Part 1 - What Happens in the Inn (1-9)

1 - What Happens in the Inn

I remember my childhood, father was a leather worker. He abandoned mother and me, some saying he travelled to Port Kar to join with Bosk. Mother was taken as part payment for my father's Debts. I can still hear her screaming, as she was being forced to submit, "Run Tay, for love of the Priest Kings, run!".

Climbing through the small window at the back of our shop, I made my escape. Maybe a scrawny little 12 year old was of little value, but no real effort was made to catch me.

Wondering lost a friendless until taken by a band of She-Urts and used as their slave, teaching me to rummage and steal for them.

When I was barely 13 years old they traded my virginity at a small dockside tavern for two botas of cheap wine and scavenging rights.

Stripped, my head bagged, I was past around between three men - too frail to resist - I was their plaything and sorely abused. Thrown out as garbage next morning; my thighs soiled and bloodied.

I Take a Wee
Rumours are about that a cull is imminent, all us she urts are on edge and bitchy. Disagreements over the merest food scrap or supposed injustices break into cat fights between the girls or rival bands.

Paga attendants, who usually trade scavenging rights, have withdrawn. They fear the guardsmen. Only the foolish amongst us venture into the city streets. The rest seek security in the labyrinth of alley ways, competing with the furry gutter urts to feed on the meagre pickings of kitchen refuge and drinking from open water drains.

The word has come that the Paga attendant, at a small backstreet tavern, will trade garbage rights; it is irresistible, we are starving.

He lets us feed first before extracting his dues. The troughs are in the corner of a high walled courtyard at the back of the inn.

We scavenge and scour at the contents, some girls so deep within the barrels all you can see is their kicking legs.

I am taking a pee in a little alleyway when the screaming starts ...

A Plea for Help
The Guardsmen's nets have snared my five sister and the fury with which they fight against them sorely occupy the three guardsmen, as they attempt to subdue and bind the hissing, scratching and biting mass of enraged females.

I edge along the wall behind flurry towards a doorway, barely able to breath. I am nearly there...
"Hey YOU!"

With a scream I throw myself at the door; there is a yelp and the smashing of crockery as a paga girl sprawls across the floor, her paga sloshing about her ....

My forward flight is abruptly halted by the portly belly of a huge male, the Inn keeper.

Staring up into his surprised eyes, I know I am in real trouble. It is against the law for a free woman to enter a Paga Inn without being accompanied by a free male.

I sink to my knees, like a slave fawning at his feet. “Help me – oh please help” I sob.

His burly hands grabbed me under the arms, dragging me upwards.

“Get up! Get up! Don’t degrade yourself even further” his voice is husky and authoritive.

What Happens in the Inn
Holding me at arms length, as if a plaintive rag doll and, so all can hear, he commands me “Submit!”

A deadly silence, the flavoured of poised expectancy; it is as if time is no more.

“N N. No!” I wail, horrified.

The whole Inn explodes in raucous laughter and shoulder slapping.

“Hmm .. I thought not” the Inn keeper says gruffly and, with a broad smile wrapping his huge arms around me pulling me, like a child, to his chest.

“Oh my God!” he cries, abruptly holding me back at arms length. “She stinks!”

Once more the laughter erupts then dissipates as guardsmen enter.

The Inn Keeper gestures two slaves who whisk me, half dragging, half running, towards a back room – “And clean her …” he commands in a low growl.

The musicians start, the yellow silked pleasure slave recommences her dance mid-movement and the inn immediately seems to return to its business as usual ambience.

I am Submerged
The room is dank, humid and smoky. Shafts of light cut through the atmosphere from the narrow grill in the ceiling running the length of the far wall. An eerie orange flicker fills the space from the corner fire upon which stands a caldron of boiling water. In the opposite corner sit three baskets of soiled clothing sorted as whites, colours and silks. Upon the smooth stone floor at centre of the room stands a chest high barrel bath filled high with steaming liquid on which floats islands of soap froth. Against the barrel, a low foot stool.

“They Come! Quickly Vula!” The slave Carla hisses, rising from her kneeling position near the arched opening to the room.

I feel Vula, the second slave, start to strip my rags from me; indignantly I grasp at them.

”Stop that slave!” I demand, but Carla also is upon me now and both forcefully strip off the rags and manhandle me into the barrel.

The water is unbearably hot. I gasp but, before given chance to voice my anger, am pushed under.

A slave is punished my rags are burnt
Bewildered by the intense heat, I cannot think. I become aware that soil clothing now float and swirl about me.

Gaining my senses I am angry - then hear muffled sounds of male voices resonating through the barrel.

Gradually, lifting my head above the water, sufficient to hear through wet ballooning fabric that surrounds me.

“Don’t! Don’t… Master”. It is Carla.

“Don’t!” A male voice shouts. He is angry and very close.

“You dare to order a Master!” loud ‘slap!’

“Oh!”

“This girl is sorry Master. Master might have scalded his hand.” It was Carla’s frightened voice.

Another cuffing slap sounds

“I can have you whipped for that.”

....

I stand my skin is aching and tender; from the corner of my eye I see the fire flare - the smell of burning cloth sear at my nostrils. Carla is silent busying herself removing the clothing from the barrel. I turn to look for Vula ...

Touch Therapy
Suddenly I am awash in cold water that cascading over my head and, like fingers of icicles, claw and bite at the tenderness of my skin.

"Ah! You Beast!" my anger erupts - both slaves freeze - Carla at the barrel edge and the Vula standing along side me on the foot stool, an empty bucket in her hand. Momentarily we all stared at each other Carla I notice has a nasty welt across her cheek...

The slaves abruptly kneel their heads down in submission. I say nothing - they look up at me the fear reflected in their eyes. Oh I have seen that look before and experience its reasoning. Breathing deeply to calm myself and, not knowing why, playfully flick water over their backs.

In an instant the tension leaves and we are three giggling playful females. Vula scrubs and scrapes my back while Carla washed my belly - the scrubbing is hard yet playful. Carla's fingers play upon my thighs. She smiles knowingly at my reaction - the pleasure of the touching sinks through to my very being - my back arches.

A Mistress again
Climbing from the bath Vula slaps my butt and giggles.

A rug is unfurled and, while Carla leaves the room, I lay belly down as Vula massages and coating my body with fine oils - I have never before experienced such sensations and glorious aromas.

Returning, Carla brings a neatly folded, clean white sleaved camisk.

I am encouraged to stand and Carla pulls the camisk over my head - it is slave clothing, but the crispness and flowing touch of the fabric gliding across my skin is sensual, arousing and far superior the scant rags I arrived in.

Beneath the camisk the girls work a length of silk that covers my inner thighs and wraps around my waist - such garments are seldom permitted slaves and, in a small way, it symbolises my free status. A silken rope about my waist tight enough to enhance my body shape and I am complete.

The girls kneel, tower posture, before me once again serious and in submission.
"The mistress is clean." Carla observes, bowing her head.

The Kennels
For two weeks now I have worked in the kitchen and slept in the kennels with the slaves - not chained on a ground of rough straw, but on a small bunk in one corner.

Initially I felt angry, humiliated and demanded the slaves treat me with the respect due to a Free; over compensating for the feeling that the Frees treated me with less respect than the slaves.

It took only a few days to realise that I was the intruder. In the kennels I became just Tay, not Mistress, not Lady Tay.

This was their domain. Carla was first girl and mother hen. A very strict mother hen. It soon became obvious that I was as much one of her charges as any of the slaves.

Carla is a pleasure slave trained in Ar. She is the longest serving of the inn. Turnover of slaves is frequent; the Inn Keeper always tries to keep fresh meat on the table for his customers. Carla's expertise and popularity with customers and slaves alike, gives her extra value.

To be continued