Princess (8 page)

Her teeth gritted, her eyes tight shut, she fought against the urge to rub herself. Outside there was still the raucous sound of male voices, raised in mock argument, and laughter, and suddenly a new voice, genuinely angry. Nuidan responded, his tone derisive, challenging, and Iriel's mouth curved up into a happy smile as she pushed herself firmly back against the cock wedged deep into her body.

Bages had her by the hips, his hard belly slapping on her bottom as he fucked her, his cock squelching in her sopping hole. It felt wonderful, a fighting man, perhaps not ravishing her as his prize, but taking his pleasure up her hole as reward for his courage. She reached back, struggling to keep her balance, braced with her legs and one arm as she was fucked, her hand now on her tuppenny, rubbing in the juicy, jism sodden folds. He cried out, and he had come, hot jism splashing on Iriel's hand as it squirted from her hole. She snatched at it, slapping the sticky, slimy handful to her tuppenny, rubbing harder, then slowing as he withdrew, teasing herself and listening.

Outside there were angry voices, Taepenk, deep and loud, Meles, mocking, Nuidan, petulant. Bages spoke, then laughed, a braying, arrogant sound. Taepenk responded, threatening to call the watch. Iriel bit back a sob of frustration. She was still rubbing, at the edge of orgasm, wanting cock so badly, yet also the climax she needed, to one man as the others fought for the right to take her.

It was too much. Her senses slipped, the voices outside no longer clear but a jumble of sounds as she started to rub firmly at her tuppenny, smearing the jism up between her lips and over her mound, rubbing at the little tight bump at the very centre of everything. Footsteps sounded once more, directly behind her, hurried, but she was already coming, gasping out her ecstasy, but forcing herself to slow, and to speak.

‘Put it in… fuck me… now… hard.'

‘Enough of that, you dirty whore!' a voice snapped from behind her, Taepenk's, and she was taken, whirled around, to lose her balance and sit down heavily on the in the puddle of jism and juice beneath her.

She looked up, astonished, but so close to orgasm that she could not stop herself from spreading her thighs to the man above her. His words hadn't penetrated, only the thought that if he had overcome five young men and was now going to ravish her as his prize it would be better still. Her hand went to her tuppenny and she began to rub, expecting to be taken at any moment.

‘Get up!' Taepenk snarled. ‘If that's how you wish to earn your keep, go to the House of Cunt and pay your half like any other!'

Iriel paused, her hand poised over her tuppenny. Her every instinct told her to rub, to bring herself to her desperately needed climax, but what he was saying had begun to sink in. She stopped and spoke.

‘Aren't… aren't you going to have me? I am yours, spoils to your victory. Fuck me… come in me, as is your right.'

‘Don't think to come the slut with me,' he answered. ‘I know every one of your whore's tricks. Out.'

‘No… I…' Iriel managed, utterly confused and also rejected. ‘Don't you want me?'

He merely grunted and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

‘The watch is coming. Now out, or you'll get a taste of Madame Hivies' lash.'

‘The Watch are coming? My friends will fight them…'

She broke off, wondering where Luides and the others were. Their voices could no longer be heard, and they had all too obviously failed to resist Taepenk, an unarmed, middle-aged tavern keeper. He was looking puzzled, then answered her.

‘Fight? Nuidan and his mob? They'd not dare fight with a one-legged washerwoman!'

‘But… but, he has shown great prowess. He fought to ravish some girls… with a watchman… one Cound.'

‘Cound!? Nuidan fight with Twelveman Cound!'

Taepenk broke off in loud laughter. Iriel covered herself, her emotions turning to anger and shame as she rose. She realised she had been tricked from the first, skilfully brought on heat and used for fucking, not a bad way to surrender, but something that left her emotions burning without the prospect of the climax she should have taken in reward for her surrender.

Struggling not to pout, she walked from the piss house. None of the five men she had been with were visible, confirming that they had fled. Two watchmen were though, small but solidly built men in the green and gold of House Eriedes. One was talking to the old man who had witnessed her fucking. He spoke and they turned towards her, faces set in amusement.

Iriel licked her lips in suddenly renewed excitement. Now it was plain. They would treat her as she deserved, as High-Prince Nerengarian's men did with unruly girls in the streets of Aegerion, overcome, generally spanked, always fucked, the harder they fought the better the ultimate outcome. She would fight too, hard, but not too hard. They would overcome her, ravish her then and there, holding her down as they took turns to fuck her, not the perfection of being overcome by one powerful adversary, but the best she could expect among pygmies…

She hurled herself forward, screaming, her teeth gritted. The first man went down as her fist drove into his throat, taken completely by surprise, the second staggering as she kicked out at his legs, to trip and fall backwards across table, spilling beer and food alike.

For a moment she was free, taken back by the effectiveness of her attack. The arch to the compound was empty, just paces away, but she hesitated, still wanting to be ravished, her new found delight in her body overcoming the urge to run. The second watchman rose from among the debris on the ground, then the other, clutching at his neck and coughing. Iriel stood back, ready, but determined not to fight quite so hard.

Neither approached, while the customers had either fled or were flattened against the walls of the compound, Taepenk also. The watchmen drew swords, cautiously. Iriel snatched up two of the meat knives from a table beside her. Neither man came forward, but the one who could still breath properly blew two shrill notes on a whistle, answered moments later by the sound of running feet.

Iriel's pride swelled as a second pair of watchmen appeared at the gate, then further as more appeared, pushing in. One, senior to judge by the golden rings on his sleeves, pushed forward as the others formed a ring of steel around her. She braced herself, suddenly alarmed that their intention might go beyond the sexual. At the thought a voice came to her, urging her to die well, and she screamed and hurled herself at the leader, only to run full tilt into his expertly thrown net.

A moment later she was helpless, cords twisted tight around her body, the knives useless in her hands, yet still fighting, and demanding loudly to be fucked as she was pulled from the compound.

Chapter Three – The House of Cunt

Iriel awoke to brilliant sunlight, dry heat and a sour, spicy reek, all unfamiliar. For one brief instant there was confusion, and then she had remembered the fight in the tavern, being dragged through the streets in the net and dumped into a cell somewhere beneath the citadel. Fear rose up with her memory, and a sharp pang of homesickness.

She pulled herself into a sitting position, groaning at the sudden ache of her body, and also at the pain in her head. Briefly, she said a prayer to her father, finding the strength to take stock of her situation. Her clothes were torn and dirty, but still on, her body bruised and stiff, but she not been ravished. Her hands were tied in front of her, making it impossible to cover her breasts. She felt sticky and dry, also desperately thirsty, while there was a foul taste in her mouth. The cell was high and narrow, completely bare, the single window maybe three man heights above her head, and barred. A low door of iron gridwork opened onto a dusty corridor. The walls were rough yellow stone, carved in many places with the curling Oretean script. A wide brimmed earthenware pot and a jug stood in one corner.

The jug was full of water, warm and stale, but infinitely welcome. Taking hold with some difficulty, she drank, splashed a little on her face and drank again, then sat back against the wall, trying to think. Quite clearly she had done something wrong, but it was hard to be sure exactly what. The watchmen seemed to have resented her challenge, and rather than simply ravishing her for her insolence, as any normal male would have done, they had treated her with an odd mixture of contempt and respect, more as if she'd been a dangerous animal than a girl. Then there was Taepenk, who not unreasonably objected to disturbance in his tavern, but also seemed to resent her making herself available for sex, despite her offer to him. Possibly he, like Kantch the carpenter, preferred boys, otherwise it made no sense.

On the ship Aeisla had lectured them about the different customs of the Oreteans, as had Captain Baltrank. She had paid little attention, assuming that aside from differences in the laws, people would behave much as they always did. Evidently this was not the case, and her apprehension grew sharper as she realised that she had absolutely no idea what to expect. In Aegerion, any rowdy girl who challenged two guards could expect to be laughed at, roundly fucked and then left. Certainly she would not be thrown in a cell, although persistent offenders had been known to be put in the pillory where their excess wantonness could be taken out of them. In Staive Cintes she had been thrown in a cell, and might await anything, whipping, tattooing, dunging, some other, less familiar punishment…

She was still trying to tell herself that whatever her crimes they could hardly be serious enough to warrant a sentence of death when she heard footsteps and voices. Two watchmen appeared, one carrying a net, the other a trident. Iriel stood, doing her best to hold a dignified pose as the door was unlocked, both men eyeing her warily.

‘There will be no need for a net,' she stated.

The answer was a sceptical grunt from the man with the trident as he entered the cell, crouched low, his eyes on her face. Iriel stayed still. The netman entered, scuttling crabwise to one side, his face set in concentration, his tongue protruding from one corner of his mouth. He threw the net, engulfing her, yet keeping a cord in hand, which he pulled tight, trapping her knees. Iriel squealed, nearly losing her balance, then again as the man with the trident prodded her bottom, ordering her out.

She went, led by the cord with the trident man behind her providing an occasional prod of encouragement. The passage was dim, and lined with cells much like her own, some empty, some with occupants, sullen or raucous, one or two pleading with the watchmen, more hurling insults or making obscene suggestions. All were ignored, Iriel being taken past and up one flight of steps, then another, to a wider corridor in which a number of people were gathered, watchmen, typical Oreteans in their loose trousers and open jackets, others in elaborate robes. A few spared her curious glances, nothing more. She was taken to a bench and sat down between the watchmen, still confined in her net and wishing she had tired to use the pot in her cell.

Time passed, people came and went, often through a pair of tall, elaborately carved doors some way down the passage. Twice she attempted to make conversation, but one watchman would answer only with surly grunts, the other not at all. When her bladder began to hurt she asked to be allowed to pee, but was met with a snort of contempt. Finally a man signalled them and she was led towards the double doors.

Within was a high chamber, unfurnished but for a dais at one end on which rested a high-backed chair painted in green and gold, in which an elderly man in an emerald rode sat with his hands folded in his lap. Another man, also elderly but bald and in a robe edged with green, stood beside the chair, a sheaf of charta in one hand. Four watchmen stood around the dais, big men by Oretean standards, each with rings on the sleeves of his tunic and armed with a sword. The halls of highborn Aeg families looked similar, and Iriel attempted a curtsey, sure that she was in the presence of the head of the House Eriedes. He gave her a glance of mild curiosity. The bald man spoke.

‘This is the girl Iriel, Justice, one of the barbarians newly arrived on the carrack Gull of Cintes.'

The seated man frowned, then spoke.

‘Why did you not come to Oxtan's Yard, girl?'

‘I… I meant to,' Iriel answered. ‘I wished to eat and drink first.'

‘Why not at the yard? No matter. I am Eriedes Ghaidus, Justice here in Staive Cintes. As you are of foreign race, Iriel, and also barbarian, I am inclined to leniency. There was a disturbance of some kind, so I believe?'

His manner was mild and Iriel felt a touch of relief, only for it to die as the bald man spoke.

‘The charges are severe, Justice. Both Twelveman Cound and Madame Hivies call for the full penalties of law.'

‘What has Madame Hivies to do with this?' the Justice queried. ‘There was a brawl, as I understood it?'

‘Just so, Justice, but the watch were called as this girl whored in the piss house at Taepenk's. It later proved she had not registered, nor so much as approached Madame Hivies.'

‘Indeed? What then are the full charges?'

The bald man cleared his throat and held up a piece of charta.

‘The girl Iriel, an Aeg, is charged by Madame Hivies thus: the first, failure to register with the Association of Whores, thus the second, unlicensed whoring. The third, whoring in unlicensed premises, to wit, House Taepenk. The fourth, failure to charge Association rates. The fifth, failure to pay panderage. The sixth, failure to comply with the new panderage rate, the two-thirds take as established for new whores. We then come to those charges made by Twelveman Cound. The first, resistance to lawful arrest. The second, grievous battery to the persons of two watchmen.'

‘Serious indeed,' the Justice stated. ‘Do you have anything to say for yourself, Iriel?'

For a moment Iriel could only gape, then she had found her voice.

‘I am not a whore!'

‘You deny you took money for the erotic use of your body?' he demanded. ‘Be careful what you say, Iriel, there were witnesses, specifically, Yoides, brother to Clerk Loumank here.'

‘Just so,' Loumank confirmed.

‘No,' Iriel stated, ‘I do not deny that… that I fucked. I deny that I am a whore.'

‘You are married then?' Loumank queried, now with a laugh in his voice. ‘Certainly you are not married to five men!'

‘You are not a slave?' the Justice queried.

‘No!' Iriel responded in outrage.

The justice laughed. Iriel, blushing furiously and entirely confused, struggled to choose her words.

‘No, Lord Justice… no, I am not married, nor am I a slave. I… was a little drunk… they teased me into fucking, these five, but I took no money. In Aegmund this is not our custom.'

‘You are claiming that you allowed five men the use of your body and took no money?' the Justice demanded in disbelief.

‘Yes,' Iriel answered.

‘This is a self evident lie!' Loumank scoffed. ‘She is unmarried, yet free and she fucked with five men. Therefore she is a whore.'

‘To deny taking the money will avail you nothing, Iriel,' the Justice went on. ‘Indeed, the opposite. Loumank?'

‘I would need to consult Madame Hivies,' Loumank answered, ‘but I would anticipate further charges, an aggravation of her failure to charge Association rates at the least.'

‘I did not take any money,' Iriel said weakly.

Her bladder hurt badly, and she felt as if she was about to cry through sheer frustration. Steeling herself, she spoke again.

‘Lord Justice. I have broken the laws of your city, this I understand. I challenged the watchmen yes, but in the expectation of being overcome, unaware that they would be so weak and so slow. I took the five men into me also, but I asked no payment and I am not a whore. I do not even fully understand the term. I submit myself to your judgement, but beg leniency for my circumstances.'

‘A brave speech,' the Justice answered, ‘and yes, I can see that your ignorance…'

‘Neither ignorance nor stupidity are valid pleas, Justice,' Loumank put in.

‘Indeed not,' the Justice agreed, ‘yet I believe I retain my right to seek a balanced judgement?'

‘Just so,' Loumank answered quickly.

‘Then I shall do so. What do Madame Hivies and Twelveman Cound demand?'

Again Loumank cleared his throat before he began to read.

‘So that the accused may answer for the six charges brought by Madame Hivies, application is made for a fine of ten times the illicit earnings and to serve in the House of Cunt for one week at full take, thereafter at three-quarter take until such time as Madame Hivies judges her crimes to have been absolved. Also to be whipped. For those charges brought by Twelveman Cound, application is made that she be scourged, branded and suspended in a cage over the citadel gates, this last to serve as an example to others who seek to challenge civic authority. He also recommends that she be sold into slavery, thus preventing further nuisance, or else hung.'

Iriel wet herself, her bladder bursting to spray urine into her drawers. She barely noticed, the hot fluid running down her legs and into her boots, ignored as she stared, mouth wide at Loumank. For a long moment here was silence, broken only by the faint pattering of Iriel's piddle on the floor, then the Justice spoke.

‘Twelveman Cound must learn to ameliorate his demands, also to fit them to those of his seniors. How is she to serve in the House of Cunt while suspended in a cage, much less hung? No, his demands are excessive. Madame Hivies, by contrast, seems reasonable save in attempting to take the mantle of judgement on her own shoulders. What is the exact sum demanded as fine?'

‘Five men at exotic rate and free positioning of whore, thus nine marks of copper, by fivefold and tenfold,' Loumank stated. ‘Thus in total, thirty-seven silver marks, six copper.'

‘Do you have this sum, Iriel?' the Justice queried.

Iriel's answer was a weak sob. With the realisation that she was not to be hung or sold the shame of wetting herself had sunk in, creating a lump in her throat too big to allow her to swallow. She had finished, but her puddle had spread beneath her, sending a trickle of yellow fluid out from under her skirts and across the floor.

‘Speak up, girl!' Loumank demanded.

‘I… I have my pay,' Iriel managed miserably.

‘Hardly enough,' Loumank sniffed. ‘What, on a trader? Six coppers a day at best, for a month, so fifteen silver Marks at most.'

‘More, I think,' Iriel sniffed. ‘I have one gold piece, six silver.'

‘Eighteen silver then,' Loumank sniffed.

Iriel hung her head, defeated, watching downcast and struggling to hold back tears as a long ribbon of golden coloured pee snaked out towards the dais. The Justice chuckled, then spoke again.

‘Thus and so, I judge that Iriel be sent to the House of Cunt, where she is to register as a whore. For one week she will work at full rate to the House but be provided food and shelter, thus settling her debt to Madame Hivies. She is to be treated no more cruelly than her behaviour demands. She is also fined thirty silver Marks to the civic authority, the balance above what she owes to be made up as seems appropriate.'

‘I… I am to be made a whore?' Iriel asked.

‘You are already a whore,' the Justice answered, ‘as are all women who take men into themselves outside of sacred union.'

‘No…,' she managed. ‘I… How can I be punished so cruelly, for falling victim to a lewd trick?'

‘Punishment?' the Justice queried. ‘That is not your punishment, but merely the means of your recompense to those you have wronged, and so that you may pay for the dispensation of justice to you.'

‘Pay?' Iriel asked. ‘I must pay to be judged and sentenced?'

‘Certainly,' the Justice replied. ‘Who else would pay? The civic authority? The House Eriedes? Clerk Loumank perhaps?'

He finished with a chuckle, then went on.

‘As to your punishment, Madame Hivies may have you whipped, but Twelveman Cound's demands are excessive. I judge that you be branded, and in the Watchhouse yard to answer Twelveman Cound's desire for an example, but not until you have served your week in the House of Cunt. It is done.'

‘Done?' Iriel demanded, her anger rising abruptly. ‘To be made a whore, to have my body marked as shamed? I am lowborn! It is my right to fuck, and if you were men you would fuck me here and now, as you should have last night! Cowards! Weaklings!'

‘Silence!' Loumank snapped. ‘The Justice had been most lenient. For the same crimes, any woman of Staive Cintes could have expected a week in the cage, branding and slavery at the least. Your humble thanks would be appropriate.'