Confusion

I found myself introduced to his feet once again, thanks to the aide of several hands of nearby slaves. I almost literally bit the dust. Why does he scare me so? Is it the fact that he looked so much more fierce than even the warriors I have witnessed in battle. I've seen bloodshed. I've seen battles. What makes this so different? Maybe it is because he is a world apart from anything I have ever known outside of stories told by the scribes and storytellers. Maybe it is how he looked at me before I found myself bound over his beast. I try to figure it out, yet I find myself distracted. Distracted by the thoughts of him. I should hate him. I should fear him. He took me away from every possible familiar comfort that I know. Dumped me off in a place where I know nothing except for him. Yet I asked myself last night as I lay across him- if he gave me the choice, to return me to those familiar surroundings, would I go?

Vanity. All slaves have it. Myself no exception. I wanted to bathe. Be prepared. Be pretty for his eyes. Yet here I was, tossed down at his feet like a lump of sul sack. I felt so foolishly helpless. This is a lesson in humility. Tangled hair, smeared in dirt, tattered silk. How could he ever see me as pleasing like this? Maybe he sees me as a profitable asset and intends to sell me off first chance he gets. Why does that very thought drive fear into my blood?

He commanded me to look at his eyes. There wasn't the spill of blood this time, and he looked somewhat more at ease than he had prior. It was hard to take my eyes from him. He looked like some sort of vision to me. Something surreal. I have served many men. What is so different about him? What is it that reaches inside of me and refuses to let go? My heart pounds. Palms get sweaty. I tremble. Part of me feels such a great ache and yet I cannot explain any part of it.

He engaged me into conversation, wanting to know of my life. I told him what I could. Of the slaving house. Of Justinian. Of Cassius. Of Picaroon. Of Ar. Of Port Kar. There is much I didn't say, of my breeding and of the antics I have pulled. I have never been a disobedient slave. I prefer to think of myself as creative. I get the feeling at points in the conversation he was testing me, if not ridiculing me in some form. I had to refrain, yet there were times when he sparked that trigger inside of me that made me want to stand up and tell him that I'd show him. I'd show everyone who have any doubts about me. I'll prove them all wrong. I can do this. I will do it well. I'll be the best damned slave he has ever owned or considered owning.

I am given a small bit of tasks to perform. It was brought into focus very sharply just how out of my element I truly am. I am used to carrying the coin in a pouch and delivering it to the closest shop for oils. Here, I am told I must pick bosk shit. Bosk...shit. Okay, so I can learn. He was patient enough in showing me what I must look for. At least he is willing to teach me rather than expect me to figure it out the hard way. I asked a lot of questions, too, just to hear him speak. I enjoyed studying him as much as it seemed that he was studying me as well. I don't understand him fully, or his way of life, but I intend to learn. Odd given there has been so few things in my life I have ever wanted to learn on my own free will.

I have displayed before many men, too, but when he tore the silks from my skin, it felt different. The way he looked at me was different. Part of me was hopeful that it was a hunger in his eyes that I saw. Part of me feared that it was exactly that. Yet, he did nothing more than look me over. Such an odd sensation, to feel a man's gaze weighted so heavily on my body. He could have touched me and gotten the same reaction. Is it my breeding that causes me to react this way to him? If so, why didn't it happen before, with others? I am so confused. So much I don't understand.

I could tell he was tired after spending several ahn, so he introduced me to his wagon, much in the same way I was introduced back to his feet. A thunk and a bruise or two. Am I so transparent that he could see it in my eyes my longing to touch him? He asked if I wanted to. It took every ounce of restraint I had to not fling myself on him and loose all of the aching I had felt. I touched his face, attempting to offer a comforting touch. He reached out and drew me to him, using my bared body for his warmth. If only he knew what electric currents surged thru me when my skin met his. If only he knew how hard and fast my heart pounded relentlessly in my chest. I wonder if he felt me tremble.

Will he be the last and final owner that I will serve? Is it possible that I could have found what so many other slaves sit and whisper and dream of? Is it even reasonable that I could hope or beg for such a thing? He already thinks me worthless. This is the first time in my life I have ever felt so confused. And all because of a dark eyed man who has power that clings to the air around him like some magical aura. Maybe I have just been having one very wicked dream, and will soon wake up, passed out in the floor of the den. Yet.. I hope not. I beg for it to be real.