A Slow Start [M]

[Sarah]

Lucius Armenius Valerius. He would commit the name to memory. A potential business contact, and Ione's new dominus. Ione promised to convey his message, that Spurius would meet the man two days hence. If Fortuna favoured him, it would be an interesting opportunity. And unless the new master was the same as the old, it would likely cause some upheaval as well.

He kneaded the protesting muscle in his leg thoughtlessly as he considered the possibilities, having done it a thousand times before, then realised that Ione was watching him, that faint frown visible again. Almost he snapped at her, irritated by the automatic thought that she somehow judged him for being maimed. After all, so many others did. But then she spoke, without being asked, and it wasn't what he'd expected.

Is there something I can do?"

He wasn't alright, that much he deemed pretty obvious, so he didn't bother to answer that question. "It's an old injury from my time in the Legions." He said simply, because it was easier to explain it curtly than to have her wondering. And somehow just getting that out there felt like he could justify his bitterness about it, maimed in service to the Empire. Except that the extent of his bitterness about it might seem out of place, to those who didn't understand the full ramifications. And he took care to keep it that way. A hot bath helped, which was why he'd had a bath installed in his otherwise comfortable but not ostentatious domus; his little luxury. The other thing that helped was a good massage, but that meant going to the public baths and baring the injury to strangers, and after all that had happened he was still almost irrationally self-conscious about it. For an otherwise practical and sensible man, he dealt with the problem by not dealing with it.

"Are you any good at massage?" He asked simply, not imagining that the whores of the Elysium would get much in the way of training. Then again, they probably wouldn't need it. He didn't bother with prostitutes, not since his last session with one years ago, but if she could give his leg a good massage, it might even be worth paying for a bit more of her time.

@Sara

[Sara]

Her eyes widened in surprise and she glanced between his chest - where her eyes fell - down to his leg. She'd only had passing connections to soldiers - in the Elysium, and then on her island when the garrison stationed in the sea came to port and took their fill of the islanders wine and women. Not Ione though. Maybe it would have been better that they had. She shook the thought away, letting it tumble out of her mind. 

"Yes sir." She brightened instantly at his question, finally feeling useful. She took a few paces closer and then knelt down on her knees, sitting back on the heels of her feet. She wouldn't touch him until he gave her permission, of course, but she was ready. "My mother broke her arm when I was a girl," She said by way of an explanation with a light voice, "I used to massage it better for her in the evenings as the break didn't heal right. And then my father..." After gambling debts led to fights led to wounds that needed to be tended..."And some of the clients at the Elysium like it." Not many, mind, but some. Her voice was light and utterly without judgement, instead taking on that lilting, Greek-accented tone it often did when she relaxed. She'd always been friendly, yearning for conversation, but her profession meant she very rarely got to flex that side of her personality. It didn't occur to her then that perhaps the man sat in front of her didn't want her to talk, and she pressed on; "Where did you serve, sir?" 

 

TAG: @Sarah

[Sarah]

The change in her demeanour was almost comically stark. Where before she'd been quiet and downcast, suddenly she was lively and bubbly. Whether it was the thought of a possible new client or simply being asked to do something other than spread her legs, he didn't know, and his irritable mood didn't allow him to consider that she was a naturally helpful creature. In fact he almost snapped at her to stop her chatter, purely because he was in a foul mood, and even a little preemptively defensive. He could still hear that years old, stifled laughter.

But she wasn't laughing at him, she was explaining that she used to massage her mother's arm as she knelt down before him on the hard tiles. It was the first really personal detail he'd ever learned about her, not that most people were interested in the backgrounds of slaves, but she had a pleasant voice and her light accent was actually quite pleasant. She started to mention her father, then stopped. If she knew her father, chances were either she'd been born free and sold, or her father had been free and not acknowledged her. Then of course some of her customers appreciated such skills. Well, that boded better than he'd expected, at least.

Stretching out his leg, he settled his foot comfortably on the little stool, then pulled the edge of his tunica up to reveal his right thigh. It was immediately obvious that something was wrong. Where the inside of a man's thigh should be muscular or even plump, his had a distinctive hollow where muscle bundles had been cut, and then atrophied. And right at the top of the hollow in his thigh, one end disappearing under the fabric of his tunica where it covered his groin, was a scar; silvered with age but longer and uglier than the one on Ione's collarbone. Hers wasn't even in the same league.  He watched her face to gauge her reaction.

Around the hollow in his thigh, the intact muscles stood out in stark relief, overdeveloped from compensating for those lost, and currently cramping. His skin was red in patches where he'd been trying to pummel them into submission. He gestured wordlessly to his leg, then leaned back slightly in his chair, trying to will the offended muscles to relax as much as possible.

Where did you serve, sir?

Did she really want to know? Or was she just making conversation. It could be either. And if the latter, she hid it well. He re-affirmed his thoughts that she was wasted on the Elysium. "In Britannia mostly. I did two tours there." He said briefly, thinking of that cold, wet land, so different to Italia, and trying not to think of his last battle there. "Are you really from Crete?" He asked in turn.

@Sara

[Sara]

Ione didn't realise Spurius was watching her, with her eyes downcast as they were, but her expression as he edged his tunic higher was one of genuine intrigue and mild confusion, not disgust or malice. It was like nothing she had seen before and it took her a moment to work out what to do. Tentatively, she raised small fingers to the leg either side of the divot where the muscles had been extracted and gently began to knead and work in nimble fashion. Her hands weren't soft like ladies who had never experienced hard work, but the sensations she was able to produce should have been pleasurable. The mild look of surprise wore off entirely within a few moments as she got down to her work, concentrating. 

She heard him speak and glanced up with an awestruck look. "Britannia..." She repeated in a whisper, reverently. "I've heard stories." She admitted, almost guiltily but there was a small, genuine smile turning the corners of her lips, "About people painted blue and savages who let their women fight." She wrinkled her nose. "I don't much think I'd like to visit." Not that he asked her opinion, but even knelt here on the hard tiles, massaging a strangers leg, Ione felt more akin to her old self. She was doing something other than sex or trying to fish for it, and it brought out a conversational, buoyant, youthful side of her. It's why she looked so delighted when he asked her a question. "No." She admitted with a genuine laugh and a little grin, her fingers still massaging his leg, "From Kefalonia...it's an island, small but beautiful," Her face became more wistful as she spoke, "But the slaver who bought me in Athens didn't understand that so he said Crete to my first owner...and then when I came to Rome, Crete became 'Greek' because it was easier to explain." She said with an amused lilt in her voice, "Have you been to Greece, sir?" 

 

TAG: @Sarah

[Sarah]

There were two ways to deal with his leg when the remaining muscles spasmed, Spurius had found. The first was to put a lot of weight or pressure on the muscles until they gave up, which worked quickly but it hurt. That was what he tried to do usually, because he had little patience for it. The second was to kneed the muscles slowly until they relaxed, which was more pleasant and required less strength or pressure, but took longer.

The hollow where the damaged muscles had wasted away was visually obvious, but it was the muscles around that spot that were the problem. After a moment Ione seemed to work out what she needed to do, placing her small but surprisingly strong hands on his leg and working at the tense muscles. She was definitely taking the second approach, but he wasn't complaining. Instead he leaned back in his chair slightly and let her work, listening idly to her chatter, which was surprisingly pleasant.

Her comment that she wouldn't want to visit Britannia drew a snort of amusement from him. "It's cold, and wet." He said simply, thoughts drifting back to his time in that distant land, before he was injured. "Some of their women do fight, though in a helmet and behind a shield it can be hard to tell until afterwards. And some of them do paint their faces. The men grow their beards and hair, so they look quite wild." Not refined like Roman men, of course. "They live in round huts built of sticks and mud, often in areas that have large marshes which are difficult to cross." Which had obviously been deliberate and made them a pain to move between. Thank the Gods for the road builders. It was easy to relate the details he remembered to Ione, she seemed to listen to attentively. No doubt a useful skill in her profession.

His question about her origins was met with bright laughter, not at him but in seemingly genuine amusement. Kefalonia. It was on the western coast, at the straight between the mainland and the Achaean peninsula, if he recalled correctly. Ione asked if he'd ever been to Greece. "I went to Achaea as a youth." He replied, recalling that journey. "With my father and older brother. My father has been a trader in fine goods and exotics all my life, to Achaea, Judea, even Aegyptus. He started teaching my brother and I how to do the same." That seemed a lifetime ago. "I remember seeing ruins in parts of the land, that seemed older than the Gods." Was that sacreligious to say?

He'd initially thought her ministrations too gentle to work the cramp out of his stubborn muscles, but her strong fingers and persistent work was gradually relaxing them. He was pleasantly surprised by her work. Perhaps he'd get her to do the same in future. Even he had to admit that her hands on his thigh felt good; he didn't have a lot of physical contact with others beyond the odd business handshake.

As she worked Ione spoke with obvious fondness of her home, and she'd mentioned both her mother and father, though the latter haltingly. But a slaver bought her in Athens. "You weren't born a slave, were you?" He asked bluntly.

@Sara

Edited April 28, 2022 by Sarah

[Sara]

"Yes," She chuckled as she worked, "I definitely do not want to go there." She'd go where she was bidden but generally slaves travelled from Britannia not to it. She couldn't imagine her new dominus setting up shop in a marshy, wet wasteland so she felt reasonably secure that she'd never have to experience it. Thank the Gods.

She listened with a soft smile of understanding as he recounted his own time in Achaea. Her fingers ached from the pressure she was exerting, but she didn't stop. "It's beautiful." She said with a nod of approval, keeping her eyes focused on the muscles of his leg, "And I have heard there are ruins all over the islands from the time of Helen or before. There were some we used to visit outside of our town," She smiled fondly to herself at the memory, "I remember finding a little statuette there of a Goddess, nobody knew her name but she was so beautiful." She'd kept that little statue until it had been sold off, like most of her family's things. 

His question surprised her, although it shouldn't have done. She had alluded more clearly to him than she had done to many people about her history. She glanced up, those big earnest eyes searching his face for a moment before they dropped back to her ministrations. "No, sir. My father had debts, he sold me two years ago." She stiffened a little at the memory and exhaled deeply, shaking her head as she continued to work, "We were potters, my family. I was bought by a merchant  who kept me as his house slave and then he moved business back to Achaea so I was sold on and then to..." She shrugged. He knew the rest, where she'd ended up. She sighed and couldn't stop the next words from tumbling out; "May I ask you something, sir?" She didn't wait for a reply but carried on, "How...much would I be worth?" She had no idea how much she'd cost, and therefore no idea how much she should be trying to save for her freedom. 

 

TAG: @Sarah

[Sarah]

Yes, I definitely do not want to go there.

Ione chuckled as she spoke, and Spurius snorted in amusement. Britannia had had it's charms, but they were hard to explain. There was something eery, primal about the place, with it's rolling mists and cool forests. You could believe that ancient Gods walked those lands, and the gateway to the underworld was open. It was interesting to visit, but he wouldn't want to live there. Give him civilisation any day.

Achaea had been very different. Hot and sunny, with baked hillsides and houses built on cliffs to take advantage of the sea breezes, all white walls and flat roofs. And the ruins, often in the midst of the modern towns. Who were these people who had gone so long before? If primal Gods still walked Britannia, Achaea was a place where the Gods had long left it to the devices of man, such that the stories of men became as old as the stories of the Gods. "It was beautiful, what I saw." He agreed. "A very different place, you could feel the old stories in the stones." Of course, it was decendants of the fall of Troy who had founded the Roman Empire, and Achaea was the land where that drama had played out. A civilisation that was old before Rome existed. A civilisation that had yielded a small statue Ione had found. He too wondered who she might have been.

But he'd not been for a very long time. "I don't travel for trade now; I pay those who do." There were those who drove slaves from one part of the Empire to another; he simply bought from them. He couldn't walk any distance and riding was difficult, and he didn't trade in the goods he'd thought he would as a youth. Perhaps one day he'd take a ship somewhere, and see different lands again.

His question was somewhat idle, at least from his point of view, but it drew a look from those large eyes of hers before Ione lowered her gaze again to his leg. He'd guessed rightly; she'd been sold. He could feel the sudden tension in her hands, see it in her frame. Then she drew a deep breath. She'd been sold off to pay debts. "You're not the first, I doubt you'll be the last." He told her blandly. Because of course their society was all built around the pater familias and his authority over his family members, even to the point of making them pay for his mistakes by selling them. Of course, with that authority should also come responsibility, and he should work to better his family, but not all men were good men, or well suited to such responsibility. It was a common enough story. So at an age when Ione should probably have been married off, she'd been sold.

May I ask you something, sir? How...much would I be worth?

It was an interesting question, and he was perhaps the best person to ask. Her work had kneeded the worst out of the surface muscles, but the deeper ones still complained. "Use the heels of your hands, put some weight on the muscles." He directed, before turning his attention to her question. He knew her background, and her current profession. "You said you served as a house slave. Do you have any other skills? Can you cook, spin, weave? Did you learn to make pots from your father? What about reading and writing?" All of those things were taken into account when valuing a slave, along with their age and physical condition. The more skills, and the more years left in them, the more valuable.

@Sara

 

[Sara]

She knew her situation wasn't uncommon, she'd even met a few others in the pens where she'd been held in Rome who had suffered the same fate as her, but the bland way he dismissed her woe still stung. One would have thought a girl like Ione would have been used to the cold brutality people liked to exert on those in her position, but she never was. It always hurt the same - she just shoved the pain down deep inside. 

As instructed, she knelt up so she was no longer sitting on her heels and tried to use as much force as her feeble body could muster to put her weight into her palms, working over the muscles of his leg. She half expected him to snap at her question, to tell her to be silent as she worked, but he didn't. He seemed almost as curious as she was. "I can cook," she nodded, "And mind children. I used to for my cousins. And I can clean and sweep and tidy, and spin wool and weave." Poorly on the latter two, but she had to learn out of necessity when she took over management of the household after her mother passed. She shook her head at the last few things he listed though, "And no...I can't do any of that." She swallowed. She sometimes thought she recognised letters on the walls of Rome but couldn't ever figure out what they were supposed to say or represent. "And I can massage...?" She managed as a little joke, with a small smile to herself. "I am eighteen," She added quickly, "If that makes any difference." She could obviously speak fluent Greek and Latin as well.

 

TAG: @Sarah

[Sarah]

It wasn't fair, but Roman society was never meant to be fare. That was why Patricians sat pretty in the Senate or in an officer's uniform, whilst the Plebs marched under their banner and died, or took a sword in the leg. And fathers ran up debts and sold their daughters to pay them. The upper class men were at the top of the ladder and everyone else served them. Of course, they were seen to have duties and responsibilities of governance, just as the pater familias of a family had responsibility to their family members, as well as jurisdiction over them. But not all men were created equal, and clearly Ione's father was either a poor businessman or had poor habits. But Spurius spoke truly when he said she was only one of many, and he couldn't be too empathetic, else he couldn't do his job. Besides, he'd do her no favours by validating any feelings of righteous indignation she might harbour; an uppity slave only attracted punishment and harsh masters.

What he could give her was little comforts and charities, like the use of the bath and the odd coin. Things that eased the burden of her situation without actually allieviating it. Right now that generosity extended to answering her questions, and listening as she answered his, the last of which had been regarding her skills. "So you can keep a house." He mused. Of course, female house slaves were hardly a rarity. Spinning was desirable but also common, weaving less common as it was usually the lady of the house who did the weaving. But no pottery, reading or writing. He snorted in amusement when she said she could massage. "You can indeed." He agreed, amused. His injury was old and cantankerous - not unlike himself - but her steady work was making a difference, and the extra pressure was releasing the deeper muscles at last. That put him in a much better mood.

"The more skills a slave has, or the rarer the skills, the higher their value." He told her, more thinking out loud than anything else. "Being young adds value, you've a life of service ahead." Older slaves lost value unless they were well educated. "And you speak two languages." But at the end of the day she was really only usable as a prostitute or house slave, without further training. She was pretty enough, and obedient, that helped. He considered. "If I was selling you, I'd be asking for something for something around..." after a moment's further thought he named what was a fairly modest price. Well above the worst but far from the best. There were many like her available, the only thing that really made her stand out was that she was bilingual, but so were many slaves born outside of Italia. Of course, a valuable slave attracted better owners, because they would seek quality, and only they could afford it, whilst the cheapest slaves went to those who could afford no better.

He watched her thoughtfully for a moment. "Why do you ask?"

@Sara

[Sara]

She listened to him totting up her skills as if she were in the market. She remembered it well, from her time in Athens and then in Italia. The worn wooden board around her neck proclaiming her virtues; young, virgin, Greek, fluent in Latin, pliant as she'd been told by the trader, was all that was worth mentioning. She had been reduced down to seven words. Of course, now she was reduced down to just one; whore.

Still, she tried not to let that show on her face right up until he gave her his price. Her finger stopped working, hovering on his skin as she blinked up at him with owlish eyes in shock. It was so much, to her at least. She'd never heard her price before (although it didn't occur to her that she had been even more expensive when sold to the Elysium as a maiden). She felt panic rise in her chest. She would never be able to afford to buy herself. Not even if she saved for decades, she was sure of it and she'd be long tossed out of the Elysium by then. She heard his question and still knelt gormlessly, fingers not moving, staring at him, unable to answer.

It was only when she felt a spasm of muscle of his thigh under her fingers that she realised she'd been gawping and silent for far longer than she should have been given he asked her a question. She immediately set to work with her palms with renewed vigour and cast her eyes back down at her work. She felt as if his gaze was boring into the back of her head though. "Every slave wants to imagine a life when they're not a slave." Not every slave wanted to be free of course, but everybody wanted to imagine. This conversation had just solidified in her mind that freedom would remain a dream for her. "I wanted to see if it could ever be a reality." She shrugged a little as she worked but she felt her energy dissolve as weariness set in. Physical weariness at the exertion of the afternoon but then another, newer bone-tiredness of her mind. Usually perky and bright, she felt utterly sapped now and chose to stay silent instead of ask any more questions.

 

TAG: @Sarah

[Sarah]

She'd asked him her price, presumably because she wanted his professional opinion. Buying and selling slaves was what he did for a living. So that was what he gave her, tallying her up as he would any slave in his stock. She seemed to take it well enough, even playfully pointing out her ability at massage, until he named her price, and her hands stilled. Large eyes looked up at him, wide with what looked like shock. Was she so surprised? Had she thought she'd be worth more? She was a fairly cheap slave, there were many like her, but there were also many worse. Or was it something else?

There was a long moment when she seemed unable to answer  his simple question, and he almost snapped at her to bring her out of it, when his leg did the work for him, muscles spasming again. She seemed to remember what she was doing, attacking his leg with enthusiasm and he leaned back in his chair, enjoying the way her efforts were slowly unknotting the offended muscles. She was actually quite good at it. 

Every slave wants to imagine a life when they're not a slave.

Ah, she wanted to know what her price would be, so she could buy herself. Even as she explained, hands kneeding, she seemed to curl in on herself, looking tired and weary in contrast to her chirpiness of only a few moments ago. Experienced slaver, Spurius recognised that look; a slave who had lost hope or anything to live for. It could be the end of any kind of life for them, as poor work led to poor masters and even poor health. She was awfully young too. She worked in silence, but after a few moments he began to speak again. "As a slave, if you want a better life you have two real options." He said calmly, as though giving a lecture at a grammaticus instead of to a woman rubbing his leg. "Either save enough to buy your own freedom, or become valuable enough to attract a good master who treats you well." He droned  on, having previously found the tone calming on, for example, children who were slaves and suddenly sold away from their parents or previous home. Calm slaves were preferable. "The two are opposite paths; if you want to buy yourself you want to have as little value as possible, without being sold into a worse situation. To become valuable and attractive to better owners, you acquire more skills and find opportunities to showcase them." But that wasn't Ione's stated aim. 

"In order to purchase yourself, you want to save every single coin that comes into your possession, and do all that you can to attract extra coin from your customers." Which given that she was already a prostitute, might not leave much. "What did you do with the sestertius I gave you last week?" He asked gently, suspecting that it had probably been spent. She'd had a lamp to replace after all.

@Sara

[Sara]

Ione listened dutifully as he spoke, but kept her aching hands working. She felt a great heavy cloud settle over her and the knot in her chest tighten as if somebody was pulling the opposing strings. She was usually difficult to depress - besides at night when she was alone and only had her memories to entertain her - but this conversation had rapidly soured her usually good mood. The sum of money she was worth was far, far too much. It was eye watering to a girl like her.

"I bought a lamp, sir," She shifted on her knees so she could get higher and work the remaining stiff muscles, not looking at him and speaking quietly, "And the rest I needed to spend on some thread and a needle to repair one of my toga's." it had been torn off by a particularly uncaring baker and needed mending. She would have asked Armenius for the funds but didn't wish to bother him so new into his ownership. "I'll never buy myself." She added quietly, settling into the idea uncomfortably with slumped shoulders and downcast eyes. "Not unless I earn more but I can't...earn more than I do already." She was constantly busy and she didn't much imagine Armenius would give the girls higher peculium, not when he needed to save himself for the repairs to the Elysium. "Maybe a better owner," She glanced up at that, panic briefly flashing across her face, "Not that I'm complaining about my dominus but..." She swallowed, "It would be nice to do something else. I don't see how though," She said with a weak voice as she dropped her eyes back down, "When I'm only good for whoring now." Who wanted a house slave or a children's maid that used to spread her legs for a living, after all?

 

TAG: @Sarah

[Sarah]

Of course she'd spent it. He'd known the answer before he'd asked. Those who had so little made use of what they had. And he'd given her the money to spend, after all. Told her to replace her lamp. And then she'd bough a needle and some thread. Such simple things, but they meant that the money was now gone. A better owner and more valued occupation might be achievable, but they would require the acquisition of skills that she didn't have. And the fact was that someone had to do the whoring. Some women seemed to enjoy it, but the very thing that had first attracted his attention to Ione was the fact that she didn't look like she belonged at the Elysium. 

"If you hadn't had the coin, how would you have got the needle and thread?" He asked, almost gently, encouraging her to think. "It's easy to spend money when we have it." Or at least it was if you knew no better.  Many didn't. Her father, for instance. "If you truly want to save for your freedom, get yourself a jar, maybe a chamber pot for under the bed, something others won't look in. Put every single coin you get in there, and then forget about the coin. Imagine you don't have it, so hard that you believe it. Get your needle and thread from wherever you would, if you had no coin at all. Then one day you will look in your pot and you will have the money." It did occur to him suddenly that giving financial advice to a slave and a prostitute was more than a little ridiculous, but she was doing wonders for his leg which was making him feel far more generous than he had been earlier. 

In fact, the skin and muscles of his leg were getting a little sore from her ministrations, but in a good way because that was the worst of the pain, a vast improvement. "You can stop now. That's better." He told her. It was. He was a little surprised at how much better. "So you can do more than whore." He pointed out. "If you'd increase your value, you could do something like take your coin to the baths and pay a worker there to teach you how to do massage well. Learn to sing, even dance. Focus on skills that will earn you more money. There's a Freedwoman who was a slave at the Domus Venus and is now too expensive for most to afford."   She did still earn a lot of her money on her back of course. If Ione wanted a full career change, that could be more difficult. 

He flicked the fabric of his toga back over his leg. "Have you considered what you would do, how you would live, if you were free?" He asked. Many slaves wished for freedom, few seemed to realise how scary having full responsibility for one's self could truly be. Freedom to do as one pleased included the freedom to starve to death in a cold gutter somewhere. 

@Sara

[Sara]

"I...would have borrowed it. From one of the other girls." She answered quietly, embarrassed. She hadn't even thought about it. Most of the others were as poor-off as she was and it seemed unfair to ask to use something others could ill-afford to share. She knelt back on her heels and listened, rapt in attention to his advice. Nobody had suggested such a way  to save money before and she tried so very hard to be careful (what a lifetime of growing up with somebody perennially in debt does to you), but maybe this would work. Maybe. She nodded. She wished she had a lockable box rather than a chamber pot, she knew the others in the Elysium didn't mind stealing so much. 

At his command to stop, she did and set her hands back in front of her but she didn't move to stand and stayed sat back on her heels. She opened her mouth to offer him other services (she was already in the vicinity, it was a natural offer in her mind), but he threw the folds of his toga back over his leg as he spoke. Paying somebody  to teach her to massage was a good idea. "I'm a terrible dancer," She admitted with a quiet laugh but her mood was improving with the prospect of other avenues to explore. She didn't even desperately yearn for freedom, she was largely accepting of her lot in life but there was a difference between having a dream and having no hope at all. Everybody needed hope, at least a little.

"I...would like to marry," She admitted in a lighter voice, "Have children. We use...methods so we don't, fall pregnant at work." Crude though they were, the sponge soaked in lemon had worked for Ione thus far. "Maybe I would just mind my house, or maybe I would find work in a potters shop...I didn't do much but I used to try and sell them, when I was at home. Maybe that?" She was actively thinking and looked amusingly thoughtful for a moment as she pondered it more. "Or if I get very good at massages, maybe that." She chuckled and sighed. "You are...very kind to me sir." She added more quietly, "To humour me like this. I...wish I could...repay the kindness." She glanced down at his lap again and then back to his face just for a moment. Would he be offended by the clumsily worded proposition?

 

TAG: @Sarah

[Sarah]

She admitted that she would have found the needle and thread she'd needed elsewhere, had she not been able to buy it. Well and good. Hopefully that meant she would think in the future, instead of spending her coin simply because she had it. But even as she thought about it, he could see her brightening up again. Hope, that most precious of gifts. Yes, he could have bought her outright and set her free, but he was no charity. What he could give her was ways to change her own situation, and it was clear that she was listening. 

"If you're a bad dancer, you can only get better." He pointed out, unaware that she'd been about to offer him further services. He'd covered his leg automatically, almost ridiculously self-conscious about the injury, for reasons that were invisible to others yet for him felt like they were tattooed there alongside the ugly scar. He was more focused on the problem she'd presented, oddly intrigued by it. It felt surprisingly good to be able to offer some advice. "Or if not dancing, then other ways to entertain. Things that will attract customers with more money to spend, and to give you." Not dirty bakers' sons who paid an as for the privilege of jumping atop her. 

Freedom had a host of further implications, and he asked if she'd thought what she would do, by which he meant had she even considered how she would earn enough coin to live somewhere and not starve. She answered with her dreams. Marriage, children, a house of her own. Don't we all? He thought bitterly. Then she seemed to drift closer to reality, talking about earning money selling things for a potter, or working as a masseuse. It was a big, scary world out there and going from daughter in her father's house to slave hadn't given her much chance to experience it. But she was suddenly so optimistic again, chuckling in sharp contrast to her previous silence. It seemed much more her nature. 

Then she sighed, and made an offer which drew a whole host of reactions from Spurius. He was amused at the un-subtle direction of her glance, impressed that she was already thinking of ways to attract more custom - if that was her intent - and even slightly flustered, because it had been a very long time since he'd last hired a prostitute for himself. Then there was the pile of angst, regret and anger that surrounded the reason why he hadn't hired one; he could still hear the last girl's laughter. At the same time, the sudden immediacy of possible intimacy with someone other than himself drew a degree of longing he hadn't expected. He wanted to be touched, not just there but generally, to be held affectionately. But not laughed at. Never again.

He looked at the young woman who'd become an odd weekly fixture in the house. Even over the last couple of months she had changed, was no longer quite the starving waif she had been, though hardly a voluptuous Venus. I would like to marry, to have children. Gods, wouldn't they all? I wish I could repay the kindness. If ever there was a woman unlikely to laugh at him, perhaps it was the one crouched before him. He nodded slightly and hitched the fabric of his toga right up. "If you would."

The scar ran right up his thigh on the diagonal and into the crease between his leg and his groin. The weapon hadn't hit his manhood, but it had clearly been a close thing, and from the width of the scar there the wound had been deep. Despite her earlier ministrations, or perhaps because of the pain in his leg, his soldier was showing only slight interest. "You don't discuss the details of my injury with anyone." He said firmly. "You can say that it's a sword wound to the leg." He added, remembering his own rule that it was important to tell a slave what they could do, rather that just what they couldn't. That information was true and all that was necessary.

@Sara

Edited May 16, 2022 by Sarah

[Sara]

Ione was half-expecting a slap. Not that he'd ever given any hint that he'd hurt her, but equally he'd never shown even the slightest inclination to have her for himself. Or any of the girls at the Elysium, for that matter and right up up until he hitched his toga and tunica up she had been embarrassed she had presumed. But what else could she do, to show her gratitude? Of all the men she knew in Rome, he had treated her the kindest, besides perhaps Wulfric. But he equally offered more to her than the handsome, sweet-natured German and deserved more of her in return. 

If you would. 

Her eyes flicked down and she blinked at what she saw. No, not that, but the scar which she'd clearly only seen half of before. Without thinking she let her small fingers trace its edges with feather softness, as if intrigued. Whoever the Roman God of virility was, he had clearly been looking down on Spurius the day the sword had swung at him - he had been inches from losing something far more precious to most men than a thigh muscle. His firm words made her glance up and she nodded hurriedly. "Of course. I promise, sir." Well...usually she would if Armenius or her past-dominus asked, but she resolved not to for Spurius. There was likely no way her present dominus would find out on his own and well...that was another way she could repay the debt she felt she was accumulating with the man sat in front of her. She would tell Armenius that the slaver had her, because he'd expect that truth and it would likely get back to him anyway if the guard was kept waiting much longer, but she'd keep the details of his maiming firmly to herself, and let Zeus strike her down if she didn't.

Still, Ione being Ione and useless at reading signals beyond clear instructions, she hesitated, unsure of what to do. They were in the tablinum in full view of the rest of the house and somewhere a little way off she could hear Cora singing. She didn't think the man in front of her seemed the sort to care to exhibit his more primal urges in full view of his staff, although then again maybe he thought so little of her and the act that he didn't care to move. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers still softly stroking his inner thigh and then asked quietly, but not unhappily at all; "Would you rather we go somewhere private? You can have me however you wish to." If he wanted more than just her hands or her mouth, she was not going to complain, tired as she was after the twins.

 

TAG: @Sarah

[Sarah]

As her fingers brushed the skin of his thigh, feather light, he drew a sharp breath, skin tingling. Of course she'd focused on the scar, but it was hard to miss. At least it had missed. She promised she wouldn't speak about the details of it, not that it was the scar itself that was the issue. She might have to say something at some point, just as he expected she would tell her dominus that she'd serviced him as well as his slaves. If she was bringing in more and better quality business, that should please her master and stand her in good stead. The fact that he'd use a prostitute would surprise few, unless they considered his stubborn celibacy a while; the only real surprise was that a man of his means would use one so cheap. But she'd been in his house a while and Spurius found himself comfortable with Ione in a way he wasn't with some random woman he might hire. The fact that she was almost pathetically grateful for what he gave her told him that she'd not risk displeasing him and losing it.

Despite her experience, she didn't seem eager to get started, in fact she was oddly hesitant. 

Would you rather we go somewhere private? You can have me however you wish to.

He snorted in amusement. Was she shy? There were plenty of whores who'd have a man up against a public wall if it meant a quick job and coin in their hand. Any lingering modesty only reaffirmed his conviction that Ione was ill suited for the work to which she was put. If she was worried about him, he wasn't. Slaves were as furniture, and whilst he was fond of his and kept them well, he expected them to be both selectively deaf and blind as required, and wasn't worried in the slightest about Cora's singing in the background. He'd heard it all his life, since she'd sung him to sleep as a baby. His father and older brother never understood why he 'd wanted his old nurse and tutor, when they'd have sold them off cheaply for being too old, but they'd been happy to let him take them. No, what held his attention right now was the gentle stroking of Ione's fingers across his thigh. He didn't want to move, he wanted her to touch him.

Perhaps it was simply that Ione herself got along with Cora, and didn't want to be seen at work. "Close the door then." He said with a nod to the doorway. "Use your mouth." He didn't really care, though he did laud her attempts at trying for a more extensive service and fee. He just wasn't in the mood for it. It was rare indeed that she'd got this close to him, but he was cautiously open to the idea that some of her services might be suitable for him too. "If you're good, I'll take you upstairs next week." He promised then. Whether he meant good as in well behaved or good at her job wasn't obvious, but he'd had few complaints yet. He could certainly afford to have her come for longer next time. 

Like most two-story domi, the sleeping quarters were upstairs. Ione had seen where the slaves slept, amongst the store rooms, but on the other side was what would normally be the family's private rooms. Except there was only Spurius. Right now though he was downstairs, tunic up, with a young woman crouched in front of him, her gentle touch arousing his interest more quickly than he'd expected.

@Sara

[Sara]

As he snorted in amusement, she winced (not that she could tell given her face was downcast), worried she'd displeased him. It was a gamble either way, to ask for privacy and not for the first time that day she wondered how the other girls in the Elysium had such natural instincts with men that they knew exactly what to say and what to do. Ione often floundered...she found it easiest with their usual sorts of clients, the slightly tipsy hard done by plebs who came in after an evening of drinking and wanted a quick fuck and to be on their merry way. Men like her dominus, and Spurius and even Wulfric to a certain extent - who treated her differently made her lose her conviction.

At his slew of instructions (clearly she hadn't offended him that much), she nodded and nimbly moved to stand, pacing the few steps to the heavy curtain which blocked off the view of the tablinum from the atrium and pulled it shut, although the side that faced the garden was still exposed. It would have to do. She turned back around to face him, a gentle smile on her lips. She moved the same fingers that had been trailing over his thigh softly a moment ago to the ties on her bony shoulders that held together the plain tunica she wore. On days she visited Spurius she forewent the gaudy togas that marked her out immediately as a prostitute. She fiddled for a few moments more before she'd successfully unknotted the bows and the flimsy garment pooled down at her feet. She wasn't ashamed of her nakedness, which given her otherwise reserved personality might have surprised people. She knew she couldn't compete with the almost artfully curved beauties that inhabited the Elysium but she was still a woman, and she generally found if she was naked the clients were more satisfied than less. Even if he didn't want to use all of her, she banked on Spurius enjoying the view at the very least.

She quickly moved back to her position from before, kneeling on the hard tiles in front of him and resumed the gentle touches that swept over his thigh, although this time one hand was joined by the other on the opposing side. She glanced up, the expression on her face warm and soft. In an unfortunate turn of fate, Ione felt most at home doing this. She felt comfortable at it, even.  She would never profess to be the best lover in the city and apparently the graffiti said as much but she was passable and at least she knew what to do now. Slowly, her hands moved from sweeping over the curve of his thighs to his member, moving her hands rhythmically around him for just a few moments before she took him in her mouth as directed. She stilled herself for a moment to allow him to acclimatise before she started on a sedate rhythm, her hands moving back to his thighs.

 

TAG: @Sarah

[Sarah]

At his instruction she jumped up quickly and drew the curtain across the accessway, giving them a modicum of privacy. He didn't expect they'd be very long, if she was any good. There was one way to find out. The smile she wore when she turned back was prettier than any makeup she could have applied; women often underestimated how attractive simply being happy to see them was to a man. And even if she was smiling because she was going to earn some extra coin, he didn't care. It was nice to be smiled at. Despite his usually gruff nature, he returned it faintly, brows rising slightly as she stripped of her tunica. Not really necessary for what he had in mind, but he appreciated the view of her slim form. Not voluptuous, indeed she was a little boney, but her skin was fair and unmarked save for the small scar on her collarbone. She was pretty. With the right artistry she might even be beautiful, and he let his gaze roam over her shape, her small breasts and slight rounding of her hips. He appreciated what he saw, and that faint smile showed it. As did certain other parts of his anatomy. 

As she knelt down and ran her hands over his thighs again he drew a deep breath and let out a sigh of enjoyment. Such a simple thing, and he hadn't realised how much he'd missed that kind of touch. She glanced up at him, and on impulse he reached out and stroked her hair gently, running his fingers around the side of her face and his thumb across her cheek. His smile turned almost fond. It was an oddly comfortable moment. 

She might not be the most natural prostitute but Ione clearly knew her business and, having got him suitably aroused, set her hands and then her mouth to his soldier, now standing firmly at attention. The sudden warmth and wetness of her mouth drew a sharp breath from Spurius; damn but she felt good. Her steady rhythm and hands on his thighs were more than effective, his breathing deepened as his excitement did. Gods he'd missed this. He moved his hands back to the arms of his chair to avoid to impulse to grab her head, instead let her do her work. As the tension built he let his head tilt back, giving a few soft, grunting moans on the last few strokes, before suddenly jerking forward as he came. It was a far more spectacular orgasm than when he saw to himself, and he paused there, leaning forward, breathing deeply and waited a moment for his vision to clear. Either she was good or he was very much in need of it, but either way he was more than satisfied. "Thank you." He said, after a couple of moments. Yes, it was her job, but he was feeling very satisfied right now. 

Leaning back in his chair again, Spurius smiled at Ione, naked and probably hoping for some water, and patted his thigh. "Come here." He said simply, wanting her to sit in his lap. 

@Sara

[Sara]

The tenderness of his touch as his thumb swept over the arch of her cheekbone, and the faint smile on his lips was almost more than she'd ever received from a client. She returned the smile before she returned to the task at hand, and what she had been trained to do. It was business as usual for her - much like a grocer sold his apples, a driver whipped his horses, Ione took the mans member into her mouth with all the routine efficiency of a professional. His reaction was heartening though - she'd been told, in no uncertain terms, that she needed to up her game but he didn't seem to share such a review judging by the way his hands gripped into the arms of his chair and the grunts of pleasure drifting past her ears.

She increased her pace gradually, drawing out as much pleasure as she could but it didn't take much longer before she could feel the telltale tightening of his thighs under her fingertips and with a guttural groan, he finished. Like a consummate professional she swallowed it down and then released him breathlessly, sitting back on her heels as they both tried to regain their senses. She instinctively moved to tuck her hair behind her ears and almost missed his thanks. She glanced up with a quizzical look but then the soft smile returned and had her cheeks not already been flushed from the exertion of her work, she would have blushed.

Instead, she gave an awkward little shrug and then nimbly pulled herself up to stand, slipping to sit on his good thigh, draping her legs over the bad one so most of her meagre weight was on his good side. Instinctively she looped one of her arms around his neck to stabilise herself, and moved her other hand up to softly trace the lines of his face in a tender touch that might be more suited to a girlfriend or a wife than a prostitute on the knee of a client, but Ione had always appreciated comfort, and Spurius - despite their odd, complex relationship - offered it to her in his own way. She couldn't help but shake off all of the ills the Elysium had done to her though, and she asked almost habitually; "Did I please you sir?" 

 

TAG: @Sarah

[Sarah]

Settling her bare weight onto his good leg - he did notice that consideration - Ione hooked her slim legs over his scarred one and looped an arm around his neck. The way she sat meant that he had one arm around her back, and he brought his other around to linked his hands across her hip, shifting her gently into a slightly more comfortable position. She surprised him then by lifting a hand to his face and tracing the lean angles of his cheek. It was a wonderfully gentle touch.

Did I please you sir?

He gave her a faint, wry smile. "You did." He assured her, looking at her face up close for the first time. Her eyes were an unusually dark blue, he realised. She usually kept them downcast - as a good slave should - and he'd assumed they were brown. Shifting a hand to her shoulder, he puller her gently to him, to encourage her to lean against his chest. Feeling relaxed in the afterglow, he wanted to hold her, enjoy the comfort of a woman in his arms, and perhaps imagine that she was Antonia and they'd been married for fifteen years. She wasn't of course, she was some bony, cheap whore from a nasty brothel. But somehow she was also more than that.

How on earth had he managed to end up with her in his lap? Perhaps she was better at her job than he gave her credit for. Right now it didn't matter. Right now he had her here, in his arms, warm and light, her bare skin against his chest and leg, her washed hair against his chin, and it felt good. He decided that there didn't need to be more to it than that.

Eventually he gave her an unceremonious pat on the bum. "Up you get."He said bluntly. "It's time you were going." She'd be missed otherwise. "Have a sip of wine if you want. I'll see that your guard is paid for your extra time." That was only fair he thought, as he indicated the cup on his desk. He watched her thoughtfully as she dressed. "I want you up here for longer, next week. I'll take you upstairs." He had promised he would, if she was good. And she was good.

The he reached into his pouch and pulled out two dupondii, which he offered over one at a time. "This one is for your coin jar." He told her quietly. "And this one is to go to the baths and get a massage lesson." He figured he could definitely benefit from that investment. "You did well, but you always learn more."

An hour ago his leg had been killing him and he'd been in a foul mood. Now his leg felt much better and he was in a far better mood. Who'd have thought? She surprised him.

@Sara

[Sara]

She smiled in genuine pleasure as he affirmed she'd done a good job. She often had poor reviews, not dissatisfied customers per se but criticisms generally around her looks or her apparent lack of an enthusiasm. She'd never been a consummate actress and when being bent over the bed, it was difficult for her to summon much energy to moan or groan in pleasure. At his urging she curled against his chest, enjoying the feeling of his hand stroking the soft skin of her side, of her back as her own fingers traced the  high arch of his cheekbones before settling to fiddle with the collar of tunica. 

And then it was over and she fluttered open those dark blue eyes and hurriedly jumped off of his lap onto wobbling legs. Servicing three men in one afternoon, even though one was just using her mouth, had wrung her out. She was about to suggest bringing another girl next week to see to the twins whilst she saw to Spurius himself, but decided against being that presumptive. Besides, Spurius himself had been easy enough to please and the twins were far more languorous and relaxed than they had been those frenetic first few times. 

She took a sip of wine as directed and sighed in contentment; it was rich and sweet and felt like heaven to her dry throat and then she quickly moved to dress, pulling the tunica back up over her body, tugging it over the curve of her hips before she set nimble fingers to fastening bows at her shoulders. She watched with wide eyes as he pulled out coins, thinking to herself that her mouth cost more than she thought - but then he explained these were for her alone. She bit her lip. Her dominus would expect her to give over any coins to him. He owned her, so ergo he owned her earnings but his quiet instruction was enough for to think again. She'd give him one of them, and explain Spurius wanted her to learn massage. The other she'd secret away although the thought made her heart hammer in her chest.

"Thank you." She said genuinely as her hands brushed his to take the coins. "I...mean it. Thank you." She said it with such earnestness it might be considered pathetic. She flicked her eyes up to catch his just for a moment, the smile on her face genuine. "I'll see you next week sir." Maybe she'd even convince Armenius to let her buy a new dress for the occasion? 

As she quietly padded out and through to the atrium - earning a quizzical look from her guard - she felt lighter than she had done in months. What an odd turn of events.

 

TAG: @Sarah