Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition (22 page)

"What
a wonderful gift you give me! Your first time; so very, very
special." She softly pressed her lips to Heather's once more,
before smiling, looking up at the rain, lifting one hand to it, then
back to Heather. "Then let this be your baptism sweet woman.
Your baptism of love."

Her
lips moved back to Heather's this time, firmly, demandingly, her
tongue asking and gaining entry of Heather's mouth. Her hands roaming
and caressing all over Heather's burning skin. Her touch created a
fire in Heather that even the rain could not quell. In fact the
opposite, the feeling of the rain on her skin freed her, released her
from her old life. Yes, she thought. Yes. A baptism.

The
girl's mouth was moving over Heather's face, down her neck, her
throat, to a place at the base of her throat that turned her legs to
jelly. As the girl's mouth moved to Heather's breasts, kissing over
the soft roundness, but avoiding the nipples, the older woman's
breath was held gasping in her throat in anticipation of the feel of
those lips on her nipples.

Hands
moved around her, behind her; fingers slid inside the waist of her
trousers, inside her panties, caressing her hips, making her shudder.
Lips moved closer and closer to a nipple, as Heather writhed and
whimpered. She wanted those lips on her; she wanted them so badly.

The
girl whispered against Heather's skin, "Patience, sweet one,
patience." Her hands moved to the front of Heather's trousers,
released the clasp, and zipper, and with little preamble pushed them
down and off Heather's hips.

Heather
was shaking now, partly with fear, mostly with anticipation. She had
never felt this way, this alive, this on fire, in her life. The lips
finally moved and gently, so tenderly encircled one hard, hard
nipple, and sucked.

The
sound that escaped from Heather's mouth was unlike any sound she had
ever made before. A cry of passion, of desire, of need. As her back
arched, her hands moved to hold those lips to her, not wanting them
to leave.

The
girl's hands moved inside Heather's panties, easing them off her
hips, moving down her skin as she removed them. She released
Heather's nipple as her mouth set off on a downwards path making
Heather groan. Down her ribs, across her sides, lingering over her
navel, nails dragging over her soft, trembling belly. Heather was
whimpering and moaning, her mind almost unable to make sense of the
feelings surging through her body, the reactions to so many different
touches. She felt hands pushing her trousers and panties to her
ankles, urging her to lift her legs, and suddenly they were gone.
Everything that had been before, had gone.

With
a sudden clarity, she realised she was standing naked, in a wood, in
a rainstorm, being loved, caressed, seduced by a beautiful stranger.
And she was loving every single moment of it. Wanted it, craved it.
This was the Heather she had always wanted to be, the Heather that
had hidden inside her for so long. Just as she realised this, the
girl's lips dropped lower into Heather's curls, her hands encircling
Heather's hips, pulling her against that soft, but demanding mouth.

"Oh
god! Oh god, yes. Yes. Please, yes."

She
heard herself say the words, cry the words, but had no idea she could
even feel this way. The girl's mouth moved lower, her shoulders eased
against Heather's thighs, urging them apart. Without a second
thought, Heather moved, opened herself up, felt the cool air, the
even cooler rain, on her inflamed tissues, and then the intense heat
of the girl's mouth all at the same time.

The
effect was a strangled cry torn from Heather's throat. No words, just
sounds, as she felt that tongue, those lips, move on her, rousing
her, inflaming her. She felt the fire moving from that spot to engulf
her whole body. She felt the girl's fingers spreading over her
cheeks, squeezing them, pulling Heather hard against her face, as she
filled the silky warmth for the first time with her tongue, plunging
deeply into her soft sweetness. The pleasure was almost more than
Heather could bear.

"Oh
god, please, please, please" she begged, although she had no
idea what she was begging for. And then suddenly she knew. The girl's
lips had closed over her hard centre, and her tongue was flicking
rhythmically over it.

The
feeling was so intense, so unlike anything she had ever felt before,
Heather did the only thing she could. She screamed. And as her hips
surged back and forth against the girl's face, as her own juices
added to the rain running down her legs, her scream of release echoed
all around the trees, reverberating through the branches. She
clutched her hands to the girl's shoulders, gripping tightly, as the
pleasure rippled through her body, tightening every muscle, every
sinew, hardening even more her already hard nipples, arching her
back.

Gradually,
the waves of pleasure slowed—and flattened.

Gradually,
Heather remembered to breathe.

Gradually,
the girl's tongue and lips slowed and stopped.

Gradually,
the girl's hands began to move, gently caressingly over Heather's
tingling, sensitive skin, making her shudder again.

Gradually,
Heather's grip on the girl's shoulders lessened, and her fingers
moved to touch the head lying against Heather's belly.

Then
clarity returned. A different clarity. The clarity that comes from a
new perspective. Heather reached for the girl, drew her up to her.
They stood encircled in each other's arms, leaning against the tree,
the rain slowing, a gentle showering now drifting over their soaked
bodies, just like the gentle showering still present between
Heather's legs.

The
girl lifted her head to look into Heather's green eyes, now so soft
and fearless. The fire she had seen earlier was now a gentle flame,
where it had been an inferno, but still smouldering, ready to burst
again. She began to speak, but Heather quickly placed one hand on her
seducer's lips, and gently shook her head.

This
was not the time for words; that would come later. For now, it was
enough to hear the sound of the rain, as it played against the
leaves, the branches, their bodies.

The
sound of a new beginning.

The
echo of a baptism.

~
~ ~ ~

Curiosity
is not becoming, Kajira

©
Alex de Kok

[AUTHOR'S
NOTE:
This story is set on the fictional world of Gor, created by
author John Norman. I trust that I haven't taken too many liberties
with his world. While the world is his creation, the story is mine
.]

*
* * *

I
could smell the smoke from more than a pasang away. Aye, and see it
clearly as I made my cautious way through the gorge, my sword in my
hand. There were bodies sprawled in that slack way that only death
brings, eight of them that I could see. Two high tharlarion were also
dead. The draft tharlarion that had been drawing the wagons were
nowhere in sight. Nor was there any sign of the light wagon in which
the women were to travel. Nothing moved except the scavengers, moving
down cautiously towards the bodies.

The
other, heavy, wagon was burning. This was the source of the smoke. I
had little doubt that anything valuable would have been removed by
the raiders before it was fired. A movement caught my eye and I
turned, my sword ready. One of the guards, one who I had thought
dead, was pushing himself slowly to his knees. I went towards him and
he groped for his sword, hatred etching his features. He was young,
not long out of his teens, and I realised he thought I was one of the
raiders. He was on his feet now and made a clumsy swing at me. I let
him live, disarming him easily. It was an honest mistake on his part.
My helmet bore no crest, my shield no insignia.

"Kill
me, or I will slay you," he said, his voice hoarse with pain.

I
looked at him. "Why should I want to kill you? I am not your
enemy."

"You're
one of the raiders!"

I
shook my head. "No. Do you not remember, your party passed me on
the road, yesterday."

He
stared at me for a moment, then relaxed, nodding wearily. "Yes,
I recognise you now. You talked to my captain."

"I
did. He said you rode to provide escort for a Lady returning home
from a visit." I looked around. "How many were of the
guard?"

"Eleven,
including the captain."

"I
count only seven bodies. With you, that leaves four. Where are the
others?"

He
shook his head. "I know not. Prisoner, perhaps." He looked
around, then at me. "There are no other bodies?"

"None
that I could see. Who is missing?"

"My
captain, Claudius Flavius. The others, recent recruits. Competent
warriors, but not friendly."

"How
long had they been with you?"

"Only
a week or two. They only joined the escort because two of the others
were ill. The captain likes to have ten men in an escort for the Lady
Allina." A look of despair crossed his face. "They have
her, the raiders. Her and her cousin, the Lady Melna."

"How
old?"

"Nineteen,
both. We have to go after them!"

"You,
my friend, are in no fit state to travel."

"I
am! This blood is not mine. I think I was knocked unconscious by a
blow. The raiders left me, thinking me dead."

I
looked at him, realising that what he said was probably true. There
was a nasty gash on his head which had bled freely, so that his face
was covered in blood. His tunic too, but that was, as he said, the
blood of others.

"Take
anything of value from the bodies," I said. "There may be
keepsakes for their families. Then we shall throw the bodies onto the
fire. The wagon will be their funeral pyre. When we have done right
by the dead, we shall follow the raiders."

"You
ally yourself with me in this?" said the young warrior.

"For
now, yes, I do."

"I
am Tullius," he said. "You?"

"Han
Lero."

"Tal,
Rarius," he said. Greetings, warrior.

"Tal."

It
was an hour before we took up the trail. Easy to follow, for there
had been no other traffic. Tullius was young, fit, and the blow he
had sustained seemed not to affect him. We made good time, in the
measured pace of the warrior, alternately trotting, then walking, the
pace that can run down a tharlarion. We travelled light, sword and
spear, shield and helmet, some dried meat in our pouches, chewing as
we travelled, drinking from streams.

It
was near dark when we spotted where the wagon had turned off the
trail. There were tharlarion droppings and I checked them. Tullius
raised his eyebrows.

"Not
more than an ahn old," I said. "They must need make camp
soon. Be on your guard, it will not be far."

We
moved more cautiously now, wary. As well we did, for we spotted the
three tarns before their riders could see us, Tullius and I taking
cover in a copse of trees. The leading tarn had a carrying basket and
they came to ground just over the rise before us. We made our way
carefully forward, cresting the rise in a crouch under cover of some
bushes. There was a clearing before us and the Lady Allina's wagon
was there, and tharlarion, both high and draft. Figures moved about,
and we could see, to one side, three more, on their knees, who seemed
to be restrained.

"We
need to be closer," Tullius murmured.

I
nodded. "Be quiet."

We
inched closer. The three restrained figures were at the edge of the
camp, no-one near them. It was not difficult to see why, as all three
were shackled, to a length of chain fastened through rings on the
wagon. Their bonds were fitted so that none of them could move closer
than a handspan of the others. Two were female, in the voluminous
garments of the free woman, and a warrior, in a torn and bloodied
tunic. The women had been face-stripped, their veils ripped from
them, their gloves removed so that the steel bracelets would be next
their skin, so that they could feel the restraints against their
flesh. This is done so that they may feel the incipient beginnings of
their slavery.

Tullius
nudged me. "Claudius Flavius," he murmured. "The
others are the Ladies Allina and Melna."

"Which
is which?" I asked.