Slave Girl 2: Chapter 49

Aristocles hurries to the door of his shop.  Poking his head out briefly he shuts door again and locks it tight.  He turns to me again.

“So…how was she?”  The merchants asks pointedly, a lewd twinkle in his eyes.  “Tell me EVERYTHING.”

“Um…good.”  I squirm.  “Yeah, good.”

“You liked her, huh?”

“Yes.  I like Colly.”

“Fuck her good did ya?”

“Er, yeah.  Sure did.  Ahem!”

“Big bastard like you, bet you pounded her raw.  Huh?”  He says.  “I bet she came real good for you.  She’s kinda sweet on you you know.”

“Oh geez.  Yeah, it was great.”

“Did she cum?”

“Yeah.”

“The full geyser?”

“Yes.”

“I love that she squirts.”  He looks me up and down.  “Big guy like you.  You’re probably packing, eh?  Big dick?”

“Gods!”  I mutter.  “Stop.”

“Look at you.  Are you blushing?”  He chuckles.  “A bashful bull!”

“I’m no farm animal.”

“Aha ha ha!  Adorable.”

“Shut up!”

“Ha!”  My discomfort was a great source of amusement for him.

He ducks back into the back room and returns with a couple of tall stools which he places near the counter.  He goes back again and returns with a clay figurine, some fresh clay, and a handful of slender sculpting tools.  He sits down and I sit across from him.  After standing the figure in front of him he begins to work the clay in his hands as he stares at it.  As I too focus on it from the other side I realize the curvaceous little thing had a very familiar ass.  Now that I looked closer I could see the braids and pointed ears of my goblin friend.

Across the table, without looking up, Aristocles smirks.  “What do you think?  You’ve seen her body.  Pretty close?”

I take the figure and turn it to inspect the work.  I had to admit that the resemblance was uncanny, the attention to detail uncanny.  From her plump nipples to her cherubic cheeks and right down to her pudgy toes there was no mistaking the likeness.

“You do good work.”  I say as I set it back down.  “I thought Colly didn’t like figures.”

“She doesn’t.  She thinks they’re spooky, it’s a goblin thing.  But she does like money well enough.”  He says as he begins to shape the fresh piece of clay.  “Once she found out about my special pieces she was only too happy to model for me, for a small cut of each piece sold.”  The shape of a torso begins to reveal itself in his sure fingers.  “And she’s absolutely tickled about the idea of a bunch of human guys pleasuring themselves to her body.  I’m going to make a whole series of her.  This one will be her bent over spreading her ass.  Pretty hot, huh?”

“Er, sure.”  I say.  “You think there will be a market for goblin…um…pieces.”

“Oh yes.”  He says.  “And if not I’ll enjoy making them.”

“And she’s fine with this?”

“Yep.”  He nods.  “She’s even talking about giving a super-sloppy with each sale.”

“Pah!”  I guffaw.   “That sounds like Colly alright.  You two were made for each other.”

“Made for each other?”  He glances up at me then returns his attention to his work.  “You’re a romantic.”

“Mmm.”

“She’s tight, huh?”  He says.  “Ever feel a cunt that tight and wet before?  Be honest.”

“Aristocles…”

“Bet you stretched her out pretty good.”  He says.  “You fuck her ass too?”

“Gods!”

He chuckles.  “Don’t like talking about sex, huh?”

“I was raised to believe that that kind of thing is private talk.”

“So you’ll fuck my dumpling but you won’t talk about it?  You’re a hypocrite.”

“And you’re a creep!  Gods.  If you can’t drop this I am out of here.”

“Fine.  You country rubes really have to lighten up.  You know that?  So uptight!”  He says.  Using the figurines head as a guide he shapes a small ball of clay into similar dimensions. “Don’t bog everything down in ethics and morality.  It’s just sex.”

“And you city snobs could use some bogging down in basic decency.”

“Boring.”  With a pinch he creates the basis of what would be Colly’s nose then takes up one of the fine tools to begin to carve details.  “Say Quin, ever heard of the Cyrenaics?”

I think a minute.  “No.”

“They believe that all we can really know is what we experience.”

“Skeptics?”

“Of a sort.  And when you think about it, are they wrong?”  He says.  “Reality, knowledge, truth, time, ethics, beauty, the divine.  There are more theories about what these things are as there are philosophers in Athens.  Who can really say for sure the nature of things?”  He raises a finger.  “But suffering, ecstasy, hunger, orgasm, the sweet taste of honey…these things cannot be denied.  They impress directly upon us.  There might be deeper truths behind our sensations but we can never know for sure what those are.  That makes sensation the realest thing, the only thing, that we can ever truly know.”

“Is this going somewhere?”

“I’m trying to enlighten you big dolt!”

I roll my eyes.  “Go on.”

“The point is that all we know for sure is this.”  He suddenly jabs my arm with the clay sculpting tool in his hand.

“Ow!”  I rub where he poked me.  “Watch it Aristocles.”

“You could doubt the gods and the stars and this shop that surrounds you and even me and this tool.”  He nods to my arm.  “But you can’t deny that sting.  No matter how hard you try.  That is real.”

“What’s the point?”

“The point is if sensation is the only thing that we can be sure is real doesn’t it make sense that that should be our guiding principle.”  He says as he continues to shave tiny slivers from the soft clay.  “Good?  Evil?  Fantasies.  Pleasure and pain is what it’s all about.  The rest of it is stories we tell ourselves.”

“My father warned me about skeptics.”  I say.  “Told me they could have you thinking backwards and upside-down if you listened too long.”

Aristocles shrugs.  “Just trying to broaden your horizons.”

“All about pleasure huh?”  I say.  “You must have known my uncle.”

“Paullus?  I met him a few times.  I’m not much of a party guy, he very much was.  I didn’t know the man well.”

“I didn’t know him at all.”

“He commissioned a piece from me once.”

“Oh?”

“The old drunk never came back for it.  Thankfully I was able to sell the piece on to someone else.”  He says.  “Seems your family is destined to be a pain in my ass.  Ha!”

Looking at the clay Collywaddle’s bare ass pointed at me I quip.  “I shudder to think what he had you make.”

“Actually.”  He pauses.  “It wasn’t like that.  It was just a figure of a woman standing with her hands crossed over her heart.  One of his penates he said.”

“A household god?”

“Mmm.  His guide and his guardian, something about a pure heart.”  He nods.  “Just a common woman in simple garb.  He went into quite specific detail.  Stood over my shoulder when I carved the face.  It was really important to him that it looked right.”

“Huh.  Too bad you sold it.  I would have been curious to see it.”

“I’ve still got the cast somewhere.  And the original clay.”

“You do?”

“I can dig it out for you.”  He sets down his work.  “Give me a minute.  If there’s a knock on the door just make sure it Maximilian and Calogerus and let them in.”

With that he heads back into the backroom.  A moment later I hear the creak of wood and a bit after that I could hear him scuffling about beneath the floorboards.  I never would have guessed from the outside that this place had a crawlspace beneath it.  It was probably where he kept his ‘special’ collection.  As I sit I take up the Colly figurine and admire it some more.  Though just three inches tall it really did capture not just the physical features of the buxom slave but her happy-go-lucky personality as well.  It even had the gap in her teeth.  The craftsmanship really was extraordinary.  Aristocles might be a perv, but he was a talented one.

A few minutes later her reemerges a lot dustier than when he’d left.  He sets down two items.  The first is a plaster mold about six inches tall and half that much in depth and width.  The two halves of it were held together by twine with a tag attached that read ‘Paullus, Idol’.  The other item is a small clay figure much like the Collywaddle one, though tall and slimmer.  Curiously I take the clay figurine and study it.

“Oh!”

“Oh?”  Aristocles says as he settles back to continue his work.

“By Ceres!”  I squint and bring the figure closer to the closest lamp.  As described it was a simple commoner woman with long hair in a loose braid draped over one shoulder.  She wore a peasant dress and sandals, a basic rope belt around her waist.  Her hands are folded over her breast and on her face is an expression of gentle warmth.  There was something in the nose and the eyes, something in the brow and jaw, something in that welcoming smile, that made the figure familiar.  “I’m not sure but…I think it’s my mom!”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah.  His sister.”

Aristocles looks at it a second.  “Huh.”  Just then comes a knock at the front door.  “That should be Max and Cal.”  He gets up and goes to the door to see who it is.

As I hear the men greet each other my focus is stuck to the tiny clay figurine in my hand.

Chapter 50