The Pure and the Profane

Laela woke at dawn, as she had everyday in her eighteen years, at the foot of her mistress's bed. Mistress and half-sister. Laela had been born a month before Lady Daenehra, but to a slave instead of their father's noble wife and that had made all the difference in their lives.

While her spoiled mistress slept, Laela rose swiftly, dressed, braided her hair and slipped worn sandals over her feet. She headed to the kitchens, to prepare her lady's breakfast, passing through the central atrium. At this hour, she would have expected it to be empty of the family, but the young lord was present.

Her half brother, Lord Jacemond, lounged in a pool of sunlight, idly flicking through a book. He was a handsome young man, his eyes the crystal green of spring waters, his shoulder-length hair beaten silver. Handsome, rich, powerful because he was now head of the family after their father's recent death - and spiteful.

His face lit up with a smile when he saw Laela and he imperiously beckoned her forwards. "A sweet sight for sore eyes, little sister," he said. He might have sounded kind if he was anyone else but their shared childhood had long made Laela wary of his games. "Sit, sit."

"I was just about to fetch Lady Dae's breakfast-" Laela began. Bastard-born as she was, she never dared call Lord Jace or Lady Dae brother and sister.

"Dae can wait." He leaned forward and cupped Laela's chin in his hands, studying her as thoughtfully as though she were a precious jeweled miniature. Laela had her slave mother's nut-brown skin and thick black hair, but her eyes were the glass green of House Mallaeron.

Seeming satisfied with whatever he saw, he pinched her cheek and dropped her chin. "Today is an important day," he said. "We have a suitor for our sister's hand."

Laela, not seeing how it had anything to do with her, folded her hands in her lap and waited. Daenehra was eighteen, she would be expected to marry a great lord soon and bear his heirs - and she would have no choice in her marriage, considering their brother's temperament.

When her father was alive, Laela had hoped that he would free her when she came of age, perhaps settle her to some trade in the capital - a weaver or seamstress - or marry her off to a merchant or a respected clerk in his employ. With their father's death, she expected that she would toil the rest of her life away in her brother's house, attending to his bride and children when the time came.

But Jace seemed to have other plans. "I have a good mind to add you to her dowry," he said idly. "A beautiful and fertile young wench, a sister whom a man might bed in a manner he would dare not his wife." His smile was sharp as she absorbed his meaning.

"Lord Jace," she swallowed hard, "I've been good, I've served you faithfully-"

"Yes," he said, stroking her cheek, "You have been a good girl. And beautiful... or have you?" He toyed the ties at her shoulder that held her linen smock in place.

"Please-" she said, biting her lip, a sickening in the pit of her belly. Slaves passed by the atrium, their heads bent, seemingly intent on their duties but she knew that the whispers of her shame would soon spread like wildfire. "It's not right, I'm your sister-"

"And I'm your master. Stand up, girl." He'd untied her dress and now he tugged it away from her grasping hands. "Now."

When she rose, tears beading unwillingly in her eyes, the smock slipped off her shoulders.

"Over there." Lord Jace pointed to a patch of sunlight and leaned back against his cushions, clearly enjoying himself. She moved blindly, her naked body gleaming like bronze in the sunlight, her thick braid swinging against her back. "Nahuel!"

A clerk melted out of the shadows and bowed to her brother.

"Measure her," he was bidden.

I am asleep, Laela told herself, I am asleep and this is some hideous dream. Mercifully, the clerk was silent and swift about his work, measuring her breasts, her hips, her waist, her height, the thickness of her arms and legs and noting them in a small book. He bid her open her mouth so he might check her teeth, she was nothing but chattel to him.

Slaves brought her brother his morning meal - flatbread with dates and olives, apples and honey, rashers of bacon and a cool pitcher of melon juice. Lady Daenehra wandered out at some time, her silvery hair loose down her back, draped in an embroidered bed-robe.

"They told me you needed Laela," she sniffed, sitting down next to her brother and helping herself to the meal. "You can't steal my maid on a whim, lord of the family or not."

Jace put his hand over hers in pacification. "I will buy you a better maid," he soothed, "Laelorian, a docile girl trained in all the arts to make you look your most beautiful. You will need it if you are to be a bride."

Daenehra's eyes lit up. Marriage might be unknown but it was better than chafing under her older brother's reign. "A bride? What is he like?" she cooed. She pointedly ignored her naked half-sister, being measured like an animal in the corner, and continued to chat animatedly with her brother.

When Nahuel was done measuring her, he bowed and moved away to lurk in the shadows. Laela remained standing awkwardly, not daring to move until she was given leave. She saw a young slave, who had often begged her for kisses, smirk as he passed by. His eyes lingered on her exposed breasts and slit and all she could do was blush and hang her head low. He would know now that she was no better than him, even though her father had been free and noble.

Lord Jace must have noticed her hide her face for he snapped his fingers at the passing slave. "What's your name, boy?"

"Fior, my lord," he stammered, bowing.

"I noticed you looking at my sister, Fior," Lord Jace tsked.

"My lord, I would never-"

"Fortunately for you, you happened to look at the right sister. She is very lovely, isn't she?" Lord Jace smiled genially and chuckled when Fior gave a quick, nervous grin. "A beautiful young girl should be shared, don't you think? If I had a fine horse or a magnificent painting, I would not dream of hiding it away to molder the dark. I would like it to be admired."

He pointed to Laela. "She's proud and pure, I've heard, but her mother was a whore. She gave my mother no end of grief. A whore's daughter should not aspire to be anything better than a whore. Touch the girl as you please, Fior."

"Truly, my lord?" The slave could not believe his luck.

Lord Jace smiled cruelly. "Truly, boy."

The silver brother and sister watched as Fior approached Laela. Daenehra's eyes glittered with malicious delight, Jace's with something darker.

Fior worked in the kitchens, his hands were rough and when he cupped her breasts, he left a white smear of flour. He kneaded her breasts as though he would a ball of dough and she could not help let out a squeak. His face creased into a smile at the involuntary sound and he began to pinch and twist her nipples with one hand.

His other hand drifted down her body and he dug his finger into her belly button. She squirmed uncomfortably and he thrust his fingers between her inner lips, pinching at her labia, digging around until he thrust his finger into her cunt. Grinning, he began pushing it back and forth as she tried to wriggle away from him. He held her in place firmly with one meaty hand, maneuvering her so that was facing fully in front of her brother and sister. They watched with cool amusement as the kitchen slave toyed with her naked body, pinching and poking as he pleased. To her horror, she began to feel a wetness between her thighs as he stroked and fingered her.

"That's enough," Lord Jace finally said. Fior let go of her grinning and she almost stumbled, losing her balance. Her face was pink with embarrassment but Lord Jace wasn't done yet. He patted his lap and beckoned to her.

Better him than Fior, she thought and she moved blindly to perch in his lap. "Sweet girl," he murmured, in her hair. "What a performance you put on." His hands were sticky with honey from his breakfast and he slipped one, warm and sticky, between her wet thighs. He gave a low chuckle and licked the tears trailing down her cheeks away. "No tears, my little pet. I've a mind to keep you for myself instead of handing you over to Dae's husband, if I'd known my little bastard-born sister was so lusty."

Daenehra watched them, idly toying with a silver paring knife. Perhaps she was glad it was not her that had aroused their brother's passions.

"Eat," he ordered, pressing an apple slice against her lips. And she ate, his fingers tracing idle circles over her cunt, soft, pleasurable sensations that left her trembling in his arms. He fed her like a child, toying with her hair, her nipples, her belly, sometimes pressing little kisses to her cheeks, her neck, her collarbones.

Lady Daenehra left, bored at the performance after a while. No doubt she had silk slippers to purchase or slave-girls to whip. She was angry, Laela knew, relieved that it was not her, but angry and jealous all the same at the attention that her bastard sister was receiving.

"I'd keep you like a pet," Lord Jace murmured, "chained naked to my bed all day, waiting for me like a bitch in heat. I'd have the slaves keep you warm and wet for me, pleasuring you with their mouths all day, until you'd cry out for my cock in your mouth, in your cunt, in your anus, anywhere. I'd walk you naked through the market, bound and collared like a dog, crawling behind me on all fours. I'd leave you tied naked in the fields and let the farmhands have their way with you, let their stout wives and daughters spit on you and whip in the square you when you made their mens' cocks hard. I'd fill your belly with my bastards, beautiful daughters, loyal to me, and when they were grown, I'd bed them and breed them again."

Abruptly, he pushed her off his lap, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Enough dallying," he said. "Selva."

Selva was the housekeeper, a fat, bad-tempered woman. She grabbed hold of Laela's arm and hauled her to her feet. "The hammam, my lord?" she said, as though she knew what was expected.

"Yes," Lord Jace said, "I'll watch."

Selva dragged Laela to the underground baths. It was damp and steamy there and four strong bathmaids grabbed hold of Laela and hauled her to an empty table. She was laid down spread-eagled, her arms and legs tied to the table legs. Lord Jace settled himself on a stool to watch.

Selva prepared the hot sugar solution herself, slathering it liberally over Laela's pubic mound and under her armpits. She seemed wickedly delighted as Laela screamed when it was brutally ripped off, leaving her perfectly hairless.

Lord Jace seemed pleased with the efficiency. He stroked her pubis almost affectionately. "I want her kept as tidy as this all the time," he ordered. "I leave that to your charge, Selva."

"Of course, my lord." The woman looked as though she would enjoy the duty.

Laela thought that would be it, but there was more. Jeweled clamps were fixed to her nipples, that pinched uncomfortably, and a small jewel was pasted into her belly button. The bathmaids flipped her off and she felt something small and hard being wedged into her anus.

"To shape you to the lord's pleasure," Selva explained, smirking. "He should be able to take you any way he wishes."

They sprayed her liberally with rose attar, lined her eyes with kohl, reddened her lips and cheeks with cochineal pigment, hooked starburst bronze earrings into her ears and slid colored glass bangles over her wrists, as though she were some travesty of a bride. The final touch was a black velvet collar with a small hook for a leash to be threaded through it.

The women were finished with her and she rose, stiff and uncomfortable. "You have outdone yourselves," Lord Jace said, sounding pleased. He held the leash to her collar and gave a short, sharp tug that made Laela stumble. "Come, girl." In the bathmaids' eyes, Laela read only pity.

For the rest of the morning and afternoon, Laela stumbled blindly after her brother. She was a naked pet, kneeling on a cushion at his feet as he met his tenants and clients and handled his business affairs. The men all seemed taken with her, some he graciously allowed to touch and fondle her. Sometimes he would stroke her hair affectionately, sometimes he would pinch her cheeks.

At lunch, he slipped morsels between her lips on the point of his knife. He ordered a bowl of water to be brought and made her sip from it with her mouth, kneeling on her haunches like a dog. Afterwards, he sent her back to his room, where a pallet had been laid on the floor beside his bed.

A maid helped her lie down on the pallet before tying her arms to one of the bedposts. The curtains were drawn and Laela fell into an exhausted slumber in the darkened room.

She awoke to a hard slap. Slaps rained down as she tried to duck her head, squirming helplessly and unable to defend herself with her hands tied.

"Filthy little whore!" Lady Daenehra hissed. She was glorious in her finery, her hair braided with emeralds and pearls and wearing a gown of silver tissue, spangled with stars. "You mean to seduce him and set yourself up as his mistress, just like your mother did with my father."

"Leave her in peace, Dae." Jace's voice rippled with amusement. He strode into the room, bent and swiftly untied Laela, pulling her to her feet. He kissed her lips lightly as Daenehra smouldered. "You've slept enough, time to serve."

The solarium was lit with dozens of torches and perfumed with jasmine bouquets and sandalwood smoldering in salvers. The rounded roof was of glass, so that the stars might be seen in the evening. It was a beautiful night for an intimate supper.

There were just three of them to be served - Jace, Daenehra and a plump young man who Laela supposed must be the intended bridegroom. The servers were all male and clothed - except for her of course. She was to pour the wine.

The conversation was of art and music and culture - Laela heard nothing of it, keeping her eye on her masters and mistress, groggy and awkward in her nakedness. Lady Daenehra was very lively - she wanted to put on a good show. Jace was amiable and relaxed. When he clicked his fingers and she hurried to pour his wine, he rested his fingers on her hips and squeezed.

The bridegroom - Lord Georgios, she caught his name - did not miss that. When she poured his wine, he was bolder and pinched her buttocks, almost making her jump.

"My jewel," Jace said fondly, nodding to her. "Bred for pleasure, my father got her on a slave girl."

"I hope she comes with the dowry!" Lord Georgios chuckled. Daenehra dropped her eyes demurely but Laela could not imagine how she would survive if Jace sent her to her half-sister's household upon her marriage - serving Daenehra by day, bedding her husband by night. She'd be whipped to bloody ribbens.

"She might - would you like to try her out?" Jace chuckled.

Georgios laughed good-naturedly. "Perhaps a topic more suited for other company." He bowed his head to Daenehra, who simpered, and the talk turned to the new plays in the city.

After dessert, Daenehra excused herself and Laela was made to follow the masters into the men's salon.

"I was serious," Jace said. "Would you like to try her out? She's never been touched before."

"If I were you, I'd have her in my bed every night," Georgios chuckled.

Jace plucked a camellia from a vase on the table and stroked it, almost tenderly, against Laela's cheek. "It seemed a sin to desecrate something so pure." Before she knew what was happening, he grabbed her and forced her against a settee. He bound her arms together with velvet ties, as she thrashed and held her legs apart.

"Fuck her," he ordered Georgios, his voice soft and dangerous. I'll watch."

Georgios was already pulling down his pants, his member glistening. He grabbed hold of her legs, putting them on top of his shoulders and began to thrust into her, as she cried and screamed.

It hurt, her hips shaking as he rammed into her. Her eyes locked with Jace's, as he coolly sipped his wine, watching her assault. When Georgios was done, he rolled away from her, her blood slick on her thighs and his penis. He wiped it against her belly and pulled his pants up.

"Pretty girl," he said dismissively, "but she'll have to be trained." He placed a gold coin on her belly and slapped her buttocks.

Jace sat down on the settee next to her. Slowly, deliberately, he emptied the remnants of his glass of wine over her, the cool, dark wetness trickling down her face like blood. He put his fingers into her cunt and they came out bloody. He forced her mouth open and made her suck, sticky and bitter metal-tasting and burning against her lips.

When his hands were clean, he smiled and bent down to kiss her lips, forcing his tongue into her mouth. His hands stroked her hair, as though she were a lover instead of a naked, chained slave. "My beautiful little sister," he murmured, "my precious flower."

He straightened and without warning, slapped her face. "Don't worry," he told Georgios. "I'll see to her training myself."