Thread: The Handmaiden's Tale (Wander and Chanti)

The soft shuffling sound at the doorway warned her before it was flung open, and she was rather proud of herself for standing straight to greet him, her slender shoulders thrown back, her chin lifted with no small measure of pride. She was the anti-thesis of slavery, a proud Grecian noblewoman. But she saw instantly that would not help her. With a mistress like Helen, Sophie was wary of men, and quick to decipher their moods. She knew when to make herself invisible around Helens lusty lovers, knew when to vanish entirely. And the look her new master had was one that made her want to vanish entirely. But there would be no vanishing permitted, and she knew it with a terrible certainty. There was no mercy to be found here. She would be taken and raped like a common slavegirl, all because of her greedy bitch of a mistress. She stood frozen, fury rising up swiftly, making her breath quicken and her stomach tighten. It was so injust! She had done nothing but what was right and proper, obeying her mistress and keeping her vows. This man KNEW that. He had heard her screaming the truth of things at Menethaus, and he cared not. He had probably had to get drunk to overwhelm his conscious, she thought with jagged contempt. She had been so close to freedom, had it within her sights. And then it was yanked away and she found herself in a worse place than before, no longer a noblewoman serving her lady, but a slave to be used for the pleasure her body could give. She gave him no answer. Just stood stiffly, unmoving. Until he stripped off his tunic. The sight of that hard naked flesh may have under other, more pleasant circumstances, aroused her. He was not an unhandsome man. But under these painful circumstances the sight of that hard naked male body unleashed the fury raging in her body and she flew at him with a feminine snarl of rage that started even her, her fingers curled to resemble claws. She was not even trying to escape, she wanted to mark the bastard, to draw blood for his contemptuous use of her. She never even touched him. It was foolish of her to think she, a noblewoman trained only in the gentle arts of womanhood, could draw blood on a hardened, experienced warrior. But she was not expecting to be controlled so easily, as if she were a helpless spitting and hissing kitten in the grip of a man. The world flipped and whirled and before she realized what had happened she was on her back, one arm pinned painfully underneath her body, the other on its way to join it. She lay gasping for breath, the room seeming to spin around her as his heavy body pinned hers to the floor. She could FEEL the hard maleness of him, heavy on her flat belly. His words drew her eyes up to him, and she swallowed hard. The damned eggplant. Damn Helen to Hades! His finger moved across her lips and she thought about biting at it but it was gone. The damned bastard. He knew she was a virgin, and he was deliberately going to steal it from herbecause he could. Her rage boiled up again, so hot it nearly blinded her. The ripping sound of her dress shedding didnt help. The rush of coolness over her flushed breasts, creamy pink mounds of soft female flesh, thrusting up through the air towards him. Nipples dainty and pink and puffy, clinging to the curving tips precariously. Hot tears rushed to her eyes, pooling in the soft blueness. His lips met hers, soft and hard at the same time. One small part of her wanted to submit. One tiny part of her wanted to open her mouth, to taste him on her tongue, to lift her body against his and feel his naked flesh on hers. But the rage overwhelmed that desire. Without thought, her white teeth flashed and snapped. If she tasted his blood, she would spit it back into his face. Let HIM play the victim for once. She would pay for it, she was certain. It would be worth it. A tiny, miniscule bit of justice.