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xl Torro lx
Planetoid
- Joined
- May 17, 2020
- Location
- USA
-;- Finally, they had reached the city of Minus. Bussiness presumed as was the normal when you were in the military. When your life was the sword, shield, and waiting for it to be time for blood to be spilt on the ground. Their rewards? Women. The best reward any natural man would be blessed with receiving. The slave girl that was picked up from the road was as low as a coin slut to him for the time. A recaptured girl who would be getting a more intricate slave collar around her neck in coming days when he took the time to acquire one. He knew not the elk of the smiths in the city, so he would have to find the rare one who could engrave upon metal. The tools to do so, or one who would cooperate with him in acquiring the tools, and doing the work he sought to make done.
In other lands, he was too well known, nor was he a savior, or a known killer amongst the men who were the guards. Yet he was feared. He kept himself in a state of physical prowress that was superior to most men his age, and quite a few times superior to the youth who were smaller than him and rarely were larger. Yet there were men who were larger than him, as if they were giants of a whole nother region. Yet they were also the leaders of their armies, the ones who led the charges, who were destined to be the first dead, or the one leading the victories. They got to choose which one they would be.
There were of course, other men, the scribes, the merchants, and those lower classes of filth and drab dark clothing. They were unimportant, yet were allowed to survive. They had their purposes. Until you walked amongst them in their own areas of living. Where the filth could be tracked, and pursued. Where there were bounties to be won in your time off. Where men challenged the outlaws, and came back alive.
Yet the other side of his life was that with women. Discreet and hidden from the view of most, and nearly everyone except in rare occasions. When balls, and festivities were about and he was invited to join. Yet, when he had his real time, his own time, he went to the slave girls. The girls who were hidden away, the best ones. Where they were difficult to find, where they were perhaps safe from those who would capture them, and take them for their own.
It had been weeks since he had been with a slave. The one he brought with him needed cleaning much like himself. The coins were given to the clerk at the entrance, a few coins that would be replaced when needed from a big satchel now in the trunk in the barracks of Minus. Some of his men were there to guard it, for it was their pay too. The others took shifts to enter the city, and have their free time. Much like when they were in the field. There were two teams that took turns being asleep, and one ensuring they stayed alive. Now they were making other pursuits to be alive in other ways.
Rahmor went to the closet where small alcoves were made in the walls surrounded by the darkness of stone, and wood lit by the ever dancing flame from ensconced torches. Sheathed swords attached to a wide leather belt, the engraved braidings of leather adorning its length took hours to create, more hours to add to it as time passed, and mending was enlaid upon it as it was worn and wore out from use. His shield and larger equipment were left in the barracks with the others. Thus he had little more than his sandals to remove, the roped lengths scraping along the strict muscles of his ankles to the dark haired bronze of the his leg. Dirt was a layer upon his flesh that he feared adding to the waters of the bath. A smirk slid upon his lips as he cast his eyes about for the girl he brought with him.
"Start rinsing off my legs." Rahmors voice was deep, buried inside his chest that kept it low and barely at a level of becoming a growl because he would have to train her for the menial tasks. Some slavegirls were obedient, and new their chores already, all of them, then some that even he knew not they were intelligent enough to know how to perform. And perform they did. There were girls he once found who would make every chore before the masters they served a performed art that was a beautification to watch. Yet that art was very rare. If it even still existed.
The girls light blue eyes enlargened with anxiety at being given a command at all. Then fear began to trickle into the glazing emeralds sparkling from within the long dark lashes of her eyes. With a quickness that reminded him of her dexterity to help kill her prior captor, she darted off. A moment was taken to watch the flesh of her body move with her leave. The remnants of her tunic had been torn here and there to reveal more of her lithe body within. To reveal more of the beautiful flesh hidden from view from below to reveal pinkened perkness still ripe and jutting for attention. A scent was breathed in as she shifted from her place in a kneeling position near the entryway, that of her roses natural aroma. Another reason to bring her along where he went. The training of both the girl, and his own senses was being made so his body would respond heatedly to her hormonic vibes.
When she left his viewing pleasures, he turned back to the alcove in front of him. Lit by a small candelebra on a table against the wall before him. He pulled the crimson material of his tunic from his body. It was already becoming heavy with sweat from the heat, and the journeys' torment upon it with winds and sun. After he let the feel of it sliding along the thick cords of muscle manning his outer shoulders it was pulled into a quicker drop across the curling hairs upon the broad expanse of muscles along his chest. The tunic was tossed into a basket below where the weight of it sent it shuddering along its weaved diameters on the floor below.
He then headed for the baths, exiting the closet and heading towards a designated side for the men, as well as where a few others could be scene lounging within the waters through the open frame via the furnture enrichened lobby. He though, was too laiden with dirt to sit for now, and continued into the baths. From the opening, before he arrived, his girl rushed out with a deep bowl in her hands. A pure white towel was upon her shoulders, covering more than her tunic to his dismay. Fingers snapped below at his side as he was brought to the discomfort of being blinded to such a beauty, whilst she was still so young and an asset to expose.
In another moment, he decided to turn patient, and let her splash water onto his feet as she quickly stooped over, leaving her rondurre facing behind her in portrayal of that heartshaped divinition of her hips. The tunic fell shortly forward along her waist, exposing the barest exposition of the bend beyond from his gazing eyes far and above. Yet, the task was not demanding to take too long. There was a brushing of the towel coming from her shoulder below that soaked up the water, then used the same to smear away more of the dirt below that had formed from the journey. As if to relieve him of its constricting grit where it still remained to be found. She moved her head closer, and closer to him where it mattered. And half was confused as to what she should do next, knowing her life was in his hands, and she was to be grateful for her rescue. How grateful would she allowed to become?
Those eyes looked up to beg, almost whimper in appreciation as she was allowed to touch his flesh, the muscles, the strength of such a man whom she feintly remained quiet for, loyal, and obedient. Yet her eyes spoke so much more, her thoughts, her untouched desires, all open to him and out for display to any who observed from inside the lobby. His eyes weighed on him, a need for sleep perhaps. A weariness that would be soothed in the bath waters beyond. The lithe weave of his large hand was sent into the dark blonde lengths upon her head. Pulling her in to feel the seering touch of her lips along the bared elongation jutting from his loins. She bristled, and leant to do more upon him. But was denied as he drew her aside as he strode over her to continue his path to the waters beyond. A whining whimper erupted behind him, echoing into the room from her knelt stature. Her hands coming together to bear the brown streaked towel still in her clutching hands. Oh so cute when they were submissive for more.
In moments following, he lowered himself into the waters, the heat was thickening the air in white mists. The feel of muscles bound within flesh were forgotten, and the flesh became more existant as it dealt with the heating waters. Waters that were sunken into as the thickness of his thighs were exposed to all, the layers of curls upon its expanse concealing it to a thin degree. Muscles rippled and shifted where there was strength and discreet prowress. As if there was to be a professionalism whilst in the public amongst others.
In further moments, the regal of his broad shoulders pursued the sleekening shift of muscles jutting out from the wide length of his abdominals. Dirt seemed to sift from the depths of the water to darken the floating bubbles. As if most engrossed in serving him even more, his slave girl darted to the side of the baths with another towel, and a few bathing items that had been hastily curled into her arms to press to the abundance of softness at her clothed bosom. The blues in her eyes glistened with eagerness as she eyed such a man, more so, his muscles that were beyond the levels that her prior masters had attained, or were even of a mind of reaching for.
In other lands, he was too well known, nor was he a savior, or a known killer amongst the men who were the guards. Yet he was feared. He kept himself in a state of physical prowress that was superior to most men his age, and quite a few times superior to the youth who were smaller than him and rarely were larger. Yet there were men who were larger than him, as if they were giants of a whole nother region. Yet they were also the leaders of their armies, the ones who led the charges, who were destined to be the first dead, or the one leading the victories. They got to choose which one they would be.
There were of course, other men, the scribes, the merchants, and those lower classes of filth and drab dark clothing. They were unimportant, yet were allowed to survive. They had their purposes. Until you walked amongst them in their own areas of living. Where the filth could be tracked, and pursued. Where there were bounties to be won in your time off. Where men challenged the outlaws, and came back alive.
Yet the other side of his life was that with women. Discreet and hidden from the view of most, and nearly everyone except in rare occasions. When balls, and festivities were about and he was invited to join. Yet, when he had his real time, his own time, he went to the slave girls. The girls who were hidden away, the best ones. Where they were difficult to find, where they were perhaps safe from those who would capture them, and take them for their own.
It had been weeks since he had been with a slave. The one he brought with him needed cleaning much like himself. The coins were given to the clerk at the entrance, a few coins that would be replaced when needed from a big satchel now in the trunk in the barracks of Minus. Some of his men were there to guard it, for it was their pay too. The others took shifts to enter the city, and have their free time. Much like when they were in the field. There were two teams that took turns being asleep, and one ensuring they stayed alive. Now they were making other pursuits to be alive in other ways.
Rahmor went to the closet where small alcoves were made in the walls surrounded by the darkness of stone, and wood lit by the ever dancing flame from ensconced torches. Sheathed swords attached to a wide leather belt, the engraved braidings of leather adorning its length took hours to create, more hours to add to it as time passed, and mending was enlaid upon it as it was worn and wore out from use. His shield and larger equipment were left in the barracks with the others. Thus he had little more than his sandals to remove, the roped lengths scraping along the strict muscles of his ankles to the dark haired bronze of the his leg. Dirt was a layer upon his flesh that he feared adding to the waters of the bath. A smirk slid upon his lips as he cast his eyes about for the girl he brought with him.
"Start rinsing off my legs." Rahmors voice was deep, buried inside his chest that kept it low and barely at a level of becoming a growl because he would have to train her for the menial tasks. Some slavegirls were obedient, and new their chores already, all of them, then some that even he knew not they were intelligent enough to know how to perform. And perform they did. There were girls he once found who would make every chore before the masters they served a performed art that was a beautification to watch. Yet that art was very rare. If it even still existed.
The girls light blue eyes enlargened with anxiety at being given a command at all. Then fear began to trickle into the glazing emeralds sparkling from within the long dark lashes of her eyes. With a quickness that reminded him of her dexterity to help kill her prior captor, she darted off. A moment was taken to watch the flesh of her body move with her leave. The remnants of her tunic had been torn here and there to reveal more of her lithe body within. To reveal more of the beautiful flesh hidden from view from below to reveal pinkened perkness still ripe and jutting for attention. A scent was breathed in as she shifted from her place in a kneeling position near the entryway, that of her roses natural aroma. Another reason to bring her along where he went. The training of both the girl, and his own senses was being made so his body would respond heatedly to her hormonic vibes.
When she left his viewing pleasures, he turned back to the alcove in front of him. Lit by a small candelebra on a table against the wall before him. He pulled the crimson material of his tunic from his body. It was already becoming heavy with sweat from the heat, and the journeys' torment upon it with winds and sun. After he let the feel of it sliding along the thick cords of muscle manning his outer shoulders it was pulled into a quicker drop across the curling hairs upon the broad expanse of muscles along his chest. The tunic was tossed into a basket below where the weight of it sent it shuddering along its weaved diameters on the floor below.
He then headed for the baths, exiting the closet and heading towards a designated side for the men, as well as where a few others could be scene lounging within the waters through the open frame via the furnture enrichened lobby. He though, was too laiden with dirt to sit for now, and continued into the baths. From the opening, before he arrived, his girl rushed out with a deep bowl in her hands. A pure white towel was upon her shoulders, covering more than her tunic to his dismay. Fingers snapped below at his side as he was brought to the discomfort of being blinded to such a beauty, whilst she was still so young and an asset to expose.
In another moment, he decided to turn patient, and let her splash water onto his feet as she quickly stooped over, leaving her rondurre facing behind her in portrayal of that heartshaped divinition of her hips. The tunic fell shortly forward along her waist, exposing the barest exposition of the bend beyond from his gazing eyes far and above. Yet, the task was not demanding to take too long. There was a brushing of the towel coming from her shoulder below that soaked up the water, then used the same to smear away more of the dirt below that had formed from the journey. As if to relieve him of its constricting grit where it still remained to be found. She moved her head closer, and closer to him where it mattered. And half was confused as to what she should do next, knowing her life was in his hands, and she was to be grateful for her rescue. How grateful would she allowed to become?
Those eyes looked up to beg, almost whimper in appreciation as she was allowed to touch his flesh, the muscles, the strength of such a man whom she feintly remained quiet for, loyal, and obedient. Yet her eyes spoke so much more, her thoughts, her untouched desires, all open to him and out for display to any who observed from inside the lobby. His eyes weighed on him, a need for sleep perhaps. A weariness that would be soothed in the bath waters beyond. The lithe weave of his large hand was sent into the dark blonde lengths upon her head. Pulling her in to feel the seering touch of her lips along the bared elongation jutting from his loins. She bristled, and leant to do more upon him. But was denied as he drew her aside as he strode over her to continue his path to the waters beyond. A whining whimper erupted behind him, echoing into the room from her knelt stature. Her hands coming together to bear the brown streaked towel still in her clutching hands. Oh so cute when they were submissive for more.
In moments following, he lowered himself into the waters, the heat was thickening the air in white mists. The feel of muscles bound within flesh were forgotten, and the flesh became more existant as it dealt with the heating waters. Waters that were sunken into as the thickness of his thighs were exposed to all, the layers of curls upon its expanse concealing it to a thin degree. Muscles rippled and shifted where there was strength and discreet prowress. As if there was to be a professionalism whilst in the public amongst others.
In further moments, the regal of his broad shoulders pursued the sleekening shift of muscles jutting out from the wide length of his abdominals. Dirt seemed to sift from the depths of the water to darken the floating bubbles. As if most engrossed in serving him even more, his slave girl darted to the side of the baths with another towel, and a few bathing items that had been hastily curled into her arms to press to the abundance of softness at her clothed bosom. The blues in her eyes glistened with eagerness as she eyed such a man, more so, his muscles that were beyond the levels that her prior masters had attained, or were even of a mind of reaching for.