Damsels in Distress (2 page)

‘Yes, sir,’ Petra said, bowing her head. The four girls stood in a row, Elen bowed her head submissively, all too aware of the switch Paulus always carried, and that he was playing with as he looked her up and down.

Elen had, in fact, been bathed with worrying thoroughness. Petra, the pretty little Greek girl, and Zana the Persian, had spent most of the morning preparing Elen and Gwyneffyr. The two new slave girls were shaved of their pubic hair, their legs waxed and eyebrows plucked. They had been steamed until Elen feared she would be cooked, strigilated and then plunged into a pool so cold she thought her heart had stopped.

Next they were scrubbed with towels until their skin glowed pink, massaged and rubbed with scented oils so delicious and expensive smelling that Elen wondered if it were a libation, and she was to be sacrificed again.

Petra had then rouged Elen’s nipples and her nether lips, the girl’s cunning hands causing Elen to bite her hand to prevent herself from moaning aloud. Then her long blonde hair was brushed, two small braids made at the front and these tied back to loosely gather her luxuriant mane out of her eyes. The same, she saw, was done to Gwyn’s raven tresses.

‘Take those rags off them, I want to see.’

Elen swallowed hard and tried not to blush as her single garment was moved by Petra. This did not take long, for after the preparation Petra and Zana had simply taken two diamond-shaped pieces of peach-coloured silk, tying one end to the iron ring around the slave girls’ necks. Two corners were then gathered under the chain that ran down to Elen’s left wrist and tied in a loose knot at the small of her back. Thus the garment left her quite naked behind, not that the thin silk did much to mask her form from the front. Petra did not even take the silk piece off altogether, simply untying the back knot and draping it around her neck like a scarf, before standing back to allow Paulus an unimpeded view.

Elen trembled under his intense scrutiny. She had been naked before such hungry eyes before, but never shaven like this, and it made her feel more vulnerable, more exposed. Awareness of his switch, which seemed to writhe like something alive in his tanned hands, only made her feel even more bare. She gripped the chain that linked her wrists together tightly, to try to stop her hands from trembling, but she could do nothing to prevent the blush that suffused her cheeks.

‘The barbarian bitches cleaned up pretty well,’ Paulus said at last, in a slightly strained voice. ‘Cooked and plucked and ready to be fucked!’

He chuckled, but Elen did not join him.

‘All right,’ he said, as if with effort, ‘take them to the Lady Lavinia. Our ladyship is eager to entertain our guests.

Although her stay at the new villa had been short, Elen had heard plenty about Lady Lavinia – too much for her liking.

‘Don’t complain of our Lord Arrius,’ Zenobia, the beautiful black girl, had said as she smoothed ointment into Elen’s sore buttocks. ‘The master may be rough, but he is not especially cruel. He only slaps to bring us into… condition.’

The remark caused a ripple of merriment to run around the slave girls’ quarters.

‘But Paulus says that our Lady Lavinia is coming,’ Zenobia had continued, and that stopped the giggling instantly.

‘Do you know when she’s arriving?’ Petra asked in an anxious whisper.

Zenobia had shrugged. ‘Perhaps two weeks, Paulus said, but perhaps the pig was just trying to frighten me.’

‘He has frightened me,’ Zana grumbled, with a shiver. ‘Look to your barbarian hides,’ she added, addressing Elen and Gwyn. ‘When our lady gets bored she likes to amuse herself with… games.’

‘Bitter games, for slave girls,’ Zenobia had said, looking into Elen’s eyes. ‘Alas she got bored easily in Rome.’

There was a little chorus of gasps.

‘That is right,’ Petra put in, ‘I had not thought of that. If she was bored in Rome, what will she be like in this godforsaken wilderness?’

‘Your ladyship, the barbarian slaves!’ Paulus announced, self-importantly.

Elen stood next to Gwyn and kept her head bowed, trying not to tremble as she felt Lavinia’s gaze stroke her barely veiled form.

‘So, this is what has been amusing my husband these last months?’ The voice was arch but more melodic than Elen had expected. ‘Well, they might not be exactly elegant, but I suppose curves have their place.’

As she kept her gaze downcast, Elen was only aware of the woman moving into the periphery of her vision. Lavinia moved like a cat, rolling from her couch and moving towards the waiting slave girls like a lynx stalking its prey.

‘What is your name?’ she demanded, standing in front of Gwyneffyr.

‘Gwyneffyr of… ah!’

Elen could see the woman’s crimson talons take hold of one of the dark-haired girl’s nipples through the film of silken cloth.

‘You are a slave, you barbarian filth. One simple name will do you!’

‘I have told her, your ladyship. She is called Gwen.’

‘She was called Gwen, you mean, Paulus. You should have whipped it into her. Obviously shortening her free name has confused her. What shall I call her? Look how she trembles, Paulus, isn’t she a treat? She really is delicious. That’s it! From now on, my little savage, you are called Delicia. What is your name?’

‘D-Delicia… aooww!’

Squinting sideways, Elen could see that Lavinia still gripped her companion’s nipple in her red talons, and saw the sudden vicious twist.

‘Delicia,
mistress
. Now, let’s try that again, shall we?’

‘Delicia… m-mistress,’ the black-haired girl managed with a sob.

Elen saw the hand release her companion’s nipple. Then she felt cold braided leather lifting her chin, until she found herself looking into the feline green eyes of her new mistress. Lavinia was small and delicately pretty, with fine cheekbones and silky dark hair, coiled in an elegant coif. Half a head shorter than Elen, the woman held a vicious whip, brutally black against the cream material of her elegantly simple gown.

‘And what is your name, blondie?’ The woman smiled a cold and wicked smile, with no warmth in her glittering emerald eyes.

‘Elen, mistress,’ she managed, a little thickly, for her mouth was dry.

‘No, I think we’ll call you Flavia, for this hair. What is your name?’

‘Flavia, mistress,’ the blonde girl said quickly, eyes still fixed on the whip.

‘That is better. Delicia, learn from Flavia’s example.’

The woman transferred the whip to her left hand, and reached up with her right, taking hold of the flaxen-haired slave’s left breast, her delicate hand having to spread to its fullest as she hefted the globe through its flimsy covering.

‘By Venus, but they breed them buxom in this wilderness. I swear this ones titties are even bigger than the other’s. Are all these she-slaves built like this, Paulus?’

‘No, mistress, this pair is quite atypical. It seems the druid that kept them had a liking for curvaceous maidens, and chose the most bounteously provided girls to serve him.’

‘Oh yes, Arrius mentioned their peculiar rituals. I would have thought in that case he would have been more interested in their rears.’ The woman released Elen’s breast.

‘Turn around and touch your toes,’ she snapped. ‘You too, Delicia.’

Flavia, as Elen tried to think of herself, obeyed quickly. She bent and reached down, thighs quivering as she was all too aware of her nakedness and the whip in her mistress’s hand. But it was the other hand she felt first. She was patted, and then squeezed, and then she had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from yelping as Lavinia’s talons pinched.

‘Well, I can see why he chose this one for his ceremonies,’ the woman said, with a wry chuckle. ‘It is amazing that her buttocks can be so generously proportioned and yet as firm as ripe melons.’

‘And still her waist is trim,’ Paulus put in.

‘You aren’t selling this merchandise, I already own it,’ Lavinia snapped. ‘You are right, however,’ she conceded as she pinched the flesh of the bent girl’s inner thighs. ‘Her waist is tiny and her legs are long and shapely. Is this a woman, Paulus, or a brothel painting? Look, by Venus, the other is almost as astonishing. These bottoms were surely created by some barbarian god, especially for the lash. Oh no, they worship trees, don’t they? Well then, created by the birch gods, for the rod!’

There was no mistaking the note of tight excitement that had come into Lavinia’s voice as she perused the captives’ naked nether regions. ‘Flavia’ grasped her ankles and tried her best to keep breathing steadily.

‘Now, I want you savage sluts to keep quite still for a moment,’ Lavinia hissed, her voice distorted now with simmering excitement.

Flavia closed her eyes and cringed. There was a brief, appalling pause, and then she heard the whip whistle and a dreadful snapping sound, and she heard Delicia gasp with pain.

‘No, stay in your position!’ Lavinia shrieked. ‘Don’t you dare disobey me, you piece of barbarian shit!’

There was a desperate whimpering sound beside Flavia, and her heart seemed to stop. Then she heard the whistling sound again and pain sliced across her rear, and she heard a strange gurgling sound coming from the back of her own throat. Fighting desperately to cling to her own ankles, as the pain seemed to try to force her to jump up, she shook her bottom and jiggled her legs as if she could somehow shake out the unendurable sensation.

‘Their arses may be made for it, but they put on a poor show,’ said Lavinia, with a nasty chuckle. ‘Those druids did not train them to take their medicine well.’

There was a brief and pregnant pause. Flavia could hear Delicia quietly sobbing, and her own heart beating. As the pain subsided in her bottom it began to twitch involuntarily in anticipation of another stroke of that wicked little whip.

‘But then,’ Lavinia continued quietly, ‘you haven’t trained them very well either, have you Paulus? Perhaps you are losing your touch and need a spell back in the ranks.’

‘I have not had time or permission,’ the major-domo burbled nervously.

‘No excuses. I shall consider your case later. I might just decide to have you flogged. I could sell you to one of the tribunes who are going on the Caledonian campaign. Then again, I may break you back to the lowest kitchen slave. Let even the lowest drudge have dominion over you. I think you might enjoy that, with all the friends you must have made amongst the female household slaves.’

There was another pause as everyone, even Flavia preoccupied as she was by the vulnerability of her naked bottom, thought of the implications. The chance to avenge herself on Paulus was almost too appealing to be hoped for.

‘Please, mistress, anything…’ Paulus mumbled in a terrified whisper.

‘Silence! You may go. Send Zenobia to me.’

The brief, welcome distraction was well and truly over. Flavia felt her thighs tremble and her bottom flinched and clenched convulsively, waiting for another stroke of the whip. But it did not come. Instead she heard the footsteps of her mistress move towards her. Then the hand began to stroke her inner thighs, slowly moving up.

‘So soft,’ Lavinia’s voice said huskily. ‘For a barbarian your flesh is extraordinarily tender.’ The fingers moved up in lazy circles. ‘All the better to appreciate my toys.’ The woman chuckled, and Flavia tried not to moan aloud as the cunning fingers met her nether lips.

‘What’s this?’ the woman mocked. ‘But Flavia, you are sopping wet, girl. How extraordinary. Is this fountain gushing in response to my caresses, or those of my whip?’

‘I – I don’t know… mistress,’ Flavia managed somehow, speaking nothing but the truth.

‘Well, that is pleasurable for me, but unfortunate for you. Do you know why, slave?’

‘N-no, mistress.’

The stroking stopped and Lavinia leant forward, wiping her wet fingers in Flavia’s luxuriant blonde hair, and then bending to murmur into the slave girl’s ear. ‘It is because if you get excited about a few spanks and strokes, it is hardly a punishment, is it? When you need to be disciplined, I’ll have to make sure you get a
real
imperial flogging. No good you enjoying it, is there, you wicked little slut?’

Lavinia did not seem to expect an answer to her own rhetorical question, and Flavia was happy to keep her mouth shut. The woman’s threat had sent cold thrills of fear straight through her. Yet, that fear only seemed to increase the sensations that smouldered in her loins.

Thankfully, the feline beauty moved on to Delicia, so Flavia concentrated on breathing steadily and tried to keep quite still.

‘Oh!’

‘Did I ask you to speak?’

‘No, mistress.’

There was another slapping sound and another gasp of discomfort.

‘Silence is golden, Delicia. Be quiet or I shall have to have you gagged.’

Flavia could not see what was happening, but she could guess, and soon her guess was confirmed.

‘Blessed Minerva, I believe you are even wetter than the other. For heaven’s sake, girl, it is running down the insides of your thighs!’

‘Ooooh…’

‘I did say be silent, didn’t I?’

‘Oh please, mistress.’

‘Sluts like you should not be so tender down there. I’m barely pinching you. Jupiter only knows how much noise you will make when I introduce you to real pain.’