Thursday, 15 November 2007

The Girl


This is a story I wrote for a friend some time ago. The theme is not that unusual, come to think of it. Kind of romantic but a little kinkier than in the average romantic story. A fantasy that is a little brutal but sweet as a fantasy.


I am not prepared, just yet, to disclose the literary reference I used in the last post. No cleverness in this story, though. Just some brutality. I hope you like an exotic setting. I do.


Octavius had spotted her the moment she arrived at the farm. He had been standing in the courtyard, inspecting the new slaves as they arrived. He had spotted her from a distance. He didn't know why.


At first he had pitied her and thought her only a girl. Then he found she was not a girl, just very small. No, she was a woman, no doubt about that. He thought it was her blond hair that attracted him to her but he couldn't say. She was a barbarian and had nothing of the stature and beauty of the dark women of his homeland.


But it wasn't the blond hair, it was something else, something that drew him to her. She was so small, so vulnerable but that had never attracted him to anyone before. It was something else, something he could not put his finger on.


She had no name. She was simply the girl with no name so they called her Puella. She was from the North and knew just little of the language. She hated him.


He saw her defiance, the hate in her eyes. Still he was kind to her. He put her in the kitchen which meant far lighter duties than in the field. She still seemed miserable.


Octavius was a senator, a well known citizen of Rome. He was a man of the state but he preferred the life on the farm. He returned there, to his family and his lands whenever his duties allowed him.


Now he found that he longed not only for to see his family and his lands as he left the dusty and dirty streets of the City for his beloved farm. No, he often had the image of Puella, the nameless slave on his mind as he set off.


Octavius found that he was unusually kind to the tiny Puella. He often stood and watched her as she was working. He would order some slave to help her as she carried something that seemed too heavy for her small frame. He couldn't explain what it was with that barbarian girl that made him think of her all the time.


He was attracted to her. He knew that but that was nothing unusual. Octavius was a man of principles but he was no stranger to bringing a pretty slave girl to his bed when he found the urge to touch a young body.


Puella hated him. He saw it in her eyes. Had she been a dog she would have snapped at him, buried her fangs in him. That was the kind of passion he saw in her eyes. Was it hate or did she despise him? That question troubled him. Usually he could handle hate. He just didn't care. But this was different. And if she despised him?


One evening he brought her to his chamber. He was alone, just a boy to serve him wine. Two of his farmhands brought Puella to him. It looked silly with those two sturdy men bringing her to him. One of them could have taken her on his shoulder and just dropped her off.


She knelt on the floor, head hung low, dressed only in her brief garment, a dirty sleeveless and very short dress, with a a thin cord around her waist as a belt. He didn't see her eyes but he knew the hate in them. Perhaps was there fear in them now.


She must fear him. Even if she hated him she must fear him.


Octavius knelt by her side, put his hand on her head, stroked her hair. He wanted badly to touch her, to make her happy. He didn't understand this softness, this urge to caress and care. His hand touched her cheek. It was a soft and tender touch.


She moved as if he had hit her. She threw her body backwards, slumped on the floor, hid her face in her hands, cried out in agony. 'Kill me, you coward!' she screamed.


Octavius stared at her. He was stunned, couldn't think. His head was swirling. He couldn't comprehend her reaction. He had wanted to be kind to her but she had called him a coward. He was used to insolence but this was different.


Red rage took him over. He stood up. He grabbed the girl by her arms, held her in his strong arms. She was a rag doll, sobbing but did not protest or resist. It was easy for him to tie her hands with the rope and before he knew it he had pulled it tight making Puella hang in her tied wrists, facing the pillar.


He was still mad with a fury he did not understand as he ripped the clothes from her body. He stood back, held out his hand. The slave boy gave him his whip.


Puella's pathetic cries did not diminish his assault on her soft body. His whip hit her time and again, leaving red marks on her pale northern skin.


Octavius wept as he whipped the slave girl. He wept as he saw his whip hit home and saw her body move in pain, her tiny feet leave the floor.


Later they both lay on the floor. Octavius had untied the rope and Puella lay slumped in a sobbing heap at the pillar. Octavius had thrown away the whip with disgust and was reclining on some cushions.


His head was in turmoil. He stared out into nothing. He was so lost to the world that he did not notice the tiny movements in Puella's body. He did not hear how she crawled across the floor and now lay at his feet.


He heard her breath the moment before she touched his feet. Instead of moving he froze. He waited for the attack. This proud little woman would doubtlessly try to kill him for his cruelty, knowing that she would perish doing it.


He wasn't prepared for the kiss, the soft kiss she placed on his feet. He stared at her as she gently kissed him again. In amazement he regarded her naked body, marked by his whip slowly move as she placed one sweet kiss after another on his feet.


He looked at her and after an eternity she turned her red and wet face towards him. He stared at her as she looked at him. This time he didn't see the hate.




9 comments:

Paul said...

Janice, once again I enjoyed your writing.
You are quite talented, the darkness in your fantasies gives them an exotic flavour for me, like unexpected eastern spices.
I understand the need and attraction of pain having been a Dom for most of my life and married to my wife and sub for thirty-three years.
Warm hugs,
Paul.

Marcus Amenophis (for W.E.) said...

An unusual story(for you) in that the Senator, Octavius, is rather kindly and has a conscience -- most of your male characters are quite remorseless... The recurring theme of the need (however repressed) to submit thus is bathed in a different light here.

Dove said...

Janice, a wonderful read and I loved this little woman. Her pride, tenacity and strength was quite vivid which made her surrender at the end all the more keener. I thought it sweet that she kissed his feet as if he had, finally, gotten through to her on the level she needed and now she could respect him for that.

Marcus brings up an interesting point in that your male character here is a kinder sort. Even though I have noticed the male characters I did not make that link, though it is likely correct. I tend to focus more on the female characters; what they do, feel, see, desire and what weigh heavy in their hearts. Perhaps it is simply that, that is what I understand better.

Hugs
Dove

Anonymous said...

Kirsten once again is left humbled by the wit of her dear friend, by which she means not Janice's humour but Janice's "wits". An excellent story, with historical setting, (Kirsten approves muchly), grace and mercy (see last parenthesis). This reminds me somewhat of Colleen McCullough's Rome books, which I read so very long ago, (fifteen years, was it twenty?) For a blonde chick you are a Black Beauty aren't you? ;-)

Janice said...

Dear Paul, 'unexpected Eastern spices', what a great expression. I may steal it from you (if you don't mind), but only after thanking you for your kind words. You know more about this than I do but in my imagination we sometimes want to be defeated a little to respect someone. Romantic, I know, but I am like that.

Dear Marcus, don't you think it is the need to respect the one you submit to? But thank you. I do imagine some men to be nice...smiles.

Dear Dove, I too focus on the female characters. But I do take the remark seriously. I wonder why that is, that the male characters are so dark? I agree that she is strong and maybe it is bad that she lets herself be defeated but it is also about wanting someone to break through to you.

Dear Kirsten, anything exotic and historic excites me. For some reason it is easier to write about true slavery and real captivity in such surroundings. Maybe it is the romantic me that is allowed to decide.

Anonymous said...

A very nice story Janice.

I liked the way the senator was confused by her reactions and also by his own actions.

Like some of the others I have noticed your predilection for darkness in the male characters, but it is your fantasy, and your desires within it, so we need to just read and enjoy.


Ollie

Janice said...

Hm, there is some psychoanalysis of Janice going on here. I don't think my male characters are that dark but maybe I am blind for it. I wonder why that is? And thank you Ollie for your comment. Confusion is the name of the game, isn't it?

Anonymous said...

Speaking as a person fluent in Latin. Puella means little girl, but if you wish to continue this series ancillas is female slave. The plural being ancillae. Also, servus us servant/slave (usually male) and servos is its plural (this can apply to groups of any gender or mixed gender. I love your stories and find it awesome to finally have a use for years of learning Latin. I hope u continue this story as it is quite appealing.

Claudius

Janice said...

Dear Claudius,

I am glad you liked this. I think the choice of calling her 'girl' was deliberate, although my Latin is rather non-existent. Using it made me anxious that someone would point out that used like that it would be better to choose this or that case, and then it would be ... Unfortunately this was a one off, but I do enjoy the ancient setting, so maybe I will return to it. Why not Egyptian, or Babylonian? That would be nice.

Hugs

Janice