Bitch......

I like to watch her. Bitch has this air about her that is one of demand, and warning. Yet the way she moves I won't say is sensual, but it has its one natural grace. From steps that are strong, but not stomped. Its like the tips of toes touching the ground and just rolling to the brace of heel, with the union of strong thighs that gloss in dark hue, to the turn of hip, rounding off the motion with an outline of slender waist, natural strength of feminine abdominal molded up curve of shoulders and even the extend of arms in chores has its own motion. I try not to look at her mouth, no need to, for she doesn't speak to me. I am not hard pressed about it, yet. I miss words. I find myself talking to the sleen in the cage. Often. When I stare at her face to often, I will get a glimpse of the edge of teeth. It is very creepy to me. I don't understand the reasoning. To keep people away? To want to be left alone in general? Hide beauty? Cause she was outstandingly beautiful in how exotic she looked, as long as I didn't see those teeth. It can't be all bad to men. I see Him take full use of her. The smell of her, which is like baked plums and cloves, rich and yet, strong. Of Him, that of sandalwood, salt, and musk of male. It was something different. I hadn't been close to many men to pinpoint it just yet, but I would figure it out. Roll all of that up in aroma and sound of sex it was like warm mulled palmwine. Made me think of drinking the heated spiced wine from the cup of a Master's hand. The feel that could be brought by the scent. I wondered if He loved the unique of her. It made me feel rather pale and plain. Strangely I still felt safe in the chains, wasn't ready to leave them just yet, though I missed walking around more then that the chains allowed. We were moving again, I could do a bit of help, as I would learn how to grease axles, and rub the metal band of wheels with a piece of leather to make sure they were fused good and nothing caught between the band and wood. She would move around tending to feeding sleen, me, leaving me chores, releasing me to only do minor natural function things, and freeing my wrist to bath, some salve so the locked shackles didn't chaff my flesh to badly.

I watched her work on a hide, I wanted to help, but nothing I could do from so close to wagons as the tissue and flesh so close to sleen was never a good idea. I was watching her work as I scrubbed the platform and steps with a tarsk hair brush and a bucket of soapy water. The way the hand blade move in strokes across the surface, how the muscles tensed and firmed in her upper arms as she worked up then down. How she would moisten the skin before running the blade over it once again. I felt a lot of envy right now. Just watching the bubble rise before me, my tiny reflection captured in its circled opal swirls. Yes, as much as I might have a hint of respectful fear for Bitch, I was so very jealous.