Innocent

by Aishling Morgan

  Aishling Morgan

  Chapter One

  ‘He has her now, surely.’

  Cianna’s hand tightened on her necklace at the words, her excitement rising steeply. In front of her, one of the two men who had been fighting for some half-an-hour had the other on the ground, pinning him face down. Beyond them, a red haired girl stood on a dais, clutching nervously at her dress.

  The man beneath made one last effort to rise, then slumped down, defeated. Cianna clapped as the victor rose, unsteadily, and raised his hands to the crowd. The girl on the dais hung her head, watching from beneath half lowered eyelids as the victor walked towards her. He was massively built, powerful, with a great mane of copper red hair and huge hands. As he approached, the girl braced herself, then kicked out at him, only to have her leg caught one handed. The man pulled, setting her down on her bottom with a thump and drawing laughter from the audience. Catching the girl up from the dais, he slung her across his shoulder, to carry her kicking to where the defeated man lay.

  Cianna found herself smiling as the girl was thrown down across the man on the ground and her skirts tossed up to reveal a full white bottom. Putting his hand to his codpiece, the victor pulled it aside, exposing heavy genitals in a nest of coarse red hair. He began to masturbate, tugging at his cock with his eyes fixed on the naked bottom in front of him. After a while he stopped, to reach down and tear the girl’s bodice wide, spilling out heavy pink breasts, which he fondled as he sank to his knees, his cock now erect in his hand. The girl was mounted, from the rear, her bottom humped up over the defeated man’s hip.

  The girl began to pant as she was fucked, her buttocks bouncing to the man’s thrusts, her big breasts swinging and slapping beneath her chest. With her eyes glued to the sight, Cianna pressed her skirts to her sex, suddenly uncomfortable, then glanced back to see if her action had been noticed. It had not, the whole audience as rapt as she. There was her mistress, Sulitea, large eyes moist as she twisted a pale curl around a finger. There was the Princess Talithea, struggling to appear poised but with both shock and excitement showing in her face. There was Prince Kavisterion himself, openly pleased. There was the Reeveling Aeisla, taller than any other woman there, making no effort to conceal her delight in the girl’s ravishment. Others stretched away on both sides, people unknown to Cianna.

  The man was getting urgent, his face red, his fingers dug deep into the soft flesh of the girl’s hips, his front slamming again and again against the plump meat of her bottom. Her control had gone, squealing and moaning as she was fucked, with her fat breasts in her hands and her bottom pushed high to meet his thrusts. Again Cianna sneaked a hand to her crotch, wondering if she dared rub herself through her skirt, to bring herself to the orgasm she so badly needed. It would have taken moments, and she was going to do it, only for the man to grunt, whip his penis from the girl’s sex and spray sperm across her buttocks and back. Immediately clapping rose on all sides, along with the thumping of tankards on the wooden benching and calls of congratulation.

  ‘A fine ravishment!’ the Prince declared. ‘Ho, Rath, here’s another five thalar piece for the purse, and Groy, a single. Well fought!’

  The victor caught the coin as it was thrown to him, the defeated man pulling himself painfully to his elbow to take his own. The girl had risen, and was straightening her skirts, red faced with embarrassment but smiling, only for the look to turn to annoyance as she discovered that her bodice was ruined, the material torn clean across. The Prince laughed, tossing out another coin.

  ‘And another for a new dress, Sian, if you’ll leave those fine titties out for now.’

  Immediately the girl’s face lit up again. Catching the coin, she curtsied to the Prince, then walked back to the stands, still with her breasts bare.

  ‘Absolutely barbaric!’ Talithea remarked.

  ‘Nonsense, she is only a peasant girl,’ the Prince answered. ‘So, what now?’

  ‘A recitation of the saga of Thane Etharion,’ Talithea said.

  ‘Excellent!’ he declared. ‘Boy, more mead, and fill my Princess’ goblet, the others also.’

  ‘I do think she might have put up a little more fight,’ Aeisla remarked. ‘A few feeble kicks hardly make for a spectacle.’

  ‘Undignified, also,’ Sulitea agreed, ‘even for a peasant. Prince Kavisterion, put Aeisla up on the dais, with a purse of a hundred thalars. See how your men do then!’

  ‘A fine spectacle, no doubt,’ the Prince answered, ‘yet she is a Reeveling, above such public exposure. Now be quiet, here is the minstrel.’

  A lank, fox-faced man with golden red hair cut short had stepped to the dais and was unrolling a scroll of charta. Silence fell on the audience as he cleared his throat, then began to read, a tale of heroics that Cianna had heard many times before. Her attention quickly wandered, across the valley from where a field had been prepared for the festivities, to the dark bulk of Ateron keep on its conical hill, with the houses of the town below and the grey sea beyond.

  The keep was larger than any she had seen, a cluster of high towers set behind crenellated walls, all in black stone. No less impressive was the town, with rank upon rank of houses rising up the hillside, many of them larger than the Thane’s hall in her village. Yet both were familiar enough, if grander than she was used to, and it was to the sea that her eyes were drawn, a great sheet of rippling grey, with waves breaking on a distant headland to the east. The lakes of her homeland in central Aegmund were tiny by comparison, and to the north and west it seemed to stretch forever, fading into grey where a bank of heavy clouds marked the horizon.

  For a space she watched the waves break, awed by the sheer scale of what she could see. To the north and east she knew there was a long rugged coast and finally a great sheet of ice. East, she could see the Spine Mountains, beyond which she knew was the kingdom of Mund, from which Talithea came. That had always seemed a place of fable and riches, with odd customs and peculiar sensibilities. Yet Talithea, Sulitea and Aeisla also had been further still, beyond the sea that separated Kora from the southern continents, to places stranger yet, a fact which invested all three of them with an air of mystery and glamour.

  Turning, she stole a glance at Aeisla, so tall, copper haired, heavy chested, lean, her body sleek yet muscular, listening to the minstrel with a faraway look in her eyes. Beside Aeisla, Sulitea looked small and ordinary, save for the pale blonde hair so typical of the high-born. Yet as a witch it was Sulitea who drew the cautious, respectful looks, a fact which made Cianna swell with pride to be her maid.

  The minstrel finished the saga, leading to a fresh round of applause and crashing of tankards on wood. Sulitea reached down, to tousle Cianna’s hair, then moved her legs. Cianna adjusted herself, leaning into Sulitea’s skirts.

  ‘Is there any gossip?’ Sulitea asked. ‘We hear nothing in Boreal.’

  ‘Why you insist in living there is beyond me,’ Talithea replied. ‘You could hardly be more remote if you had gone to the edge of the ice cap.’

  ‘This is simple. In Boreal I have respect, both as a witch and as a High-Demoiselle. Few know of my disgrace, and in any case it carries little sting. Even here in Ateron there are strange glances and whispering; there, none. The people are savage, superstitious also. Look at little Cianna here, who is as faithful as a puppy, and a deal more obedient, for all that she files her fangs and wears a necklace of her ancestor’s teeth.’

  Again Sulitea reached down to tousle Cianna’s hair. Cianna looked up with a smile. Talithea shrugged and turned to allow her goblet to be filled with mead before speaking again.

  ‘There is news of interest, as it is, from Thieron itself. In the autumn my brother came up to hunt. Do you recall the magic powder used in bombards?’

  ‘Yes.’

&nbs
p; ‘Well it seems that the Glass Coast has gained the secret of its making. Long boats seeking to raid up the Rai estuary were met with great iron balls, hurled across the sea. Now nothing will do for Father than we have the secret ourselves.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes. Father planned an expedition, wonderfully bold. The men of three long boats came in to a lonely beach at night and overran a small fortress from the landward, taking both powder and bombards. Sadly the effort was wasted.’

  ‘How so?’ Aeisla asked.

  ‘We have the powder, but we do not know what it is. Nor did the men in the fort. It seems the secret is known only to a handful.’

  ‘And none were able to fathom it?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Men! Idiots!’ Sulitea broke in sharply.

  ‘Not so!’ Talithea replied. ‘It was a brave move, and all they could do. Have more respect for my father, who is still your King, for all you plant yourself in the wilds of Aegmund.’

  ‘An idiot,’ Sulitea insisted, ‘and do not forget that he is my uncle as well as you father. He is brave yes, but like all men he blusters and shouts, swinging his axe and cursing his enemies, only to fail when anything arises which requires so much as a moment of thought.’

  ‘And you could do better, I presume?’ Talithea retorted hotly.

  ‘Certainly,’ Sulitea answered her. ‘It is a simple matter of process. Utharion is going about it quite the wrong way. The men of the Glass Coast have only just gained the secret, and furthermore, they face us across the sea. Naturally they will take every precaution to stop us gaining it in turn. Better to go further afield, where the knowledge is more commonplace and our enmity is of no consequence.’

  ‘Raid a thousand leagues or more to the south?’ Talithea snapped. ‘Now who is the idiot?’

  ‘You think like your father,’ Sulitea answered. ‘Violence is not always the answer. What I would do is simply to arrive at some suitable place and find a man with the appropriate knowledge. I would flatter him, praising his skill and valour, bed him perhaps, and in due course ask in an awed little voice how the black powder is made. Eager to boast, he would answer me, and the precious secret would come tumbling out. Simple.’

  ‘Mere talk,’ Talithea replied, ‘and you are a dishonourable slut besides. Bedding men to gain their secrets! I am ashamed to call you cousin!’

  ‘It is not mere talk!’ Sulitea snapped. ‘I could do it.’

  ‘Mere talk,’ Talithea sniffed.

  ‘I shall do it,’ Sulitea answered, ‘and with ease. Indeed, it will be little more than a pleasure jaunt.’

  Cianna watched as Sulitea spread a map out on the table, weighting each corner of the charta with a piece of raw crystal. Unable to read, and understanding only vaguely that the lines in some way indicated the boundaries between land and sea, she could only look on in awe as her mistress and Aeisla bent to study it, both clearly with full understanding.

  Having said she intended to discover the secret of the black powder, not only to her cousin, but in front of the Prince, Sulitea had been unable to back down. Instead she had attacked the project with enthusiasm, behaving as if she was doing her kin a minor favour. Privately, she had put a great deal of time and effort into persuading Aeisla to accompany her, eventually succeeding. For Cianna, as Sulitea’s maid, there had been no question of not accompanying them, a prospect which she found both exciting and terrifying.

  They had travelled back to Boreal together, south through the steep hill country inland of Ateron, through groves of oak and coffinwood, then to higher land of lakes and dark forests. At last they had reached Boreal, at the very centre of Aegmund, Cianna’s own land. There, she had ordered provisions and briefly visited her parents, who had accepted the news of her coming journey with a mixture of concern and pride. On her return to the spire Sulitea had established on a high meadow, she had found the two girls already well into their preparations.

  ‘We need a people who have little or no knowledge of Kora,’ Sulitea was saying. ‘The Glass Coast is impractical, also the Dwarven Kingdoms, and the Aprinia States too. Vendjome must tempt…’

  ‘We would be taken as slaves,’ Aeisla pointed out. ‘Auctioned on a block, naked. Besides, even now I may still be wanted as a runaway. Not Vendjome.’

  ‘Where then?’ Sulitea demanded. ‘It must be well south. What of this great island, here? Makea it is called.’

  ‘Irqual the pirate was a Makean,’ Aeisla replied. ‘They had bombards.’

  ‘What of his character?’

  ‘He was certainly boastful,’ Aeisla said dubiously. ‘He was also vicious, cruel, cunning and dishonourable.’

  ‘He was a pirate,’ Sulitea answered. ‘What do you expect? The ordinary folk of Makea are doubtless more reasonable. What do we know of them?’

  ‘Little or nothing,’ Aeisla admitted. ‘They may well take slaves.’

  ‘Or they may not. The point is moot. Indeed, what could be more harmless than a girl slave? They will tell the secret without the slightest concern.’

  ‘To be a slave! Sulitea!’

  ‘You will not be a slave, silly. They will merely think you one. It is not the same, as you should know. As we need them to think that we are in awe of their knowledge, so we need them to think us under their command.’

  Aeisla answered with a sceptical grunt. Cianna, who had been listening to the conversation with growing alarm, clutched at her necklace for strength.

  ‘Come,’ Sulitea went on, ‘do not be timid. Is this the girl who has been raiding alongside men, who has an escutcheon to put all to shame? Where is your spirit, Aeisla?’

  Aeisla shrugged, her face colouring.

  ‘Besides,’ Sulitea continued, ‘it is no great task, for me. Each detail will be planned, and you need merely follow my lead. For instance, we will come in at night, when there is cloud or the moons show little light, low over the sea, to land on a remote beach.’

  ‘Your confidence is extraordinary,’ Aeisla said, ‘but then it always was.’

  ‘As I say, it is no great task,’ Sulitea answered. ‘A simple matter of process and organisation. Cianna, our provisions are due to come?’

  ‘They will be delivered shortly, Mistress,’ Cianna answered.

  ‘Excellent,’ Sulitea replied, ‘then we leave as it grows dark. There is no sense in unduly alarming the peasants. Now, there is the matter of service. Cianna, you will maid for Aeisla as you do for me, and I will have no reticence to create poor feeling. You had best get used to it, so kiss her tuppenny, now.’

  ‘Mistress?’ Cianna queried, glancing doubtfully at Aeisla, who returned the uncertain look.

  ‘Kiss her,’ Sulitea repeated. ‘Look, Cianna, do you suppose that I will forego the pleasure of your agile little tongue because Aeisla is with us? She and I were lovers before. You both enjoy such pleasures, so to feign modesty is merely foolish. Come, Aeisla, up with your skirts, let her kiss you, or better yet, lick you.’

  ‘I think, perhaps…’ Aeisla began.

  ‘Then I will do it first, if you must be so coy,’ Sulitea broke in. ‘Here, Cianna.’

  Sulitea sat at a bench, pulling up her skirts and petticoats even as she did so. Beneath she wore drawers, of richly embroidered wool, which she pulled open, exposing the lace ruffles of her pantalettes, which in turn came open. Cianna swallowed as the plump, golden haired mound of her mistress’ sex came on show. She could feel the blood rising in her cheeks, and cast another uncertain glance at Aeisla.

  ‘You do this all the time?’ Aeisla asked.

  Cianna nodded, unable to find words, burning with embarrassment that what she had always held as the most intimate secret between her mistress and herself should be so casually revealed.

  ‘She always was a slut,’ Aeisla remarked to Cianna. ‘Lick her then, and when you are done I would be flattered for you to give me the same favour.’

  Again Cianna nodded, her face colouring rapidly as she dropped to her knees in front of Sulitea, shu
t her eyes, and buried her face in warm, soft flesh. Sulitea sighed as Cianna’s tongue found her clitoris, lapping at the little bud, with her own heat rising quickly at the sheer impropriety of what she was doing. It was common enough in the village, between sisters or the closest of friends, but always taboo. Never was it mentioned openly.

  Sulitea let herself slide forward on the bench, pushing her sex into Cianna’s face. In response Cianna began to lick lower, at the trim lips of her mistress’ sex, then in moist hole. With a yet sharper pang of shame, she went lower still, dabbing at Sulitea’s anus with her tongue tip.

  ‘Good girl,’ Sulitea sighed. ‘She is licking my bottom ring, Aeisla. Delicious, Cianna, little pet, now in, clean in the hole. Yes, perfect.’

  Cianna let her tongue tip burrow into the tight hole of Sulitea’s anus, her face burning hotter than ever. She could taste her mistress’ bottom, an acrid, earthy tang, not unfamiliar to her, but another intimate secret, now exposed to Aeisla. She did it anyway, probing and licking at the little hole until it was pink and shiny, before once more moving higher. Sulitea gave a contented purr as Cianna’s tongue once more found her clitoris, reaching down to stroke the maid’s hair. The gesture was immediately soothing, and Cianna licked more firmly, her feelings of admiration and love finally overcoming her shame. Again Sulitea sighed, her thighs tensing against Cianna’s face, and she was coming, crying out in pleasure as Cianna’s lapping reached a crescendo.

  ‘Glorious, beautiful,’ Sulitea declared as Cianna finished with a kiss to her clitoris. ‘Now the same for Aeisla, little one. Why not kneel, Aeisla, let me admire your lovely bottom while she licks you.’

  ‘You always were imperious, Sulitea,’ Aeisla answered. ‘Maybe I am not ready to be licked in so rude a position.’

  ‘Then get ready,’ Sulitea said. ‘Spank her bottom if it pleases you, bare, by hand, for her shame. You always did enjoy reddening other women’s bottoms.’

  ‘True,’ Aeisla admitted, and rose.

  Cianna looked up in fear and shame, her mouth open. Aeisla was too tall, too powerful to resist, even without her status. Facing the humiliating prospect of having her bare bottom spanked, she cast a last pleading look at her mistress. Sulitea merely smiled. Aeisla stretched, also smiling, casually confident in her strength, taking two long paces to where Cianna cowered by her mistress’s legs, seating herself on the bench, grabbing Sulitea by the scruff of her neck and hurling her down across her lap.