Captive (4 page)

Clearly Sulitea would be sleeping with the matron, either in the same bed or on a mat at the foot of it. The later seemed more likely, although it was an old fashioned tradition, it seemed entirely in keeping with what she had seen at Kavas-Arion. In either case, with enough courage she could hope to bring Sulitea free. It only remained to wait until both were sure to be asleep.

Crawling into a corner, Aisla watched the moons swing across the sky and waited, telling herself that when the smaller set below the roof of the dormitory block she would act, and not before then. The silence was absolute, the peace complete, and she found it impossible not to think of how Sulitea must have felt being fucked by the matron. She had some idea of the shame any high-born girl would have experienced, at being beaten on the bare buttocks with a thing like a dog quirt, at crawling naked on the floor, at being entered from the rear with a dildo, and worst of all, at being driven to masturbate to orgasm over it all.

Aisla’s hand was on the crotch of her britches, feeling the plump lips of her sex through the leather. With a resigned sigh she realised that she was going to do it, and, telling herself that it was in fact the best way to keep warm, she began to undo the buttons. Soon the flap was loose and her tuppenny bare to the cool night air. Closing her eyes, she began to rub, feeling ashamed of herself for wanting to come over another girl’s degradation, but unable to stop herself. She was wet and warm, her clitty a hard bud of sensitive flesh, eager to be touched.

Her mind drifted as she masturbated, dwelling on the expression of Sulitea’s face as her vagina had filled, then on the gross, crude pleasure the matron had taken in fucking the beautiful young girl. With her excitement rising she began to rub faster, her spare hand going to her chest to feel the swell of her breasts through the leather. Her nipples made little humps, which she stroked, teasing herself as she thought of how she’d feel with the big dildo in Sulitea’s hole, or maybe the Princess’, or even Elethrine’s, her own mistress, kneeling nude and fucked before her, buttocks spread, bumhole winking lewdly…

Aisla came, choking back her scream and biting her lip hared as wave after wave of ecstasy went through her. Only at the very peak did it come back to her where she was and what she was doing, spoiling the end of her climax to leave her panting and gasping on the ground. Yet the night was as silent as before, with the smaller moon now no more than its own breadth over the roof-ridge.

Buttoning her britches flap with a wry smile, she made herself decent, then rose to a crouch. For a moment she thought of the vial of elixir but decided against it, determined to avoid using it if at all possible. Climbing to her feet, she padded softly towards the matron’s quarters, her stomach once more queasy and her throat tight.

The windows were now dark, the interior of the matron’s house as black as pitch. Aisla moved to the door, twisted the iron ring to control the latch and pushed it open. The gentle grate of metal on metal seemed like the noise of a blade on a sharpening wheel but no sound answered it. Slipping within, she felt her way through the darkness, with patterns emerging as her eyes slowly adjusted to what little moonlight there was. Every step was taken in slow motion, her toes gliding slowly forward on the floor and her fingers questing ahead for obstacles. Judging the bedchamber to be that in which the matron had fitted her dildo, Aisla moved through the room in which Sulitea had been fucked, then stopped at the door. From within she could hear the sound of breathing, a low, guttural rasp.

Easing the door slowly wide, she stepped inside. The room had no window and was darker even than the outer chambers. Judging the position of the bed by the snoring that she hoped came from the matron, Aisla moved to its end. She ducked low, crawling with her hands extended until her fingertips touched a blanket and found the shape of a foot beneath. Inch by inch she crept forward, round to where Sulitea lay at the foot of the matron’s bed. Her fingers touched blanket, then the short curls of Sulitea’s hair. Uttering a brief prayer to her mother, Aisla clamped her hand hard over Sulitea’s mouth and bent low, whispering as the girl’s body gave a startled jerk.

‘Be calm! Be calm!’ she urged. ‘I’ve come to bring you free.’

Sulitea’s teeth met on Aisla’s hand, then she screamed. A startled demand came from the matron, then a curse. Aisla jumped back, shaking her hand, then grabbed for Sulitea, attempting to pull her up.

‘Come on!’ she urged. ‘Sulitea! I’m a friend! I’m here to bring you free!’

No answer came from Sulitea, but the matron roared in rage. Aisla got to her feet, panic rising as she scrabbled for the vial of elixir. Light flickered as she found it, then grew bright as a candle flame took. Before her, horrid in the dancing orange light, the matron crouched on the bed, naked, her vast breasts swinging as she spread her arms to grapple. Sulitea lay cowering at the foot of the bed, her face set in shock and fear. Aisla drained the vial and thrust it back into her pouch as the elixir burnt a hot, salty path down her throat.

The matron’s face was twisted into a delighted grin, expressing triumph and disdain and not the slightest fear. Aisla swallowed hard, certain that the woman’s strength was far beyond her own, then feinted a leap, hoping to draw the matron away from the door. Instead, the huge woman’s smile just became broader and she laughed.

‘I know every trick, little one,’ the matron snarled, ‘best grovel down now and save yourself a few bruises.’

Aisla’s teeth set at the woman’s arrogance. She ducked low, grabbed Sulitea and hurled her forward. Sulitea screamed and the matron went down, caught off balance. Aisla jumped forward, grabbed Sulitea, planted a vicious kick into the matron’s midriff and wrenched open the door. Sulitea was screaming, demanding to be let go.

‘Stupid girl!’ Aisla spat as she dragged Sulitea behind her. ‘I’m from Talithea! I’m here to bring you free!’

‘No!’ Sulitea yelled. ‘I am shamed! This is my place, my fate! Leave me!’

Behind them the matron began to bellow, calling for help.

‘We’re going to Ateron, in Aegmund!’ Aisla hissed. ‘You’ll be safe!’

‘No!’ Sulitea screamed. ‘I’m a slut! I’m, nothing! Leave me be!’

‘Never!’ Aisla answered and heaved Sulitea over her shoulder.

‘No, put me down!’ Sulitea wailed as Aisla pushed through the door into the alley.

She ran, all the while with Sulitea kicking and struggling over her shoulder and the yells of the matron sounding behind her. Other voices quickly joined in, angry and commanding, voices used to instant obedience. Aisla ignored them and made for the southern stair, praying that if she could only make the wall she would have time to fit the climbing irons.

In the yard the cressets had burned low or to extinction, leaving a red light that jumped and danced with the wind. A matron was emerging from the dormitory block, another beyond her. Sulitea screamed for their help but Aisla was already in the dark mouth of an alley. The womens’ angry yells sounded behind her as she found the refuse yard wall. Pushing her burden over the top she scrambled up behind, ignoring Sulitea’s squeak of alarm as they landed together.

Brushing bits of mouldering cabbage from her face, she snatched Sulitea up again. The stair showed faint in the moonlight, the wall above empty. With a triumphant grin she started up, taking the stairs three and four at a time despite the wriggling girl across her shoulder and the ever increasing drop below. Reaching the wall she stopped, dropped Sulitea and began to dig in her pouch. Immediately Sulitea struck out at her and began to yell for the matrons.

‘Be quiet, idiot girl!’ Aisla swore as she parried the blow. ‘You’ll be free, don’t you understand, free!’

‘No,’ Sulitea answered. ‘I can never be free. This is my place! Look at me! I have no hair! My breasts are red and blue with shame marks! My bottom has been marked with a dog quirt! I’m a slut, now let me go!’

Sulitea lunged for the stairs. Aisla grabbed for an ankle, pulled the struggling girl back, twisted her body and sat herself squarely on Sulitea’s face. Teeth scrapped at her leather covered bottom and Sulitea’s legs and arms thrashed wildly, forcing Aisla to struggle to keep her balance as she tried to fit the irons. Sulitea lurched and her teeth found the pouted lips of Aisla’s sex, clamping onto the delicate flesh through the leather. Fury crowded all other thoughts out of Aisla’s head at the pain. Twisting Sulitea about beneath her she began to belabour the girl’s bottom, slapping the naked cheeks and spitting curses. Sulitea kicked and squealed, beating her fists on the stone in helpless frustration as she was spanked. One kicking leg caught an iron, sending it flying into the refuse yard below. An angry yell answered the thud of its impact and Aisla looked up.

Matrons were coming at her from both sides, brandishing torches, body-hooks and nets. More were on the stair, yelling angry commands. Aisla’s teeth came bare in a snarl of defiance. Finishing Sulitea off with a last resounding smack across both buttocks, she stood and pulled the spanked girl up by the neck. Sulitea squeaked in pain, reaching out for the approaching matrons. Forcing down the urge to fight, Aisla tossed Sulitea high, caught her on upraised arms and hurled her out over the parapet, jumped up herself, flourished her bottom in a final insulting gesture to the matrons and leapt from the wall.

Chapter 2 – Pride and Punishment

Aisla’s memories came back slowly, the journey along the spine, the fight in the celibentuary, the desperate swim with Sulitea’s neck held in the crook of her arm, the black hull of the ship looming above them, clutching the knotted rope and being drawn up by strong arms. From then she could remember only the damp warmth that now surrounded her, motion, the hot shivering of her body and the pervasive smell of fish. A hand shook her shoulder and she opened her eyes, to find Sulitea looking down into her face.

‘Are you awake? Can you understand me?’ Sulitea demanded.

‘Yes,’ Aisla managed.

A water skin was pressed to her lips and she drank greedily. Sulitea glanced back over her shoulder, a guilty look at a wall and door of wood planks.

‘Who are you?’ she whispered.

‘My name is Aisla,’ Aisla answered weakly.

‘A peasant, some soldier’s daughter? Talithea of Ateron sent you?’

‘Yes, but where are we? Is this a Mundic ship, or Aeg…’

‘Neither, now listen closely,’ Sulitea interrupted, ‘and do not speak. Matters have changed somewhat.’

Aisla nodded.

‘We are on a ship, a ship of the Glass Coast, the Arrow,’ Sulitea told her. ‘I am your mistress and was carried away by the current while bathing. You swam after and rescued me, showing true devotion and no little strength. You have been feverish for a week and we now stand off the port of Utan, in Apraya. I was never in a celibentuary, be clear on that, never. On this vessel is one Count Alanthor, a nobleman of the Glass Coast. I am now his betrothed and will be his wife when the revolution succeeds and Prince Ythor reigns in Zihai. Am I clear?’

‘No,’ Aisla admitted.

Sulitea gave a frustrated sigh, opened her mouth to restart her explanation and then abruptly closed it as the door behind her creaked open. Aisla pulled her head up to see a heavily built man enter the room.

‘She is awake?’ he demanded.

‘Yes, Lord,’ Sulitea responded.

The man walked forward, looking down at Aisla, his expression flickering from condescension to respect and back. She gave him a weak smile, unsure whether she was captive or guest. He nodded and turned back to Sulitea.

‘It is about time,’ he said. ‘Explain her duties to her and have her on her feet as soon as you may.’

‘Yes, Lord,’ Sulitea responded and gave a curtsey both flirtatious and deferential.

The man smiled and tweaked Sulitea’s cheek, at which she blushed and simpered, then left as abruptly as he had entered.

‘Is he not magnificent?’ Sulitea declared as the door shut.

‘Who is he?’ Aisla managed.

‘Count Alanthor, silly girl,’ Sulitea answered. ‘Lord Tayar Alanthor, Count of Jihai, three detached from the royal line, my Lord. Now listen, you are my lady’s maid… you can maid can’t you?’

‘I am a maid, Lady’s maid to Elethrine, the Demoiselle Elethrine Korismund…’

‘You are? What then… No, never mind. Listen, as I said, you are my maid, and expected to behave as such. There are no other women on the boat either, so you will also have to wait on table and that sort of thing. Just be meek, obedient and proper. Is all clear?’

‘In a way,’ Aisla answered.

‘Good,’ Sulitea finished, ‘now rest, and in future, speak only when you are spoken to and address me as Ladyship. One other matter, you need not think I have forgotten that spanking!’

Sulitea walked from the cabin, leaving Aisla confused and uncertain. A number of emotions and thoughts vied for priority, but above all others it was impossible not to think of how Aurora’s elixir had affected her. At the time it had gone unnoticed in the whirl of escape from the celibentuary, but as her mind cleared she remembered how she had felt, utterly confident in herself, powerful, clear, cold and decisive, at least until Sulitea had bitten her tuppenny. After that there had been a spate of uncontrollable anger, enough to make her punish Sulitea when escape should have been her only concern. Her strength had been augmented as well, with Sulitea, who was not small, like a doll in her hands.

Now it was gone, leaving her insecure on the strange ship, with only the tantalising memory of how it had felt. Several days were missing from her life, making the insecurity worse, while events had moved entirely beyond her control. Certainly Sulitea was different, poised, noble, much as Aisla had expected her to be, and entirely changed from the cringing slut of Kavas-Arion. She also seemed to be betrothed to some Glass Coast nobleman, who evidently knew nothing about the celibentuary.

Over the next few days Aisla came to full understand her position. The Arrow was on route from the Dwarven port of Utan to Jihai, carrying arms in support of a rebellion. Count Alanthor had pulled Sulitea and herself from the sea out of simple humanity, and was entirely unaware of the truth, even to thinking that Kavas-Arion celibentuary was a fortress, which it certainly resembled. Sulitea had lied about her shamed status but not her rank, and Alanthor had more or less taken possession of her, delighting in having a beautiful Mundic noblewoman. Unable to return to her homeland, and impressed by Alanthor, Sulitea had succumbed willingly.