“Trust me. I’ve seen them all.”
“I do trust you. I trust you more than anyone in my life. That’s why I want you to be my first.”
He was so shocked that she could have sensed it from across the bay. “I . . . I . . .”
Had the moment not been so fraught, she would have laughed at his stammering. “There’s no one else. Except Jacon, and I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Good Fahla, no. He’d be twelve thumbs.”
“So will you do it? I need training before I go out there.”
“Training.”
“What else would it be?”
“Oh, I don’t know. An affectionate joining between two good friends?”
She stared at him, not understanding how he could be hurt. “Mouse, I love you. But I’m not attracted to you that way. I’m not attracted to anyone that way.”
Once again she had shocked him, and—oh, Fahla, he was going to cry.
“You love me,” he said slowly.
“That can’t be a surprise. You have to have sensed it before. I gave you a double palm touch on my birth anniversary!”
“I know! But . . .” He wiped his eyes. “You never said it. No one has ever said it.”
“No one ever told you—” She stopped. Of course they hadn’t. He had never lived that kind of life.
She ached for her mother in that moment, wishing she could say thank you for a childhood in which those words made regular appearances. Her father had never said it, but even with him she had always known. Or at least, she had until he stopped loving her. But to reach eighteen cycles and never once hear those words . . .
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Your parents were idiots.”
“True words.”
“And I’m an idiot for not saying it before now. You’re my family. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’d be dead without you, probably twice over.”
With a quiet sniffle, he repeated, “Twice?”
“You taught me how to swim. I wouldn’t have come home last night if you hadn’t spent all summer last cycle swimming with me.”
His eyes widened. “Fahla’s farts and fantasies. I didn’t think about that.”
“Now who’s been around the docks too long?”
“You could have died! You would have died.”
She nodded. “And not just the swimming. How many times did we jump off that dock? One hundred? Two hundred?”
“Per day,” he said with a wan smile. “You were like a child.”
“A child learning how to hit the water. It saved me.”
Slumping back, he rubbed his hands down his cheeks. “Shek. I really didn’t think about that. Shek.”
She turned to rest her back against the side of the couch and threw her legs over his lap. “Speaking of shekking, I haven’t heard an agreement.”
A bark of surprised laughter shook his body. “Right. Well, step one: this is not arousing.”
Delighted to have made him laugh, she said, “I told you I need training.”
In all of the stories Rahel had read about warriors, joining was something marvelous and mystical, or passionate and amazing. Explorers joined in a glorious celebration of surviving a shipwreck; Guards joined in an explosive release of battle joy after defeating an enemy. When it was a love story, they joined and Shared at the same time, merging both bodies and minds into a mythic whole, a single entity with full understanding and unfettered love. A Shared joining was supposed to be the ultimate experience, while a normal joining was, at the very least, something that lifted one to heights of physical ecstasy.
At no time did any of those warriors giggle.
She and Mouse giggled constantly. It started right from the beginning, when they undressed and he asked if she had ever touched herself. When she said yes, he let out an exaggerated sigh of relief and said, “Thank Fahla, at least I don’t have to teach you that.”
But he did have a great deal to teach her. She knew that her pelvic ridges increased in sensitivity the further down they went. She knew that her molwine, the curving ridge at the apex of her legs where her pelvic ridges joined, was the most sensitive of all. She did not know that when the molwine was nibbled on in a gentle fashion, or licked, or a combination of the two, the sensations could make her light-headed. It had never felt like that when she touched herself.
“Of course it doesn’t,” Mouse said. “Why do you think everyone wants to join? If we could bite and lick our own molwines, we’d sit inside our bedrooms all day and never leave.”
Naturally, Rahel had to test her flexibility and see how close she could get to biting her own molwine, which led to fits of laughter, which led to Mouse scolding her for ruining all the work he had done to get her aroused.
When it was her turn to touch his molwine, she quickly learned how easy it was to bite too hard. She must have apologized ten times.
“If you say sorry one more time, I’m going to kick you in the molwine and then you’ll see why that works so well in a fight,” Mouse said impatiently. “Just lick it. That soothes the bite.”
She did as she was told. With her hands on his bare skin, she could feel his momentary pain melting into pleasure. It was fascinating.
Far more fascinating was sliding her finger inside the opening just beneath his molwine. She rarely did this to herself; there was little to no pleasure in it. But the pleasure she sensed through his skin was . . . powerful. She was doing this. It was her touch making him feel this way. The primal satisfaction was similar to how she felt when Hasil complimented her form.
She was doing it right, finding control, learning how to use her body.
This was just another way of using her body.
There was less giggling then, as she slipped into the focus she used in training and concentrated on finding the right form. She learned that Mouse was as small inside as he was outside, that a single finger was all his inner ridges could comfortably handle, while she herself could handle two. She learned what it felt like when the inner ridges pulled away from each other, expanding the channel, and how everything changed when those same ridges released their lubricating powder.
Of course she knew about this from school. She knew that the lubricating powder filled the micropores in both the inner ridges and the skin of her penetrating finger, and that the point was to create a nearly frictionless slide, easing entry and further stimulating the ridges. She knew that in the end, it was all about setting up the body for the final purpose of joining—to slide a sperm capsule through that channel and all the way into the waiting pouch at the far end, where it would join with the egg and create new life.
But the dry facts did nothing to prepare her for the way her finger moved so smoothly inside him, or for the physical heat of his channel and the emotional heat of his pleasure. It didn’t prepare her for the way he looked at her, or the choked sound of his voice when he asked her to lick his molwine. It didn’t prepare her for the sweet scent of his arousal, or the surprise of watching his body arch beneath her hands, then shudder violently as his back came off the bed.
It didn’t prepare her for the understanding that what she saw as simple training meant far more to him. He was rarely touched in this way; his pleasure was not the goal for his clients.
And he had never been touched with love.
He tried to hide his tears, but with both of them naked, there was so much skin contact that concealing strong emotions was impossible. She hesitated before remembering that, technically, they were lovers now. The taboo against warmrons no longer applied.
She stretched out beside him and pulled him into her arms, letting him bury his face in her throat and sob. His small size was a long-accepted fact, but the physical reality of him in her embrace was new and different. She tightened her grip, kissed the top of his head, and tried very hard not to think about adults twice his size handling him roughly.
“I’m all right,” he said with a sniffle. “It was just . . . a
little overwhelming.”
“So that means I’m really good?”
He chuckled, his earlier pain washing away. “Not even done with training and already you’re overconfident. You’ll make a great warrior, I can tell.”
“What do you mean, I’m not done? What else is there?”
He pushed her over onto her back, settled himself on top, and fit their molwines together. The shock of contact widened her eyes. “Oh,” she said. “That’s, um . . .”
“Kind of nice, isn’t it? This is the basic position for a Shared joining. It’s also an easy way to reach the throat ridges.” He ran a finger along one side of her throat. “When they come out, that is.”
“I didn’t see yours.” She frowned in thought. “Weren’t you aroused enough?”
“Are you joking? I nearly hit the ceiling. My throat ridges were probably ready to break through my skin. You didn’t notice because you were . . . concentrating down there.”
Now she felt inadequate. “I’m sor—”
“Do not say you’re sorry. Fahla on a shekking funstick, that was the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt. Don’t apologize for it.”
She relaxed as his sincerity soaked through her skin. “How many positions are there?”
With a wicked smile, he said, “Don’t make any plans for the next couple of days.”
15
CLIENTS
Rahel made more from her first client than she would have in an entire moon of working on the docks.
Mouse arranged it all, from finding the client to setting up the room at the inn where the session would take place. He told her she would make a fortune because there was only one first time, and clients were willing to pay a lot to be the first. She had thought he was exaggerating, but when the client pressed the envelope in her hand, her eyes nearly bugged out at the amount inside.
He was a kindly-looking merchant of perhaps fifty cycles, and surprisingly gentle. It didn’t take long before she realized just how right Mouse had been—this man expected her to be shy, reluctant, and a little frightened. She couldn’t quite manage frightened, not when he was so soft and paunchy. At first glance, she knew she could pin him to the floor and be out the door before he recovered. But she was certainly shy and reluctant. Joining with Mouse was one thing, when there was mutual love and respect and a great deal of laughter, even if the physical sensations were not as life-changing as the stories had led her to believe. Joining with this stranger more than three times her age was entirely different.
She reminded herself that it was just another way of using her body.
Shortly after they began, she silently thanked Mouse for his advice on artificial lubricating powder. She had inserted the little capsule before her client arrived, and by the time he pushed two fingers inside of her, the capsule had dissolved and the powder had been released. Without it, this would have been extremely uncomfortable. As it was, her client was vastly pleased with his prowess in arousing her enough for easy entry.
Mouse had told her about that, too. Since physical arousal was separate from emotional arousal, clients could be easily fooled. They wanted to believe they were so good that they could overcome a child’s reluctance, manipulating the body into receptivity with their skills. When people want to believe, Mouse had said, they’ll take almost anything as proof.
The truth of his words was in front of her right now. She was not aroused, emotionally or physically. With their skin contact, her client had to be sensing her emotional lack. But he thrust with great enjoyment, complimenting her “perfect little body” and exclaiming about her responsiveness to him.
To keep her disgust and mental eye-rolling from transmitting through her skin, she distracted herself by recalling a quote. Mouse had suggested a children’s rhyme, which he found effective because it was one of his oldest memories. She had considered it, but settled on something that seemed a better fit for her: an ancient prayer for loved ones going into danger.
May Fahla guide and protect them
on the dark path they must walk.
And if she calls the heroes home
their deeds shall ever be taught.
Over and over she recited the prayer to herself. It worked. Her client never realized how disconnected she was, or how little she cared about his activities. Her body’s small shudders as she reached physical release satisfied him completely, and he caressed her from head to toe, whispering that she was a woman now and would always remember him as her first.
May Fahla guide and protect them, she thought.
It was a relief when he finally rose from the bed. The end of skin contact meant that she could stop working so hard to hide her emotions, and she wasted no time covering up. He probably thought it was modesty, though she hadn’t been concerned about that since her first days of changing clothes in Brasdo’s training house.
“I doubt I’ll see you again, child.” He held out his hand, a bluestone pendant sparkling on his palm. She looked at him questioningly.
“It’s for you,” he reassured her. “A sign of my appreciation. You were lovely, and I would like to think of you wearing this after I’m gone.”
“Thank you.” She took the pendant off his palm and walked him to the door. He insisted on a final kiss, which she managed without touching him in any other way. When he was safely outside, she locked the door, dropped the pendant into the envelope, and went straight to the shower to wash off his touch.
“Nice,” Mouse said when she showed him the pendant. “And quite revolting.”
“It’s ownership, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “He’s a jewel merchant. Gives them to all his first-timers, if he’s happy with their performance. In his mind, there are a hundred children running around Whitesun and Blacksun and every other big city with these pendants around their necks.”
“Ugh. I can’t imagine anyone keeping it.”
“There probably are a hundred people running around wearing these pendants. Just not the people he gave them to.”
They sold the pendant for another week’s worth of wages.
Subsequent sessions did not pay nearly so well, but it was still far easier and more profitable work than loading cargo.
Her sixth client was a blonde scholar who insisted on taking her from behind while she was on her hands and knees. That was Rahel’s least favorite position of all the ones Mouse had shown her, and it was even worse when the person behind her was someone she neither cared for nor trusted.
At one point, the woman tried to pull her hair. Rahel put her on her back with an arm across her throat two pipticks later.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she growled.
To her shock, the woman’s arousal spiked. “Well,” she said in a husky voice, “I had no idea you could do that. Show me what else you can do.”
Mouse had not told her about this. He had said clients might want to hurt her, not that they would want to be hurt or roughly handled. But Mouse was tiny and looked twelve, while she was muscular and growing into her adult body. It made sense that clients would view her differently.
Working entirely on instinct and what she could feel through their skin contact, she pulled the woman into several different restraint holds while thrusting into her with more vigor than she ever had with previous clients. When the woman’s throat ridges emerged, she bit into one with nearly enough power to break the skin.
It drove the client wild.
At the end of their session, she received a tip that doubled her initial amount and a promise that the woman would look her up the very next time she was in town.
“You were a marvelous surprise, dear one. I almost want to keep you for myself. Promise me that you’ll take care of yourself until I see you again.”
“I will,” she said, baffled at the maternal tone. She would never understand people the way Mouse did.
“Shek,” Mouse said when she told him what had happened. “I didn’t realize . . .” He pursed his lips. “We’ve been getting
you the wrong clients. That scholar was right, you’re a surprise. You look like a girl but you’re really a trained warrior.”
“I am not. I’ve only had a little over two cycles—”
“Don’t interrupt my genius. I’m thinking.”
Four days later, Mouse took her to a pleasure house.
She didn’t know what she had been expecting—perhaps a dark place full of naked bodies writhing to sinuous music—but it was not this light stone building constructed in a square around a central landscaped courtyard. The main corridors were outside, along the edges of the courtyard, protected beneath the floor above and separated from the gardens by a series of beautiful arches. They passed door after door, each room walled with privacy glass. Everywhere she looked, people were moving about in white robes, appearing very relaxed as they went in and out of the doors. She heard soft chimes from one room, caught the scent of cinnoralis from another, and from a third there was a murmur of voices that sounded like good friends having a chat over rajalta.
Mouse led her up an open flight of stone steps to an airy landing, then through an arch and a short passage to an interior hallway lined with beautifully carved and inlaid wooden doors. He stopped by one near the middle of the hall and tapped the call pad beside it.
The door slid open immediately, revealing a woman perhaps twice Rahel’s age. She wore loose pants and a shirt with billowing sleeves, its open neckline held together with untied lacing. Her long hair was piled atop her head, accentuating her elegant neck and sharply defined cheekbone ridges.
Rahel remembered Mouse calling her exotic, but this woman was truly exotic with the wide streak of green running through her otherwise pure silver hair. The color streak matched both her eyes and her shirt. Though not classically beautiful, she was certainly arresting, and she exuded confidence as she stood in the doorway, one hand raised for a palm touch.
“Well met, Mouse. This is your friend?”
“Well met, Sharro. Yes, this is Rahel.”
Rahel met Sharro’s palm and exchanged greetings, then followed Mouse inside. The room was simple but comfortable, with four armchairs encircling a low table, a sideboard holding fruits and drinks, and a curving couch facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked onto the courtyard. Whatever functions it served could not include joining.
Outcaste: Book Six in the Chronicles of Alsea Page 10
