Captive (20 page)

‘You may rely on it,’ Sulitea assured her.

Aisla prepared herself, discarding her harness, washing from a basin and jug, combing out her hair with her fingers. Stark naked except for her boots, she left Sulitea and went down stairs, already with a big lump in her throat. Mojal led her into the back room, a plain, low ceilinged space with a bare plank floor and simple benches at the sides. Mojal left, only to be replaced moments later by a squat halfling, red-faced and smelling of both beer and fish.

With a resigned sigh Aisla took his coin and got down on her knees. He pulled up his smock and sat down, presenting her with his thick, heavily hooded cock. She leant forward and took it in, sucking quickly to get rid of the taste of fish. When he reached down to scoop up her breasts in his hands she let him, sucking harder and with more enthusiasm as the rough skin of his fingers brought her nipples to erection. He came in her mouth in barely twice the time it took to get him erect and she swallowed dutifully, then sat back on her haunches to find that a queue had formed and several men had watched her sucking.

She set to work, sucking off one man after another and making a little pile of the coins she collected until her lips were sore and her mouth was thick with the taste of sperm, dirt and fish. Most of those who finished stayed to watch their companions sucked, placing small bets on how quickly each would come.

Only when all the locals had enjoyed her and the man Naithal and his companions appeared did she start to lose control of the situation. He let her suck him hard, only to demand a fuck in return for a second weight of iron. Aisla, with sore lips and turned on despite herself, agreed and bent across the bench to allow him to take her from the rear. He was quick, holding her by her breasts as he fucked her with short, firm pushes that set his belly slapping against her bottom as if she was being spanked. The motion increased her lust, and after he had come over her naked buttocks she found herself in need of more.

Her offer was accepted, several men paying two weights to fuck her, always in the same position, until her vagina was dripping male come and her own juice onto the floor. Her breasts felt big and swollen from so much attention, her nipples hard, sensitive buds. With the fifth man inside her she gave in to her need and masturbated as he fucked her, coming to the delighted claps and catcalls of her audience.

Seeing that she was willing, they began to crowd in on her, demanding to know why they should pay when she was getting as much pleasure as they. Aisla, ignorant of the concept of prostitution, could find no answer and soon had a cock inside her for which no iron had been paid. The moment the man had come in her a argument started, those who had paid demanding their money back and those who were still to come laughing them down.

Only the appearance of Mojal himself prevented the customers from coming to blows. Raising his hands for quiet, he declared that all might have their money back so long as they bought more beer and Aisla was common property, for the use of all. Too far gone to protest, she stuck up her bottom and was quickly mounted while another man pushed his cock into her mouth. Even as she was fucked she heard someone call that she was the one responsible for the argument and what had nearly become a fight. Others agreed and Naithal suggested that she should be punished, a cry that was taken up with enthusiasm.

‘Stuff her cunt with pepper-leaf,’ a fisherman suggested.

‘And how then would we fuck her afterwards?’ another objected. ‘Better to rope her breasts and hang her from the beams, low enough to be used at leisure.’

‘We put a wench like that only last week,’ one of Naithal’s men protested, ‘some haughty slut who thought herself too good for us. I say we take this one into the latrine and tie her in the trough!’

‘Yes,’ one called. ‘Into the latrine with her, she’ll make a fine piss-bucket!’

.No,’ another yelled, ‘to the pump! Mojal has a hose and we can flush her dirt box and see her spray!’

Unanimous laughter greeted the filthy suggestion, and Aisla found herself being dragged outside. Her half-serious protests were ignored as she was taken to the yard pump and tied to it by her neck, tight, so that her face was near the ground but her bottom was up high. They formed a ring, watching in delight and calling out obscenities as Mojal fixed a thick tube of woven and tarred reed to the pump.

Her buttocks were held open and some stinking fish grease applied to her bottom ring, then the tip of the hose. Aisla could not restrain a moan as the wide tube was fed up her rectum, straining her ring out like the largest of cocks. With a good hand’s length of hose up her bottom, Mojal stepped to the pump and pulled hard on the handle. Aisla gasped as freezing water gushed into her rectum, then cried out as her gut filled and her belly swelled. A gale of laughter greeted her reaction, the men slapping their thighs or leaning on one another, helpless with mirth at the sight of her, red with humiliation in her foolish posture.

‘Fill her up, Mojal!’ on called. ‘A weight says her stream will hit the wall!’

‘Two says it hits us, the way she’s writhing!’ another cackled.

‘Hold her waist, Mojal, or it’ll go through the window and into the soup vat!’

‘All the better for the flavour! Flush her Mojal, a girl as tall as her can take two presses!’

Mojal depressed the handle again and once more the cold fluid spurted into Aisla’s gut, which at once seemed to bloat and stretch, making a hard, round ball of her belly. Jumping on her toes and kicking her feet, she struggled to contain the awful feelings in her bowels, her efforts drawing yet more laughter from the audience. Tears had begun to start in her eyes, yet there was a hot, wet trickle of fluid running down one thigh that had nothing to do with the water in her rectum. Knowing that the abuse was exciting her just made it worse and she let out a long, hollow moan of misery and frustration.

Then Mojal had the hose in his hand and it was coming out, drawn slowly from her ring to leave her panting, frantically squeezing her buttocks and bottom ring to keep the fluid inside, anything to stop herself from squirting. She knew that to let go would give her audience the final pleasure and herself the final humiliation, yet it was hopeless, even though she had the strength to hold it in her mind betrayed her. With a long sigh and a curse for her own lust, she gave in, coming up on tiptoe, her knees together, her lower legs cocked apart, a posture she knew would make her appearance yet more ludicrous. She shut her eyes in an agony of humiliation as her bottom erupted, spraying water out in a long arc to the sound of the men’s laughter, jeers and catcalls. The stream splashed on the wall, high up, causing awed exclamations and demands for payment of bets, then it was dying, spraying the ground behind her and ending with a wet dribble over her tuppenny and down her thighs. Aisla sighed, a long, ecstatic sound drawn from the blissful sensation of emptying her bowels. Unable to hold herself she reached back, found her soggy sex and started to rub herself, masturbating in a welter of humiliation, determined that her audience should see exactly what she was like.

‘She enjoyed it!’ someone exclaimed. ‘What a slut!’

‘I’m going to bugger her, here and now!’ another added.

Aisla stuck her bottom up, happily inviting sodomy, keen to come with a cock in her rectum, her vagina, or anywhere else they chose to use.

‘Hold hard boys,’ Mojal declared. ‘I shall show you a handy trick to enliven a reluctant slut.’

‘Reluctant she’s not!’ one answered.

‘It’ll do her good, just the same,’ Mojal answered. ‘Hold her, and push her arse high, as if she were making a drinking glass of her cunt.’

Aisla continued to masturbate as eager hands took her legs and pushed them forwards, forcing her bottom up still higher until her twin holes were pointed at the sky. Between her legs she could see them beyond the swinging globes of her breasts, gloating over her helpless body. She slowed her masturbation to a gentle, teasing stroking, keen to hold back and so take the full, awful pleasure in whatever new torture or humiliation they intended.

Mojal quickly returned, with a large beer bottle and a copper funnel. More fish grease was applied to her anus, Mojal sticking a finger deep into her chamber. The funnel followed, pushed well up until her ring was straining on the hard copper. She clamped her hole on it, holding it up obligingly for her own degradation.

She watched it all as they held her tight, the funnel protruding skywards from her anus. Mojal took the beer bottle, and, making very sure that she could see, began to pour it into the funnel. Aisla felt the cold beer as it touched the hot flesh of her rectum, then the same obscene bloating feeling she had had with the enema, only worse as it bubbled inside her.

Then the alcohol hit her, drawn straight in through the absorbent wall of her gut with nothing to slow it and she realised the full wickedness of what was being done to her. In moments her head was swimming, her feelings becoming ever more lewd as she became drunk with extraordinary speed. She began to rub harder at her sex, then to beg for cocks, in her vagina, in her mouth, up her beer filled bottom.

The last of the beer trickled into her rectum and she thought her pleas were to be answered as Mojal took hold of the funnel. Instead he took a fat cork from his pocket and quickly plugged her anus, popping it into the tight hole the instant the funnel had been withdrawn. They let go of her and Aisla’s legs began to slip apart, the beer sloshing in her gut as she slumped drunkenly to the ground, still masturbating.

She came, screaming in pleasure and clutching over and over at her sex. The cork shot from her bottom, followed by a great spray of beer as she emptied the contents of her bottom behind her. Too late they began to respond to her demands to for sex. She was entered, in her sodden vagina. A man thrust his penis into her mouth, fucking her head with his hand twisted hard into her hair. Again and again she was used, without ever being given a chance to recover herself. Cocks went into her mouth, her vagina, her anus, her hands, even her armpits, leaving her sticky and slimy with sperm. Mojal went last, up her bottom with his fat belly slapping on her cheeks as he buggered her. He came, made her suck his penis and then washed her down from the pump before untying her.

Aisla returned to the inn, weak kneed and thoroughly drunk, although not a drop had passed her lips. She was staggering as she mounted the stairs. Despite her orgasms she felt thoroughly used, which having spared Sulitea further degradation only went so far to soften. Deciding that making Sulitea lick her bottom would do a great deal to improve her mood, she knocked on the door of their room. There was no response, only a strange, rhythmic noise, and when she tried the handle the door swung open.

Sulitea lay on the bed, nude from the waist down, with the pot-boy mounted between her thighs and puffing away energetically as he fucked her. Her thighs were up and open, her face set in rapture, destroying any possibility that she had been taken unawares. For a moment Aisla looked on in astonishment and then her temper snapped completely.

Snatching at the pot-boy’s belt, she dragged him backwards and hurled him to the floor. For a moment the gaping hole of Sulitea’s vagina was visible before she squealed in shock and quickly shut her thighs. The pot-boy had landed hard on the floor and began to protest, only to catch sight of Aisla’s face and change his mind. Scrambling to his feet, he fled with his trousers clutched in a fist.

Aisla tore at the startled Sulitea’s dress, ripping bodice and chemise to let her breasts bounce free. Sulitea squeaked, then again, louder as Aisla’s hand smacked down on her face. Grabbing the thick wedge of cheese the pot boy had brought, Aisla stuffed it into Sulitea’s open mouth, stifling her attempts at protest. Smacking over and over, applying her palm to Sulitea’s body with her full force, Aisla took out her anger.

Only when Sulitea’s struggles began to subside did Aisla’s stop. Sulitea’ face, breasts and thighs were covered in blotchy pink marks, with her skin scratched in several places were Aisla’s nails had caught her. Her mouth was full of cheese, yet her breathing was deep and regular, making her smacked breasts rise and fall in time. Her thighs were open, her tuppenny glistening with juice.

With a frustrated grunt Aisla pulled the cheese from Sulitea’s mouth. No resistance was given as Aisla straddled Sulitea’s head, nor when she released the full contents of her bladder into her friend’s mouth.

The next morning Aisla woke to a sore body and cloudy head. Sulitea was cuddled against her, but came awake as Aisla moved. Without a word they washed and made themselves as presentable as possible. Sulitea’s dress was ruined beyond repair, a torn, urine sodden rag, her chemise little better. Only the pantalettes could be worn again, having been removed before the fight. Sulitea put them on as Aisla dressed in the harness, leaving herself topless. Taking pity, Aisla cut a crude poncho from one of the blankets that had escaped wetting, which Sulitea put on to create an effect ridiculous if not actually indecent.

Downstairs the inn was as quiet as it had been boisterous the previous night. Only Mojal himself was present, wiping the counter with a filthy cloth. Aisla gave him a nod, to which he replied with a knowing leer, then a chuckle as he saw how Sulitea was dressed. The girls took no notice.

‘A moment,’ Mojal remarked as Aisla made to open the door.

‘Yes?’ she answered, expecting him to demand a final session of cock sucking or worse.

‘As you have given without stinting,’ he said quietly, ‘and allowed my, shall we say, personal indulgence, I will say this much. You performed well last night, perhaps too well. Naithal and his men will be waiting for you along the trail to Aponan. He has also posted men in the forest behind here. They will put you in sacks and take you south, where they intend to sell you as slaves.’

‘Slaves!’ Sulitea exclaimed in utter horror.

‘Slaves,’ Mojal repeated, ‘perhaps not a fate much different to last night’s little games, but with no pay and no choice.’

‘Never!’ Sulitea spat.