Revenge

The old slave woman crept into her mistress' chambers, careful to close the door behind her so that it did not make a sound. She stood in the shadows, clutching in her hands a little rag doll, and watched as Messalina's breasts rose and fell in the slow rhythm of sleep. Messalina was a beautiful woman, and even through her hatred, the Greek slave could see that. Her features were delicate, exotic, with a hint of the East about them, though she belonged to one of the better families of Rome. Her lips were full and luscious, meant for kissing, and other things.

Her hair spilled out around her head in a rich black nimbus, highlighting the dusky pallor of her flesh. She had a long, graceful neck which led into the fullness of her rounded breasts. Through the light fabric of her gown, one could see her nipples, and the dark aureole surrounding them. During the night, Messalina had cast off her covers, and her gown had bunched up, revealing the gentle swell of her hip and the thick copse of hair between her legs. Under different circumstances Mila the slave woman might have found her very attractive. However it was not Eros that brought the old slave into her mistress' chambers, but Vengeance.

Mila's grandson had been a strong, happy young boy, very athletic and full of life, though he was, like all of his family, a slave. Working in the fields of the great manor had given him a muscular body, which had not gone unnoticed by the mistress of the house. Messalina had conspired to lure him into her bed, but the young boy was in love with another, and had not wanted to betray her. So he spurned his mistress, and incurred her wrath. Messalina accused him of attempting to rape her, and since she was a high-born citizen, and he but a slave, there was no question about who to believe.

They took the boy and beat him, then crucified him, as was the punishment for slaves in those days. Mila had watched her son die, and even watched the dogs and birds pick at his flesh, for the master of the house was a cruel man, and had not allowed the body to be taken down for burial. At that time, Mila swore vengeance on the haughty mistress who had caused the death of her beloved grandson. And since Mila had come from Thessaly, in Greece, the power to exact her vengeance was in her hands, though she was a slave, and was powerless in the eyes of her masters. Thessaly was the traditional home of witchcraft in Greece, where Medea and Circe had lived. It was thought that all Thessalian women were witches, and not without reason.

Mila began to mutter ancient prayers to Hekate in her native tongue, and as she did so, the shadows in the room grew darker, and the air grew cold. Messalina began to shiver, and in her sleep she pulled her covers tighter around her. Mila's voice grew louder, and her words grew harsher, until it seemed that she was spitting out the guttural curses like gobs of spit from deep within her throat. Finally, when she reached the height of her prayer, she drew a knife out from her robes, and slashed her arms several times as an offering of her blood. She held the rag doll under her wounds, and the drops of blood splattered onto its surface, staining it red. In her bed, Messalina was no longer chilled, but suddenly grew hot, and a sheen of sweat sprang up on her brown skin. It was not regular sweat, but had the color of blood about it. Mila saw that, and smiled. "You wanted a good fucking from my grandson, you Roman bitch, I will give you one you will never forget."

Mila set the knife down and held the rag doll out in front of her. The doll bore a crude resemblance to her mistress, with rich black hair on its head, and between its legs, and two nubs for breasts. Mila stroked one of the doll's nubs with her finger, and glanced over to her mistress' bed. Messalina let out a soft moan in her sleep, and absently began to rub her own full breasts. Mila continued to stroke the doll's breasts, letting her finger trace circles now around one, now the other. Messalina's breathing grew heavier as she massaged her breasts, cupping them in her hands, and running her fingers over the nipples. Messalina was like her puppet, and everything the Greek did to the doll, the Roman did to herself.

Messalina slid her hand up under her gown, and continued exploring her breasts. As her fingers cupped and stroked the breast, her nipple grew erect, and her skin became flushed, covered in gooseflesh. She took the nipple between her thumb and forefinger, and gently rolled it around, giving it a moderate squeeze. As she did this under her clothes, her other hand pressed against the gown from the outside, rasping the woolen garment against her sensitive nipples. This erotic play caused her to gasp and whimper in her sleep as her sex grew moist. Messalina's hand traveled down from her breast, tracing across her taut stomach, down past her navel, over the swell of her hips. Her slender fingers played through the thick, curly hair that covered her mound of Venus, inching towards the plump lips of her sex.

Already the hair was glistening with the juices of her vulva, and as her hand clamped onto the patch of hair and gave a slight tug, she let out a gasp of pleasure, mixed with pain. Her left hand went up, and began caressing the lips of her mouth. She accepted her fingers into her mouth, and began to suck on them, as if they were small penises. Lazily, her hand played with her opening, slowly rubbing along the outside of her lips, just grazing her clit, but not touching it directly. She explored herself in a languid, circular motion, using the palm of her hand, instead of her digits. She lifted her hips up to meet her hand, grinding into herself with a slow and steady motion. Her juices leaked past her hand, and began to spill onto her bed, and the aroma of her sex filled the small room, wafting across to Mila. It was a delicious, musky smell, and the slave almost forget herself in it

Messalina turned over, so that she was lying on her back, and splayed her long, elegant legs as if she were some kind of common street whore, begging to be taken. Her hand moved back into place, tracing the delicate folds of her sex. She let a finger slide up to her plump lips, and slowly pushed it inside of herself. She gasped at the intrusion, but continued, letting it trace the warm, wet walls of her sex. As her index finger pushed on, penetrating her, her thumb moved up and found the tiny nub of her clitoris. As she touched it, an electric thrill went through her body, and a moan escaped her mouth, through the fingers she was sucking.

She rubbed the clitoris more insistently now, building up a rhythm, moving it about, clenching her eyes against the exquisite pleasure. Between the finger in her sex, and the thumb manipulating her clitoris, she was rapidly approaching her climax. Wave after wave of pleasure washed up, but refused to break over. It would radiate out, but stop just short of orgasm. Feeling it so close, yet denied her, she worked feverishly upon herself. She inserted another finger, and then another, until she had three of them plunging in and out of her. She was being driven to the point of frenzy, writhing on the bed, bucking her hips, moving her body so that the intruders penetrated her deeper, more fully. And it began to work. The waves of pleasure beat against the dam, crashing furiously, breaking it down, breaking it down, breaking...

Messalina sat bolt upright, her eyes opened hugely, as a scream of excruciating pain tore itself from her throat. She bellowed like a wounded beast, and then looked down between her open legs, where blood poured forth. She tried to staunch the flow, but it just gushed out over her hands, staining her thighs, the bed, everything below her. She wept and screamed, agony like a fire consuming her mind. And then, she collapsed, and was dead.

Mila withdrew the knife from between the doll's legs, wiped the blood off on the doll's forehead, and then returned the blade to the sheath within her robes. Mila walked over and spat upon the lifeless body of her mistress, casting the doll into the pool of blood that spilled out from her. Then, just as quietly as she had slipped into her mistress' chamber, she left.