Archive for the ‘Roleplay’ Category
Weeding the corn field
Tuesday, June 14th, 2011[2011-06-13 02:36:22] Helen stands before the tall stands of corn, and her brow knits with concern as she casts an eye over the field. “The weeds, all those weeds, they will overrun the corn that we so badly need.” she exclaims.
[2011-06-13 02:42:42] Helen spits on her hands and rubs them together, just like she saw her father do when she was a little girl back on earth before he had a hard task to do. Helen picks up the spade and moves to the end of the first row. She balances on her tight foot, the left of the edge of the spade and shoves her weight down. The spade sinks into the soil, she lifts and turns it, with ease. “This isn’t going to be too bad after all.”
[2011-06-13 02:43:16] Helen: right foot, the left on the edge*
[2011-06-13 02:48:01] Helen builds up a rhythmic movement, as she makes her way down the corn row; shove, lift, turn, drop, step, shove, lift, turn, drop, step. On and on she worked, and it was not until she reached the end of the row and stood up straight to turn did she feel her back complain. “Ouch.” she uttered. And she arched her back, relieving the muscle strain, her shoulders back, her tummy forward, her hips back, and held the pose for a few seconds. Helen was not used to this hard manual labour.
[2011-06-13 02:53:02] Helen went up and down the rows, methodically working away, progressing from left to right across the corn field. Now, not only did her back hurt, but her hands, her poor soft hands stung as she gripped the handle of the spade. Blisters! Oh, how will these hands give pleasure again? Blistered, calloused hands are not what she needs. Nevertheless, she did not stray from the task. These weeds have to go, and she carried on with determination.
[2011-06-13 02:57:08] Helen completed the digging, tapped the dirt free from the face of the spade and returned it to lean against the fence where she found it. The field looked good, the rich soil turned, the roots of the corn not disturbed, but now free of the nutrient sapping weeds. All that was needed now was a scarecrow, but hen again, had she seen crows here on Landa, or Gor, for that matter? And with that thought, of scarecrows, she went back to the kennels, sore but satisfied.
by Helen, HoY slave
What is a slave to do?
Tuesday, June 14th, 2011As a slave there is no more fundamental law then obeying a Free. Our answer is “Yes, Master”, or Mistress as the case may be, never is our answer “no” when a command is given to us. This gives rise to some conflicts and issues that I have come across. What does a slave do when a Free gives them a command that goes against an order from their Owner or another Free responsible for them?
It happens all the time, in small ways and large and to the Free it is not something they concern themselves with, but to a slave it is a situation fraught with peril. We know that we will be disappointing someone and one the other hand a punishment most likely awaits.
Just such a situation arose recently for me. A meeting was to take place in the city, and after delivering a basket of delicacies I was ordered away by a Master until after the meeting was concluded. A simple order to comply with, so I took myself off and left to attend to some chores. As I was leaving I paused at the entrance of the building to greet other kajirae, while we were greeting a different Master arrived. He gave each of us an assignment, and after giving me mine turned and made his way to the meeting.
What should a slave do in such a situation?
There are two ways, essentially, a slave can handle these times when they happen to you, because if it hasn’t happened to you, can be assured it will at some point:
You can insist that you have other orders and refuse.
You can go along with it.
Keep in mind that while the Free are not always right, they are never wrong, and so the first option may not be your best option. It is possible to beg out of something while causing the minimum offense. She can beg for permission to explain that she has orders to be away, in the instance describe above, with the knowledge that the Master may still tell her to attend to his order. It is always wise to speak with your Owners about how you should handle just such a situation when it arises.
For myself, I said, “Yes, Master.” and went about my assigned role. The Master and I had a talk about it, this article is the result of that discussion.
Bear in mind that there will be times when there simply is no right answer for you. All that we can do as a slave is beg forgiveness and take our punishment with dignity and grace and learn from it. Learning from it does not mean that we are mistreated. They are Free, we are slave and as such have no rights to fair treatment. So whether you are a slave in character or are one in character and out, a kajira always strives to better themselves for their Owner.
There is no right answer, other than to never say “no” to a Free. In my situation, I said “yes, Master.” and prepared my assignment. Nothing was served at this meeting, but the question was raised to me, how does a kajira handle conflicting orders. When it comes up for you, how do you?
by kadri
Massage
Friday, May 20th, 2011
[13:23] Helen Harbrough kneels down beside him her knees just touching his side, and smothered a generous amount of oil on her hands. “I’ll warm ny hands, my Master.”, she said softly, a touch nervous.
[13:25] Helen Harbrough drew in a deep breath and relaxed. She didn’t want him to pick up any tension in her touch. She layed her hands on his back and slowly massaged, his skin so smooth, albeit a bit scarred, under her touch.
[13:26] Helen Harbrough increased the pressure, her fingers kneading the firm muscles underneath, and she worked lower.
[13:31] Helen Harbrough raised her hand and undid the ties, and skipped the camisk off over her head, tugging it slightly as it passed over her shoulders, and her breasts bounced.. She placed it carefully to the side, “Yes, my Master.”
[13:32] Helen Harbrough dipped her hand into the pot for some more perfumed oil. The aromas wafting in the air about them. There was no friction as her oiled tiny hands glided over the skin, circling around and around.
[13:36] Helen Harbrough: smiles as he looked at her. She liked being under his gaze, it make her feel good. The palms of her hands made long strokes down the length of his back, and circled around his buttocks, and back again to the broard shoulders. She worked away, her whole body moving over her shoulders, the pressure of her touch increased.
[13:38] Helen Harbrough she went lower, her hands passing in unison over his buttocks to the top of his thighs, fingers spread and massaging, slowly, deeply.
Starring: Helen, HoY slave
Feather prepares a meal for her Master and the Free of Landa
Monday, May 2nd, 2011
Feather gets busy and prepares a meal for her Master and the Free of Landa, bosk stew and corn muffins with a dessert of larma dumplings.
Tears the bosk meat into bite size chunks since she is not allowed a knife to cut it up. Asks the kitchen Master to please cut up some suls and turnips in bite size pieces…promising him exquisite pleasures later in the evening before he heads to bed. She then breaks some carrots up and peels an onion, tearing it into strips. She browns the chunks of meat in bosk butter and onions, then adds water and lightly salts the mixture before adding in the vegetables. Sets the large kettle on the hearth to cook for a few ahn while she prepares the rest.
Mixes the corn meal with a bit of flour, two vulo eggs, and some soured bosk milk. Dollops it out into a pan and places them into the oven to bake while she prepares the larma dumplings.
Feather mixes a few cups of flour with some bosk lard…kneading and punching it until it is completely mixed together. Rolls it into a large ball…then takes a large empty goblet and rolls out the dough into a large flat 1/4 inch piece. gathers up the larma bites that she also had the kitchen Master to cut up…pinching off a piece of the dough and wrapping up a piece of the larma inside. she does this until all the dough is used up then puts on a large kettle of water…sweetened with sugar and a bit of kalana…then drops the rest of the larma into the water and cooks it on the hearth until all the larma has disolved into mush. watches the steam roll out of the kettle, she then drops the larma doughballs into the hot mixture and allows them to cook for a few ehn before taking the kettle off the hearth and setting it aside so the mixture will thicken as it cools.
Sprinkles a little flour into the stew to thicken the gravy…smiling as she smells the savory combination of bosk meat and veggies. Pushes the kettle over to a lower part of the hearth fire just so it will stay warm, then takes out the perfectly browned muffins from the oven…placing them into a basket.
Feather then asks one of the kitchen slaves that can write Gorean to pen a note to her Master of the duties she has done and hopes the food is pleasing to Him and the Free of Landa.
Feather (Rilua Nightfire)
Massage
Thursday, April 28th, 2011
[02:48] Eykis Benoir while he began to remove his clothing, slipped to fetch the flask of almond oil, the base to which she would add just a little lavendar and a little more turwood for a more masculine scent. She placed the flask down carefully and took the tunic from his hands… “Yes Master…” she folded it anyways to a careful pile and once again lifted the flask and moved to his side…
[02:51] Eykis Benoir slipped the shoulder of her camisk top off pulling it up over her head, her pert curved breasts set free. Folding that she set it aside, her thumbs hooking into the chalwar pants, sliding them down over her hips, folded too and rest beneath the table. The flask placed by his chest, se pressed her palms to the table and hopped up, her thighs splayed carefully across his own… She reaches for the flask once more, filling her palm with the sweet scent and began to warm the oil in her hands before she set them firmly to his lower back….
[02:54] Eykis Benoir spread the oil slowly and firmly, her palms either side of his spine, forcing the movement of blood towards his heart, then lifting herself she scooted forward to reach for the tense knotted muscles of his shoulders. Her hands were smile but remarkably strong, wringing the length of his shoulder slowly, working the muscle slowly beneath her palms….
[02:56] Eykis Benoir’s hand never once left contact with his skin, her movements slow, measured and fluid. Nothing rushed. Nothing unitentional. She spread she fingers across to his left shoulder, working the muscle with the same wringing motion to loosen it and allow the blood to flow freely…
[03:00] Eykis Benoir rested her forearm a moment, reaching agin for the flask and warming oil for longer this time in the heat of her hands… she began to work back down his spine, her hips curling to counter the movement of her hands… “I beg Master, that you let me know if the pressure is enough or too hard… “Her voice rather than the usual clear chime took on a soft husk, spiling gently over her lips…
[03:17] Eykis Benoir continued to spread the oil now across his lower back, the heel of her palm kneading the tight muscles supporting his lower back, bringing them down over his buttocks then back round to either side of his spine. Again not once did her hands leave his flesh, her small frame manuevered without disturbance to where it was needed….
[03:23] Eykis Benoir once more splayed her thighs, her hands shifting to the chiseled muscle of his left thigh, working the blood again up towards his heart. Her ahnds ran the full length from knee right to his hip, not cheating him out of the length of her strokes…
[03:25] Eykis Benoir trailed her hands firmly above his groin to move to his right leg, the length of stroke slow and fluid. She was thoroughly engrossed in the manipulation of his flesh, the movements as relaxing for herself as they were often found to be by those she was attentive to…
[03:31] Eykis Benoir alternated firm wringing strokes across the muscle, each one slipping higher up his thigh til the back of her hand were grazzing the soft skin at the join of his legs… she leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his upper thighs as she placed another tender kiss to the soft dip at each of his hips…
[03:38] Eykis Benoir crawled further up his body, this time resting her weight on his thighs. Gently, with long flowing strokes she began to massage the taut muscles of his belly. All the movements clockwise to aid digestion. She paused, her forearm on his belly to tip more oil into her hands, which she warmed carefully before reaching up to spread it across his chest…
[03:42] Eykis Benoir’s eyes were fixed to her hands as they moved languidly across his flesh…. “Master… what would please you?” she questioned lightly….
[03:48] Eykis Benoir’s lips curled to a smile. Perhaps he had relaxed so deeply her words no longer penetrated his consciousness. Rather than pester him, she continued to run her hands over his flesh. Now more explorative than massaging, feeling each bump and dip of his muscles, the texture of his skin….
[03:48] Yuroki Uriza: everything you did was pleasing me and you are skilled, i expected that, he murmurs, just continue your serve
[03:51] Eykis Benoir responded with her own soft murmur, the utter pleasure of simple contact of flesh filling her slave belly contentedly… “Thank you Master…”
[03:54] Yuroki Uriza: but we need to finish that soon as i am already in the mood to make you a red silk, but i want you to stay a tower slave for a while…..
[03:56] Eykis Benoir’s eyes lowered, the innocence of her touch fading as he awaoke her to the position of their bodies and closeness of their flesh… “Yes Master…” she whisper, a heated but unseen flush to her cheeks… “Perhaps it would serve your purposes to auction me Master… or as some prize for the Warriors…”
[03:57] Yuroki Uriza: …if i would find a warrior who would be good enough for you, chuckles
[03:58] Eykis Benoir tensed just a little at his chuckle, the praise she struggled with… “I am yours to use or see used as it pleases you Master… it was just perhaps a suggestion if it would help raise more interest in the
Kanwal cleans the bakery and does a great sacrifice
Saturday, March 19th, 2011
[12:52] Yuroki Uriza: kanwal come here
[12:53] Desire Linette: yes Master
[12:53] Yuroki Uriza: i have not seen the lady baker for more than one week, this is her bakery, she had problmes with urts, i want you to clean the bakery right now
[12:53] Desire Linette: yes Master as you wish
[12:56] Desire Linette looks at the bakery, this command is of course better than to clean the prisons! the bakery smells so sweet..
[12:56] Desire Linette stands on her legs, hard works is starting, she will do her best
[12:57] Desire Linette looks around, finds a broom, first thing to do, broom the room
[12:57] Desire Linette starts by the corner near the fire, usually so dirty for the smog, then better to start here
[13:00] Desire Linette collect soon a lot of dirty here, coal, ash, *mhh so much, then looks at the fire.. a nice idea in her, through the firty on the fire, it will burn soon the coal and dirty
[13:01] Desire Linette continues to broom around, , unter the counters, near thesacks
[13:01] Desire Linette stops looking admired the pasties!
[13:02] Desire Linette: mhhh the Mistress is so expert to cook! so smelling sweet the sweet cakes!
[13:02] Desire Linette: the Master has told, that the Mistress is far from some days! may be the cakes are no more good!
[13:03] Desire Linette looks around, thinking….
[13:03] Desire Linette: mhh so sweet seem the cakes
[13:04] Desire Linette: if they are acid, *me giggles whit a strange idea in her mind.. if they.. are not fresh.. the free can become ills!
[13:05] Desire Linette smilels malizious, why so not do a.. brave action
[13:06] Desire Linette: Kanwal search to convince herself, that what she will do is for the healt of the free!
[13:06] Desire Linette: she will eat a piece of each cake! a little portion! Kanwal licks her lips
[13:07] Desire Linette: if she will stay well, the cakes are good
[13:07] Desire Linette: Kanwal giggle, finishes to broom the room, leave the broom, goes to wash carefully her hands
[13:08] Desire Linette looks well each cake, mhh so inviting, yes! she will do this sacrifice
[13:09] Desire Linette: Kanwal searches for a cake knife, gently starts to cut the first cake, a very little piece!
[13:10] Desire Linette: Kanwal closes her eyes, enjoying the sweetness of the piece cutted. Yummmm this is good! I am happy for the free! Then moves to the second cake, a fruit cake, ramberries! *Kanwal licks her lips.
[13:12] Desire Linette: Better to clean the knife, before to cut this other cake, Kanwal washes the knife, cut a little piece of ramberry cake, eat it. It is good! I am happy really, the free will enjoy with it!
[13:13] Desire Linette: The second cake, Kanwal finishes to lick her lips, then cut the little piece from the third cake, so soft! The smell of the cake is so sweet even if the cake has been cooked days ago!
[13:14] Desire Linette: Kanwal eats, feels the sweet taste, surely the cake is good, ohh yes, so good!
[13:14] Desire Linette: Now, the more dangerous cake! Kanwal arrives near a very high, white, a mountain of cream on this cake!
[13:15] Desire Linette adores with her eyes this last one, yes, she will do the last sacrifice!
[13:16] Desire Linette: Kanwal says to herself.. this.. of course is the more dangerous.. the cream soon may become acid! Perhaps I will need to taste two litlle pieces!
[13:18] Desire Linette: Kanwal giggles, moans near the cake as a good slave moans when is in love with the Master! Is it a special serve that she is doing? Of course, she is risking her life! Kanwal explain to mherself the right to do! the sacrifice will be done! Soon cut a generous piece of the beautiful cake, closes her eyes, eat it, slowly, trembling for theexcitation, so sweet! so soft!
[13:20] Desire Linette: Kanwal searches for a paper, then writes on it: Masters, Mistresses, these cakes are good! please enjoy with them, I tested each one and am well and happy!
Urt infestation in tavern while mending clothing
Tuesday, March 1st, 2011[15:49] Zara Janic turning her body carefully into the tavern ..the flat of her feet padding across the ground gracefully as she walks into the kitchen.. the sway of her hips leasurly, and smooth. looking around the shelves her sea green eyes searching restlessly, her fingernails drumming along the counterpayne. eyes sparkle like showers of due upon grass as she notices the box of linons, rags, square cloths and much needed string hiding on the very bottom of the kitchen…picking up the tiny carved box in her soft hands. she walks back over to the fireplace. back to the lone articles of clothing
[15:50] Zara Janic: setting the box on the floor, she leans close to the firelight, her heat instantly warming next to the closeness of it. she lays down flat on the cushion her legs dangling up. as she adjusts her position her ass gives a jiggle. her lushious thighs parting in an unspoken invitation, she props herself up on her elbows and clasps the cotten shirt to her breast, inspecting the gash throughly. about five inches in legnth and thin. she instantly imagines the battle that must of taken place. ja Vana’she quick, fierce and unwavering as a larl…looking down at the shirt she notices no blood just bits of dirt and grime. instantly beaming, glad that the Jarl must of come inches to getting cut badly. laying the shirt out before her she grabs the box of needle and thread looping it through expertly, her fingers trail along the fabric in a unspoken caress, the sent of the shirt instantly wafting to her, a heady scent, of the wheat fields, soap, and the exotic spicy male scent of ja Vana’she….
[15:51] Zara Janic a rush of heat wafting over her body and pooling low in her abdomin…she begins s by looping the beginning of the gash with the needle, drawing the thread through carefully, her tiny fingers deftly guiding the thread through the shirt’s gash. choosing to do a cross stitch that her mother had once tought her, telling her long ago that a cross stich insured that once repaired would never have to be repared again. making an X across the line of the Gash she stitches up soundlessly. giving the thread a sure tug as she ties tiny knots as she works through the stitch. as she reaches the end of the gash she ties four knots close to the gash’s stitched.
[15:57] Zara Janic holding the thread out toughtly, she reaches her head gracefully forward and bites the thread. but just in that moment. a large..house-cat sized urt rushes out of the corner of her eyes. with a loud ‘BAM’ the wooden sewing box drops to the floor. she screams atop her lungs looking wildly around the room….seeing another urt she gasps and shakes her head swiftly…filthy nasty creatures. she watched them scurry about the floor looking for dropped food…keeping never losing her gaze from the urt she quickly bites the thread. cutting it through with her teeth. putting the needle and box of cloth back at the kitchen. she returns to the garmet and inspecting her work. streatching the shirt from right to left making sure there was no popping of thread and that from anyway it moves tis molded to the shirt. hefting the basket she quickly dances past the tables and scurries away…marking the tavern off as places not to come until the urt infestation was under control
Mia cleans Besnitt’s Bank
Thursday, February 24th, 2011i was walking through Besnitt’s city square when i came across The Master of Many Talents, Master Yuroki. i must confess i could not help admiring how handsome His features were, i was drawn like a magnet to his carefully groomed dreadlocks and would have happily sat dreaming over His looks while appearing to be attentively waiting for permission to continue on my way, when i was surprised out of my reverie by His command for me to follow Him.
i was curious, for i knew His tasks were always slightly out of the ordinary. He called me into Besnitt’s Banking office, a place i had never entered before. i casually looked around; one of it’s bare stone walls was decorated with a classic painting while another had a gorean calendar clock quietly ticking away; today was the 5th day of the second hand of the twelfth month of the year 1017. The Master, ever businesslike, ignored my rather obvious curves and ordered me to open a heavy metal door, one whose significance i quickly realised once i had entered and heard it close very firmly behind me.
i was told by Master Yuroki, in a cold, distant voice through the door, “i want you to clean the strong room and the bank, we had to build a lot in the last days and had a lot of customers, everything is dirty”
i had barely heard His words, for my eyes were drawn to a glowing crate at the far end of the room, its contents unmistakably filled with gold. i stood in awe, knowing that as a slave who owned nothing and had no use for coin, i was in a place where many a Free longed to be.
i could see builder’s dust everywhere, and my small nose tickled by it, longed to sneeze. Instead, i picked up a duster and started from the ceiling downwards, not missing the tops of the windows, shifting clouds of dust downward, watching them fall in spirals as i worked my way around the strong room and office.
When finished, i brushed the dust off my slender shoulders, knowing only a bath in the river would remove the dirt which had settled on the tip of my breast, left exposed by my worn, white camisk. i sighed, knowing as a city slavel i had little hope of ever wearing anything but threadbare camisks made of old rep cloth.
i swiftly looked for a broom and started to sweep, humming a familiar song in my head. Before i even realised it, i was dancing around the long handle, my feet skipping over and around its base, while i teased the handle, circling around it before finally giving in and, with my back to its pole, slid up and down it.
i heard it clatter to the ground as i stood up. i realised
no sweeping would get done if i continued to fool around, So, somewhat more soberly, i picked up the broom and continued sweeping until the floor was dust free.
i walked to the well and filled a bucket with water and collected a clean rep cloth from the kennels, then returned to the bank. On my hands and knees, my rounded buttocks heralding my movements around the bank, i scrubbed and cleaned the floor until it sparkled.
i looked around, genuinely pleased with the gleam of polish that was evident throughout the bank. i said a silent prayer to the Priest Kings, thankful that i had been chosen for such a task and that the many brave…and extremely handsome… warriors of Besnitt who protected our Homestone, would remain safe in their battles while doing so.
Finally, i locked the door of the strong room, and firmly closed the door on my way out of the bank, taking my cleaning tools with me. i was hopeful that the Master of Many Talents would be pleased with me.
Pick Pocket of the Ubar
Tuesday, February 22nd, 2011
She drifted in as the mist might, wafted apon the docks of the city beyond. The great city of Besnitt. She, with deep crimson conceilment robes swaddling her beauty, protecting the treasure that is beneath. Laughter bellows from the writer’s mind, for once you hear this tale, you surely will see that more than one treasure is hidden, buried near her beauty.
Picture our strong Ubar standing regally, in deep conversation with a sword brother. Two men, as if chiseled from metal, steal or iron. One that would define their hardened, trained, warrior’s physic. Both voices boomed when thy spoke. The echoes of their words pounded out onto the waves and met the crashing water with equal decibels.
A smile laced the lips of the traveling beauty, wrapped in red. For the warrior’s voices masked her tiny footsteps. Thus allowing her closer. She seemed to float, with an elegance of a trained dancer, warrior, or in this case; thief. Surly no one had seen her arrive on the docks, she convincingly thought to herself. With each step, she was closer to her target.
To the untrained eye, the thief looked innocent enough. More like just another lady on a stroll at the tenth ahn, enjoying the weather. But she was not one of them. For she had rolled her hair up using bottles of ka-la-na, and was about to steal the Ubar’s tarsks. She slid her slender arm out as she came up beside him, and brushed her black leather glove covered hands to the Ubar’s waist, sliding her long, delicate fingers down the seam of his trouser leg when….
…..”Yes, M’lady,” smiling is the Ubar as he grasps her slender wrist, “You just found out the Ubar’s pants have no pockets?” patting the pouch on his weapon straps, hearing the tarsks jingle merrily there.”You think you might make another attempt, now that you see that which you are after?” A grin apparent now on his face as the ka-la-na bottled lady scowls for getting caught, not red-handed, but empty-handed!
The End.
((What happened to the thief, you ask? Well you have to wait until next week’s issue to find out. ))
Sa-Fora cleans the Inn
Friday, February 18th, 2011[09:55] Nonya Markova: stepping across the warm wood of the dock, she saunters into the Inn, her eyes bright as she humms a cheerful melody to herself, her gaze taking in the room, bending down she runs a hand over the tables, then looks, the grime on it making her shudder. The ebony tresses hanging free, spilling down her back as she turns, making them twirl about her shoulders like a silken cloud she hurries behind the large desk, finding htre broom, buckets, clothes, bees wax in a small tin and also a long woodened handle with rags tieed to the ends, and takes each thng and dumps it into a basket, carrying them all outside.
[09:58] Nonya Markova: her arms strainsng she sets the basket down with a soft sigh, taking the bucket first in her hand, the rope handle in her palm rough, she carries it, swinging it as she walks with a spring in her step to the bathhouse, to the lage container of water kept heated. bending over, the skirt dancing about her thighs as she moves, she sets the bucket beneath, twisting the handle until the steaming water begins to splash and flow into the dark wooden container, feeling it splash hot against her bare flesh she gasps with the slight pain and twists it closed with a quick movement
[10:03] Nonya Markova: her thoughts drifting as she grips the rope handle, lifting, the muscles in her back and arms quivering witht he heavy weight, the familiar feel of the weight in her hands a comfort as she hurries out into the bright sunshine. Moving swiftly, the pull of the weight upon her shoulders making her struggle, the bucket rubbing agaisnt the fabric of her skirt, digging against her thighs, the hard bumps with each step a difficulty, she sets it down with a sigh by the opewn doorway. Lifting her head sighing as she feels the cool breeze off the water moving over her tanned flesh like a gentle caress, her body responding unconsciously to the touch of air, the quiver in her belly, feeling a fire begin a slow burn as she thinks immediately of her Master, his handsome face dancing before her closed eyes.
[10:05] Nonya Markova: taking the empty basket in her hands she grips the handles, the clothes and wax still within, she rises to her feet, padding lightly up the stairs, grabbing the broom handle on her way past the doorway, hurring about her tasks with a soft smile upon the full ruby lips, cheeks flushed and warm
[10:09] Nonya Markova: climbing to the very top floor first, she makes her way to each bed, stripping the sheets from it, and dumping them in the baskets, wrinkling her nose at the musty scent she hurries to the windows, opening them to let a fresh breeze from the sea freshen the room. Her steps light as she moves from room to room, each bed stripped until the basket is filled to overflowing with the bedding. each window opened to air the room, she smiles softly to herslef as she rushes down the stairs and drops the basket at the bottom with a soft thump on the wooden dock
[10:12] Nonya Markova: purseing her lips as she begins to whistle a merry tune as she works, taking a clean cloth in her hand she moves with a daintly step, the fabric of the skirt brushing her firm thighs, the touch fueling the fire that flames in her blood already, the air soft as the scent tickles her nose, she twists open the tin of beeswax, and rubbing the rep cloth in, she uses it to wipe down each table, the touch gentle, making the wood gleam warmly benetah her touch
[10:16] Nonya Markova: the windows ope carrying the mumer of voices to her ears as she dances happily about the room, the sheer joy of serving the homestone of her Master, the whipping now long past, a cloud passes over her eyes as the memory remains of that dreadful day, she hurries faster about her task, making her way through each room, polishing and dusting, the grime from the tables now gone, leaving instead a smooth polish and shine to each. dropping the cloths and tin to the outermost door she takes the broom handle into her hands, her firm grip as she carries it back to the uppermost floor
[10:19] Nonya Markova: startsing at the corner of each room, she begins with sweeping, the bristles to the floor, her movements quick as she feels the heart pounding in her breast at the dark memories swirling in her head, the sound of the leather to her back, the whiste as it sailed through the air, her sharp cries as she feels the fiery pain again, her cheeks hot and flushed with the thoughts, making a cloud of dust rise in the air about her feet, the jerking movements as she rushes through each room, dragging the dirt to a pile at the doorway then sweeping it from the balcony of the rooms
[10:22] Nonya Markova: gripping the broom tight as she trembles with the dark memories she carries it down the stairs, giving herself a mental shake as she is working to please her Master, to serve his homestone, her lesson well learned and not soon to be lost, she steps down the steps, taking many deep slow breathes as she reaches the bottom of the steps, raising her chin, her eys closed just feeling the warmth of the sun on her bare flesh, the tendrils f her hair dancing about her slender shoulders in the light breeze
[10:26] Nonya Markova: using the broom again, her fingers now light upon the handle, teh light dusting of dirt upon her lower legs from her work upstairs making her legs itch she shivers up her spine as she tries to ignore the sensation, starting in the far corner, pressing down with the straw bristles, dragging them along the floor, pulling the dirt from the edges, moves slowly about the room, attentive to her task she thinks of her Master, her thoughts never far from him, the rembered touch of his hand gentle or firm as it suits, the fingers gripping her collar as he pulls her to him for a kiss, she flushes with the wave of heat heat rushes through her
[10:29] Nonya Markova: the itchng sensation increasing she tries to ignore it, brows furrow as it disturbs the pleasurable train of thought she continues with the broom, all around the room til all is together in a large pile, she drags it to the open door, then gasping sh e drops the broom and starts to drag her nails over her lower legs the burning itch unable to be ignored any longer, sighing as it finally stops, sitting on the floor as she runs her hands over the bare flesh, feeling the muscles twitch under her fingers
[10:31] Nonya Markova: rising to her feet with a graceful motion, she bends at the waist, feeling her hair slips over her shoulders as she grips the broom handle then straightens, dragging the bristles over the wood pile at her feet she pushes it outside the door way to be carried off by the wind
[10:33] Nonya Markova: the container of beeswax taken now, the broom ste back behind the counter, she dips a rep cloth in again, and wipes down each table in the main room carefully, the touch a gentle caress, the wood glowing from the caring ministrations of her hands, she then moves to the desk and dusts and polishes with the same care, smiling to herself as she begins to humm again, the tune softer though, as she imagines her hands over the wood to be running over the for of her Master
[10:36] Nonya Markova: the soft sigh that slips from her lips at the delightful thought she turns and her movements now more languid, the brush of her thighs making her quiver she sets the container of wax and the used cloth behind the desk. she saunters outside to the fresh air, picking up the basket of the bedding she hurries to the bath house, finsding a tub within of hot water in the corner, takes a scrub board and drops it inot the water
[10:39] Nonya Markova: taking a sheet and dips it in the water, then rubs it with a cake of soap, she starts to rub the fabris against the steel of the board, the grating sound harsh to her ears as she works, a soft sheen of perspiritation beginning to glisten on her flesh as she works to wash each bit of bedding one by one, til each are snowy white and fresh, each wrung out in her hands, her fingers wrinkled and pruned from the immersion in the hot water.
[10:42] Nonya Markova: carrrying the now very heavy basket, her muscles staining under the weight, she hurries to a line strung outside on the darks, out of the way, and her shoudlers straining she lifts each sheet to it, dropping it over, and then her fingers smoothing it so it may dry swiftly in the air, the sheets already snapping in the breeze as her skirt is whipped about her legs, her hair twirling about her as she grins to herself, taking deep breaths as she feels the caress of air cooling her flesh, drying it
[10:45] Nonya Markova: sanutering back to the inn, she bends down to grab the bucket of water from earlier, still warm but the crystal clear water no longer steaming she sets it just inside the doorway and grabs the long wooden handle, her fingers running over it, tracing the grain as she day dreams a moment of he that owns her, her joy in being his making her heart sign with happiness, swelling with the deep love she feels for him, sighing softly then gives herself a mental shake, opening her eyes and returning to her task
[10:48] Nonya Markova: wringing the raggs tied to the end of the handle, she drops the end to the wood with a plop, the dropslets spattering about her feet, she runs the rags over the floor, seeing the gleaming wet trails left behind in its wake, she cuckles to herself, resloving not to slip and fall, she steps carefully about the room, dipping the rags, wringing and moipping the floor, making it shine wetly, cheeks flushes as she feels the tendrils of hair cling damp to her face
[10:51] Nonya Markova: setting the mop outside, the pudle growing beneath the wet rags she rests the handle against the wall and lifts the bucket of dark water in her hands, stumbling as she carries it behind the inn, dumping it in the trench there and sighing with relief, holding it close to her body, raises a hand and drags her fingers through her damp hair, pulling it away from her face, the tangles making her wince with pain a moment before working loose
[10:53] Nonya Markova: walking back to the doorway, grapping the broom in her free hand, steps inside and moving carefully over the damp floor to behind the desk, she sets everything down and grins to herself, turnng on her heel and walks outside til she is in the doorway again, the air caressing her skin, she breathes deep, full breasts rising with each deeep breath, shoulders pressed back, she lifts her chin, the steel around her neck comfort as she raisies her arms and lightly runs her fingers over it
[10:55] Nonya Markova: then looking and seeing the sheets snapping merriely in the wind, she steps out the door, her foot hitting the puddle of water left by the mop, her feet go up in the air, arms waving as she falls hard to her backside, her head snapping back to hit the wood archway hard, the blinding flash of stars in her gaze as she feels the breath rush from her body
[10:56] Nonya Markova: her hands gipping hte back of her head tight she moans to herself, feeling the lump rising, she blinks rapidly away the tears that srping to her eyes, her gaze dulled with a haze of pain, she shakes her head, and sits for a moment on the ground still
[10:59] Nonya Markova: the haze clearing she gets her feet beneath her, her hands pressing to the ground pushing herself up, head still smarting around the swelling lump, she shakes her head again to try and clear her vision,, she stumbles dizzily away to the line strung with sheets, the basket beneath empty
[11:01] Nonya Markova: taking each sheet down, trying hard to keep her feet benath her, she folds each slowly, her fingers practiced, she works as her limbs feel heavy to her. setting each to the basket, then lifts the back, feeling the blood rush and the world spin as she bends over, straightens slowly, eyes closed as she breathes and waits for the world to right itself
[11:05] Nonya Markova: the spinning stops she open her eyes, the violet color darkened a bit with her widen pupils, she struggles beneath the weight of the bedding, now cleaned and fresh, the muscles in her shoulders seen to quiver, teh play of muscle in her back as she strains beneath the wieght, she walks slowly, carefully across the war wooden planks beneath her bare feet, she sees the Master, and stumbles, nearly droipping hte heavy basket, then seeing he is deep in meditaion she steps quietly by and up the stairs
[11:10] Nonya Markova: taking the freshed bedding from the basket, she lifts it to her nose, taking a deep breath, the pain receding as she inhales the swet fresh scent, and then lays each upon the beds of the rooms, her feet lightly dancing over the floor, as she moves with a delighted step around, her heart lightend by her work, making each bed fresh, then closes each window of the rooms, she turns and lifts the now empty basket in her hands and steps carefully down the stairs and around the damp puddle from the rags tied to a =wooden handle, the basket set behind the counter she nods with satisfaction to herself, pleased with the appearance now she steps back into the brightsunlight, hurring to the stream near the house of her Master to wash herself, feeling the dust and grime clinging to her flesh, the itchy sensation as it dries horrible