My life fell into a kind of strange rhythm. In the morning, they lined us up. The cold water was always a shock, but at least it got us clean, at least it washed out all the filth left on us from the previous day. As they toweled us dry, the servants would gossip about the latest scandal; bets at the games, trysts in the castle, bastards born in the street. To we slaves, knowledge of this caliber was hardly useful. I'd been fucked by princes and paupers alike. It seemed to me that if it involved gold or a cunt, they'd get their dick in it.
The march outside was once so frightening. Though we were a staple in this community, many of the passersby ignored our passage. I no longer had the urge to run away, naked and barefooted, through the busy streets of the city. The icy cobblestone hardly bothered me. In comparison to where we were headed, the crisp air and open sky were a treat.
Once inside the den (as they called it), we were each locked into our own cages. They were only big enough to fit one, standing, with little wiggle room. We were on display, but not for sale. We were the slaves that failed to auction, too dumb to write, not pretty enough to warm the bed of some rich lord. So we were rented. It cost a silver piece to get into the den. I'd seen slaves murdered for the price of that silver piece. Girls like me usually just get fucked, which is only so bad the first few days. After a while you don't really care so much. After a while, maybe you start to enjoy it a little. Boys, if they're pretty enough, sometimes they get fucked too. But sometimes the guests just want to kill someone, and it's usually the guys that go.
Mornings are slow. Our usual fare is probably sleeping off last night's drink. I try and get myself wet by thinking about what might happen to me today. I'm hoping it'll be busy later, because then the day goes by quicker, and they don't feed us 'till we get back to the slave quarters at the end of the night. They used to give us breakfast, but there's only so much come you can swallow after eating eggs and bacon before you yack it all up. And the guests don't like that so much. Or maybe some of them do.
The first few guys to come in take other slaves. I watch avidly as the girl in the cage next to me holds onto the bars in front of her as she's taken from behind. Her tits are bigger than mine, and they sway with every enthusiastic thrust of the man behind her. I've always liked watching, at least as long as I can remember, and I can feel my arousal rising. When he comes, I close my eyes and imagine that feeling, that hot, filled feeling. My thighs are slick and I'm ready for my first customer.
A petite gentleman is standing in front of my cage. His clothes are fine but simple, almost a leisure suit, dark gray with a white vest and red shirt. His features are soft, but it's difficult for me to make out the details of his face in the dim light. I'm amazed to see that he's clean-shaven—it's rare that a man doesn't have a mustache at least. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?" I ask.
"Turn around," he says, almost a whisper, husky. I see him tightening the black leather gloves he's wearing before I obey. My rear cheeks press against the bars as I lean forward and I feel his fingers urging my thighs apart. I bet he can feel my fire even through those gloves as he probes down my slick slit. I arch my back, trying to give him better access to my pussy. I'm wet and hungry, probably dripping, and the relief makes my knees weak as he slides two fingers inside me. They curve down and press into the sweet spot, and at the same time, his thumb comes up and rubs a slow circle against my hard clit. Omigod it feels so amazing, I'm sure I groaned out loud.
He leans in close behind me. I can feel his heat, even though he can't get too close. "You like that?" he asks, pressing deeper inside me, his thumb doing wild things to me. "You want to feel my cock?"
"Yes," I gasp. "Please."
