Life in the Viceroy’s household is not easy. There are outbreaks of violent temper, brutal punishments for disobedience, upheavals of routine, bewildering silences alternated with flurries of uncouth visitors. The slaves grumble in their quarters. Some don’t last more than a few days, others disappear mysteriously with valuable objects, and yet others are sent to harsher fates.
The Viceroy treats his slave girls no different from any other man of his birth and breeding. They are housed and fed and given everything they need to serve him. And he uses them as he sees fit. They are of different ages, perhaps all of a similar skin colour with the occasional exception. Certainly different heights and body shapes. But they are all expected to look a certain way -- the same artificial hair, the same dark lines around their eyes, the same colour to their lips. And the same clothing -- flimsy gowns that cover their bodies, with gilt boning that lift their breasts, the material transparent enough to reveal every contour and secret colour. It’s entirely impractical, easily damaged when doing housework, but perfectly suited to their function.
They are always to be of easy access to the Viceroy.
Jyn Erso doesn’t mind so much. She’s a young woman, born into slavery. She’s never expected anything different. And she knows she’s luckier than most because she’s pretty and she’s young and she knows what’s expected of her. It won’t always be this way. She knows that too.
The other girls tolerate it, part of their life, their daily existence. She doesn’t expect to like it as much as she does. Of course she never makes this obvious, that would get her tossed out on the street. Or worse. No, she keeps her eyes lowered and she says nothing unless spoken to, and she keeps a respectful distance from him always.
Until he touches her.
And then she stands still and quivers, her eyes lowered now for an entirely different reason. She loves the way his hands are on her, beautiful and casual, like she’s a plaything.
If he’s reading out on the balcony, she approaches to refresh his goblet of wine. Sometimes he ignores her, keeps on reading. Of course she means nothing, merely part of the background, as significant as a tapestry he passes every day and never looks at. Then there are the times when she bends a little to tip the decanter, and his hand slides up the back of her thigh, pushing the silken fabric up her skin. She trembles but never ever spills the wine. If he holds her in place, her thigh or higher between her legs, she straightens up and stays where she is. Invariably he keeps reading and she tries not to sneak a glance at the concentration on his face. Sometimes he sighs and lets go of her, and she moves away, memorising the shape of his hand on her flesh.
But then there are times when he keeps her beside him, playing with the wet silken folds of her sex. Then she struggles to keep her composure. His fingers are thick and he’s not gentle. But she likes it, oh so very much. And she’s always wet for him, always soft and just tight enough that sometimes he fucks her with his fingers, still reading, never mind how she may tremble and want to cry out and fall forward and expose herself for him. No, she spreads her legs enough for him to hold her sex in the broad palm of his hand and his fingers go up into her, blunt and working, working her so wet. His nail scrapes her, she wants to rock down on his hand, how her clit aches for his touch. But she’s not allowed, that’s not proper and not right. Sometimes he does it til she comes, all wet and fragrant down her thighs, the gown sticking to her skin as she walks away, hot and shaking a little. Sometimes he takes his hand away before she gets there, and she has to choke on her whimper, moving away with the decanter as he keeps reading. Sometimes he absently sucks her wetness off his fingers before he unrolls the parchment further.
He’s not a young man or a kind man. The other girls complain sometimes that he’s far too old and far too strange. His temper is cruel and unpredictable, it’s true. He doesn’t know any of their names and why should he? There are murmurs that he’s constantly on the brink of losing all his wealth and all his influence with the Pharaoh. There are whispers too that he goes out and visits certain bathhouses, prefers the company of young men. She has no problem with this. If anything, there are moments in her narrow bed at night when she wonders what that would be like to watch, how he’d be with some young lithe man. Her own hand between her thighs, she thinks about his body tangled with another man, what his brutal lovely hands would look on some man’s body.
She’s been part of his household since she was thirteen. The first two years her interests were too childish to take any notice of him beyond the fear of punishment. And then somewhere in her fifteenth year she began to realise how the sight of him was starting to affect her. His volatile blue eyes in the dark liner, the tight unforgiving line of his mouth, the contour of his throat, and the way he moves like something powerful and fey. The snide lilt and malicious intelligence of his voice. She catches herself staring at him and is even caught by one of the older servants, scolded that it is never ever allowed to stare with such disrespect at the master, that she’s risking banishment or worse. This terrifies her so much she keeps her eyes down because suddenly the thought of being forced to leave his house is the worst thing she can imagine.
When she’s nineteen, he touches her for the first time as she pours the wine. A few months later, he fucks her over the table in the banquet hall. It comes without warning. She’s clearing the dishes, leaning over to reach the furthest one, entirely unaware that she’s being watched. He comes up behind her, drags the thin gown up over her naked bottom, shoves her thighs apart, and his cock breaches her virgin cunt right then and there. That first time she does cry out and immediately muffles it against the table surface, partly frightened it might have cost her everything and mostly overwhelmed by the newness of this, by the feel of him so thick and hard making her so aware of parts of her body she had barely considered. She’s so tight he groans and finishes fast, pulling out to splatter across the young curve of her bottom. A little later she’s in a bath drawn by an older servant woman, and she’s touching herself where he’s been, startling herself with the force of her climax.
That was about five years ago. Since then she’s seen him caress other slave girls, spend himself in their mouths. He’s indiscriminate with them, one body is obviously the same as another. She watches this out of the corner of her eye, not jealous as such but seeing how the other girls don’t do it well enough. They don’t enjoy him like she does, maybe one or two summon up an appropriate degree of enthusiasm. But she knows she could be better. She wants to, for him.
He doesn’t use her mouth and she knows there is no way she can ever take the initiative. But he does make use of her in other ways. There are times when she takes him new quills and parchment, and he glances up absently from the writing desk, sees the pink eager jut of her nipple against the fine fabric. Sometimes he’ll casually flick his fingers against it and dismiss her. Other times, he has her sit to one side before him, and he fondles her breasts as he works. It doesn’t seem to bother him that she’s not as voluptuous as some of the other girls, and that makes her proud somehow. That he likes the tender swell of her breasts, that sometimes he leans forward and takes her nipple in his mouth, turns the fabric wet and almost non-existent with his spit, and sucks on her until she wants to clutch at his dark hair and moan so loud. She never does. She grips the edge of the desk by her thighs and bites her lower lip hard, loving the heat of his mouth on her, such intimacy of his breath on her.
She has never looked him directly in the eye. So she doesn’t know if he’s ever looked at her face. It shouldn’t matter. Most of the time it doesn’t. And nothing really changes, no great huge moments of transformation. Things simply slide up a scale. He probably doesn’t even realise they do. For a while, he only fucks her from behind, whether it’s against a corridor wall as other servants pass, pretending not to notice, as she tries not to whimper her pleasure, or on her knees on the balcony, her torso draped over the long low divan, burying her sounds of pleasure in the brocade.
She’s sent to tend to him in the mornings. He opens sleepy blue eyes under all those rumpled black curls, so beautiful she aches as she lowers her gaze. And he pulls her lazily into the bath with him, her gown soaking invisible immediately. He strokes her young slender body, rubbing the fabric against her skin, tastes her nipples and the smooth skin of her collarbone. He makes her straddle his hips, lowers her onto his stiff cock in the water. She gasps at the sight of his face right there for her and bounces faster on his cock, so excited because he’s all langour in comparison to her urgency. He tips his head back, his throat wet and strong, so lickable that she wants to so very much. She tugs at her own nipples, moans trapped in her chest, and rocks faster, forward on his cock so it catches the sweet spot she’s discovered by herself. He doesn’t seem to care and that only excites her more, using him in this secret small way.
When they finish, he lets her clean him, lets her run the sea sponge over his skin. She wants so much to taste him the way he tasted her, to learn the pattern of his skin, where it’s smooth and clear and where it’s so freckled. His cock stiffens again because of her, that makes her so proud. When he guides her hand back down, her cheek is against his, rasping stubble against her soft skin. The intimacy of it makes her breath shallow and fast, makes her grasp his cock with something like familiarity and wonder.
He lets her do that a lot, at casual moments during the day or during mealtimes. When she comes to serve him at the table, his hand clasps her wrist and she knows what he wants. She’s confident and careful with that part of him, and maybe he knows it.
Still he never plays favourite. She’s never singled out for mockery by the other girls or servants. One night he calls for two girls to his rooms, it doesn’t matter which two. In the warm brown and golden shades by rushlight, she caresses the other girl and kisses her tentatively. He likes that, an approving hand on her back. The other girl sucks his cock as he lies back on the bed, and Jyn feels his hand go up the inside of her thigh. His eyes are so deep dark blue in this light, it almost feels like he sees her. She rocks down on his hand, holds his wrist there as she leans forward to mouth the smooth skin on the girl’s back. It’s beautiful and so very sensual, and she only minds a very little that she has to share him with another girl.
That night he spread her legs and makes the girl lick her cunt. She comes and comes again, knowing somehow that now it’s okay for her to vocalise her pleasure, that this is what he wants. She closes her eyes as she moans, feeling his eyes on her, feeling his attention. His mouth descends to her breasts. As the girl licks the come from her thighs, he licks the delicate sheen of sweat from her throat and shoulders, bites gently at her nipples. She almost puts her hands in the curls of his hair, instead at the very last second grabs the sheets instead. He lets the two of them roam all over his body and then she does want to push the girl out of the way. Instead she performs so much better because she’s hungered for this so long, to learn him, to taste him. His hand in her hair, she runs her wet mouth all over the secret places and sleek contours of his body, and finally gets to learn the patterns of his skin.
But he pulls away and rearranges them so the other girl is on her back, legs splayed wide for Jyn’s mouth. As she gets the taste of cunt and female come, he slides into her from behind, a rough sigh out of his throat as her willing flesh engulfs her. Their rhythm is slow and deep and melodic, all soft carnal sounds in the soft warm room. He pulls out of her and sinks his cock wet with her into the other girl, and this time she’s bold enough to take some initiative, snuggling up to his chest and seizing his nipple between her teeth. He snarls gently but doesn’t seem to mind.
She crouches beside the girl and watches him fuck her, watches with jealous hungry eyes how his chest and throat reddens with exertion, how the blue eyes glitter and the black curls smudge across his forehead. He fucks the girl faster, the urgency catches Jyn and she kisses the girl hard, wanting in on the action again. The other girl has swollen sloppy breasts with large nipples that Jyn sucks on and crawls down her body. The girl gasps and knows she’s meant to lick at Jyn’s cunt. And he watches Jyn crawl up to him, a sly appreciation on his face as he grips the girl’s thighs and fucks her steady hard. Jyn wants to ask him what he wants her to do as a sort of challenge but of course that’s impossible. So she does what she wants. She goes down and sucks on the skin around his cock, mouths the neatly trimmed curls at the base there. There’s a tongue in her cunt, making her shudder happily, spilling come across the girl’s face, and his hand is in her hair, possessive and holding her there. She pulls away when she senses he’s about to come, out of his grip so she’s on her back on the bed beside the gasping used girl, her legs open and her cunt open. Delighting at the way his eyes flash in the dim light and how he pulls out, pushes the girl’s legs out of the way, and then he’s deep to the hilt back in Jyn. It’s a depraved sort of triumph, she gasps happily up at him.
In the days and months after that, when he takes some other girl by the mouth or cunt in the outer rooms, invariably he glances across and finds her watching him. Something passes between them, something has changed. He tips his head back, pushing his cock harder into whatever girl is servicing him, and his eyes are a sliver of ice blue through dark lashes in the sunlight. She understands without being told that he likes her watching so she does, she never lowers her gaze from then on.
Unless they’re in company.
There are more visitors, men in armour who say threatening things to him and make him panic on some terrible visceral level. But then he watches them leave and there’s an equally terrible cunning on his face. He fucks her extra hard after such visits, leaving her sore and gleeful. Of course she is never allowed to stay and sleep with him. She always slips back into her ripped gown and goes back to the servants quarters to hug the knowledge of him to her.
One time all the girls except the indisposed are summoned to the main banquet room. She is told specifically that she isn’t wanted. The other servants avert their eyes from her, shamed or maybe secretly pleased at her concealed distress. A short time later the rest of the servants are told to attend, and she is specifically instructed to robe up over her usual gown. When she asks why, the house steward ignores her and swathes her head and face so only her eyes are visible.
There are naked gleaming bodies tangled in groaning ecstasy across the floor and low couches. The servants range against the wall, there to bear witness. Jyn hates and loves what she sees, how the men out of armour are being serviced by so many women, so much wanton grunts and cries in the hot air. And there he is being ridden by one of the other girls, his hands on her breasts, glimpses of his teeth between his snarling lips. She wants in, she wants him, shocking undeniable jealousy, and can’t do anything but stand there in her confining clothes, watching and burning, watching as he fucks one girl after another, as they suck him hard again and crawl all over him in such a chaos of bodies and mouths, as he touches and discards them, passing them onto other men. And then she realises.
He’s watching her. That same hot sliver of blue between dark lashes, pretending he isn’t aware, but watching her past the girls. She bites back a gasp, her skin hot all over. Is he performing for her? Or wants her there but no one to touch her because she belongs only to him? She doesn’t know which possibility makes her wetter and wanting him more, a violent secret joy leaping inside her.
It’s so dangerous because he doesn’t belong to her at all. She knows this. Too many stupid slaves before her have made that mistake with other masters in other households. Too many bodies thrown out on the street, beaten and bloodied and left to die. She cannot ever risk that, has nowhere to go and no one to turn to. But it burns in her now, woken and recognised.
One morning she oversleeps, exhausted from the previous night’s exertion, and the steward flogs her in the courtyard. It’s routine, it’s to be expected. Jyn bears her punishment with resignation. Until she glances up and realises she’s being watched from the window of his private room. Later that day when she’s standing by the side tables weighed with food, he walks past her and then walks back. She keeps her eyes lowered this time, trying to contain her excitement. He runs a curious hand over the red swollen curves of her bottom and says nothing. That night she’s summoned to his rooms and flogged again and fucked raw. It’s bliss.
There is one particular man who visits and leaves the Viceroy rattled. Jyn doesn’t pay him much attention until the afternoon she’s summoned to the private rooms. When she enters, her master is standing by the bed, clad in his official robes, and the man is seated on the side of the bed, entirely naked and very, very intimidating. Jyn glances uncertainly at her master who nods, unsmiling. “Go on.”
She doesn’t want to do this until the moment she realises the man’s cock is glistening with spit. And then she gasps and sucks down hard, unbearably excited and clenching already between her thighs.
That afternoon is like nothing she’s ever felt and only barely imagined. In the clear hot sunlight, she gets to see him like she’s never seen him before, with his mouth on another man’s skin, his hands on her, touching her back and hair as they taste this stranger’s body. He’s so beautiful and unearthly like this, so weirdly like her but not. They suck the man’s cock together, glimpses of blue eyes and red mouth. And if her mouth slips against his, if his tongue tastes her lips, that’s mere accident, it means nothing.
She feels devoured by them, their hot sharp mouths on her nipples, on the fine lines of her hips and thighs. Their hands shape her flesh, coax her cunt slick and pulsing. The man makes her ride her master’s face, hard unfamiliar hands on her breasts, and she grinds down on that clever greedy tongue, his eyes glinting up at her, all dishevelled and beautiful. When the man’s hands leave her, she looks back and he’s bent over her master’s cock, sucking it hard and red, sucking it so her master shakes and grabs at her thighs, gasps into her wet secret flesh.
He fucks her first. She thinks this means something, she’s so glad for it, welcoming him into her body, thrilled at the sight of the man biting at his throat, brutal hands pulling at his nipples. Her master braces himself over her body, his cock deep in her cunt, and is breached himself, all shocky blue eyes and gasping red mouth. The scents of oil and sweat and skin stick to them, she pulls him deeper into her, against her breasts, and cries out with the way the man fucks them both, rough and relentless, faster and faster. There’s a metal ring around the base of her master’s cock, she put it there and tightens it now between them, urging him with her eyes and her pretty willing mouth.
And then the man pulls out and pushes him out of the way, his eyes cold, careless. Her master watches her taken, his mouth tight with displeasure but then he runs his hand over the man’s back and she knows he’ll make the situation his again. She likes the way the man fucks her, his cock is nothing like her master’s, so much thicker, its shape subtly different. It makes her want her master more, makes her viciously glad that she can make him jealous like this. At the man’s back, he watches her cry out and react prettily, and his hand reaches around to her stretched and aching cunt. She clutches at his wrist and he knows. He slips around, fey and sly, and the man rears back to let him lick at her clit, throbbing for him. She cries out, her fingers tangled in his hair, cries out as she comes on the man’s cock and comes into her master’s mouth.
But they’re not done with her yet.
The man winds her hair around his hand and makes her lick down her master’s body all glistening and used, to where the curves of his ass are reddened and spread, where his hole gleams sore. She licks it, pushes her tongue in, eats at his flesh as if he is hers to own. And when the man fucks him again and comes into him, left shaking and weak, leaking with another man’s come, she licks that up too.
They rest for a little while, she nestled against her master’s chest, against his heartbeat. And then the man starts up again. It’s like he punishes them both, her for her master. So she stays and she kisses her master’s chest and throat as he makes love to the other man and he holds her to him, like he keeps her safe and protected. This time they oil her up and lick her bottom open. This time the man lies down and pulls her onto his cock, and she’s trembling and overwhelmed because her master is at her back and his cock pushes slowly steadily into her other hole. She’s held between them, used and loving it, her master’s hands on her breasts, his mouth at her throat. Maybe he’s whispering soft encouragement to her, maybe she just wants him to and he’s only grunting like an animal against her. But it’s glorious sunlight and she’s in her master’s room, in his bed with all his attention on her, and there’s nowhere else she’d rather be. They start slow, giving her body time to adjust, time to stretch and ease around their cocks. And then it gets faster and harder, a jagged unsteady rhythm that excites her terribly because she’s being brutalised both ways, filled so completely she could die from the pleasure of it.
Her master pulls her back when the man comes, long splurting stripes of white across her belly and breasts. She’s still shaking from her own orgasms, crying a little, reaching up and behind her to hold him to her, his voice murmuring against her ear. He’s so deep in her, still moving in her. And then he pushes her forward, pushes her down onto the man’s chest so he pulls out of her and comes all over her back. Her hair spilled across her face, Jyn clenches her hands and cries happily, exhausted with sensation.
“You realise this changes nothing.”
The man says this as he gets dressed. Jyn can’t see him, she’s curled on her master’s chest, his arms wrapped around her as he lies on his back and watches the man beyond her. He holds her like she’s his to cherish, one hand under the hair at her nape and the other cradling her bottom. And she knows his eyes are crystal cold on the man who utters his threat and then leaves.
Only then does she lift her head a little, needing to see his face. Mute and vulnerable, she gazes at him as he thinks and schemes in the changing late afternoon light. “It’s all right,” he says eventually, turning his mouth to brush against her forehead. He smiles a little at her, his blue eyes softening with a rare kindness. “I’ll take care of everything.”
She rests her head and closes her eyes with a smile, believing him entirely. As long as she’s with him, everything will be fine.
She knows her place.