Slave Girl Submission

Obsessive history buff must stay in character.

A special thanks to Bundu Basher for helping to proofread and ensuring the story is in good shape.

Slave Girl Submission

Looking back, I should have seen the elements to create a perfect storm before it happened. I'm clever enough to have spotted it, but blindsided myself until I walked into it.

I'm attending a prestigious university and I'm in my first year studying history. My roommate Daphne is also passionate about history, but that is where any similarities between us ends. She's tall at 5 foot 9 inches with raven dark hair that hangs low down her back. Slim and athletic, with great boobs. I'm not into girls, but I know nice boobs when I see them and I see them often.

Daphne comes from a wealthy family, and friends growing up surrounded her. She's very outgoing and confident, with no hang-ups about her figure. In fact, she was naked in front of me within ten minutes of our first meeting, just getting changed to head out and explore the campus. With her looks and personality, she never wanted for a date, but she can be picky.

And then there is me. I'm Chloe and would have to stand on my tiptoes to pass the 5 foot barrier. The best way to describe me is petite. My breasts aren't huge, but on my frame they look oversized, as does my butt. I'm ginger, with curly hair and freckles. And as if that wasn't bad enough, I have OCD.

Not the 'opening and closing locks five times before leaving the house' kind. Mine comes out in a desperate need for accuracy and detail. For example, if I make a cake, I need to measure all the ingredients many times to ensure it's correct. If the recipe calls for two medium eggs, and I have a dozen to choose from, I'd weigh all 12 and choose the most medium of the medium.

When I was small, my parents belonged to a re-enactment society, which is probably why I love history so much. As I got older, I'd constantly point out when people's clothing or tools did not match the period properly and was confused when people got annoyed that I did.

Despite our differences, Daphne and I hit it off. The one thing we clash on is her constantly pressuring me to socialise more. My parents home-schooled me for a few years and I never quite got the hang of making friends as easily as she does. However, we mesh when it comes to history.

She'd always write her assignments up early and hand them to me, and I'd go through them and pick out any errors or inaccuracies. We'd constructively argue about it. Sometimes she'd fix them and other times not, which drove me insane. I'd work on my assignment until the last moment. Sometimes staying up to 4 or 5 am of the day, they had to be handed in.

As a result, I nearly always got a perfect score on my work and earned the respect and appreciation from our history professor. Something that made Daphne a little jealous. She admitted early on that she had a thing for him and I had to admit I was attracted to him myself.

He was about 50, but kept his greying hair so short you would hardly notice. He was several inches over 6 feet and extremely fit in both meanings of the word. I'd seen triathlon awards in his office and he usually dined with the students, eating a homemade salad, whilst being available to answer questions.

I have to admit, I would feel like a puppy wanting to wag my tail every time he praised my work in class. The one problem I had with him was his habit of wandering around the auditorium during classes. While we worked on stuff, he'd look over our shoulders at our work. I was so short compared to him, so as he stood next to me, all I could think of was his crotch was at my eye level.

That wasn't helped when, just before our Easter break, Daphne told me she had a sex dream about him. She wouldn't tell me the details, but she said it was good, and she was determined to find a way to kiss him before we left his class permanently. Her admission, and the fact that I'd not had a boyfriend in six months, triggered me to have a dream of my own.

We were in the auditorium taking an exam. It stressed me going over all my answers for the second time. As the other students finished, they got up, handed the papers to the professor, and left. It got down to Daphne and me as the only ones there. She'd finished her paper but hadn't left. When I looked over, I saw she'd unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse. I could see her bra, and I was fairly sure that the professor could see something.

But when I looked at him, he seemed intent on looking lower. I glanced down and was shocked to see Daphne was sitting in her short skirt with her legs wide open. I wondered if she had underwear on, as she regularly went out without any. She stood up and languidly walked up to the front, bent over unnecessarily to hand him her paper. Pausing to let him look down her blouse, then pulled a post-it note off the stack and wrote something. Presumably her number, then sauntered off, giving me a wink from the door.

There were only a few minutes of the exam left, and I nearly panicked that I'd not have time to triple check my answers. The professor checked his watch and walked over to me. As he stood next to me, I saw from the corner of my eye the bulge in his pants. Without meaning to, I turned my head to look.

"Sorry about that. Your friend Daphne is a very forward girl. Excuse me, this is extremely uncomfortable."

He was standing next to me, and unzipped himself and pulled his dick out. Having only seen one in the flesh, he seemed huge.

"I hope my best student can keep this between us."

I nodded woodenly, unable to take my eyes off it.

"How are you coming? I don't imagine this exam was too hard for you." The word hard resonated in my head.

I looked at my paper, but couldn't focus on the words. He leant forward to check my paper, and I felt his dick slide over my shoulder. I turned my head slightly, and the tip touched my cheek, right at the corner of my mouth.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. That nearly went into your mouth."

"That's ok, I wouldn't have minded." My mouth said without my brain having its say.

"Really, because I have another lecture to give shortly and obviously I cannot walk into it like this."

I twisted around in my chair and opened my mouth and accepted the head inside. Daphne would assuredly have more oral skills than me, but I wasn't a complete novice. However, the professor took hold of my head and I nearly panicked. Holding my head in both hands, he rocked back and forth into my mouth. My lips locked around the shaft and my tongue did its best to please the intruding flesh.

I locked my eyes on his, and he loomed over me and gave me such a smile I might have climaxed from that alone. In no time, he picked up the pace, then warned me he was about to cum and that I needed to swallow it all. He seemed to flood my mouth with his seed and I choked, trying to swallow it.

That was when I woke up coughing. My dream had been so real it flooded my mouth with saliva. I quickly tiptoed to the bathroom and sat on the toilet to relieve myself. But it wasn't urine I needed to be relieved of. I rubbed my clit and fingered myself as I tried to remember every detail of the dream.

The next time I saw him, he gave me an odd look because I was blushing at the memory of my naughty dream. Daphne spotted it and pestered me until I admitted the details of my dream. She said she was jealous, but admitted if she ever did what she had in the dream, in reality, she would not be wearing panties.

After the Easter break, the professor informed us he had a tradition of holding a toga party at his house for students at the end of May. He expected us all to come and as we were history students; he expected us to wear authentic togas.

Daphne and I knew that was a bit of a trick as the toga became a men's-only garment over time in roman history. A woman was far more likely to wear a stola, which was a floor length dress worn over a tunic, with a headscarf. While Daphne could call home and get her parents to arrange to pay for that outfit, I was not so lucky.

However, Daphne came up with a suggestion. She said that almost everyone would turn up in a toga, and one or two boys might come as a centurion. She doubted anyone would turn up like a slave girl. A tunic with subligaria and strophium, a loincloth and breast cloth, underneath would be authentic and simple to make myself.

This was where my OCD kicked in and caused me problems. There were plenty of historical references to slave tunics, so the biggest issue there was choosing the appropriate cloth. Depending on the time-period, they would have been woollen, but eventually most were made of linen. As this party was at the end of May, I decided that linen would be better.

The subligaria and strophium were more of a problem. Historically, ladies undergarments have far less reference material. When I talked to Daphne, she pointed out that the breast cloth or strophium was optional, depending on what task they assigned a slave to. Often only worn when a job would be hot and sweaty. Having your slave girl with their tunic clinging to their breasts would distract their owners from more important work.

The image of a slave girl being taken by their master popped into my head, and weirdly it didn't disgust me as it should. Slavery was wrong and taking a slave as a sexual plaything was worse, but somehow it hit a spot in my brain that vibrated with sexual deviancy. As with my dream about my professor, many of my fantasies were where the man took total charge of me. My darkest ones were not too far away from the slave girl situation.

As I have said, my breasts aren't that big and I could get away without a bra, but my nipples were fairly big. I'd need to choose a thick linen cloth if I hoped to hide them.

I found a haberdashery and nearly drove the proprietor mad by going through her linen samples. Trying to get the right type of cloth. Eventually, she promised to call a friend who had a wider selection and get her to send me exactly what I wanted. I was sure she said that to get me out of the shop. I repeated my requirements and ordered what I thought would be enough for the tunic and loin cloth or subligaria.

While I waited for the material to arrive, Daphne had another idea. She said as her outfit was of a Roman woman of means, that it was natural that I should play her slave girl. I'd follow her around all night, fetching her drinks or snacks. In return, I'd be introduced to all her friends and lots of available boys. It would make me look more authentic than just standing around in a plain tunic. So I agreed, provided she didn't push it too far.

"As if I would." She replied, and I groaned inside. Daphne's sense of decorum was far different from mine. 'Too far' for me and her were not even in the same ballpark.

When the cloth arrived, I wasn't happy. It was only a little thicker than the cloth I'd rejected in the first shop and quite coarse to the touch. I regretted not ordering enough to make a strophium now. Because I was going to be a slave for a high born noble woman. My tunic could be more than just a basic pillowcase design with a slit for my head to go through. I designed it with two overlapping panels that covered my breasts and gave some cleavage, but not too much.

My second problem was that I'm not a seamstress. By the time I'd made a couple of minor errors, there was barely enough material left over to make the subligaria. Now I regretted insisting the tunic went to my mid-thigh. If I'd cut it a couple of inches shorter, my loin cloth would be more covering and comfortable.

It was only a couple of days before the party when I finished and tried everything on. I knew I had problems. The first was moving around in the tunic, causing the linen to brush over my nipples. After about five minutes of walking around in the tunic, I had teased them to arousal. Even through the thicker linen, it was clear you could make them out. The second was the loincloth. It chafed my thighs and pussy as I walked and there was very little material for the knots to hold it in place. That meant I had to wear it painfully tight.

When we arrived at the party, the professor opened the door to us wearing a very authentic late Roman senator's robes. Down to the correct way, he tied the straps on his leather sandals. Daphne was surprised by the size of the house. He shrugged it off by saying his wife had come from a wealthy family, and there were too many memories of her to move.

He examined us minutely, and I felt very awkward as he tested the linen between his fingers. Daphne stood behind him and mimed sucking cock to remind me of my dream. He asked if I was wearing my subligaria and strophium, but Daphne leapt in. Saying I was only wearing my subligaria. And did he want to inspect that?

I blushed, and he grinned at me, causing butterflies in my stomach as he replied he might do so later. He led us into a huge garden and it surprised me to see over 100 people there. As we'd expected, most people were in togas made of bedsheets. A couple of boys dressed as Centurions were fighting with plastic swords.

I saw a Retiarius surrounded by women. The gladiator was kitted out with a trident and net. His single shoulder pauldron and helmet were plastic, but it was his ripped body that was what everyone, including myself, was looking at.

"That's Big Clive." Daphne muttered as we followed the professor to a table of drinks.

I frowned as he didn't look that tall and Daphne picked up on it.

"No, I meant if you ever get the chance to be with him, you'd better skip lunch. When I tried him out, it felt like he was trying to tickle my tonsils from the wrong side."

I blushed as I realised what she meant and baulked at the idea. If Daphne had trouble, and she was close to a foot taller than me, he'd tear me in two.

"Take a calix, and help yourselves to the spiced wine."

I saw dozens of small, unglazed shallow bowls with stubby legs. Next to a large bowl, mostly full of wine with spices and sliced fruit. Above that bowl was an amphora that slowly trickled out fresh wine. I peeked inside to see plastic tubing and a fish tank pump connected to a large box of wine under the table. The professor saw me and gave me a wink. Again, the wink did things to me.

The professor left us to let in more guests, so we went to explore. I'd expected it to be mostly history students, but I saw many from other fields. The professor had a Roman dining area in the garden. A circular space surrounded by columns with four divans around a table. There was greenery around the columns and I saw electric lights set up to look like torches.

In another corner of the garden was a small partially built amphitheatre. A concrete semi-circular stage in front of curved stepped seating. Currently, that was simply earth and sod, but I could tell it was a work in progress. A guy was sitting on the stage and strumming a guitar.

I opened my mouth to point out the guitar was from the wrong period. Daphne knew me well enough to anticipate that. Slapped the back of my leg and told me to behave. It wasn't hard, but it was a shock.

Daphne would guide me to a group of people and it was my job as her slave to introduce her.

"May I introduce my lady Daphne Trudeau, daughter of Senator Trudeau." I'd step back behind Daphne as the others introduced themselves.

Daphne took to introducing me as her slave, but quickly changed it to her nubile young slave, which caused me to blush. While she drifted around the crowd, I was forced to head back to refresh our wine cups regularly. By the time I'd get back to wherever she was, the chaffing of the linen had forced my nipples to get hard again. The loincloth wasn't much better.

Each time I got back to a new group, I found almost all their eyes locked on my chest. I felt embarrassed, but the wine helped numb that a little. After several hours Daphne admitted she'd now wished she'd come as a slave girl as I was getting all the attention. Her outfit was authentic, but hid her best features. She reached out and brushed a finger over one of my nipples.

"Hey!"

"What? Slave girl?"

I glowered at her, and she giggled.

"It's the friction from the linen." I explained.

"If I knew you wouldn't shoot down the idea, I'd see if our host had any tape to cover them up."

"Do you think he'd give us some?"

"Of course. Especially if you let him apply it." I blushed at the idea, but the image of being topless in front of the professor was quite exciting. "But I know Miss 'anything for authenticity' wouldn't accept that."

That was where things went wrong. I needed the toilet, and I found I'd tied the knots on my loincloth too tight and I couldn't untie them. So I tried to ease it down over my hips, and I heard it rip. I swore under my breath and slipped them off. There was a 3 inch tear down the back. I used the toilet, then slipped them back on and I knew I was screwed. They were too loose, and I'd get about a dozen paces before I had to fix them. I tried to adjust the knot, but I just heard more cloth tearing.

I hid them in the airing cupboard and found Daphne and told her what had happened and asked her what to do. She was fairly drunk and suggested I ask the professor for a safety pin and his aid to pin them on me. Or I could just do what she'd do and go without. It was getting dark, so nobody would notice, provided I wasn't careless sitting or standing up.

Going commando was a double-edged sword. It no longer chaffed, but feeling so exposed meant my nipples would never go down. I knew I'd have to deal with myself when we got home. For once, I hoped Daphne would find some guy to go home with. I'd have our room to myself and I could dig out my vibrator and go to town on my pussy.

As it got darker, we saw more and more couples snogging or groping each other. At one stage, I passed the divan dining area to see a couple on one. The girl was on her back, and passing a joint back and forth between the pair. The guy was openly fingering her, neither caring that anyone passing by would see it. She saw me looking and opened her legs wider as she blew out the smoke. I blushed and moved on.

I'd lost track of Daphne when she went to the toilet, so I went to find her. I found her in the kitchen with a handsome young man. He wore a good emperor's toga with laurel leaves around his head. The trainers on his feet spoiled the look. Their body language showed they had shared some intimacy during the past.

"Meet Chloe, my nubile young slave girl." Daphne said, then leant in toward the boy. "I have to recommend her bathing services." I blushed as I remembered Lucy Lawless in Spartacus with her slave women.

He grinned. "I recently watched Coming to America, where Eddie Murphy was the prince in a giant pool. He had a serine look on his face, then a naked black woman emerged from the water and declared the royal penis is clean."

Daphne burst out laughing and I joined in, but in my imagination I could see it in detail.

"I'm Mathew. By the way, Lady Daphne has appalling manners." He held out his hand to shake. It was firm, but not overly so.

I noticed his eyes took me in and lingered on my breasts. At this stage, I was almost used to the fact my nipples would be visible. It still gave me a frisson of excitement that he was so blatant about it. I glanced at Daphne, unsure if she'd be upset that I was getting the attention she was used to receiving herself.

She'd foregone her calix and was drinking whisky from a cut crystal glass. I had a twinge of worry, as she wasn't good around spirits. Mathew suddenly bounced the heel of his hand off his forehead.

"What? You're that Chloe? You're the one I heard the professor chatting with another, saying you're something of a prodigy. Now I know why Daphne is doing so well."