Shared by the Barbarians (4 page)

Around the hall the rest of the men had begun to turn their own girls around, bottoms high and heads low, over the backless seats upon which they had sat to eat the banquet, with those lovely bottoms rising prettily above their meal. Like true Vionians, though they had seemed happy enough to have their cocks sucked while they watched real men like Pag and his brothers give an exhibition of true barbarian subjugatory fucking, they wished to fuck in the semi-private of the outskirts of the hall, facing away from their fellow banqueters to ride their girls, as if ashamed not to be able to fuck as dominantly as the barbarians did.

The brown-haired girl under him cried out as he made her take his hardness inside what the Trestrimar called her secret blossom. “Shhh, little woman,” Pag said firmly, but not unkindly. “It is only what a girl gets, whether she belongs to our tribe or to a conquered people.”

That, for Pag, made the difference: the general would whip and fuck Jalinda now in a way he would never think to treat a Vionian woman. The ultimate act of dominance, the in-driving of a man’s power into a girl’s secret blossom and his pleasure in opening her most private, hidden place… for Pag and his brothers that represented a sacred duty of the universal order, which the law of the Trestrimar urged them to perform upon all the girls who came into their power.

“Shh, you’re alright,” Pag murmured, one of his battle-hardened hands moving to the girl’s hair and smoothing it back. He began to forget Jalinda—at least a little—and he thanked the powers for letting him get lost in the pleasure of impaling this other girl’s lovely backside so that he wouldn’t do something he’d regret. “I shall hold you nice and still, now, as I enjoy this pretty little bottom. Then I shall spurt upon your comely face, and show what a good girl you’ve been to the other men. Then it will be over, and like a decent Trestrimar I shall hold you and comfort you, and fondle you between your legs until you come.”

He thrust a little further, and the girl’s cry became more ambiguous, as if at the thought of the pleasure Pag had promised.

But then a loud crack echoed through the hall, followed by a heart-rending scream. Pag looked up, startled, to see that the general, his cock still engulfed in the mouth of his first girl, held a two-tailed punishment strap, and had just delivered a tremendous lash with it to Jalinda’s bottom. She screamed again, rearing her head back and straining against the stout leather straps with which they had bound her to the horse, her bottom up and her knees well spread.

The general, in an ecstasy of cruel pleasure, brought the strap down again, very hard. Pag could not deny his arousal at the terrible sight of Jalinda’s pretty rump clenching and unclenching. But that sort of strap was used only on the most disobedient wives of the Trestrimar, and Pag’s hatred of the general redoubled to see how cruelly it marked Jalinda’s pert, tender bottom cheeks—cheeks a man should hold gently in his hand, even if he planned to give the girl a spanking over his knee to teach her how good it felt to know her man cared enough to discipline her firmly, before he lay her on her face to see how her secret blossom was coming along under his guidance.

For when a Trestrimarian man—or men—chose a bride, their customs with regard to a girl’s rump differed greatly from this dominant fucking he now gave the brown-haired girl. If Jalinda were somehow to become Pag’s bride, she would have her bottom broken in slowly, even if she needed to be punished sometimes on her bottom-cheeks or on her cunt, the special punishment that distinguished the Trestrimar from nearly all the other tribes on Mara, where discipline was concerned. The secret blossom of a bride gradually became a place where she had almost as much pleasure in receiving her lord as he had in possessing her there.

“Please,” Jalinda shrieked. “I’ll be good! I’ll… I’ll do that… I’ll suck and…”

But the general just kept whipping her, hard and quick. “Yes, girl,” he said in a cruel voice. “You will suck, and you will take my cock everywhere a cock can go. You will be my personal bed-girl for a long while, and you will learn what it means to be a member of a conquered people better than any other Sherdonian. I will whip you every night, and you will spend every day tied to my bed, whether I am fucking you or not.”

Jalinda’s screams were continuous now. The general clutched the head of the girl at his knees and pumped wildly in and out of her mouth.

“Then, when I have ruined your quim and your bottom, I will give you to the common soldiers for a night of fun. After that, you will serve the meanest Vionian citizens in the vulgar brothel at the edge of the city, a gift from the general to the poor.”

“No, no, no,” Jalinda sobbed. “Please, no.”

Pag gave up trying to concentrate on the bottom that gave such pleasure to his cock. He pulled out, and walked round to the front of the brown-haired girl. He took her chin in his left hand and raised her head, and saw a worshipful look on her face that gratified him; he had opened her secret blossom like a Trestrimarian. He smiled, pumping his cock in his right hand, ready to spurt over her pretty face.

But at that moment the sound of Jalinda’s whipping stopped. Resolutely, Pag kept stroking his cock, almost on the point of coming.
Now he’ll fuck her
,
he thought, holding his head high nonetheless.

Something strange was happening though, for the general had grunted in what sounded like disgust, and the girl on her knees in front of him looked upset. It took all of Pag’s will not to turn around, as he watched his seed splash on the pretty face of his brown-haired girl, though the pleasure of his climax did not come upon him as greatly as it usually did, because of the distraction.

“Have this one whipped,” he heard the general say to the majordomo in an angry voice. “She made me come before I wanted to. Put the redhead in the antechamber. I’ll fuck her in the morning.”

In that instant, Pag knew what he had to do.

Chapter Five

Someone was shaking Jalinda out of the fitful sleep into which she had finally fallen, there in the antechamber of the general’s bedroom. She lay curled up, more than half on her tummy on the furs the majordomo had told her would make her bed, in the corner of the tile-covered floor. She came awake quickly, because the agony into which the general had turned her bottom blazed up the instant she became aware of herself and her surroundings.

She whimpered at the pain, and at the thought that came first to her mind.
The general is going to fuck me now. The majordomo will take me to his bed, and he will bend me over it, and the general will put his cock in me and ride me the way the barbarian rode Renda, first in my private part and then in my bottom. But it will be so much worse for me than it was for Renda, because my bottom hurts so much already. Because the general whipped me so hard, even though I had never been whipped before. Because now I know that the general will whip me whether I please him or not.

I must be a good girl. Even if I’ll still be whipped, I must try to be a good girl, but how can I bear it?

Whoever had awoken her squatted behind her, still gently shaking her shoulder. She whimpered again, at another pang from her punished bottom-cheeks. She put a hand down in an instinctive, half-waking gesture, and felt what the whip had done, the bumpy lines that made her give a little cry even to touch them lightly. Then, as if that sound had persuaded whoever held her shoulder that Jalinda had awoken, an enormous hand came across her mouth and a man’s voice, not the majordomo’s, spoke softly.

“Jalinda, I’m here to take you away.”

The confusion that came into her mind then drove away some of her awareness of the pain in her backside, and she struggled simply out of surprise against the hand, turning to try to figure out to whom it belonged in the near-darkness of the general’s antechamber.

“I am Pag of the Trestrimar,” the man said. She could almost make him out now, for he had allowed her to turn her head although she could feel—with a thrill that she couldn’t understand but also couldn’t deny—that this barbarian could keep her absolutely motionless if he wanted, or pick her up and carry her off, or snap her like a twig. “When I remove my hand, will you promise not to cry out?”

Jalinda felt her brow furrow and wondered if the barbarian could see how puzzled the expression on her face must be. She nodded without even really thinking about it. Why would she ever cry out? Did he think she would want the majordomo, or even worse the general, to come?

Pag took his hand away. Jalinda’s eyes had become more accustomed to seeing in the darkness now that she had come more fully awake, and she could almost make out the features of his face: the hard, but somehow also terribly wise, forehead and those impossible cheekbones.

“You,” she whispered, because she could think of nothing else to say.

“Yes. You will come with me and my brothers now. Our ship is ready, and we will go to Mara. You will be our wife, and we will keep you safe. We will whip you only when you need it. We will teach you to love fucking, before we fuck you, and you will be happy in your submission to us.”

He spoke so simply and matter-of-factly that it took a moment for Jalinda to grasp how very strange what he had just said was. The barbarian’s face though, betrayed no hint that Jalinda might take anything in what he said amiss.

“Your wife?” Jalinda whispered, terribly confused. “All three of you?” It was probably the least problematic part of Pag’s little proposal, if she could term it that, but her mind fixated on it—perhaps for that reason.

“It is different from the custom of most peoples, I know,” Pag said. “But the Trestrimar have a kind of marriage we call
Brothers in One Cunt.
It was used in the days when there were many more men than there were women, but some Trestrimar still use it now.”

Jalinda felt her face get very hot. She had never heard the word
cunt
before yesterday, but she had understood instantly that it was a baser word for
quim
, which was already a terribly base word for a girl’s private part. The thought that she might consent to a form of
marriage
that went by the name
Brothers in One Cunt
made her head feel light and the blood rush to her cheeks. To her confusion, though, it also sent that funny thrill she had come to dread almost as much as she could not help enjoying it, to that very place between her thighs.

“You must be joking,” she whispered desperately. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“My brother Kar jokes sometimes,” Pag said. “My brother Hed hates jokes. I like jokes sometimes, but I don’t make them myself.”

Jalinda felt the crease in her brow deepen enormously. He spoke so calmly. How could he speak so calmly? Why did part of her say that she might as well do as he said? Because he had such enormous muscles that he could carry her away if he wanted, anyway? Or because, despite the strangeness of his words and their degradation for her, she could see that he had come to get her because he wanted to help her—because he cared about her?

“No,” she said, though. “The general will find me, and I know I’ll wish he killed me rather than what he will do to me. I thought the girls were making things up about how cruel he is, but now I know he really is like that.” She saw the disappointment and anger break out on Pag’s face. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “But I can’t go with you. I have to stay, and try to be a good girl, so that my parents will be safe. They told me my parents would be safe if I did what the general told me to do.”

“They lied,” Pag said simply. “Do not worry about your parents. Worry about yourself. I could keep you silent and carry you off from here, but I have made a pact with my brothers that you will come willingly, because among the Trestrimar, although girls must submit to their husbands and, before marriage, to the men who fuck them, a marriage must have the consent of the girl. Also, even if we were not to be brothers in your cunt, Kar and Hed don’t want to steal a girl who will complain the whole way to Mara.”

Jalinda’s jaw dropped, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. Then, though, Pag put his hand back over her mouth. Was he going to just take her anyway, despite what he had said a moment before? She struggled, to no avail, and quieted her body again to see what would happen since it appeared she could do nothing to stop it.

But then she began to struggle again, much more fiercely though still without any effect at all, because Pag had put his other hand on her bottom and begun to stroke it. Jalinda cried out into his hand, as his rough fingers tenderly took both her thoroughly disciplined cheeks into them.

“Hush, girl,” he said. The pain flared, but then the tenderness of his fingers seemed to do something else to her, both because Pag touched her so gently and because to her dismay and her wicked delight he moved his fingertips softly inwards, until they touched her quim and began to rub her there. Suddenly the funny feeling she had gotten when watching other girls punished and when she had seen what Pag and his brothers did to Renda and the other girls over the bench in the banqueting hall seemed to fill her entire body, and her quim felt like it had begun to gush with that shameful wetness that Jalinda realized now must have something to do with fucking. Her cries into Pag’s hand became little sobs of pleasure.

“You will come with us,” he said. “You know you must submit to a man. A real man like me and my brothers. Your little cunt needs fucking, just as every girl’s cunt needs a cock inside it, to help her learn to be a good girl for the men to whom she belongs. And your sweet bottom needs fucking, to teach you to be happy in your place.”

Pag accompanied these humiliating words with a never ceasing, gentle caress of the place at the top of her quim that Jalinda had learned so recently, here on Vion 4, girls played with most of all, when they did the thing that got them whipped, moving his fingers softly and squeezing her bottom in his palm. Jalinda kept sobbing into his hand, every little heave of her shoulders feeling to her like an admission of the truth he spoke.