In a heat wave

Dee and I had spent most of the morning plucking dried grass and reeds from the banks of the stream. The Central Fire was all that it's name implied. The air was stifling. Even the water seemed tepid instead of cool and refreshing. Some of us were fortunate and could escape to whatever shade we could find during the most scorching ahns of the day. Others were not so lucky, and I admired their perseverance and stamina. Dee and I, along with other slaves, kept a steady supply of freshly filled botas of water delivered out in the fields. It was not always easy, crossing the distances to where Riders kept careful watch. My skin, already a golden chestnut, still burned in the harsh rays. Salty sweat stung the corners of my eyes and they felt raw from my constant wiping. More than once I thought to take my turn at resting in the slight relief of the chugging stream, but I didn't want to miss a chance of finding my Master.

He is an addiction of mine. A sweet torment that I tell myself can be cured by just one moment of seeing Him. But that is a lie. My encounters with Him only inspire a hunger for more. A need for the next moment to come, and I am consumed with hope and anticipation and desire. I truly like Him, which is a thread being woven beneath the flush of smitten adoration. A pleasant thread. I felt it pulse with life last night.

I had packet up a basket with some samples of food. Different kinds of meats and cheeses and even a few dried berries. Some of the city slaves had been telling us about an Inn in Ar where the meals are served entirely on the naked body of women. Delicacies and rich pastries, succulent tender entrées and decadent desserts, all were displayed artfully over the interesting landscape of breasts and stomach, thighs and arms. It was enough to excite me with the mere thought of it, and I intended to practice it down by the stream. It had to take some skill and practice to lay still, especially with all the sensations striking at once. I couldn't help the trembling shivers that overtook me when I thought of offering such a meal for my Master. Could I possibly lay motionless and not dump the food all over while His eyes stole every secret my flesh possessed? ohhhh

The quickest way to the stream was past the main fire's hearth, and I swept through the shadows afforded with a determined stride...until that vision of my daydreams was right there in the flesh. Solitary dining at the stream wasn't so inviting any more. I adored Him in the sweltering heat, though agreed it was hard to be comfortable so close. I was sent to help the beautiful slave who's name is Takara. We chatted softly, getting to know one another in bits and pieces, though quickly that leisure ended. I had been resting in the aura of my Master's presence, tasting the feel of the fresh blossom resting at my neck, when the Healer I had heard about arrived. Gossip said He was all Paravaci, and I wasn't eager to find out anything more. I hurried back to my Master, relieved to be able to touch Him, find security, sanctuary, and His shade. My...protector.

When I get nervous, I talk...about..everything and anything. I mentioned the story of feasts being served upon the rippling surface of a beautiful woman's body. I wanted so badly to do such for Him some day, once I had perfected it, of course. The Artisan was nearby, and though I had spoken low, I realized that He might not be so willing to help me practice when He could spend time with her. She is a light in His eyes that flickers and sparks and falls from Him over me in a wash of heated pleasure. He was not smiling, however, for the sparks in the air were due to tension and bantered words nearby between others. I offered a picnic, an escape for us all, but before that thought was hardly out in the air Mistress Seveya had left.

Sometimes I can feel the air sucked right out of a place, and this was one of those times. I felt helpless at a time I desperately wanted to make something better. What had been all winding up and twisting into a thread of togetherness now suddenly was unraveling. I must have worn the sigh that I felt internally, for I certainly felt it.

And then He left His thumbprint on my heart. It was a simple gesture, a mere press of His thumb to my cheek, but it might as well have been an entire conversation. The weight of worry lifted from my shoulders with the wings of the wind. His heart saw mine, and I felt encouraged. His touch spoke, and I knew the rapture of understanding. The imprint that left me vulnerable and grateful. Heat never felt so good.