A Rose From the Garden
Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Mult, Slavery, Lesbian, BDSM, Big Breasts,

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Rose Sclava Gaius Gallicus would like to be a better slave, but her European blood and desire for fellow slave Clover sometimes make her willful. When Rose is summoned from working in the general's garden in order to serve in his son's bed alongside Clover, she goes eagerly, hoping that her deepest desires might finally be coming true.

"Rose, are you here?"

Rose groaned and opened her eyes. The room was dark and the television in the common area quiet. Her back and shoulders ached. She rolled and groaned again, which seemed to be enough of an answer for Thom. He stepped through the gap that passed for a door in the sailcloth that passed for a wall giving her some small modicum of privacy from the rest of the slaves with whom she shared the garden shack.

Thom wrinkled his nose. "You've been spreading manure today."

"And yesterday." Rose stretched her arms wide. "If you've come to have your way with me, you'll have to do it one-handed so you can hold your nose with the other."

Thom chuckled even though Rose know full well that was what he'd come for and so did he. Other than both being slaves on the estate of General Gaius Gallicus and possessing healthy, adult sex drives, they had little in common. He went down on his knees next to her futon and kissed her. "I reek of horses myself."

Rose returned his kiss. "Small blessing, then. I can't smell your horse over my horse shit."

It wasn't true exactly. The scent of horse mixed with leather, wood-smoke, and clean sweat lurked just below her own notes of manure and freshly-turned earth. No one would be bottling the scent any time soon, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. And it certainly wasn't off-putting. Like pretty much everything else, slaves had to take pleasure where they found it. If they waited for niceties like a bath or perfume, they'd wilt and die on the vine like overripe fruit, their sweetness gone to waste.

Thom's rough hand slid up under Rose's shift. When she'd returned from work, she'd meant to grab a quick shower before dinner and possibly a longer bath after. She'd gotten as far as changing out of her stained work clothes and into her sleeping shift. Dinner would be long past.

As he cupped her breast, Rose drew Thom closer so that his weight rested gently on top of her and her hands found the contours of his chest. Thom was a groundskeeper, one of the men responsible for taking care of everything on the estate except the house and garden. It was often strenuous work and his powerful, knotted muscles were like a history of that work, written in a secret language. She might find Thom to be indifferent company during the day, but at times like this, she loved the feel of his muscles under her hands, his weight pinning her, and his hard cock inside of her. This was, after all, what she was supposed to be doing - serving a man in bed, not shoveling wheelbarrows full of shit onto flowerbeds.

For this, a bath would wait and sleep could be found at another time. No one who cared would be smelling her soon anyway. Even though she'd been assigned to work as the garden's hostess, greeting the general's guests and keeping an eye on the wait-staff, there'd been little work for her to do there. The general's betrothed preferred to throw parties in the house's massive ballroom and, with their wedding fast approaching, there would be few parties until all of the planning was done.

If she made herself pretty and pleasantly-scented, it would only be for Thom and Leo, the head gardener. Leo was already punishing her for being too pretty to not be sleeping with him. Leo was fat and ate too much garlic - to the point where he would sweat the stuff out during the day, but Rose would have almost certainly approached him to exchange sex for an easier assignment if only he weren't also so old. It was fine to be an old man with a soft dick and a fragile ego if you were also a patrician, but for a fellow slave, Rose just didn't have the effort to coddle him.

Reaching down, she found the trailing edge of Thom's subligar and undid it with a hard tug. As his fingers found and circled the nub of her clitoris, it brought what she was doing into sharp focus, her worries faded into the background.

Thom's cock was thick and hard, so hot it seemed like it would burn the palm of Rose's hand if she held it too long. She held on anyway. It made her feel alive.

She and Thom rarely discussed their past with each other. But, it was clear to Rose that he hadn't come to her as an untried boy and someone had trained him well. With adept fingers that had learned her body well, he traced through the folds of her flesh, sometimes going deep, sometimes teasing, stroking and squeezing according to a pattern dictated by her personal mysteries

When her shuddering climax rose, she bit down on Thom's shoulder and clung to him. All the other garden slaves slept within sixty feet of her and the sailcloth did little to muffle sounds. Anyone awake would hear what they were up to regardless, but it was still good form not to rub their noses in it.

After that first wave had passed, Rose pushed Thom over onto his back and mounted him. It might have been nice to lie back and let him do all the work after such a long day, but Thom's enthusiasm was often gloriously ungentle. It was usually exactly what Rose wanted, but it could often be as much work to weather as being on top was.

Besides, she liked the sense of control being on top gave her and knew it was a more flattering angle if Thom opened his eyes. Rose had been bred by the temple of Venus and even if she was only a first-generation Paphian, she liked to believe her blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin came entirely from one parent and that the other had been bred for a thousand years from a line of girls with wide, sensual hips, thin waists and tits the size of ripe cantaloupes, a time-proven formula for catching the master's eye and serving in his bed.

It might not be true. It was possible that both of Rose's parents had been taken in the Britannic wars or bought in Europe since then, but the feeling that this wasn't the case was as close to proof as she was liable to get. Only in cases of extremely long, uninterrupted pedigrees did slaves ever know who their parents had been.

As she rode Thom, the second wave of pleasure rose more quickly and Rose leaned back to rest her weight on his knees a little. There, she caught a flicker of movement that made her listen more carefully. Sure enough, there was a third person breathing nearby and the gap in the sailcloth was being held a little wider.

Rose rode Thom harder. She'd tried to be discreet, but could hardly be blamed for immodesty if someone chose to watch. Whoever was there leaned in a little closer and Rose caught a silhouette and a flash of skin in the moonlight. It was enough.

"Clover?" she stage-whispered.

The other slave girl stepped completely into the room and gave a lopsided smile. "I didn't want to interrupt."

Rose leaned forward again until her breasts were brushing Thom's chest, thrusting against him at a different angle. "Just ... do we have a few minutes?"

Clover sat on the floor, crossing her legs under her. "You have until morning. I just ... thought you'd want time to prepare. He's asked for you."

Rose laid her hands on either side of Tom's head, which he raised enough to take one nipple between his lips and flick with his tongue. Rose moaned and rocked her hips harder. "The general?"

Clover gave a faint shake of her head. "Corvus - his son."

Rose rode faster. "The one he's elevated?" She closed her eyes and let the pleasure roll over her, a shudder starting low in her belly."How does he even know who I am? I've never seen him in the garden."

"I recommended you," said Clover. "I'm his secretary and body servant. Remember?"

"Ah..." said Rose. It was meant to be a sound of understanding, but came out as a cry of pleasure. "What time is it? I should get a bath..." The pleasure rose up, cutting off the sentence and she had to wait until it had passed to speak again. "I should get a bath or at least a shower before I go if I can."

"It's just past two," said Clover. "You have time. He's not an early riser."

As her old friend turned to leave, Rose called out. "Wait." When Clover turned to face her, she asked, "Will it be just me or will you be there?"

"He hasn't said, but I believe it would be the two of us," said Clover with a broad-lipped smile. "Does that please you?"

"Yesssss..." Rose hissed. "You know it does. Will you ... help me bathe and prepare for him?"

Clover gave a disappointed out. "I'd love to, but I can't. He doesn't like to wake up and find I'm not there. Come to his rooms when you've bathed and bring what you'll need to stay overnight. You can share my room - at least for now, just like old times."

"Yesssss..." Rose hissed again, letting both the pleasure of the moment and her hope for the future seize her at once.

Corvus Gallicus was very much the celebrity of the moment. All New Romans loved a good elevation story, but slave-girls loved them best of all. They were the grand prize for a life well-lived.

As she walked to the showers, Rose tried to remember how long she'd dreamed of one day finding a citizen who loved her enough to buy her, manumit her, and marry her. It was hardly a unique dream. Growing up in the slave-girl creches, it was practically part of the curriculum. In the same way they taught the boys that the ones who took the best care of their owner's property (meaning their own bodies, ) could become bullfighters, pugilists, and gladiators, girls were told over and over again how the best slave girls could sometimes find a citizen who loved them enough to marry them.

Still, dreaming about it was one thing and actually working towards the goal were entirely different things. "Ambitious" was never a complimentary term for a slave, but if that was Rose's worst transgression, she would accept it gladly. She's always kept her eyes open for possible prospective husbands and done what she could to throw herself into their path so they would have every opportunity to fall in love with her.

Rose may have been born into slavery, but she sometimes felt like she'd been handed someone else's destiny by mistake.She'd never be as good a slave as Clover. As obvious as that had always been to her, the sisters at the creche had taken every opportunity to remind her of it. In some, the comparison might have galled, but it was both impossible and counterproductive to dislike Clover. They'd both been bought by Senator Denter Scribonius before birth and trained together for his service. There had always been a good chance that they would serve together their whole lives and slaves who brought strife under their master's roof failed in the first precept of good service - take nothing that is not given. Robbing a household of its peace and tranquility was as bad as stealing the silverware.

They'd begun service at the age of eight, working in the kitchens that served Senator Scribonius's estate. From the start, the old slave Joanne who ran the whole operation had called Rose "the little flirt.' She'd already learned the trick of catching men's eyes and holding them once caught.

In hindsight, it was a wonder no one had raped her before she matured enough to draw the eye of the senator himself. Denter Scribonius was a handsome, imposing figure of a man who had served bravely in the Britannic Wars and risen in politics. There was only the first hint of gray in his hair when he blooded and bedded her and made her his favorite. He'd done so when Rose was almost a year younger than was traditional, but she already had a woman's shape and wasn't too young to feel like a woman for having it done. Even if it had only been a very minor transgression, Rose took it as a clear sign of her charms that she'd made old Denter transgress at all.

When she reached the shower room, it was completely empty and the lights off. Slaves got sleep when they could and there were rarely any duties for the garden staff once the sun had set. Not wanting to alert anyone to her presence, she left the light off and stepped into one of the stalls. She undressed quickly, still wearing only the light tunic she'd slept in, turned the water up hot, and stepped in, hissing at the scalding her skin took from the first drops.

She washed off every speck of dirt, scrubbed every patch of skin discolored by work and washed away every sign she could find that she'd just had sex with Thom. The pounding needles of hot water even started to unkink her sore muscles and she lingered, letting them do what they could. A girl should be as supple and limber as she could manage the first time her master called for her.

Standing under the shower, she closed her eyes and reviewed what she knew about Corvus Gallicus. Even though he lived on the same estate as her, Rose had never met him and slaves weren't exactly allowed to sit around all day watching gossip shows, so she'd only caught bits and pieces.

She knew he was young, still in his teens. If he were particularly young, that could present its own special challenges. Boys of a certain age could be deeply inventive in their cruelties and where the sons of the plebeian class had to content themselves with pulling the wings off of flies or murdering stray cats, patrician boys could make a slave-girl's life tricky if their parents didn't reign them in.

Rose was pretty sure Corvus wasn't one of those. Everything she'd heard about General Gallicus suggested he was a prudent man who knew what it meant to be a good Roman. Besides, Clover had recommended Rose as a bed-slave for Corvus and she was the only slave Rose knew who would actually share such a plum role with the woman who had been their last master's favorite simply because she was what the new master would enjoy most. It wouldn't occur to Clover to worry that her own position would be in jeopardy with such a rival and, even if it did, it wouldn't change her behavior. In a way that Rose had tried to emulate, but failed, Clover really did consider good service paramount and her own needs entirely secondary.

Because of that and because they'd been friends for as long as Rose could remember, she wouldn't try to nudge Clover out. They'd shared one master's bed for years and they'd been the best years of Rose's life.

Anyway, Clover certainly wouldn't recommend Rose to the bed of a sadistic child out of malice. And if she was backed into it, would at least try to give Rose some warning.

So, Corvus Gallicus was probably a little older - eighteen or nineteen and, as everyone knew, he'd only recently been elevated to the aristocracy. He'd grown up his whole life as a plebeian until a few weeks ago.

Rose grinned to herself. She had a special gift for dealing with plebeian men. Where other girls would sometimes flock to serve Denter's patrician friends, Rose knew it was the plebeians who sometimes bought girls and then married them. Patricians only did that in paperback romances and on soap operas. So, she'd cultivated the special skills needs to deal with plebeian men who might well have never had the use of a slave-girl before and were unlikely to do so any time soon. Men who didn't know how to approach her or talk to her or ask her to do what she'd been sent to do took special handling - a little boldness, a little sassiness. Sometimes, they even liked to feel like the woman in their bed was an equal. Rose had learned to read the signs and speak the special language of plebes in order to make them like her better.

Of course Corvus wasn't a plebe anymore. He was among the highest of the high aristocracy. He wouldn't be marrying Rose, but he certainly had to have plebeian friends. She laughed out loud. Probably every plebeian he'd ever met or though he'd met would consider himself Corvus's friend right now if they were allowed to do so. The future was very bright indeed.

All she had to do was get Corvus Gallicus to like her enough to move her into his rooms on a semi-permanent or permanent basis. And that shouldn't be hard. It was what she was bred for.

She was so wrapped up in considering the possibilities that she scarcely noticed someone had turned on the overhead light in the shower room. When she did notice, she stiffened. The only other slave who would be up this early was Leo, the head gardener. Whatever his failings, Leo was far from lazy. He often started work long before sunrise to make sure things would be ready for the other slaves to put in a full day. Rose didn't personally appreciate such efficiency, but she could see how an owner would.

After a moment, she relaxed. Leo couldn't touch her today. She was getting ready for Corvus. When he pulled the curtain open, she even managed a smile. "Good morning, Leo."

He looked her over. "Rose, you shouldn't be wasting your time getting too clean. I've got you mulching today."

Rose inclined her head in a gesture of contrition. "Forgive me, Leo. Citizen Corvus Gallicus has summoned me to his bed for the morning. I need to be clean and sweet-smelling for his pleasure."

Leo gave a grunt and looked her over again. Rose let him get a good look, knowing with any luck, it would be the last time he saw her naked. After a few seconds, he gave a grunt. "All right, then. You can do the mulching when you get back." He pulled the curtain shut and walked to another stall.

It might have been a cruel jibe, suggesting that Rose couldn't possibly hold Corvus's attention for more than a few hours.Or he might just be stating what he saw as the truth - a summons like this was no guarantee of a new assignment and Rose might well be spreading mulch before the sun set again.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Fa/Fa / Mult / Slavery / Lesbian / BDSM / Big Breasts /