Aimeé, Chapter 7

In the depths of a cold and still winter night, Bethsany stood by the window and committed an act rare and precious to her: she prayed. It was Tuesday, and in keeping with their agreement Aimeé was supposed to come and study with one of her girls. It had been three weeks since the last tale; on the two occasions since, Aimeé’s appearance had shown clear signs of abuse and struggle, and of the two occasions, she had looked worse the second time.

Bethsany wondered if Teltirray was getting what he wanted out of Aimeé, and if so, would it be enough. She knew now of Teltirray and his hunger. She understood him so clearly it terrified her. She knew, ever since she had killed the Centaur who had enslaved her, what it felt to take the pain of an enemy, and eventually, to take the life. She knew that an innocent could bring even stronger sensation. She knew how to feed on that. And she knew she could draw pleasure from it.

It no longer made her wonder. She knew what kind of person could draw that kind of pleasure, for she was that kind of person. But she was also stronger than that. She knew what it meant to be human and not an animal. Few animals killed for pleasure. Man was one of those few. More than the pleasure of power, she understood the pleasures of love. She understood the joy of sharing. She knew that life was for living and not taking.

So she prayed, quietly, to a name she had not invoked in many years. Kasho, the goddess who gives women strength, had been her guiding name for many years when she had lived in Darachmod, and now she called on the name again.

A knock came at the door. She had been staring at the sky for some time, and now directed her attention at the ground. Footsteps in the snow marked the passage of a lone walker, footsteps that were slowly being obliterated by the fall of white flakes. She rose from where she knelt and walked to the door. “Yes?” she asked the girl who stood there.

“Aimeé has arrived. I have sent her to see Rissim.”

“Was it that bad, Brandy?”

The girl nodded slowly. Tears stood in her eyes. Bethsany drew her breath and sighed. Perhaps there would be no chance to tell Aimeé the final tale. Perhaps it would be better if she crammed both stories into one day. She debated.

What she wanted, more than anything else, was to save Aimeé’s life. To preserve her from the horrors and pains that Teltirray inflicted upon her in his demands for more. She knew that he must have been making demands of both her personal strength and the magickal strengths that Darynn was helping to build within her. Although no mage can give another magical strength, when it exists in one, another can help give it meaning, focus, exercise. Like the muscles of the body and the mind, the strength of magic must be exercised. Like the strength of love, and even that of compassion, doing leads to the strength to do more. Bethsany had chosen her path, as Darynn had his. She hoped Aimeé would have a worthy path to choose.

“Take me,” she finally said. Brandy turned and walked down the stairs. Down one flight, and then another, into the basement where Rissim, the chirgeon Beth kept in her employ, was applying alcohol to a wound over Aimeé’s left breast. It looked like a burn. Although she bore it stoically, the pain in the young girl’s eyes was both apparent and undeniable. There could be no surcease.

“Forgive me, Miss Bethsany, I… The chirgeon will not allow me to kneel.”

“Don’t you dare, Aimeé,” Bethsany said, reaching down to touch Aimeé’s face. “You need not bow to me. You know that better than I do. Do not bow to me.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Aimeé, he will kill you.”

“Probably, Miss. This may even be our last talk.”

“I feared as much.” Bethsany closed her eyes. “I had, at first, the wish to tell you two tales in as many visits, one of my day amongst the Braban, and of the day I lost Myr. I shall, instead, tell both together, although they were separated by many years. I want you to hear both of them, Aimeé.” In her sickened heart, Bethsany cursed Teltirray. He at least had the “common decency” to allow his girls to hide themselves and then kill themselves when he reached this stage. Aimeé, though, continued to play out the role of student with her teachers. Teltirray was as much as telling Darynn and Bethsany what he did to Aimeé, and he did not care if they knew.

Aimeé stared, not saying a word. “Do you want to hear them?”

“Yes, Miss.”

Bethsany glanced back at the chirgeon and at Brandy. Both had heard this tale once or twice before; another sit-through would hurt neither.


It was in the early summer of the first year I lived in Darachmod that the Braban came to visit. Six of them appeared at, or perhaps I should say over, the gates of the city, smiling and waving. One has trouble imagining the Braban, but if the Darachmod have a living model, the Braban are it. Each woman of the Braban stood over twelve feet tall; each towered over any woman in Darachmod. One does not fear women like that, for one cannot; I merely stood in awe of their immensity. Having known the love of both Myr and Cyl, together and separately, I felt free to admit that I immediately knew lust for the women of the Braban.

They were led into the city amongst singing and waving and cheering. These were clearly friends, beloveds. I had heard many stories about the Braban, of how they assisted their smaller sisters in many a battle, often appearing at the last minute. Nobody knew if they were goddesses or mortals or giants; all we knew was that they were our allies and, sometimes, our final help.

That night, Darachmod became engulfed in a celebration honoring the arrival of the women of the Braban. A fire was cast in the center of the city on that hot summer night, pigs were slaughtered and spitted over cooking fires, and the wine flowed freely.

I had a great surprise that night, although thinking back on it, I suppose it shouldn’t have come so greatly. As a well-known warrior amongst the Darachmod, Cyl clearly could hold the attention of even a jaded Braban. But I was still speechless when she stepped up behind me. “I know that look in your eyes,” she spoke to me slowly. “I know lust when I see it in you.” She laughed gently then. “I see it every day when you look at Myr.”

I swallowed. “Cyl, do you feel upset that I feel that way for Myr, but not so strongly for you?”

Cyl shook her head. “No, Beth, for I do not question the natural order of things. The moons, the seasons, and the snows come at their own times and sometimes not at all. The moons are always on time, the seasons usually, the snows usually not. Love… love is never on time. You love me in a different way. You warm me, Beth, and you make me cry.”

“Cry?” I asked, turning around. “I… I do not want to make you cry!”

“It is a good cry, Beth. Do not be ashamed because I have tears of joy for you. I cannot explain. It comes from within. Myr is another different thing. She is your age, lithe of limb and strong of bone and lovelier than the summerest flowers to watch. Do not be ashamed of your love and your lust for her. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Please. Now, would you like me to introduce you to my friend?”

“You have a friend amongst the giants?” I asked.

“Viselle!” Cyl called out, attracting the attention of a blonde Braban, one of the largest, sitting by the fire with a large mug of beer and a larger grin. “Viselle, I would like you to meet Bethsany. Bethsany, Viselle. Both of you are amongst my most counted friends.”

Although she was sitting on the ground and I standing, her head and mine were at the same height. “It gladdens my heart to know the friend of a true warrior like Cyl. How did you come to know her? Cyl, she was not born here I take it?”

Cyl shook her head. “We rescued her from a band of brigand Centaurs, the leader of which was using her as a toy for his gross lusts. After we attacked them, we found her standing over his dead body. A few of our arrows had slowed him down, but his final death had come from the blood he lost after she cut off his privates in revenge.”

“Truly?” the Braban asked me, stunned.

I nodded, ashamed. I felt both pleasure and fear at the memory. Sometimes, the nightmares came back.

“Well,” Viselle said, “That is truly the kind of friend Cyl should know well, and take care of. You are so young. Myr’s age?”

“Yes, Miss.”

Viselle roared with laughter. The sound echoed throughout the city streets and passed over me like a spell of stunning. I’m afraid I pulled away slightly in fear. Her monstrous hand reached out to touch my shoulder, and I shied away further. “I will not hurt you, Beth. I want to know you as Cyl and Myr know you.” I eased; her voice and manner were no longer threatening; with one simple sentence all my terror drained from me. Her hand gripped my shoulder gently, and I sensed the great strength held within it, many times that in my own hand. It covered me from my collarbone down to elbow. Try that, Aimeé. Place your hand on your shoulder and see how much it covers. Imagine that kind of touch over your entire body. I think few people try this experiment and would be surprised if they knew just how big their hands truly are. Perhaps artists, especially those who can get the hands right, know.

“Vis! Vis! Vis!” she said. “Call me Vis! I am nobody’s ‘Miss,’ Beth. I am a bloodied warrior and a true lover of women and nobody calls me anything but my name!” She laughed again. “I cannot imagine being a ‘Miss’ anything.” She paused, thinking soberly, then said “Come, sit. Tell me your tales.”

I sat by her side and did as she asked, telling her my tales. I had very few by that time, although I think I had more than Myr. She had heard all of Myr’s before, except for the ones about loving me. Myr managed to make me blush strongly with her talk, embarrassing me with her frank talks about my beauty and my enthusiasms. I had a little revenge by replying back in kind, although it became clear later in the conversation just how much I had revealed about myself in the doing.

I drank beer, too, and I’m afraid I became a little drunk. Eventually, as the night grew cool I found myself lying against Vis’ body, my head on her thigh, when I felt her hand caress the top of my head. That may not sound like much, but it was ecstasy to me. “You are very beautiful, Beth’Sany.”

“Th… thank you, Vis.”

“Don’t thank me, Beth’Sany. If you have a deity, thank Her, for she gave you that beauty.” Her hand stroked my arm slowly. I felt her massive body shift slightly, then felt her breath against the side of my face. “It is hard for someone sized as I to be subtle, but truly, I would like you and Myr to join me for the night.”

I didn’t quite know what to say. I was frightened; would I even be noticed touching a body of her size? Would even two of us matter to her? She weighed many stone more than we did.

My curiosity and lust won out. I wanted to know; I had to know. Apparently Myr did as well because the first thing she said after Vis spoke was, “Do you really mean that?”

“I do,” Vis said. “Your mistress, Cyl, and I had a few occasions between us many years ago. Do you remember, Cyl?”

“Well I do, Vis. Take them, if they’ll go.”

“I am going!” Myr replied.

“Then I am too!” I insisted.

Vis smiled and nodded. As she stood up, I had a strong awareness of several things. That she had drunk as much as Cyl, Myr, and I put together, that standing she was even larger than I had imagined seeing her sitting on the ground, and that should she fall over anyone in the path of her dropping body would be in serious danger. So we were careful to stay with her and yet to also stay quite far out of her way.

She led us to her tent. The city had not rooms large enough for her or her friends anywhere, so they had set up tents in the center. Not that tents were required; the weather was both at its warmest and certainly was also surprisingly dry. Cyl had told me that it frequently rained at this time of year.

Inside, all was as one would expect, with the one obvious difference: Everything was scaled to her size. She sat down hard on her sleeping cot. “Come here,” she said, gesturing to us. I was easily in range of her grasp and she was still steady enough to catch me almost without effort. I giggled and as she gathered me up I grabbed ahold of her tunic and held on. “Vis?” I asked.

“Yes, Beth?”

“May I tell you you are beautiful?”

“It’s a lovely lie, Beth.”

Myr demurred. “But it is not a lie, Vis! You are beautiful.”

Vis smiled and held out her other hand. Myr took it; it was like seeing a massive glove cover Myr’s hand and part of her arm. The delicacy of Vis’ touch surprised me, as her hand stroked my back and dragged purrs from my lips.

It’s hard to forget that night, so special and different. I instantly fell into a wishful trance of wanting to help Vis, wanting to make her feel a pleasure that we all get so very rarely from the world around us. As the three of us stripped off our clothing, Vis tossed her shirt carelessly away, and it landed on me instead. I realized just how large she was; the cloth of her tunic was a tent to me; I could sleep under it and feel protected from colder winds.

Naked, we descended upon one another, we three. My mouth found her chin first, as she pulled me up towards her.

I cannot get across to you how large she was. My feet rested literally in the tangle of her pubic hair even as I strained to reach up and kiss her cheek. She was simply a giant. Her fingers were as thick as sausages.

Myr and I crawled down between her thighs and, with plenty of room, licked at the enormous expanse of her sex, pulling her lips into our mouth. Her clitoris was the size of my thumb, large even for a woman of her size, and it took both of us to suck on it, in turns. I filled her by placing my arm within her, halfway to my elbow before I reached the end of her vagina and touched her cervix.

That, oh! Aimeé, it was like touching magic. It was a doorway into that chamber that made her a woman. Everything else about her was made to support that one purpose, and there was none other. I’m sure others disagree with me and talk about the warrior spirit or the communal strength or whatever, but to bear children, that is the pleasure of a woman only. Men have warriors and men have communities, but they do not carry child.

I feel… I feel so inadequate describing this night to you, Aimeé. I want to tell you the joys of touching her, of feeling the wet slickness of her insides surrounding my arm, my wrist, my hand, of feeling the pulse of her blood against the skin.

And when she returned the pleasure, her massive tongue against my cunt, Aimeé, how can I describe it? There is no feeling like that in all the world, her broad pad, a little less accurate, a little more impressive. The slick wetness that invaded not just my cunt but covered my thighs. As she licked me, Myr covered my face with her own sex, doubling my pleasure until I was utterly lost to it. I came in spasm and moans that only Myr’s muff prevented from being heard ‘round the city whole!

Once my pleasure was sated and we sat down to sleep, I reflected that no pleasure like that would ever stream through my body ever again. In a way, I was correct, for even though I saw Vis every year for the next five years, and though I was to love with her in many a warm summer visit, nothing ever reached the joy and wonder of that first time.

The same, Aimeé, was true of my loving of Myr. Yet my pleasures with her grew greater, not less, at the turn of the seasons. With her, I grew to treasure constancy and comfort, not adventure and change. She returned that comfort in equal measure. We were lovers and friends, stability in the changing sea of women. And I did love her so.

What changed? Ah, that is the question. For Myr asked for her freedom from Cyl because of my friendship. And Cyl granted it without reservation. I thought myself the happiest woman that ever lived.

What changed, dearest Aimeé, was a discovery that started with Vis and ended with a tragedy. The tragedy was not something unusual or dramatic, except perhaps to my story. Myr died. In the most simple of ways, too. We were picking apples in the city orchard, doing our duty to ourselves and our city, when she fell from a branch and broke her leg. The leg never healed; indeed, it grew worse. Something within her grew out, burst in pain. Finally, she slipped into that merciful sleep where the embattled go to escape the pain, and she never returned. She died within a month.


Bethsany wiped a tear from her eyes as the girl named Brandy wrapped her arms around her. “I am sorry, Momma,” the young girl said, kissing Bethsany’s face.

Bethsany reached back and hugged her. “I will be fine, Brandy,” she said softly. “It is an ancient tragedy. I know, that makes it no less tragic, but the wounds of it have healed and now I face a world with less fear. But perhaps with less love.”

“Bethsany?” Aimeé’s face was stained with slight tears, like the old matron’s. “How did you come to leave Darachmod? That was the second half of your tale.”

“Aye,” Bethsany replied. “So it was. And we have not much time to tell it. But I shall endeavor to do my best.”


In the spring of the following year, as in every year, the women of Darachmod prepared to travel down to the city of Melefar to trade the products of the past winter’s efforts. Darachmod was poor in metals but rich in growing things, and frequently the lower cities coveted the fruits of our fields. We used this to our advantage, dressing our travellers in great baubles of steel and copper, outfitting our warriors with the brightest of armors. Lost in all that and as badly in grip of their testicles as ever, the metalsmiths of Melefar were easy prey for the deals of our best merchants.

I asked to go with them. It was a trade I wished to learn and, truth be known, I could no longer stand to live in the house that Myr had built. Perhaps not the outside shell, but every trace of the indoors looked of her and smelt of her. Her herbs I still found in the pantry; one whiff of her favorite cilantro and melancholy swept me. I needed to get away from my memories, and alcohol did not answer my needs.

Dyn readily agreed, as did Cyl. Both knew that I might not return, that the men of Melefar would easily treasure a beauty of Darachmod for themselves, and although I no longer presented myself easy prey to their crude wishes I knew I could easily summon the desire of any of their lesser minds.

We headed out on a rainy morning in early spring. Although the weather was wet, it was also lovingly warm. I had come to view all the blessings of nature as gifts, and this was truly one of them. Better, perhaps, was that by afternoon the rain cleared, the road never so badly mudded as to foul the asses. The company was twelve strong; eight warriors lightly armored astride beautiful chargers guarded my three merchanting companions, who were named Tann, Fahr, and Fela. Tann was by far the loveliest of the three, a raven-haired woman with eyes the palest blue the clearest sea had ever seen. Soft and round, she quickly chose me as her bedmate and I joyfully agreed. Although the beautiful strength of Myr and Cyl and Vis and Dyn had their attractions, I recognized that I was destined to be a big woman, as I am now, and I found such a body as Tann’s beautiful to behold.

At first, I was concerned that I had become attracted to a woman who had no interest in lovemaking, but I found a few days later that I was wrong. She was simply slower than most. I found that reassuring. She wanted my pleasures, but only if we were both sure of our willingness to share.

On the fourth night we camped in the forest at the foot of the mountains, six days from Melefar, when she finally turned to me. “Beth, do you think me beautiful?”

“Tann?” I whispered, surprised. “How can you ask? You are the most beautiful woman in this entire dozen!”

“Don’t let Fahr here you say that,” Tann whispered back in the dark, “She’s not known for her lack of jealousy.” I nodded, smiling, as she closed the distance between us and her lips found mine, kissing earnestly. I knew by then how not to keep my hands off a woman and reached out to stroke her belly through the rough texture of the lace she wore underneath her heavier dayclothes.

We tumbled to the bedding as her breasts tumbled out of her outfit. Hers were very large and lovely, with a touch of droop that accentuated her completely. I could bury myself in them and inhale forever.

On the other hand, although I was destined to be a big woman I was forever doomed to have small hills for teats, firm but not very impressive. I was to forever envy women who had large breasts, but I was also to find great pleasure in them, too.

She giggled as I played with hers, caressing them back and forth. “Now, Beth,” she chided playfully, “Let me have my fair share, too.”

She pushed me back onto the bed and undressed both of us, tossing aside her clothing. She smelled of lilacs and light, and her hair had the scent of honey as it fell in straight lines down about her face. She kissed me as her fingers sought out my privates and stroked my lips. We kissed with our tongues. She slowly pushed my legs apart as her fingers sought deeper. I coated them with my wetness. She gasped at my enthusiasm, I think, because she told me later her nipples were not all that sensitive, and in a city of women large breasts were common. But I had gone for so long without the attention of anyone that the caresses of one woman were more than enough to inflame me.

Her fingers went deeper within me. I was completely entranced by the feeling of her within me; Myr, for some reason, had not liked having fingers inside her and avoided putting her fingers into me. What Tann was doing was something of a treat.

She slid down between my thighs and pressed her sweet mouth to my lips, licking the insides of my thighs. She told me to look at her, and I did just in time to watch her pull her fingers from my cunny and place them in her mouth, her lips pursed around them to catch every last droplet of moisture. Then she slid them back into me, her warm breath sweeping over my mound, and then the touch of her tongue to my mound. I grew light-headed with the pleasure she gave me.

She licked as well as any woman knew how, her mouth absolutely talented with its pressures and pleasures. Her tongue flickered over my clit and her fingers stroked the walls of my cunt, finding all the secret places here and there within me, making my chest heave with gasps and moans.

She was a merchant, but like me she was also a farmer, and one of the many things we carried to market were early summer squash, shaped like a man’s sex. Although I don’t think any healthy man has had a sex that was dark, textured green, nor have I ever seen one that really had the rounded corners this one did to make it look round. She reached into the basket by her bed and pulled one out; I watched, a little scared, as she pulled it up under her chin between my thighs. “Easy,” she said gently as the cold tip of the vegetable touched the insides of my thighs. It slid along my leg until it pressed against the skin between them. Her fingers pulled me a little more open and the tip of the squash slid into me.

I gasped from the cold, for that vegetable was as chill as the night. At first. But as Tann licked my sensitive flesh and coaxed two explosions from me, she began to slide the squash back and forth. I was fuller than I had been since killing Styur, and suddenly I knew what I wanted. I wanted the attention of man.

None of these thoughts, however, distracted me from what Tann was doing. At least, not much. I gasped and twisted under her expert mouth, until finally I found myself gently hitting her shoulders to get her to stop; I could take no more.

She told me, “You are beautiful, Beth.” But I didn’t hesitate, getting up as the squash slid out of me and pushing her to the bedding. I wanted to feast on her.

One of the reasons I love larger women is that they have such soft bellies, and a belly is what defines a woman. Surely, we have teats and cunts, but it is in there that I find the definition of woman. I kissed and licked hers, punishing it with peppered kisses, licking at her belly button and her breasts, sliding down between her legs and kissing her large thighs, looking forward to the taste of her cunny.

She had no hair down there. I found that a mystery in the extreme, but she later explained that she shaved it off at her home- love’s request. “It gets in the teeth,” she said. Her cunny was baby smooth and soft, and as I kissed the lips I realized that the fat of her body caused even those to swell.

Perhaps I make Tann sound to be the world’s largest woman. Not at all true; she was actually smaller than I am now. But for her, the softness was distributed to perfection, in her teats, her softened belly, her legs and her cunt. I licked at her as she parted her legs; her fluids were the sweet droplets of a woman who rarely, if ever, ate meat, clear and, I swear Aimeé, as pure water-blue as her eyes. She oozed sweetness and I licked at every little drop that coursed from her hole down the line of her buttocks.

I pressed my face between her thighs, getting myself thoroughly wet as I licked at her sweetness, slopping as a happy pig against her fluids, tasting the reddening pinkness of her vagina and suckling, literally, on her clitoris.

Apparently I did a good job, too. As I seized the squash and pressed it inwards, she moaned and twisted and came, her fists striking the floor of the tent. Her legs trembled and threatened to squeeze me between them, but she knew better than that; I would have stopped if I lost air, after all.

When we were done, we cleaned each other up as well as we could without leaving to find a stream and bedded down for the night.

As was the custom, we took over an Inn, two women to a room. The best Inn for our purposes was a place called the Tired Dog, a name fitting with the feeling we women had as we fell into the place. Tired and dogged.

Although I was well and easily familiar with life in cities when I was 13, I was now nineteen years old and found my memories and my vision disagreeing on a few points. None of them were any great deals by themselves, but added up they made me wonder if perhaps I had been away from cities too long.

The next day we made our deals and sold our wares. I was surprised at how easily we wangled deals out of men who, to other men, looked to be the stingiest and most unfair dealers in all the world. It was more fun then was fair, I guess. But at night, as we headed back towards the Tired Dog, I realized that I wanted this life again. I wanted to stay in the city, return to city life and enjoy the hustle and bustle of the city. Worst of all, I found myself staring at men with an ache in my loins that would not go away. I didn’t know what to do with it at all, and I was afraid to ask Tann about it.

That night, Tann turned in early. Although I probably could have interested her in play, she didn’t seem all that lively that night, as if the day’s contact with men had drained her of the energy to spend on women. I, on the other hand, decided to spend at least some of my evening downstairs. Three of the warriors from Darachmod were also down there, so I didn’t think I would have any trouble.

As I made my way back into the darkened tavern, the sounds of uproarious laughter reached my ears. I wondered what they were doing down there that could be so entertaining.

My eyes looked across the room, where all the patrons were all pointed, and I could see the target of their laughter… a stage had been erected and a puppet show was in progress. There were two characters on the stage, one a man and the other a woman, and through the artistry of such control as puppets take the woman was beating the man with a skillet. The audience seemed to think it was uproariously hilarious.

“No, m’lady!” the man’s voice came from behind the curtained puppet stage, “I meant the fat on the meat! The meat!”

“That’s not what you were staring at!” The audience roared again. I guess I missed the starting part of the joke since I didn’t see anything funny in the punch line. Ah, well. The play ended shortly, to be followed by another, again a sort of comedy, this time about a cruel husband who loses his manhood in the end. The women in the audience all loved it, but the men were grabbing their crotches to protect themselves by the time the play ended. As I was watching, though, I felt very strange. Because the voice of the young man playing all the males parts was entrancing. I don’t know if it was the fact that, for the first time, there were men all around me, but I knew that that young man, in particular, was holding my fancy without a doubt. His voice entranced me.

“We’re going to take some air,” I heard him say. “It gets a bit stifling under here. Misha, if you will?”

A young woman’s head poked up from behind the stage, her hands full of puppet strings and the wooden slats to hold them. She smiled as she put them aside and brushed her full, black hair back out of the way. My heart felt heavy; and I found myself hoping that she and the man back there with her did not have something between them. I was confused, Aimeé, so confused.

It got no better when he finally stuck his head out from behind the curtain as well. He, too, had a full head of long, black hair. His eyes were large and bright and he had a smile on his sweaty face that would charm the virginity out of even the most innocent of maidens. I had to get to know him.

Then he stepped out from behind the curtain. Aimeé, you don’t know what confusion is until the lust and desires I was feeling are blended with the fear and loathing that accompanied that motion, for he was a centaur. Not a barbaric one like Styur and his band. No, this young man’taur was well groomed, dressed. I wanted him. And I feared him. Yet he seemed so likeable, so approachable. But, he was an actor. I didn’t know if his look was as much facade as the voice he took on when he played behind the curtain.

And yet, I did not want to fear him. I wanted to approach him. So I did. As he grabbed a mug of beer and stepped outside into the cool spring night air, I followed him. He was standing there, just outside the door, staring up a the stars. “Sir?” I asked.

“Hello,” he said, turning to me with a smile. “Are you enjoying the show? Say, you’re not one of those women from Darachmod, are you?”

I nodded, fearfully. “Yes, I am.”

“I understand you had a little trouble with the Gespil last year. They are a brutal people, the Gespil.”

Although I suspected that I knew what he was talking about, I had never heard Styur refer to his people by name. I said, “I do not know the word.”

“The barbarian Centaurs from the north who were flushed out in the last great war up there. They took refuge in your mountains, I understand. I want to assure you that not all Centaurs are like that, just as I’m sure you know not all humans are wont to be kind and loving, either. I’m glad your people wiped them out in the end. They deserved it. And their bloodline has been preserved elsewhere. We’ll keep the breed alive, but hopefully not the attitude.” He grinned and sipped his beer. “What’s your name?”

“Bethsany,” I replied, nervously.

“Adam,” he said, reaching out a hand. I took it, and he shook gently. “Glad to meet you, Bethsany. I’m always pleased to meet someone who actually comes out and thanks me for my work. It doesn’t happen nearly as often as I’d like.”

“Adam,” a voice came from the door. “Time to get started again.”

“I haven’t even finished one mug!”

“That’s because you’re slow. Come on!” The female centaur, Misha he had called her, stood there, waiting for him, tapping her front hoof.

“In a second,” he said. She tossed her hair in annoyance and walked back inside. “You see what I have to live with?”

“Are you and she… ?”

He laughed. “A long time ago. Misha and I work together very well, but we’ve no bent to be lovers anymore.” He gave me a curious look. “Why do you ask?”

“I… I…”

He smiled. “It’s just a body and a voice, Bethsany. I do this for a living.” With that, he walked back into the Inn. I watched the whole show, enraptured by him. I don’t think there was anything to it other than my curiosity, my lust, and an instinct that said he was right. He would be safe. I wanted him to be, at least for one night, mine.

As the show was breaking down, he waved to me. “Did you really watch me all night long?”

“Uh-huh,” I said to him. “I… ” I looked away. I couldn’t look him in the eyes and say what I wanted to say. “I had to stay.” I looked at his face, then away again. “I… I need something. I haven’t ever been with a gentle man.”

“Do you suspect me of being gentle?” I nodded, looking up into his eyes. He laughed. “You may be right. But I am a Centaur, Bethsany.”

I looked away again. “I know. I could handle that.”

“How do you know? You’re a woman of Darachmod. Have you ever slept with a man, much less a Centaur?”

I found the courage Darachmod had given me and looked into his face. “Adam, I know I could handle you. I was not originally a woman of Darachmod. I was a slave of the… the… Gespil.”

His eyes went wide. “And you’re alive? Oh Gods, that’s… I’m sorry. I didn’t know… What are you doing coming to me?”

“I… I don’t know!” I whispered. “I wish I understood myself, but I don’t.” I reached out and touched him on the arm. “All I know is that I want you… to… “

“Take you to bed?” He sounded surprised. I wonder why.

I nodded. “Please?”

“What if…” He glanced across the room, where one of the warriors from Darachmod sat, watching us with guarded eyes while we talked.

“I will talk to her.” He gave me a strange look, then nodded. I walked over to where she stood. “Selam? I am… spending tonight in Adam’s company.”

She nodded. “The time was coming.” She smiled, rested her hand on my arm. “Never forget, Beth’Sany, that we all love you much. One day, you will understand.” She rose and left, leaving me alone. Alone but for Adam.

Like a guilty child, I followed him up the stairs to his room. Inside, he turned around (no mean feat for someone built the way he was!) and pulled me into his grasp. I was surprised, but the smell of his skin so close to my nostrils inflamed my desire. I did not understand it, but it was somewhat akin to the shame I felt when I had climaxed beneath Styur all those times. Only, for this time, I was allowed to feel pleasure. To enjoy the touch of my centaur lover, whom I had chosen for my bedmate tonight. Whom I wanted. “Oh, Bethsany, what are you doing in my room?” He looked me in the eyes. “Don’t you know I’m going to leave tomorrow? Is that fair?”

“Yes,” I breathed. “For there is no danger in loving you except what you choose to do, Adam. I just need to be treated right tonight.”

“Very well,” he smiled, touching the sides of my face with his hands and lifting my gaze to meet his. He pulled me close, and I waited. But instead of my lips, his mouth first touched my nose, then my cheek. And then he kissed my mouth. I moaned, Aimeé, with a lust I knew was pure and honest. This was what I wanted, truthfully, and I could not give it up. I missed the attentions of men. Although I loved women, and indeed, once I’d saturated myself of men for a while had returned to the loving arms of women again for many years afterwards, now, right now I needed the arms of a man. Adam was it.

My hands roamed his chest, touching his body through the simple shirt he wore. I looked up at him. “Take this off,” I implored him. He did, dropping it to the floor at our feet. I am not a tall woman, but he was barely taller than I was. I wondered at the size of his prick. I wanted to find out. I craved the idea of it being within me.

I touched his naked chest. His skin was light-olive and creamy soft; my hands glided over it as if they were oiled, even though I knew his skin was dry. I looked down and touched his nipples, caressing them. He gasped and shivered. “Strong!”

“Sorry,” I said.

“No, no, I like that. It’s just that it is a strong sensation. Please, be more careful when you do that.”

“I shall,” I replied. I grabbed him by the bicep and pulled him towards the bed. We fell into it together, and I laughed gently. “We’re being so serious! This is pleasure!”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“If you hurt me, I will tell you. Just like you told me.” I kissed him again, trying to treat him with the same strength I apply towards a woman. He responded eagerly, and finally his hands found the courage to caress my breasts. I gasped and moaned as his hands found the skin and caressed the flesh of my breasts. Any of my girls will tell you I love to have my breasts touched, caressed, grabbed and stroked. And he did. “Harder,” I moaned, telling him what I wanted, and feeling him give it to me. He pulled at my nipples, and oh, Aimeé, when he closed his lips about my nipples I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I wanted him, I wanted all of him. I felt his hands caressing my thighs, his fingers plying between them, seeking my insides, and when he found them his fingers made liquid, squishing sounds. I was wet. My hair was sodden with wants, and I admit that. I wanted him so bad.

He pushed me back on the bed and dove between my legs with his head, licking and kissing me. I was pulling up the bedsheets in mad, passionate lust, Aimeé. There was no telling what I would do next, I was so crazed at the stroking, kissing, pleasing touching he was doing to me. I couldn’t go on forever like that, or could I? His tongue was probing my secrets, and I knew one rumor was dead. The women of Darachmod believed that no man could or would lick a woman properly. Oh, but he knew! He did!

I climaxed under his tongue, Aimeé, and I could not believe it when it happened. I was delirious with pleasure even as I came, struggling underneath his strong grip. He was holding me down, stopping my thrashing body from going anywhere. Yet I knew if I has said “Let me go!” he would have.

Finally, he did stop, and I think it was mostly because he knew I was tiring. I could barely move by the fifth or sixth climax. Oh, yes, I lost count. I looked up from him, brushing the hair from my eyes, and then dove upon him, kissing him and biting his lips before sliding down to his torso. And then onto the horse of him, desperate for more of him. I found his prick hidden between his rear legs. It was large, but after Styur nothing would ever be quite so dangerous. I kissed and licked at it, and he needed no encouragement. It dropped out and slid forward. And still, I was a madwoman, because I tried to get all of it into my mouth. I went crazy. I wanted him.

He tasted heady, as warm flesh should, with the sent of horse and man and sweat and even a little piss as I tasted his prick and felt the slick skin against my tongue. I slid down until it was at the back of my mouth and I was gagging. I wanted more of him.

I took him out, though, and stroked his prick with my hands while I buried my nose in the musky heft of his balls, tasting the furred sac that carried them and licking up the sweat that had collected there while he had labored under the hot flap that formed part of his curtain. His fingers were still touching my cunt, still urging me onwards. I was soaking. He was hard and gasping. “Bethsany,” he sighed.

“Adam,” I replied, looking up at him. I slid off and away from him. “Fuck me.”

“Now?”

“Now,” I gasped. I slid off the edge of the bed and dropped my feet to the floor, spreading my legs wide. I wanted my ass to be high in the air, an unmistakable target for him. He grinned and slid off the bed as well. “Very beautiful. You are a wildcat, Bethsany.”

“I want to be your mare, not your cat!”

“In either event, you’re definitely a pussy worth taking.” He walked forward, taking care not to step on my feet with his forelegs. I felt his body cover mine, felt his hands in my hair. “Beth… How gentle do you want me to be?”

“Not at all,” I moaned. “I’ve had enough gentleness.”

“Then if I do this, it’s okay?” He reached down and gathered up my hair in his hands, pulling it hard.

I moaned. “Yes, yes, that’s more than okay!”

He took that as a cue. He slid his hard prick up against my cunt and began to push, the head slowly finding its way inside me, and the rest of it following. He pulled my hair harder, forcing my head down to the bed by the bend of my neck even as his huge prick found its way into my cunt. I felt him enter me as his prick filled my belly. I swooned, passionately wishing for more. I knew I could take him forever.

He thrust me down to the bed, pressing me against it. I was sandwiched between the thrusting of his heavy belly and the mattress, and I was filled with the passion of his huge and lovely prick. I came as he fucked me, Aimeé, over and over. Madly, screamingly. I’m afraid I may have woken up some of the other guests of the Inn. His back haunches thrust into me over and over, the lips of my cunt spread open for him and I felt the heat of his balls more than their impact with every push. I gasped and groaned, twisted and whispered his name.

“Oh, Beth!” he cried as his climax grew closer, and finally he came with a shout, his thrusts fast and hard as he finished his act, pushing me down to the bed even harder. I feared being crushed, and I found that idea thrilling. I climaxed again! He was so wonderful.

Afterwards, he stood up and slid off me. I didn’t move for several minutes, but lie there quivering as he sweetly grabbed a soft towel and cleaned the fluids that dripped down my legs. “Beth, are you alright?”

“Uh-huh,” I replied He reached under my shoulders and slowly turned me over. I was completely deranged by then, unable to move from the pleasure he had given me.

“Bethsany, I’d like you to stay until Misha awakens us.”

“Adam, I would love to.” He smiled and pulled back the covers for both of us. We cuddled together for a while, and then I fell asleep in his arms.

When I awoke the next morning, he had one arm tossed over me and one rearleg dangling over the side of the bed. I can’t tell you how good it felt to have a male’s arms wrapped around me. I wanted it to never end. But one thing the women of Darachmod taught me, and that was to keep my promises. When Misha woke us, I kissed him gently, thanked him, and returned to Tann. I let Adam go with just two words. “Thank you.”

I spent another year with the Darachmod before…


A knock sounded at the door of the brothel. “Bethsany! You have my student in there! Open up, you’ve had her for far too long!”

Aimeé whimpered, and Bethsany recognized the voice too. Teltirray had come to claim his possession. Brandy and Rissim both turned to look at the door, and then both turned to give Bethsany the same look. Bethsany returned the glance, equally angry. “I can’t. I can’t fight him.”

“He’ll kill her!” Rissim whispered.

“He’ll kill us all if we don’t,” Bethsany replied. She stood up, surprisingly fast for her bulk. “Rissim, tell him we’re downstairs. Aimeé, come with me.”

Aimeé joined Bethsany as they fled down the stairs. “Rissim is right. He will kill you.”

“No. You’re right. He’s not going to kill us. Aimeé, I may end up hating myself for the rest of my life, because I’ve come to like you very much. But I won’t see my household suffer pointless.” She began rummaging through a large, wooden chest, coming up with a small necklace of silvery links. “Here, take this. It was… It was Myr’s. It has no magic. It just has my memories. Take it.” Aimeé stared. “It’s all I can do!” Bethsany whispered. “Please.”

Aimeé took the necklace and put it on, just as the two women heard the door upstairs rack open. “Bethsany! Where do you have my student?”

“Down here, Master Teltirray,” Bethsany replied, trying to be calm. “I was just finishing up. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Damn too long.” The tall and imposing Teltirray walked down the stairs. His bald head glinted in the lantern light, but he looked as if he meant Bethsany no harm… at least not right now. “I came to collect her. I realized it was late, and I was walking by. I had assumed she would be home, but when I called my servant he said she had not arrived.” He reached out for Aimeé’s arm. “I see you have helped her recover from this mornings… exercises.” His smile was so foul Bethsany had to repress an urge to reach up and choke the life out of him. “Good. Come, Aimeé, we have some learning to do this night.” He started to haul her out of Bethsany’s establishment.

“Master Teltirray?” Bethsany asked. “When will we be seeing Aimeé again?”

“Next week, as usual.” He paused. “If she makes it through her lessons. Good night.” Even before she had her cloak about her shoulders, he tossed her out into the snow, walked out the door, and slammed it shut behind him.

“What do we do now, Miss Beth?” Brandy asked.

Bethsany was stunned at the Teltirray’s brazenness. He had as much as admitted that he was eventually going to kill Aimeé. She looked from Brandy to Rissim, then back to Brandy. “We call Mabel and Riza. And we pray.”