Bilal and Mistress Octavia Pt. 01

I was yet a young man, and my eyes had never wandered to the elders of my village. There was something different about her. Her body moved catlike and deliberate. And to my surprise, I felt the fire of lust rising inside of me. My eyes were fixated upon the ruby necklace. I wondered what her breasts looked like, as I had never seen a woman her age with her clothes off. The largest ruby was right there, and my eyes could not leave it. The walls seemed to close in momentarily, and for a brief second I was surrounded by darkness, the ruby the only visible thing. Fear's icy hand gripped my heart. Then the fog parted, and all my doubts disappeared. This ravishing and mysterious lady was here with me, and I wanted her to be mine. This feeling fueled the carnal fire inside.

She looked me up and down, and then a subtle smile touched her lips. "What is your name, boy?" Her voice matched her face. It was strong and confident, but at the same time there was a deadly seductive melodiousness under the surface. Everything about this woman screamed danger. Not the danger of a bear or even a stalking wildcat. This was the danger of the red death spider, and I was the foolish boy rummaging in the wood pile.

It took me a moment to find my voice. I found her so captivating. This woman held a thousand secrets, some of these bearing carnal heat. "My name Bilal, son of Balam, madam."

"You are a foreigner. Kashaki?"

"Yes, madam."

Next came a great shock to me. She replied, in flawless Kashaki. "You're a long way from home, Bilal, son of Balam. What brings you here?"

In a way, the people around me speaking Vaulish brought me some kind of refuge. When you don't hear your own language for long enough it becomes a language of your mind, private and secure. Talking to this woman felt like an invasion of my homeland. I stammered, "Well, madam, like these other men, I come seeking my fortune." She glared at me silently. I gave a weak smile and she took a few steps toward me. I could smell a cloying, musky perfume on her.

"Do not lie to me, Bilal. I can smell it on you. And you are an easy liar too, a rogue. You may fool everyone else, but you don't fool me. But it doesn't matter. I am Octavia Fontaine. You may refer to me as Mistress Octavia. You are here because I chose you. Yes, it was me you saw when you ran from Colette. It amuses my idiot sons to see other fools running from her. But cowardice has its uses. I'm sure you agree."

How could I respond? I was a bard first, but a liar as a close second. My heart pumped with excitement with Mistress Octavia this close to me. There was something simultaneously proper and lewd about her. I felt overwhelmed with thoughts about her that would make an imam faint. She loomed before me, and all I could do was gape at her animal magnetism.

Her smile deepened, and she flashed her predatory, white teeth. I felt a jolt as she took both my hands. "These are soft hands. Your calluses must be on the inside. What do you do Bilal?"

Of course I do as little as possible. I thought it unwise to say that to this fearsome slave driver. "I write poems, I play the qanun. I am a bard, Mistress Octavia, and I travel far and wide plying my craft. Would you like to hear a song?"

"Why, Bilal, I would love to." I couldn't tell if she was being genuine or patronizing. But I suppose it didn't matter. I knew "King Charles's March," and patriotic songs were my go-to in foreign lands. But surely this lady is too sophisticated for such things. I ached to please her. "There and Back Again" was a song about a man forlorn and away from his homeland, longing to return. It was also of sufficient complexity. A wise bard always tailors songs to his audience.

Taking my qanun from my pack, I sighed with relief that there was only a spritz of water on it. She looked at me expectantly, and her face enchanted me. The song starts describing the cold of the foreign lands, both in weather and people. He missed his own language, his village, his love. I played the melancholy chords. I find music can enchant some people, but Mistress Octavia smiled like a mother watching her child taking his first steps. I reveled in her adoration, but I thought she would be more impressed.

"Excellent Bilal. You may just do. Do you know why you are here?"

There was no point in playing games, "Because you chose me, madam."

"Indeed. My sons have told me that you have excelled in nothing. In fact, your work has been inadequate all around. You aren't handy with tools, you lack the endurance for the fields, you're afraid of horses." She scowled, "At least feeding Colette you provided me with some amusement. No. You are here with me because I think I can find use for you. Though you have failed at everything else, I believe I can properly motivate you."

Her innuendo was not lost on me, "Yes, Mistress Octavia. I will strive to please and obey you." It wasn't even a lie. I was desperate for this regal lady's approval. "What is it you wish from me, madam?"

There was a pause. Her green eyes skewered me, "Come with me. I will explain your first task."

She opened a door and we went into a room with a bathtub and a hearth. You could hang several buckets side by side in the hearth, and three iron buckets already hung there. The bathtub was metal, and quite large. There was a small pipe going into the wall. The floor was covered with several rugs. They were well made, but not the luxurious kind that were in the hallway. They were a relaxing blue with yellow flowers. There was also an ornately carved wooden dresser and a silver mirror above. Such luxury just to take a bath! But I was glad to be here, since I hadn't had the bath I had promised myself on the ship. The closest I had was the pouring rain, and it was a poor substitute. It looked like this would be a hot bath, too. I had been to the bathhouses in the capital city, but it was a special treat since they were so rare.

"You will fill the tub with scalding hot water for me," my heart sank. "There are heavy gloves in the dresser. Fill it quickly, for I will be back soon. You will fill it from the well on the first floor. Ask Victor. You shall attend me while I bathe." Did she just say what I think she did? I would be in here for her bath? I immediately started sweating, and my ram thumped and started to inflate. My heart pounded in my chest. I was going to see this silver fox's body.

She arched an eyebrow, "I am gratified by your enthusiasm." It must have been obvious. I didn't care. My ram ached for this woman's curves. Her arse shook as she left, I could have sworn she did it on purpose.

A familiar feeling came over me. It was that of a suitor waiting alone in the bedroom for his woman to get ready and come in to him. I took two iron buckets in my hands and charged downstairs, like a child. My heart pounded in my ears, and I felt my whole body heat up. Victor was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, "Last door on the right," he looked like he was sucking on a lemon. I opened the door to a round stone well, with a door for kitchen access. My hands trembled as I lowered the buckets down. It felt like an eternity, but finally I heard a splash. After I filled the two buckets I marched upstairs, passing the second floor landing full of its bizarre animals. By the time I made it to the top, I was winded. I was not the fat graybeard I am today, but I had always lacked brawn and endurance.

I found a flint and tinder in the dresser, and lit the fire easily. It was the only thing I had really learned in the army. I hung the two buckets side by side and stoked the fire. I had to make two more trips. By the time I had brought up the last buckets I was as winded as I had been after fleeing the only battle I ever had the misfortune to be in.

I doubled over with fatigue, watching the buckets steam over the fire. I figured it was best to get them boiling and then pour them in, since Mistress Octavia could wait for it to cool more easily than I could re-heat the water. I found a set of heavy wool mittens in the dresser, and used them to take the first boiling bucket off the fire. But when I got to the tub, there was a hole in the bottom. I supposed that it was used to drain it, but there must have been some way to stop the drain. Feeling the urgency of lust, I almost panicked. The pipe at the bottom was for draining the tub. Such an ingenious thing must have cost a fortune, especially here in the New World.

But there was a horizontal lever at the side of the pipe. I couldn't tell what had happened when I tuned it, but I tested by pouring a bit of water into the tub. The water stayed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I ached to see Mistress Octavia's naked body. I had not felt this excited for a woman since I was a boy. And though it wracked my nerves, I welcomed it.

It seemed like ages until the last bucket was ready, and my traitorous, trembling hands almost dropped the damn thing. The tub was hot and steaming, and I would have been sad that the bath was for me, if it weren't for Mistress Octavia. Just then the door creaked and she walked right in. I was almost overwhelmed with her beauty, and my face was red with my vital blood from exertion and raw lust, as was my ram.

She glared at me, and walked over to the tub. I weakly held my hat in front of me. I tried to hold myself as someone sophisticated and not a poor country boy who was lucky enough to have the gift of gab. I don't know if it worked, but I also don't think she cared. Her hand tentatively touched the surface of the water, then jerked back. She turned to me and gave a tight smile, "Well, Bilal. You have performed adequately at this particular task. Tell me, you have a great bath in your capital city, do you not?"

Every second was an eternity, and my eyes darted all over her body, "Yes, madam, we have several."

"I see. And you men just strip off all your clothes and bathe in front of each other?"

"We do, Mistress Octavia."

"And the women?" there was that little smile again.

"Well, madam, for men and women to bathe together would be sinful. In my country it is unheard of."

"Do you believe it's sinful for a man to see a woman naked?"

"I don't know, madam. God created man and woman naked, and it's only our pride and lust that cause us to feel shame. It is certainly improper if the man and woman are not married." I didn't have much of an opinion of being proper, but this woman was an aristocrat. Who knew with her?

"In my country it is the same, Bilal. So would it be improper for you to bathe me?" A cat playing with the rat she caught.

"I believe so, madam."

"And what if I ordered you? Surely that would absolve you from any blame. What if I ordered you to strip me naked and clean my most intimate areas?"

My ram had been hard when she came in, but now it was painfully so. These cursed fine pants did nothing to hide it, either. "I suppose I would be absolved, Mistress Octavia."

Did her eyes flick down to my ram? "And what if you stared at my body, and felt lust in your heart? Surely an old lady like me wouldn't arouse your ram? I'm old enough to be your mother." She cocked her hips to the side, and I felt my lust would burn me alive.

"Madam, lust is a sin. Yet," Love is about taking chances, and surely this proper woman didn't have a young man standing by her bath to play cards with, "you have filled me with a sinful spirit, though it be no fault of my own."

It was there in her face for only a second, but I saw it. I had surprised her. She expected servants like me to be terrified and meek. And certainly I was terrified, but I would be damned if my desire didn't overpower my fear. Later I learned I would be damned either way. "Then I suppose we should begin." She turned her back to me, and I kenned that she wished me to unfasten her dress. I felt like I would burst. Finally.

I started at the top, and had that feeling one got when getting something long-awaited. My attention focused on the moment, and only that moment existed. I started at the top, my frantic hands loosing one button at a time. The dress came away off her milky shoulders, and my breath fluttered at her mature, marble skin. With her hair in a bun, it left her neck and ears bare. It was all I could do not to touch her. Fool though I was, I knew that now wasn't the time to fondle her. Then the dress uncovered her sides. She was soft with the fat of a mature woman, and then the dress fell from her hips.

Her arse was magnificent and round like the full moon. Her arse was plump and round as a peach, and I longed to take a bite. It was uniform in its shape, almost a perfect circle. It would seem that Mistress Octavia had aged like a fine cheese, and I longed for the sinful enjoyment she would bring me.

She gave a final shake, and the dress fell to the ground. "It cannot be wadded on the floor like pauper's clothes, Bilal. Hang it up." I couldn't speak or move, her sensual curves had overpowered me. "Boy, did you hear me?"

"Yes, Mistress Octavia," I turned, and almost fell when I couldn't take my eyes off her exquisite arse. Reluctantly I turned my head and hung the dress up. There was a swishing of water behind me.

When I looked, she had entered the tub, and her distinguished breasts stuck out the top. I had never seen a woman of her age's tits before. They looked simultaneously large and small. They flowed and shook with the fine movements of her body. They seemed freer and more mobile than younger women's tits. What really surprised me were her nipples. They seemed too large for her breasts, the areolas brown and vibrant. The nipples themselves were big around and stuck out surprisingly far. Looking back as a mature man, myself, I have learned that this is what a woman's breasts looked like after raising children. They were fascinating, and seemed exotic in the difference. Something about her being so much older than me made this more exciting, almost forbidden. She should be looking for some dapper old man in town. Instead, she chose a poor young boy like myself. Adding to the excitement was that she was a proper lady and I was a rogue, a satyr of a man. I was driven by base, carnal instinct.

She noticed me watching, "Does what you see please you, boy? You've never been with a woman of my age." It wasn't a question.

"No madam. But you are just as fair and delicious as the nubile girls of my home village."

"You certainly have a mouth on you, boy." She shook her tits, "I reckon you want to suckle at these like my boys did so long ago." I did. More than anything. "Dirty savage. I bet you want to bend me over that dresser and plow me like a field." She scoffed, "You could take me now, strong man that you are. There would be no one who could stop you. Come on, savage. Come get your ram wet."

What madness was this? She knew how badly I wanted her, and I suppose she wanted to play with me and tease my ram. Her bathwater was freezing next to my lust. "Mistress Octavia..." I had nothing to say. Most of what she said was true. I'm hardly a gentleman, but I would never dream of taking a woman against her will.

"Doesn't that padishah of yours have a hundred love slaves? Jaryas, they're called."

"Yes, madam."

"'Yes, madam,'" she mocked, "Come over here and clean me. There is a washcloth in the drawer and the brush is by the tub. You will only touch the places I say to when I say it. Begin with my back. Scrub hard, boy." I took a deep breath and steadied my hands. Was there a way I could possibly get to touch her bare skin? I felt the urgency in my heart that a lustful young man feels. At this point I eschewed the idea of doing the bare minimum to spite my slavers. In fact I had contempt for it.

She bent forward in the tub and I began to scrub, there was a little sigh from her. She moved and shifted her back with the movement of the brush. "Do not get my hair wet." I was especially careful around her neck. The curve of her neck and shoulders were just like that of a young woman, and her skin held the tone of a well-lived life. "That is enough," she sank down in the tub to rinse the soap, and her mobile breasts floated at the top.

"Now wash my face with the washcloth. Can your savage hands handle something this delicate?"

"Yes, Mistress Octavia." Even saying her name sent jolts through my body.

I moved around to her front and I could see she had her eyes closed. I wondered how long I could get away with staring at her body. Quickly, I ran my eyes over her body. Her middle looked soft and I wondered if I could pinch a roll of fat from it. I knew I would never have the chance. I suppose it shouldn't have come as a surprise to me, but her hair down below had silver streaks. Just like the hair on her head it gave an air of mystery and sophistication.

Keeping my lecherous gazing quick, I gently applied the soap to Mistress Octavia's face. With her face relaxed like this she didn't seem so predatory. In fact, she looked peaceful. I was careful. Despite all my inadequacies, I have clever hands. They serve me in music, in fine work, and in love. I deftly wiped each part of her face. There were delicate crow's feet at her eyes, but her skin was healthy and vibrant. After I scrubbed, she splashed her face with water.

Mistress Octavia placed her hands on the side of the tub and I held my breath. Despite my entranced state I could see that she needed help, and I placed my hands under her arms. Then out of the water of the tub she rose, like a goddess of sex from the depths of the sea. I felt like my heart would burst from my chest. The first thing I noticed were her breasts. They were pendulous and swung with the movement of her body. They looked soft and malleable. I found them irresistible and eagerly awaited the moment when she would ask me to clean them.

Below her exquisite tits she had a softly curved belly, and it indeed looked just big enough to pinch and hold in my hand. The flesh of her belly was oddly striped, and to my young eyes the stripes looked exotic and alluring. Today, I know that these are marks women get from bearing children, and I have some on my own fat belly. Most women quite dislike them, but like every part of her body, Mistress Octavia flaunted them. Again, she dared anyone to tell her she was not beautiful.

Her thighs tapered sensuously to her strong, but soft legs. They were covered with fine hairs which glistened in her wetness. Her bush was the same rich brown as the hair on her head, with shining streaks. It was trimmed and well kept. I longed to discover the treasure inside.

"Get my front, boy. And keep your perverted thoughts in check." So I took the washcloth in my hand, and started with her chest. I couldn't help but spend time on her tits, and I hoped it was not too obvious to her how much I wanted them in my mouth. They were soft, and molded to my eager hands. Was that a little smile I saw on her face? The smile coupled with a small sigh as the washcloth brushed her nipple. "You can't handle these tits, savage. Hurry and clean them up, before I have you whipped."

"Yes, Mistress Octavia." I moved to her belly, and resisted my urge to squeeze it. The water beaded on its surface, and emphasized every mature curve. It softly shook as I rubbed it with soap. My ram had been hard for so long it hurt. I had to do something with it!

I was both frightened and impetuous to wash her jade gate. She glared at me wordlessly, and I moved down, scrubbing the insides of her thighs. "You want to pleasure that moule, don't you? You want to stick your fingers and tongue inside and for me to splash your face with my juice. Men who touch me and don't bring my petite mort find themselves wishing for true death. When you're lying in bed tonight you're going to milk that dirty ram of yours and imagine it's deep in my moule. You want to fill me with your filthy rain. Don't deny it boy."