The Slave Girl and Her Mistress

The slave girl knew her place...right next to her master’s new wife.

(ff)

By: Punchinello for Pulp Erotica

India, 1420

The new-betrothed maiden, lounging lightly,

Her cushioned bed hung lavishly with silken drapes,

Perfumed with rare, exotic scents,

Lay drowsing in a half-completed sleep.

Her slave girl sat nearby her,

Gazing softly on her lithesome form,

Breathing in the sweet springtime aroma

From the garden, wafting on a breeze.

The sound of dulcimers played laughingly below.

And children’s shrieks of fool delight

Rang lightly off the distant lush green hill beyond.

With sudden gasp and little moan,

The sleeper rolled half-over in her cushioned couch.

Her sheer and loosened gown fell wide

And slipped from off her shoulders pale,

As brazen as a young bride’s wedding slip.

Her firm and youthful breast revealed,

The maiden’s nipples peaked in rosy liberation.

Her breath a quickened pant, the maiden whimpered,

Raising up the knee of one smooth, slender leg

To offer some defense in dreamy combat.

Her phantoms bold, they brushed aside her shift

To see the filmy drapery slide down,

Revealing then her pink, thatch-shaded mound.

She writhed; she squirmed; she gently bit her lip.

She wriggled there upon the bed until her gown

Had slithered to the floor, and then

She gave a soft, contented moan

And brought her slim hand lightly to her downy bush.

And this she stroked with sweet and dainty sigh;

A smile alone adorned her creamy, dozing form,

Until her three long fingers bathed in sticky cream.

The fresh green springtime breezes, drifting in

The high arched open window, being cool,

Aroused the sleeper from her fantasies.

The maiden stretched her supple form out long,

With soft and lazy moan of warm awakening.

Her fluttering eyes and flushed complexion clear

Brought swift arousal from her slave girl lingering nigh.

The brown-skinned maiden, rising from her rest

Came lightly by her mistress’s feathery form

And asked her what desires she might harbor

On waking thus from such an earnest slumber.

Her mistress reddened, laughed, and turned away;

Her dreams were all too sensuous for quick discourse.

She reclaimed her simple shift and spoke,

But mentioned only chaste, undetailed scenes,

And told of her faint, fond desire

To see them someday happily come to pass.

But this the slave girl hardly would accept

And begged her darling mistress for detail.

The servant told of how uneasy reverie

Had made her flimsy nightgown open wantonly.

The maiden blushed and spoke freely to her intimate.

She had been awash in waters cool and blue,

A day-lit pond—a flooded springtime meadow.

The distant otters splashed a merry dance,

And swam in happy, carefree, natural play,

While she, a bathing nymph with hair of green—

All woven as it was with flowery foliage—

Lay back in natural unclothed luxury.

Onto this idyllic stage, with heavy boot and heedless stride,

Came hunters, hard on the panicked trail of a hind.

And as they neared, they spied her naked form,

Just as she rose to comprehend the scene.

They left their quarry then, for other tempting prey.

She turned, the fear of trespass pounding in her breast,

But with no route of clear escape, she paused.

And then they were upon her, pawing, stripping off

The gossamer spider’s web of cloth that clung to her.

She writhed in panic, thrill, and trepidation,

Splashing far enough removed to swim away.

And then her mind recalled the otter den,

A watery, safe, and hidden keep.

She dived beneath the surface, free and sure,

And swam the distance full beneath the water line.

And in a moment, rising in the grassy knoll,

She sighed and breathed in safety among her friends.

Then, when the hunters all had departed,

Leaving little more than curses, shouts, and spit,

The maiden-nymph relaxed and lay back on the grass

That formed the otter’s damp and feathery nest.

And a little otter, soft and brown and warm,

Curled up upon her lap and fell asleep.

So moved she was that, gently with her hand,

She stroked its moist, warm, velvet fur in bliss.

***

Thus shyly finished with her pastoral tale,

The maiden chewed her lip with gentle bites

And gazed upon her comely nut-brown slave,

Whose dark and lucid eyes were wide with wonder.

The slave girl, timid as a house mouse and as slight,

Expressed her secret longing for the play.

She gamely volunteered to act the otter’s part,

To curl up in her lady’s lap and drowse the day away—

If her gentle mistress would take pleasure there.

The maiden stroked her servant’s lustrous hair,

And pressed her head down kindly to her lap.

The slave girl rested silent in her mistress’s comfort

And fondly kissed her thigh thru gauzy cloth.

The maiden stroked her head and touched her neck,

And slowly pushed away her cotton robe.

The slave girl’s chestnut shoulder smooth and bare,

She breathed a soft, warm, whetted sigh,

And lightly took her mistress in a warm embrace.

She whispered what secret thrill she’d found

When the wind and restless limbs had boldly so undressed

Her lady’s lithe and scented body while she slept.

Her mistress smiled and voiced her soft content,

Suggesting that her limbs were restless even yet,

And keen to now bare two such comely forms.

The slave girl balked, protesting innocence and fear:

To so trespass upon the treasures of nobility

Would send her forthwith to the gallows and the grave.

But, sweetly, kindly, with all the guiltless guile

And every naive artifice that maidens use,

The pink-mouthed pretty laid her servant’s fears aside

With precious few words, soft glances, and one caress.

She brushed the hand aside and pressed her fingers there,

Into the warm and yielding flesh beneath the tangles

Between the smooth, firm thighs of her devoted maid.

The serving girl’s round breasts rose up, a gasp

Escaping from her full and wine-red lips,

So like her cunny lips, like petals of a flower,

Needing kissed by honeybees that thirst for nectar.

And so the maiden sought to take a thirsty draft,

To press her ruby lips to that honey pot and drink,

To sate her wanton thirst on passion’s mead—but first,

She kissed her girlish lover deeply, with full desire

Their tongues entwining, tasting, coiling up like serpents.

Then she pushed the cotton cloth apart and bent

And pressed her hot mouth to the young girl’s neck,

And flicked her tongue along her pulsing throat

To find her warm, silk-pillow breast unfettered,

Raised in the girl’s own hand toward her questing mouth.

The nipple firm and brown, she licked it all around.

In moments were they twisted all about, devoid of cloth,

Entangled in a sensual embrace of legs and arms and hair.

They kissed and teased a moan one from the other,

Tame animals at play, they steadily writhed.

Their kisses fell on tender flesh, on pristine soil,

Their fingers plowed the virgin fields, the sacred ground.

The slave girl begged for ease, the pleasure so intense

It made her whimper like a widow lost in grief.

Her mistress begged for haste, for stronger naked lust

To drown her in the waves of utter joyous rapture.

So on they pushed, with flaming tongues and palms,

Their bellies full of embers, their thighs like open gates.

In time they were both weary, but unsated in desire,

They lay together, skin to skin, damp with dew,

Their long black hair entwined like long-familiar snakes.

They kissed soft, open kisses, touching tongues,

And stroked their smooth, bare forms like maidens in

The marketplace, in love with searching for the fruit

Without a single imperfection, buying nothing else.

They pressed their fingers down in the sticky grooves

Their passion had already warmed for them

And sighed as now again they brought each other home

With languid touch, soft words, and wicked kisses.

The day was warm and still but for the coo of lovebirds.

All models are 18 years or older, regardless of the text.