Aimeé, Chapter 4
“Come here, child, sit down, sit down.” Bethsany patted the couch, trying to be welcoming to the nervous young girl who stood at the doorway. “Young” was perhaps a bit of an inaccuracy to Bethsany’s eyes, since she had some girls working for her who were younger.
She walked forward, her eyes scanning the room intensely. Bethsany saw the careful, analytical training that Darynn had imbued Aimeé with, but she also saw the youthful nervousness that came naturally to girls at Aimeé’s age. Bethsany tried her best to hire girls who were already enjoying sex when they came to her; women who did their work out of desperation were simply not good workers.
Aimeé reached out with her hand, touching the rough texture of the couch, her eyes exploring. Bethsany watched her for a moment. “It’s a brothel, dear. My customers expect a certain degree of garishness.” She smiled. “Sit down, sit down.”
Aimeé finally took her seat and Bethsany took a longer, more careful look at her. She was what she expected from Teltirray’s tastes; tall, slim, relatively small breasts. Dark hair and bright, blue eyes were something of a necessity with him. Bethsany was somewhat relieved to see that even after three months the usual signs of abuse that Teltirray heaped upon his “charges” weren’t as graphic on Aimeé as usual; either she was showing remarkable resilience to his advances or he really was holding back, probably hoping that between Darynn’s magic and her training they would turn Aimeé into the perfect sex toy for Teltirray’s vapid tastes.
“Now, then,” Bethsany began after Aimeé had settled down into her seat. “My object is to train you to be as good as any of the girls I have here. That’s not easy, you know.” She laughed. “My girls are the very best in the city. But we will do our best. Now, I understand that it’s been Darynn’s way to tell you stories about himself, how he got his understanding and so on. I plan on doing the same. So listen closely, dearie, because I don’t like repeating myself.”
I was born the daughter of a nomad whore. I don’t mind saying that because it’s completely true. My mother was a good whore, too, and a woman devoted to her husband and her daughter. We travelled around the southern continent on a tented wagon. There were four wagons in our train and a total of seventeen people. We didn’t even have a name for ourselves, really; we were just “the people.” There were nine cities we visited on our course, the same course, year after year. My father was a merchant trader and was very good at picking out what one city had that the next one down the line would need, even after a year’s absence. My mother, with her deep red skin, slanted eyes and straight, black hair, was exotic in many of the cities and men would flock to her like flies on butter. Much the same they did with me many years ago.
We were a friendly bunch most of the time but we tended to take it very carefully on the road. A good plan considering how many brigands there were out there interested in lightening our loads. The greatest travel we ever took was from Ticonary to Emti, a rough road through a mountain pass that usually took twenty days or thereabouts. We weren’t to know it, but in my thirteenth year the Maple Campaign to the North had driven a small tribe of barbaric Centaurs into the mountain range for refuge. These were no gentle Centaurs of the upper valleys. No, these were the Gespil Centaurs, small, strong, but magicless Centaur warriors who still sometimes plague the lands of the Maple region.
They fell upon us in our sleep. Crossbows aimed with silent accuracy felled our menfolk before they could even shout a word. It was a most silent brigandry. More than half of our men were dead before an alarm was raised. My mother fought them off, seizing father’s sword and slashing at them. It was to no avail; there were too many of them, too many warriors, and as she hacked at two who leapt and taunted her, one stepped up behind her and ran her through with his pike. I shall never forget the look on her face as she died with her ribs pushed out by the spike erupting from her chest. She was sad, sad for me. She wanted to see me, twisted on the spike horribly to look at me as she fell. When her body slumped to the ground the one who had killed her pulled the pike free, then turned and gave me a smile. I hated him and his evil grin, I wanted to wipe it off his face and make him pay for my mother’s death and I would wallow in his pain when I did.
“Take her!” he shouted, pointing at me. “Alive!”
They did that. Although I fought them, there was really no point to struggling with two male centaurs. “Find a bench in one of these wagons. I’m going to have me some fun.”
I begged and pleaded. Not that it did me much good. When they found out I was a virgin, there was a roar of approval, as if it was all one big joke. Two found a wooden bench, torn from the seat of one of the wagons, and laid my mother’s bedding over it. It took four Centaurs to hold me, one for each arm and each leg, as they tore my clothes from me and laid me down on their platform.
Gespil Centaurs are not much larger than humans, Aimeé; they are usually a little under six feet tall, made more of ponies than full-size horses. Their penises– I’m a professional, dear, I have to use the technical term– are not much larger than a man’s. This one, their leader apparently, had a large penis even for his species. “Hold her down, dammit!” he shouted. “I can’t fuck her if she’s flailing her feet about all over the place!”
The two holding my legs managed to get my knees pressed to my chest, holding my feet far apart I felt they would split me in two. The leader reared up on his hind legs, straddling my body. He grinned down at me, his teeth showing in a snarl that befitted some demon more than he. “You will like this,” he said.
“May Agas and all his demons pass you about for their buggery!” I shouted at him. Sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, Aimeé. I’m just trying to relate the story as it happened.
“I’m sure he will,” he responded. “But not today.” He lowered his enormous prick. I felt it touch my thighs and screamed. He merely smiled. They must have some muscles to control it because with no hands he found my opening and battered at it, the head of his prick demanding entrance. He pointed at one of his followers. “Grease us.”
The other one smiled. I felt a hand on my pudenda, touching me. I squirmed harder, but they held me fast, and as the hand pressed over my mound it left a streak of some thick, greasy substance. Then the leader was back, his prick still hard as ever. I felt the slick grease helping him, guiding him into me. I felt my opening giving way.
The pain, Aimeé, oh, the pain. I shall never forget how awful that tearing agony was. It blocked out thought as this Centaur blocked the sun from my eyes. I screamed and flailed about. In my struggle I tore my muscles. Tears streamed my eyes. The huge stallion prick in my cunt bucked and shoved and jammed as it stretched and tortured me. He raped me wholly without remorse or shame.
I could do nothing. His prick within me was a weapon, one I would someday remove from him in the most painful manner I could possibly imagine. He repeatedly jabbed it into me, the snarl on his face– so many feet away from my clawing hands!– showing me his contempt. I tried to return it, but my tears and pain were too much.
My body responded, Aimeé! I understand now what happened, but at that time I felt the greatest betrayal as my cunt throbbed from his abusive prick. I felt a pleasure in my being even as I cried, a pleasure that exploded in climax even as he dropped his scum within my helpless body. “See?” he smiled as he slid off me. “She likes it. Take her. I need a new maidservant. We’ll train her good.”
The others laughed and nodded. I learned my Master’s name was “Styur.”
I was thrown over the back of a horse, one of our horses that they had captured alive in the raid. My crying was ignored, as was the blood of my deflowering streaming down my legs. We rode on horseback for many miles.
We arrived at their camp, a collection of caves and huts housing maybe fifty Centaurs total. I was there removed from the pack animal that carried me and led to his house. “Uma!” Styur shouted. “I have a gift for you. She’s difficult, but you can break her.”
The door opened and a Centaur woman looked out. Her face was ugly, the result of a burn I was to learn some time later. Nor was her smile kind. “She’s pretty,” she said. “Yes, I’ll do wonderful things with this one. A worthy gift, Styur.” She turned to a box and pulled out a collar, such as one would fit a dog, and wrapped it around my neck. It had once been white, but there were the brown stains of dried blood covering much of it. “You see,” she said to me, her foul breath washing over me, “The last toy we had misbehaved. We’ve not cleaned her things off since then. That will be your task.”
The lock on the collar was small and brass, but I could never break it. Styur smiled as he regarded me. “You will need to wash, Mosh.” I was to find out that “mosh” is a word in their language meaning “toy.” It was my new name.
I was consequently washed and then taken back to Uma and Styur’s hut. I was shown my sleeping cloths on the floor, then given a basket and told to collect the cloths scattered throughout the house and wash them.
I did as I was told. I had no choice. There was nowhere to run, nobody to feed me. I was alone, the only slave alive in the Centaur camp, the plaything of their warrior-leader. I was assured that they had others at time, but the war and their movements had caused them to lose most of their slaves. I asked if those slaves had died on the trip. “No,” Styur replied, smiling. “They were eaten.”
The days and nights passed as winter came closer and closer. I was taught to make the fire, to raise the heat, to cook for them. And every third night or so Styur would tie me down to his bench and have his way with me. He was creative in his foul way, tying me face down and then placing bricks under one side of the bench to lift my buttocks into the air, making his entry easier.
I hated him. And every time he raped me, I climaxed. I drew my pleasure from hating him, from the knowledge that I could have this pleasure, that it was mine, it belonged to me, I made it despite him. He could never take it away from me without taking away his prick, his own pleasure at his human girl. I would fight the biting ropes and scream and hate him. He would sometimes gag me. My fingers would strain, my wrists pulling against the cords, trying for some way to get free, as his prick fucked my cunt, rubbed my clit and made me come. I would scream with anger and with pleasure.
He would get off me and touch my face. “See?” he would say. “You’re starting to like me more and more.”
I would curse him. Once, I spat at him, and he slapped my face so hard a bruise welted up there that lasted for a week.
In my dreams I wished for a lover who would not abuse me. Who would give me what I wanted in fair trade for what he wanted, who would stop when I wanted him to and who would ask me to stop when he didn’t want to. I doubted such men like that existed at all. I sometimes still do, excepting Darynn, of course, who is too much a man’s man to do me and my girls much good as a lover. But still, there is much to learn from a man like him.
I dreamed of the day I would be close enough to another human to have the freedom to kill Styur. I was surprised when that day came sooner than expected.
In my third month of capture the horror these people inflicted upon my family was returned a hundredfold. During the first night of truly deep snows, the alarm arose in the camp, waking me from a sleep. I slept with their dog for warmth and companionship; of all the creatures, she alone loved me for simple things. I was kind to her. Styur found that fitting, that his pets should sleep together. At first, I was disgusted by his train of thoughts; I was not his pet or his toy. My need for warmth, friendship, and my desire to not reject this only friend won out, and I stayed next to her in the night.
I’ve strayed from the tale. The alarm, yes. Whistles awoke us all and Styur ran from his stone home, seizing his sword as he galloped out the door. Shouts and screams erupted. Some of the shouts I did not recognize, although they were all distinctly womanly in sound. I waited in the dark, hugging Huna– that was the dog’s name– closely. The sounds of battle rang out, the clanging of metal, the shouts and grunts of fighters. The door fell in, and Styur collapsed onto the floor, four great arrows buried into his manchest, more on the rest of him. He reached out for me, gasping. “Help me,” I heard him say.
Help him? I stood up, walked to him, pulled his short dagger from its sheath. “I’ll help you, all right. Right into Hell.” I held it up and was about to plunge it into his heart when I stopped and reconsidered. I remembered my pledge. I walked around to the back of his body.
“No,” I remember hearing him say. “Don’t.”
I shoved the knife into his leg, slicing at the muscles that allowed him to kick. He screamed, a painful thing that made me smile. My hatred for him was absolute, complete. I cared not the slightest for him. The leg, now useless, I kicked up and out of my way,exposing his privates. I grabbed his penis and balls in my hands and pulled them away from his body, wrenching them painfully. He screamed trying to get away from me as I cut them loose from his body with the dagger.
Blood poured upon the ground and his body twitched and writhed. I dropped the contents of both my hands on the ground, then fell to the ground myself, sitting in the doorway, waiting while the snow fell on me in gentle, fat flakes. After a while a shape, a human shape, stood over me, looking down at me. “Have you done that?” she asked, pointing at the still-oozing carcass of Styur. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I can’t explain what was wrong with me, but it was simply that I didn’t want to do anything, not even answer a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. She knelt down. Her face, partially covered by the open-faced helm she wore, was hardened and covered with a stain of blood from her nose, but it had a smile that, for the first time in months, was genuine and lovely. “I guess you did. Come here.” As she spoke her breath streamed away in visible clouds into the night. She touched my arm and suddenly I was freed of my paralysis. I held onto her as if she was my last touch of life, my last hope of living. I gripped her with my remaining strength. She began to carry me away and Huna began to follow us. “Shoo, dog,” the woman said.
“Huna!” I said, pointing.
“Is Huna your friend?” the woman asked me.
“Yes. Bring Huna?”
She nodded. “Okay, we’ll bring her.” With her free hand she slapped her thigh. “Come on, Huna. You’re a… girl. Good.” She laughed. “Come on, girl. We’re going to take you home.” She carried me to the edge of the camp where the rest of the troops had collected. There she introduced me to my new life.
Bethsany sat back on her couch. Aimeé had curled up into the corner of the couch, watching her carefully. Although not a mage herself, she recognized the signs of idling power within the girl’s delicate frame and wondered if the story had aroused Aimeé defenses. She hoped not. “So,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Come, I want you to meet someone.”
She rose and held out her hand. Aimeé took it unsurely, and Bethsany whisked her out of the room and down the stairs. “Meli! Meli, where are you, girl?” The stairs ended in the girl’s leisure room, a space Bethsany had set aside for the women to collect themselves and relax.
“Over here, Miss Beth.”
“Oh, there you are.” She dropped off the steps and herded Aimeé in the direction of the tall, black-skinned girl with the wide smile and the sweet-smelling skin. “Meli, I want you to meet Aimeé. Aimeé, this is one of my favorite girls, Meli. She is going to take you aside and teach you a few tricks that will certainly please your Master.” With that, she took Meli aside and whispered her instructions into the girl’s ear while casting sidelong glances at Aimeé.
Meli finally nodded and walked back to Aimeé’s side. They looked at each as if measuring, then Meli reached out a hand. Aimeé took at and both let out a small sigh of tension. “Hi,” Aimeé said.
“Hi,” Meli replied. “Come on. Let me take you in back and I will show you what you need.”
Aimeé nodded and allowed Meli to lead her down another flight of stairs into what felt like a basement. The room was warm, though, and comfortable. The bright golden yellows and reds that predominated most of the upstairs gave way to softer pinks accentuating rich blues, comforting, feminine colors. “This is where we relax in the daytime,” Meli said. “It’s a safe corner for all of us.” The first room was little more than a hallway, leading off to other rooms with dubious contents. “This way.”
Meli led her down the hall and into another, small room. This one had a bathtub of sorts inlaid in the center of the floor. The tub, of white, smooth stone, was big enough to hold several women at once. It had a spout in the shape of a serpent hovering over it. The mouth of the serpent caught Aimeé’s eye. “Darynn, your teacher, made that for us. It is a well-crafted urnen a device for heating water to our whim.” Inside the tub was a strangely shaped chair, as if for sitting rather than for washing. A rope hung down from the ceiling, crossing through a pulley there to another by wall, then down into the floor.
“This knob controls how strong the water is, this one how hot, and this lever…” She grinned. “This one controls where the water goes.”
“Get in. Sit down and give it a try,” Meli grinned. Aimeé gave her a curious look, then shrugged and slipped out of her clothes, slipping into the water. “Sit in the chair, that’s it.” The tawny, black-skinned girl undressed as well, sliding into the tub behind the chair. “Now, the first part’s always the toughest to get ready for. Start the water flowing.” Aimeé looked over and found the one for pressure, giving it a quick turn. “Lightly, girl! You’ll never get used to it like that!” Meli admonished. “Turn it low, right, like that.
“Now, reach over for the rope and pull on it.” Aimeé did as told. The chair began to rise and tilt in the pool. Her legs were slowly being raised out of the water, most of her body with it, until her mound and her head were just above the water. The stream from the serpent’s mouth was striking the water between her legs, a foot from her mound. “Test it,” Meli said. “See if it’s too hot.”
Aimeé reached a hand out into the water. “It’s fine.”
“Then take the lever and push it away from you. It’s a bit strange, but you’ll get used to it.” Aimeé did as told and the water began moving closer to her mound. “Just go on, Aimeé, you’ll like it.” Meli moved her hands slowly around the other’s girl’s body, her hands caressing Aimeé’s sides, touching her skin. Aimeé’s chest rose, gasping, as Meli’s hands reached around and touched her nipples at the same time the water ran up between her lips and touched her clitoris. She squirmed and moved the lever, pushing the water off.
“Take it easy,” Meli said. “Some girls like it very hard, others like it very hot. But we must all start out carefully.”
Aimeé nodded and her fingers gripped the lever a little more tightly. The mouth of the serpent, made of many carefully made plates of silver, moved slightly, directing the flow of water closer and closer to Aimeé’s cunny. “That’s it,” Meli whispered in her ear, “That’s it.” Aimeé felt her breasts flush and grow warm as Meli’s fingers caressed them, pressing against her giving flesh. Aimeé’s breath grew hoarse and ragged as the water played over her clitoris more and more forcefully. Her fingers barely touched the lever, her hips grinding against the smooth material of the seat. Meli wrapped her arms around Aimeé’s waist and held onto her, holding her down, waiting for the explosions to stop.
Much to Meli’s surprise, they did not stop. If anything, Aimeé’s moans grew louder, her buttocks pounding against the marble. The moans built into a scream, and then Meli noticed that the room had become darker; the candles had gone out, and a wind was building. Even in as small a space as the bathtub the water become choppy, the air whistled and spun as Aimeé’s screamed. “No!” Meli scrabbled for the knob in the dark, finding it with her fingertips, and turned off the water.
The wind subsided. Aimeé’s breathing, punctuated occasionally by moans, filled the room. Finally even that grew quiet. Meli, still more than a little frightened, whispered, “Aimeé?”
“Meli?” the reply came. “Are you okay?”
“Frightened, but unharmed,” Meli replied.
The door to the room flew open. “What in the name of Agas is going on down here?” Bethsany peeked into the room, looking around at the destruction. “What happened.”
“She… she started to come, madame, and then the whole room just started to come apart.”
“It was so… powerful. Meli was touching me and the water was so strong… I couldn’t help it!”
Bethsany rolled her eyes. “I’m going to send you a message for Darynn, Aimeé, that he’s to teach you to keep your magic down when you’re just having fun!”
“Now, Meli, I told you to show her a nice time, but you were also to teach her how to do her hair. Now, get with it, get with it.”
“Yes, madame,” Meli replied, climbing out of the tub and handing Aimeé a towel. “Come, Aimeé, I will teach you how to be beautiful.”