Captive Read online

  ‘I’m first!’ Talithea declared. ‘I want my titties kissed.’

  ‘But your clothes!’ Elethrine protested.

  ‘It won’t take a moment,’ Talithea answered, ‘not with this gown. There’s no lacing or even a belt, look!’

  Talithea bent, took hold of the hem of her gown, and with one smooth motion lifted it to her chin, exposing her petticoats and then her chemise, with her swollen breasts and bulge of her pregnant belly straining the buttons to reveal little ovals of creamy flesh. Elethrine giggled and blushed and Aisla felt a familiar tingle between her thighs.

  ‘Kiss my tummy,’ Talithea demanded.

  Elethrine gave a final worried glance towards the garden door and dropped to one knee. Aisla watched, her lip trembling, hoping to be invited to join in as her mistress began to undo the buttons on the Princess’ chemise. As each button popped more flesh was revealed, Talithea’s lower belly, her navel, the undersides of her breasts and finally everything as the last button popped. The Princess’ breasts had always been big, but had grown, making two fat balls of soft flesh, each crowned with a big, dark brown nipple that Aisla longed to have in her mouth.

  Aisla’s heart was in her throat as Elethrine kissed the Princess’ swollen belly, once, twice, and began to lick down the central line as Talithea closed her eyes in bliss. Elethrine made a hand motion, signalling Aisla to come close, which she did immediately, answering her need to suckle by taking one of Talithea’s swollen nipples in her mouth. Elethrine rose, mouthing the other breast and together they sucked. Talithea began stroking their hair and pushing her breasts out into their faces, then cupped one in each hand. Aisla nuzzled the plump breast, sucking hard on the nipple, making Talithea moan.

  ‘Bare me, lick me,’ the Princess begged.

  Elethrine began to work up Talithea’s petticoats as Aisla knelt, taking her pleasure in the taut bulge of Talithea’s belly, kissing the top of the mound and burrowing her tongue into the shallow button. The lifted petticoats pushed against her face as Elethrine burrowed her head in. Talithea groaned more deeply still as wet, smacking sounds started from under her petticoats. Aisla ducked down as Talithea pulled up her petticoats to expose herself. Elethrine had the Princess’ drawers and pantalettes split wide, her face buried in the elaborate folds of lace as she licked. Forgetting etiquette entirely, Aisla pushed her face in beside her mistress, smelling the rich scent of hot female sex. Talithea pushed out her hips and Aisla’s lips met flesh, kissing the plump, hairy mound of Talithea’s sex, kissing Elethrine and together starting to lick. Their tongues were touching as they shard Talithea’s sex, lapping at her clitoris with ever more urgency. The Princess began to whimper and Aisla slid a finger into the wet, receptive hole of her vagina, then another. Talithea came, grinding her sex in their faces and making odd, choking sounds. They kept licking, clutching at Talithea’s bottom and thighs, stroking, smacking and scratching until the Princess could stand no more and screamed aloud.

  Aisla rose, urgent for her own pleasure, pulling up her dress to show herself off. Elethrine responded, burying her face in her Aisla’s crotch regardless of the impropriety of going down on her knees to her maid. Talithea shock herself, then laughed at the sight. A moment later and Elethrine’s skirts and petticoats had been hauled high by the Princess, exposing the plump ball of her bottom, tight within heavily frilled drawers. Two swift motions and Elethrine’s drawers and pantalettes were apart, display her naked rear.

  At the sight of her mistress’ bare behind so rudely exposed Aisla began to come, sighing deeply as Elethrine’s tongue worked on her clitoris. Talithea knelt, gave Elethrine’s bottom a hard smack on each cheek and buried her face between them. For one moment Aisla could actually see the Princess’ tongue pressed to Elethrine’s anus, licking bottom in the most intimate and abased of acts. At that Aisla’s orgasm hit its peak, with her mind burning with delight in seeing Elethrine’s bottom smacked by hand and Talithea tongue a bottom hole.

  Elethrine went on licking, bringing Aisla to another, lesser peak, then a third as she started to come herself. Aisla held her, stroking her mistress’ head as the orgasm went through her with Talithea’s nimble tongue working on her clitoris, until at last it began to die. For a moment they stayed in position, each delighting in the intimacy of their act, only to break apart and quickly rearrange their dishevelled clothing until there was no evidence of misbehaviour.

  ‘So,’ Elethrine said coolly, reverting to the poised demoiselle with no more than a hint of playful pastiche, ‘you are well, I trust, Princess, and have been blessed with a fine son, so I understand.’

  ‘The apple of his father’s eye,’ Talithea replied, ‘or at least of Prince Kavisterion’s, the true father being Simooth the troll. It is a convenient coincidence that my darling Prince and Simooth share so many characteristics.’

  ‘Simooth, like all trolls, was stark bald, as I recall,’ Elethrine stated cautiously.

  ‘Little Kavi is not, by good fortune,’ Talithea replied. ‘It is in build and behaviour that he resembles his true father, but both find favour in my Prince’s eyes. There is less happy news as well, indeed, something of a scandal.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘My cousin, Sulitea, has been confined in the celibentuary at Kavas-Arion.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I fear so.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She lost her head over a duel, offering herself to the winner.’

  ‘A fine way to surrender, surely?’

  ‘Not so, the contest was fought between the town dung-gatherer and a butcher.’

  ‘Ah, but surely her purity girdle…’

  ‘Sadly not, it was of pure silver, most beautifully wrought, as mine used to be. The dung-gatherer, who was the victor, broke it with some implement of his trade. He had her in the town square, across the prone body of the defeated butcher.’

  ‘An honourable man, this dung-gatherer, if a pariah.’

  ‘Not all low born are necessarily churls, this was Sulitea’s argument anyway. My uncle was not impressed.’

  ‘I can imagine! I am sorry, Talithea, truly sorry. Are you close?’

  ‘As close as sisters. Indeed, as the youngest in my own family and she being two years my junior, she was my preferred playmate. I would always protect her, and I will do so now. I intend to bring her free.’

  ‘Bring her free! How? Come Talithea, you forget your position. Besides, if she is unable to get out of Kavas-Arion, how will you get in and bring her out? It is on an island! The walls are said to be a dozen man-heights! A hundred matrons guard the place, woman chosen for their muscle and ill-temper, trained in controlling wilful girls! Can you imagine what they would do when you are caught!? You will be stripped, spanked naked, shorn of your hair, tattooed on your breasts and bottom, put through erotic exercises with the matrons…’

  ‘The island is linked by a tidal causeway, the walls are no more than five man-heights, there are no more than thirty matrons.’

  Elethrine began to speak, evidently intending to bring up more objections, but Talithea raised a hand.

  ‘There are many difficulties,’ she went on, ‘but I have found a way around each.’

  ‘What will you do?’ Elethrine demanded.

  ‘Myself? Nothing,’ Talithea answered. ‘My rank makes it impossible for me, being with child the more so. Circumstances also make it impossible for you, although I at least can offer shelter in Ateron. No, it will be Aisla who goes, and Aisla who brings Sulitea free.’

  ‘Me?’ Aisla said weakly.

  ‘You,’ Talithea answered with confidence. ‘Look at you. You stand a head taller than any other girl around. From your father you know far more of arms and such than is proper for a maid. Your natural low-born submission has been worked out of you by your time in Apraya, yet you have no rank and would not be recognised. You ar
e ideal.’

  ‘Thirty matrons?’ Elethrine put in.

  ‘You would not have to face all thirty,’ Talithea insisted. ‘Besides, if you are caught, as a mere artisan you will suffer none of the shame involved in the various punishments and erotic exercises.’

  ‘What about the pain?’ Aisla asked.

  ‘Not that I expect you to do it for nothing,’ Talithea went on, ignoring Aisla’s question. ‘Succeed or fail, Elethrine can urge her father to make Uroth a Reeve for a lifetime’s service. You yourself will be elevated as his daughter and thus your reward is the highest you could hope for. Think! The honour, the prestige! You will be able to add a letter to your name! Your children will be high-born! Who knows who might want you? The Aeg are not too particular about virginity, either.’

  ‘But…’ Aisla began.

  With an exhausted sigh Aisla pulled herself up among the jumble of rocks that crowned the ridge. Far beneath her spread the sea, placid and grey under a ragged overcast, its surface broken by darker bulks where the Grey Dean stacks pushed through it. The view was the same to the horizon, grey sea and grey rocks, fading into the haze of distance. Only near the shore was there any sign of human existence, a single ship waiting out the tide in the lee of a high stack, and a jumble of walls and towers that seemed to grow from the rock of the nearest stack - Kavas-Arion.

  Even as she looked at the celibentuary her heart sank. The stack was connected to the mainland by a narrow causeway, now a line of boiling water as the tide tore across it. High grey walls rose in an uneven shape, the lowest perhaps four times Aisla’s height and these built above areas of natural cliff. Twin towers flanked the gate, each some eight man heights tall. Within the walls a jumble of buildings was visible, square towers, squat sheds, two long blocks three and four stories high, each with it high gables. Between the buildings the black depths of alleys could be seen, and an area of yard seemingly so much beneath her vantage that she might have dropped a pebble into it.

  Making herself as comfortable as possible, she drew a strip of dried meat from her pouch and tore off a length. As she chewed she watched the celibentuary, trying to see how it might be entered and how she might hope to escape. Simply climbing the front face was obviously impractical, and on both sides of the gate the wall reared a good six man heights straight from the sea. The west wall was perhaps the least forbidding, and would bring her in near the taller of the two blocks, which she judged to be accommodation for the girls. Nodding to herself she swallowed her mouthful and took another bite.

  For two weeks she had travelled south down the Spine mountains, keeping to the high passes where no humans came and the wild beasts were rare. Twice she had had to make long detours to evade bears, and had escaped a wolverine only by taking shelter in a goblin burrow. The goblins had used her thoroughly and left her with sperm dripping from every orifice, yet even when her scent induced ecstasy had faded she had felt only gratitude.

  To cheer herself she had tried to decide what letter she would add to her name when made a Reeveling, but it was a joy invariably spoilt by thoughts of the consequences of failure. If the matrons at the celibentuary took her, the punishment was likely to be long and painful, also designed as much to make an example of her as to chastise. Her head would undoubtedly be shaved, and the thought of losing the long, thick hank of bright red hair that fell half-way over her bottom always brought a lump to her throat. There would be spankings and harder beatings, for which she would be stripped nude and probably made to adopt lewd postures in front of an audience, but these she felt she could endure, being low-born and so less subject to shame. Otherwise there were only rumours, but it was these that made her shiver and set her teeth chattering. It was said that tattoos were made on girl’s breasts and bottoms to mark their shame, sometimes also their bellies and even their faces. Chain bosses were said to be put in girl’s flesh as well, through the tummy buttons, allowing them to be led more easily. Finally there was the thought of being made a servant to the matrons.

  Once more these thoughts passed through Aisla’s head as she sat watching the celibentuary. Reaching into her pouch, she drew out a glass vial set in a web of brass filigree. Inside was a murky liquid, a preparation obtained by Talithea from the witch Aurora. She even knew the ingredients, which the Princess had recited with a measure of pride - the sperm of an enraged troll, black mandrake, chevrotain milk, cherry juice: leather, chewed separately. It would enhance her strength and determination, yet would leave her weak afterwards. Aurora herself had escaped Kavas-Arion in her youth, and as Aisla grasped the vial in her hand her confidence rose again.

  She waited as the sun swung down the sky and the tide dropped, revealing the causeway and wet, black rock at the base of the crag. Finally, with the sun a red ball in the west, she began to pick her way down the slope, keeping to cover and glancing again and again at the grim walls of the celibentuary. Her plan was clear in her mind, and she was determined to go ahead before common sense got the better of her.

  She reached the shore some way to the side of the causeway, where she was invisible from the windows of the two towers. Rather than her normal costume of long dress, petticoats, chemise and drawers, she wore a boy’s jerkin and breeches of dark brown leather, fitting well enough in length but uncomfortably tight over chest and bottom. The front had been undone to ease the pressure on her breasts, but she now buttoned it tight to cover her white flesh. With her hair tied into a tight bun and dirt smeared onto her face and hands, she slipped into the cold water and struck out for the stack.

  With the last traces of pink fading from the clouds high above her she pulled herself out into a tiny bay of weed-grown boulders. An evening breeze had sprung up and made her shiver as scrambled up towards the base of the wall. Two moons showed in the sky, one near full, one a thick crescent, together giving her enough light to see as she struggled her boots into the climbing irons Elethrine had taken from where Melkarion had abandoned them on her chamber floor.

  As had been deduced, wind and spray had taken their toll on the stones of the celibentuary wall, and deep cracks between the massive stones made climbing easy with the claw like irons. Aisla quickly reached the parapet and pulled herself over to lie motionless in the shadows, listening for any signs that her ascent had been noticed. The night was silent save for the deep clanging of a bell in ones of the towers and a faint rumble of noise from the block opposite her. She was level with the upper row of windows, only two of which showed the glimmer of candlelight. The two lower rows were lit a rich gold, and she could see into what was evidently a refectory.

  Within, a row of tables was visible, while she realised that what she had taken for the scent of rotting seaweed came in fact from the girl’s evening meal. Scrambling into an angle of the parapet, she settled down to watch, hoping to identify Sulitea. Talithea’s portrayal had been exact, describing a blonde girl with a willowy figure, moderately full breasts, a delicate face and bright, blue eyes. Unfortunately the same description might have applied to almost every high-born girl of Mund. The only thing that set Sulitea apart was her hair, which curled, yet with a recently shaven head that would be little to go on.

  The bell was evidently a call to eat, as women quickly began to enter the hall. First came matrons, at the sight of whom Aisla felt her confidence drop once more. These where huge women, grey, red or tawny haired, perhaps not as tall as herself, but massive, with powerful muscles rolling under heavy layers of fat. Each wore a full dress, some of blue, some of brown, some of black, the colours apparently denoting rank or status. Those in black seemed the most formidable, and also in charge, instructing those in blue while the brown clad ones served gruel onto crude earthenware plates.

  Presently girls began to enter, easily identifiable by their cropped blonde hair and white smocks so thin as to show the outlines of their breasts and hips. Some wore shame veils, other had their smocks pulled down to expose their chests, and Ai
sla saw to her alarm that these had intricate patterns tattooed onto their naked breasts. Trying to calm her fluttering heart she scanned the girls’ faces and hair, but none were obviously curly. Aisla’s teeth began to chatter with the cold, and she decided to make a cautious exploration of the wall, if only to keep warm.

  Beneath her the meal began, the smell of the food unappetising despite two weeks of living on dried meat and herbs. First she investigated the gate towers, but found access barred by locked doors. There proved to be only one other stairway to the ground, a precarious zigzag at the southern tip of the wall. From there Aisla could see the moonlit sea, now ruffled by wind, with the ship still at anchor in the lee of the high stack.

  Presently the bell sounded once more, and Aisla watched as the girls filed from the refectory, each column of five guarded by two matrons in blue. The light from burning cressets showed the figures of the girls clearly through their smocks, an exposure that Aisla knew would be agonisingly shameful to the high-born. Each little column trooped into the taller of the blocks, and Aisla watched as the windows began to fill with dim yellow candlelight. In the lowest windows the girls could be seen at tubs, the matrons standing over them as they stripped and washed. Each matron carried a quirt, two feet of braided leather. These would occasionally be applied to the bottoms of the girls, although whether for tardiness, poor cleanliness or simple amusement Aisla was unsure.

  As each group of five girls finished washing they made way for another, while others poured fresh water into the tubs. The lights in the upper stories came on, and Aisla saw that they were dormitories, each big, open room being lined with crude beds. The girls came to stand by these, still stark naked and rigidly still with their hands on top of their heads to leave their bodies entirely exposed. More joined them, until perhaps sixty naked girls stood still beside as many beds on the three levels. Four blue clad matrons were in each room, some still, some pacing up and down and occasionally applying her quirt to a girl’s body. Once more the bell tolled, and the nearest girl’s postures stiffened perceptibly. Black clad matrons appeared, four in all, each bearing a sheaf of charta.