Captive (8 page)

Chapter 3 – Spoils of War

Aisla was left in the goblin pit for the night, used over and over again until she had lost all track of time in a haze of goblin musk. She even ate with them, face down in the food trough eating slops while one of them buggered her upraised bottom. Only when the morning meal was brought did men climb down, retrieving her while the satiated goblins were busy with their food. After being washed she was allowed to dress in a plain smock of dull grey calico and taken to Madame Yasma to apologise. Exhausted and still dizzy from her experience, she said the words demanded of her, only to have Yasma ignore her completely. Only then was she taken to Sulitea, who had been quartered in a fine room overlooking the city and the sea beyond.

‘What have you been doing?’ Sulitea demanded as Aisla entered. ‘I sent for a dress and you’ve been gone the whole night. I need you here, so don’t wander away again!’

Aisla could find nothing to say and sank down on the bed, wincing at the soreness of her sex.

‘Indulging your dirty habits with that Grathor, no doubt,’ Sulitea went on. ‘I should whip you, indeed I will, but not now. You must pack, arrange for purchases, a dozen things, and all before noon.’

‘Why noon?’ Aisla asked weakly.

‘Because the army marches at noon!’ Sulitea exclaimed. ‘Have you been drunk senseless or something? The city is buzzing with the news, king Mogath is advancing, the Prince must move to retain full honour.’

‘And we’re going with them?’ Aisla asked.

‘Naturally,’ Sulitea snapped. ‘Do you know nothing of the Glass Coast honour system?’

‘Nothing, why should I?’ Aisla responded.

‘Combat is formal,’ Sulitea answered, ‘not just in that challenges and duels are fought out before a main engagement, as in Mund, but in almost every detail. An essential part of this is for the Ladies of the opposing Lords’ to be with the camp. If defeat is absolute they become trophies of the victor.’

‘What happens then?’ Aisla asked.

‘I would be caged naked in Zihai to be pelted with refuse and dung, much as if I were captured at home, I imagine,’ Sulitea answered. ‘Count Alanthor was not specific in this regard.’

‘You seem very calm at the prospect.’

‘In Kavas-Arion I was chained under the sump for a night because I failed to stand still during an inspection. Do you think mere exposure and a little horse dung scares me? Women are almost never executed, and certainly not a Count’s trophy. Besides, the point is moot. Prince Ythor will not lose. Now here is money, run and buy these items. You can read, can’t you?’

‘A little,’ Aisla answered and took the piece of charta Sulitea was holding out.

In the streets the city seemed only marginally less placid than the day before, and although Aisla caught snippets of conversation about the coming battle, the interest struck her as strangely impersonal. Unlike the previous day, there were soldiers in evidence, wearing emblems showing either the crossed swords and bar of the Prince or Count Alanthor’s portcullis along with other insignia she did not recognise.

While struggling to read Sulitea’s writing and find the shops and stalls she needed her thoughts ran in a circle, from how to get back to Korismund, to what Elethrine would have done in her position, to the fact that Elethrine was in Korismund and could not instruct her and so back. With Sulitea firmly involved with Count Alanthor there seemed no way of completing her task, leaving her to be dragged deeper into a rebellion she wanted no part of. Her preferences were clearly irrelevant to the scheme of things, with her regarded as a simple maid who would do as she was told.

The sun was close to the zenith by the time she had everything Sulitea wanted, or at least approximations. The underwear had proved impossible, with her descriptions of Mundic drawers and pantalettes greeted either with incomprehension or open laughter. In their place she had been forced to settle for the Hai equivalent, small drawers of light silk, cut tight over the bottom and flounced at the thighs, which she was sure Sulitea would consider both inadequate and indecent. By contrast Sulitea’s order for whips had proved alarmingly easy to fill. In the market were several stalls, each with a bewildering range, while the fact that it was her own bottom the implements were intended for made the choice yet more difficult. Knowing that choosing examples inadequate to the task would cause her more pain than it saved, she selected a horn handled lash much like the one Madame Yasma had carried and a simple dog quirt for her own sense of humiliation. By the end she had become quite friendly with the stall holder, and he pressed a cane on her, free of charge and apparently oblivious of the consequences of his generosity.

After treating herself to a lunch of sweet pastries and fruit she returned to the keep. A bell had begun to toll and everybody else seemed to be heading in the same direction or in the way. Eventually she found Sulitea, seated in a open carriage with an expression of frozen haughteur on her face. Opposite, also in a position of rigid formality, was a brown haired woman of early middle age who had clearly been a great beauty in her youth. Aisla guessed this to be Elmaea and performed a careful curtsey which was entirely ignored by both women.

With some difficulty she managed to identify Elmaea’s maid, Laia, a small, dark haired girl her own age who, to Aisla’s relief, was both friendly and helpful. Together they loaded a wagon with the ladies’ belongings and their own, finishing moments before the bell began to toll again and a blare of trumpets signalled that the column was due to leave.

As they moved out from Jihai Aisla found it impossible not to enjoy herself. The day was bright and warm, while Laia chattered as merrily as if they had been going on a picnic outing rather than to war. She answered Aisla’s questions without reserve, especially those that smacked of gossip or scandal. The news that Aisla had spanked Madame Yasma was greeted with a gasp of horrified delight, the resulting period in the goblin pit with sympathy, real shock and a great deal of giggling.

The road wound up through the hills to the back of Jihai, then opened out over a broad plain that stretched away to the southern horizon. Ahead the column of soldiers could be clearly seen, a twisting, multicoloured snake of men and horses with the bright cloaks of the Prince, Count Alanthor and other commanders visible towards the front. Laia eagerly pointed out the different squadrons and explained how each was loyal to a minor noble and made up part of a levee loyal to a senior noble. In turn Aisla explained the fealty system in Mund and her loyalty to Elethrine, which brought a sudden and unexpected pang of homesickness. Laia chatted on blithely, explaining the petty intrigues and jealousies of Jihai with such relish that Aisla quickly found herself smiling again.

With the sun sinking close to the horizon the head of the column reached a shallow gorge, in which a camp was pitched. By the time Aisla’s wagon reached this tents had already been set for Elmaea and Sulitea, a little way apart on an area of flat grass beside the stream. Their position had clearly been chosen for safety and privacy, with the army encamped on every side and their area screened from the vulgar gaze by copses of smoke tree, willow and low coffinwood. Laia went to wait on Elmaea, who was shortly called to the Count, leaving Aisla and Sulitea to themselves.

‘What a dreadful woman!’ Sulitea declared as Aisla spread out rugs in their tent. ‘I attempted to exchange pleasantries, but she will answer only in the most cold and formal terms. Still, now we have a moment of peace, so I shall alleviate the boredom by giving you a good whipping. The Hai are remarkably inventive when it comes to beating girls and I intend to test one or two of their techniques.’

‘I already have,’ Aisla remarked. ‘Spare me for now, please mistress, my bottom is bruised.’

‘I am not merciless,’ Sulitea answered. ‘I shall whip those fat titties instead.’

‘They’re bruised too,’ Aisla admitted. ‘I was put on a machine, you see…’

‘You are a slut, Aisla,’ Sulitea interrupted. ‘It was for pleasure, with Grathor, was it not?’

‘In a way,’ Aisla admitted.

‘A slut, as I said,’ Sulitea cut her off. ‘Very well, I will postpone your beating, after all, starting with a fresh bottom is so much more satisfying. I like to see the marks rise. The same applies to your titty whipping. For now I shall have to try something else. Do you know what they used to do to us in Kavas-Arion?’

‘No,’ Aisla admitted, ‘well, not everything.’

‘Then I shall show you a little trick,’ Sulitea went on, ‘one that Polia taught me, the fat trollbitch. Not here though, these rugs are too fine to spoil. Come down to the stream and we will see if we can not find a private place.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Aisla asked nervously.

‘Punish you, as I said,’ Sulitea answered, ‘both because you deserve it for deserting me last night and because it will give me immense pleasure to do to you what was done to me so many times.’

Sulitea took Aisla by the hand and walked from the tent to where the stream had cut a shallow trench among the trees and bushes. The water was low, with flat rocks worn smooth by the current now clear of the surface.

‘Perfect,’ Sulitea declared, ‘now strip, bare unless you want your clothes ruined, and lie down on that rock, the big one with the puddle in the dip.’

‘I’ll get wet,’ Aisla protested.

‘Wetter than you think,’ Sulitea answered. ‘Come on, get on with it, the Count might want me.’

Aisla quickly began to undress, wondering what Sulitea intended to do to her. Removing the tight Hai drawers from beneath her skirt was a relief, as they were far less comfortable than the voluminous ones she was used to. Only when her dress was off did she start to feel vulnerable, a sensation that increased strongly with the removal of her chemise to expose her breasts.

‘Boots too,’ Sulitea instructed. ‘I want you nude.’

While Sulitea watched with a pleased smirk Aisla obeyed, placing her boots on a convenient rock and folding her clothes on top of them. Turning back to Sulitea she gave a worried smile, unsure how much her nudity was a punishment and how much a humiliating erotic game.

‘Good,’ Sulitea observed, ‘and very pretty, if somewhat heavy breasted for true elegance and perhaps a little muscular to be ladylike. Still, for a maid, really quite sweet. Yes, I see you’ve had your titties whipped, hard too although doubtless you enjoyed it. Take your hands away from your tuppenny and put them on your head, then turn, slowly.’

Aisla obeyed, with her pulse quickening and the blood rising to her cheeks as she showed herself off.

‘A neat little tuppenny,’ Sulitea remarked, ‘despite the overgrown tangle of peasant red curls. Your bottom has suffered, hasn’t it?’

Aisla gave a miserable nod and stopped. She could feel Sulitea’s eyes on her back and bottom, tracing the gentle curves with a proprietorial delight, a reaction appropriate to a pretty toy.

‘Sweet indeed,’ Sulitea went on, ‘round, reasonably full yet firm, a good deep cleft. I shall enjoy beating you, Aisla. Fine hair too, for all its common colour. Now get down on the rock, titties up, bottom in the little puddle.’

With her cheeks flushed hot from Sulitea’s casual description of her bottom, Aisla turned and jumped to the broad rock Sulitea had indicated. It was smooth and warm from the day’s sun, while the little puddle proved to be quite hot as she sat down in it. Lying full length on the rock, she rested her head on her hands and threw a questioning glance at Sulitea, wondering how the mild embarrassment she felt at her nakedness could be considered a punishment.

‘Good girl,’ Sulitea announced. ‘Now, the game is this. Essentially you will be my chamber pot, with penalties attached for failing to do the job properly.’

‘Chamber pot?’ Aisla queried.

‘Chamber pot,’ Sulitea repeated and reached down beneath her skirt.

The awful realisation of what was going to happen to her swept over Aisla as she watched Sulitea pulled off her drawers from beneath her skirts. Sulitea intended to pee on her, maybe worse.

‘The penalties,’ Sulitea continued merrily, ‘are simple. I shall do it in your mouth. What you spill you must lick up. Fat Polia used to make me offer other girls the use of my tongue, one girl for each minute spent licking, a formula we can easily adapt to present circumstances.’

Her manner was playful, almost childish, making it hard for Aisla to resent the degrading punishment that was she was about to be given. For a moment she considered rising and suggesting to Sulitea that peeing on her was simply too dirty to make an acceptable punishment. Yet obedience to the high-born was too deeply ingrained for the thought to become action, while her tuppenny was tingling with the same shameful excitement she had felt at the prospect of being whipped in public. Meekly, she opened her mouth, surrendering herself to being used as a potty.

Sulitea lifted her skirts and jumped to the rock, leaving her drawers hung from a twig. She straddled Aisla, placing a foot to either side of her chest, all the while beaming with pleasure. Aisla watched as Sulitea began to tug up her skirts, revealing soft, well formed legs and then the rich bush of golden hair that hid her tuppenny. With the skirts held high Sulitea cocked her knees apart and spread the lips of her sex, displaying the moist pink centre of her tuppenny with the pee-hole clearly visible in the puffy flesh below her clitoris.

‘Keep your mouth wide,’ Sulitea instructed. ‘Remember, any you spill must be licked from the ground. Here we are then, your slut’s wine as Polia used to call it.’

As Sulitea spoke Aisla saw her tuppenny pout and the next instant a spray of urine burst from the centre. Aisla shut her eyes an instant before it caught her, full in the face. The stream was on her nose, then right in one eye and she had to jerk her head around to catch it in her mouth. She tried to swallow but it was hopeless. The urine filled her mouth and bubbled from the sides, flowing down her neck to soil her hair. Nor was Sulitea’s stream accurate, splashing on Aisla’s lips to spray her face and breasts.

Sulitea laughed as she peed on Aisla, a clear beautiful sound that made her behaviour seem even dirtier by contrast. Again and again Aisla swallowed, until her stomach felt heavy with pee and the acrid flavour was swamping her senses. Still it splashed out, and as Sulitea moved the stream was sprayed onto Aisla’s breasts and belly, then directly over her tuppenny. As the warm urine splashed on her clitoris Aisla gave in to her need and spread her thighs, allowing the laughing Sulitea to pee into her vagina, from which a warm trickle ran down between her buttocks to moisten the crease and her anus.