Caralissa's Conquest

by Reese Gabriel

  Fira shoved her backwards. ‘Place her over the horse,’ she ordered. ‘And bring me my shaft. I wish to sport with her some more.’

  Sport with her some more? What on earth did that mean? And what sort of horse were they planning to bring inside the basement of a pleasure-house?

  Jolar snapped his fingers, further delegating the action to two of the waiting men. The pair lifted Caralissa with ease, holding her by her bound arms as they dragged her across to the device. The thing consisted of a kind of horizontal tube with two sets of legs, set at sharp angles. They laid her across it on her stomach, pulling her arms down to cuffs that were attached to two of the legs. Her ankles were secured to the other two legs, also by cuffs. This accomplished, she was now quite exposed, head to the floor, legs spread, buttocks and vaginal opening easily accessible. Her breasts meanwhile were cruelly pressed against the sticky material that covered the tube, inducing her to clammy perspiration.

  Caralissa grimaced. With her loins cleaved and her mouth and chin over the horse’s front, she felt rather like an exposed tunnel, with two vacant ends.

  It was Jolar who attended her first. ‘You are no longer a queen, are you, girl?’ he demanded, swinging a large wooden paddle against her quivering buttock cheeks.

  ‘No,’ she cried pathetically as the paddle slammed at her nerve endings. ‘No.’

  Jolar struck her again. ‘What are you, then?’

  It was Fira who provided her the correct answer. ‘You are a pleasure-house slut,’ she said, having moved to a place directly in front of her, arms at her hips.

  Caralissa gasped as she saw what Lady Fira was now wearing, long and terrifying, attached to her waist by means of straps and a leather belt.

  ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Fira asked, noting the horrified look as she beheld the ebonite shaft, fixed prominently as though it were a natural erection. ‘We use it for practice. Today we are practicing on you.’

  Caralissa began to struggle, trying to free herself. She could get no leverage and the shackles were strong and tight. The best she could hope to accomplish was to rock the entire structure hard enough to topple it over. Alas, it was too heavy even for that.

  ‘What are you?’ Jolar repeated, punctuating his repeated question with another two blows of the paddle.

  Caralissa winced. The paddle’s sting was not like the pure fire of the whip, nor was it like a man’s bare hand, but there was to it a cumulative effect, a kind of building heat that was rapidly approaching the point of flammability. ‘I am a pleasure-house slut!’ she cried.

  ‘Very good,’ Fira told her reassuringly, stretching her hand out to pat her head. Caralissa clamped her mouth shut. The shaft was approaching, and it was in line to ram between her lips.

  Fira feigned surprise as the girl’s resistant lips rebuffed its tip. ‘Oh my, what have we here? Is Cara too much of a lady to sport with us?’ Fira clamped Caralissa’s nose shut before she knew what was coming. The prisoner whimpered helplessly. It was only a matter of time till she must gasp for breath, thereby leaving her mouth free to be plundered. Fira was patient, and the shaft was ever present. Cara feared she might pass out, but at last she closed her eyes and opened her mouth the tiniest bit, just for a second.

  The artificial cock was thrust immediately to the back of her throat. Cara gagged, nearly retching. The thing was bigger than any man she knew, bigger perhaps than any man could be. Putting her hands on both sides of Caralissa’s cheeks, Fira pumped herself in and out mercilessly. It seemed madness that she would do this given that the woman couldn’t even feel pleasure from it, but apparently it served some purpose she did not understand.

  ‘We need to get it good and lubricated with your spit,’ Fira explained, ‘so we can fit it in your arse next.’

  Caralissa trembled and moaned in agonising despair, her eyes dotted with tears. Was there in this woman no pity at all?

  Fira began to laugh, the sound rising like a high cackle. ‘Do you smell that, boys?’ Caralissa’s invaded cheeks reddened, the scent of her arousal thick in the air. ‘I think little Cara is enjoying herself,’ the woman observed, shoving herself to the back of her mouth yet again. ‘Are you not, slut?’

  Caralissa tried to shake her pinioned head. No! A thousand times no!

  ‘Don’t lie to me,’ Fira warned, pulling back on her damp hair. ‘You do want it. You want this in your arse. Admit it.’

  Fira removed the shaft. Caralissa was weeping. ‘Yes,’ she heard herself cry, her voice small and possessed, ‘I do.’

  The words were a fierce utterance, almost unearthly.

  ‘Very well,’ Fira said graciously. ‘Jolar, you take my place while I accommodate our fine lady.’

  Jolar grunted his affirmation, and Caralissa began to swoon as he put himself in place. The last thing she remembered was the dual sensation, a pressing on both openings. The two shafts, one artificial, one natural, wreaking their havoc, piercing her, body and spirit. The orgasms seemed to come at her from all sides, like cascades of water, an overwhelming flood. She thought she would die at that moment, die of pleasure, die of shame.

  ‘Let us switch places,’ she heard Fira say at last, and then she passed out.

  Chapter Ten

  Caralissa shrugged the hand from her upper arm - a tricky prospect whilst balancing the frothy tankards. The man was drunk, his attempt to grab her playful. Shouting something to his companion, who lay head down on the table next to him, he let her go, giving her thinly-covered bottom a healthy pat as she scampered past.

  She couldn’t object of course, as the man had every right to do with her as he pleased for as long as he wished. The customers awaiting their ale might have been annoyed but there was no question of her having any say in the matter. Caralissa was a pleasure-house girl. She belonged to whoever laid coins upon the table for her use.

  A few tables down there was a fight. She narrowly avoided a plummeting body as she passed. Her own customers were a pair of merchants. Setting the beverages down she hoped to make a quick exit, but it was clear they had other intentions. Making her turn about they lifted her short silk skirt to examine her nether aperture.

  ‘Are you good and tight, girl?’ the one asked, a chubby, bearded fellow with a turban.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied, thinking it the safest answer.

  The other man, a hook-nosed fellow with thick eyebrows, stuffed his finger up her for good measure. They both laughed when she yelped. Caralissa squirmed on bare feet. She was essentially naked, the covering she wore being a sleeveless low-cut cloth garment with no underclothes.

  ‘What took so long with our orders, slut?’ asked the fat one, caressing her thigh.

  ‘She was probably off flashing her tits to some handsome soldier,’ mused the hooknose, taking a large swallow of his ale.

  ‘Sirs, forgive me, I—’

  The fat one seized her arm. ‘We’ll teach you to be insolent,’ he interrupted as he threw her across his lap.

  ‘Please,’ Caralissa cried in vain as he raised the cloth and began to spank her, ‘I didn’t do anything!’

  ‘Careful, Minak,’ the hooknose countered, ‘or she’ll juice all over your robes; you know how hard the stains are to remove.’

  Minak slammed his hand down, making her cry out. ‘Then she’ll bloody well be whipped, won’t she, Torano?’

  Minak continued his relentless assault whilst Torano said nothing. There was in Minak’s hand neither sweetness nor love, only punishing blows. Hating herself for her weakness, Caralissa began to cry.

  Noting the flow of tears, Minak yanked her to her feet. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, if it’s not one stain on me it’s another! I really will have to beat you now!’

  ‘Later, Minak,’ Torano said. ‘There’s something else she needs to do first.’

  Caralissa watched him fumbling at the belt on his robes, feeling herself redde
ning. The man wouldn’t make her do something here, would he, out in the open? She’d only been working three days but to her knowledge sexual acts were allowed only in the pleasure rooms.

  ‘Sir, I don’t think this is permitted,’ she protested meekly as Torano revealed an enormous member.

  Minak shoved her down and forward in the relevant direction. ‘Oh, be silent, whore. You are boring us.’

  Caralissa landed on her knees, and Torano’s slender fingers were at her head at once, positioning her tearstained face. The floor was sticky and the man tasted sour, almost rancid. She doubted he had bathed in weeks.

  ‘Hey, save some for us!’ she heard a nearby fellow roar. Others were laughing, too. Tankards were pounding on the table. This was wrong, she thought. Surely someone would stop it before it was too late.

  ‘Suck hard, little slut,’ Minak proclaimed, speaking for his friend, whose head was back in slack-eyed ecstasy. ‘We have powerful friends. Very powerful. Cross us and we’ll send you some place that makes this stinking place look like paradise.’

  Caralissa tried to keep her focus, but it was all beginning to blur in her head; the innumerable sex acts since her arrival, the degradation, the cruelties. One man left her chained from the ceiling for five hours while he lay passed out next to her on the floor. Thank the goddess he’d been too drunk to touch her with the wildly flailing whip he took from the rack on the wall.

  Another man poured beer over her head so his brother could lick the foam off her breasts. On more than one occasion she’d been made to take customer’s orders to the kitchen on her hands and knees so they could enjoy the sight of her wriggling buttocks. Seldom did she keep her clothing on for an entire evening. Some customers would demand she strip even before they would accept her as a waitress.

  And of course there were the stares, the leers and endless probing eyes, letting her know in no uncertain terms what they planned to do to her later on. She’d been aching and sore at the end of each night, raw in every orifice. The cream, used to lubricate, was available, but it cost extra and few men desired to waste their money on the comfort of pleasure-house sluts.

  ‘Try to enjoy it,’ was Lady Fira’s only advice. ‘You’ll stay wet that way.’

  Some of them would let her lubricate her anal passage with juices from her vagina. Even so, at the end of a shift she could barely stand. The mat on the floor in the basement, where she was allowed to sleep, neck chained to the wall, seemed like heaven to her tired body each time she lay down.

  She seldom stayed awake more than a few seconds after being chained in place. Sometimes the guards would use her in the middle of the night and then she’d have to wake up again.

  Her allocated four hours of sleep a night flew by like the wind. How she wished to stay in bed longer each time, but there was no avoiding the predawn call to begin her labours along with the other girls who were responsible for scrubbing, cleaning and preparing the establishment for the next night’s revels. Naked, under the eyes of an overseer, the girls would attend to their duties.

  It was at these times that she thought most often of Romila, wondering what her sister was doing at such an early hour, hoping she was in a better place, sleeping peacefully.

  Caralissa felt Torano shudder inside her. It was reflex to draw out the sperm, to take it down into her empty belly. She hoped she pleased him. Customers were allowed to give treats to the girls if they felt they’d earned them. It was the only supper the wenches ever saw.

  Lady Fira’s theory was that needy girls were more attentive. As her chief aid, Jolar would give lectures to the girls to this effect as they ate their morning bowls of gruel, scooping out the contents with their hands. If they were lucky afterwards, Fira might call one or two of them to her chambers for the rest of the day. They’d be put through paces of course, made to submit to the woman’s seemingly endless whims and her even larger supply of strap-on phalluses.

  Sometimes though, they might be allowed a little sleep too, either before or after, with Lady Fira clutching their leashes as they lay curled at her feet. Caralissa had been so summoned yesterday and when she was granted her turn in the bed - an actual mattress of feathers - she wept openly.

  ‘A little nourishment for you, eh?’ Torano winked, as Caralissa was finally allowed to come up for air. ‘Good for the digestion, they say.’

  Silently she fumed, even as they laughed together at her expense.

  ‘Oh, cheer up,’ Torano drawled. ‘At least you didn’t have to swallow Minak’s cock. That thing looks worse than an over-pickled courgette.’

  ‘To the demons with you, Torano,’ Minak declared good-naturedly. ‘Say, little whore,’ he said, turning his attention to Caralissa who was till kneeling in front of them. ‘How about a little treat?’ Caralissa eyed the bit of shrimp freshly plucked from the heap on the man’s plate. It was pink and succulent. Her eyes widened. Minak grinned malevolently. ‘Sit up and beg for it, slut.’

  Her lower lip began to tremor as she watched him dangle the seafood cruelly. She’d rather die than humiliate herself any further before these two, but she was so hungry. Who knew when she might get another chance to eat? And if she cooperated, she told herself, they might give her more food in the bargain.

  Slowly, agonisingly, Caralissa put out her hands, cupping them. ‘Please?’ she mewed, making her voice as soft as possible. ‘Please feed me.’

  Minak guffawed. ‘Oh, come on, you can do better than that!’

  Torano wagged his tongue for her, holding out his hands like paws. ‘Try it like this,’ he suggested, simulating as he did the panting of a dog. Tears in her eyes, Caralissa imitated the degrading position.

  Minak shook his head, still unsatisfied. ‘Dogs wear no clothes,’ he pointed out. ‘Your performance is lacking in that regard.’

  They watched as Caralissa lowered her eyes, reaching for the hem of the skimpy covering. In a single motion she pulled it overhead, baring her lithe body. Cheeks red now, her sex throbbing, she repeated the gesture.

  Like a pet, she thought - naked and begging for scraps.

  Minak sighed, appearing to consider. ‘Maybe, but let me see you play with your tits first.’

  Caralissa cupped her warm breasts. Her already erect nipples pulsed beneath her palms.

  ‘You’d do anything for this shrimp, wouldn’t you, slut?’ Minak sneered as she rubbed her hands slowly, helplessly over her firm mounds.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered shamefully.

  ‘Spread your legs, then.’

  Caralissa widened her knees, exposing her soft, glistening nether lips.

  ‘Taste yourself,’ Minak ordered.

  As if in a dream Caralissa lowered her head, her hands and fingers brushing the moist opening, collecting a healthy sample. A moment later she was sucking, her fingers deep in her mouth.

  Minak looked at her, eyes glowing. ‘Stand up, slut.’

  Caralissa did so, her belly at the level of his fat waist. She watched as he took the bit of sea meat, pinched between his thumb and forefinger and held it in front of her. Still grinning, he pressed it deep inside her, between her legs. Slowly, very slowly, he twisted it, allowing it to soak up her juices.

  ‘Use only your mouth,’ he said casually as he extracted the shrimp and threw it to the floor at her feet.

  Caralissa hesitated only a moment before getting down on all fours, lowering herself to the ale-soaked wooden surface. Daintily, using her teeth and tongue only, she seized the little piece of meat. It tasted of her own saltiness and the staleness of beer. Greedily she swallowed it down.

  She hoped the worst was over now, but as she tried to raise her head she found she could not move. Minak’s foot was there, on her fan of hair, pinning her in place. Panic gripped her. She was trapped, cheek to the floor.

  ‘Oh, how clumsy I am!’ Minak exclaimed sarcastically as he began to pour his drink slowly an
d deliberately on the floor next to her. The rivulets of ale were landing a mere inch from her head, the spray splashing up to soak her face and hair. ‘Lick it up,’ he told her. ‘Every drop.’

  Caralissa sobbed silently as she extended her tongue, reluctantly, half-heartedly, onto the disgusting surface.

  ‘Harder!’ Minak demanded.

  ‘No,’ she heard a male voice say. ‘That is enough.’

  Caralissa’s heart jumped. That voice - was her mind playing tricks on her or could it be him?

  ‘Are you addressing me?’ Minak asked. ‘I certainly hope not, for your sake.’

  ‘Yes,’ the man responded, very tall, his face and body disguised behind a black hooded cloak. ‘I am addressing you. Let the girl go.’

  Minak growled from low in his throat. ‘See here,’ he said, his voice suddenly agitated, ‘you are obviously a stranger and probably from some other world because you obviously do not know that I am Minak, the foremost?’

  ‘I do not need to know who you are,’ the man replied as he stepped across Caralissa to grab the huge man by the collar of his robes, ‘to know that you are rude and disrespectful.’

  ‘Let me go!’ he squealed, feet kicking foolishly in air as the stranger lifted him clean off his feet.

  ‘Now see here,’ Torano began, his voice high-pitched and nervous. ‘If you think you can just?’

  ‘Get out,’ the man said to Torano. ‘Both of you.’

  Caralissa knelt up, beholding the mysterious, powerful interloper. It was Varik. It had to be. And yet what would he be doing here and alone?

  ‘Never mind, Torano,’ Minak said hastily, having been set down on his feet once more. ‘We shall deal with this man in our own time.’

  A blade was drawn smoothly and cleanly from a scabbard slung across the newcomer’s back. The tip of it was brought to rest a millimetre from Minak’s throat.

  ‘Do not make threats, merchant,’ the man said, ‘that you do not intend to keep.’