Mina faces the truth

"I do not know your name," Mina said to me.

She keeps my rented room clean. Spotless, actually. I think she is probably useless as a serving slave in a rough tavern situated on a nameless canal in Port Kar. It would explain why the Tavern Master sends her to my room as often as he does. I suppose it could be recompense for the use of Tasta on the tavern floor. More than once she has quelled the notion of violence with little more than a twitch of her tail and the deep tones of her impatient growl. Of course, my room is already discounted to take into account the use of the sleen. I am not offended by the girl's constant presence, and she is learning to row the small, green boat well enough to avoid my belt across her ass on most days. Why should I pull an oar when there is a perfectly apt beast called Mina to do so for me?

"Would Mina like the privilege of addressing me by my name?" I asked.

She paused, on the alert for a misstep, but answered truthfully, "I would like the privilege of knowing my Master's name and, if he deemed it acceptable, the privilege of addressing him by name. Yes," she said.

Huh.

"I am not your Master," I answered her. "At least in legal terms."

"But..." she said.

"But, I have used you. I have put you to my pleasure. Beaten you as I found it necessary, or enjoyable to do so," I said, anticipating her objection.

"Yes," she said, her chin down, flaming with a genuine embarrassment. Silly girl.

"You are not branded," I pointed out. "You do not wear my collar. Or any collar," I said.

"I am kept here, put to work," she argued.

"There is little doubt you are a slave," I shrugged. "You belong to the Tavern Master. You do not belong to me."

"I do not want to be a slave," she said.

"It did not occur to me to ask your preference in the matter," I answered. "I do not think it occurred to the Tavern Master to find out what the Lady Philomena wanted when she was sold to him."

"I was sold," she said. It was a confirmation of what I said more than a question or a denial. Her curious tone was due to the fact that she had never said the words aloud to herself.

"That is true," I nodded.

"I am property," she said.

"A thing that may be bought, sold, put to the purposes of another," I added.

"Why do you say it like that?" she asked. "'Put to the purposes of another,'" she said, brows knitting.

"Be pleased you have a purpose," I said. "Be pleased that you are not entirely useless."

"Have I pleased you?" she asked.

"Slut," I said. "That is the query of a slave. Mina does not want to be a slave."

"She has no choice," Mina answered, her voice lowered to a whisper.

"You wished to know if I am pleased with your service?" I asked.

"Yes," she stammered.

"My room is cleaned each day," I answered. "If I leave clothing on the floor, it is laundered and folded before I return. This pleases me."

"Oh," she said.

"Mina wishes to know if she pleases me in other, more physical ways?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said, tugging at the hem of her skirt shyly. It was little more than a bar rag. It might have actually been a bar rag.

"Yes," I answered. "You have learned to row the small, green boat well enough not to be whipped every day."

"Master!" she exclaimed. "Do not tease me. Please!"

"What do you wish to know, Mina?" I asked.

"Am I any good?" she said.

"You are good enough," I answered truthfully.

"Good enough?" she asked. "But you...you...you exert yourself well, and at length with me. You...you...you finish in me!?" she added, her blush furious from the apple of her cheeks to the cradle of her bosom. "You make me feel things. Shameful things. Unspeakable things!"

"You juice well. And you are an eager, little lay," I said to her. These things were true.

"Please do not say such things, Master," she begged.

"You are juicing right now, Mina," I said.

"Master!" she cried.

"You are hoping I throw you to your belly," I said. "You are hoping I rape you."

"Yes!" she said angrily. "Yes! I am hoping you rape me! I am hoping you put me to your purposes! I am hoping you exert yourself well and at length with me! I am hoping you finish in me!"

"Slut," I laughed.

"Master!" she cried again. "I have admitted all to you! Everything! I am an eager, little lay. I am juicing! I am hoping you rape me! What more do you want from me?!"

"Beg," I said.

Pride & Potential

"For pride," I answered her as her fingers traced lightly over the scar bisecting my abdomen. "A man wanted something of mine that I was unwilling to part with."

From her knees, she turned her gaze upward to meet my eyes. Her idle hand grasped me intimately, stroking lightly. "A girl?" she asked.

"In fact, yes," I answered, combing my fingers through her hair. I stared at her bare ass over her shoulders, the way it settled on her heels, in an objectifying manner as we spoke. Mina's backside was not without interest. It was, truthfully, very interesting to me.

"You must have cared deeply for her, Master," she said. She took a breath, trying to calm her nerves. She then closed her eyes and tentatively kissed my aroused flesh.

"She was only a girl," I answered. "Petty, manipulative. A slut. Perhaps if the fellow asked for her politely, I would have given him a good price."

"You would have sold..." she started, her tone incredulous. Her sentence was cut short as I pulled her forward by the back of the head, her forehead pressed firm to my abdomen. She moaned, forgetting her question. I admit it made my knees buckle. It had been months since the last time I used a woman.

___

Several ahns later, I was at the basin of my rented room washing my face. Mina was curled up beside my couch, shackled and chained at her left ankle. Nude, with the tunic I wore the day prior draped over her hip, her arms were crossed before her, and her knees were drawn together modestly.

"You used me," she said, her breath shallow. It was very nearly an accusation.

"That is true," I answered, turning to face her as I patted my face dry with a towel.

"You did not ask my permission," she said. "You simply put me to your pleasure."

"That, too, pretty Mina, is true," I said.

"I suppose you will tell me that is what a woman is good for," she said ruefully.

"Actually," I said, "you were not very good at all."

"Master?" she asked, not sure she understood. Was her use not a prize, a treasure that I helped myself to?

"You possess certain potentialities," I granted. "All women, by their nature, have potential."

"Potential for what, precisely, Master?" she asked.

I took my tunic from her hip and slipped it on. I unchained her from the floor.

"Clean my room, Mina," I said, and then left for the day.

Mina goes to market

"You look uncomfortable, pretty Mina," I said

"Master knows well how to beat a girl," she answered, tugging the single oar through the murky water with a decided lack of grace.

I shrugged, indicating she should do her best to navigate into a side canal on her right. She was speaking with proper deference to me today, but her tone still had an edge of insolence. I found it charming, provided she did not push it too far. She was rowing in the stern of my small, green boat. I was in the bow, relaxing and enjoying the view. That view, by the way, was enhanced by the fact that Mina found it difficult to keep her curvy backside still on the bench. She squirmed and attempted to sit on one side of it, then the other. Two days ago, I whipped her. Partly for her attitude, but mostly to satisfy my curiosity. I was beginning to think Mina was not entirely without interest. Staring at a nice ass can be enough to accomplish some days, and consider oneself productive. Not every day, but now and again. Still, I thought it prudent to offer the girl constructive criticism.

"You are not very good at navigating a small boat," I offered. Alright, it was not entirely constructive.

"I am not meant for this sort of thing!" she answered as she dunked the oar and it yanked her sideways. She nearly fell backward off of the bench, but I was feeling charitable, and thoughtfully lifted my sandaled foot between her shoulders.

"In the future, if you would prefer, I can leave you back at the Tavern to empty piss pots and wash dishes," I offered. You see. Charitable.

"No!" she said quickly, and then composed herself. She even tried to smile a bit.

"Your rowing will have to improve, of course," I amended. "Have I mentioned that you are not very good?"

"Yes, Master," she nodded, bringing the oar from the left side of the boat to the right, doing her best to push us through the water.

"If we are not at the market soon," I mentioned, "the best peaches will have been sold."

Lady Philomena

"I am sent to clean your room," the girl's voice came from the doorway of my rented room.

I had just awoken moments ago, washed my face in the basin. I was watching the last of the Tavern Master's patrons stumble out onto the dock, grimacing at the rising sun's reflection of the canal's murky waters. The noise of the establishment below does not bother me, nor interfere with my ability to sleep. Not much, at any rate.

"Pardon me," the girl said, trying to get my attention. "I am sent to clean your room."

I was watching a man rubbing the side of his head, trying to remember where he might have tied his boat as he cast his gaze left and right. He waved cheerfully at me, forgetting his dilemma for the moment.

"You do not seem overjoyed with the prospect of cleaning my room," I pointed out to the girl, turning from the window to regard her.

She seemed comely enough, if a bit lax in her calisthenic regimen. Her hair was brownish, tied up in a rag. Her garment was a slip, the hem rudely cut so it laid high on her thighs. She blushed as I considered her thighs, trying her best to hold them tightly together.

"Of course I am not overjoyed with the prospect of cleaning your room!" she bellowed.

I glanced up, fairly surprised that she would take that tone with me. Her eyes were brown, a similar shade to her hair, and they were wide with anger and, I thought, trepidation at her lapse in discipline.

"Is such a thing below your station?" I asked, rather generously not pointing out the beating she now richly deserved. "Are you not a slave girl?"

"Slave girl?!" she exclaimed. "Slave girl?! No I am not a slave girl!"

I nodded, pointing out a fact. "You are not wearing a collar," I said. "And the hem of your tastefully altered garment is high enough that I am able to discern the lack of a brand."

As I glanced to her bare thigh, and her muchly exposed hip, she made an effort to tug the frayed hem down. Of course, this only exposed her lovely cleavage further. My expression must have been one that indicated I was at least marginally impressed, as she began to blush from her cheeks to her throat.

"Indeed," she said hoarsely, trying to clear her throat. "I am here under duress, forced by that brute of a man to clean the rooms of renters!"

"I am the only tenant," I pointed out helpfully.

"There is that," she nodded, accepting that her fate, while dire, needn't be exaggerated.

"Shall I make haste to the Tavern Master and request an audience?" I asked. "Perhaps I can enlighten him to his obvious mistake, illuminate him to the absence of a brand on your thigh or a collar about your throat."

I saw her tense, her shoulders squaring and her fists clenching. Her brow furrowed in anger. "You are mocking me."

"Yes," I admitted. "I could commence with your beating, if you'd prefer."

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened, the words failing her for a moment.

"Of course, that would delay the cleaning of my room," I pointed out to her.

"You, too, would beat me?" she asked, her tone quite a bit less indignant.

"The Tavern Master beat you?" I asked.

"Yes,"she said, her eyes a bit wet, but tears not yet imminent. "For no reason! No reason at all!"

"That is not true," I pointed out. "New slaves are commonly whipped when they cross the threshold of their master's domicile for the first time. It encourages discipline."

"I am not a slave," she said firmly, some of that indignant tone returning to her voice.

"My apologies," I said. "Lady?"

"Philomena," she answered. "Lady Philomena of Ko-ro-ba."

"Are you the one the Tavern Master refer to as Mina?" I asked, already certain of the answer.

She had a disgusted look on her face, but I noted her nipples were firm beneath the flimsy slip. It did not seem to be chilly in my room, but that is a subjective observation. I wondered, for the first time, how she might look nude, if the indolence of a free existence had made her completely without interest.

"Yes!" she said. "The brute calls me Mina! Mina! It is the name of a slave!"

Apparently, this was a point of contention between her and the Tavern Master.

"It is a lovely name," I pointed out. "Lyrical, even. And it recalls your given name cleverly."

"I am sent to clean your room," she said, her teeth clenched. Her anger confounded me. Were we not having a pleasant conversation?

"How did you come to be a servant in this tavern?" I asked her.

This seemed to buoy her. Would I listen to her story? Truly listen? Maybe there was hope for her after all. She was not branded. Yet. Her throat was not encased in steel. Yet. If she changed her tone, spoke more pleasantly, I might be consigned to her cause.

"Sir," she started. "I was arranged to be the companion of Samos, Master of the House of Samos."

"I was under the impression that Port Kar did not recognize free companionships," I interjected. "Are not free women here referred to as the 'women of their men?'"

"Yes, sir," she nodded. "I was to be the woman of Samos. My father arranged for this in order to seal a friendship with him."

"A friendship?" I asked.

"Indeed," she nodded hopefully.

I stroked my chin, letting my fingers cover my mouth that she would not detect the smile.

"And when you arrived in Port Kar, what occurred?" I asked.

"We gained entrance to the House of Samos, where I was received in a rather unimpressive room for such a grand residence," she said. "Papers were signed, men spoke amongst themselves as I waited, and then..."

"And then?" I prodded.

"I was put in shackles!" she exclaimed. "And gagged with my own veils!"

"No!" I exclaimed facetiously.

"Yes!" she averred. "It was terrible. I was thrown, robes and all, my wrists behind my back, into a hay wagon!"

"And then?" I asked, my best incredulous look.

"I was offloaded into a boat, a small dinghy!" she said. "And put beneath a man's feet as he rowed! He showed no concern for my discomfiture!"

"The rogue!" I said back to her, barely able to contain my laughter. "What then?"

"I was brought here! Of all places!" she said. "This is not the House of Samos! I am the woman of Samos! Lady Philomena of Ko-roba!"

I took a breath, and smiled. I suppose my smile was a bit condescending, but there was no reason to apologize for that. She was not due better.

"Are you finished now?" I asked her.

"Finished? Finished?!" she asked, clearly surprised. "Are you not prepared to liberate me, to come to my succor?"

"Do not be silly, Mina." I said to her. "You will clean my room. Later, when you have finished, I will beat you for your insolence."

Thoughts

Early and often, I have paid the penalty of passion and the price of dignity

The ego-driven presumption, assumption, and the outright lies we tell ourselves

Our own self-deception, projected perception, and well-weighted opinions

Of our lives, of our ambitions, of our prowess and our possessive positions

Is it such a scandal, such an elusive notion that a man's wishes exceed his grasp?

And what of the unlikely event, upon reaching that uncharted horizon

Where heretofore unimagined circumstance alights, and he steps foot on that isle

While the doubtful, the scornful, the meek, and the mundane shake their fists?

Living a life in full, an existence unbound, a vision unfettered by blinds

Demands the seeker of fates and friction, unlimited faith in the frisson

Fear hath no hearth and home in the heart of the hero, if such melodrama applies

It flies in the face of his unconventional ignorance, a wisdom of sorts

Cut me, and I bleed. Red and full, in a dilution that stains and cleanses in one stroke

The scars external, can never match the rending of the soul, the un-mended whole

What is fierce, is yet fragile. Agile, existing on solace over feckless adoration

We are all an island, a city, a state, a nation of one - until our penultimate breath