A Girl At My Door
A little something, a mere nothing really, was knelt on the stones of Aulus Street outside the gate of Samsara yesterday afternoon. As I approached the House, I paused to speak with the Watch Captain of the District. There was really no need to hurry. She could wait. She was only a girl.
"Pretty little thing," I said to him.
He scoffed, "Gah. Woman's slave."
"Oh, I don't know," I countered. "She is female. Perhaps a bit under-utilized, but that is nothing I would hold against her."
"Yes," he said, starting to break a smile. "I know precisely what I would hold against her."
"Really," I responded, as if scandalized. "That, good sir, is a Lady's hand maiden."
"You have convinced me otherwise," he answered.
"Oh. Right then," I nodded. "Pretty little thing."
"Indeed," he said. "And she has a message for you."
"So I see," I answered, taking note of the scroll she clutched lightly in her hand.
I left the Watch Captain to his rounds. The girl did her level best not to glance up past my chin as I approached her. Lady's slaves, hand maidens, kettle girls and the like are often shy things. 'Unter-utilized,' I had said to the other fellow. That about summed it up. I would say stagnant, but it seems like a harsh word. One wants to convey that such a girl has had her development halted, that she is making little progress on her career as a luscious, imbonded female. That is not to say that this one did not have the potenial to be perfectly lovely. When I hauled her to her feet, she gasped appropriately. Her utterance of surprise did not lack a pleasant tone. When I slapped her flank or pinched her ass, she squirmed as well as I might have hoped for a girl assigned the lot she's been assigned, perhaps a bit better. The quiet moan, of course, would have been decidedly unacceptable to most mistresses. I had the impression that should I have dropped her to her hands and knees, she would have endeavored to make me forget her station. She would likely have failed in that endeavor, of course, but the tell-tale way her thighs rubbed against one another as I held her upper arm firmly in my grip told me it would not have been from a lack of trying. My guess is she would have begged the opportunity to try as many times as it took to get it right. It was not to be her day, however. After relaying my reply to the scroll to her, I lifted the hem of her garment and slapped her again to send her on her way. She did not attempt to lower the hem of her garment over the curve of her reddening backside as she hurried off. I cannot be certain, but I think she may even have been holding it up purposely.
Cheeky hand maiden.
"Pretty little thing," I said to him.
He scoffed, "Gah. Woman's slave."
"Oh, I don't know," I countered. "She is female. Perhaps a bit under-utilized, but that is nothing I would hold against her."
"Yes," he said, starting to break a smile. "I know precisely what I would hold against her."
"Really," I responded, as if scandalized. "That, good sir, is a Lady's hand maiden."
"You have convinced me otherwise," he answered.
"Oh. Right then," I nodded. "Pretty little thing."
"Indeed," he said. "And she has a message for you."
"So I see," I answered, taking note of the scroll she clutched lightly in her hand.
I left the Watch Captain to his rounds. The girl did her level best not to glance up past my chin as I approached her. Lady's slaves, hand maidens, kettle girls and the like are often shy things. 'Unter-utilized,' I had said to the other fellow. That about summed it up. I would say stagnant, but it seems like a harsh word. One wants to convey that such a girl has had her development halted, that she is making little progress on her career as a luscious, imbonded female. That is not to say that this one did not have the potenial to be perfectly lovely. When I hauled her to her feet, she gasped appropriately. Her utterance of surprise did not lack a pleasant tone. When I slapped her flank or pinched her ass, she squirmed as well as I might have hoped for a girl assigned the lot she's been assigned, perhaps a bit better. The quiet moan, of course, would have been decidedly unacceptable to most mistresses. I had the impression that should I have dropped her to her hands and knees, she would have endeavored to make me forget her station. She would likely have failed in that endeavor, of course, but the tell-tale way her thighs rubbed against one another as I held her upper arm firmly in my grip told me it would not have been from a lack of trying. My guess is she would have begged the opportunity to try as many times as it took to get it right. It was not to be her day, however. After relaying my reply to the scroll to her, I lifted the hem of her garment and slapped her again to send her on her way. She did not attempt to lower the hem of her garment over the curve of her reddening backside as she hurried off. I cannot be certain, but I think she may even have been holding it up purposely.
Cheeky hand maiden.
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