word before speaking, "What do you already know of The Chosen?"
Yet again she answered my question with a question of her own. It was a particular skill of Hatha's that I found most frustrating.
"Different roles?" I asked, deliberately adding another question to the mix. I could have answered her, I knew The Chosen were the privileged servants of the Night Masters, the human arm imposing their will. I knew they had specific jobs, specialized tasks but I wanted to hear Hatha's explanation.
Hatha's hands moved to my chest, soapy fingers first holding the weight of my breasts and then moving to my puckered nipples. My mind fogged as pleasure seeped warm and intoxicating through my body. "The Chosen are all special, but in different ways. They all serve a different purpose. Each belongs to a different class."
I heard her words but it seemed as if they came through the filter of water. Waves of need rolled over me as her fingers continued to tease the hardened tips of my nipples.
"Each Chosen has a different role. You had Chosen in your village did you not?"
Her hands stilled on my breasts for a moment allowing me the thought to answer, "Yes, she was Nastacia Chosen. An advisor to my Uncle the mayor."
"She would be of the Political Class. They are selected for their skills in negotiation and legislation."
"What other classes of Chosen are there?"
Again the hands started to move. This time from the swell of my breasts down my stomach. It was hard to think while nimble fingers danced across slippery skin. I should have asked her to stop, but for some reason the very thought of losing her touch seemed painful.
"There are Selectors, Performers, Warriors, Artists, Teachers..."
I interrupted Hatha to whisper, "And Pleasure."
"Yes and Pleasure." A rare smile crossed her Hatha's face. Her square jawed look softening slightly. "That's what you are my sweet girl. You are of the Pleasure Class."
"I don't think I am."
