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Tahena had, honestly, not expected this. She couldn't sleep - well, sleeping uninterrupted through the night was a privilege she hadn't always been given, so waking up every few hours, whenever quiet footsteps or the rustle of fabric reached her ears, was unsurprising. The fact of not being able to get back to sleep as soon as she determined that whoever she had heard was not heading in her direction was unusual. The reason being a quiet ache between her thighs that had absolutely nothing to do with pain was confusingly new.
For nearly two years, the longest she had gone without Iahotep burrying himself inside her had been the five or so days a month that proved her an adult woman, and even then she had shared his bed as many days as not, pleasing him as best she could with her hands and mouth... and pleasing him usually meant hurting. She'd been, frankly, looking forward to a long stretch with no bruises.
Her body, it seemed, had other ideas.
She sighed silently and rolled onto her back, one hand reaching down between her legs curiously. She slept naked and without a sheet over her in amongst the palace's other slaves, but she felt not even a twitch of embarrassment. A slave might have no opportunity for anything that cost money, but the desire for the pleasures of the flesh was no less understandable than in a free woman. She quickly found the wetness that came when anticipating her master's use of her, but pleasure escaped her. She certainly knew what pleasure felt like - sometimes, when she pleased her master more than usual, he'd touched her in pleasant ways between the cruel, leaving her trembling and gasping in something as different as possible from the usual, though just as overwhelming... and usually begging him to see to his own needs, to let her serve him as she ought. In between making sure he knew she was appropriately grateful, of course. She wasn't stupid. One or two of the other men who'd laid with her had left the lower half of her warm and craving more in a quieter sort of way, even as her mind screamed at her that her master would have them both killed, and never mind there was no way at all for her to escape from a soldier who'd decided to risk his general's wrath just to get his cock wet. You would think, given the rarity of those occurrences, that when she thought of sex, she never think of it as anything other than a pain-filled ordeal, and yet...
Weird, how she hated it, yet felt so lost without it.
It was entirely her own fault. She'd pointed out that she would never earn the queen's trust if he continued to treat her as his favourite. If he changed his public behaviour suddenly, that would be suspicious, but so far as Her Majesty should be allowed to find out, he might think she was the prettiest of his slaves, a bed favourite, but otherwise too stupid to be trusted with any important task. Behaving in such a way as to give him reason to find fault with her had her shaking and nearly crying every time, but she passed that off as fear of him, and made up for it by being perfect whenever they were truly alone. The beatings were mild enough to reassure her that he knew it was entirely an act, but still, he could not help but lose his temper. In the years of learning how to avoid anything that might possibly set him off... well, she certainly knew how to irritate him as well. Never outright defiance - she wasn't stupid - but incompetence, in the little things she had perfected by the time she was ten. Dropping things, letting her jewelry jingle too loudly, asking for clarification on orders she'd been given plenty of times before. The little hesitations and sulky looks that suggested she wanted to be defiant and served him only out of fear.
An image of him floated in her mind's eye, broad chested and regal, and she pinched herself hard, until the first shiver caught her just at the base of her spine, but then it just hurt, and she gave up. She sat up, licking the tips of her fingers clean, and offered a silent prayer to Nephthys for the return of sleep, but no, she was properly awake now. With a hushed sigh, she got to her feet as graceful and silent as he had trained her to be, and headed out of the room. A brief walk out to relieve herself would not get her in trouble - and wasn't that a pleasant change - and perhaps that would help her get back to sleep.
On the way back, she surrendered to a sudden strong impulse, and slipped ghost-like into the Pharoh's private chamber. It felt empty, as if the room itself knew he had not just stepped out for a few hours. She was no longer the one who kept his room, cleaning and making sure everything was exactly where and how he liked it, and she walked around slowly examining the state of it. Either his preferences had changed, or impatience with someone else's imperfections had forced him to lower his standards. She found it hard to credit Iahotep with anything but the most rigid of standards, but he had so much more responsibility as king than general, she supposed he no longer had time to properly train another slave. Oddly, she was glad. Tahena did not want a rival supplanting her as his favourite while she was busy with her current task.
He had left the formal crown, the crook and flail here. The symbols not only of kingship, but of his godhood as well. Her eyes fell on the flail, the dark wood of the handle almost completely inlaid with gold and lapiz, the leather strands knotted with beads of the same precious materials. She reached out and almost touched it before she caught herself with a gasp, and dropped to her knees in contrition, folding further at the waist to hang her head towards the floor in shame.
She could almost hear an echo of her god-king's voice, If you want to touch it so badly... She shivered, imagining the impact of the metal-studded leather strands across her back, the striped fire of being solidly flogged and a sharp, scattered pain like falling onto a bed of rough gravel, all at once... But he would never do so, would never risk breaking her skin and leaving a scar. At least so long as she had any beauty worth preserving - and all women lost their beauty eventually. Her only hope was that he should find her so useful, her behaviour so perfect, that he wished to have her at his side even once her place in his bed was replaced with someone younger. Yet had she not just proven he could do without her? Foolish girl. He'd gone off to war, and left her behind. Would he have forgotten her, when he returned? He had taken other slaves with him - was he was already training her replacement? If he did not return, would anyone realize she had once been his favourite? Would anyone think to take her to his tomb, to be with him for eternity, or would she be stuck serving Hatepshut for the rest of her life? Or sent back to Wad El Take, to serve no-one of importance at all? Tears pricked at her eyes, and with no-one to see, she let them fall.
"My master, my king..." she murmured quietly. He was the nearest to a god that she had ever suspected cared for her, but she doubted the powers of the Pharaoh included hearing her across the leagues. Still, the gods could, and while they doubtless had more important prayers to pay attention to, perhaps in this they would listen for his sake. She sat up, took a deep breath, and wiped her eyes.
"Lord Horus, god of the sky and king of gods, allow this poor slave to beg of you your care for your chosen son Iahotep, help him lead the armies of Egypt to victory and return home both safely and soon..." Tears overflowed her eyes again. "Please, I beg you, I will serve whatever punishment for my impudence, I have nothing to offer except my service to the Pharaoh, but please, drive the Greeks into defeat, give your strength to our soldiers and your cunning to our generals and above all bless our Pharaoh, beloved by the gods, with all the power he needs for this task before him... Let him come home whole and hale, let him raise his son to be Pharaoh many years hence... Please..."
She did not expect an answer, but she stayed silent and still as she had been trained, waiting, not wanting to seem rude by speaking and then rushing out. Eventually, though, she had to leave; Iahotep was not returning tonight, and she did not need anyone wondering where she had gotten off to. She straightened gracefully, calm again, and slipped out as silently as she had entered, feeling like perhaps she would be able to get back to sleep again.
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Tahena had, honestly, not expected this. She couldn't sleep - well, sleeping uninterrupted through the night was a privilege she hadn't always been given, so waking up every few hours, whenever quiet footsteps or the rustle of fabric reached her ears, was unsurprising. The fact of not being able to get back to sleep as soon as she determined that whoever she had heard was not heading in her direction was unusual. The reason being a quiet ache between her thighs that had absolutely nothing to do with pain was confusingly new.
For nearly two years, the longest she had gone without Iahotep burrying himself inside her had been the five or so days a month that proved her an adult woman, and even then she had shared his bed as many days as not, pleasing him as best she could with her hands and mouth... and pleasing him usually meant hurting. She'd been, frankly, looking forward to a long stretch with no bruises.
Her body, it seemed, had other ideas.
She sighed silently and rolled onto her back, one hand reaching down between her legs curiously. She slept naked and without a sheet over her in amongst the palace's other slaves, but she felt not even a twitch of embarrassment. A slave might have no opportunity for anything that cost money, but the desire for the pleasures of the flesh was no less understandable than in a free woman. She quickly found the wetness that came when anticipating her master's use of her, but pleasure escaped her. She certainly knew what pleasure felt like - sometimes, when she pleased her master more than usual, he'd touched her in pleasant ways between the cruel, leaving her trembling and gasping in something as different as possible from the usual, though just as overwhelming... and usually begging him to see to his own needs, to let her serve him as she ought. In between making sure he knew she was appropriately grateful, of course. She wasn't stupid. One or two of the other men who'd laid with her had left the lower half of her warm and craving more in a quieter sort of way, even as her mind screamed at her that her master would have them both killed, and never mind there was no way at all for her to escape from a soldier who'd decided to risk his general's wrath just to get his cock wet. You would think, given the rarity of those occurrences, that when she thought of sex, she never think of it as anything other than a pain-filled ordeal, and yet...
Weird, how she hated it, yet felt so lost without it.
It was entirely her own fault. She'd pointed out that she would never earn the queen's trust if he continued to treat her as his favourite. If he changed his public behaviour suddenly, that would be suspicious, but so far as Her Majesty should be allowed to find out, he might think she was the prettiest of his slaves, a bed favourite, but otherwise too stupid to be trusted with any important task. Behaving in such a way as to give him reason to find fault with her had her shaking and nearly crying every time, but she passed that off as fear of him, and made up for it by being perfect whenever they were truly alone. The beatings were mild enough to reassure her that he knew it was entirely an act, but still, he could not help but lose his temper. In the years of learning how to avoid anything that might possibly set him off... well, she certainly knew how to irritate him as well. Never outright defiance - she wasn't stupid - but incompetence, in the little things she had perfected by the time she was ten. Dropping things, letting her jewelry jingle too loudly, asking for clarification on orders she'd been given plenty of times before. The little hesitations and sulky looks that suggested she wanted to be defiant and served him only out of fear.
An image of him floated in her mind's eye, broad chested and regal, and she pinched herself hard, until the first shiver caught her just at the base of her spine, but then it just hurt, and she gave up. She sat up, licking the tips of her fingers clean, and offered a silent prayer to Nephthys for the return of sleep, but no, she was properly awake now. With a hushed sigh, she got to her feet as graceful and silent as he had trained her to be, and headed out of the room. A brief walk out to relieve herself would not get her in trouble - and wasn't that a pleasant change - and perhaps that would help her get back to sleep.
On the way back, she surrendered to a sudden strong impulse, and slipped ghost-like into the Pharoh's private chamber. It felt empty, as if the room itself knew he had not just stepped out for a few hours. She was no longer the one who kept his room, cleaning and making sure everything was exactly where and how he liked it, and she walked around slowly examining the state of it. Either his preferences had changed, or impatience with someone else's imperfections had forced him to lower his standards. She found it hard to credit Iahotep with anything but the most rigid of standards, but he had so much more responsibility as king than general, she supposed he no longer had time to properly train another slave. Oddly, she was glad. Tahena did not want a rival supplanting her as his favourite while she was busy with her current task.
He had left the formal crown, the crook and flail here. The symbols not only of kingship, but of his godhood as well. Her eyes fell on the flail, the dark wood of the handle almost completely inlaid with gold and lapiz, the leather strands knotted with beads of the same precious materials. She reached out and almost touched it before she caught herself with a gasp, and dropped to her knees in contrition, folding further at the waist to hang her head towards the floor in shame.
She could almost hear an echo of her god-king's voice, If you want to touch it so badly... She shivered, imagining the impact of the metal-studded leather strands across her back, the striped fire of being solidly flogged and a sharp, scattered pain like falling onto a bed of rough gravel, all at once... But he would never do so, would never risk breaking her skin and leaving a scar. At least so long as she had any beauty worth preserving - and all women lost their beauty eventually. Her only hope was that he should find her so useful, her behaviour so perfect, that he wished to have her at his side even once her place in his bed was replaced with someone younger. Yet had she not just proven he could do without her? Foolish girl. He'd gone off to war, and left her behind. Would he have forgotten her, when he returned? He had taken other slaves with him - was he was already training her replacement? If he did not return, would anyone realize she had once been his favourite? Would anyone think to take her to his tomb, to be with him for eternity, or would she be stuck serving Hatepshut for the rest of her life? Or sent back to Wad El Take, to serve no-one of importance at all? Tears pricked at her eyes, and with no-one to see, she let them fall.
"My master, my king..." she murmured quietly. He was the nearest to a god that she had ever suspected cared for her, but she doubted the powers of the Pharaoh included hearing her across the leagues. Still, the gods could, and while they doubtless had more important prayers to pay attention to, perhaps in this they would listen for his sake. She sat up, took a deep breath, and wiped her eyes.
"Lord Horus, god of the sky and king of gods, allow this poor slave to beg of you your care for your chosen son Iahotep, help him lead the armies of Egypt to victory and return home both safely and soon..." Tears overflowed her eyes again. "Please, I beg you, I will serve whatever punishment for my impudence, I have nothing to offer except my service to the Pharaoh, but please, drive the Greeks into defeat, give your strength to our soldiers and your cunning to our generals and above all bless our Pharaoh, beloved by the gods, with all the power he needs for this task before him... Let him come home whole and hale, let him raise his son to be Pharaoh many years hence... Please..."
She did not expect an answer, but she stayed silent and still as she had been trained, waiting, not wanting to seem rude by speaking and then rushing out. Eventually, though, she had to leave; Iahotep was not returning tonight, and she did not need anyone wondering where she had gotten off to. She straightened gracefully, calm again, and slipped out as silently as she had entered, feeling like perhaps she would be able to get back to sleep again.
Tahena had, honestly, not expected this. She couldn't sleep - well, sleeping uninterrupted through the night was a privilege she hadn't always been given, so waking up every few hours, whenever quiet footsteps or the rustle of fabric reached her ears, was unsurprising. The fact of not being able to get back to sleep as soon as she determined that whoever she had heard was not heading in her direction was unusual. The reason being a quiet ache between her thighs that had absolutely nothing to do with pain was confusingly new.
For nearly two years, the longest she had gone without Iahotep burrying himself inside her had been the five or so days a month that proved her an adult woman, and even then she had shared his bed as many days as not, pleasing him as best she could with her hands and mouth... and pleasing him usually meant hurting. She'd been, frankly, looking forward to a long stretch with no bruises.
Her body, it seemed, had other ideas.
She sighed silently and rolled onto her back, one hand reaching down between her legs curiously. She slept naked and without a sheet over her in amongst the palace's other slaves, but she felt not even a twitch of embarrassment. A slave might have no opportunity for anything that cost money, but the desire for the pleasures of the flesh was no less understandable than in a free woman. She quickly found the wetness that came when anticipating her master's use of her, but pleasure escaped her. She certainly knew what pleasure felt like - sometimes, when she pleased her master more than usual, he'd touched her in pleasant ways between the cruel, leaving her trembling and gasping in something as different as possible from the usual, though just as overwhelming... and usually begging him to see to his own needs, to let her serve him as she ought. In between making sure he knew she was appropriately grateful, of course. She wasn't stupid. One or two of the other men who'd laid with her had left the lower half of her warm and craving more in a quieter sort of way, even as her mind screamed at her that her master would have them both killed, and never mind there was no way at all for her to escape from a soldier who'd decided to risk his general's wrath just to get his cock wet. You would think, given the rarity of those occurrences, that when she thought of sex, she never think of it as anything other than a pain-filled ordeal, and yet...
Weird, how she hated it, yet felt so lost without it.
It was entirely her own fault. She'd pointed out that she would never earn the queen's trust if he continued to treat her as his favourite. If he changed his public behaviour suddenly, that would be suspicious, but so far as Her Majesty should be allowed to find out, he might think she was the prettiest of his slaves, a bed favourite, but otherwise too stupid to be trusted with any important task. Behaving in such a way as to give him reason to find fault with her had her shaking and nearly crying every time, but she passed that off as fear of him, and made up for it by being perfect whenever they were truly alone. The beatings were mild enough to reassure her that he knew it was entirely an act, but still, he could not help but lose his temper. In the years of learning how to avoid anything that might possibly set him off... well, she certainly knew how to irritate him as well. Never outright defiance - she wasn't stupid - but incompetence, in the little things she had perfected by the time she was ten. Dropping things, letting her jewelry jingle too loudly, asking for clarification on orders she'd been given plenty of times before. The little hesitations and sulky looks that suggested she wanted to be defiant and served him only out of fear.
An image of him floated in her mind's eye, broad chested and regal, and she pinched herself hard, until the first shiver caught her just at the base of her spine, but then it just hurt, and she gave up. She sat up, licking the tips of her fingers clean, and offered a silent prayer to Nephthys for the return of sleep, but no, she was properly awake now. With a hushed sigh, she got to her feet as graceful and silent as he had trained her to be, and headed out of the room. A brief walk out to relieve herself would not get her in trouble - and wasn't that a pleasant change - and perhaps that would help her get back to sleep.
On the way back, she surrendered to a sudden strong impulse, and slipped ghost-like into the Pharoh's private chamber. It felt empty, as if the room itself knew he had not just stepped out for a few hours. She was no longer the one who kept his room, cleaning and making sure everything was exactly where and how he liked it, and she walked around slowly examining the state of it. Either his preferences had changed, or impatience with someone else's imperfections had forced him to lower his standards. She found it hard to credit Iahotep with anything but the most rigid of standards, but he had so much more responsibility as king than general, she supposed he no longer had time to properly train another slave. Oddly, she was glad. Tahena did not want a rival supplanting her as his favourite while she was busy with her current task.
He had left the formal crown, the crook and flail here. The symbols not only of kingship, but of his godhood as well. Her eyes fell on the flail, the dark wood of the handle almost completely inlaid with gold and lapiz, the leather strands knotted with beads of the same precious materials. She reached out and almost touched it before she caught herself with a gasp, and dropped to her knees in contrition, folding further at the waist to hang her head towards the floor in shame.
She could almost hear an echo of her god-king's voice, If you want to touch it so badly... She shivered, imagining the impact of the metal-studded leather strands across her back, the striped fire of being solidly flogged and a sharp, scattered pain like falling onto a bed of rough gravel, all at once... But he would never do so, would never risk breaking her skin and leaving a scar. At least so long as she had any beauty worth preserving - and all women lost their beauty eventually. Her only hope was that he should find her so useful, her behaviour so perfect, that he wished to have her at his side even once her place in his bed was replaced with someone younger. Yet had she not just proven he could do without her? Foolish girl. He'd gone off to war, and left her behind. Would he have forgotten her, when he returned? He had taken other slaves with him - was he was already training her replacement? If he did not return, would anyone realize she had once been his favourite? Would anyone think to take her to his tomb, to be with him for eternity, or would she be stuck serving Hatepshut for the rest of her life? Or sent back to Wad El Take, to serve no-one of importance at all? Tears pricked at her eyes, and with no-one to see, she let them fall.
"My master, my king..." she murmured quietly. He was the nearest to a god that she had ever suspected cared for her, but she doubted the powers of the Pharaoh included hearing her across the leagues. Still, the gods could, and while they doubtless had more important prayers to pay attention to, perhaps in this they would listen for his sake. She sat up, took a deep breath, and wiped her eyes.
"Lord Horus, god of the sky and king of gods, allow this poor slave to beg of you your care for your chosen son Iahotep, help him lead the armies of Egypt to victory and return home both safely and soon..." Tears overflowed her eyes again. "Please, I beg you, I will serve whatever punishment for my impudence, I have nothing to offer except my service to the Pharaoh, but please, drive the Greeks into defeat, give your strength to our soldiers and your cunning to our generals and above all bless our Pharaoh, beloved by the gods, with all the power he needs for this task before him... Let him come home whole and hale, let him raise his son to be Pharaoh many years hence... Please..."
She did not expect an answer, but she stayed silent and still as she had been trained, waiting, not wanting to seem rude by speaking and then rushing out. Eventually, though, she had to leave; Iahotep was not returning tonight, and she did not need anyone wondering where she had gotten off to. She straightened gracefully, calm again, and slipped out as silently as she had entered, feeling like perhaps she would be able to get back to sleep again.