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The Taverngirl
- Thread starter Zungur
- Start date
Zungur
Governor
‘Sami, more wine!’
I scamper among the drinkers,
nimble, barefoot,
toting the heavy jugs,
balancing bowls –
‘Shift yourself, sow’s turd,
customers waiting!’ –
Boss’s tawse
stings my bare thigh –
skip, Sami!
Already weary,
such a long night,
Passover –
drunks and dropouts,
all the dregs
of Jerusalem –
‘Sami, more wine!’
Ears and eyes sharp,
slave-mouth shut –
in this place,
and on my errands,
I learn a lot.
At the benches,
all the chat
tonight’s about him,
that strange Nazarene –
him who whipped up
the feathers in the Temple –
been arrested!
Dark in the doorway
a huge fellow,
awkward, unsteady –
already been drinking,
I guess –
but I know my duty.
When I get to the guy
he’s slumped on a bench,
head in his hands,
mumbling in his massive beard.
I curtsey cutely,
‘Sir, will you have
some bread and wine?’
He looks up, startled,
wide, weather-wise eyes,
a farmer, sailor, fisherman maybe?
Huge hands, no city type.
‘Er, what? No – yes – okay…’
His accent’s northern.
While I fill the cup,
he stares at me –
all the men do,
but he’s not clocking my tits,
my bum, my naked legs,
it’s like he’s peering through me…
Suppliantly kneel,
making my offering.
As he breaks the bread
I smile and ask,
politely, shyly,
‘Sir, are you from Galilee?’
‘NO!’
His anger shakes me,
‘Er, I’m sorry sir…’
I bow my head.
‘Sami, more wine!’
I scuttle away.
Two Roman soldiers stomp in,
nobody looks at them,
eyes fix on goblets, dice, the floor.
Boss looks obsequious, but sly.
‘Have you got any Galileans here?’
He shrugs, ‘Galilee, shmalilee,
they’re all my customers,
should I care where they come from?’
The Roman tuts, frustrated,
‘Well, if you spot
any of the gang
that were with that so-called prophet,
just call the Temple Guard,
don’t bother us with them –
your priests are pestering the Governor,
he's your problem, not ours!’
Boss nods, they turn to go,
but fire a parting shot,
‘Fucking religious maniacs,
you Jews are all either crooks or crazy,
I’d crucify the lot of you!’
Boss looks livid,
I try my charm,
knees-bend, eyes lowered,
‘Sirs, will you have a drink?
On the house, of course.’
‘No, we’ve got work to do –‘
but they scan me up and down,
while boss looks daggers –
‘You’ve got a bright brat here!’
‘Too bright for her own good,’
my master snarls. They laugh,
‘She needs a Roman whip –
we’ll bring you one
next time we drop in –
give her some army discipline –
eh, lass?’
By their grins they mean it.
Misery-guts should thank me
for attracting Roman custom,
but he won’t.
Samaritan slave-girl –
my parents must have chucked me,
didn’t need a girl.
But – my luck! – slavers found me,
raised me on the whip and watery gruel
till I was grown enough to sell.
Three jars of his cheapest
he traded for me.
So now I dance
between the drunks,
serve them,
and let them do with me
whatever he says they can –
once they’ve paid.
‘Sami, more wine!’
It’s deep night now,
but starry Jerusalem’s
noisy, running and shouting,
sounds of a crowd
close by,
chanting –
a name, something like Barabbas.
Quiet a moment,
now it’s a different word –
I recognise, and shudder -
‘Crucify!’
My legs shiver, cold,
dawn’s coming,
but this is the chilliest hour.
My slave-shift’s nothing,
might as well be naked,
like on a cross…
Cuck-cuck-cuck-croo!’
Next door’s old rooster’s restless –
‘Sami, more wine!’
The men still drinking
huddle round the fire,
I’m glad when they call,
a chance to get my bare thighs
near the coals.
The big man’s still there,
huddled on the bench –
they’re joshing him,
they’ve sussed he’s Galilean too,
but he goes on yelling ‘No!’,
swearing like Satan.
I fear a fight –
I’ll call the boss…
But wiser wits prevail,
‘Your brain’s turned
cock-a-doodle-do!
When you get crucified,
they’ll have to hang you upside down,
or you won’t know where you are!’
They laugh, and leave him.
Half-light, quiet,
but I hear –
no, first I smell –
the donkey’s-clop,
hauling the night-shit from the barracks.
Like every dawn,
it stops outside,
the driver comes in
stink fills the tavern,
but he buys
a cupful of the dregs.
Holding my breath,
I kneel and serve him,
low before the lowest of the low.
He mutters to the boss,
‘Up on the practice-yard
they’re scourging him –
you know what that means…’
He gulps the lees and leaves,
the donkey plods
on its triumphant way.
Only the big man’s left,
still crumpled, shaking –
he’s hardly touched his wine.
I cross to him, kneel,
‘Sir,’ I say,
‘Please drink your wine,
the inn must shut at sunrise.’
He lifts his head and stares
like I’m some ghost raised from the Pit,
the dawn-light shows a haggard, salt-tanned face –
suddenly I see, blurt out,
‘I know you , Sir!
You were with the one
who came in the name of the Lord,
on a donkey!’
Yahweh! He leaps to his feet,
whips from his cloak a cutlass –
blood on the blade –
Cuck-cuck, cuck-croooooooo!’
Poleaxed, he tumbles,
drops the sword,
howling, a heap in the dirt.
Shit-scared,
I run to the boss –
he’s counting his shekels,
‘What is it slut?
You can see I’m busy!’
‘Sir, that big man by the door,
he’s acting weird,
drew a sword on me,
like he would butcher me,
then threw it down
when the cock crowed!
Now he’s just blubbing
like a baby…’
‘Gehenna, that’s all I need!’
He finds the sobbing wreck,
kicks him, ‘Hey you,
get out!
I don’t want trouble, but
if you don’t shift your arse,
I’ll call the Temple Guards!’
The giant stumbles to his feet,
and lurches out,
rolling like a ship
on a stormy sea.
Boss locks the door.
‘Hey slave-slag, listen!
A crucifixion, that means customers,
but this place looks a pig-sty.
You’d better get it clean
as the Holy of Holies
by the third hour –
if I spot a crumb, a wine splash,
gob of spit you’ve missed,
you’ll lick it up,
and then I’ll flay you
like they’ve skinned
that mad messiah!’
He whaps his strap
across my bum,
then goes, with a jug of wine.
I sweep and scrub,
rinse all the goblets,
gather all the scraps
and leftovers
and eat them starvingly,
then tumble on my heap of rags
by the dying ashes.
What was it all about,
that mountain of a man,
breaking so?
A night to remember!
Zungur
Governor
Well, writing and drawing takes some time, you know?
Zungur
Governor
Sami knew it was getting late as she hurried along the path of packed earth. She had been send to a farm outside the city walls to order the chicken and lambs that her owner would need in his tavern. Since the sun was still high, she decided to take the short-cut over the hill of Golgotha to reach the gate north of Herodes’ palace. She would never have dared to go there at night, but at daylight the place seemed less scary.
The hill was, at the best of times, a bleak place, a smell of death and decaying flesh hung over the place, the greedy cries of scavenging crows, the hungry grunting of vultures, constantly assailed her ears. Sharp stones stubbed her bare feet, thorny briars snagged her bare legs, but she was well used to that, boots or sandals weren't for slaves like her.
Usually there were few people about on the hilltop, other than a few poor wretches still twitching and gasping for life on the crosses, and the grumpy guards detailed to keep watch on them. Even if an execution was in progress, there were seldom spectators, it was a miserable, routine procedure, and Sami would just keep well clear, running past the boundary of the bone-strewn Place of the Skull.
But today, something was different. Halfway up she heard the noise of a cheering crowd. She recalled what the night-soil man had said about a crucifixion coming that would attract crowds – and customers for the tavern. Sami realised she'd made a bad decision, but it was too late to go back all the way and around the hill.
She winced as she heard some high pitched screams signalling that some poor soul was nailed to the beams of cross.
A slave like her, she thought, or one of the poor Jewish inhabitants, not one of the noble Roman citizens who were given a quick and honourable death by the sword.
As she climbed higher up she saw three crosses erected, each adorned with a male body twisting and wriggling in pain. Dancing on the cross, as it was called, as long as they still had the strength to fight.
She pitied all three of them, no matter what they had done to deserve this fate, but what made her afraid was the crowd.
For a pretty, young slave girl like her, groups of drunken, adrenalized men were something to avoid. She knew how to deal with drunkards from her work at the tavern and she was used to serve them with her body, if they paid the fee her master asked. But a mob like this, that had smelled blood, could get really nasty.
Relying on her long swift legs she hurried around the periphery of the crowd, dodging greedy, groping hands and trying to ignore the wolf-whistles and torrents of sexual slang from the lusting males.
She reached the steep road down to the city, where smells of life – some foul, others more appetising – replaced the miasma of death. Muttering apologies and 'excuse mes' to the free folk as she wove her nimble way between them, she managed to squeeze through the busy Fish Gate into the familiar streets and alleys of the suburb. Now she was safe and soon would reach the tavern near the Roman Fort, the only home she had known since she was sold there as a child.
The hill was, at the best of times, a bleak place, a smell of death and decaying flesh hung over the place, the greedy cries of scavenging crows, the hungry grunting of vultures, constantly assailed her ears. Sharp stones stubbed her bare feet, thorny briars snagged her bare legs, but she was well used to that, boots or sandals weren't for slaves like her.
Usually there were few people about on the hilltop, other than a few poor wretches still twitching and gasping for life on the crosses, and the grumpy guards detailed to keep watch on them. Even if an execution was in progress, there were seldom spectators, it was a miserable, routine procedure, and Sami would just keep well clear, running past the boundary of the bone-strewn Place of the Skull.
But today, something was different. Halfway up she heard the noise of a cheering crowd. She recalled what the night-soil man had said about a crucifixion coming that would attract crowds – and customers for the tavern. Sami realised she'd made a bad decision, but it was too late to go back all the way and around the hill.
She winced as she heard some high pitched screams signalling that some poor soul was nailed to the beams of cross.
A slave like her, she thought, or one of the poor Jewish inhabitants, not one of the noble Roman citizens who were given a quick and honourable death by the sword.
As she climbed higher up she saw three crosses erected, each adorned with a male body twisting and wriggling in pain. Dancing on the cross, as it was called, as long as they still had the strength to fight.
She pitied all three of them, no matter what they had done to deserve this fate, but what made her afraid was the crowd.
For a pretty, young slave girl like her, groups of drunken, adrenalized men were something to avoid. She knew how to deal with drunkards from her work at the tavern and she was used to serve them with her body, if they paid the fee her master asked. But a mob like this, that had smelled blood, could get really nasty.
Relying on her long swift legs she hurried around the periphery of the crowd, dodging greedy, groping hands and trying to ignore the wolf-whistles and torrents of sexual slang from the lusting males.
She reached the steep road down to the city, where smells of life – some foul, others more appetising – replaced the miasma of death. Muttering apologies and 'excuse mes' to the free folk as she wove her nimble way between them, she managed to squeeze through the busy Fish Gate into the familiar streets and alleys of the suburb. Now she was safe and soon would reach the tavern near the Roman Fort, the only home she had known since she was sold there as a child.
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
Oooh how lovely, poetry, visual art, slavery, and crucifixion- some of my favourite things!
Why did the slave girl lose her collar and chain from the first image, though? Seemed like a good way to let her dress when going to market, marked as property. And modesty exposed breasts should not be a concern for a tavern slave like @Eulalia
Why did the slave girl lose her collar and chain from the first image, though? Seemed like a good way to let her dress when going to market, marked as property. And modesty exposed breasts should not be a concern for a tavern slave like @Eulalia
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
Zungur
Governor
As soon as she entered the tavern, she sensed that something was very wrong. Zabdi, the landlord and her owner, was standing near the back wall looking terrified.
A huge man was looming over him, grabbing at his cloak.
Sami turned to run, but Zabdi had seen the door open and peered past his attacker, who immediately turned and glared at her. Instinctively she did the only thing a slave girl could do: she sank to her knees with downcast eyes and hoped whatever was going on would soon pass.
“Zabdi, Zabdi, Zabdi” the tall brute growled, “What the fuck were you thinking? Just because Barabbas was in prison, you could stop paying your fees?”
“But ... but ... I ...” was all she could hear of the man who was the master over her life.
“Well, I've got splendid news for you, Zabdi! Barabbas is free again! He's been pardoned. And now he's wondering where his money is. And, come to think of it, why was his good old friend Zabdi nowhere to be seen in the crowd that called for him to be set free?”
“I ... I am s-so glad to hear this! Er, oh, I was so busy, you know ... with the Passover coming ...”
A mighty club, glistening with oil, reinforced with sharp edged bronze rings, came down in an arc, hitting a wine amphora that seemed to explode under the blow.
Sami watched the blood-red wine being soaked up by the straw on the floor. She felt a sick shuddering in her hungry stomach.
The big man let go of Zabdi, and strolled along by the wine shelf, inspecting the seals on the stored amphoras, menacingly swing the club.
“Oh no! Please, not the prize Coum, p-please!” Zabdi whimpered,
“It's up to you Zabdi! Just pay what you owe, plus the interest. And a small gift for Barabbas to show how glad you are that he is back in charge.”
"Please ... take an amphora for Barabbas, and ... and all the shekels in my money-chest!"
The thug sniffed, the scent of spilt wine was filling the tavern.
"You know very well, Zabdi, Master Barabbas and his men can come in any time and drink your nice little tavern dry. And empty your money-bags. You can do better than that."
“But how can I? Mercy! Please have mercy! I've had to pay the farmers for the meat and the bakers for the bread and ... please, give me just a little time, I’ll promise ...”
“Stop whining, you old sod!” Another amphora was smashed and spilled its contents on the floor.
“Oh mercy, please mercy! I’ll give you all I have left, you are ruining me, to be sure, but here, here ... that’s all I have, I will pay more when ...”
“That’s not enough, Zabdi! Not nearly!”
Sami, still kneeling on the floor, trembling with terror, felt the bully's eyes fixing on her.
“I’ll tell you what, Zabdi. I’ll take this little whore as a down-payment. I'll be back next week, for the rest.”
“Oh, no! Not Sami! Please, I need her! She is the apple of my eye, the little one! She is like a child to me!”
Sami was shaking, ready to burst into tears, yet not daring to make a sound – though at Zabdi's final words her feelings turned to fury, she would have spat at him if he'd been close enough.
The goon chuckled, “So you are renting out your daughter to your customers? Some kind of a father you are, Zabdi! Stop whining! This is how it will be, and don’t forget I shall be back next week!”
While Zabdi was still crying and pleading, Sami felt herself being grabbed. Strong hands ripped the blue ribbon from her chest. The man used it to tie her hands together, then fixed a coarse rope around her neck. Sami was not used to be tied up, she felt like a calf being delivered to the butcher. But what made her tears flow was the blue ribbon – faded and threadbare as it was, it had been her only possession. A guest of the tavern had given it to her after she had pleased him with her lips. And now her treasure was being used to bind her.
“Get up, wench and get a move on, or I’ll kick your little ass!”
A huge man was looming over him, grabbing at his cloak.
Sami turned to run, but Zabdi had seen the door open and peered past his attacker, who immediately turned and glared at her. Instinctively she did the only thing a slave girl could do: she sank to her knees with downcast eyes and hoped whatever was going on would soon pass.
“Zabdi, Zabdi, Zabdi” the tall brute growled, “What the fuck were you thinking? Just because Barabbas was in prison, you could stop paying your fees?”
“But ... but ... I ...” was all she could hear of the man who was the master over her life.
“Well, I've got splendid news for you, Zabdi! Barabbas is free again! He's been pardoned. And now he's wondering where his money is. And, come to think of it, why was his good old friend Zabdi nowhere to be seen in the crowd that called for him to be set free?”
“I ... I am s-so glad to hear this! Er, oh, I was so busy, you know ... with the Passover coming ...”
A mighty club, glistening with oil, reinforced with sharp edged bronze rings, came down in an arc, hitting a wine amphora that seemed to explode under the blow.
Sami watched the blood-red wine being soaked up by the straw on the floor. She felt a sick shuddering in her hungry stomach.
The big man let go of Zabdi, and strolled along by the wine shelf, inspecting the seals on the stored amphoras, menacingly swing the club.
“Oh no! Please, not the prize Coum, p-please!” Zabdi whimpered,
“It's up to you Zabdi! Just pay what you owe, plus the interest. And a small gift for Barabbas to show how glad you are that he is back in charge.”
"Please ... take an amphora for Barabbas, and ... and all the shekels in my money-chest!"
The thug sniffed, the scent of spilt wine was filling the tavern.
"You know very well, Zabdi, Master Barabbas and his men can come in any time and drink your nice little tavern dry. And empty your money-bags. You can do better than that."
“But how can I? Mercy! Please have mercy! I've had to pay the farmers for the meat and the bakers for the bread and ... please, give me just a little time, I’ll promise ...”
“Stop whining, you old sod!” Another amphora was smashed and spilled its contents on the floor.
“Oh mercy, please mercy! I’ll give you all I have left, you are ruining me, to be sure, but here, here ... that’s all I have, I will pay more when ...”
“That’s not enough, Zabdi! Not nearly!”
Sami, still kneeling on the floor, trembling with terror, felt the bully's eyes fixing on her.
“I’ll tell you what, Zabdi. I’ll take this little whore as a down-payment. I'll be back next week, for the rest.”
“Oh, no! Not Sami! Please, I need her! She is the apple of my eye, the little one! She is like a child to me!”
Sami was shaking, ready to burst into tears, yet not daring to make a sound – though at Zabdi's final words her feelings turned to fury, she would have spat at him if he'd been close enough.
The goon chuckled, “So you are renting out your daughter to your customers? Some kind of a father you are, Zabdi! Stop whining! This is how it will be, and don’t forget I shall be back next week!”
While Zabdi was still crying and pleading, Sami felt herself being grabbed. Strong hands ripped the blue ribbon from her chest. The man used it to tie her hands together, then fixed a coarse rope around her neck. Sami was not used to be tied up, she felt like a calf being delivered to the butcher. But what made her tears flow was the blue ribbon – faded and threadbare as it was, it had been her only possession. A guest of the tavern had given it to her after she had pleased him with her lips. And now her treasure was being used to bind her.
“Get up, wench and get a move on, or I’ll kick your little ass!”
Zungur
Governor
Whenever Sami had seen a slave, bound and dragged through the streets to some unknown destination, she had shuddered at the sight, pitying the poor creature and feeling glad about her own situation.
Her own ragged tunic barely covered her decency, but at least she could wrap it round her bust and loins, unlike the young women in bondage whose drivers seemed to make a point of letting what scraps of cloth the wretches were wearing slipped away from the parts they were meant to hide.
Sami knew her own dark, dirty corner, her own little place, where she'd tumble at the end of each weary long day to fall asleep exhausted on the floor, she knew she'd be fed – more or less – from the leftovers each night and morning, and she knew old Zabdi, her owner, was too lazy to beat her severely, even when she failed to give him a good ride because he was too drunk to get hard.
Some of the guests were vile, but she was a slave-girl, she had no choice of customers, being used by free people was what she was there for.
So, she'd always assumed she'd just stay in the tavern all her life, serving the customers until she got too old to be attractive, then working in the kitchen and cleaning the rooms.
Now all this was gone.
In a second her life had been torn apart, her feelings of security revealed as silly self-delusion, and now she was the pitiful creature at the end of the rope.
And nobody seemed to care.
If anybody was looking at her at all, it was just to get a glimpse of her half-exposed tits, or what was revealed by the rag at the top of her thighs. There was no mercy in their eyes, no sympathy, there was no-one to help her.
Her own ragged tunic barely covered her decency, but at least she could wrap it round her bust and loins, unlike the young women in bondage whose drivers seemed to make a point of letting what scraps of cloth the wretches were wearing slipped away from the parts they were meant to hide.
Sami knew her own dark, dirty corner, her own little place, where she'd tumble at the end of each weary long day to fall asleep exhausted on the floor, she knew she'd be fed – more or less – from the leftovers each night and morning, and she knew old Zabdi, her owner, was too lazy to beat her severely, even when she failed to give him a good ride because he was too drunk to get hard.
Some of the guests were vile, but she was a slave-girl, she had no choice of customers, being used by free people was what she was there for.
So, she'd always assumed she'd just stay in the tavern all her life, serving the customers until she got too old to be attractive, then working in the kitchen and cleaning the rooms.
Now all this was gone.
In a second her life had been torn apart, her feelings of security revealed as silly self-delusion, and now she was the pitiful creature at the end of the rope.
And nobody seemed to care.
If anybody was looking at her at all, it was just to get a glimpse of her half-exposed tits, or what was revealed by the rag at the top of her thighs. There was no mercy in their eyes, no sympathy, there was no-one to help her.
Zungur
Governor
“Salve, Rav!” cried the goon, mocking the Roman occupier’s customs, as they entered the gang’s headquarters in a derelict building somewhere in the Lower City. Sami had lost track of where the were taking her, but she could tell by the piles of rubbish and the stench of open drains that this was an even less reputable part of Jerusalem than the neighbourhood of the tavern. She shuddered as she was thrust through a low doorway down steps into smoky darkness.
“Look what I brought for you from old Zabdi, that sleazebag!”
“What? Where’s the money, you fool?” a deep voice growled from the shadows.
Sami was dragged deeper into the room, and in flickering lamplight she could at last make out the shape of of a burly man, resting on a klinē.
“I need cash, not a cheap whore!”
“Sorry, rav, but he couldn't raise the whole sum straight off,” the ruffian answered, presenting the bag filled with coins to his chief. “But be sure he will, by the morning after the feast. Meanwhile I took this wench, so maybe she can keep you company, while you're getting better.”
Sami turned to hide the disgust her face couldn't help showing, at the ugly sight of Barabbas. But he had been tortured in prison, and was in no mood for fun.
“Idiot! We've got to shift our asses out of here quick before this place gets busted! Hand her over to Agenor the smuggler, he’s putting a coffle together to go east - and see you get a decent sum for her.”
“Well, oh well, sure, rav, as you say, rav ... but me and the boys, you know, can't we just have a bit ... she’s a hottie, you know ...” the bruiser stammered, Sami shook, she wished she could spit at the brute and scratch his lustful face.
“To hell with you, brainless, horny bastards!”
Two other members of the gang had come in and were listening with lascivious grins, as they too eyed Sami's visibly throbbing breasts and her lithe bare legs.
“He’s right, rav,” one of them pushed forward, “she’s a tasty little piece, and we can’t move out of here before dark anyway.”
“You idiots will all end up on the cross, you just do your thinking with your dicks! But go ahead and give her a quick doing. Then you take her to Agenor, and you others keep packing. Tonight, we'll pay a visit to the Hiram’s house and, er, avail ourselves of the facilities.”
“Hiram the merchant? You want to kill him?”
“Not immediately, idiot! We'll use his house as a hide-out. He won’t dare to rat us out, as long as we've got his wife and daughters.”
Sami braced herself for what would follow. “It can't be any worse than in the tavern,” she told herself, “That monster's ordered them to hurry, I’ll just try to get them to jerk off quick, so it won’t last too long. After that, may the Lord God of Israel take care of me, He knows no-one else will!”
“Look what I brought for you from old Zabdi, that sleazebag!”
“What? Where’s the money, you fool?” a deep voice growled from the shadows.
Sami was dragged deeper into the room, and in flickering lamplight she could at last make out the shape of of a burly man, resting on a klinē.
“I need cash, not a cheap whore!”
“Sorry, rav, but he couldn't raise the whole sum straight off,” the ruffian answered, presenting the bag filled with coins to his chief. “But be sure he will, by the morning after the feast. Meanwhile I took this wench, so maybe she can keep you company, while you're getting better.”
Sami turned to hide the disgust her face couldn't help showing, at the ugly sight of Barabbas. But he had been tortured in prison, and was in no mood for fun.
“Idiot! We've got to shift our asses out of here quick before this place gets busted! Hand her over to Agenor the smuggler, he’s putting a coffle together to go east - and see you get a decent sum for her.”
“Well, oh well, sure, rav, as you say, rav ... but me and the boys, you know, can't we just have a bit ... she’s a hottie, you know ...” the bruiser stammered, Sami shook, she wished she could spit at the brute and scratch his lustful face.
“To hell with you, brainless, horny bastards!”
Two other members of the gang had come in and were listening with lascivious grins, as they too eyed Sami's visibly throbbing breasts and her lithe bare legs.
“He’s right, rav,” one of them pushed forward, “she’s a tasty little piece, and we can’t move out of here before dark anyway.”
“You idiots will all end up on the cross, you just do your thinking with your dicks! But go ahead and give her a quick doing. Then you take her to Agenor, and you others keep packing. Tonight, we'll pay a visit to the Hiram’s house and, er, avail ourselves of the facilities.”
“Hiram the merchant? You want to kill him?”
“Not immediately, idiot! We'll use his house as a hide-out. He won’t dare to rat us out, as long as we've got his wife and daughters.”
Sami braced herself for what would follow. “It can't be any worse than in the tavern,” she told herself, “That monster's ordered them to hurry, I’ll just try to get them to jerk off quick, so it won’t last too long. After that, may the Lord God of Israel take care of me, He knows no-one else will!”
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
Zungur
Governor
Thanks a lot to @Eulalia for the very substantial improvements to the text!
When the men were finished with her Sami was pushed down on the ground in a corner of the room. She crouched there, panting from the exertion, trying with her wrists still bound behind, to wriggle her ripped rag of a tunic around herself. It was worse, she thought – hard to think how, but even the ruffians in the tavern had treated her with a sort of respect, something for their pleasure, like their mugs of wine. For these brutes, she was just a piece of live meat, they hardly even looked at her as they forced their hard cocks into her flesh.
It was not long before Barabbas shouted at his tall minder, "Guni, take her off to Agenor, and mind you come back with at least 300 shekels, not an agorot less!" Again, she found herself dragged through the streets of the ancient city, the rope chafing her neck, her cheeks blushing with shame, feeling that everybody could see what had been done to her.
The man led her into a derelict house, down a short stairway and into the cellar. Sami realised they had entered the city beneath the city, a maze of tunnels, caverns and catacombs, remains of the millennia of building houses and streets on top of older streets, basements and cellars. Some of these caverns were used for storage, some as burial vaults and others, where the soldiers of the Roman occupiers seldom dared to go, for the meetings of conspirators, rebels and common criminals.
And it was here Agenor the smuggler was gathering the merchandise for his next caravan.
He was a remarkable sight to see, living proof how much bigger the world had become for the citizens of Judaea since they had become a part of the Roman empire. Despite his Greek sounding name, he wore his hair and beard in Parthian fashion, he had applied eye make-up like an Egyptian, and wore a Toga like the Roman citizens – albeit he had difficulty keeping it from slipping down.
Guni treated him with respect though, he was a prominent figure in Jerusalem’s underworld. When they had exchanged their greetings and some polite gossip, Sami found herself being offered for sale.
“A girl? A girl?” Agenor threw his hands in the air in mock-prayer, “what will I do with an under-sized girl? Don’t you have a camel to offer? I need beasts of burden! Or some donkeys, at least?”
“Well, I don’t know your customers, Agenor, but there might at least be some among them who prefer a girl to a camel.”
“Ah, what do you know? First, we have to get to the customers, right? And we have to move quickly and stealthily. We're not like the licensed traders who can laze away their time in the caravanserais.”
Barabbas’s man grabbed Sami by the neck and ripped her already ragged skirt. “Look at her! She's got fine legs, she’s a good mover! And look at her higher up, she's also a good and all – I can tell you! Barabbas will sell you her for only 350 shekels, as a special favour for an old friend.”
“350? 350!” Agenor exclaimed, “has his time in the dungeon muddled the mind of my dear friend Barabbas? Did the torture befuddle his brain and his common sense?”
“Come on, Agenor, look at her, she’s a cutie! And she's learnt how to serve men, she knows how to please a master!” He held up Sami’s arms and pushed her towards the smuggler.
“Ah, oh, my my my ... a cute face, strong legs. So what?” He pinched her nipples and grabbed her breasts to feel their firmness. Sami winced, retching in disgust at being examined like a she-ass. “Her tits are too big for the Roman taste – couldn’t sell her here! Well ... that wouldn't be a problem, as we're heading east. But over there they like them round and soft and podgy. And look at that tiny ass – is that all she's got? Like a half-starved shepherd’s boy! I’ll give you 180, for the sake of our friendship.”
“Agenor, Agenor! I can see you don’t think she’s too ugly, after all. And don’t forget, she's an experienced bit of fluff! Served in a tavern since she was a calf.”
“In a tavern? What does a slut need to know, just to make some drunkards jerk off? How much does a whore need to make them happy? Three holes, two tits and a pair of hands is all it needs! Believe me, the trained concubines in Parthia wouldn't even want her for a floor mat. No! I can only sell her as a working slave, if I can find a buyer at all. 220.”
Agenor’s hand had left her breast, stroked over her belly, testing her muscle-tone, then wandered down, probing her thighs.
“No way Agenor! Be reasonable. Maybe you should listen to the advice of the thing that's starting to lift up your toga between your legs. You said you've first got to get her to the market? Well, then think how nice and warm she'll feel when you're resting with your caravan in the cold desert nights. 330.”
“We travel by night, you ignorant city rat! We rest during the day, when it’s hot. 250 and that’s my last word!”
Sami whimpered as Agenor’s fingers found their way to her crotch and started to stroke her pussy.
“She will make it hotter! But you won't even feel the sun when you can plunge into her deep well, Agenor. For 320 she'll make your journey like a walk in paradise.”
“Oh, how tight she is!” Agenor exclaimed. “It's a mistake my poor children and grand-children will curse me for, when they suffer in poverty! 300, or you can take her off with you!”
“Now we have a deal! It is always a pleasure to do business with you.”
Sami shuddered, she felt herself being swept into a new. unknown, fearful world.
The men clapped hands together, and afterwards Guni sniffed his fingers and grinned. “Maybe I should have used her once more before delivering her to you.”
“Ah, my friend, she's mine now! Here's the money, and my regards to Rav Barabbas!”
When the men were finished with her Sami was pushed down on the ground in a corner of the room. She crouched there, panting from the exertion, trying with her wrists still bound behind, to wriggle her ripped rag of a tunic around herself. It was worse, she thought – hard to think how, but even the ruffians in the tavern had treated her with a sort of respect, something for their pleasure, like their mugs of wine. For these brutes, she was just a piece of live meat, they hardly even looked at her as they forced their hard cocks into her flesh.
It was not long before Barabbas shouted at his tall minder, "Guni, take her off to Agenor, and mind you come back with at least 300 shekels, not an agorot less!" Again, she found herself dragged through the streets of the ancient city, the rope chafing her neck, her cheeks blushing with shame, feeling that everybody could see what had been done to her.
The man led her into a derelict house, down a short stairway and into the cellar. Sami realised they had entered the city beneath the city, a maze of tunnels, caverns and catacombs, remains of the millennia of building houses and streets on top of older streets, basements and cellars. Some of these caverns were used for storage, some as burial vaults and others, where the soldiers of the Roman occupiers seldom dared to go, for the meetings of conspirators, rebels and common criminals.
And it was here Agenor the smuggler was gathering the merchandise for his next caravan.
He was a remarkable sight to see, living proof how much bigger the world had become for the citizens of Judaea since they had become a part of the Roman empire. Despite his Greek sounding name, he wore his hair and beard in Parthian fashion, he had applied eye make-up like an Egyptian, and wore a Toga like the Roman citizens – albeit he had difficulty keeping it from slipping down.
Guni treated him with respect though, he was a prominent figure in Jerusalem’s underworld. When they had exchanged their greetings and some polite gossip, Sami found herself being offered for sale.
“A girl? A girl?” Agenor threw his hands in the air in mock-prayer, “what will I do with an under-sized girl? Don’t you have a camel to offer? I need beasts of burden! Or some donkeys, at least?”
“Well, I don’t know your customers, Agenor, but there might at least be some among them who prefer a girl to a camel.”
“Ah, what do you know? First, we have to get to the customers, right? And we have to move quickly and stealthily. We're not like the licensed traders who can laze away their time in the caravanserais.”
Barabbas’s man grabbed Sami by the neck and ripped her already ragged skirt. “Look at her! She's got fine legs, she’s a good mover! And look at her higher up, she's also a good and all – I can tell you! Barabbas will sell you her for only 350 shekels, as a special favour for an old friend.”
“350? 350!” Agenor exclaimed, “has his time in the dungeon muddled the mind of my dear friend Barabbas? Did the torture befuddle his brain and his common sense?”
“Come on, Agenor, look at her, she’s a cutie! And she's learnt how to serve men, she knows how to please a master!” He held up Sami’s arms and pushed her towards the smuggler.
“Ah, oh, my my my ... a cute face, strong legs. So what?” He pinched her nipples and grabbed her breasts to feel their firmness. Sami winced, retching in disgust at being examined like a she-ass. “Her tits are too big for the Roman taste – couldn’t sell her here! Well ... that wouldn't be a problem, as we're heading east. But over there they like them round and soft and podgy. And look at that tiny ass – is that all she's got? Like a half-starved shepherd’s boy! I’ll give you 180, for the sake of our friendship.”
“Agenor, Agenor! I can see you don’t think she’s too ugly, after all. And don’t forget, she's an experienced bit of fluff! Served in a tavern since she was a calf.”
“In a tavern? What does a slut need to know, just to make some drunkards jerk off? How much does a whore need to make them happy? Three holes, two tits and a pair of hands is all it needs! Believe me, the trained concubines in Parthia wouldn't even want her for a floor mat. No! I can only sell her as a working slave, if I can find a buyer at all. 220.”
Agenor’s hand had left her breast, stroked over her belly, testing her muscle-tone, then wandered down, probing her thighs.
“No way Agenor! Be reasonable. Maybe you should listen to the advice of the thing that's starting to lift up your toga between your legs. You said you've first got to get her to the market? Well, then think how nice and warm she'll feel when you're resting with your caravan in the cold desert nights. 330.”
“We travel by night, you ignorant city rat! We rest during the day, when it’s hot. 250 and that’s my last word!”
Sami whimpered as Agenor’s fingers found their way to her crotch and started to stroke her pussy.
“She will make it hotter! But you won't even feel the sun when you can plunge into her deep well, Agenor. For 320 she'll make your journey like a walk in paradise.”
“Oh, how tight she is!” Agenor exclaimed. “It's a mistake my poor children and grand-children will curse me for, when they suffer in poverty! 300, or you can take her off with you!”
“Now we have a deal! It is always a pleasure to do business with you.”
Sami shuddered, she felt herself being swept into a new. unknown, fearful world.
The men clapped hands together, and afterwards Guni sniffed his fingers and grinned. “Maybe I should have used her once more before delivering her to you.”
“Ah, my friend, she's mine now! Here's the money, and my regards to Rav Barabbas!”
