The Eastern Beauty

[LordLuck]

[Closed for myself and Apollo Wilde]

The wind blew strong as it had always done, bringing the heat from the desert mainland towards the sea.

And so he felt the sand and dust rushing through his face, but he smiled all the same. For Lorenzo Drago had finally seen his merchant partner, and perhaps finally this time his revenues would have earned him back the investmen that the man had helped losing for him into the wrong merchandise and trade routes. Drago was a merchant. One of the most wealthy men to ever arm galleys and take the valiant, brave crusaders from Europe down into the Middle East and towards the Holy Land.

Just this morning they had reached the thrivving harbour of Acre, the main port to land crusaders than Tyre or Ascalon. He liked Acre. There was a small tradeshouse he owned here, that was usually loaned to one of his trading partners - a younger man that had seemed full with neat promises and schemes to earn him back his money... but the young man had proven his schemes a failure.

And now he was here to collect them.

It had been another trip through the Mediterranean, trading throughout all major port cities from Ragusa and Venice back towards Constantinople and now, Acre. He had finally delivered the holy warriors sent to fight the infidels, and would load his hold with much riches and spices and cloths from the East. So much wealth to be made. He looked down towards the stone slab of rock that was the harbour he had taken to land, and there he could see the young man... with someone with him.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

The young man in question was pacing up and down the dock. From time to time he would pause, scanning the horizon and nervously biting at his nails. The figure with him stood by calmly, a pillar of order in chaos. Finally, spotting Drago’s ship, he stopped, and turned to the figure standing behind him. He was an average looking man, brown hair and skiddish brown eyes that spoke of a life lived less than proper. But behind the scattered expression on his face, something close to sorrow lingered there as well.

“Well, my Maura, hopefully this will get me back in good graces with my lenders and the wife,” and he chuckled, a little too loudly. He reached for her face, then, as if rethinking his position, stopped himself. His fingers curled back into his palm, and he looked to the ground, a little dejectedly. Maura said nothing. To a certain degree, she could understand his sorrow, but she had more to worry about. Her dark eyes rimmed with kohl offered him a shred of comfort, but not too much else than that. As if reacting to her unsaid concerns, he laughed again.

“You have more to be concerned about, I am sure. But Drago is a kind man. It is not that I think so little of you to just sell you off to the first bidder. Drago knows quality and is a rich man. He should treat you well, I think.” Something in his tone sounded like he was busy trying to convince himself more than her. He had quite a few things on his mind as it was. He had paid dearly for her – in a moment that could have been characterized as either extreme weakness or a semblance of a good tradesman. He had bankrupted himself at her purchase, and though he had gotten strange looks to come back from a trip with a Moor in tow, all that knew of him, her, and the way in which she maintained his house and his lady, well, all criticisms were stopped.

And then the bill collectors came. His wife had refined tastes – and keeping Maura was expensive as well, although she was as industrious as beautiful. It was a culmination of expensive living and bad ventures coming all at once, and now he had to part with the one thing had had helped solidify his reputation.

Maura’s dark face was passive, her full lips set in a neutral expression. Her dark brows curved elegantly over large brown eyes, accented by kohl and a small series of facial tattoos that arched over her cheekbones and down her nose. Although she was dressed modestly, the flame color of her turban caught the eye as the only thing of value on her person.

“You will smile at least once for me, won’t you, Maura, before we part?” His voice was something close to trembling now.

 

[LordLuck]

"Now, there you are, you dog.", the words were terribly harsh, but the tone was so light that even himself could not really understand if he had said them in mock threat or actual outrage. He had bought himself a pleasure slave? What else could that young woman be? Stretching his arms as some of the lombard sailors laid down the plank towards the stretch of land that made them a port, the large and loud merchant laughed at the young man nervous expression.

He could not know if the young man had spend all his money on that woman, so he said little else as he adjusted his expensive finery, the rich and deep-red coloured garments brimmed with dark green. He smiled down on them to ease their anxiety, if it existed. Drago was a large man, his shoulders broad and strong, his face round with a neatly trimmed beard, his hair well-cropped on the lombard style. His hair was curly and light brown, so light some called it dark blond. And he was smiling as he came down on the land.

"So? What do you have to say for yourself?", he told the young man as the about 50 crusaders started to walk down that plank and be about their business. All the passengers, warriors armed and armoured, had been paid for back at Venice. The Doge was not allowing any transportation withour prior payment for the service.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

The man jumped, startled, and turned reluctantly to face Drago. Holding his hands up in a friendly gesture, he forced a smile to his face. “You wound me, good sire! As to what I would have to say for myself, ah, I thought that would be most clear. Fortune has decided to turn her back on me for the moment. But perhaps my trip back to her good graces will be quicker than most.”

As if remembering Maura, he gestured for her to come forward. “This is my lovely Maura – worth all of the finery in God’s good earth.” Although he said it lightly, there was enough of a serious undertone to suggest that losing her would cost him more dearly than he let on. “When I purchased her, she cost me every penny that I had and all that I could imagine. She will serve you well as a hand maiden. There is no task that she cannot do, if shown how to do it. She keeps to herself and does not quarrel with other women. She is prone to bouts of melancholy, but given her low place in life, that is not surprising. Otherwise, she is in wonderful health and does not need a lot of up keep. She has some heathen ways, but I swear that they are barely noticeable. In the time that I’ve had her, I have only had to raise my hand to her a few times. Maura, give Lord Drago a smile, let him see your teeth,” he added, giving her a probing look.

Without a change in her expression, she stepped forward. A very practiced smile parted her lips, revealing unnaturally white and even teeth. The expression did not reach her eyes, and faded as soon as the need for it was gone. “There is something about these people and how they live that gives them amazing health. Must be because they are so close to the animals that they tend. Take a good look at her, sire, and tell me if she is worth what I owe and then some.”

 

[LordLuck]

"Maura, eh?", the merchant told his associate as he approached her. She had indeed a very gorgeous figure. Her skin was darker than the usual for her to be like one of the Arabs or Hebrews that lived about the Holy Land. Perhaps she was from Egypt? Maybe from Nubia or the Kingdoms south of Erithrea? There was no way to know but asking to her. "She is well groomed, aye. I like her teeth. Mine are not as marbled like hers.", he admitted, nodding.

He had quite some slave here. She was very comely, exotic even, and if there was one thing that Drago enjoyed was a compliant woman to lace his breeches after servicing him. That thought brought him a smile to his lips. "No task, eh? I can imagine what tasks you've been setting over her shoulders... or rather, her rear.", he commented lecherously, winking towards the nervous man. "...Perhaps she can atone fo your... debt. But I doubt for all of it. She looks very nicely, but does she serves as well?"

She had been quite quick to obey to show her teeth. "You mentioned you've lifted your hand to her. What has she done to disobey you?", he was curious. Drago had to know what might trigger up some sort of bad reaction on the girl. If he took her and used her, he would hate to be bitten or scratched.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“I am but man,” he said, his face flushing. True, he had enjoyed her, but he tried not to boast of it. At least, not while she was around. He had made that mistake many years ago, and the silent knowing look she had given him had shamed him into holding his tongue. He would never forget it.

It had been the first time that he had slapped her as well.

“She minds, but she gets this look on occasion. I have seen nothing come of it, true, but I did not want it to progress to where something did come of it. As for serving, as I said, m’lord, she is good at whatever you task her to. I find her cooking to be a bit on the spicy side, if I have to voice a complaint. She never asks for anything. Doesn’t bother you with a lot of chatter. She speaks our language well, but makes a few mistakes here and there.”

The joking tone lifted from his voice, exposing a more serious tone. “I have never treated her ill, which is how I won her obedience. I would advise you to do the same, m’lord, and your results will probably be just as well.” And he became light again. “ ‘Not enough’, he says,” laughing. “Well, m’lord, what I suggest is this. Let her stand for the bulk of my debt. If you are not pleased with her entirely within a month’s time, I will continue to pay what I owe. But if you are, then consider my debt erased. And if you are more than pleased, a few coins my way in appreciation would be quite goodly of you.”

Generally speaking, this sort of tone or bargaining was foolhardy. But he was just that confident in her abilities. He would give his entire estate again for her if he had to.

 

[LordLuck]

"A month's time?", he thought about it for a moment. "Shalln't work. I'm returning north, sailing forth to Constantinople as soon as my business here is done.", he told the slightly younger man, his eyes never leaving Maura's. She had such a terrible depht on them, as if she could bore into his very soul with nothing more than those eyes. Eyes of a dark-skinned beauty. Of a sensual snake of the sands.

"I'll do it like this. She stands for the most of your debt, very well.", he told the young man as he took a hand to caress his chin, admiring yet the girl's body. He wanted to play with her already. There was something on those exotic lips of hers that had him wanting to take her to the ship and down to his cabins at once to discover whatever treasures did she hid. "But it barely pays up for the interest taxes over the coin you've lost me. Don't you remember that, friend?", he told his associate with a wicked grin.

"Very well. I'll take her with me. When I come back from Europe, I'll send word to you if I accept... or deny her as a part of your payment.", he nodded with a knowing look in his eyes that brokered no further discussion. He had taken and accepted the girl, but the rates of interest would have the young man owing him almost as much as he had before parting off the slave girl. She was so pretty.

"Come, Maura. Take my arm.", he reached towards the young woman, asking for her to walk with him. "You, get back to the storehouse. I'll see what have you got for me to see back at Byzantium.", he waved his associate off as he smiled towards the dark-skinned girl. "I like girls that talk when I ask them to. Tell me... good Maura... tell me your story."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

His face fell. It would have been comical, if it wasn't so tragic at the same time. He opened his mouth to protest, but found himself silenced by Drago's look. There was no point in arguing at this time....He had lost the man a lot of money, and simply lauding Maura wasn't going to line Drago's pockets. As much as it twisted his stomach, this was a business transaction, and one that he should consider himself lucky that Drago even considered it.

Maura's gaze was almost an open stare at Drago. She had not seen such finery before, and found her fingers itching in curiosity to touch his clothing. What fabric was that? How did it hold such a deep green? And his eyes...that was another thing. Light eyes were a rarity where she was from - and usually only belonged to the occasional foreign trader. Whenever she had the opportunity to study someone with light eyes, she did so.

"All right, then, my Maura, please go with Lord Drago," said the man, his voice shaking a little. Before he could stop himself, he took her hands in his and gave them a gentle squeeze. Her gaze went from Drago back to the man in front of her. She offered the man a smile that obviously did not reach her eyes. She would miss him as one would miss a child that they babysat. He had his benefits, yes, but ultimately, she was not sad to leave him. Besides....now she had the means to get to a ship. Perhaps an escape would even be possible. Many mistook Maura's silence as complacency with her lot. It wasn't. There was a calculated nature in everything she did and how she did it. She did not allow herself to care for the people who owned her, though they had cared for her deeply. Her former mistress had burst into tears when he announced he would have to sell her - but the mistress did not offer to sell off some of her trinkets to keep Maura in their services. Patting her lady's back in comfort had felt to her the same as touching the top of a dresser. There was just no emotion there. How could there be? How would they even begin to understand the world that she had come from and longed to return to?

Being here was bitter enough, and she looked at passing traders with deep longing and desire.

She nodded her farewell to her former Lord, and without another sound, took Drago's arm. It made her immensely uncomfortable to be this close to someone new, but she had to mask her revulsion. She busied herself with fingering the fabric of his sleeve. Such fine material! How in the world did one make such fabric? There was nothing like it from her home, and she could not imagine the sheep that would produce such fine wool, if that's even what the material was.

Lord Drago was polite to her, true, but that's how it always started - and she considered herself lucky that she even got that much. She had heard much worse from many others. But what would happen aboard the vessel scared her to no end.

"There is no story to tell, m'lord. I am but a captive in a strange land," she said, and if she hadn't been that close to him, he probably would not have heard her at all. Her voice was naturally low, even musical. Every word sounded as if it carried much thought and weight behind it, although it could be argued that she was just searching for the right one in this new language. She was surprised that he had even asked about her. She could tell him many stories - of the joys of the rainy season, of her siblings, of the dances and of the goats that she loved and tended with great care. She could tell of her nomadic lifestyle, of secret places and of rare flowers and tastes and the way that the sky stretched forever across the flat plains of Africa. She could tell him of beasts that still escaped Europe's wildest imaginations.

But she did not.

"I can recite other tales, if you may wish," she said. "My former lady liked stories of...' she paused, looking for the word. "those who meddle in the affairs of others...that create good things and bad things with plants and words? Witch? I don't know if that is the right word. I am sorry."

 

[LordLuck]

"Don't be.", he offered her a kind smile. Her accent was surely very, very curious. Perhaps he should heard her tales later. "...I would love to hear your tales. You could tell them to me when I am to sleep... or maybe when you serve my table. Would you serve my food, good Maura?", the man told her with an inquisitive look, guiding her through the wharves slowly, looking towards the three armed men that stepped from the boat to follow them.

His own guard. Sellswords all, true, but loyal to the coin he paid them. There was Giovanni and Phokos and Robbio, and all good men, from Genoa to Milano towards Morea, in Achaea, back into the Peninsular Greece. All men were bought, but all men served better a caring hand that gave coin and patted their hair instead of a hand that threw coin to the ground and slapped their faces when they bent to take the money.

"I heard that you are quite skilled a woman.", he told her as he guided them towards the Storehouse. It was a quite a large manse, but rough in the dried mud, stone and wood that most homes in Acre were built but those of the Palace and the Tower of the Flies. He smiled as he looked upon the heavy doors that lead towards the storages, and the smaller one that lead upstairs towards the little home he kept on the city. It was safest to sleep over his goods than on an Inn he ignored. "...Do you like my dress?", he told her, smiling. She seemed to be quite curious about the fabric, holding and caressing her fingers agains the smoothness.

"...I can have you a dress made of it, if you'd want to.", he told her, cupping her cheek so he could look upon her mysterious face. She was so beautiful. "If you'd be kind to me... and kiss me." It was meant as a petty little test, but what if she did? She was to be a pleasure slave, after all. He had to taste her.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“If my lord wishes it,” she said simply. She knew to a certain extent that her former owner had probably told her new lord all of what she did before, and knew that she would have to do much of the same. Even things that she did not particularly like. “And my skill lies only in the task that you would have me perform.”

She had not missed the armed guards, and for a moment, felt her heart sink. She was not a fighter by any means, and knew that she had no chance of escape. Well…maybe not now. She would continue to watch, see what would develop.
As they approached his home, her stomach tightened. It would only be a small amount of time now that she would be expected to submit in ways that she did not enjoy. She hoped to her gods – funny, though they seemed to have abandoned her, she still prayed to them- that he would be gentle, or at least somewhat mindful that she was still a human being, and not a series of warm holes. Her fingers dug into the fabric a little more, the only outward sign that she was scared.

“It is very fine material, too fine for a slave,” and her voice was very blunt, any emotion gone. Her place was very clear, and his next statement about a kiss made it all the clearer. With a barely perceptible inhale, she tilted her face up to his, waiting for him to kiss her. He had asked, hadn’t he? And was she not bound to give what was asked?

 

[LordLuck]

He leaned against her, looking how she had gotten neatly ready for a kiss. But it was as if she had been just waiting for someone to take a rough kiss on her, ready to bite him off or wriggle her tongue against his. But instead of all of it, Dragon simply laid his lips against her. A chaste kiss that was. "And that is it. I dress my slaves how I want. I like having them happy and well fed and enjoying their duties.", he told her with another smile.

"I'll give you a dress of silk.", he told her, imagining on how would she look. She was a beautiful woman, clad in silk she would look even better. "I do enjoy your obedience, Maura. But that is not your name, is it?", he asked her curiously as he took her by the hand and gently walked towards the Storehouse. The door upwards was open, as he had sent his servants open and ready the house for them to sleep the next nights before they could set sail.

"Here, with me...", he told her once they climbed the stone steps towards the Merchant's home. It was but a passing point, well-furnished but not too fancy, the windows large but glassless - as glass is terribly expensive. "Here we are!" It was one large room, an area divided to make a small kitchen on a corner and a tall dais on the other where curtains drapped a more intimate area, where a large canopy bed stood.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

At the faintest touch of his lips against hers, her breath was warm. Taking the chaste kiss, her dark eyes registered surprise at the quick end. That was…unexpected. But nice. Before she could humor feeling something –maybe even close to hope?- he said that he dressed and treated his slaves well. Slaves. It would be silly for her to forget for one moment that it was all that she would be to him.

Her hand was rough in his, indicative of her station in life. She gripped his loosely, not wanting to show too much dependence, but enough that he would know that she was not going to flee his side. As they entered the room, her gaze went straight to the window. She enjoyed when she was able to see outside from her place – her last quarters were in the cellar of the home, dark and locked away.

“M’lord, my name is yours to choose,” she said softly. “I would ask you again do not put such expense on me,” and there was certain firmness in her words. “If you want to…” she paused, searching her mind for the right words, “spend a great deal of money on my happiness, give me what you would have for the dress to me so I may buy my freedom.” There. She had said it. It was a fleeting idea, but one that she thought might have merit. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she stiffed, trying to prepare herself for the inevitable scorn (if she was lucky) or a beating (if she was unlucky).

 

[LordLuck]

He heard her words, and frowned visibly to her. There were two servants on the house already - one was a young girl, who messed with the pots on the small kitchen seeking for any food to be had. The other was a boy who had been sweeping the floor just runned downstairs toward the insides of the storehouse, where the three sellswords would remain and sleep, with the merchandise - most of it fabrics from further East.

"...Very well.", he told her with his frown never leaving his face, sitting down on a rather well-made up, throne-like chair. "You do understand that you were sold t ome on a debt? You are money, my dear. A nice set of breasts and hips that I could not ever seen on a coin.", he smiled gently, reaching towards a coin on his pouch at his belt. He took it and showed it to her.

"Girl, wine.", he ordered as the young servant brought him a ceramic cup with cooled wine. He drunk from it eagerly, drying it up in moments. "I will put as much expense on you as I'd like, because I want you be mine. And I will make sure you enjoy it.", he told her with a kind smile. "Come here... sit on my lap. I could use a story."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Most slaves would have cringed, or perhaps smiled and gotten undressed to ease his frown. And this is where Maura was essentially different. As long as she could remember her home, there would always be a part of her that no one would ever own. And this part of her reflected in her dark eyes, an emotion very close to anger surfaced. And just that quickly, it was gone from her face. But it was not forgotten. In just that quick exchange, she knew that she would have to be on her guard once again for her opportunity to escape. She had been patient this far – however much longer, well, she could wait. And better yet, this man had money. If he wanted her to be with him constantly, that would leave her opportunity to find where he kept his money. A few coins here and there, and she could bargain the rest for her passage.

“What else is a slave but money?” and her voice held the most emotion she’d used so far – her tone was bitter, cutting. “For one debt to another, it does not make a difference. And I am already yours, just a set of cow tits on an uncompromising holes. What else could you possibly want?”

Her control was slipping. She was growing angrier, and her accent came through thicker. Her words ran together, threatening to turn into her own language. In her use of the word “tits”, it was clear that she had heard a fair bit of slang in her time there.

And then she remembered.

She could end this all. Very quickly. And there was something about him that she felt. It wasn’t a kinship, for she had not known him long enough. Perhaps it was just the sheer force of her anger that provoked her next move. She sat down stiffly in his lap, clearly not happy to be there. And while he drank, she reached up, as if to straighten her turban. “Oh, I will tell m’lord a fine story,” and her voice held a note of contempt.

In a moment, she had a very sharp, very thin stiletto blade at his throat. “Know you this, m’lord,” and her voice was low, dangerous. “I can always find the means and the time to do away with you, for my life means precious little in the hands of others. Call your men if you like, or if you think that I could not kill you before they got up here. This is the story of all slaves.” She pressed the tip delicately into his throat. It was clear by the loose way that she held it that she had no direct intention of harming him…at least not at the moment. She wanted him to know that she still had some power, and that he would never own all of her.

Her eyes dropped to the pretty silver of the blade, then back up to his green eyes. What a pretty color they were! She held his gaze, never wavering for a moment. “You think that I am just here for you, that I cannot possibly have a mind or spirit of my own, or a family to miss, or a home to go back to? That I did not once have a husband and a family? No, m’lord, my times and fortunes have changed, but so can yours. One day I very well could own you. There is nothing that I would enjoy but my freedom,” and slowly, she withdrew the blade from his throat. She was still prepared to use it on him, or at worse case, herself, should he prove angry with her. There was just something about him that told her that either way, he would be the last master she ever had.

But even in her threats, her body had loosened, grown more comfortable with him. Though she was dressed in the fashion of the time, it was only this close to him that he felt all that her body had the potential to offer him. Ironically enough, she added modesty to her apparel by wearing a long dark gray shawl about her shoulders. In her minor struggle with him, it had fallen from her shoulders, exposing smooth and obviously well cared for brown skin. Across her shoulders were tattoos reflecting the ones on her face, and if he had touched behind her left shoulder, the raised flesh of a brand would reach his fingers. Across the tops of her exposed breasts were six short scars each, nine in total. Rather than mar the flesh, the scars added to her odd beauty. Her turban loosened now, it fell off, showing her hair. It was black, and kept in ornate braids, as intricate as weaving. They fell to her shoulders, so very different from the hair of European women!

One braid was wrapped in brass, and fell across her right shoulder. From her skin, she smelled of a foreign sweetness, something that even her travels could not sweep from her.

Her eyes dared him to make the next move.

 

[LordLuck]

When she had produced the dagger, Drago sincerely got scared. Was she some sort of assassin sent him in that plain simple ploy? Was she on the employ of his associate, who tried to be done with him and his debt instead of suffering the same treatment from him? Lorenzo was quite a resourceful man, and quite patient too, but once you got on the wrong side of him... or maybe it was not his associate alone. Perhaps it was another of his trading rivals instead of partners, trying to acquire his storehouse and vessel and wealth and goods all into a single stab of a dagger.

He feared for his life, but surpisingly, once he started to feel her easing upon his lap, the merchant started to think himself surprisingly... serene. For there was a saying, a very famous saying back at his homeland, the Terraferma. Cow teats? That remark had amused him as well as disgusted him. He was not used to sailor's speech like that, but he knew how to reply that, but as the woman held a knife and he could not possibly reach for the dirk hidden in his boot not call for his Sellswords to come upstairs before getting blooded... he considered his options. He could reach for her and try to wrench the blade away from her, but she had proved fast, as quick as a Sand Snake. She could bite him repeatedly before he could ever hold her slender arm.

In any ways, his associate was damned. He had sent an armed slave his way. He should have known. He should have suspected. She was going to slit his throat. She was not going to survive it, though. She could jump from the windows and crash down on the street, perhaps breaking a leg. She could try going down, but sprayed in his blood and with crying children, she would not took much to be taken down and barred by his men.

And he had noticed that. He could feel just how wide and round and soft her ass was against his lap. He could sense that pleasant musk she had on her hair, how soft her skin was. Her shoulders, slender and elegant, her neck, begging to be bitten, her gracious face and long, rich mane. He wanted her. From that moment, he knew that he wanted her more than any other woman he might ever had before.

His eyes stared back at hers, without any fear.

"All men must die.", he told her, unflinching, unblinking. "You want freedom.", he told her with an acid tone as her own had been, filled with contempt. "I can give you freedom. I can thrown you back on the street. Let's see how long that blade will keep you alive. I doubt not you know how to wield it, but on the first night a number of sailor brutes or beggars or even a bored knight will take you, beat you bloody and rape you, filling you with bastards no one will ever claim if you survive giving them birth alone on a gutter.", he told her, taking a gentle hand towards her own lap, adjusting her neatly over his own. He liked to have girls upon his lap, it made him feel all warm and powerful to spoil and mime the women.

"All I could possibly want is to have you pleased with your duties.", he told her. "Put that away and serve me with a smile and a giggle, and I shall cover you with gifts and love. And my protection, most of all. I have the coin and the men to do it. You can murder me, take my coin, and even escape my guards. The first one that heards the coins jiggling will take them from you, make no mistake.", he assured her. "Do you still want that freedom?"

He dared her this time on his own.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“Listen to me well, my Maura,” and there was sadness in his voice. The debts he had accumulated….well, they were far, far more than he would ever have told anyone else. During the last few months and threats on his life, Maura had become his constant companion. She was the one he went to when he wept and drank. “I want you to have this…put it in your headwrap.” He handed her the stiletto blade. Confused, she looked at him, a question on her full lips.

He smiled, tears gathering in his eyes. “I know what goes unsaid in your head, my lovely. You hate what you have become. As have I. And if I had the ability to free you, I would. And so I will make my attempt now. My wife…she has much to gain by my death, and little by my life. If I would have kept you, she would have mistreated you, sold you to the first boat of crusaders looking for quick entertainment. I cannot bear the thought of you in a brothel. So follow my words….If you have the chance to scare Drago, do so. Let him know who you are, who you hide from me. It is the last thing that I would ask of you.”


He had known that in giving her the knife, he had signed his own death warrant. Which was fine by him – it was an improvement to the life that he was living now.
Maura had never killed anyone before. She had threatened, but never done the act. And she did not intend to now. Deep down, she knew it was against her faith. If she was to keep anything of her old life, she had to keep that.

“A smile and a giggle?” and her voice was full of contempt. “You silly man. You think I would love to serve you?” She tossed the blade aside in a fit of anger. “Look well upon what your countrymen have done to me, my people!” And she leapt from his lap, wrenching at her clothing. She cared not if she ripped them; she hated them anyway and longed for her native dress. Before long, she had freed herself of her corset and top, and stood bare breasted before him. Some women would have had a sense of modesty, and generally, her people were not the exception. In her rage, she cared not that her breasts were exposed. They were unmarred save for the scars across the tops, and had deep cocoa areolas and nipples, a deepening of her warm mahogany skin. They were a perfect handful, flush and firm despite her trials. She turned her back to him, and showed him the angry brand on her left shoulder.

“Branded, like cattle! You think I know nothing of pain, of rape? What do you think your noblemen do to the girl slaves? Pretty us up alone?” Tears filled her eyes, and her voice shook. “And you think it would be preferable to live like a lap dog and carry your own bastards? No, m’lord, I would die before that. There is no freedom for me. Not here.” And she would now turn to face him, her face red and tear streaked. "My last master bade me to threaten you, as he knew I was tired of living and it would mean his death. It is only out of respect for him that I talk like this with you now. He bade me to tell you of myself, of how I saw my life. To be with you as I could have been with him."

 

[LordLuck]

For a moment, he stood quiet. And all could hear a badly-muffled sob.

"You are scaring the children.", Drago told her as he took his eyes away from hers for a moment. So his associate had done it. Damned be. He liked the young lad. Everybody could screw up business, he had just done it some times more than the usual for a youth like him. But now... to send a slave to kill him just like that? It was making him sick. He looked towards the small kitchen, where the girl was hiding herself under the counter, along the barrels of mead and water. The boy was nowhere to be seen. Had he taken another hideout?

They knew that if she would bleed him, kill him, they could be also put through the blade in order to leave no one that could denounce her behind. Had the boy escaped and gone downstairs? He had not heard voices nor steps climbing the inner stair nor the outer into the room.

And then, he looked back at Maura, his eyes growing wide as he saw a Nubian Queen, an African Goddess before his eyes. She was so gorgeous, like the ancient statues from the fertility, heathen gods that the Greeks had worshipped before the ascension of Our Lord. He stared at her perfect, neat breasts for a moment. They were large enough for one to eagerly suckle on them, to hold then dearly and to lay upon them as if over a pillow. He noticed how she was scarred, though, as if her lovers had mistreated her terribly.

"...Tired of living. I'll see to him. I'll speak to him. And maybe, I'll kill him as he wants. Mercy to his Soul.", he told her as he did the sign of the Holy Cross before his chest before adressing her back. "It was the work of my countrymen, not my own work, woman. I know not your name. But I know you have suffered more than I had. More than many have.", he told her. "If you know what wait for you outside, that is why you want your freedom? You may go, then. Go. Risk your life and your honour and your body outside. Go, and don't trouble me with you anymore."

He told her, looking upon her body but not moving from the seat she had almost killed him upon. "Or stay. Serve me faithfully. I am good and kind and loving to those that treat me well. Perhaps that what you want, woman? Respect? I can give you that. And more.", he told her. "There is your Freedom. You have the choice."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

The tears came quicker now, and she fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands. She had gotten so caught up in what she was feeling that she had neglected to remember the little girl. His language failed her now, and she sobbed in the language of her people, its flowing words broken by the tears that racked her body. She knew where not to go. If she had done as her master had explained, she would have merely killed herself, not Drago. She never had the intention of killing the lord, but she did have every intention of ending her own servitude, one way or the other.

And then that little girl’s face….

It reminded her all too much of what she was now – terrified and alone. “What honor is there…” she managed brokenly, trying to compose herself, trying to find some sort of footing, “in being a slave?” and that was all she managed, before lapsing into tears again.

In the five years or so of her servitude, she had not cried once. She hadn’t let herself. And now the dam burst. She knew he was right. All of those dreams she had built up, that had sustained herself in her darkest hours, he had demolished. There was no way for her to find her freedom here, in a land so far from her own without the slightest idea of how to get home. When she was captured, she was taken far from where she was, and she had seen parts of her land that her tribespeople had never seen before. Although she had a good eye and memory for navigating, it was not that good so that she could remember her way home.

The scars on her breasts were more decorative than a symbol of brutality. No, the only sign of brutality on her body was the brand on her left shoulder. The scars and tattoos all marked her as a peerless beauty from her tribe. No, she had not been any sort of princess, but she had obtained a high place among her people for her looks alone. She would have married well, had a good flock of goats and cattle, and had a pick of lovers. Not that her life was care free by any means previously, but now…in the middle of a strange land with strange people, even the most mean circumstances back home would have been preferable to this.

Her shaking shoulders begged to have an arm put around them, some sort of comfort offered to her. He had, in truth, offered her more freedom in that choice than she had encountered before, and her mind reeled, adding to her tears.

 

[LordLuck]

It was no easy thing to be Free. After all, one had to depend upon oportunities and changes and simple downright luck to prosper like he had done. He knew it. Everytime he sailed, the changes of having hit sinking and, with it, most of his wealth, where always there. This young woman, this most gorgeous young woman had been through a fair share of unfortune. He knew it simply by looking on how she broke down, falling to her knees, speaking words he could not understand - too alien to his own speech.

And he knew quite a number of dialects, given that a tradesmen always should be ready to speak when he wanted to trade. Slowly, he stood up and walked towards the sobbing woman. The girl, however, hidden, had stopped do cry, but he was certain she should be still scared. He went slowly, knowing that he could scare her off with but a simple rushed movement.

So he fell to his knees as well, and slid a hand over her naked, slender shoulders, just as they had been offered him to. With his large arms, he pulled her closer against him into a warm embrace, throwing his own cape over her back to prevent her from the stares of the servant children. He could feel her tears falling on his doublet, but he cared not. He hugged the woman tightly against his chest, feeling her own warmth, and could not stop but getting a little bit more aroused than he had been before.

For she was still a beauty. Perhaps even more than that, she was a gorgeous young beauty, her tatoos and scares and painted skin showing patterns into which he could so easily lose himself. He wanted to use a nail to trail ticklishly all along each and every inch of those. She was no Arab. They used few markings. She could not be Persian too - her skin was too dark, to deliciously dark. Black as sin.

And before she could actually complain, he gently sought her lips with his own. Gently, he brushed against her nose, nuzzling against her so he could lift her youthful face. And then, closing his eyes, he kissed her. It was once more that gentle kiss, but this time he lingered longer, feeling if she would welcome or scorn him away.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

As he draped his cape about her, she moved forward into his arms, nearly collapsing into him. She had gone so long without actual comfort, and she drank him in, as a parched riverbed absorbs the rain. Her arms looped about him, pulling him closer to her. The finery of his clothing was soothing to her face, and for a moment, she was shamed that she was ruining his clothing with her tears and kohl.

No, she was not Persian, nor was she an Arab, though an Arab had played a part in her current servitude. She was from parts yet unexplored by Europeans – and her capture had been more one of bad luck than exploratory efforts. Her people were nomadic – and in their travels, occasionally ran up against enemy tribes. Normally, her people were strong, could fight their way free…

This kiss would be different from the first one. Surprising herself, she eagerly returned it. She was too caught up in a storm of emotions to fully map out how she felt now. She could be making a huge mistake. She could be digging herself deeper into being a slave. But now, his attempts to comfort her…they were the only real kindness she had since she had arrived in this cursed land. And her body responded in turn. Against his doublet, her nipples hardened, as if caressed by an unseen hand.

Letting the kiss end on its own, her dark eyes found his. They probed his, looking for something. One arm moved up to his neck, the other struggled to release her lower body from the skirts she still wore. Leaning closer to him, she murmured against his lips in a mix of her language and his own, allowing him to catch fragments of what she was saying. “Send child....away..” and her voice was husky with need, still a little broken from her tears. Beneath the comfort of his cape, she wiggled out of most of her skirts, leaving them in a tangle about her calves. Her legs were not tattooed as the rest of her, and were firm and muscular from a lifetime of walking and climbing. Beneath the skirts, she wore no undergarments, and between her legs was a promising triangle of deeply curled black hair, pressed smooth.

If this was all a ploy to make her obedient, time would tell, but she felt herself so moved that she could not do anything else but to offer herself willingly to him.

 

[LordLuck]

Her lips had been all that he could have wanted from her. She was so delicate, yet there was a passion there she had not yet dared to unleash - but did imply and offer some. Drago had tasted it sweetly on a spicy undertone at her posture. He wanted her. He wanted her to be his, to be happy, to love sharing his company. The merchant could not care less if her make up and her tears had been ruining his clothes. Silk could always be delicately washed. But a moment like this, with her... could not.

"Giovanna. Paulo.", he spoke into a husky voice of his own as he kept staring towards the woman's eyes, never shaking his gaze from her. His voice had become rough as if he had heavy lungs from coughing for that moment. "Leave.", he spoke simply. "Go downstairs and stay with the Men. No one is to come upstairs until I say so.", he commanded. It was queer, though, that he was sending the children away on her demand. Her order. Her plead. He could not really decipher it now, but her words had not sounded like a simple question. She had that sort of power over him already.

He could feel her breasts against his own. Looking down shyly for a moment, still covering her so that the children would not see a thing, He noticed how her darker patches of skin were growing taut and hard gently, poking out and felt through his silken cloth. He wanted to have her. He could feel himself stiffening for her, swelling his thickness down his groin, his breeches straining at the sight of her nakedness as her skirts fell towards the ground, revealling her most intimate of regions.

"...You are beautiful.", he told her sweetly. His eyes must have betrayed his wantom for her, but he did not care for that moment. She was a gorgeous woman, and he wanted her whole. He wanted to discover how strong those muscular thighs of hers were, if they could withstand his passion. With little noise, the children scrambled from their hideouts and left, closing the door neatly behind them. The boy seemed interested, but the girl pulled and tugged on his arm so that he would leave them alone.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Once the children were gone, it made it easier for her. She still had some sense of modesty, and did not want the children to see what she was about to do. She untangled his arms from his body, and slipped away from him, only for a moment. She wanted to free herself from her skirts, allow herself to be seen by him fully.

“Thank you,” she breathed softly, not knowing what else to say. Her hands drifted down to his breeches, gently running over his stiffening manhood. She did not ask once if she was overstepping her bounds, she just moved as her body told her to. Now entirely nude, she slipped close to him again, looping her arms around his neck. Her gaze was entirely different now – no less intense, but made soft by her desire and her thankfulness. It seemed as if a smile was hiding in the corners of her eyes, and again, she pressed her full lips to his. There was a burning intensity to her kiss, although she did not speed it up.

Letting this one end on its own time again, she lowered her face to the side of his neck, gently placing another kiss to the very throat she threatened before. Her teeth gently closed, biting him lightly. She trailed this light kisses, light bites down the side of his neck, moving back up to kiss gently under his ear, before biting his earlobe. Her breath was light, almost playful in his ear. She wanted to say something, but felt as it if may have been out of place or would have ruined what was happening. Adjusting her body, she moved to the front of him, pressing her bare breasts brazenly against his chest. Again, she looked up at him, searching his green eyes.

Capturing his lips again with her own, she reached up to run her fingers through his hair. Gently, with a bit of a question behind it, she parted her lips, her tongue running across his lower lip. It was a seeking question. She did not want to overwhelm him, but she wanted to know how he would respond. Her other hand rested comfortably on his phallus, lazily running a finger up and down the length of it.

 

[LordLuck]

Under her caresses, he melt.

It was rather simple like that, trully. The moments just prior to this, he had been tensed like a yew bow, ready to loose an arrow and rain death and pain with it. But now... he felt relaxed. Her scent, her every move, all of her made him feel so easy around her. Her movements were surprisingly smooth. His eyes were never leaving hers, watching closely and trying to match her intensity with his own. She was boring into his soul, seeking if his conforting gestures hid not more terrible and grim prospects.

But she would find nothing, for he was not one to cheat upon that moments. He had offered his cape, his arms, his warmth because he had wanted to. Because he felt she needed it. When she leaned to kiss him, feverishly, so did he kissed her back, his hands gently reaching for her, caressing along her waistline. His hands were surprisingly less rough than hers, his trade making him deal much less on hardship than hers. His eyes denounced his affection from her. He liked her a lot.

A soft gasp escaped his lips, however, when her hand finally reached for his engorged manhood. She could seek around his size and tighten her fingers around it, and would notice how thick he was comparing to every other man she ever had against her. Still, he remained in place, but for his hands that held and hugged her agaisnt him. She kissed him gently, every little nibble and bite making his loins burn harder for her, her chest pressing against his. Was it not chaffing her? - he thought. And at her parting lips, her tongue brushing against him, he parted his own, leaning gently against her so that his own tongue could seek hers out and match her dance.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Her prior master had not been exaggerating when he hinted at her skills in the bedchamber. Here, though, Drago would find himself more fortunate than her prior master ever was. For now, she was doing it willingly, and even though her motions were practiced, her affection added further depth.

In the midst of her kiss, she trailed the hand that was playing with his manhood up his chest, deftly unlacing the ties for his shirt. Loosening it, she slipped her hand within, her fingers running across his chest. Now, though, her movements grew a tad hurried as her desire grew. Breaking the kiss, she took a deep breath, her chest heaved. She needed to calm herself, to be able to think through this clearly, see where he stood as well. Not that she had encountered a man here that did not instantly want her charms, even if it was to mock her for her strangeness.

“M’lord…” she said after a while, licking her lips, “Would you…” She shook the cape from her shoulders. Now they would have no need for it. She was curious to see him. He was larger (both in his body and from what she could feel with his phallus) than her previous master, and her mind wondered of what other things that he could hide beneath his clothes. He smelled strongly of the spices of his trade.

Her eyes indicated the bed that was behind them, before she turned her gaze back to him. Not that the bed was a requirement for her by any means. She had been taken a great many places, and her desire urged her to take him on the floor, but she was not sure if that was a preference of his or not. He seemed…almost nervous. Her hands drifted from his chest back to the front of his breeches – her finger danced lightly across his erect member, and before he could protest further, she had undone the laces there, just that quickly. Keeping one hand on his chest to comfort him, her other reached below his navel, grasping the firmness of his erection.

For a moment, she just held it, savoring how hard he was. Then her hand began to move, stroking him with a feather touch. “What do you wish of me?” she asked, her voice low and shy. Keeping one hand on his phallus, the other took his in her own, and guided it between her thighs. Though she kept her legs closed, she trailed his fingers across her lower lips, daring him to do some exploring of his own.

 

[LordLuck]

His breathing had grown more laboured, heavier even, as the woman started to gently unlace the ties of his shirt. He had not felt a woman's caresses for... years? Yes. Years. Dragon had once know the love of a warm woman every night and day while he worked upon his spice and fabric trade. But that had been once, and long, long ago. She could have not been more different than Maura. No. Not Maura. That was not her true name.

Her eyes moved and Drago's followed hers, looking upon the med that stood nearby, partially covered by the curtains that tried to separate the tall, single room, into a handful of smaller, more intimate chambers like that one. It was a petty attempt, but the bed itself had a lofted canopy over it's edges, those curtains thicker but also dustier from his absence. It had been half an year since he had last been on Acre, after all.

Lorenzo was purring once her hand started to caress his chest, feeling his broad form gently. He had no such scars like hers but one - a long yet thin gash that had been made him long ago. Longer still than the last time he had a woman. It was too sharp not to be a blade, but too long to be a sword. It crossed alongside from his flank down towards his belly, a slash that would have claimed his life was he not quick enough to react. That single time had saved his life... but also doomed another.

Another soft gasp, this one louder than the other that had escaped his lips, was uttered as he felt her hand gently yet nimbly working it's way through his breeches and into his groin, seeking and reaching for his engorged meat. His chest started to heave as well, each breath coming shorter than the last one, his eyes looked all over her body, a body that screamed of lust.

"...All of you.", he finally told her. "I wish all of you.", he told her as he started to feel her just as she had guided him to. One of his hands remained along her waist, feeling her gently, while the other caressed along her bush, that one that grew lushly between her legs and over her loins. Gently, his thick knuckles started to seek out for her little orb, one thing that he still remembered women loved to have tended.