Thread: The Concubine     (Fanatic/Nika)

Alicia stood stunned as she held the bloody kerchief in her hand, watching the General leave. The General let the curtain fall closed behind him, and only then did she take a breath in. He was so calm and composed, orderly in even his most minuscule of movements. Though he was surrounded by finery and of rank and prestige, he was spartan in disposition. She wondered at how a man could be so hard, and yet diplomatic. Such authority and weight he held in his word, an iron fist could not hit harder. Alicia shut her eyes she would not cry. She had promised herself. M'ai, Lady? The golden-skinned slave asked tentatively, once more bowing before her with that strange way of pointing her left foot forward. Alicia stared at the exit from which the General had left, her hand closing around the cloth as emotions once more bubbled up in her breast. It was the strain, the constricted feeling of holding back the panic that consumed her. Who was this man? He was nothing like the soft, lecherous city-men of Rome, nor the fattening and deceitful old senators, both whom visited the temple, wondering why their homes were not warmed. Nor was he entirely devoted to his craft, as the athletes of Rome's great games. He had not struck her why? She was thankful, and yet, not. Alicia did not respond as gentle hands drew her coat from her shoulders, her cheek still turned towards the exit, as if gazing upon that portal would somehow allow her a glimpse into the man's psyche. The cloth within her hand dropped to the floor as her robes were undone Femi unwrapping her until Alicia stood nude. The Roman woman would not meet the slave's eyes. The strip of cloth may have lay at her feet, but her fingers were still slightly sticky. It was clear she was no longer within Rome. Blood was the result of a impudence in the face of the General's power. Two sets of hands made quick work of her skin lathering her with olive oil and working it over her entirety before it was removed along with the dust and dirt of travel with a strigil. She was then rubbed with woolen cloth till her skin glowed and sat within the warmth of the bath. Alicia could not help the sigh of pleasure as her eyes fluttered shut, her fingers playing along the top of the water as a pair of hands worked cleansing soap into the soft flesh of her body. She began to relax, listening to the slaves hum as they worked. Fingers were gentle and soothing as they lathered her hair and slowly dipped her hair into the water, cradling her skull. She had expected the hands of the slaves to be hard and harsh after their ordeal. The darker beauty's face was reddened where she had been struck, but she chatted idly enough with the pale flaming haired slave in that strange language. Soon she was pulled from the bath, and stood as she was toweled down and rubbed with an oil once more, the light perfume that wrapped around her serving to relax her even more. Femi's hands were strong and they dug deep into the knots of tension in Alicia's back and shoulders. Soon Britalia had approached, twisting her still-wet hair up on her head, and keeping it in place with silver pins. Then they both helped her into the dress the dress was sheer, made of fine rosy golden silk. Alicia was in wonder of such a material she had never seen such a robe. So thin and smooth, it felt like she was wearing the clouds themselves. The folds were pinned above her shoulders with two bronze clasps, but the rest of the dress hung lose. At it's hem was woven a traditional design, and it spilled luxuriously over her bare feet, her boots having been removed and taken by Britalia to somewhere unknown. As she turned to look at her reflection within a burnished mirror, she gasped. The curves of her body could be glimpsed silhouetted within the dress, and when she turned the material clung to her as if caressing her as one would a lover before falling into it's semi-concealing folds once more. All at once Alicia flushed red, about to protest wearing such a thing, but Britalia shushed her with a sponge to brush rouge along her lips and cheeks. A variety of fine, scented oils of the East were brought to her upon a platter, but Alicia adamantly refused to allow the slaves to brush a droplet of the strong perfume upon her neck. It was too real now, and to have such pheromone potions rubbed onto her would be the last of her nerve. Only then did Alicia meet the eyes of the General's slaves, and they in turn bowed to her, set aside the perfumes, and took her by way of small gestures and touches leading her to their Master. A soft word from the red-haired girl announced them. Alicia breathed deeply as she entered the next room, her eyes affixed upon the floor. The slaves beside her bowed deeply to their Master, and Alicia looked up at the General, uncomfortably aware that the dress barely concealing her charms. Slender legs effortlessly held her poise, her spine straight despite how she knew her front would be displayed her skin prickled, her breasts already affected by the lower temperature of the North. Alicia's chin was held willfully high, though her cheeks revealed her discomfort and shame. She did not greet him, nor did she speak.