| Recueil | Smut |
|---|---|
| Livre | My (fancy) life as a slave |
| Type | Chapitre |
| État | Brouillon |
The society's underskirts
"How did a noblewoman become a private eye?"
The question unhinges my mistress. She comes out of her reverie, slows her pace a little —thank gods, I have little legs— and looks at me with an inquisitive frown.
"What do you mean?" She asks, dodging passers-by with her huge frame in this small alley.
I shrug, not knowing what to answer. "I don't know. It's strange for a noble person to work a middle-class job."
She gazes at me from above, eyes gauging as if wondering whether I am joking or just plain mad.
We arrive in the grand place that is the literal and economic center of the middle-class neighborhood in which we have an errand to run. My mistress stops, turns to me and crosses some puzzled arms.
"I don't get it, bunny. What are you babbling about? Middle-class job? You know of the class system works here, right? About sex-fights, slave claiming, and everything?"
I nod. "Of course."
"So what's it have to do with jobs?"
I'm at a loss for words. "You mean, what you do for a living in not related to your social status?"
She relaxes a bit, beginning to understand the misunderstanding.
"Yes, it is related to our social status, but not to our social class."
It's my turn to be puzzled. "You mean, your social class isn't related to your social status then?"
She chuckles at my naivety. "Of course it is. Social status is defined by social class and profession, but these two are not related to each other."
I finally begin to understand. "So, that means you can have a noble person cleaning the sewers and a commoner being a master jeweler?"
She laughs out loud. "In theory. But while I doubt a noble's pride wouldn't let them work in the sewer, we indeed have several master artisans among the lower class."
I feel stupid as I remember that Algum, the best glass-blower in town and personal supplier of Lady Morr, is indeed a fully-clothed commoner.
But that's not important. By asking this question, my goal was to distract my mistress from what seemed to gnaw at her since yesterday, and the reason of our presence here. I'm relieved to see her —finally— smiling, even if she's only amused by my innocence.
It's been five days since I began to serve Madam Kalista, and today's my first day in the field. I know a bit of her trade now, explained to me by Madam herself and Ashby when they had the time, while I worked some administrative duties the rest of the time.
But today, Ashby was needed elsewhere and Madam Kalista wanted another set of hands to help her. I don't know what we're going to do —my mistress being walled in that frowning reverie since that message she received the other day— but she deemed me ready to assist her in one of her investigations.
As we make our way through the grand place, several commoners and a few bourgeois warmly greeted Madam Kalista. Each exchanged a few words with her, but not too many as everyone seems to know how busy she can be.
This feels a lot different from my time with Lady Morr. Back then, the only relations Lady Morr seemed to have were either competitive —with orks wanting to claim me— or subordinate, like Algum. Here, everybody seem to know my mistress and to like her. This feels refreshing.
"Come, Nasué, we're almost there."
As my mistress guides me toward a thoroughfare, a tall and handsome male ork intercepts us.
"Excuse-me, Lady Kalista, could I have a minute of your time?"
The ork was tall —taller than Madam Kalista, and taller than most orks I've ever seen— wearing only a black tank-top which was too small for his muscular torso. The man was all in muscles, hairless in every part of his body except his face, where he displayed a thinly-cut beard and a short mohawk haircut, and his bushy cunt.
My mistress turns up to him. "Jencyo! Drop the 'Lady', will you? We've known each other for years, no need to be so formal!"
He smiles. "It's just that I come to you in behalf of the neighborhood council. I have a very urgent request..."
My mistress crosses her arms. "I'm truly sorry, but I can't right now. I have urgent business myself to tend to..."
Jencyo joins his hands in a pleading gesture. "Please! There's been a..."
He interrupts himself, then brings his mouth closer to Madam Kalista to avoid the eavesdropping crowd.
"There's been a murder, Kal. I smell foul's play from up above. I need someone trustworthy on it. The body's cooling down, I need you right now."
My mistress' eyes widen at the revelation. But still, she shakes her head.
"I see. I really want to help, but I can't."
Jencyo face decomposed as if he's been betrayed.
"However... I can't lend you my slave. She'll do a report for me. As soon as my errand is dealt with, I'll get on it."
Jencyo's eyes turn to me.
"Her? I've never seen you with a slave, Kal. Aside from Ashby, of course. Is she knew?"
Madam Kalista puts a hand on my shoulder. "Yes, she is. But don't worry, I taught her the basic of the trade, and I suspect there's more to her that her beauty."
Jencyo widely smiles at me. "Okay then. Follow me... What's your name?"
"Nasué," I answer. "Pleased to meet you mister Jencyo."
He laughs with his low voice. "Just 'Jencyo' will do, Nasué. Let's go, I'll show you the deed."
He turns away and begins to dive into the crowd. "Thanks, Kal," he throws back. "I owe you!"
The smell is rancid. Like nothing I've ever smelled before. I always associated the fragrance of death with the smell of ashes and burnt bodies —which smells a lot like burnt pork, reason why I can't eat pork anymore— but here, the odor is rancid, acrid, harsh and bathed in an aftertaste of iron.
Jencyo gave me a wet cloth to put over my mouth and nose, and I thanked him for that. All the more when we climbed two flights of stairs to get to the place of the deed. The smell was so strong that I knew that if I removed the cloth, I'd straight up vomit.
The murder itself was unimpressive. A male ork body, fully naked, was resting on its belly in a pool of its own blood, a set of wound criss-crossing his back.
In the room is waiting another male ork, which I figure is an assistant of some sort to Jencyo. I am a bit unhinged by his gaze, I feel that he recognized me.
"Do you have something to take notes with?" Jencyo asks.
I shake my head. "No need. Plus, this is confidential info. I don't want it taken away on my way back to Madam Kalista."
"There are few thieves 'round here. You should be okay."
I shake my head again. "I won't take any chance. Plus, I was not thinking about thieves, but about orks wanting to claim me."
Jencyo opens his mouth to answer, but his interrupted by his assistant. "She is the slave that caused a commotion a while back, isn't she? Morr's slave. Fire red hair and smug green eyes, I was told."
I nod. "Although I do not serve under Lady Morr anymore. My mistress is Madam Kalista".
"I see." Jencyo slowly nod in understanding. "Good call then, even if the chances are low, there's still a risk that you'll be specifically targeted. I'm sure you're use to it, but still, be wary."
I smile a bit dumbly at the esteem Jencyo seem to address me.
Jencyo, his assistant and I round up around the body and Jencyo begins to summarize their discoveries.
"This is —was— Ulrest, the mayor's adjunct and main opposition to him. We found him two days ago, and closed the building to the public ever since."
My rusty neurons begin to activate, and a few question pop at the top of my head.
"Wait wait wait... Mayor? Opposition? Two days ago?"
Jencyo crosses his arms. "This is not important that you know about the local politics, so I'll make it short. 'Mayor' is not an official term. She's the leader of the neighborhood worker's union, who more or less is a political group that is the voice and eyes of the commoners for the nobles. There are distensions inside this party and mainly two opposing factions. To ease the dialog between the two factions, the adjunct is of the opposite faction of the mayor. The current mayor is favored by the higher-ups, that's why I feel that the murder of the leader of her opposition is political."
I slowly integrate all this new information in my head.
"But why did you wait two whole days to fetch for my mistress?"
He sighs. "Because I did not want to raise suspicions. I tried my best to contact Kalista since then without leaving my duties and alarming anyone, but failed 'till she showed up directly here."
He seems annoyed, but understands that this question would eventually been asked by my mistress.
He resumes his summary. "He's been found by my clerk Gusf here when he was opening for business. He immediately closed the building and called for me. Since I'm the chief urbanist around, I justified this by stating the infrastructure was dangerous and that the building should be deserted for a few days."
"Okay," I say, trying to stay on tracks. "What did the mayor say about his adjunct? Doesn't she wonder where he is?"
Jencyo's mouth distort under the problem. "She begins to. No word for a day and maybe he's busy or sick —and let's be honest, she was probably delighted to not have him around for once— but now that he's deserted his function for two days, people are starting to wonder ask around. I won't be able to keep this secret for long. His death will eventually have to be known, but I want Kalista on it before there is a general panic and witch hunts plaguing the neighborhood."
I repeat every information to myself to make sur I remember it.
"Do you have any suspect in mind?"
He scratches his chin. "Not the mayor, at least, if you're wondering. She's favored by the nobility, but she serves the cause, she defends the working class against all. Killing a fellow activist is not in her best interest. It's in the interest of no one from any factions. We can't exclude individual jealousy, but to tell true, being mayor or adjunct is not a position of power. It's a position of mediation, one that few people can handle and even few really want. As I said twice already, my best guess is that some noble wants to weaken our union, or even tries to make ourselves destroy each other in an internecine feud."
This is complicated. I'm glad I'm just a slave, so I don't have to think about this all day. I repeat everything out loud to make sure I didn't omit anything.
"Then you're good to go, I guess," Jencyo says. "Please press Kal on the urgency of the matter. I know she's well-considered and will make space in her agenda for this case. I really need her."
I nod. "One last thing, though. Is it common for victims of murder to have been raped before their death?"
They both look at the body, then back to me.
"What do you mean?" Jencyo asks.
"Sorry, it's kind of my first murder. I just wondered if that was a common thing. But nevermind, I won't bother you with this."
As I turn to leave, Jencyo shakes his arms around to stop me.
"Wait! I don't understand, are you saying that this man was raped before his murder?"
I shrug. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it? The fluids between his legs, the bruises on his thighs, the spots of blood between his butt cheeks... He was either raped or had a sex fight right before his death. Did you not notice?"
Jencyo laughs sourly. "No we didn't. It's obvious only to you, Nasué. Good job noticing."
I shrug again. "I'm sure Madam Kalista would have noticed too. So I take it it's not a common thing?"
Jencyo shakes his head, a thoughtful thumb pinching his chin. "No. And I don't know what to make of it. I'll just wait for Kal to come and try to solve this."
He sighs. "Anyway. You're good to go, Nasué. And again, good job."
I nod. "Goodbye, misters. Don't worry, I'll find my way back." And I leave the building.
In the street, I can't help but pity these orks. Obligated to undergo these political affairs, just to see their right respected. And even if they hold power over the like of me, they are all force to practice the sex-customs of their kind. In a way, they all are sex-slaves too.
But they seem happy? Every ork I see here on the street seem to work hard for their community and, to some extent, enjoy it? So that's the power of union, of community?
After all, I'm a sex slave and I'm happy. Even after being claimed by Madam Kalista. Oh, I know I'm lucky, the only two masters I had are the best I could ever dream of, but still. I'm a slave, and I'm happy.
I am suddenly pulled away from my thought by a hand that firmly grabs my arm, pulls me out of balance and throws me in a dark alley.
Before I can see the face of my assaillant, a blade is brushing my throat, and a skeletal hand press against my mouth.
This is not an ork. This is an assassin.
By sheer reflex, I begin to flounder, failing to break free. The person holding me doesn't seem to be stronger nor bigger than me, but my back is arched back against them, dragged by their weight and unable to gain any footing.
"Stop moving or you're dead meat," a sharp voice orders me, slightly muffled by I guess is a cloth masking their mouth.
By pure survival reflex again, I stop moving. The voice is low and incisive, but I don't why, I'm pretty sure it's the voice of an older woman.
"Are you happy, Nausé? Are you happy with the life you have know?"
Okay, I'm certain now, I know this voice.
"You sure seem happy, Nasué. I'm glad for you. Really glad. But beware, young one. Because I know some people who could see this as treason. People you'll be very sad to disappoint."
Oh fuck. I know who this is.
"Salista? What are you doing here? What to you want with me?"
The tiefling chuckles. "You're less dumb than I know of you, visibly. Is it working with Mistress' Morr worst enemy that bolstered your wits? Or was it simply an act for our beloved mistress?"
I frown, and dumb words spurt out of my mouth before I can prevent it. "My mistress is Madam Kalista!"
The knife is pressed harder against my throat.
"I know. But is she? What do you think will happen at the end of the month? Will Lady Kalista resist? Or will Mistress Morr reclaim what is rightfully hers?"
I swallow. "It's not really up to me, is it? Whatever happens, I'll be the slave of the winner..."
Salista let a dark chuckle out against my ear. "That's where you are wrong, young one. You have a choice to make. Either you embrace your time of servitude with Lady Kalista, and thus betray Mistress Morr, or you resist to your new mistress, thus betraying her in favor of your old mistress."
I don't understand. What does anything have to do with me? I'm just a slave, I'm supposed to obey. Surely Lady Morr will not blame me for my time of servitude with Madam Kalista, will she?
Before my thoughtful silence, Salista resumes her monologue. "Do you even realize the political entanglement that surrounds Mistress Morr, Lady Kalista and you? You're not dumb enough to ignore all of it. You surely realize there is more to it than the sole possession of a trophy slave. You are a celebrity, Nasué. But more than that, you are at the center of a machinery which cogs are already in motion and will soon decide the future of the city."
She takes a deep breath. She seems a bit exhausted by our discussion.
Surely, she is talking about my feat the other week. This was not a minor event, it was a first-of-a-kind kind of event. But what is this 'machinery' she talks about? Could it be related to what Lady Morr said to the council on the same day?
"You have a choice to make, Nasué. Kalista or Morr. You can't go around it. It's a gamble, but it's important."
The pressure of the knife releases.
"I came here for two reasons. The first was to deliver you this message. The second, is here."
I still can't see Salista, but I feel a package being shove into my hands.
"Courtesy of your beloved mistress."
Then Salista breaks away from me and runs into the shadows of the alley.
I wonder what was all that. This so-called 'message'. Was it Lady Morr's message or Salista's own initiative? Hard to tell, my ex-mistress' assassin —I mean, retailer— was known across the house to take initiative — and usually good ones. If that's the case, If it's Salista's own initiative to tell me about all this, then at least that means she's on my side.
Or at least a bit, I guess.
My hands are still shaking. The package is wrapped in soft silky plain paper, attached with a simple ribbon. I delicatly open it...
OH MY GODS!
It's my dress! The one Mistress Morr —Lady Morr— gave to me that day!
I guess Madam Kalista followed up with my request. I'm so glad!
I want to wear it right now, but it's not the place nor the context. I re-package my dress and exit the alley...
... only to be instantly stopped by a female ork.
"There there, little shit. Where are you going like that?"
She is not that tall, but has saliant muscle matching her visible profession: carpenter. There are several tools at her belt, planks against the wall beside her, and her colleague is giving her a weary glare.
"Fuck it, girl, we have work to do. Leave the slave alone."
My bully shakes her head, a big smile uncovering her teeth and tusks. "No way. Not before I get this package from her hands."
I clench my package. No! Everything but his!
The colleague stops his work to look at me. "She looks like she's owned by some nobie. Don't claim her, it'd be stupid."
She extends a hand and grabs the package. "I'll just relieve her from this. Let go, lil' cunt!"
Okay, things don't look good for me. If my package's stolen, my mistress will probably retrieve for me, but there's no guarantee it'll be intact. Plus, I developed a bit of pride these last few weeks.
I could use my fame to frighten her... but I don't want to draw attention. There is only one thing left for me to do: use the technique Madam Kalista taught me.
Without letting my package go, I relax, take a jaded fate, and turn my head to her colleague.
"Excuse-me, mister, would you kindly give me her name?"
He is dumbfounded by my unexpected question. She burst into laughter.
"Why do you care about my name, lil' shit?"
I locked my eyes into hers and say in the most serious voice I can manage.
"Because I'm sure Lady Kalista will want to know the identity of the impudent stealing from her slave."
I don't know what 'impudent' means exactly, but I'm certain it fits her. As expected, she is instantly frightened by the evocation of Madam Kalista's name.
She recoils, throwing a "Fuck!" out in the air. She pants a bit, then look back at me. "Well, what are you still doing here. Scram!"
I turn my head to her colleague once again. "Well? You didn't answer my question."
He pinches his nose while my bully's face is drawn to horror.
"Excuse her impudence, slave. She won't bother you again, I promise. Please be kind and refrain from reporting her. She's not worth it."
He says these word with calculated slowness. It shows that he's not used to address to nobility.
I keep a stern face. "I'm sorry, dear mister, but I'm just a slave, it's not up to me to grace my aggressors. I'm just following my mistress' orders."
He sighs. "Fine. Her name is..."
He is interrupted by the bully who suddenly stands straight.
"Wait! It's my responsibility." With a hand, she dismisses her colleague, then stands proud right in front of me. "I take full responsibility for my actions. Tell Kalista that my name is Frauen, and that I'm truly sorry for my behavior. I'm ready for whatever repayment she sees fit."
Then she turns around and resume her work as if nothing ever happened.
This is really impressive. The ork fears my mistress, but not in a way they feared Lady Morr. This Frauen did care what Madam Kalista thinks of her. Looks like everyone around here really value her, even considering she's noble and they are not.
I have no idea where my mistress had gone, but fortunately she sent a boy to wait me where we separated, to tell me she went to a —rather shady— tea shop: 'The Sour Almond'.
Inside, I tell the waiter that I am expected, and they lead me to a private room, far away from the front store. Inside, seated on cozy sofas and a teapot between them, my mistress and an unknown fully naked ork woman are chatting.
They both turn to me when I step in.
"Good afternoon, misses," I say while bowing to the stranger. "I am Nasué, slave of Lady Kalista." I notice the two empty teacup, and move to take them. "Shall I serve you?"
My mistress cuts this endeavor short with a sharp voice.
"No need to, Nasué. Our hostess here can take care of it herself. I need you to sit by me and take notes of our discussion."
This all was said with a friendly smile on her face, that the stranger returned her. They are both apparently relaxed and amiable, but I feel a small tension between them. I couldn't put my finger on why, though...
I obey my mistress and sit next to her. She fetches a notebook and a fountain pen from one of the few pouch she carries around, and give them to me.
"So, I believe we can begin, now, right?" observes the stranger. "Plus, the tea should be at the right temperature now. Please let me."
She take the teapot and serve my mistress. When she serves herself though, I notice a slight shift of her thumb. Given her lordly manners, I find it a bit odd, but doesn't extrapolate until she sets the teapot down.
On it, hidden inside the motifs of the porcelain, I see a small hole. Right where her thumb was. Then, that means...
I refrain from having a strong reaction when I realize what just happened. She obstructed the hole when serving herself, but only herself. Shit, this is a fucking assassin's teapot!
In the meantime, my mistress picked up her teacup and she's now bringing it up to her mouth.
I lose no time. I scribble a warning on a blank page of the notebook, like 'don't drink — poison'.
"Oh, mistress, i almost forgot: I have an urgent message from the person I just went to see. See for yourself."
And I show her the message, and before she even reads it she rips the page off and scolds me.
"Nasué! This is highly inappropriate! No message is urgent enough for this kind of disrespect! I never want you to do something like this again! Understood?"
I am dumbfounded. She never talked to me like that. My heart breaks at the fact that I'm a disappointment and that she will imminently drink the poison.
I lower my head and my voice. "I'm sorry, mistress."
While she apologizes to the stranger, my eyes are fixed on the poisoned cup that quickly closes the distance to her lips. The cup touch her lips, tilts, and my mistress loudly sips the poisoned tea.
I wait a few seconds, while the two are talking, waiting for the effects to come. A few minutes, even. And then...
"Nasué? Are you taking notes? You are not daydreaming, are you?"
I snap back in the moment. "Yes, no! Of course not, mistress!"
I lower my head and begin to take notes. Madam Kalista and the stranger are talking about my mistress' 'project'. They do not explicitly tell what's it about —they both seem to know the details, but for whatever reason won't say it out loud— but the stranger don't seem to like it very much.
"They are several points that bother me," she says. "But you already know them, don't you?"
Madam Kalista lightly laughs, right before taking yet another sip of poisoned tea.
"Would you care to remind me? I don't really like to deal over speculations."
She puts down her teacup. "I'm sure you understand, don't you?"
The stranger's eyes linger on the teacup. I follow her gaze, and soon understand why she struggles to hide a frown. The surface of the liquid hasn't lowered. There's as much tea as before.
Madam Kalista can't refrain a smug smile.
"... But I guess it doesn't really matter, does it? You didn't intended the conversation to go this far, did you? All the council wants, in the end, is to kill me. Am I right, Lady Piots?"
The face of the stranger is now frankly disfigured with hate. In a quick movement, she pulls a stylets out of her braided hair and launches herself across the table to stab my mistress.
Time seem to slow as I suddenly realize that my mistress is going to die.
My stomach knots, a rush of adrenalin fills my brain, and I rush forward to protect my mistress with my body. I see the steel stylet shining right before my eyes...
... and a split second later, the stranger is thrown against the side wall, repeatedly hit by two ork guards wielding wooden tonfas.
It takes me a second to realize what happened. Apparently, the guards where listening at the door, and flew open the door as soon as the assaillant made her move.
Through the door frame, I see an old ork looking at us with a complicit smile. The owner, I guess? He and my mistress planned it all?
I turn to my mistress for confirmation, but she is looking at me with two wide eyes.
"My bunny, what did you just try to do?" she asks with a trembling voice that is well out-of-character.
I fidget. "It's just... I really didn't want you to get hurt..."
Her surprised face fades and is replaced by a loving smile. "Little bunny... You don't have to. It's not your job to take care of me, it is I who must take care of you!"
I try to rotest. "But..."
She softly takes my shoulders between her big hands. "I need you in one piece, little bunny. I need you unharmed to assist me. I need you unscathed for the day I get wounded and need to be tended to."
Her words make me smile.
"Promise me to never do this again, please."
I nod. "Yes, madam. I promise you."
"Good girl," she whispers. Then, she take me into her arms.
Her embrace is soft. It's something I didn't know I missed before I came into her service. Hugs.
I don't really know why, but I begin to cry.
"Are you alright, little bunny?"
I nod against her breast. I shift in place, and my hand flush against her dick. Without much thoughts, I start stroking it.
"Bunny? What are you doing?"
I stop for a moment. "May I?"
She frowns a little. "Are you sure?"
I lower my eyes. "I... This made me realize that I love you, madam. And I want to show it... I really do."
She releases her embrace a bit. "Alright, then."
I resume my stroking and begin to kiss her tits.
"You know..." she begins to say.
I don't wait for the end of the sentence and begin to nimble her nipples. She rattles, and I feel her dick grow thicker between my fingers. She finally begins to relaxes, spraying her thighs apart and arching a bit to present me her breasts.
My fondling grows harder, and my stroking faster. My mistress moans louder and small drops of precum drip from her thick rod.
"Are you serious? Are you doing that right now?"
My mistress and I both ignore the ranting of the captive Lady in the corner.
I slip down, kissing her chubby belly, caressing her inner thigh. I feel the muscle tense in pleasure against my finger. I kiss her pubis, the base of her cock, and right when I align the dick my my mouth, almost touching it with my tongue, she grabs my chin between two fingers. I look into her eyes, and with her steel blue gaze, she finally finishes her sentence:
"... I love you too, bunny."
Then I sleeve her cock with my mouth.
A loud sigh relieve her with all the stress of the meeting and the failed assassination attempt. Large slaty beads of precum erupts from her cock at regular intervals, in rhythm with the throbs of her dick and her loud moans.
Her cock is huge, but I'm a professional and manage to suck the cockhead whole, all while fondling her balls with a hand.
"Please don't stop!" she almost begs while her whole body shifts under the pressure of her pleasure.
With my free hand, I grab hers and make it slip up to the back of my head. She takes the cue and nest my skull with her huge hands to guide the blowjob.
At first, she forces my head gently, but the pleasure and the rising orgasm takes over and she start pounding my throat deeper than I could have ever achieved alone. I feel the warm precum delivered directly into my stomach, and the only moments I can breath happen every few second when she pulls my head off for a split second.
With my second hand now free I slip a finger between her buttcheeks and stroke her anus. That's when I feel it twitch under my caresses than I feel a warm liquid drip in abundance between my own thighs.
Despite the crown in the small room, the only sounds echoing right now are the gargles of myself being face-fucked and the moans of pleasure of my mistress that are turning every seconds into low rattles.
My mistress' anus feels now a bit lubricated, so I insert my middle finger up to its base and begin to massage her prostate.
"Oh fuck, bunny! You're right there! Don't stop!"
She skullfucks me even harder, and so fast than I can't breath anymore. My mind goes a bit vaporous from oxygen deprivation, but not so much as I'm unable to press harder on her prostate.
"Right on, slut! Take it all!"
In one huge thrust into my throat, she cums directly into my stomach. Her anus is so strongly pressing on my finger that I can't remove it at all. I feel her thick cum flooding my insides, then overflowing off my mouth around her dick still buried deep inside me.
My vision goes dark due to air deprivation, but she unsheath her girl-sword just in time for me to take a big bowl of air, right after I let the sperm filling my tracts on the ground.
Well, mostly on the ground. The rest stains my shirt and my skirt. But I really don't care.
"That was amazing!" I throw at her with my most sincere smile.
She doesn't look at me. She is arched back on the couch, 1breathing heavily, with an arm across her eyes.
"Oh my fucking GODS, bunny. You are a piece of something!"
I chuckle and brag, "I didn't usurp my rep."
She gently stroke my hair, still trying to sort her mind.
"Are you even human?" A voice —coming from behind me— almost makes me jump.
I turn around and realize that I forgot that we had an audience. The two guard try to stay professional but their body language is betraying them. The stranger lady —the one who spoke— is opening her eyes wide in pure stupefaction.
At that, my mistress drags herself back up and says with a firm voice, "Please lead her away."
The guards obey —they have to bring her to justice anyway— and my mistress finally looks at me.
"My my, you made quite a mess, little bunny. I'm not complaining, but I doubt this will be practical for what we have to do next..."
I smile at her. "Don't worry, I got a change!" and proudly brandish the package I got earlier.
I proceed to undress and the owner —who also saw the scene— brings me a silky towel.
Then, with an undisguised excitement, I put on my magnificent hand-made ankle-long gilded emerald-green dress. I'm so gorgeous in it!
I present my distinguished self to my naked mistress, with a note of pride I must say.
She is in awe. "Look at you, bunny! You certainly are a pretty sight in a slutty attire, but I never could have imagined you could drape yourself with such class!"
The fancy words of my usually laid-back mistress make me blush.
The owner approaches us to interrupt or little ballet.
"If I may, dearest Kalista, you must be tired from all of dis, and I was wondering if you would have a drink wid dis old ork?"
His words are honeyed but lack any form of sarcasm or condescension. He speaks with a foreign accent which seem to match the strange embodied robe he is draped in.
My mistress' mouth is bended with remorse.
"I'm sorry, but we don't really have the time. But I appreciate the offer though. Maybe another day?"
The old ork allows himself to take one of my mistress' hands into his. For someone of his rank, this should be a scandalous gesture, but Madam seems untroubled. Are they close?
"Dear Lady of de people," the owner continues, "dere is much I wish to hear from you. It has been some time since I last sat wid you, and little bees buzzed at my ears dat you will be quite busy very soon..."
There are clearly some subtext to all he said, and his word stroke true. My mistress takes a sorry face, then gives him a melancholic smile, and nods.
"You are right, old friend. I have been a shadow for too long. Let's drink together."
"So, what nectar will stench your parchedness, today?" the owner asks my mistress while putting a kettle on the fire.
We are seated in a cozy little backroom with purple satin couches and dozens of shelves of teas and other beverages. Probably a stockroom that sometime serve as a parlor.
"No tea for me!" answer Madam Kalista. "After that wench and her poisoned shit, I need to crack a cold one!"
The owner laughs behind one of his long sleeves. "I do not hold ale in dis house. My customers like to claim deir refined palate deserves de best, so brews are not to be sold. But I have a fine whisky from my land, and I'm quite sure it will roll very well on your tongue."
My mistress cheer while raising her hand. "Whisky it is, then!"
Then, the owner turns to me. "And what will be your liquor, elegant bondwoman?"
I'm taken short by the question, as I was not expecting to take part in their toast.
"No alcool for her, master Sujung," intervenes my mistress. "I need her mind and body clear for later."
The owner approaches Madam Kalista with a mischievous frown. "Kalista, if I must not call a Lady her title, den you will refrain to call an old ork a master."
My mistress sighs exageratly. "Fiiiine."
Then, Sujung turns to me. "Will tea meet your desire? I have a wonderful smoked black tea with notes of walnut and violet. Strong in mouth but with a long and mellow aftertaste."
I nod, and shortly the kettle whistles that tea time is nigh.
Once everyone has a glass of cup in hand, Sujung seats himself opposite to us and starts the conversation.
"So, dear Kalista. What news of green pulse you carry in your winds?"
Huh? What's he talking about?
"Well, it's been hard, lately" my mistress answers. "They often seem worried, and when I ask, they dismisses me. You know Ashby, always to himself. But all in all, he is in good health."
Oh, I see. Green pulse... Big bean... They definitely know each other too well.
Sujung sips his hot tea. "I see. Dey indeed haven't changed much on dat terrain since deir teens, am I wrong? Do you hold any clue on what is responsible for such worryness?"
My mistress takes a long sip of whisky, then looks inside her glass, making the ice cube inside move with a circling motion.
"I think I do, and it's what you think of. But first, let me ask you this: why involve Nasué in this?"
Sujung sits deeper in the couch. "What makes you believe dat's my intention?"
Madam Kalista scoffs softly. "Because you offer her some tea to make sure she stayed with us. Also, you were quite eager to make us stay. I know you're often craving news about the big bean, but it's the first time you insisted when I declined."
The old ork take his time to finish his cup, then put it on the coffee table. Instead of answering my mistress, he adresses me.
"I didn't know your name nor your face until today. But numerous birds chirped of your hair and your skills at my tables. You are Lady Morr's famed former jewel chattel, are you not? You deserve to fill your ears wid de facticity of de past mischiefs and trials."
I bat my lashes as I don't understand a word he says.
"Above a slave, your are a human," he continues. "Above a human you are a person. A few figures of dis city plan high endeavors related to dis past events, and deir plans involves de slave, de human, and de person you are."
He then turns a stern face back to Madam Kalista, who walled herself in silence during his pompous monologue.
"Kalista. You friendship is most precious to me. Not only because you took Ashby under your wings when dey were a mere sprout, nor because of de continuous efforts you make to keep me up-to-date on deir wellness and blessedness, but above all because of your righteousness. You have always been a woman upstanding for her values and for de oppressed, notwidstanding her blue blood."
He stands up and goes fetch the kettle.
"Please, be right to her and tell her about you and your family. In de meantime, I'll make more tea."
What? Her family? What's it have to do with Ashby? With me?
My mistress seems... Anxious? She avoids my gaze?
After a few instants fidgeting with her fingers, she sighs, look at me in they eyes, and finally talks.
"Nasué... First of all, I apologize to you. Even if I straight-up told you so, it's still wrong. I claimed you to serve my own scheme, and I feel bad about it every day."
She takes a breather, and I take the opportunity to dismiss her worries.
"Madam, I'm very happy with you. It's strange, but you're very nice with me."
She shakes her head. "You don't get it. I'm apologizing for involving you in my schemes. And other's. I can't quite tell you now, because it's not the subject and it'll take too much time to tell everything, but I'm responsible for what will happen next... And I doubt you'll like it."
I begin to worry. "What do you mean?"
She puts a soft huge hand on my knee.
"Let me start at the beginning, alright? There is a lot of information for you to digest. We'll begin now, and finish later, okay?"
I silently nod, still worried but eager to hear it all.
She takes a deep breath, and reveals that...
"Ashby is Morr's child."
This hits me like a fireball in the face. Lady Morr has a child?
"Wait," I realize. "They are half-ork. That means that..."
My mistress nods. "Their father was a slave."
"Was?"
"Yes. Of course. Breeding with a ork is death sentence for any non-ork. Along with any illegitimate children then may have had."
Overwhelmed by the emotions and zillions of questions, I take a look at Sujung. He stands still in front of the heating up kettle, not moving.
"But," I protest, "why didn't Ashby got executed with their father?"
"Because we protected them. Well, I protected them. I took them under my protection."
Suddenly, Sujung turn around. His eyes were misty. "Kalista! Do not lie!"
She sighed. I expected an answer from her, but it took a few seconds to come.
"The truth is... complex. At that time, Morr and I were living together. Morr wanted to hide the child, I wanted to fight for them to have the right to live. My approach was more risky, as much for me as for them, but I didn't want them to hide in shame, to lurk in the shadow of others all of their life."
She let her face fall into her hands.
"In the end, I ended up hiding them myself. I didn't have the guts, the power to fight for their rights. I spited Morr for wanting to hide them, but since I was weak, I did it in her stead. What a joke..."
I put my tiny head on my dear mistress' knee. "But you care for him, don't you? You protect him, and that's what counts."
She gently puts her gigantic hand on top of mine, casting me a sad smile.
"Yes, that's what I tell myself to cope. But I feel their sadness, their self-pity. Their self-hatred even. Unlike you, they aren't cut to be a slave."
Cut to be a slave? Yes, I am. I am happy being a slave harlot. But I can't fathom the sadness Ashby must feel.
"Do they know about their parents?"
My mistress slowly nods. "Of course. I had to tell them. They had the right to know everything."
"I see... I feel so bad for them..."
I focus my eyes on my cup of tea. This is a lot of information, but it settles in.
Sujung pours another serving of tea, and while finally settling down again, whispers to his friend.
"Kalista. There is something you omitted. She, also, has the right to know everything."
My mistress stands up and pours herself a full glass of whisky.
"Earlier, I implied that Ashby's father was sentenced to death. While capital punishment applies in this case, that's not what killed him."
I frown. "Then, what did?"
She drank her whole glass in one go, then said: "It was Morr."
.
.
Notes : Sex scene between Ashby and Nasué in public, which is lowkey scandalous because Ashby is Morr's disowned son she had with a now-dead human slave, saved from death sentence by Kalista. Between the lines, we understand that both Morr and Kalista didn't want Ashby's death, but Kalista wanted to fight for it while Morr wanted to hide him (what Kalista did in the end). It was Morr who killed Ashby's father, a bit out of spite but most importantly to keep the face and quiet the rumors.