Captive (24 page)

Four of them tied her down, one roping each limb, as the others stood away. Aisla looked back in mixed fear and anticipation, then shock as she saw what was to be applied to her bare bottom. One of the biggest men was drawing a spare oar blade from a chest, a length of polished wood the width of two hands and curving as if it might have been designed to cup the buttocks of a beaten girl. With a deep sob she turned her eyes away and stuck up her bottom, bracing herself for the pain.

It was not slow in coming, the big man bringing the oar down across her bottom with a meaty smack. She screamed despite herself, a sound answered by their booming laughter. The next smack caught her, jamming her pelvis into the furs, then the third as she began to buck and wriggle, her dignity dissolving in the pain of her bottom. The smacks went on, one after another, each catching the full breadth of her small bottom and making the flesh bulge and bounce.

Thirty times the oar smacked down on her helpless body, until she was writhing in a helpless ecstasy of pain, her bottom smacked to a mess of red and purple blotches, her juice dripping freely from her tuppenny. With her well beaten, they began to fuck her, one after another taking advantage of her sopping, spread sex, plunging their cocks deep in her and pumping until they came. Most of the sperm went up her, only to be squashed out by the next penis until it was running thick and white down the insides of her thighs. Some came over her bottom, until both hot cheeks were slimy with it. An impatient few used her mouth, coming down her throat or in her face, until she was blind and filthy with sperm and it ran from both corners of her mouth. Several took her twice, always with less haste, making leisurely use of her mouth while feeling her breasts. When the last had come, his cock spurting up in the slimy crease of her bottom, she was left begging for her own orgasm.

They laughed at her and she cursed, then began to whimper and plead, all pride gone in her need for satisfaction. They laughed all the more, only for Jairoth to order Sulitea to lick Aisla’s bottom and sex clean of sperm. Sulitea, who had been happily stroking Jairoth’s cock and watching Aisla punished, responded with a squeak of mock alarm. A moment later Jairoth had her by the hair and was dragging her across the deck to press her face hard between Aisla’s filthy bottom cheeks.

Aisla sighed as Sulitea began to lick the sperm up from her bottom cheeks. It was slow, almost painfully so, with the men quick to point out any omissions with a slap to Sulitea’s out thrust buttocks. With each slap Sulitea’s bells tinkled, prompting the men to apply more, firmer smacks. Gradually the sperm was licked for Aisla’s hot, throbbing bottom, until both cheeks were shiny with saliva, making her red skin glossy. Sulitea’s attention turned to Aisla’s crease, licking up the sperm with an appetite that drew murmurs of surprise and even shock from the watching men. Sulitea took no notice, but began to lick Aisla’s bottom hole clean, burrowing her tongue tip into the little dimple to lap out the sperm.

The sheer filthiness and submission this act represented was greeted with awed murmurs from the men, several of whom were once again nursing their cocks back towards erection. With Aisla’s anus licked clean, Sulitea began to work lower. Aisla pushed her bottom out, already close to orgasm and knowing that just a touch to her clitoris would be all that it took. Sulitea teased, drinking come from Aisla’s vagina, then slowly lapping up every drop and smear on inner thighs and sex lips. With Aisla groaning aloud and begging for her orgasm in a weak whisper, Sulitea at last gave in. First licking the mess of sperm and girl juice from the heart of Aisla’s sex, Sulitea began to attend to the clitoris. Aisla came almost immediately, with a long, drawn out moan, only to have her mouth filled with cock as the peak hit her.

Sulitea was mounted, fucked crudely from the rear with her face slapping into Aisla’s bottom. She began to masturbate, licking at Aisla’s sex and bottom crease as she was fucked. Aisla sucked happily in the fading glory of her orgasm, tasting the man’s cock in willing resignation to it and to whatever else they wished to do. Sulitea came, burrowing her tongue deep up Aisla’s bottom in plain view, obviously revelling in being seen to achieve orgasm while performing an act so debased for her rank as licking another girl’s bottom.

No sooner had Sulitea come that Jairoth took her away, dragging her by the hair towards his cabin with his erection in his free hand. The others continued to enjoy Aisla, in her mouth and up her vagina, until at last, after every one had come at least twice, they stopped and untied her. Sore and filthy with sweat and come, she sank to the deck, splay legged, to give herself a second, superb orgasm in front of all of them.

Satiated, she retired to the small cabin she and Sulitea had been given. It was one of only three on the ship, a tiny room with two narrow bunks against one bulkhead. Sulitea was already there, face down on the bed with her legs kicked up and the warlock’s workbook open in front of her. A candle lantern hung above her, swinging gentle to the motion of the Dog to throw patterns of yellow light across the cabin and the disturbing pictures on the page Sulitea was reading.

‘ Now I understand,’ Sulitea remarked as Aisla threw herself down beside her. ‘My mistake was to think the diagrams of the glyphs corresponded to the text beside them.’

‘What is this?’ Aisla asked.

‘The charm on your axe,’ Sulitea went on, ‘by mistake I drew the glyph for a souleater in place of that for an edge that would never dull. What colour is it now, the glyph?’

‘Blue,’ Aisla answered, ‘quite a rich blue. I’m sure it wasn’t that dark before.’

‘It must be working then,’ Sulitea continued with immense satisfaction. ‘A libation is needed, but the wine I spilt must have had the right effect. There, I said I could do it.’

‘Do what?’ Aisla demanded.

‘Charm your axe,’ Sulitea replied. ‘Now it’s a souleater, so be careful not to cut anybody.’

‘Sulitea!’ Aisla protested.

‘You are such a superstitious peasant at times, Aisla,’ Sulitea responded. ‘There is no difficulty as long as you are careful, meanwhile, you have only to inflict the least cut to draw the souls out of our enemies. It says so here.’

‘Sulitea!’ Aisla repeated.

‘Oh do stop fussing,’ Sulitea answered. ‘Look, when you warm Elethrine’s bed, do you simply put some embers under the sheets?’

‘No, of course not, the bed would catch afire!’

‘Exactly, you use a warming pan. Magic is the same, a question of process, and so long as one knows the process it is quite safe.’

‘Safe?’ Aisla queried.

‘Quite safe,’ Sulitea insisted. ‘Just be careful.’

‘Careful?’ Aisla echoed. ‘Sulitea, to be a witch you must first be accepted as an apprentice, then study for years. They are also detached, strange, not like normal people. You can not simply read a book.’

‘Nonsense,’ Sulitea answered. ‘The warlock, for example, gives exact instructions for the summoning of certain demons and sprites. Indeed, that was what he was working on when the notes end.’

‘Rather abruptly,’ Aisla pointed out.

For the next two weeks they continued to raid settlements along the coast, but with no real success. As Jairoth had already found, the inhabitants were too wary of sea born raiders to the caught. Sharp lookouts were maintained, and at the first sight of a hostile ship the entire population would flee into the steep, forested mountains. Nothing of real value would be left, only items too heavy to carry, which were likewise too heavy to be worth storing in the hold of the Dog. Aisla joined each raid, secretly taking a sip of troll sperm before hand, while her habit of biting her harness before going in became a standing joke among the men.

Each morning she would take a taste of troll sperm and a lick of her harness, which was never enough to reproduce the fierce strength and boundless confidence of a full dose, but which was sufficient to keep her feeling alert and aggressive. She found her body changing as well, her muscles growing hard and taut, her pubic mound increasingly hairy and her clitoris larger. When her cycle came it was mild and painless.

Her attitude also changed. The pleasure of sex with the men did not lessen, and she would indulge herself freely at each carousal. Rather it was her pleasure in Sulitea that changed, becoming ever more dominant and proprietorial, until her enjoyment of watching her friend entertain the men became tinged with jealousy.

Nor did she trouble to make herself feminine clothes, although what little loot they had taken included a bale of patterned cotton, tiny blue flowers on white. This she used to make Sulitea a dress to replace the rugs and furs that covered her chest and the absurd pantalettes, much to the disappointment of the crew. Aisla contented herself with her harness and a short woollen tunic that left her arms and legs completely free. It also meant that she only had to bend marginally to show her bottom, which led to several rough and hurried sexual encounters.

Sulitea, meanwhile, became ever more obsessed with the workbook, to the discomfort of the men and also Aisla. To keep order Jairoth banned her from attempting magic while on the Dog, but declined to throw the book into the sea when Sulitea explained that it contained worthwhile information on the healing of wounds. Aisla alone knew that her friend was not merely studying harmless charms but attempting to learn how to summon, yet kept the secret out of loyalty and a conviction that Sulitea was unlikely to succeed.

By the time they reached the mountainous peninsula that marked the end of the Aprayan mainland, Aisla had run out of troll sperm. Determined to restock, she suggested a hunting trip to make a change from their diet of fish, kale and looted foodstuffs. Jairoth seized on the idea immediately and had the men draw lots to accompany him. Aisla was obliged to take her turn, but won.

The land ended in two spurs of a great mountain, enclosing a bay in which the Dog rode at anchor. Trees started immediately behind the rocky shore and rose in a great sweep to the summit. Jairoth ordered the band, instructing them to climb high onto the mountainside as silently as possible and then descend, beating the foliage as they went. What game they flushed would then be trapped between the headlands of the bay on the open shore, where they stood a better chance of a kill than in the dense forest. He finished his instructions with a joke, saying that they had better not climb too high in case they accidentally flushed a troll. Aisla smiled to herself at the joke, sure that any trolls in the vicinity would be otherwise engaged.

They climbed for well over an hour, pushing up first through a dense undergrowth between massive oaks and coffinwoods, then through more open woodland and at last to open rocky ground between cedars and giant sequacia. Jairoth ordered the line to spread out, but Aisla doubled back as soon as the others were out of sight, continuing to climb until she reached the top of the mountain. The summit was a broken area of jagged pinnacles and deep chasms, richly grown with vegetation, rowan, black sequacia, gall oak. Aisla sniffed the air, seeking the scent of troll musk.

Something was evident, and with a mixture of trepidation and enthusiasm she began to search. The scent became stronger as she pushed down among the trees, yet it was somehow strange, and as she reached the edge of a large pond she realised why. A troll sat by the pool, but not a male, as was evident from the pair of solid breasts and the rounded shape of the hips. Aisla backed carefully, not knowing if a female troll might see her as a rival or a threat, but certain she would not be thought of as a mate.

The troll looked up, right into her eyes, then rose. Aisla moved back more swiftly, only to stop and turn at a sound. Behind her two troll cubs stood beside a gall oak, no taller than her but perhaps twice her weight. With no way to escape, Aisla slowly put down her axe and got into a crouch, praying that the submissive posture would defuse any aggression from the female. She was trembling with fear, then more so as the female caught her by her hair and pulled her in. The cubs crowded close as the female sat on a rounded boulder.

Aisla was taken about the waist and held down firmly, bottom towards the cubs. For one moment she thought the mother troll was going to spank her, a concept that seemed ludicrous even in her terror. Then her legs had been pulled apart and her harness twitched to one side, exposing her sex to the cubs. She heard one grunt, then something touched her vagina, the fat, round head of a cock. Despite herself she moaned as she filled, then the cub’s hands had taken her hips and she was being fucked, still held by the mother troll as she taught her cub what to do with a human girl. It was easier to take than the great male who had caught her in the mountains, but she was still quickly breathless.

The cub came in no time, filling her vagina with sperm, only to be replaced by his sibling before she had properly got her breath back. Again she was fucked firmly and quickly, the cub coming deep in her after no more than a few dozen pushes. Her fear increased once more as he pulled out, but the female simply dumped her to the ground and ambled off, the cubs following.

Aisla got up, shaking hard but triumphant as she walked back to the open moutainside, only to remember that the troll cubs had shown no anger at the invasion of their territory and so could hardly be considered enraged. It also seemed unlikely that their sperm would have the same power as that of a full grown bull male. Furthermore, now that the danger had passed, the experience of being so casually used was beginning to have its effect on her. Intent on a test, she licked up a little sperm as she transferred it to a vial, then took a chew on her harness. The effect came, but weakly, with neither the rage nor the absolute confidence she had known before. Clearly she needed to seek out a more virile troll. Somewhere, she reasoned, must be the father of the cubs, yet for all she knew he might live on the next mountain.

Glancing down towards the bay, she could find no sign of the Aeg, save those few visible on the deck of the distant Dog. Movement caught her eye, not on the shore, but closer, among the trees, something was moving, something large. A lump of expectation rose in her throat as she started down the slope. Her target was hard to see, a dark bulk among a tangle of rowan. Yet it was upright and too big to be a man, and from the movement appeared to be eating, suggesting a troll browsing on leaves.