Bedtime Stories

by Johnson, Jean

  “Gods!” Head flung back, Migel grimaced, visibly struggling for control. She did it again experimentally, and he swore, panting. “Dammit! Don’t do that!”

  “Why not?” Nevada asked. “Didn’t you like it?”

  “Too much,” he rasped, shifting to grab her wrists one at a time.

  Unable to evade his grasp—not without an actual struggle—she focused on convincing him via words instead. “Well, I liked it, too. Slow and gentle is a good way to start out, and I thank you for it, but I’m interested in something with a bit more vigor now.”

  “A bit more vigor?” Migel repeated. She shifted her knees, lifting them higher so that she could tilt her hips up into his a bit more, and nodded. So did he. “All right, a bit more vigor, then.”

  He pulled out partway, then sunk back in with a sigh. It stung and soothed at the same time, like scratching a persistent itch. Releasing her arms, Migel braced more of his weight on his elbows, allowing him to withdraw and thrust with a bit more control and speed. Nevada liked that. She liked the feel of their bodies joining and the sensation of his shaft stretching her flesh to accommodate him. She also liked the way he picked up his pace when she lightly scratched his back again, and really liked how a slightly higher hitch of her hips let him rub against that flutter-spot deep inside.

  She liked it so much that when he paused to adjust his weight on elbows and knees, she dug in her nails in protest, not wanting the sensations to stop. Migel groaned and lifted her left leg higher, pulling it up with his hand. Weight braced on his other arm, he pistoned into her, thrusting over and over, faster and faster. Raking her nails from his shoulders to his thighs, she barely remembered to be gentle. The feelings built and built, until once more her eyes rolled up in blissful blindness.

  Vaguely, she heard herself cry out; it was hard to hear when her whole body thrummed with pleasure. As she drifted down, he bucked against her raggedly, groaning and collapsing on her, though his hips still twitched a little, trying to press into her those last few times before his own climax deflated his ability to do so. As he sagged onto her, sated, she wrapped her arms around him, enjoying the sweat-sticky way their bodies clung to each other.

  After a while, he kissed her softly, gently, then eased out of her and shifted to the side. Their skin clung a little, making the movement awkward, but it didn’t matter after she twisted onto her side and cuddled against him. Holding her in the curve of his arm, Migel sighed deeply.

  “That was wonderful . . . beyond wonderful. I’d figure out what word would qualify, exactly . . . but you seem to have melted my mind,” he muttered.

  Nevada chuckled. “Stupendous. Blissful. Definitely something to be repeated twice, and thrice, and a hundred times more, all over again. Especially since next time it won’t hurt as much.”

  He craned his neck, peering at her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought I was being careful.”

  “You were, but first times are inevitably difficult, for one reason or another. I’m glad I shared this one with you,” she stated simply, and got squeezed in return. “So . . . how soon do you think we can try it again? Practice makes perfect and all that.”

  He laughed. “I’ll need at least a few minutes more. Besides, he was right . . . uh, the one, Cotter. Some people do have to work tomorrow. I’m presuming that ‘some people’ includes you, so you’ll need your sleep.”

  “Cotter and I work in the same guild. He can tell the others why I’m not coming into work for my next shift—the diplomatic reasons,” Nevada clarified quickly, “not the personal ones.”

  “Good. I’d rather no one cast a giant, flashing illusion over the city blazing, ‘Migel slept with Nevada!’ It’s bad enough I’ll have to share you with six other men, even if only for as long as it takes us to get married and for you to divorce them,” he said.

  “I’ll miss them,” she murmured. “They aren’t husbands in the fullest sense of the word, but they are my friends.”

  “Once we get Althinac fully settled down and the people accepting our joint leadership, we’ll be able to come back and visit them. Or they can come and visit us, which would be easier,” he pointed out. “They obviously care about you, and I can’t begrudge them that.”

  Pleased, Nevada cuddled closer. “Thank you. I know it’s not your culture, and this one shouldn’t have been mine, but it is a part of my life.”

  “I’m just sorry my relatives decided to be so brutal in their objections to your family’s rulings. Your next-mother was a terrible influence on your father and his policies, and I think she got what she deserved for all the misery she caused, but they shouldn’t have tried to kill you. Not when you were innocent of all wrongdoing.”

  “I think we should leave discussions of politics and history outside the bedroom,” Nevada decided after a moment. “It sort of ruins the mood.”

  He chuckled and pulled her close enough to kiss the top of her head. “You’re right. My apologies. We’ll be all serious and sober tomorrow. Tonight, we make love.”

  “Is it love?” she heard herself ask, and flushed at her temerity.

  Migel didn’t prevaricate. “I think it is. One of its stages, at any rate. You are a very lovable woman, Nevada, and I do admire you. I have for a long time. This . . . just makes it all the better.”

  “I feel the same way. About you,” she added, just in case he thought she was being narcissistic. Squirming up onto her elbow so that she could lean over him, Nevada started exploring the fine, dark hairs on his chest with her fingertips. “I also think it’s about time I reciprocated. Don’t you?”

  His grin was answer enough.

  “NEVADA? I’m Socorro.” The Althinac woman held out her hand in greeting as Nevada descended the steps of the Congregation Halls, having successfully petitioned the council for the terms of her impending divorce and relocation.

  “Yes, I remember,” Nevada admitted, clasping hands. “I didn’t mean to ignore you yesterday. It was rather rude of me, the way Migel and I just kept talking . . .”

  Socorro shook her head quickly, making her long, dark braid bounce a little. Dressed as she was in a fitted Althinac gown and corset, both made from fabric, she was drawing a lot of attention from the Menomonites passing them on the steps up to the halls. “No, you had a lot on your mind last night. And a lot in common with my cousin, it seems.”

  Nevada smiled. “Thank you. We’ll try not to monopolize everything again.”

  “Well, if I could monopolize you for a little while,” Socorro teased, “I have some gifts I promised to pass along to you. Most of them are from the loyalist faction, though a few come from the moderates among the rebels. A set of clothes in the Althinac style, some trinkets and jewelry, that sort of thing. When my cousin told me what he had planned, I didn’t know what sort of culture you’d be living among, and figured you’d want some Althinac finery so you’d feel more like you’d fit in when you return with us. Men don’t usually think of such things, you know.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I’d like to see what you brought,” Nevada agreed. “I’ve missed wearing skirts. They’re not very practical here in Menomon, not when the fastest way from one point to another sometimes means literally swimming to get there. Are they on your ship or . . . ?”

  “I brought everything down to my guest room in the Flame Tower earlier this morning. I’m told you didn’t have anything like a hotel until recently, just a temporary housing hostel for newly arrived citizens,” Socorro said.

  Nevada demurred. “Menomon has had good reason for isolating itself over the years,” she said, turning and heading toward the tower in question. “Which means we don’t have a lot of outside visitors passing through.”

  “That’s understandable. I trust you have the same sort of water-breathing spells enveloping your city environs that we do,” Socorro added, gesturing at the hydrostatic dome sheltering the section of city they were in, separating the air-filled spaces of Menomon from the water-filled ones. A second dome wa
s vaguely visible beyond the first, sheltering the city from the sheer weight of all that water overhead.

  “Of course. Our water-breathing spells are rather extensive, in fact. This general section of the Sun’s Belt Reefs is easier for ships to traverse than other sections, but easier isn’t the same as easy. Every year, a couple of ships sink as they try to ply their trade routes between the Aian and Katani continents . . . which is why housing is at such a premium right now. This way to the Flame Tower,” Nevada added as Socorro started to turn the wrong way.

  “That way? But the tower is visible over this way,” Socorro countered, pointing at the granite edifice on the far side of the plaza from the Congregation Halls.

  “If you go that way, you’ll have to pass through a hydrostatic barrier and swim for about fifty lengths,” Nevada told her. “If you go this way, it only adds another hundred lengths to the walk and we’ll stay perfectly dry—Menomon is a bit of a maze, I’m afraid.”

  “A bubble-filled maze,” the Althinac woman agreed. “Over half the buildings, I wouldn’t even know they were buildings, if it weren’t for those silvery barriers keeping the water off the balconies. Even that new tower we docked at has coral growths on it, and I was told it was finished only a few months ago. Coral usually takes years to grow just a few finger-lengths.”

  “Normally, yes, but Menomonites have learned how to influence and enhance the growth patterns of marine life. A lot of the coral you see on the Flame Tower has actually been transplanted from elsewhere and literally cemented into place,” Nevada told her. “They’re having more of a problem doing so with the desalinator, since the intake tunnels have to be coral-free to allow maximum freshwater processing, yet the exterior of the building has to be merged with the appearance of the rest of the reef, as set down in the city’s construction policies—Where exactly are your quarters? We’ll need to pick the right turning, up ahead.”

  “The West Buttress,” Socorro stated, pointing at one of the smaller support towers ringing the spire of the Flame Tower, visible now that they had taken the U-shaped detour of barrier-sheltered streets to get to it. “We couldn’t even see the Flame Tower until we were almost on top of it, thanks to some sort of disguising spell, but now that we’re here, it’s quite gorgeous. Almost reminiscent of some of our Althinac towers.”

  “I remember them,” Nevada agreed, smiling. “Just as I remember what it was like to wear a dress made of fabric. I was only a little girl when I left, but I do miss seeing the dresses.”

  “Then you’ll definitely enjoy the clothes I brought. We’ll have to gauge sizes, of course; just because you see someone in a mirror-scrying looking about your height doesn’t mean the focal point of the mirror isn’t magnifying the view.” Catching Nevada’s hand, Socorro smiled and led her into the West Buttress entrance. “We can leave the politics to the others for a few hours; for now, we’re just a couple of women about to try on a bunch of clothes!”

  Grinning, Nevada followed.

  NEVADA politely smiled and waved to one of her tenement neighbors. The older woman was staring at her gown, a rippling concoction of light blue silk cinched by a black stomacher corset. The underbust construction emphasized her waistline, giving her figure more of an hourglass look than it usually possessed. The corset also made her look exotically foreign, compared to the other woman’s sensible salmonskin vest and pants. Then again, everyone had stared at her on the way here, some people even following her a short distance, asking questions about her clothes.

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” Nevada asked, setting down her sack of new clothes and twirling yet again to display the gown. The sleeves were fitted down to her elbows, from where they flared out to the cuff in a fluttery, trumpetlike shape. The bodice fitted snugly to her breasts, thanks in part to the stomacher, and the skirt flared out from her hips, slightly longer in the back than in the front, allowing it to trail a little on the ground. Her brown stingray sandals didn’t quite go with the look, but she did have a pair of black ones in her quarters.

  “It’s not very practical,” her neighbor muttered, though envy was evident in both her gaze and her tone.

  “It’s Althinac. Half their city’s on the surface. They don’t have to worry as much about swimming to every place,” Nevada pointed out. Actually, it was probably only a third of the city that existed on the surface, but it wasn’t necessary to be accurate at the moment. Picking up her bag, she unlocked the door of her tenement and stepped inside.

  The moment she shut the door, alone for the first time in several hours, she realized the corset was starting to feel a bit tight. I guess I’m just not used to wearing the things. Not that I wore them this tight as a child, she reminded herself, heading toward the parlor and the hallway to her bedroom. But it’s definitely beginning to get to me . . . I’d better get it off soon, and let my ribs breathe. But first, I just have to show it off. A pity everyone else is still at work at this hour . . .

  “Dar-shem?” she called out, checking the glow of the nearest wall clock. The constriction of her corset was really beginning to get to her. “Are you up yet? Dar-shem?”

  Guessing he was still asleep, Nevada headed for her bedroom. Her ribs were beginning to ache now, making each breath a struggle. I definitely have to get this thing off. I’ll show it to everyone later. I—Ow!

  The corset constricted abruptly, startling and scaring her. Oh, Menos! Ow! I can’t—I can’t breathe! The laces . . . I—OW! Dropping the sack of clothes, she tried to reach the laces before the boned corset could crush her ribs . . . and felt them slither as they tightened further, entirely of their own volition. Gasping for breath, she stumbled against the wall just inside her bedroom door.

  “Dar . . . Dar-shem . . .” Chest wracked with compressed pain and vision blurring at the edges from lack of air, Nevada went for the only thing that could help her. With the last of her strength, she stumbled to her vanity table and dragged it to the ground with her in a crashing, tumbling mess.

  “EASY . . . don’t move just yet . . .”

  Hearing Dar-shem’s voice, low and soothing, Nevada relaxed into the soft bedding supporting her. Her chest ached abominably, but she could breathe freely. Prying open her eyes, she found both him and a purple-clad healer bent over her. The healer was swabbing something along her right side. “You . . . you heard me. Good.”

  “I’m glad I did. I thought you were an intruder when I woke up from the noise you made—Don’t move,” her dark-skinned co-husband said soothingly. “That thing that was throttling you broke seven of your ribs before I could get it off. I’ve mirror-called for the Mage Guild to send over a team to investigate it. Cotter’s on his way, too. From the looks of it, there was some sort of spell woven into the cord of the lacings; I couldn’t cut them with my knife, so I had to cut through the corset itself . . . so you also have a long gouge on your side. Sorry.”

  “It will heal scarlessly, if you lie still,” the healer added pertly, dabbing on the last of whatever salve she was using. “And no vigorous activity for at least a full day, preferably two. I’ve set and spell-healed your ribs, but they’ll still need time and a couple of bone-healing potions to finish strengthening.”

  Nodding, Nevada closed her eyes again. She knew she had almost been killed by the enchanted corset, yes, but she also knew she was safe. At least for now. At some point, she would have to find out who enchanted those laces and why. Socorro didn’t have any magic, at least as far as Nevada had sensed. At the ninth rank, she was strong enough to sense the presence of a fellow mage. So it had to have been the work of someone else. The question is, who?

  Besides, she was so nice to me . . . It had to have been someone who enchanted the clothing before handing it over to bring to me. One of the rebel faction.

  She felt Dar-shem kiss her on the forehead, and let her questions go. Her ribs still ached, her side tingled from whatever salve the healer had applied, and she didn’t have the strength to worry over what had just happened.

  After
my nap, Nevada decided. I’ll figure it all out after my nap . . .

  ALL six of her husbands rose when she finally entered the parlor. Seven, if she counted her husband-to-be. The eighth man was Sierran, and bodies nine and ten crowding her family’s living room were the guardian apprentices Koranen of Nightfall and Danau of the Aquamancer Guild. After a restful, spell-enhanced nap, Nevada felt better about her ordeal, but the grim expressions on the men and woman in her home reminded her of how close she had come to being crushed to death.

  Nodding politely to the apprentices, Nevada took the seat Migel offered to her. “Well. What have you found out?”

  “The lacings were enchanted with a Fortunai pattern-woven spell,” Apprentice Koranen stated. “I had to consult with my twin on it, since it’s not too common in this half of the world, but the spell was literally woven into the lacings when they were made.”

  “They were set to trigger when the wearer was alone,” Apprentice Danau added, her tone grim. The petite redhead had warmed up a bit—socially speaking—after her visit to Nightfall and subsequent marriage to her singular husband, but she was still cool and unflappable when on the job.

  Nevada hadn’t interacted with her overly much, since the Aquamancer Guild handled a completely different set of magical needs for the city, but neither had she shunned the other woman for being born different. It was a good thing, too; combined, Danau and Koranen were at least as powerful as Guardian Sheren. Together, the two of them had enough power and knowledge to dissect the magics involved in Nevada’s brush with death.