A room of horrors

After one last check for traps you push gently on the door, pleased to note that the hinges are as well maintained as the lock. The door swings inward and a faint amount of light defines its path. The difference is minute, two different shades of blackness, but there must be some small windows that are allowing a tiny bit of the moonlit night into this room. Almost immediately your nose is assaulted by the stench of stale urine, you were wrong to have blamed Orestes' guards earlier, this room smells like a latrine - only worse. The stale air reeks not only of urine and excrement but of blood sweat and fear. Swallowing the bile that threatens to make you vomit, you start to close the door in disgust locking the nightmare away as best you can when you hear a timid voice.

"Hello?" A woman's voice, maybe a girl's but certainly not Orestes' or one of his guardsmen. You wait in the silent darkness for three more breaths and then you hear crying from inside the room. 'Damn!' You swear as you slip silently into the room and close the door firmly behind you. A sliding latch secures the entryway with a faint click, and suddenly the soft sobbing stops and once again the room is absolutely silent. You wait patiently straining your senses to get a better feel of the room. It feels big, at least half of the tower and maybe more, three small windows are outlined by the moonlit night and the girl is somewhere to your right.

"I'll be good." The young woman suddenly breaks the silence of the room from almost exactly where you though she was. "I'll try to obey, Master, just please don't leave me here in the dark." As she speaks her voice becomes louder and more plaintive.

"Shut up." You hiss, partly because you don't want her to alert anyone, but also in part because you hate to hear anyone submit to that pig. She is instantly silent, but you hear a gasp of hope when she hears your voice. By now you can see a table in the center of the room and the gleam of metal from the wall near the woman. A blade slips into your left hand, but you keep you right hand free to feel, grab or throw. This doesn't feel like a trap, but that is exactly how a good trap should be. A pale form lighter than the grey stone walls behind it gradually takes the form of a slight figure in a white tunic. She appears to be peering uncertainly in your direction, but either because of your black clothes or your night vision is better than hers she doesn't seem to see you.

"Are you alone?" You ask her in a hushed whisper and she jumps back startled by your sudden appearance. A rustling of chains accompanies her sudden movement confirming your guess that she is one of Orestes' playthings, when you reach her side you see she is standing inside a upright cage of bars forged in a mockery of a woman's form. The bars of the cage are wide enough for you to reach through and a quick assessment with your hands confirms that this is a young, soft-skinned woman with long, fine hair and dry lips.

"I thought you were just another dream." She answers quietly. "Oh goddess, thank-you for delivering me." This is no street rat or prostitute that Orestes was playing with; her word choice, the refined timbre of her voice and the fine quality of the embroidered collar of her tunic all suggest this young woman is from a much wealthier class than you. Something about her irritates you and reaching through the bars you grab a handful of hair and shake her.

"Are - you - alone?" You ask again pausing between each word and this time she answers your question.

"Yes, only Orestes comes in here and I haven't seen him in almost two days." That explains the smell of feces that is even worse in this corner of the room. You were probably standing in her waste right now.

"If I release you will you do exactly as I say?" You ask and sense more than see the young woman nodding eagerly like a dog about to be fed some scraps. What the hell, you would have nightmares the rest of your life if you left her here like this. As you work the series of latches that keep the cage door closed and her arms and legs immobile you gain a little more respect for the woman. Two days in a cage like this and you'd be begging to obey too.

"Have you seen my sister?" She asks as you help her from the hinged box. "Her name is Airlia and she's only fourteen." That had been just about your age when Orestes first tried to break you, and once again you can barely stop the bile that rises in your throat.

"No," you tell her "but I came I from the roof so there's a lot more of this tower to search." You find yourself in the odd position of comforting this rich teenager. Usually you interaction with someone like this was mocking her or stealing from her. "I'm Salara, what's your name?"

"Iola, and thank you." She points to the far side of the room "There's water over there, I'm really thirsty and I need to wash." You aren't going to argue with a woman who had not had a drink in almost two days and she did need to wash up, and you did too. Just standing in this room made you feel dirty. The predawn must be brightening the outside sky because you can see a little more clearly as you cross the room. The table was equipped with ropes on ratchets to stretch a body taut and deep groves were carved in its dark surface. Both Iola and you gave it a wide berth unwilling to even touch the bloodstained wood. Chains hung from the ceiling and walls and everywhere you could see there were pincers, hooks and clamps designed to cause pain and fear.

"Don't drink too much." You warn as she eagerly lifts a ladle from a barrel of water, she drinks deeply from the ladle but does not argue when you stop her from refilling it.

"Lets clean you up a little, and after that you can have some more." You promise and taking a towel from a rack next to the bucket you splash a ladle-full of water onto the absorbent cotton. You wipe her face and neck gently with the cool water, she stands quietly as you clean her.

"Don't move," you tell her when she tries to help, she is still very wobbly on her feet and the last thing you need is for her to fall over with a crash. Thank the gods for obedient rich girls. You would have refused to have someone tend to you, but Iola was used to having servants bath her and when you knelt to wash her legs she let you scrub the streaks that lined her legs all the way down to her bare feet. Her tiny feet are soft and smooth with none of the callouses and scars that yours have developed; in fact every inch of her legs is smooth as silk and softer than warm butter. Nice legs, you decide a little surprised by how much interest you've taken in other women's bodies lately, but it is impossible to ignore just how smooth and firm Iola's legs are, all her hair has been scraped away and even after two or three days of hell, they are still much softer than any skin you can remember touching.

You wash your way back up her legs removing the last of the filth and she silently lifts her surprisingly short tunic up out of the way when you reach her thighs. Even this young woman's sex has been shaved completely free of any hair and you wonder if that was Iola's preference, something that all rich girls did or if Orestes had her pubic hairs removed.

"Oh that feels so much better." She sighs lowering her skirt back over her clean legs. "I don't know how to thank you." You nod silently as you try to figure out what to do with her when no good option comes to mind you hand her another ladle of water, this one only half full.