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Aimee - e - Chapter
4
AIMEE'
Chapter IV
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~~~~~~~~~~
"Come
here, child, sit down, sit down." Bethsany patted the couch,
trying to be welcoming to the nervous young girl who stood at
the doorway.
"Young" was perhaps a bit of an inaccuracy to Bethsany's
eyes, since she
had some girls working for her who were younger.
She walked
forward, her eys scanning the room intensely. Bethsany saw
the careful, analytical training that Darryn would naturally
have imbued
Aimee' with, but she also saw the youthful nervousness that came
naturally
to girls such as Aimee'. Bethsany tried her best to hire girls
who were
already enjoying sex when they came to her; women who did their
work out of
desperation were simply not good workers.
Aimee' reached
out with her hand, touching the rough texture of the
couch, her eyes exploring. Bethsany watched her for a moment.
"It's a
brothel, dear. My customers expect a certain degree of garishness."
She
smiled. "Sit down, sit down."
Aimee' finally
took her seat and Bethsany took a longer, more careful
look at her. She was what she expected from Teltirray's tastes;
tall,
slim, relatively small breasts. Dark hair and bright, blue eyes
were
something of a must with him. Bethsany was somewhat releived
to see that
even after three months the usual signs of abuse that Teltirray
heaped upon
his "charges" weren't as graphic on Aimee' as usual;
either she was showing
remarkable resilience to his advances or he really was holding
back,
probably hoping that between Darryn's magic and her training
they would
turn Aimee' into the perfect sex toy for Teltirray's vapid tastes.
"Now,
then," Bethsany began after Aimee' had settled down into
her
seat. "My object is to train you to be as good as any of
the girls I have
here. That's not easy, you know." She laughed. "My
girls are the very
best in the city. But we will do our best. Now, I understand
that it's
been Darryn's way to tell you stories about himself, how he got
his
understanding and so on. I plan on doing the same. So listen
closely,
dearie, because I don't like repeating myself."
I was born
the daughter of a nomad whore. I don't mind saying that
because it's completely true. My mother was a good whore, too,
and a woman
devoted to her husband and her daughter. We travelled around
the southern
continent on a tented wagon. There were four wagons in our train
and a
total of seventeen people. We didn't even have a name for ourselves,
really; we were just "the people." There were nine
cities we visited on
our course, the same course, year after year. My father was
a merchant
trader and was very good at picking out what one city had that
the next one
down the line would need, even after a year's absence. My mother,
with her
deep red skin, slanted eyes and straight, black hair, was exotic
in many of
the cities and men would flock to her like flies on butter.
Much the same
they did with me many years ago.
We were a
friendly bunch most of the time but we tended to take it
very carefully on the road. A good plan considering how many
brigands ther
were out there interested in lightening our loads. The greatest
travel we
ever took was from Ticonary to Emti, a rough road through a mountain
pass
that usually took twenty days or thereabouts. We weren't to
know it, but
the Maple Campaign to the north of us had driven a barbarian
horde of
Centaurs into the mountain range for refuge. These were no gentle
Centaurs
of the upper valleys. No, these were the Gespil Centaurs, those
small,
powerful, magicless Centaur warriors who still plague those lands.
They fell
upon us in our sleep. Crossbows aimed with silent accuracy
fell our menfolk before they could even shout a word. It was
the most
silent brigandry I had ever heard of. More than half our men
were dead
before and alarm was raised. My mother fought them off, seizing
father's
sword and slashing at them. It was to no avail; there were too
many of
them, too many warriors, and as she hacked at two who leapt and
taunted
her, one stepped up behind her and ran her through with his pike.
I shall
never forget the look on her face as she died, her ribs pushed
out by the
spike erupting from her chest. She was sad, sad for me. She
wanted to see
me, twisted on the spike horribly to look at me, as she fell.
When her
body slumped to the ground the one who had killed her pulled
the pike free,
then turned and gave me a smile. I hated him and his evil grin,
I wanted
to wipe it off his face and make him pay for my mother's death
and I would
wallow in his pain when I did.
"Take
her!" he shouted, pointing at me. "Alive!"
They did that.
Although I fought them, there was really no point to
struggling with two male centaurs. "Find a bench in one
of these wagons.
I'm going to have me some fun."
I begged and
pleaded. Not that it did me much good. When they found
out I was a virgin, there was a roar of approval, as if it was
all one big
joke. Two found a wooden bench, torn from the seat of one of
the wagons,
and laid my mother's bedding over it. It took four Centaurs
to hold me,
one for each arm and each leg, as they tore my clothes from me
and laid me
down on their platform.
Gespil Centaurs
are not much larger than humans, Aimee'; they are
usually a little under six feet tall, made more of ponies than
full-size
horses. Their penises-- I'm a professional, dear, I have to
use the
technical term-- are not much larger than a man's. This one,
their leader
apparently, had a large penis even for his species. "Hold
her down,
dammit!" he shouted. "I can't fuck her if she's flailing
her feet about
all over the place!"
The two holding
my legs managed to get my knees pressed to my chest,
holding my feet far apart I felt they would split me in two.
The leader
reared up on his hind legs, straddling my body. He grinned down
at me, his
teeth showing in a snarl that befitted some demon more than he.
"You will
like this," he said.
"May
Agas and all his demons pass you about for their buggery!"
I
shouted at him. Sorry, I don't mean to offend you, Aimee'.
I'm just
trying to relate the story as it happened.
"I'm
sure it will," he responded. "But not today."
He lowered his
enormous prick. I felt it touch my thighs and screamed. He
merely smiled.
They must have some muscles to control it because with no hands
he found my
opening and battered at it, the head of his cock demanding entrance.
He
pointed at one of his followers. "Grease us."
The other
one smiled. I felt a hand on my pudenda, touching me. I
squirmed harder, but they held me fast, and as the hand pressed
over my
mound it left a streak of some thick, greasy substance. Then
the leader
was back, his cock still hard as ever. I felt the slick grease
helping
him, guiding him into me. I felt my opening giving way.
The pain,
Aimee', oh, the pain. I shall never forget how awful that
tearing agony was. It blocked out thought as this Centaur blocked
the sun
from my eyes. I screamed and flailed about. In my struggle
I tore my
muscles. Tears streamed my eyes. The huge stallion prick in
my cunt
bucked and shoved and jammed as it stretched and tortured me.
He raped me
wholly without remorse or shame.
I could do
nothing. His prick within me was a weapon, one I would
someday remove from him in the most painful manner I could possibly
imagine. He repeatedly jabbed it into me, the snarl on his face--
so many
feet away from my clawing hands!-- showing me his contempt for
me. I
tried to return it, but my tears and pain were too much.
And my body
responded, Aimee'! I understand now what happened, but at
that time I felt the greatest betrayal as my cunt throbbed from
his abusive
prick. I felt a pleasure in my being even as I cried, a pleasure
that
exploded in climax even as he, himself, dropped his scum within
my
helpless body. "See?" he smiled as he slid off of
me. "She likes it.
Take her. I need a new maidservant. We'll train her good."
The others
laughed and nodded. I learned my Master's name was
"Styur."
I was thrown
over the back of a horse, one of our horses that they had
captured alive in the raid. My crying was ignored, as was the
blood of my
deflowering streaming down my legs. We rode on horseback for
many miles.
We arrived
at their camp, a collection of caves and huts housing maybe
fifty Centaurs total. I was there removed from the pack animal
that
carried me and led to his house. "Uma!" Styur shouted.
"I have a gift for
you. She's difficult, but you can break her."
The door opened
and a Centaur woman looked out. Her face was ugly,
the result of a burn I was to learn some time later. Nor was
her smile
kind. "She's pretty," she said. "Yes, I'll do
wonderful things with this
one. A worthy gift, Styur." She turned to a box and pulled
out a collar,
such as one would fit a dog, and wrapped it around my neck.
It had once
been white, but there were the brown stains of dried blood covering
much of
it. "You see," she said to me, her foul breath washing
over me, "The last
toy we had misbehaved. We've not cleaned her things off since
then. That
will be your task."
The lock on
the collar was small and brass, but I could never break
it. Styur smiled as he regarded me. "You will need to
wash, Mosh." I was
to find out that "mosh" is a word in their language
meaning "toy." It was
my new name.
I was consequently
washed and then taken back to Uma and Styur's hut.
I was shown my sleeping cloths on the floor, then given a basket
and told
to collect the cloths scattered throughout the house and wash
them.
I did as I
was told. I had no choice. There was nowhere to run,
nobody to feed me. I was alone, the only slave alive in the
Centaur camp,
the plaything of their warrior-leader. I was assured that they
had others
at time, but the war and their movements had caused them to lose
most of
their slaves. I asked if those slaves had died on the trip.
"No," Styur
replied, smiling. "They were eaten."
The days and
nights passed as winter came closer and closer. I was
taught to make the fire, to raise the heat, to cook for them.
And every
third night or so Styur would tie me down to his bench and have
his way
with me. He was creative in his foul way, tying me face down
and then
placing bricks under one side of the bench to lift my buttocks
into the
air, making his entry easier.
I hated him.
And every time he raped me, I climaxed. I drew my
pleasure from hating him, from the knowledge that I could have
this
pleasure, that it was mine, it belonged to me, I made it despite
him. He
could never take it away from me without taking away his prick,
his own
pleasure at his human girl. I would fight the biting ropes and
scream and
hate him. He would sometimes gag me. My fingers would strain,
my wrists
pulling against the cords, trying for some way to get free, as
his prick
fucked my cunt, rubbed my clit and made me come. I would scream
with anger
and with pleasure.
He would get
off of me and touch my face. "See?" he would say.
"You're starting to like me more and more."
I would curse
him. Once, I spat at him, and he slapped my face so
hard a bruise welted up there that lasted for a week.
In my dreams
I wished for a lover who would not abuse me. Who would
give me what I wanted in fair trade for what he wanted, who would
stop when
I wanted him to and who would ask me to stop when he didn't want
to. I
doubted such men like that existed at all. I still do, excepting
Darryn,
of course, who is too much a man's man to do me and my girls
much good as a
lover. But still, there is much to learn from a man like him.
I dreamed
of the day I would be close enough to another human to have
the freedom to kill Stuyr. I was surprised when that day came
sooner than
expected.
In my third
month of capture the horror these people inflicted upon my
family was returned a hundredfold. During the first night of
truly deep
snows, the alarm arose in the camp, waking me from a sleep.
I slept with
their dog for warmth and companionship; of all the creatures,
she alone
loved me for simple things. I was kind to her. Styur found
that fitting,
that his pets should sleep together. At first, I was disgusted
by his
train of thoughts; I was not his pet or his toy. But my need
for warmth,
friendship, and my desire to not reject this only friend won
out, and I
stayed next to her in the night.
I've strayed
from the tale. The alarm, yes. Whistles awoke us all
and Stuyr ran from his stone home, seizing his sword as he galloped
out the
door. Shouts and screams erupted. Some of the shouts I did
not recognize,
although they were all distinctly womanly in sound. I waited
in the dark,
hugging Huna-- that was the dog's name-- closely. The sounds
of battle
rang out, the clanging of metal, the shouts and grunts of fighters.
The
door fell in, and Stuyr collapsed onto the floor, four great
arrows buried
into his manchest, more on the rest of him. He reached out for
me,
gasping. "Help me," I heard him say.
Help him?
I stood up, walked to him, pulled his short dagger from
it's sheath. "I'll help you, all right. Right into Hell."
I held it up
and was about to plunge it into his heart when I stopped and
reconsidered.
I remembered my pledge. I walked around to the back of his body.
"No,"
I remember hearing him say. "Don't."
I shoved the
knife into his leg, slicing at the muscles that allowed
him to kick. He screamed, a painful thing that made me smile.
My hatred
for him was absolute, complete. I cared not the slightest for
him. The
leg, now useless, I kicked up and out of my way,exposing his
privates. I
grabbed his penis and balls in my hands and pulled them away
from his body,
wrenching them painfully. He screamed trying to get away from
me as I cut
them loose from his body with the dagger.
Blood poured
upon the ground and his body twitched and writhed. I
dropped the contents of both my hands on the ground, then fell
to the
ground myself, sitting in the doorway, waiting while the snow
fell on me
in gentle, fat flakes. After a while a shape, a human shape,
stood over
me, looking down at me. "Have you done that?" she
asked, pointing at the
still-oozing carcass of Styur. I didn't answer. I couldn't.
I can't
explain what was wrong with me, but it was simply that I didn't
want to do
anything, not even answer a simple 'yes' or 'no'. She knelt
down. Her
face, partially covered by the open-faced helm she wore, was
hardened and
covered with a stain of blood from her nose, but it had a smile
that, for
the first time in months, was genuine and lovely. "I guess
you did. Come
here." As she spoke her breath streamed away in visible
clouds into the
night. She touched my arm and suddenly I was freed of my paralysis.
I
held onto her like she was my last touch of life, my last hope
of living.
I gripped her with my remaining strength. She began to carry
me away and
Huna began to follow us. "Shoo, dog," the woman said.
"Huna!"
I said, pointing.
"What?"
"Huna!"
"Is Huna
your friend?" the woman asked me.
"Yes.
Bring Huna?"
She nodded.
"Okay, we'll bring her." With her free hand she slapped
her thigh. "Come on, Huna. You're a... girl. Good."
She laughed. "Come
on, girl. We're going to take you home." She carried me
to the edge of
the camp where the rest of the troops had collected. And there
she
introduced me to my new life.
Bethsany sat
back on her couch. Aimee' had curled up into the corner
of the couch, watching her carefully. Although not a mage herself,
she
recognized the signs of idling power within the girl's delicate
frame and
wondered if the story had aroused Aimee' defenses. She hoped
not. "So,"
she said, taking a deep breath. "Come, I want you to meet
someone."
She rose and
held out her hand. Aimee' took it unsurely, and Bethsany
whisked her out of the room and down the stairs. "Meli!
Meli, where are
you, girl?" The stairs ended in the girl's lesiure room,
a space Bethsany
had set aside for the women to collect themselves and relax.
"Over
here, Miss Beth."
"Oh,
there you are." She dropped off the steps and herded Aimee'
in
the direction of the tall, black-skinned girl with the wide smile
and the
sweet-smelling skin. "Meli, I want you to meet Aimee'.
Aimee', this is
one of my favorite girls, Meli. She is going to take you aside
and teach
you a few tricks that will certainly please your Master."
With that, she
took Meli aside and whispered her instructions into the girl's
ear while
casting sidelong glances at Aimee'.
Meli finally
nodded and walked back to Aimee's side. They looked at
each as if measuring, then Meli reached out a hand. Aimee' took
at and
both let out a small sigh of tension. "Hi," Aimee'
said.
"Hi,"
Meli replied. "Come on. Let me take you in back and I
will
show you what you need."
Aimee' nodded
and allowed Meli to lead her down another flight of
stairs into what felt like a basement. The room was warm, though,
and
comfortable. The bright golden yellows and reds that predominated
most of
the upstairs gave way to softer pinks accentuating rich blues,
comforting,
feminine colors. "This is where we relax in the daytime,"
Meli said.
"It's a safe corner for all of us." The first room
was little more than a
hallway, leading off to other rooms with dubious contents. "This
way."
Meli led her
down the hall and into another, small room. This one had
a bathtub of sorts inlaid in the center of the floor. The tub,
of white,
smooth stone, was big enough to hold several women at once.
It had a spout
in the shape of a serpent hovering over it. The mouth of the
serpent
caught Aimee's eye. "Darryn, your teacher, made that for
us. It is a
well-crafted urnen, a device for heating water to our whim."
Inside the
tub was a strangely-shaped chair, as if for sitting rather than
for
washing. A rope hung down from the ceiling, crossing through
a pulley
there to another by wall, then down into the floor.
"This
knob controls how strong the water is, this one how hot, and
this lever..." She grinned. "This one controls where
the water goes."
"Goes?"
"Get
in. Sit down and give it a try," Meli grinned. Aimee'
gave her
a curious look, then shrugged and slipped out of her clothes,
slipping into
the water. "Sit in the chair, that's it." The tawny,
black-skinned girl
undressed as well, sliding into the tub behind the chair. "Now,
the first
part's always the toughest to get ready for. Start the water
flowing."
Aimee' looked over and found the one for pressure, giving it
a quick turn.
"Lightly, girl! You'll never get used to it like that!"
Meli admonsihed.
"Turn it low, right, like that.
"Now,
reach over for the rope and pull on it." Aimee' did as
told.
The chair began to rise and tilt in the pool. Her legs were
slowly being
raised out of the water, most of her body with it, until her
mound and her
head were just above the water. The stream from the serpent's
mouth was
striking the water between her legs, a foot from her mound.
"Test it,"
Meli said. "See if it's too hot."
Aimee' reached
a hand out into the water. "It's fine."
"Then
take the lever and push it away from you. It's a bit strange,
but you'll get used to it." Aimee' did as told and the
water began moving
closer to her mound. "Just go on, Aimee', you'll like it."
Meli moved her
hands slowly around the other's girl's body, her hands caressing
Aimee's
sides, touching her skin. Aimee's chest rose, gasping, as Meli's
hands
reached around and touched her nipples at the same time the water
ran up
between her lips and touched her clitoris. She squirmed and
moved the
lever, pushing the water off.
"Take
it easy," Meli said. "Some girls like it very hard,
others like
it very hot. But we must all start out carefully."
Aimee nodded
and her fingers gripped the lever a little more tightly.
The mouth of the serpent, made of many carefully made plates
of silver,
moved slightly, directing the flow of water closer and closer
to Aimee's
cunny. "That's it," Meli whispered in her ear, "That's
it." Aimee felt
her breasts flush and grow warm as Meli's fingers caressed them,
pressing
against her giving flesh. Aimee's breath grew hoarse and ragged
as the
water played over her clitoris more and more forcefully. Her
fingers
barely touched the lever, her hips grinding against the smooth
material of
the seat. Meli wrapped her arms around Aimee's waist and held
onto her,
holding her down, waiting for the explosions to stop.
Much to Meli's
surprise, they did not stop. If anything, Aimee's
moans grew louder, her buttocks pounding against the marble.
The moans
built into a scream, and then Meli noticed that the room had
become
darker; the candles had gone out, and a wind was building. Even
in as
small a space as the bathtub the water become choppy, the air
whistled and
spun as Aimee's screamed. "No!" Meli scrabbled for
the knob in the dark,
finding it with her fingertips, and turned off the water.
The wind subsided.
Aimee's breathing, punctuated occassionaly by
moans, filled the room. Finally even that grew quiet. Meli,
still more
than a little frightened, whispered, "Aimee'?"
"Meli?"
the reply came. "Are you okay?"
"Frightened,
but unharmed," Meli replied.
The door to
the room flew open. "What in the name of Agas is going
on
down here?" Bethsany peeked into the room, looking around
at the
destruction. "What happened."
"She...
she started to come, madame, and then the whole room just
started to come apart."
"Aimee'?"
"It was
so... powerful. Meli was touching me and the water was so
strong... I couldn't help it!"
Bethsany rolled
her eyes. "I'm going to send you a message for
Darryn, Aimee', that he's to teach you to keep your magic down
when you're
just having fun!"
"Yes,
Ma'am."
"Now,
Meli, I told you to show her a nice time, but you were also to
teach her how to do her hair. Now, get with it, get with it."
"Yes,
madame," Meli replied, climbing out of the tub and handing
Aimee' a towel. "Come, Aimee', I will teach you how to
be beautiful." |