~*~…torches soaked in tharlarion oil send lambent tongues of shadow-flame licking over the sprawled form, diminutive and lushly curved, the female’s dark chocolate mane spilling over the pitiful pillow afforded by her bare arms.... a scandalous yellow camisk, wrinkled and risen high on creamy thighs, marks the figure ~owned chattel~ as much as the glimmer of steel visible at the nape of a bared neck... a slight moan escapes as consciousness slowly returns, splayed fingers gliding questioningly across the smooth surfaces and pebbled grout of red tiles… with a sudden recollection of self and surroundings, the slave stirs with a sudden angry intake of breath, tousled locks of mocha still providing a lush veil as she pushes to hands and knees with tented fingertips... finding her attempt to rise cut short by the brief length of chain running from collar to couch ring, she bends to pound the tiles with balled fists, the shame of last night flooding back...~*~
~*~ …an imperious toss of head provides a glimpse of only hours before when she danced her insolence and contempt before her Master, the arrogance of set chin and rigid shoulders making obvious her disdain for men and the passions they might arouse in ~other~, weaker women...but even as her body relives the proud moment, now risen high on her knees with one hip cocked, the rough kiss of the shameful camisk causes her fists to clench futilely upon braced thighs… now jerking as though the rich gold and crimson silks are again torn from her and the rude bit of pale yellow once more thrust over her head, his words echoing in her mind, —“Clad in the rag of a common slave and chained to my ring, you will come to beg me for the slightest glance!”-- she cries out, knee-walking as though dragged…suddenly pitching forward as if pushed from behind, she sprawls again to the unyielding ceramic tiles, sobbing with anguish on crossed arms until, at last, shoulders still to mimic exhausted sleep… ~*~
~*~… sable strands matted to tear-stained cheeks, the petty fury of a feline's injured pride causing the richly curved form to tremble as sculpted claws rake the indifferent tiles, she imagines how she might torture her Master should he be standing behind her... pushing to hands and knees in a languorous stretch, soft shoulders dipping and rolling, sinuous spine forming a delicious bow, she taunts his imaginary presence with bared thighs and pliant bottom as though unaware... settling now to the cusp of unadorned heels and arching backward in feigned yawn, she trails her hands slowly up supple sides, lingeringly past the swell of soft breasts, gracefully along the line of delicate neck, until slim fingers meet at tender nape to lift and splay the heavy mane of luxuriant waves....~*~
~*~… almost laughing now, pleased with the charade, she issues forth a low, sleepy moan of awakening sensuality, cheap yellow cloth pulled taut across the pliant twin globes of her bottom as she sways side to side, arms reaching for the ceiling... the backs of her wrists touching, fingers splayed like the fluttering wings of a tiny, exotic bird, she slowly twines one hand around the other until, with crossed wrists, her palms meet in the posture of a pagan worshiping the tidal ebb and flow of the moons… head dropping back, eyes closed in feigned passion, imagining that she taunts her Master with her own supposed unawareness, she dances with her back arched in a cruel bow, hair pooling like dark liquid on the tiles behind her, full breasts ponderous between uplifted arms…~*~
~*~… as her body moves to ancient rhythms, shut lids and the whisper of cloth on yielding slaveflesh directing her thoughts inward, she loses her focus on a foolish slave’s fantasies of punishing her Master… now she is but a slave beneath the moons, the torchlight become moonglow, the whisper of her hair on the tiles having become the susurrent whisper of a playful breeze through long grasses… never rising from her knees, she seeks to draw serenity from those three pale observers, but their impassionate faces offer no respite, their illusion of peace no more real than her earlier mocking dance… with shocking suddenness, she wrenches her wrists apart and flings them together behind her back, her frustrations manifesting themselves in this cruel, symbolic binding…~*~
~*~… falling to her side, drawing her knees to her chest and then extending her legs once more, she writhes pitifully, helplessly, feeling again the short tether of silver links pulling taut, the chill of the red tiles seeping through the scant protection of the scandalous camisk, that shameless slave rag, now bunched and wrinkled by her exertions… extravagantly long tresses tangle against her sides and twine around her arms, dark chocolate offering stunning contrast to palest yellow… sobbing, she twists and turns, her needs becoming apparent as her hands reach supplicatingly for the plain riveted ring of iron at the foot of her Master’s couch…~*~
~*~ grasping at last that stern circlet and dragging herself forward, she writhes now on her belly, her thighs and navel alternately kissing the tiles even as her lips worship the bitter iron… as bold, masculine laughter rings out behind her, she gasps, frozen, flooded with horror and shame! drawing her legs beneath her and crouching with her forehead to the ring, she seeks to hide herself from her Master’s gaze but can escape neither his amusement nor the press of his chain as it dangles at her breast and pools, glimmering, between her knees… her head lifting, her arms reaching, her slavery impressed upon her as the last of her dignity hangs in shreds, she cries piteously—“Master, take pity on your slave! i am yours—i wear your chain!” crawling as near to him as the chain will allow, she kneels with her head to the tiles, her body stilling as she awaits her Master’s notice or spurning rebuttal of his boot…~*~