Washed away

He worked on her back, and she lay there quietly under his administration. Through it hurt, he was oddly gentle with her. She was not accustomed to being treated gently, to being touched with anything less than force. “How pretty a name” She said dryly. They could have been a little less subtle and called her a canary. Let her sing, and die first. 

Fetching and cleaning she could do. She was a little more cautious about his remark of ‘whoever needs something” she was well familiar with a male needs. He finished his work on her back, and asked if anything else was bothering her. She couldn't really answer ‘life’ now, could she? It was tempting, so tempting. She wondered what this young slave master would think of that.

Her back was the worst of it. There were old cuts in her stomach that still gave her aches, but she wasn't sure if his question was a test of sorts. She held back from volunteering it. Her little Lordling was however all she knew in this strange new pack, and she was oddly reluctant for him to leave. There was always someone worse who could walk in. “If I may ask, is this an infirmary, Sir Oleander?”