Captive (3 page)

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 Aisla 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.

Realising that a roll-call was in progress, Aisla began to edge around the wall, drawing closer until she was barely twice her own height from the nearest windows. One of the black clad matrons was clearly visible, a huge woman with iron grey hair and a face so craggy it might have belonged to a troll. She stayed still, eyeing her charges, and Aisla wondered what was happening until she heard a voice from the floor below begin to read out names. Straining her ears against the wind, she listened for Sulitea’s name, but it was not called. When the roll finished sharp cries and the smack of leather on skin began to sound from the lower room, and Aisla guessed that the day’s punishments were being dealt out.

Three women entered the room across from her, two blue clad matrons and one in black, a truly terrifying woman over a head taller than her companions and with the build of an ox. From the fear of the girls and the deference of the other matrons Aisla guessed this to be governess herself. Again the names were read out, and each girl called out in response. As some answered the governess would nod at them and they would immediately scramble onto their beds, kneeling with their haunches raised and their faces pressed into the blankets. The positions left Aisla with a prime view of the girls’ tuppennies pouting out from between their thighs, also their bottom rings, as each had her back pulled dipped in what was obviously a regimented and deliberately humiliating pose.

Of the twenty girls in the dormitory none was Sulitea, but eight ended up with their naked bottoms thrust high and open. Aisla watched them punished, unable to tear her eyes away as either quirts or the governess’ cane were applied to each quivering pair of buttocks. One was even taken across a matron’s knee and spanked by hand after her caning, a punishment to add the deepest possible discomposure to the victim’s pain. The beaten girls scurried back into their standing positions, only now with their reddened bottoms towards the aisle. The Governess left and Aisla craned her neck, trying to see into the dormitory in which Sulitea was presumably lodged. Watching the beatings had made her uncomfortably warm between her legs, while she was trembling at the thought of being given the same treatment and worse.

Stretching high, she could just see the heads of the girls on the side of the dormitory closest to her. Their hair varied in length, from freshly shorn and near bald to neck length, but only one had curls. She also had no more than three months hair growth. Sure enough, the fifth name to be called was Sulitea, and as Aisla caught the word she saw the girl’s mouth open in response. A thrill of success ran through her, immediately followed by concern as to how she was supposed to bring Sulitea free from the highest dormitory in the midst of a dozen or more other girls.

Fresh smacks and squeals began to sound, then silence. Once more a name was called out, then another, then Sulitea’s and a fourth. More names were called on the lower levels. The lights went out and Aisla ducked down, worried that from within the darkened dormitory she might be visible in the moonlight. Only the light in the stairwell window remained, and Aisla saw the matrons trooping down the stairs, most followed by a girl, some with two. Near the end came Sulitea, her arm clutched in the massive hand of one of the black clad matrons.

Ducking low, Aisla ran for the southern stair. As she reached it she saw the group dispersing across the main yard and caught the flicker of firelight from Sulitea’s curls. The matron led Sulitea into an alley and a moment later Aisla heard the crash of a door. For the count of a thousand she waited, now with her heart hammering in her chest and a weak feeling in her stomach. Descending the stair, she found herself in a yard, rich with the scent of refuse and dead black save for a few stars visible among the scudding clouds overhead. A wall barred her path, which she climbed, and at length she found herself in the alley down which Sulitea and the matron had gone. Light showed at a single window, and with her heart in her throat she peered within.

Inside was a scene very different from the stark austerity of the dormitories. Thick drapes covered the walls and solid furniture stood to the sides of a heavy rug patterned in deep green and gold. This had been rolled back to expose the flags of the floor, and in the middle of the room knelt the High-Demoiselle Sulitea, stark naked and scrubbing the floor with a stiff brush. Aisla watched, shocked and trying to fight down a secret delight at the high-born girl’s degradation. Sulitea’s back was to Aisla, or rather her bottom, with the fullish cheeks spread to show tuppenny and bottom hole in blatant display. Marks decorated each buttock, fresh and red, showing that Sulitea had been one of the girls punished that evening, while a dribble of juice from her open vagina betrayed her response. As she scrubbed she turned, and her breasts became visible, swinging from beneath her chest as she worked, each tattooed with the intricate pattern of blue and red swirls that marked her as shamed.

Aisla swallowed hard at the sight, then moved quickly back as the door across the room began to open. Voices came to her, coarse laughter and a command, them a little whimper in a softer voice. Unable to hold back her curiosity, Aisla peered in again. Sulitea was as before, kneeling in the nude, scrubbing brush in one hand, only instead of being hung down to watch her work her head was thrown back and her mouth wide open. In front of Sulitea knelt the matron, a squat, red-haired woman of enormous bulk, still clad in her voluminous black gown, but with the front pulled up to expose a system of leather straps and a grotesque black phallus that protruded from her pubic region.

Sulitea leant forward and began to suck on the monstrous dildo, every bit as Aisla had imagined her doing with the dung-gatherer’s cock. The expression on the matron’s face became a broad grin, not physical pleasure, but a savage enjoyment at forcing the naked girl to suck on her substitute cock. Aisla could imagine what was coming next, and despite her very real sense of outrage she felt shamefully warm and wet between her thighs. Sure enough, when the matron grew bored with watching Sulitea suck the dildo she took hold of the girl’s hair and pulled back. Sulitea let the phallus slip from her mouth, and as the matron gave her a light slap in the face she turned, presenting her upturned buttocks to the dildo. The matron laughed as Sulitea reached back and spread herself for entry, then prodded the dildo at the girl’s vagina. Sulitea’s eyes closed and her mouth went wide as her tuppenny filled, and she began to pant as the fucking began.

The matron had her eyes locked on Sulitea’s bottom, with her thumbs spreading the cheeks to reveal the anus and the junction of phallus and vagina. Her motions were not like the regular pushing of a man, but a rubbing and squirming of the hips to press her clitoris against the base of the dildo.

As the matron’s arousal increased Sulitea began to pant, then writhe on the dildo. At last, with a sigh of pure misery, she reached back to masturbate, utterly surrendering every vestige of dignity and pride to the pleasure of having the thick black shaft inside her. The matron laughed and slapped Sulitea hard across the bottom, then began to ride harder and faster still, grinding her big hips into her victim as Sulitea whimpered and mewled in ecstasy.

Finally it happened, Sulitea screaming in shame and rapture even as the matron gave a deep, harsh moan. For a long while both rode the climax, Sulitea rubbing at herself and squealing out loud, the matron grunting and pushing at the dildo. Aisla’s own sex was sodden, and only the fear of discovery kept her from giving in to the urge to masturbate. Instead she held back, watching as the matron withdrew, made Sulitea suck the phallus clean and left the room, telling Sulitea to come to her when the floor was scrubbed clean.

Aisla pulled back from the window, breathing heavily and too flustered to think clearly. The crotch of her britches was clammy and hot, more from her own juice than sea-water, while she could feel her nipples, hard and tender within the leather jerkin. Shaking her head to clear the thoughts of what she had seen, she struggled to turn her attention to the task in hand, promising herself to masturbate over it at the first opportunity.