Masters of Miraflores
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 7: The Bathing
Historical Sex Story: Chapter 7: The Bathing - 1880 Philippines. Mia, a merchant's daughter, marries into a brutal plantation dynasty. Alana, an Indio concubine, is given to her husband as property. Expected to be rivals, they choose alliance instead—then love. When violence destroys the patriarchs who owned them, these two women seize an empire through strategy, not rebellion. Pregnant and widowed, they negotiate a hostile takeover that leaves them controlling everything: the land, the shipping, the future. Lock, stock, and barrel
Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Reluctant Romantic Lesbian Heterosexual Historical Cheating Polygamy/Polyamory Oriental Female Hispanic Male Anal Sex First Oral Sex Petting AI Generated
It was late afternoon, and Mia was preparing for dinner when Alana knocked and entered with a tray of tea.
“Thank you,” Mia said, accepting the cup. Then she wrinkled her nose. “I need to bathe before dinner. I’ve been in the storerooms all day and I smell like dust and old rice.”
“I’ll call for a bath to be drawn,” Alana said. “It’s been three days for both of us anyway.”
Mia nodded. The unspoken routine—Mateo’s requirements maintained without discussion, just another task like pinning hair or lacing stays.
“We can manage it together,” Mia said. “Faster that way.”
Twenty minutes later, they were both in the massive copper tub, water scented with jasmine oil, steam rising in soft clouds.
They worked efficiently—Alana helping Mia first with the razor, then Mia returning the favor. Quick, practiced, no drama. Just two women maintaining compliance with demands neither had chosen.
When that was done, they relaxed into the heat, letting the tension of the day dissolve.
“Better,” Mia sighed, sinking deeper into the water.
“Much better.” Alana reached for the soap, began working it into her hair.
“Let me,” Mia said, moving closer.
Alana turned, presenting her back. Mia worked the soap through the long dark hair, fingers gentle and thorough.
It was intimate—not the routine compliance from moments before, but this. The care. The attention. The way Mia’s hands lingered on Alana’s shoulders after rinsing, massaging away the knots from hours bent over ledgers.
“You’re tense,” Mia murmured.
“Long day with the quarterly accounts. The numbers weren’t balancing.”
“Did you find the error?”
“Eventually. One of the overseers was skimming. Small amounts, but consistently.”
“What did you do?”
“Noted it in the books. Told Mateo. He’ll handle it.” Alana’s voice was flat, knowing what “handle it” meant—dismissal at best, violence at worst.
Mia’s hands stilled on her shoulders. “You don’t like reporting them.”
“No. But if I don’t, and Don Rodrigo finds out I hid it, it’s my head on the block.” Alana turned slightly. “This is survival, Mia. We do what we must.”
“I know. But I hate that you have to.”
“So do I.”
Mia resumed washing, moved to Alana’s back. Her hands traced the small scars there—the mango tree, the kitchen accident, the physical history of a life lived before this one.
“Your turn,” Alana said softly.
They switched. Alana’s hands in Mia’s hair now, working through the tangles, massaging her scalp.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.