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Lesley felt an odd mix of hyper and exhausted, adrenaline lingering in his system from the pain in his hand and knee, combined with a happy, almost tingly, keyed-up feeling he associated with killing someone, that he hadn't quite realized anyone else would quite possibly have recognized as lust - and countering that, the fact that fight had dragged on longer than most, and the opium the physician had given him was making limply exhausted muscles feel simply warm and tired rather than weak. He slipped into his room at the barracks gratefully, and sunk down onto his bed. He was still watched and guarded, though not as closely as some; he was a brat, and often in trouble, but his owners were confident he had no interest in running away. There was no bar on his door - no door, in fact, not even a curtain, though the building itself was secured. While he at least a bit of space to claim as his own, privacy was a luxury only afforded to free men. Actually - he probably could get a curtain, if he asked. He'd impressed his masters, he was certain. Enough for small rewards, here and there. Maybe he would. He'd asked for books, once, and gotten smacked for his ego - pick something cheaper. He chuckled quietly to himself as he lay down.
"Hey, Briton." The guard's tone sounded annoyed, but Les had never heard this particular guard sound anything else, so he cracked an eye open, unconcerned.
A woman was lightly shoved into his cell. "Earned yourself a girl. Enjoy."
"I wanted a drink," Lesley grumbled. "And paint." Slaves’ rooms didn't merit decoration, and staring at white stone walls day in and day out was boring. Lesley did not do particularly well with boredom, so he'd started a mural.
The guard just shrugged. "Maybe you'll get that too. Who knows?"
Les groaned as the other disappeared, and stared at the girl, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with her. "Fucking hurt too much for this," he muttered under his breath. That was a decent excuse for his lack of immediate enthusiasm, right? He shoved himself up to a sitting position and ran a hand through short cropped hair.
Black ink swirled around his wrists and up his forearms, interrupted on one side by a row of stitches between two thin scars - nothing deep enough to be crippling, even in the short term, but clearly the result of a repeated mistake. He wasn't terribly happy about that, but nothing to be done but keep training. Another line of stitches at his shoulder he didn't feel embarrassed about, since the blow had originally been aimed at his head. The rest of his injuries were hidden beneath his sleeveless dark green tunic, the generous fabric hanging loosely from simple brass pins at his shoulders, without a belt or tie at the waist.
The look he gave the slave girl seemed a bit bemused, soft brown eyes and full lips making him seem younger than his twenty one years, despite the solid muscle he'd put on over the last year.
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Dec 21, 2019 23:29:08 GMT
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Lesley felt an odd mix of hyper and exhausted, adrenaline lingering in his system from the pain in his hand and knee, combined with a happy, almost tingly, keyed-up feeling he associated with killing someone, that he hadn't quite realized anyone else would quite possibly have recognized as lust - and countering that, the fact that fight had dragged on longer than most, and the opium the physician had given him was making limply exhausted muscles feel simply warm and tired rather than weak. He slipped into his room at the barracks gratefully, and sunk down onto his bed. He was still watched and guarded, though not as closely as some; he was a brat, and often in trouble, but his owners were confident he had no interest in running away. There was no bar on his door - no door, in fact, not even a curtain, though the building itself was secured. While he at least a bit of space to claim as his own, privacy was a luxury only afforded to free men. Actually - he probably could get a curtain, if he asked. He'd impressed his masters, he was certain. Enough for small rewards, here and there. Maybe he would. He'd asked for books, once, and gotten smacked for his ego - pick something cheaper. He chuckled quietly to himself as he lay down.
"Hey, Briton." The guard's tone sounded annoyed, but Les had never heard this particular guard sound anything else, so he cracked an eye open, unconcerned.
A woman was lightly shoved into his cell. "Earned yourself a girl. Enjoy."
"I wanted a drink," Lesley grumbled. "And paint." Slaves’ rooms didn't merit decoration, and staring at white stone walls day in and day out was boring. Lesley did not do particularly well with boredom, so he'd started a mural.
The guard just shrugged. "Maybe you'll get that too. Who knows?"
Les groaned as the other disappeared, and stared at the girl, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with her. "Fucking hurt too much for this," he muttered under his breath. That was a decent excuse for his lack of immediate enthusiasm, right? He shoved himself up to a sitting position and ran a hand through short cropped hair.
Black ink swirled around his wrists and up his forearms, interrupted on one side by a row of stitches between two thin scars - nothing deep enough to be crippling, even in the short term, but clearly the result of a repeated mistake. He wasn't terribly happy about that, but nothing to be done but keep training. Another line of stitches at his shoulder he didn't feel embarrassed about, since the blow had originally been aimed at his head. The rest of his injuries were hidden beneath his sleeveless dark green tunic, the generous fabric hanging loosely from simple brass pins at his shoulders, without a belt or tie at the waist.
The look he gave the slave girl seemed a bit bemused, soft brown eyes and full lips making him seem younger than his twenty one years, despite the solid muscle he'd put on over the last year.
Lesley felt an odd mix of hyper and exhausted, adrenaline lingering in his system from the pain in his hand and knee, combined with a happy, almost tingly, keyed-up feeling he associated with killing someone, that he hadn't quite realized anyone else would quite possibly have recognized as lust - and countering that, the fact that fight had dragged on longer than most, and the opium the physician had given him was making limply exhausted muscles feel simply warm and tired rather than weak. He slipped into his room at the barracks gratefully, and sunk down onto his bed. He was still watched and guarded, though not as closely as some; he was a brat, and often in trouble, but his owners were confident he had no interest in running away. There was no bar on his door - no door, in fact, not even a curtain, though the building itself was secured. While he at least a bit of space to claim as his own, privacy was a luxury only afforded to free men. Actually - he probably could get a curtain, if he asked. He'd impressed his masters, he was certain. Enough for small rewards, here and there. Maybe he would. He'd asked for books, once, and gotten smacked for his ego - pick something cheaper. He chuckled quietly to himself as he lay down.
"Hey, Briton." The guard's tone sounded annoyed, but Les had never heard this particular guard sound anything else, so he cracked an eye open, unconcerned.
A woman was lightly shoved into his cell. "Earned yourself a girl. Enjoy."
"I wanted a drink," Lesley grumbled. "And paint." Slaves’ rooms didn't merit decoration, and staring at white stone walls day in and day out was boring. Lesley did not do particularly well with boredom, so he'd started a mural.
The guard just shrugged. "Maybe you'll get that too. Who knows?"
Les groaned as the other disappeared, and stared at the girl, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with her. "Fucking hurt too much for this," he muttered under his breath. That was a decent excuse for his lack of immediate enthusiasm, right? He shoved himself up to a sitting position and ran a hand through short cropped hair.
Black ink swirled around his wrists and up his forearms, interrupted on one side by a row of stitches between two thin scars - nothing deep enough to be crippling, even in the short term, but clearly the result of a repeated mistake. He wasn't terribly happy about that, but nothing to be done but keep training. Another line of stitches at his shoulder he didn't feel embarrassed about, since the blow had originally been aimed at his head. The rest of his injuries were hidden beneath his sleeveless dark green tunic, the generous fabric hanging loosely from simple brass pins at his shoulders, without a belt or tie at the waist.
The look he gave the slave girl seemed a bit bemused, soft brown eyes and full lips making him seem younger than his twenty one years, despite the solid muscle he'd put on over the last year.
While Demi had been hesitant at first when she was first sold to be the man's slave, she's been in the job for awhile at least, and after four years of working with her current master to have found her niche. She was lucky enough that despite being a body slave, her owner was not a man who enjoyed his rough vices, nor was he abusive. He was simply insatiable, and that was something Demi could handle. Having honed her skills as an actress after many years, she could easily feign her enjoyment even when she was tired, so much so that due to a combination of her skill and her beauty, Demi had quickly become a favorite of her new employer, despite him owning many body slaves to serve him.
Of course, not all of them were used for purely his pleasure. Her master also owned many gladiators, someone who enjoyed owning and watching other's work for his enjoyment. So often, the girl's were picked and chosen to serve certain gladiators who enjoyed them. Often, her fellow slaves would describe the experience as messy, short and quick. The gladiator's did not often get a female body, that when they did, they were made quick work, the girl's enjoyed no pleasure from it themselves.
So far, Demi had considered herself lucky that she had not had to go through such the same experience, but that evening as she was getting ready to go through the evening line upin front of the master, she found her door opening, and a guard coming in to motion for Demi to follow him.
In her emerald green chiton that was low cut on her chest, her brunette hair was long and curled around her breasts, accentuating the fullness of her assets that was further brought to attention by the shining silk material she wore. Sleeveless and ending at her ankles, the material looked like a seagreen foam as she walked, but her faciall features reflected how confused Demi was as she followed the guard down. That same confusion melted to a look of horror, when she was led to the arcus.
A gladiator? Did the master not enjoy her anymore? Yet, she couldn't imagine mucking this up. Should she be complained against, Demi would lose her position as her master's favorite, and she's enjoyed the little pleasures of life gifted to her by her owner far too much to risk losing that.
So as she entered the dusty chambers of the arcus to where the gladiator's were kept, if one paid attention, they would be able to see how the brunette steeled her resolve, straightening her spine as she entered together, her assumptions confirmed when she heard that a gladiator had 'earned himself a girl.'
The guard eventually brought her to stand in front of a gladiator who, thank the Gods, was not at all bad to look at. He seemed young, possibly Demi's age, but with far more scars and what looked like ink on his skin, the kind of ink she would never imagine getting. Her chocolate gaze slowly looked at the male she was supposed to be serving for the night, but Demi did not speak till after the guard who had led her had locked the cell behind him, and his footsteps had faded away.
Only then, did she sweep her brown locks away from her gaze, and give a hesitant smile. "I... I usually don't service strangers, so perhaps... a name would be good?" she gently asked. Demi was an odd mix of confident but hesitant. Confident, for she knew of her abilities and her own looks, for many had fallen over their feet for her. But hesitant, because she did not wish to be a complete charlatan - she was simply pushed into this line of work out of pure need, but there was no need to sell her soul in return for coin, after all. In her heart of hearts, Demi still held a kind demeanour, and simply wished to make other's happy. "My name is Demi, of Arcana. I am the body slave to our master."
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While Demi had been hesitant at first when she was first sold to be the man's slave, she's been in the job for awhile at least, and after four years of working with her current master to have found her niche. She was lucky enough that despite being a body slave, her owner was not a man who enjoyed his rough vices, nor was he abusive. He was simply insatiable, and that was something Demi could handle. Having honed her skills as an actress after many years, she could easily feign her enjoyment even when she was tired, so much so that due to a combination of her skill and her beauty, Demi had quickly become a favorite of her new employer, despite him owning many body slaves to serve him.
Of course, not all of them were used for purely his pleasure. Her master also owned many gladiators, someone who enjoyed owning and watching other's work for his enjoyment. So often, the girl's were picked and chosen to serve certain gladiators who enjoyed them. Often, her fellow slaves would describe the experience as messy, short and quick. The gladiator's did not often get a female body, that when they did, they were made quick work, the girl's enjoyed no pleasure from it themselves.
So far, Demi had considered herself lucky that she had not had to go through such the same experience, but that evening as she was getting ready to go through the evening line upin front of the master, she found her door opening, and a guard coming in to motion for Demi to follow him.
In her emerald green chiton that was low cut on her chest, her brunette hair was long and curled around her breasts, accentuating the fullness of her assets that was further brought to attention by the shining silk material she wore. Sleeveless and ending at her ankles, the material looked like a seagreen foam as she walked, but her faciall features reflected how confused Demi was as she followed the guard down. That same confusion melted to a look of horror, when she was led to the arcus.
A gladiator? Did the master not enjoy her anymore? Yet, she couldn't imagine mucking this up. Should she be complained against, Demi would lose her position as her master's favorite, and she's enjoyed the little pleasures of life gifted to her by her owner far too much to risk losing that.
So as she entered the dusty chambers of the arcus to where the gladiator's were kept, if one paid attention, they would be able to see how the brunette steeled her resolve, straightening her spine as she entered together, her assumptions confirmed when she heard that a gladiator had 'earned himself a girl.'
The guard eventually brought her to stand in front of a gladiator who, thank the Gods, was not at all bad to look at. He seemed young, possibly Demi's age, but with far more scars and what looked like ink on his skin, the kind of ink she would never imagine getting. Her chocolate gaze slowly looked at the male she was supposed to be serving for the night, but Demi did not speak till after the guard who had led her had locked the cell behind him, and his footsteps had faded away.
Only then, did she sweep her brown locks away from her gaze, and give a hesitant smile. "I... I usually don't service strangers, so perhaps... a name would be good?" she gently asked. Demi was an odd mix of confident but hesitant. Confident, for she knew of her abilities and her own looks, for many had fallen over their feet for her. But hesitant, because she did not wish to be a complete charlatan - she was simply pushed into this line of work out of pure need, but there was no need to sell her soul in return for coin, after all. In her heart of hearts, Demi still held a kind demeanour, and simply wished to make other's happy. "My name is Demi, of Arcana. I am the body slave to our master."
While Demi had been hesitant at first when she was first sold to be the man's slave, she's been in the job for awhile at least, and after four years of working with her current master to have found her niche. She was lucky enough that despite being a body slave, her owner was not a man who enjoyed his rough vices, nor was he abusive. He was simply insatiable, and that was something Demi could handle. Having honed her skills as an actress after many years, she could easily feign her enjoyment even when she was tired, so much so that due to a combination of her skill and her beauty, Demi had quickly become a favorite of her new employer, despite him owning many body slaves to serve him.
Of course, not all of them were used for purely his pleasure. Her master also owned many gladiators, someone who enjoyed owning and watching other's work for his enjoyment. So often, the girl's were picked and chosen to serve certain gladiators who enjoyed them. Often, her fellow slaves would describe the experience as messy, short and quick. The gladiator's did not often get a female body, that when they did, they were made quick work, the girl's enjoyed no pleasure from it themselves.
So far, Demi had considered herself lucky that she had not had to go through such the same experience, but that evening as she was getting ready to go through the evening line upin front of the master, she found her door opening, and a guard coming in to motion for Demi to follow him.
In her emerald green chiton that was low cut on her chest, her brunette hair was long and curled around her breasts, accentuating the fullness of her assets that was further brought to attention by the shining silk material she wore. Sleeveless and ending at her ankles, the material looked like a seagreen foam as she walked, but her faciall features reflected how confused Demi was as she followed the guard down. That same confusion melted to a look of horror, when she was led to the arcus.
A gladiator? Did the master not enjoy her anymore? Yet, she couldn't imagine mucking this up. Should she be complained against, Demi would lose her position as her master's favorite, and she's enjoyed the little pleasures of life gifted to her by her owner far too much to risk losing that.
So as she entered the dusty chambers of the arcus to where the gladiator's were kept, if one paid attention, they would be able to see how the brunette steeled her resolve, straightening her spine as she entered together, her assumptions confirmed when she heard that a gladiator had 'earned himself a girl.'
The guard eventually brought her to stand in front of a gladiator who, thank the Gods, was not at all bad to look at. He seemed young, possibly Demi's age, but with far more scars and what looked like ink on his skin, the kind of ink she would never imagine getting. Her chocolate gaze slowly looked at the male she was supposed to be serving for the night, but Demi did not speak till after the guard who had led her had locked the cell behind him, and his footsteps had faded away.
Only then, did she sweep her brown locks away from her gaze, and give a hesitant smile. "I... I usually don't service strangers, so perhaps... a name would be good?" she gently asked. Demi was an odd mix of confident but hesitant. Confident, for she knew of her abilities and her own looks, for many had fallen over their feet for her. But hesitant, because she did not wish to be a complete charlatan - she was simply pushed into this line of work out of pure need, but there was no need to sell her soul in return for coin, after all. In her heart of hearts, Demi still held a kind demeanour, and simply wished to make other's happy. "My name is Demi, of Arcana. I am the body slave to our master."
"I'm Lesley." The gladiator's gaze took in her whole appearance, the perfectly smooth canvas of her skin, the slender wrists and willowy figure, the pretty, delicate face. She met his eyes bravely, and he wondered if she had ever been sent to the gladiators before. If she had, no-one had broken her, despite how breakable she seemed.
Most of the other men here simply wanted a quick rut and done; it seemed possible her confidence came of experience with that sort. He supposed, with no evidence at all, that this was no different a type of work than any other, unless their client was either particularly kind or particularly cruel - one could get worn down, easily enough, by too much work and too little rest, but that for the most part, any woman could simply do however much or little was required of her, then go home, have a quick wash, and make up a meal with no more emotional affect than a longshoreman cared for which particular crates he was loading onto a ship.
Perhaps that was because he assigned no real emotional value to the act himself.
He half-closed his eyes, continuing to watch the woman from under hooded lids. She was a slave, and she'd been given to him for the night - or well, for however long he had her for, you could never assume around here - and nobody had said he was only to use her for sex. The corner of his mouth twitched up, as fantasies began to drift behind his eyes.
"Body slave, huh? Normally we just get the dregs from the common brothel whores around here. What'd you fuck up?"
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Dec 24, 2019 13:29:45 GMT
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"I'm Lesley." The gladiator's gaze took in her whole appearance, the perfectly smooth canvas of her skin, the slender wrists and willowy figure, the pretty, delicate face. She met his eyes bravely, and he wondered if she had ever been sent to the gladiators before. If she had, no-one had broken her, despite how breakable she seemed.
Most of the other men here simply wanted a quick rut and done; it seemed possible her confidence came of experience with that sort. He supposed, with no evidence at all, that this was no different a type of work than any other, unless their client was either particularly kind or particularly cruel - one could get worn down, easily enough, by too much work and too little rest, but that for the most part, any woman could simply do however much or little was required of her, then go home, have a quick wash, and make up a meal with no more emotional affect than a longshoreman cared for which particular crates he was loading onto a ship.
Perhaps that was because he assigned no real emotional value to the act himself.
He half-closed his eyes, continuing to watch the woman from under hooded lids. She was a slave, and she'd been given to him for the night - or well, for however long he had her for, you could never assume around here - and nobody had said he was only to use her for sex. The corner of his mouth twitched up, as fantasies began to drift behind his eyes.
"Body slave, huh? Normally we just get the dregs from the common brothel whores around here. What'd you fuck up?"
"I'm Lesley." The gladiator's gaze took in her whole appearance, the perfectly smooth canvas of her skin, the slender wrists and willowy figure, the pretty, delicate face. She met his eyes bravely, and he wondered if she had ever been sent to the gladiators before. If she had, no-one had broken her, despite how breakable she seemed.
Most of the other men here simply wanted a quick rut and done; it seemed possible her confidence came of experience with that sort. He supposed, with no evidence at all, that this was no different a type of work than any other, unless their client was either particularly kind or particularly cruel - one could get worn down, easily enough, by too much work and too little rest, but that for the most part, any woman could simply do however much or little was required of her, then go home, have a quick wash, and make up a meal with no more emotional affect than a longshoreman cared for which particular crates he was loading onto a ship.
Perhaps that was because he assigned no real emotional value to the act himself.
He half-closed his eyes, continuing to watch the woman from under hooded lids. She was a slave, and she'd been given to him for the night - or well, for however long he had her for, you could never assume around here - and nobody had said he was only to use her for sex. The corner of his mouth twitched up, as fantasies began to drift behind his eyes.
"Body slave, huh? Normally we just get the dregs from the common brothel whores around here. What'd you fuck up?"
He seemed... nice. But Demi wasn't sure if she should trust her judgement of people. Afterall, she had trusted her parents and they were the ones who landed her in her current predicament, so really, who could she trust at this point? None of her siblings had offered to help her, so when one's own family doesn't step in, Demi wondered who else could she ask. Her friends at the brothel she had worked in previously tried, but they were in far more dire straits then Demi was, so she couldn't ask that of them.
So there she stood. She knew why the lock had been turned behind her. Demi had started to want her freedom of late, but she was also beginning to realize that running away would solve nothing. Not that she's ever succeeded before, but did she really want a life that would be wholly consisting of her always looking over her shoulder to avoid recapture? No. So instead, the girl decided she would earn her way out - and that meant she had to do what was expected of her.
Had this been just a few days ago, Lesley would be met with a very reluctant young lady. But the Demi of today simply wanted to do what she did best. Afterall, the Gods have blessed her with highly good looks. Her only chance to get out of a life she has been pushed in, is to use her blessing to get to where she wanted, was it not?
Therefore, what Lesley got instead, was a demure looking young lady who even wore a slight smile as she took in his name. Lesley. Would knowing his name help? Demi hoped. She still trembled sometimes when she served her master, but at the very least she knew him. How did it work with someone she didn't know? Even when she worked at the brothel, she always had returning clients more then she had new customers, so she always knew who she serviced.
Holding her hands to hide the fact that they shook, the girl looked up at his question, and gave a shrug. "Nothing. But if I am to hear it right, I am the master's favorite. So perhaps I should be asking instead... what did you do so well, to earn his favor?" she murmured in return, her dreamy eyes of grey and green levelling on Lesley as she waited for his answer.
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Dec 25, 2019 15:45:01 GMT
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He seemed... nice. But Demi wasn't sure if she should trust her judgement of people. Afterall, she had trusted her parents and they were the ones who landed her in her current predicament, so really, who could she trust at this point? None of her siblings had offered to help her, so when one's own family doesn't step in, Demi wondered who else could she ask. Her friends at the brothel she had worked in previously tried, but they were in far more dire straits then Demi was, so she couldn't ask that of them.
So there she stood. She knew why the lock had been turned behind her. Demi had started to want her freedom of late, but she was also beginning to realize that running away would solve nothing. Not that she's ever succeeded before, but did she really want a life that would be wholly consisting of her always looking over her shoulder to avoid recapture? No. So instead, the girl decided she would earn her way out - and that meant she had to do what was expected of her.
Had this been just a few days ago, Lesley would be met with a very reluctant young lady. But the Demi of today simply wanted to do what she did best. Afterall, the Gods have blessed her with highly good looks. Her only chance to get out of a life she has been pushed in, is to use her blessing to get to where she wanted, was it not?
Therefore, what Lesley got instead, was a demure looking young lady who even wore a slight smile as she took in his name. Lesley. Would knowing his name help? Demi hoped. She still trembled sometimes when she served her master, but at the very least she knew him. How did it work with someone she didn't know? Even when she worked at the brothel, she always had returning clients more then she had new customers, so she always knew who she serviced.
Holding her hands to hide the fact that they shook, the girl looked up at his question, and gave a shrug. "Nothing. But if I am to hear it right, I am the master's favorite. So perhaps I should be asking instead... what did you do so well, to earn his favor?" she murmured in return, her dreamy eyes of grey and green levelling on Lesley as she waited for his answer.
He seemed... nice. But Demi wasn't sure if she should trust her judgement of people. Afterall, she had trusted her parents and they were the ones who landed her in her current predicament, so really, who could she trust at this point? None of her siblings had offered to help her, so when one's own family doesn't step in, Demi wondered who else could she ask. Her friends at the brothel she had worked in previously tried, but they were in far more dire straits then Demi was, so she couldn't ask that of them.
So there she stood. She knew why the lock had been turned behind her. Demi had started to want her freedom of late, but she was also beginning to realize that running away would solve nothing. Not that she's ever succeeded before, but did she really want a life that would be wholly consisting of her always looking over her shoulder to avoid recapture? No. So instead, the girl decided she would earn her way out - and that meant she had to do what was expected of her.
Had this been just a few days ago, Lesley would be met with a very reluctant young lady. But the Demi of today simply wanted to do what she did best. Afterall, the Gods have blessed her with highly good looks. Her only chance to get out of a life she has been pushed in, is to use her blessing to get to where she wanted, was it not?
Therefore, what Lesley got instead, was a demure looking young lady who even wore a slight smile as she took in his name. Lesley. Would knowing his name help? Demi hoped. She still trembled sometimes when she served her master, but at the very least she knew him. How did it work with someone she didn't know? Even when she worked at the brothel, she always had returning clients more then she had new customers, so she always knew who she serviced.
Holding her hands to hide the fact that they shook, the girl looked up at his question, and gave a shrug. "Nothing. But if I am to hear it right, I am the master's favorite. So perhaps I should be asking instead... what did you do so well, to earn his favor?" she murmured in return, her dreamy eyes of grey and green levelling on Lesley as she waited for his answer.
Nervous now? But hiding it if she was. He liked that.
The twitch of his lips grew into a smirk that despite not being a broad smile still crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I'm a gladiator, how do you think?" He chuckled. "One of the best." Not the best, not yet, but he was working on it, and even the bookies talked up his potential. "I draw crowds, I win fights, I earn the bettors money." His smile grew into something closer to a grin, and he leaned forward and watched her reaction with bright, eager eyes, no longer pretending to be relaxed. "If it was today, specifically - I broke anther gladiator, crippled him, answered every scream of the crowd with more spilled blood, and refused to put him out of his misery until our master gave the order to kill. Do you know what it takes to make an experienced gladiator scream, Demi? Not that I let him. The crowd doesn't like that."
Retelling it, even in such abbreviated terms, calling up the memory of what he had done, the sound of broken bone, the feel of a knife sliding home, without the distraction of his own fear and sweat and the need to focus on staying alive himself... His heart pounded with something very far from fear, and he decided that yes, while he wouldn't necessarily have though to ask for her, he would enjoy her.
"Our master does appreciate that I don't let being friends with someone interfere with doing my job, I think." Oh, that was a nice touch, he thought. Make her think twice about the man she personally served. He had no idea if their master would appreciate a little twitch of fear the way he did, but Lesley would be privately amused for quite a while.
Well, scaring a fellow slave was amusing, but not enjoyable the way more physical things were. "Come over here," he demanded, wondering if he'd have to actually stand up and enforce the order. Would the locked door prove necessary? He liked it when things were just that bit unpredictable. Broken slaves were boring, this was so much better. He'd have to be sure to show his gratitude with his next performance.
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Dec 25, 2019 17:27:47 GMT
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Nervous now? But hiding it if she was. He liked that.
The twitch of his lips grew into a smirk that despite not being a broad smile still crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I'm a gladiator, how do you think?" He chuckled. "One of the best." Not the best, not yet, but he was working on it, and even the bookies talked up his potential. "I draw crowds, I win fights, I earn the bettors money." His smile grew into something closer to a grin, and he leaned forward and watched her reaction with bright, eager eyes, no longer pretending to be relaxed. "If it was today, specifically - I broke anther gladiator, crippled him, answered every scream of the crowd with more spilled blood, and refused to put him out of his misery until our master gave the order to kill. Do you know what it takes to make an experienced gladiator scream, Demi? Not that I let him. The crowd doesn't like that."
Retelling it, even in such abbreviated terms, calling up the memory of what he had done, the sound of broken bone, the feel of a knife sliding home, without the distraction of his own fear and sweat and the need to focus on staying alive himself... His heart pounded with something very far from fear, and he decided that yes, while he wouldn't necessarily have though to ask for her, he would enjoy her.
"Our master does appreciate that I don't let being friends with someone interfere with doing my job, I think." Oh, that was a nice touch, he thought. Make her think twice about the man she personally served. He had no idea if their master would appreciate a little twitch of fear the way he did, but Lesley would be privately amused for quite a while.
Well, scaring a fellow slave was amusing, but not enjoyable the way more physical things were. "Come over here," he demanded, wondering if he'd have to actually stand up and enforce the order. Would the locked door prove necessary? He liked it when things were just that bit unpredictable. Broken slaves were boring, this was so much better. He'd have to be sure to show his gratitude with his next performance.
Nervous now? But hiding it if she was. He liked that.
The twitch of his lips grew into a smirk that despite not being a broad smile still crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I'm a gladiator, how do you think?" He chuckled. "One of the best." Not the best, not yet, but he was working on it, and even the bookies talked up his potential. "I draw crowds, I win fights, I earn the bettors money." His smile grew into something closer to a grin, and he leaned forward and watched her reaction with bright, eager eyes, no longer pretending to be relaxed. "If it was today, specifically - I broke anther gladiator, crippled him, answered every scream of the crowd with more spilled blood, and refused to put him out of his misery until our master gave the order to kill. Do you know what it takes to make an experienced gladiator scream, Demi? Not that I let him. The crowd doesn't like that."
Retelling it, even in such abbreviated terms, calling up the memory of what he had done, the sound of broken bone, the feel of a knife sliding home, without the distraction of his own fear and sweat and the need to focus on staying alive himself... His heart pounded with something very far from fear, and he decided that yes, while he wouldn't necessarily have though to ask for her, he would enjoy her.
"Our master does appreciate that I don't let being friends with someone interfere with doing my job, I think." Oh, that was a nice touch, he thought. Make her think twice about the man she personally served. He had no idea if their master would appreciate a little twitch of fear the way he did, but Lesley would be privately amused for quite a while.
Well, scaring a fellow slave was amusing, but not enjoyable the way more physical things were. "Come over here," he demanded, wondering if he'd have to actually stand up and enforce the order. Would the locked door prove necessary? He liked it when things were just that bit unpredictable. Broken slaves were boring, this was so much better. He'd have to be sure to show his gratitude with his next performance.
She had been told he was a gladiator, a kind of off-handed comment. Plus, when the guard had begun leading her to the arcus, there was really little else Demi could've guessed she was being brought to. Was the master being extra nice today, when he offered his best body slaves to his top gladiators? It seemed unusual, but not impossible. Known to be a little eccentric, he did odd stuff sometimes, and Demi had just come to go with it. A small smile quirked her lips when he proudly proclaimed himself one of the best. Confidence suited him, it seems. The kind of confidence Demi could use a little herself. She knows she was a very sought after body slave due to her looks, but she still found it hard to believe sometimes, especially when she was still owned by someone.
Demi tried to hide her reaction at the ease in which he explained the bloodied happenings of today, but even as he spoke, she could practically hear the crack of bones and the metallic tinge of blood in the air, despite having been nowhere near the scene of fight today. It was a curse of her being born in the lower levels - blood and fights broke out on the regular that Demi barely bat an eyelash at it. That didn't mean she was good with it though. The brunette still inwardly winced at his descriptions, not even giving him an answer to his question... but outwardly, she tried to maintain a pristine look.
Only recovering her senses as he trailed off the telling of the fight, Demi quickly nodded in agreement to his reference of their master. It was true. Half the reason why he enjoyed Demi's company so much was that she found no need to fight with the other body slaves he owned for his attention, and it was perhaps Demi's could countenance and Hades-may-care attitude to the master, which further intrigued him to her. She wasn't there to make friends with the other body slaves, or anyone else for that matter. She was simply there to earn her way out of that life of being a slave.
Blinking at his sudden, quiet demand, the girl merely hesitated for a moment, before she walked over. Her paces were small, but the place they were in was not large, and in barely a few paces, Demi now stood next to the gladiator, her seagreen material brushing against his skin each time a gust of wind played with it. Any other girl with finer sensibilities would likely be shaking, but Demi had served many. She knew what she had to do. Her spine was straight, her gaze unwavering as she asked in a soft voice that could almost be mistaken as sultry. "What would you like me to do?"
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She had been told he was a gladiator, a kind of off-handed comment. Plus, when the guard had begun leading her to the arcus, there was really little else Demi could've guessed she was being brought to. Was the master being extra nice today, when he offered his best body slaves to his top gladiators? It seemed unusual, but not impossible. Known to be a little eccentric, he did odd stuff sometimes, and Demi had just come to go with it. A small smile quirked her lips when he proudly proclaimed himself one of the best. Confidence suited him, it seems. The kind of confidence Demi could use a little herself. She knows she was a very sought after body slave due to her looks, but she still found it hard to believe sometimes, especially when she was still owned by someone.
Demi tried to hide her reaction at the ease in which he explained the bloodied happenings of today, but even as he spoke, she could practically hear the crack of bones and the metallic tinge of blood in the air, despite having been nowhere near the scene of fight today. It was a curse of her being born in the lower levels - blood and fights broke out on the regular that Demi barely bat an eyelash at it. That didn't mean she was good with it though. The brunette still inwardly winced at his descriptions, not even giving him an answer to his question... but outwardly, she tried to maintain a pristine look.
Only recovering her senses as he trailed off the telling of the fight, Demi quickly nodded in agreement to his reference of their master. It was true. Half the reason why he enjoyed Demi's company so much was that she found no need to fight with the other body slaves he owned for his attention, and it was perhaps Demi's could countenance and Hades-may-care attitude to the master, which further intrigued him to her. She wasn't there to make friends with the other body slaves, or anyone else for that matter. She was simply there to earn her way out of that life of being a slave.
Blinking at his sudden, quiet demand, the girl merely hesitated for a moment, before she walked over. Her paces were small, but the place they were in was not large, and in barely a few paces, Demi now stood next to the gladiator, her seagreen material brushing against his skin each time a gust of wind played with it. Any other girl with finer sensibilities would likely be shaking, but Demi had served many. She knew what she had to do. Her spine was straight, her gaze unwavering as she asked in a soft voice that could almost be mistaken as sultry. "What would you like me to do?"
She had been told he was a gladiator, a kind of off-handed comment. Plus, when the guard had begun leading her to the arcus, there was really little else Demi could've guessed she was being brought to. Was the master being extra nice today, when he offered his best body slaves to his top gladiators? It seemed unusual, but not impossible. Known to be a little eccentric, he did odd stuff sometimes, and Demi had just come to go with it. A small smile quirked her lips when he proudly proclaimed himself one of the best. Confidence suited him, it seems. The kind of confidence Demi could use a little herself. She knows she was a very sought after body slave due to her looks, but she still found it hard to believe sometimes, especially when she was still owned by someone.
Demi tried to hide her reaction at the ease in which he explained the bloodied happenings of today, but even as he spoke, she could practically hear the crack of bones and the metallic tinge of blood in the air, despite having been nowhere near the scene of fight today. It was a curse of her being born in the lower levels - blood and fights broke out on the regular that Demi barely bat an eyelash at it. That didn't mean she was good with it though. The brunette still inwardly winced at his descriptions, not even giving him an answer to his question... but outwardly, she tried to maintain a pristine look.
Only recovering her senses as he trailed off the telling of the fight, Demi quickly nodded in agreement to his reference of their master. It was true. Half the reason why he enjoyed Demi's company so much was that she found no need to fight with the other body slaves he owned for his attention, and it was perhaps Demi's could countenance and Hades-may-care attitude to the master, which further intrigued him to her. She wasn't there to make friends with the other body slaves, or anyone else for that matter. She was simply there to earn her way out of that life of being a slave.
Blinking at his sudden, quiet demand, the girl merely hesitated for a moment, before she walked over. Her paces were small, but the place they were in was not large, and in barely a few paces, Demi now stood next to the gladiator, her seagreen material brushing against his skin each time a gust of wind played with it. Any other girl with finer sensibilities would likely be shaking, but Demi had served many. She knew what she had to do. Her spine was straight, her gaze unwavering as she asked in a soft voice that could almost be mistaken as sultry. "What would you like me to do?"
Ah, not shocked by violence, then. That usually made him more likely to like someone, but it didn't exactly help him prove his manhood. He stood smoothly as she stopped in front of him, and backhanded her casually across the face.
"I suppose you should take your dress off. It seems nice enough to not damage."
He waited while she did so, patient enough not to hit her again just for taking a moment or two to recover from surprise, or for slowness born of reluctance. He would punish outright defiance, but just for being slow? Not at all. Anticipation was sweet enough.
When she stood before him with the blank canvas of her skin on full display, he struck her hard across the breasts, then grabbed one to yank her closer. "It is not anything you can do that will please me, Demi," he told her, sounding almost apologetic. Maybe not exactly that - gentle, at least, in rather dissonant contrast to his grip on her breast tight enough to leave bruises of his fingerprints.
The gladiator's other hand as it cupped her chin was far gentler, and even the grip on her breast relaxed as he kissed her, soft and thorough, before he suddenly bit her lip hard, and hit her again, this time with a good portion of his body weight behind it.
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Ah, not shocked by violence, then. That usually made him more likely to like someone, but it didn't exactly help him prove his manhood. He stood smoothly as she stopped in front of him, and backhanded her casually across the face.
"I suppose you should take your dress off. It seems nice enough to not damage."
He waited while she did so, patient enough not to hit her again just for taking a moment or two to recover from surprise, or for slowness born of reluctance. He would punish outright defiance, but just for being slow? Not at all. Anticipation was sweet enough.
When she stood before him with the blank canvas of her skin on full display, he struck her hard across the breasts, then grabbed one to yank her closer. "It is not anything you can do that will please me, Demi," he told her, sounding almost apologetic. Maybe not exactly that - gentle, at least, in rather dissonant contrast to his grip on her breast tight enough to leave bruises of his fingerprints.
The gladiator's other hand as it cupped her chin was far gentler, and even the grip on her breast relaxed as he kissed her, soft and thorough, before he suddenly bit her lip hard, and hit her again, this time with a good portion of his body weight behind it.
Ah, not shocked by violence, then. That usually made him more likely to like someone, but it didn't exactly help him prove his manhood. He stood smoothly as she stopped in front of him, and backhanded her casually across the face.
"I suppose you should take your dress off. It seems nice enough to not damage."
He waited while she did so, patient enough not to hit her again just for taking a moment or two to recover from surprise, or for slowness born of reluctance. He would punish outright defiance, but just for being slow? Not at all. Anticipation was sweet enough.
When she stood before him with the blank canvas of her skin on full display, he struck her hard across the breasts, then grabbed one to yank her closer. "It is not anything you can do that will please me, Demi," he told her, sounding almost apologetic. Maybe not exactly that - gentle, at least, in rather dissonant contrast to his grip on her breast tight enough to leave bruises of his fingerprints.
The gladiator's other hand as it cupped her chin was far gentler, and even the grip on her breast relaxed as he kissed her, soft and thorough, before he suddenly bit her lip hard, and hit her again, this time with a good portion of his body weight behind it.
Do not react.
That was the only thought in Demi's head, although she could hardly stop her involuntary wince at the sting that reverberated from the hit of a firm, muscled hand that was more worked in the battlefield then her's saw in the boudoir. On tender skin like hers, it was definitely felt. But aside from that small wince, Demi showed no other outward reaction. That the backhand was uncalled for and came with no warning was not for her to complain about. She was a slave afterall, given as a gift. And gift's did not complain. Complaints came from wounded pride, and Demi's pride had been sold the day her parents sold her.
It was why her master favored her, for Demi was a body slave who knew her place, and learned quickly. After the first few times she showed displeasure against being treated as less then a human being, and received punishment in kind, Demi was quick to understand that as long as she kept her mouth shut and accepted what was dealt to her, she would be prized. And when she was prized, her treatment would be more favored. That was all she needed. As long as her skin remained unscarred, and features remained unblemished, she had a chance at a job after she bought her way out.
So instead, she merely remained silent, her eyes traind on the ground. Taking the dress off, the brunette started with the two fibulae's on either shoulder, allowing the fabric to drop and exposing her breasts. The cool granite air tingled her skin as she unchinched the golden belt, and the remaining material pooled at her feet.
Not expecting the sudden yank using her breasts, Demi gasped at the sudden movement, her hands flailing to end up splayed on his chest, eyes widened in surprise. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, considering she's heard whispers of how some gladiator's actually enjoyed the display of blood and violence. But that it extended to bedroom games as well was definitely news to her.
Do. Not. React.
It was almost like a mantra at this point, but Demi stood steadfastly with her goal, merely reminding her body to be pliant enough to allow the gladiator to do what he wanted to her. Readjusting her body so she stood stable, hands still upon his chest, the girl returned the kiss as best as she could, a sharp gasp escaping her when the bite came down on her soft lip, her skin stinging where he hit her. "Instruct me then, and I will be as you please... master." she murmured. Their owner liked indulging in such games, enjoying the ownership being lorded over her. Perhaps the gladiator liked it too? No harm in trying it out, Demi supposed. The girl bit upon her lips, half trying to soothe the now reddened skin he had bit as she gazed at him from where she stood, from beneath her hooded gaze. Sultry? Well, she tried. Whether it succeeded or not was a different story.
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Dec 28, 2019 15:42:47 GMT
Posted In You earned it on Dec 28, 2019 15:42:47 GMT
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Do not react.
That was the only thought in Demi's head, although she could hardly stop her involuntary wince at the sting that reverberated from the hit of a firm, muscled hand that was more worked in the battlefield then her's saw in the boudoir. On tender skin like hers, it was definitely felt. But aside from that small wince, Demi showed no other outward reaction. That the backhand was uncalled for and came with no warning was not for her to complain about. She was a slave afterall, given as a gift. And gift's did not complain. Complaints came from wounded pride, and Demi's pride had been sold the day her parents sold her.
It was why her master favored her, for Demi was a body slave who knew her place, and learned quickly. After the first few times she showed displeasure against being treated as less then a human being, and received punishment in kind, Demi was quick to understand that as long as she kept her mouth shut and accepted what was dealt to her, she would be prized. And when she was prized, her treatment would be more favored. That was all she needed. As long as her skin remained unscarred, and features remained unblemished, she had a chance at a job after she bought her way out.
So instead, she merely remained silent, her eyes traind on the ground. Taking the dress off, the brunette started with the two fibulae's on either shoulder, allowing the fabric to drop and exposing her breasts. The cool granite air tingled her skin as she unchinched the golden belt, and the remaining material pooled at her feet.
Not expecting the sudden yank using her breasts, Demi gasped at the sudden movement, her hands flailing to end up splayed on his chest, eyes widened in surprise. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, considering she's heard whispers of how some gladiator's actually enjoyed the display of blood and violence. But that it extended to bedroom games as well was definitely news to her.
Do. Not. React.
It was almost like a mantra at this point, but Demi stood steadfastly with her goal, merely reminding her body to be pliant enough to allow the gladiator to do what he wanted to her. Readjusting her body so she stood stable, hands still upon his chest, the girl returned the kiss as best as she could, a sharp gasp escaping her when the bite came down on her soft lip, her skin stinging where he hit her. "Instruct me then, and I will be as you please... master." she murmured. Their owner liked indulging in such games, enjoying the ownership being lorded over her. Perhaps the gladiator liked it too? No harm in trying it out, Demi supposed. The girl bit upon her lips, half trying to soothe the now reddened skin he had bit as she gazed at him from where she stood, from beneath her hooded gaze. Sultry? Well, she tried. Whether it succeeded or not was a different story.
Do not react.
That was the only thought in Demi's head, although she could hardly stop her involuntary wince at the sting that reverberated from the hit of a firm, muscled hand that was more worked in the battlefield then her's saw in the boudoir. On tender skin like hers, it was definitely felt. But aside from that small wince, Demi showed no other outward reaction. That the backhand was uncalled for and came with no warning was not for her to complain about. She was a slave afterall, given as a gift. And gift's did not complain. Complaints came from wounded pride, and Demi's pride had been sold the day her parents sold her.
It was why her master favored her, for Demi was a body slave who knew her place, and learned quickly. After the first few times she showed displeasure against being treated as less then a human being, and received punishment in kind, Demi was quick to understand that as long as she kept her mouth shut and accepted what was dealt to her, she would be prized. And when she was prized, her treatment would be more favored. That was all she needed. As long as her skin remained unscarred, and features remained unblemished, she had a chance at a job after she bought her way out.
So instead, she merely remained silent, her eyes traind on the ground. Taking the dress off, the brunette started with the two fibulae's on either shoulder, allowing the fabric to drop and exposing her breasts. The cool granite air tingled her skin as she unchinched the golden belt, and the remaining material pooled at her feet.
Not expecting the sudden yank using her breasts, Demi gasped at the sudden movement, her hands flailing to end up splayed on his chest, eyes widened in surprise. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, considering she's heard whispers of how some gladiator's actually enjoyed the display of blood and violence. But that it extended to bedroom games as well was definitely news to her.
Do. Not. React.
It was almost like a mantra at this point, but Demi stood steadfastly with her goal, merely reminding her body to be pliant enough to allow the gladiator to do what he wanted to her. Readjusting her body so she stood stable, hands still upon his chest, the girl returned the kiss as best as she could, a sharp gasp escaping her when the bite came down on her soft lip, her skin stinging where he hit her. "Instruct me then, and I will be as you please... master." she murmured. Their owner liked indulging in such games, enjoying the ownership being lorded over her. Perhaps the gladiator liked it too? No harm in trying it out, Demi supposed. The girl bit upon her lips, half trying to soothe the now reddened skin he had bit as she gazed at him from where she stood, from beneath her hooded gaze. Sultry? Well, she tried. Whether it succeeded or not was a different story.
Lesley hmphed quietly, and stepped closer again, to brush her sore lip roughly with his thumb. "Call me master again and you'll need a priest of Hades rather than Apollo." The casual way he spoke the god of the Underworld's name rather than any of the more... cautious epithets, showed either hubris or nihilism. Mostly the second, in truth. Lesley would eventually learn to care for what happened to himself again, but right at this point in his life... he spent very little thought on past or future, which made it difficult to care about consequences in a major way. Whether he was given a skin of wine on a given evening meant more to the gladiator than any threat of death or cursing.
He'd thought from her steady gaze she wasn't broken yet, but the way she didn't do more than flinch, and even that not much... "Did someone already break you, pretty girl? Or have you been a slave your whole life..." Not that he really cared if she answered. "Maybe I just need to hit you harder."
He hit her again, a sharp smack across her breasts, and smiled at the sight of the first hint of bruises blooming on her fair skin from the first couple of blows. He'd already been feeling comfortably warm and contentedly buzzed from the afternoon's fight, and then here was this pretty young woman who neither fought back nor tried to escape, and he decided that yes, he was quite prepared to take the other sort of pleasure from her as well. Picking her up by the hips, he simply tossed her onto his bed, and knelt down beside her, one knee resting on her thigh, and one hand on her arm, pinning her to the bed.
The palm sliding firmly across her silky skin was roughly calloused, and he hummed quietly as he explored her curves from thigh to neck and back again, randomly pinching her skin hard, with a cruel little twist, wherever he knew she'd be particularly sensitive. "You're soft... that's nice," he complimented her quietly, then assured her, "Don't worry about crying if it gets too much. I don't mind."
Much as he'd like to make her cry, or even better scream, she was pretty enough he didn't doubt her claim of being her master's favourite, and maiming her would probably not be appreciated. Though it might put a stop to this 'throw Lesley a woman even though he asked for something else' nonsense. Nah, they'd still assume he needed one every once in a while. He'd just get stuck with ugly drudges nobody cared about.
He spanked her hard directly on her womanhood. "Spread your legs."
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Lesley hmphed quietly, and stepped closer again, to brush her sore lip roughly with his thumb. "Call me master again and you'll need a priest of Hades rather than Apollo." The casual way he spoke the god of the Underworld's name rather than any of the more... cautious epithets, showed either hubris or nihilism. Mostly the second, in truth. Lesley would eventually learn to care for what happened to himself again, but right at this point in his life... he spent very little thought on past or future, which made it difficult to care about consequences in a major way. Whether he was given a skin of wine on a given evening meant more to the gladiator than any threat of death or cursing.
He'd thought from her steady gaze she wasn't broken yet, but the way she didn't do more than flinch, and even that not much... "Did someone already break you, pretty girl? Or have you been a slave your whole life..." Not that he really cared if she answered. "Maybe I just need to hit you harder."
He hit her again, a sharp smack across her breasts, and smiled at the sight of the first hint of bruises blooming on her fair skin from the first couple of blows. He'd already been feeling comfortably warm and contentedly buzzed from the afternoon's fight, and then here was this pretty young woman who neither fought back nor tried to escape, and he decided that yes, he was quite prepared to take the other sort of pleasure from her as well. Picking her up by the hips, he simply tossed her onto his bed, and knelt down beside her, one knee resting on her thigh, and one hand on her arm, pinning her to the bed.
The palm sliding firmly across her silky skin was roughly calloused, and he hummed quietly as he explored her curves from thigh to neck and back again, randomly pinching her skin hard, with a cruel little twist, wherever he knew she'd be particularly sensitive. "You're soft... that's nice," he complimented her quietly, then assured her, "Don't worry about crying if it gets too much. I don't mind."
Much as he'd like to make her cry, or even better scream, she was pretty enough he didn't doubt her claim of being her master's favourite, and maiming her would probably not be appreciated. Though it might put a stop to this 'throw Lesley a woman even though he asked for something else' nonsense. Nah, they'd still assume he needed one every once in a while. He'd just get stuck with ugly drudges nobody cared about.
He spanked her hard directly on her womanhood. "Spread your legs."
Lesley hmphed quietly, and stepped closer again, to brush her sore lip roughly with his thumb. "Call me master again and you'll need a priest of Hades rather than Apollo." The casual way he spoke the god of the Underworld's name rather than any of the more... cautious epithets, showed either hubris or nihilism. Mostly the second, in truth. Lesley would eventually learn to care for what happened to himself again, but right at this point in his life... he spent very little thought on past or future, which made it difficult to care about consequences in a major way. Whether he was given a skin of wine on a given evening meant more to the gladiator than any threat of death or cursing.
He'd thought from her steady gaze she wasn't broken yet, but the way she didn't do more than flinch, and even that not much... "Did someone already break you, pretty girl? Or have you been a slave your whole life..." Not that he really cared if she answered. "Maybe I just need to hit you harder."
He hit her again, a sharp smack across her breasts, and smiled at the sight of the first hint of bruises blooming on her fair skin from the first couple of blows. He'd already been feeling comfortably warm and contentedly buzzed from the afternoon's fight, and then here was this pretty young woman who neither fought back nor tried to escape, and he decided that yes, he was quite prepared to take the other sort of pleasure from her as well. Picking her up by the hips, he simply tossed her onto his bed, and knelt down beside her, one knee resting on her thigh, and one hand on her arm, pinning her to the bed.
The palm sliding firmly across her silky skin was roughly calloused, and he hummed quietly as he explored her curves from thigh to neck and back again, randomly pinching her skin hard, with a cruel little twist, wherever he knew she'd be particularly sensitive. "You're soft... that's nice," he complimented her quietly, then assured her, "Don't worry about crying if it gets too much. I don't mind."
Much as he'd like to make her cry, or even better scream, she was pretty enough he didn't doubt her claim of being her master's favourite, and maiming her would probably not be appreciated. Though it might put a stop to this 'throw Lesley a woman even though he asked for something else' nonsense. Nah, they'd still assume he needed one every once in a while. He'd just get stuck with ugly drudges nobody cared about.
He spanked her hard directly on her womanhood. "Spread your legs."
Priests of Hades, priestesses of Athena... to be honest, Demi didn't really believe nor sought advice for any of them. A long time ago, the girl used to seek advice from Athena, prayed at the feet of the goddess of wisdom and wore an amulet of the wise owl around her neck. But that was before she was sold into slavery, before her own parents sold her out under her own nose. After that... well, if one couldn't rely on their own parents, what more can she rely on a god or goddess that she's never ever met before?
In the end, Demi would rather rely on herself and her own smarts, of which she has cultivated much of over the years. "Not my whole life." she replied daringly, still a little of a proud tilt in her chin as she followed his movements around her. By now, she almost expected the following smack across her breasts, but that did not lessen the pain any as she stumbled across the granite floor. A gladiator held far more strength in their hits then she did, especially when Demi was not someone who did lots of labor work, leaving her with even less muscular built up then a regular commoner who did housework.
The master occasional did such things, but not to the extent of causing extensive bruising. For a moment, Demi wondered if the old man who owned them both would be happy with the gladiator for causing such marks on his prize... but then she paused, and wondered why was she putting such great thought. Afterall, the one who would suffer the aftermath of it would be the gladiator, certainly not her. So put herself in greater trouble with someone now, especially when she had no way out?
Keeping her mouth shut was her best option, and she knew it. So the only sounds she made was when the air was forced out of her as he tossed her on the bed, sprawled on all fours as she was pinned down in her naked form.
Her skin felt tingly as the palm slid down her skin, causing more sensation due to the callouses present, and a light shiver reverberated across her, even as Demi tried to turn to take a look at who she served for the night as he explored her form. She would start, try to arch away when he pinched, but it was always to little avail with the way he pinned her down.
Cry? She wouldn't cry. At least, she would try not to. Despite her status as a slave, Demi was far too proud to cry, and she bit her bottom lip as he continued his explorations - at least, that was what she was doing, until the spank on her sensitive folds made her cry out in a mixture of pain and the sensation caused by him.
Tears from the pain rimmed her eyes, but Demi quickly wiped them away withe the back of her hand before she turned around to face him. With her back against the wall of the bed, she slowly and ginger spread her legs for his viewing. Demi kept herself well groomed, at least that was what the master sought of her. But from his last spank, she was already red and sensitive at the area she has opened for him.
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Dec 29, 2019 13:27:15 GMT
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Priests of Hades, priestesses of Athena... to be honest, Demi didn't really believe nor sought advice for any of them. A long time ago, the girl used to seek advice from Athena, prayed at the feet of the goddess of wisdom and wore an amulet of the wise owl around her neck. But that was before she was sold into slavery, before her own parents sold her out under her own nose. After that... well, if one couldn't rely on their own parents, what more can she rely on a god or goddess that she's never ever met before?
In the end, Demi would rather rely on herself and her own smarts, of which she has cultivated much of over the years. "Not my whole life." she replied daringly, still a little of a proud tilt in her chin as she followed his movements around her. By now, she almost expected the following smack across her breasts, but that did not lessen the pain any as she stumbled across the granite floor. A gladiator held far more strength in their hits then she did, especially when Demi was not someone who did lots of labor work, leaving her with even less muscular built up then a regular commoner who did housework.
The master occasional did such things, but not to the extent of causing extensive bruising. For a moment, Demi wondered if the old man who owned them both would be happy with the gladiator for causing such marks on his prize... but then she paused, and wondered why was she putting such great thought. Afterall, the one who would suffer the aftermath of it would be the gladiator, certainly not her. So put herself in greater trouble with someone now, especially when she had no way out?
Keeping her mouth shut was her best option, and she knew it. So the only sounds she made was when the air was forced out of her as he tossed her on the bed, sprawled on all fours as she was pinned down in her naked form.
Her skin felt tingly as the palm slid down her skin, causing more sensation due to the callouses present, and a light shiver reverberated across her, even as Demi tried to turn to take a look at who she served for the night as he explored her form. She would start, try to arch away when he pinched, but it was always to little avail with the way he pinned her down.
Cry? She wouldn't cry. At least, she would try not to. Despite her status as a slave, Demi was far too proud to cry, and she bit her bottom lip as he continued his explorations - at least, that was what she was doing, until the spank on her sensitive folds made her cry out in a mixture of pain and the sensation caused by him.
Tears from the pain rimmed her eyes, but Demi quickly wiped them away withe the back of her hand before she turned around to face him. With her back against the wall of the bed, she slowly and ginger spread her legs for his viewing. Demi kept herself well groomed, at least that was what the master sought of her. But from his last spank, she was already red and sensitive at the area she has opened for him.
Priests of Hades, priestesses of Athena... to be honest, Demi didn't really believe nor sought advice for any of them. A long time ago, the girl used to seek advice from Athena, prayed at the feet of the goddess of wisdom and wore an amulet of the wise owl around her neck. But that was before she was sold into slavery, before her own parents sold her out under her own nose. After that... well, if one couldn't rely on their own parents, what more can she rely on a god or goddess that she's never ever met before?
In the end, Demi would rather rely on herself and her own smarts, of which she has cultivated much of over the years. "Not my whole life." she replied daringly, still a little of a proud tilt in her chin as she followed his movements around her. By now, she almost expected the following smack across her breasts, but that did not lessen the pain any as she stumbled across the granite floor. A gladiator held far more strength in their hits then she did, especially when Demi was not someone who did lots of labor work, leaving her with even less muscular built up then a regular commoner who did housework.
The master occasional did such things, but not to the extent of causing extensive bruising. For a moment, Demi wondered if the old man who owned them both would be happy with the gladiator for causing such marks on his prize... but then she paused, and wondered why was she putting such great thought. Afterall, the one who would suffer the aftermath of it would be the gladiator, certainly not her. So put herself in greater trouble with someone now, especially when she had no way out?
Keeping her mouth shut was her best option, and she knew it. So the only sounds she made was when the air was forced out of her as he tossed her on the bed, sprawled on all fours as she was pinned down in her naked form.
Her skin felt tingly as the palm slid down her skin, causing more sensation due to the callouses present, and a light shiver reverberated across her, even as Demi tried to turn to take a look at who she served for the night as he explored her form. She would start, try to arch away when he pinched, but it was always to little avail with the way he pinned her down.
Cry? She wouldn't cry. At least, she would try not to. Despite her status as a slave, Demi was far too proud to cry, and she bit her bottom lip as he continued his explorations - at least, that was what she was doing, until the spank on her sensitive folds made her cry out in a mixture of pain and the sensation caused by him.
Tears from the pain rimmed her eyes, but Demi quickly wiped them away withe the back of her hand before she turned around to face him. With her back against the wall of the bed, she slowly and ginger spread her legs for his viewing. Demi kept herself well groomed, at least that was what the master sought of her. But from his last spank, she was already red and sensitive at the area she has opened for him.
The gladiator didn't bother to shrug out of his tunic before grabbing her hips to yank her into the exact place he wanted her. It wasn't like she was there to ogle him, as much as he might find it flattering when a free woman did it. A whore's flattery was just obedient lies.
He hit the inside of her thigh, and shoved her legs further apart. "Mm." Exploring the folds between her legs with a surprisingly delicate touch, he coaxed her to produce the wetness he knew he needed, his thumb rubbing circles around the most sensitive part of her as he slid inside her, still relatively gentle, though only because he wasn't yet completely hard. Another sharp blow to her chest, feeling her body's startled reaction from inside her, solved that problem nicely, and he rested the heel of his hand on the base of her neck as he thrust harder into her.
There was something, actually, about the softness of a woman's inner warmth that was very pleasant indeed. He always seemed to forget, in between. No - it wasn't that he forgot, so much as it was just that there were so many pleasant things in life, and while this was nice, it was hardly the top of his list. Nor had he ever had interest in any particular woman, until she was covered in bruises like wildflowers in a summer meadow...
His hand tightened on her throat as he thrust harder, and harder yet, soft brown eyes once again hardening as he looked down at her. There would doubtless be dark fingerprints on the side of her neck by morning, if not sooner. Then he considered that actually, even false flattery would sound nice, and removed the hand choking her.
"Mmm, you were thinking I was handsome when you first got here, weren't you? It's nice finding a woman who properly appreciates a strong man."
He smirked slightly as his eyes roamed down her body, followed by rough hands. He definitely preferred a woman fair enough that he could easily pretty her up with bruises. He groaned softly in pleasure and kissed her again, his hands clenched in her hair now as he slowed down enough to thoroughly enjoy the feeling of sliding in and out of her.
"I suppose," he teased lightly, his lips brushing her ear. "If you didn't do anything wrong and this isn't punishment for you, you must be the type to enjoy it. Hmm? It's not like nobody realizes what I do to women." Of course, in his experience, no woman ever actually enjoyed what he did to them. Which really was at least half the fun.
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The gladiator didn't bother to shrug out of his tunic before grabbing her hips to yank her into the exact place he wanted her. It wasn't like she was there to ogle him, as much as he might find it flattering when a free woman did it. A whore's flattery was just obedient lies.
He hit the inside of her thigh, and shoved her legs further apart. "Mm." Exploring the folds between her legs with a surprisingly delicate touch, he coaxed her to produce the wetness he knew he needed, his thumb rubbing circles around the most sensitive part of her as he slid inside her, still relatively gentle, though only because he wasn't yet completely hard. Another sharp blow to her chest, feeling her body's startled reaction from inside her, solved that problem nicely, and he rested the heel of his hand on the base of her neck as he thrust harder into her.
There was something, actually, about the softness of a woman's inner warmth that was very pleasant indeed. He always seemed to forget, in between. No - it wasn't that he forgot, so much as it was just that there were so many pleasant things in life, and while this was nice, it was hardly the top of his list. Nor had he ever had interest in any particular woman, until she was covered in bruises like wildflowers in a summer meadow...
His hand tightened on her throat as he thrust harder, and harder yet, soft brown eyes once again hardening as he looked down at her. There would doubtless be dark fingerprints on the side of her neck by morning, if not sooner. Then he considered that actually, even false flattery would sound nice, and removed the hand choking her.
"Mmm, you were thinking I was handsome when you first got here, weren't you? It's nice finding a woman who properly appreciates a strong man."
He smirked slightly as his eyes roamed down her body, followed by rough hands. He definitely preferred a woman fair enough that he could easily pretty her up with bruises. He groaned softly in pleasure and kissed her again, his hands clenched in her hair now as he slowed down enough to thoroughly enjoy the feeling of sliding in and out of her.
"I suppose," he teased lightly, his lips brushing her ear. "If you didn't do anything wrong and this isn't punishment for you, you must be the type to enjoy it. Hmm? It's not like nobody realizes what I do to women." Of course, in his experience, no woman ever actually enjoyed what he did to them. Which really was at least half the fun.
The gladiator didn't bother to shrug out of his tunic before grabbing her hips to yank her into the exact place he wanted her. It wasn't like she was there to ogle him, as much as he might find it flattering when a free woman did it. A whore's flattery was just obedient lies.
He hit the inside of her thigh, and shoved her legs further apart. "Mm." Exploring the folds between her legs with a surprisingly delicate touch, he coaxed her to produce the wetness he knew he needed, his thumb rubbing circles around the most sensitive part of her as he slid inside her, still relatively gentle, though only because he wasn't yet completely hard. Another sharp blow to her chest, feeling her body's startled reaction from inside her, solved that problem nicely, and he rested the heel of his hand on the base of her neck as he thrust harder into her.
There was something, actually, about the softness of a woman's inner warmth that was very pleasant indeed. He always seemed to forget, in between. No - it wasn't that he forgot, so much as it was just that there were so many pleasant things in life, and while this was nice, it was hardly the top of his list. Nor had he ever had interest in any particular woman, until she was covered in bruises like wildflowers in a summer meadow...
His hand tightened on her throat as he thrust harder, and harder yet, soft brown eyes once again hardening as he looked down at her. There would doubtless be dark fingerprints on the side of her neck by morning, if not sooner. Then he considered that actually, even false flattery would sound nice, and removed the hand choking her.
"Mmm, you were thinking I was handsome when you first got here, weren't you? It's nice finding a woman who properly appreciates a strong man."
He smirked slightly as his eyes roamed down her body, followed by rough hands. He definitely preferred a woman fair enough that he could easily pretty her up with bruises. He groaned softly in pleasure and kissed her again, his hands clenched in her hair now as he slowed down enough to thoroughly enjoy the feeling of sliding in and out of her.
"I suppose," he teased lightly, his lips brushing her ear. "If you didn't do anything wrong and this isn't punishment for you, you must be the type to enjoy it. Hmm? It's not like nobody realizes what I do to women." Of course, in his experience, no woman ever actually enjoyed what he did to them. Which really was at least half the fun.
It was weird, this mix of pleasure pain. Demi had grappled with this for a long while when she first started in her profession. Afterall, young girls were brought up on the belief that they would only share their most intimate parts with a man they love right? So why did it feel pleasurable when she disliked or didn't even know her bed partner? For the first few times, Demi had been confused, but after a conversation with Idylla, the elder lady was quick to teach her. That a body's emotional reaction and physical reaction was two different things.
Their body needed to physically respond to the touch of their clients, and for that Demi should not feel wrong. But if she wanted to share an emotional connection with someone, that was something entirely different.
From then on, the brunette had trained and gotten very good at compartmentalizing her reactions. So when the gladiator explored her folds, her body shuddered at the reaction it garnered, for she immediately felt the electric pleasure that came with the touch on the sensitive area. She needed it. The more she produced her bodily fluids, the less it would hurt.
So rather then focus on who, Demi purely focused on what. That a digit was (surprisingly) gentle with her as it coaxed her body to produce the wetness necessary to smoothen things. The sharp smack to her chest wrung out a cry, but it also pushed out fluids gushing from her womanhood to coat her insides, as her thighs shivered.
Arching her neck upwards when the gladiator dug the heels of his hands into her, she made a garbling sound when her voice got caught as she tried to moan when he thrusted into her. Friction cause slight pain, but that was quickly replaced when her body's wetness did its job in making the entrance and exits smoother.
Alllowing her legs to fall even further apart as Lesley started to slide in and out of her, his voice sounding like a distant echo. She murmured a vague sound of agreement of him being handsome, but her eyes remained shut, her jaws agape as he moved within her, soft groans with each thrust. Turning towards him when his lips brushed her ear, Demi briefly fluttered her eyes open to smile against his kiss, forced but performed well. "O-of course." she murmured, in what she hoped was a convincing manner. Arching her back so she could push her core against his in what she hoped would appear to be wanting more of his ministrations, Demi only did what was necessary for the master to not reprimand her.
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Dec 30, 2019 14:40:41 GMT
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It was weird, this mix of pleasure pain. Demi had grappled with this for a long while when she first started in her profession. Afterall, young girls were brought up on the belief that they would only share their most intimate parts with a man they love right? So why did it feel pleasurable when she disliked or didn't even know her bed partner? For the first few times, Demi had been confused, but after a conversation with Idylla, the elder lady was quick to teach her. That a body's emotional reaction and physical reaction was two different things.
Their body needed to physically respond to the touch of their clients, and for that Demi should not feel wrong. But if she wanted to share an emotional connection with someone, that was something entirely different.
From then on, the brunette had trained and gotten very good at compartmentalizing her reactions. So when the gladiator explored her folds, her body shuddered at the reaction it garnered, for she immediately felt the electric pleasure that came with the touch on the sensitive area. She needed it. The more she produced her bodily fluids, the less it would hurt.
So rather then focus on who, Demi purely focused on what. That a digit was (surprisingly) gentle with her as it coaxed her body to produce the wetness necessary to smoothen things. The sharp smack to her chest wrung out a cry, but it also pushed out fluids gushing from her womanhood to coat her insides, as her thighs shivered.
Arching her neck upwards when the gladiator dug the heels of his hands into her, she made a garbling sound when her voice got caught as she tried to moan when he thrusted into her. Friction cause slight pain, but that was quickly replaced when her body's wetness did its job in making the entrance and exits smoother.
Alllowing her legs to fall even further apart as Lesley started to slide in and out of her, his voice sounding like a distant echo. She murmured a vague sound of agreement of him being handsome, but her eyes remained shut, her jaws agape as he moved within her, soft groans with each thrust. Turning towards him when his lips brushed her ear, Demi briefly fluttered her eyes open to smile against his kiss, forced but performed well. "O-of course." she murmured, in what she hoped was a convincing manner. Arching her back so she could push her core against his in what she hoped would appear to be wanting more of his ministrations, Demi only did what was necessary for the master to not reprimand her.
It was weird, this mix of pleasure pain. Demi had grappled with this for a long while when she first started in her profession. Afterall, young girls were brought up on the belief that they would only share their most intimate parts with a man they love right? So why did it feel pleasurable when she disliked or didn't even know her bed partner? For the first few times, Demi had been confused, but after a conversation with Idylla, the elder lady was quick to teach her. That a body's emotional reaction and physical reaction was two different things.
Their body needed to physically respond to the touch of their clients, and for that Demi should not feel wrong. But if she wanted to share an emotional connection with someone, that was something entirely different.
From then on, the brunette had trained and gotten very good at compartmentalizing her reactions. So when the gladiator explored her folds, her body shuddered at the reaction it garnered, for she immediately felt the electric pleasure that came with the touch on the sensitive area. She needed it. The more she produced her bodily fluids, the less it would hurt.
So rather then focus on who, Demi purely focused on what. That a digit was (surprisingly) gentle with her as it coaxed her body to produce the wetness necessary to smoothen things. The sharp smack to her chest wrung out a cry, but it also pushed out fluids gushing from her womanhood to coat her insides, as her thighs shivered.
Arching her neck upwards when the gladiator dug the heels of his hands into her, she made a garbling sound when her voice got caught as she tried to moan when he thrusted into her. Friction cause slight pain, but that was quickly replaced when her body's wetness did its job in making the entrance and exits smoother.
Alllowing her legs to fall even further apart as Lesley started to slide in and out of her, his voice sounding like a distant echo. She murmured a vague sound of agreement of him being handsome, but her eyes remained shut, her jaws agape as he moved within her, soft groans with each thrust. Turning towards him when his lips brushed her ear, Demi briefly fluttered her eyes open to smile against his kiss, forced but performed well. "O-of course." she murmured, in what she hoped was a convincing manner. Arching her back so she could push her core against his in what she hoped would appear to be wanting more of his ministrations, Demi only did what was necessary for the master to not reprimand her.
"Heh." Not particularly convincing, but that was all right. Not particularly eloquent, either, but she was probably a bit distracted by all the pain. It wasn't like Lesley was unfamiliar with that particular problem. As forced as her reactions were, though, the arch of her back did the trick, and gave up any pretense of being at all gentle or drawing things out. Harder and harder he slammed into her, seeking the deepest parts of her, looking for that sweet cry of pain and the scrunching around her eyes that would prove that she was not finding him at all pleasant.
Finally he finished, gasping as he pumped himself into her, then groaning quietly as his body relaxed in waves. It was like the let-down after a fight, once his body decided the danger was past, but without the warmly satisfied feeling that accompanied it. He sighed and pushed himself off her. Resting on his knees, he stared down at her for a minute, then made an annoyed face. Wet and smooth was all well and good, but why did women have to be so damn sticky? It was as bad as date juice as it dried. Yeesh.
He pushed himself to his feet, and glanced over to the box that held his clothes and what few possessions he was permitted, and realized he'd left his dirty clothes at the bath, and he didn't particularly feel like soiling a clean tunic with this. He bent and picked up Demi's dress and wiped himself off on her hem. Much as he'd recognized the fabric as being too nice to feel good about potentially ripping, no-one was fool enough to dress a whore in something they didn't want a man's seed spilled on.
Ugh. One day, he supposed, he might find a woman who actually satisfied him. Well, probably not, he was probably going to die first. The thought that women were something like food, where some men would cheerfully eat anything set in front of them, and others were ever so much pickier, was a reassuring one, as was the fact he'd never actually had access to any real sort of quality woman. He got teased enough for not panting after it - blaming the women prevented him from having to think about himself too much. He picked the whore up again and dropped her on the floor before she could drip too much onto his bed. It was a pretty bad bed, truth be told, but it was better than the floor, and he didn't want to deal with a wet patch. Or the smell, once she was gone.
"Wipe yourself off and come back here. I want to look at your bruises." And not out of any concern for her, that was certain, but his voice just sounded tired. Who actually enjoyed more exertion after an exhausting, strenuous fight? Honestly.
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"Heh." Not particularly convincing, but that was all right. Not particularly eloquent, either, but she was probably a bit distracted by all the pain. It wasn't like Lesley was unfamiliar with that particular problem. As forced as her reactions were, though, the arch of her back did the trick, and gave up any pretense of being at all gentle or drawing things out. Harder and harder he slammed into her, seeking the deepest parts of her, looking for that sweet cry of pain and the scrunching around her eyes that would prove that she was not finding him at all pleasant.
Finally he finished, gasping as he pumped himself into her, then groaning quietly as his body relaxed in waves. It was like the let-down after a fight, once his body decided the danger was past, but without the warmly satisfied feeling that accompanied it. He sighed and pushed himself off her. Resting on his knees, he stared down at her for a minute, then made an annoyed face. Wet and smooth was all well and good, but why did women have to be so damn sticky? It was as bad as date juice as it dried. Yeesh.
He pushed himself to his feet, and glanced over to the box that held his clothes and what few possessions he was permitted, and realized he'd left his dirty clothes at the bath, and he didn't particularly feel like soiling a clean tunic with this. He bent and picked up Demi's dress and wiped himself off on her hem. Much as he'd recognized the fabric as being too nice to feel good about potentially ripping, no-one was fool enough to dress a whore in something they didn't want a man's seed spilled on.
Ugh. One day, he supposed, he might find a woman who actually satisfied him. Well, probably not, he was probably going to die first. The thought that women were something like food, where some men would cheerfully eat anything set in front of them, and others were ever so much pickier, was a reassuring one, as was the fact he'd never actually had access to any real sort of quality woman. He got teased enough for not panting after it - blaming the women prevented him from having to think about himself too much. He picked the whore up again and dropped her on the floor before she could drip too much onto his bed. It was a pretty bad bed, truth be told, but it was better than the floor, and he didn't want to deal with a wet patch. Or the smell, once she was gone.
"Wipe yourself off and come back here. I want to look at your bruises." And not out of any concern for her, that was certain, but his voice just sounded tired. Who actually enjoyed more exertion after an exhausting, strenuous fight? Honestly.
"Heh." Not particularly convincing, but that was all right. Not particularly eloquent, either, but she was probably a bit distracted by all the pain. It wasn't like Lesley was unfamiliar with that particular problem. As forced as her reactions were, though, the arch of her back did the trick, and gave up any pretense of being at all gentle or drawing things out. Harder and harder he slammed into her, seeking the deepest parts of her, looking for that sweet cry of pain and the scrunching around her eyes that would prove that she was not finding him at all pleasant.
Finally he finished, gasping as he pumped himself into her, then groaning quietly as his body relaxed in waves. It was like the let-down after a fight, once his body decided the danger was past, but without the warmly satisfied feeling that accompanied it. He sighed and pushed himself off her. Resting on his knees, he stared down at her for a minute, then made an annoyed face. Wet and smooth was all well and good, but why did women have to be so damn sticky? It was as bad as date juice as it dried. Yeesh.
He pushed himself to his feet, and glanced over to the box that held his clothes and what few possessions he was permitted, and realized he'd left his dirty clothes at the bath, and he didn't particularly feel like soiling a clean tunic with this. He bent and picked up Demi's dress and wiped himself off on her hem. Much as he'd recognized the fabric as being too nice to feel good about potentially ripping, no-one was fool enough to dress a whore in something they didn't want a man's seed spilled on.
Ugh. One day, he supposed, he might find a woman who actually satisfied him. Well, probably not, he was probably going to die first. The thought that women were something like food, where some men would cheerfully eat anything set in front of them, and others were ever so much pickier, was a reassuring one, as was the fact he'd never actually had access to any real sort of quality woman. He got teased enough for not panting after it - blaming the women prevented him from having to think about himself too much. He picked the whore up again and dropped her on the floor before she could drip too much onto his bed. It was a pretty bad bed, truth be told, but it was better than the floor, and he didn't want to deal with a wet patch. Or the smell, once she was gone.
"Wipe yourself off and come back here. I want to look at your bruises." And not out of any concern for her, that was certain, but his voice just sounded tired. Who actually enjoyed more exertion after an exhausting, strenuous fight? Honestly.
It was a fine art, the way Demi had learned. She couldn't show entirely no pleasure at all when her clients sought her out, not even when she found them entirely undesirable. But to show such distance would be harmful to her business. So Demi had perfected the art of showing just enough pleasure to keep them coming back, and have learned to recognize the signs that drove the man to completion.
The gladiator in particular, was making her feel quite raw, for her moistness was quickly drying up at his intense motions. Her grip on the bed had turned her knuckles white as Lesley slammed harder into her. Each slam drew out a sharp cry from the body slave, squirming as her eyes squeezed tightly in her effort to block out the friction causing hurt to her tender parts.
It was almost a relief when he finally finished, and Demi could hear the way he groaned, how the man stiffened as she felt the warmth inside of her, before he relaxed. His seed made it far easier for him to slide out, but her womanhood still throbbed from the treatment it had just went through as she pushed herself into an upright position. Her chest heaved as she panted slightly, her legs still slightly ajar due to the tenderness.
Expecting herself to just walk away after he had used her, she squeaked whenn the man suddenly picked her up and dropped her on the floor. The hard impact of soft skin on hard floor made her gasp, startling for a brief moment, but enough to prevent her face from hitting the ground, just as he spoke.
Briefly, her anger flashed, but she knew to speak out now would be to get herself in trouble. So instead, Demi bit her tongue and grabbed her already-soiled dress. Walking to a corner, she made sure to clean the seed leaking out of her, wrinkling her nose at the idea of having to put the material back on her body later. Once done, she slowly walked back to the male, stopping just an arm's length from where he lay. She allowed him his pleasure of looking at all the blooming bruises forminng on her pale skin, before asking, "If there isn't anything else, I'll be taking my leave."
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It was a fine art, the way Demi had learned. She couldn't show entirely no pleasure at all when her clients sought her out, not even when she found them entirely undesirable. But to show such distance would be harmful to her business. So Demi had perfected the art of showing just enough pleasure to keep them coming back, and have learned to recognize the signs that drove the man to completion.
The gladiator in particular, was making her feel quite raw, for her moistness was quickly drying up at his intense motions. Her grip on the bed had turned her knuckles white as Lesley slammed harder into her. Each slam drew out a sharp cry from the body slave, squirming as her eyes squeezed tightly in her effort to block out the friction causing hurt to her tender parts.
It was almost a relief when he finally finished, and Demi could hear the way he groaned, how the man stiffened as she felt the warmth inside of her, before he relaxed. His seed made it far easier for him to slide out, but her womanhood still throbbed from the treatment it had just went through as she pushed herself into an upright position. Her chest heaved as she panted slightly, her legs still slightly ajar due to the tenderness.
Expecting herself to just walk away after he had used her, she squeaked whenn the man suddenly picked her up and dropped her on the floor. The hard impact of soft skin on hard floor made her gasp, startling for a brief moment, but enough to prevent her face from hitting the ground, just as he spoke.
Briefly, her anger flashed, but she knew to speak out now would be to get herself in trouble. So instead, Demi bit her tongue and grabbed her already-soiled dress. Walking to a corner, she made sure to clean the seed leaking out of her, wrinkling her nose at the idea of having to put the material back on her body later. Once done, she slowly walked back to the male, stopping just an arm's length from where he lay. She allowed him his pleasure of looking at all the blooming bruises forminng on her pale skin, before asking, "If there isn't anything else, I'll be taking my leave."
It was a fine art, the way Demi had learned. She couldn't show entirely no pleasure at all when her clients sought her out, not even when she found them entirely undesirable. But to show such distance would be harmful to her business. So Demi had perfected the art of showing just enough pleasure to keep them coming back, and have learned to recognize the signs that drove the man to completion.
The gladiator in particular, was making her feel quite raw, for her moistness was quickly drying up at his intense motions. Her grip on the bed had turned her knuckles white as Lesley slammed harder into her. Each slam drew out a sharp cry from the body slave, squirming as her eyes squeezed tightly in her effort to block out the friction causing hurt to her tender parts.
It was almost a relief when he finally finished, and Demi could hear the way he groaned, how the man stiffened as she felt the warmth inside of her, before he relaxed. His seed made it far easier for him to slide out, but her womanhood still throbbed from the treatment it had just went through as she pushed herself into an upright position. Her chest heaved as she panted slightly, her legs still slightly ajar due to the tenderness.
Expecting herself to just walk away after he had used her, she squeaked whenn the man suddenly picked her up and dropped her on the floor. The hard impact of soft skin on hard floor made her gasp, startling for a brief moment, but enough to prevent her face from hitting the ground, just as he spoke.
Briefly, her anger flashed, but she knew to speak out now would be to get herself in trouble. So instead, Demi bit her tongue and grabbed her already-soiled dress. Walking to a corner, she made sure to clean the seed leaking out of her, wrinkling her nose at the idea of having to put the material back on her body later. Once done, she slowly walked back to the male, stopping just an arm's length from where he lay. She allowed him his pleasure of looking at all the blooming bruises forminng on her pale skin, before asking, "If there isn't anything else, I'll be taking my leave."
Lesley lay back with one arm tucked beneath his head, and focused on relaxing his muscles one tight knot at a time. He watched her with appreciative eyes as she returned and displayed herself for him, but when she spoke, he raised a skeptical eyebrow and dark amusement twisted the corners of his mouth.
"Where?" he inquired reasonably. She was a slave, too, and perhaps she hadn't quite realized that he wasn't the one being locked up. The guards weren't going to let her out just because she called for them. No - she was stuck here for however long their master had decided he deserved her for. "Besides, I thought you just said you were enjoying yourself." He chuckled, lightly teasing. Crooking a finger to beckon her closer, he reached up, seeking the feel of smooth skin beneath his fingertips and the subtle puffiness of a fresh, deep bruise. Maybe next time he could get them to toss him someone he was explicitly allowed to give scars to. Since he seemingly didn't have a choice about whether or not he got women, he ought to at least get someone he could enjoy as much as possible. Then again, there was something to be said for a pretty woman all roughed up...
"What, nobody else ever wanted to fondle your tits after they were done with the main event?" He wouldn't mind hitting her a few more times, too, but just at this exact moment, that seemed like effort.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Lesley lay back with one arm tucked beneath his head, and focused on relaxing his muscles one tight knot at a time. He watched her with appreciative eyes as she returned and displayed herself for him, but when she spoke, he raised a skeptical eyebrow and dark amusement twisted the corners of his mouth.
"Where?" he inquired reasonably. She was a slave, too, and perhaps she hadn't quite realized that he wasn't the one being locked up. The guards weren't going to let her out just because she called for them. No - she was stuck here for however long their master had decided he deserved her for. "Besides, I thought you just said you were enjoying yourself." He chuckled, lightly teasing. Crooking a finger to beckon her closer, he reached up, seeking the feel of smooth skin beneath his fingertips and the subtle puffiness of a fresh, deep bruise. Maybe next time he could get them to toss him someone he was explicitly allowed to give scars to. Since he seemingly didn't have a choice about whether or not he got women, he ought to at least get someone he could enjoy as much as possible. Then again, there was something to be said for a pretty woman all roughed up...
"What, nobody else ever wanted to fondle your tits after they were done with the main event?" He wouldn't mind hitting her a few more times, too, but just at this exact moment, that seemed like effort.
Lesley lay back with one arm tucked beneath his head, and focused on relaxing his muscles one tight knot at a time. He watched her with appreciative eyes as she returned and displayed herself for him, but when she spoke, he raised a skeptical eyebrow and dark amusement twisted the corners of his mouth.
"Where?" he inquired reasonably. She was a slave, too, and perhaps she hadn't quite realized that he wasn't the one being locked up. The guards weren't going to let her out just because she called for them. No - she was stuck here for however long their master had decided he deserved her for. "Besides, I thought you just said you were enjoying yourself." He chuckled, lightly teasing. Crooking a finger to beckon her closer, he reached up, seeking the feel of smooth skin beneath his fingertips and the subtle puffiness of a fresh, deep bruise. Maybe next time he could get them to toss him someone he was explicitly allowed to give scars to. Since he seemingly didn't have a choice about whether or not he got women, he ought to at least get someone he could enjoy as much as possible. Then again, there was something to be said for a pretty woman all roughed up...
"What, nobody else ever wanted to fondle your tits after they were done with the main event?" He wouldn't mind hitting her a few more times, too, but just at this exact moment, that seemed like effort.