by Loki Renard
Following the soldier, Kira pinned the squirming blonde by the back of her neck, hauled down her leather britches and began belaboring her cheeks with the nearest thing that came to hand - a leather strap which fell more times than either Aeron or Ayla could count, leaving the soldier's bottom hot and red and welted.
"You struck me," Kira growled against Aeron's ear, slapping her bottom with resounding strokes. "Count your blessings I am only taking it out on your rear. I should be whipping every part of your body for the impudence."
"Pathetic," Aeron snarled back. "Your punishments are those of an old maid."
"Is that so?" Kira kept one hand on the back of Aeron's neck and used her knee to press Aeron's thighs open. The tender, wet pouch of Aeron's pussy came into view, golden downy lips puffed with excitement. "Is this what an old maid does?"
The position spread not only Aeron's thighs but her cheeks as well. When Kira bought the strap down the next time, she caught the tender skin between her cheeks and the lower reaches of her pussy with the tail end of the lash.
Aeron's cry became suddenly plaintive, but Kira was not inclined to be merciful to the soldier who had so completely forgotten her place. The lash fell several times more, punishing the tender bud and lips with infernally hot sting.
"Is this what you needed?" Kira cast the lash aside for a moment to run her fingers over the punished skin. Seeping moisture coated her digits, accompanied by a moan which did not speak to pain, but intense pleasure. She let her fingertips return, swatting the wet lips with indulgently slow strokes. Aeron made a muffled noise and her hips jolted upwards.
"This is still not a punishment, is it girl?" Kira took up the lash once again and began plying it across Aeron's cheeks with renewed vigor, swatting back and forth so the twin glowing rounds jiggled constantly. "I have been so careful with you. I have given you wise counsel and I have given you your head and for that you have grown bold and undisciplined."
Aeron's leggings had worked their way down her legs and come completely loose. She could have kicked Kira, or used her new found agility to break free but instead she spread her thighs and accepted her fate. Any other soldier would have been screaming for mercy by that point, but Aeron was a singular woman whose thirst for sensation and need for domination ran far deeper than most. She lifted her hips, gratefully accepting each stroke Kira had to give, displaying her sex without shame and inviting the kissing slaps which landed occasionally across her nether lips. Her bottom, her bud and her pussy were all punished by Kira with a thoroughness that left a blush running from the middle of her buttocks to the tops of her thighs and left no skin between untouched.
"I did everything but take you to bed and fuck you until you forgot what it is to fight," Kira said, shifting her grasp to Aeron's hair and turning her face so that they were mouth to mouth. Before Aeron could make any sound besides a panting moan, Kira claimed the soldier in a rough kiss and plunged two fingers deep inside Aeron's clenching cunt.
Chapter Sixteen
"You are trouble."
Ayla came upon Vix in a clearing the next morning, far from camp. How the witch had followed her trail, Vix did not know. What she did know was that she didn't want to see Ayla or anyone else for that matter. It was becoming increasingly apparent that she had little to no role to play in the revolution. A hengineer could make good coin working in Clitera City for the Imperial army. Why stay and toil where she was ignored? It would be a betrayal to work for the enemy, but Vix doubted anyone would notice.
She looked up from the component she had been fashioning and gave Ayla a dour look. "Shouldn't you be tending to Liz? She may have stubbed her toe, you know. Or swallowed the contents of your medicine satchel because a bug told her so."
Ayla folded her arms under her considerable bosom and looked upon Vix with eyes of compassion. "Jealousy does not become you, Vixling."
"I am not jealous," Vix replied. "What do I have to be jealous of? Do you think maybe I would like to be a walking danger to myself at all times and in all places?"
"I think you already are," Ayla replied. "More so because you don't see it."
After a night of rough and broken sleep Vix did not particularly care what the witch thought. She did not understand why the woman kept following her about. Ayla seemed to have some fascination with her, but it was not the sort of fascination Vix could afford to entertain. Yes, the witch was possessed of unmatched beauty, yes she was wise, a walking historical artifact. It was an honor to be in her presence and yet Vix could not stand the torrent of feelings Ayla's presence caused. She was jealous, but for what she did not know. It was not as though she wanted to make love to Ayla necessarily, although surely all full blooded women wanted to do that. She felt a yearning which grew the longer the witch stood in the clearing with her wise elfin features and her statuesque figure acting in alluring fashion on Vix's most primal instincts.
"I cannot think when you are nearby," Vix said crossly. "What do you want from me?"
"You cannot think?" A corner of Ayla's lips curled in an expression that was not quite a smile. "Are you sure you cannot think? Or do you simply not want to think about what fills your mind?"
"I asked you the question first," Vix replied. "Why did you follow me here?"
"I wanted to make sure you survived the night. Your insistence on sleeping rough is dangerous. Isolation is a crutch for you, isn't it?"
"I don't think of it as isolation," Vix said. "I think of it as freedom. And I also think you don't need to follow me about and make sure I am alive. I will be alive as long as I am alive and if I am not alive then there's not much you can do about it."
The witch's brows rose. "And you think Liz is the troublesome one. You sulking little agitator."
Vix scowled. "You can leave now," she said. "I don't need to be followed about by someone who calls me names."
"Describes your behavior in accurate terms, you mean."
Vix looked down at her toes as her anger rose. "You don't understand," she said through gritted teeth. "I don't need you to lecture me. I don't need Trebuchet to hit me. I don't have this obsessive need for... whatever it is you think you are doing."
"You don't like to be controlled," Ayla replied. "Not by anything or anyone. You don't have a bed because a bed would be a place to be and that would be far too much for you, wouldn't it? You don't want to belong to anything or anyone."
"That's right!" Vix almost shouted the words. "I don't!"
"So you're really not going to like this," Ayla said. She reached out with her hand and beckoned Vix. Vix's feet began to move on their own accord, against the force of her will. She tried to turn around and walk in the other direction, but it was impossible. Her body was under the force of a power she had never imagined actually existed. It was a shocking revelation for a woman who had always imagined magic to be nothing more than a tall tale told by the weak minded.
"Leave me be, witch!"
"No," Ayla said simply, watching as Vix was drawn all the way to her, stopping just inches from her body. "I will not. Now come, we are going back to camp."
"I don't want to go back to camp."
"You don't have any choice."
To Vix's extreme chagrin, she discovered that she truly did not have a choice. For reasons she did not understand in the slightest, Ayla had taken control of her locomotion and was compelling her to follow along the path back to camp.
"This is how you like things isn't it," Vix snapped at Ayla's rear. "People as puppets. You can't handle that there might be someone on this earth that doesn't need you."
Ayla looked over her shoulder as she walked. "I told you I was going to deal with you last night, Vix. I don't know why you thought hiding out here would change that. You're coming back to the camp and you're going to atone for your behavior. Think about that."
"It's not going to mean anything."
Ayla stopped and turned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you're forcing me back. You'll enforce some punishment.
It won't mean anything. It will just be you doing things to me. What for? What's the point?"
Ayla tilted her head slightly and looked at Vix with an expression of rare perplexity. "Vix, how is it possible you could have reached such an age without understanding what discipline is?"
"I avoid anyone who might be inclined to impart it," Vix shrugged.
"Ah," Ayla replied. "Well, I'm afraid you won't be able to avoid me quite so easily. I have my eye on you, Vix. I notice what you do, and believe me when I tell you that you will not be getting away with what you have been getting away with for so long. Hiding in bushes will not stop justice from finding you."
"But why? Why will you not just leave me be?"
"Because," the witch said simply. "I like you."
Vix's heart skipped a beat and a blush consumed her cheeks. "You like me? You like everyone though. You like Aeron and Liz and..."
She stopped speaking as Ayla walked toward her, reached out and caressed her underneath her chin. For a moment, Vix held her breath as she looked into the witch's eyes and saw the possibility of something she had always thought quite impossible.
"You like me," she said, letting her breath out. "You. Like. Me..... Balderdash!"
"Excuse me?" Ayla quirked a brow.
"You don't like me," Vix said. "You don't like anyone."
"Excuse me?" The question was much more incredulous when repeated for a second time.
"Well of course you don't," Vix insisted. "How could you? You're, what, five thousand years old or something? There are rocks younger than you, and rocks don't like anybody. Why would you?"
"I'm not sure that's a logic that applies here, or anywhere for that matter," Ayla said. "I know you find it quite improbable that anyone would like you, but I'm afraid you'll just have to get used to the idea. Now come along. Your punishment awaits."
Vix sighed and followed after the witch, not knowing if it was by choice or by impulse. It didn't much matter either way. She was in the grip of forces beyond her control and she knew well enough not to fight them.
Ayla led her back to her tent, where Liz was still prone in bed. She was not terribly sick any more, but she was lazy.
"Your punishment," Ayla said to Vix. "Is to look after this one." She pointed to Liz.
Vix's eyes went wide. She had fancied that Ayla might beat her, or perhaps turn her into a toad, or maybe banish her to a realm beyond knowing. This was worse than all of those.
"Not that," she said, lifting her hands. "Anything but that. I don't even think that's possible. What does that mean?"
"It means making sure that she is not a danger to herself."
"And if I fail?"
"We will see about that if it should come to it," Ayla said calmly. "I think you will try your best."
Quite horrified, Vix felt a twisting deep in her belly. She did not want to be responsible for Liz in any way, shape or form. From the moment of their meeting Liz had proved herself to be the worst kind of woman - a fluffy thinker consumed with notions of belief.
"Wait," she said. "By what authority do you make such a decree? I do not follow you. I do not belong to you in any way. I reject your punishment."
Liz had not said anything during the exchange, she was too busy popping grapes into her mouth and watching the scene play out before her.
"You reject my punishment, do you?" Ayla's lips twitched. "Shall I call for Trebuchet?"
"Shall you call for Trebuchet for what?"
"Well, if I were to inform Mistress Trebuchet of your rejection of my punishment, I think she would have feelings on the matter. Feelings you might not reject so entirely out of hand."
Stewing internally, Vix had to admit that Ayla had played her well. If she'd threatened to call Kira, Vix would have been happy to pretend to listen to the warrior and carry on as before. But Trebuchet was a different matter, a woman linked by the bonds of friendship. Curse friendship, that it should make her vulnerable to witches and their machinations.
"I will concede that you have indeed performed real magic," she announced, lifting her eyes to Ayla's. "You have made my good mood, good will and good nature disappear."
Much to Vix's chagrin, Ayla merely smiled.
"Are you going to let her speak to you like that?" Liz piped up with the question.
"Vix may speak as she likes," Ayla replied. "It will not change her situation, nor will it spare her the consequences of her words."
"Ugh!" Vix made a strangled sound of frustration. This was all far more trouble than it was worth. She longed for the solace of a nice warm bush, but such comfort was in short supply there in the witch's tent.
Chapter Seventeen
In the very heart of Clitera City, the jewel of Lesbia, an excited squire was addressing the court. "Your highness," she said, drawing fast panting breaths. "Our scouts have located the final witch in a small rebel camp to the far south. If it please you, she is barely guarded and their resistance is in disarray."
The queen had shown little interest in the squire's arrival, but the message got her attention. She turned her eyes from the little clockwork toy in her hands toward the kneeling woman and smiled brightly.
"You have done well," she said in rich, melodic tones. "You will be rewarded."
Queen Cadentis was yet young for a monarch having just seen her thirtieth birthday, but she had already made a significant impression on the social landscape in her short three year reign. A myriad of technologies had made their way into the hands and homes of the common folk thanks to her insistence that all of Clitera City should enjoy the fruits of the modern arts of hengineering. There was a train which wound around the central city, ran by clockwork windings, and water pumped to every home of significance besides. The results were undeniably positive, a healthier populace with access to running water and transportation within the city which allowed commerce to flourish.
As a result, Cadentis enjoyed the popularity which is given to monarchs who spoil their citizens. Her likeness was displayed all over the city in both public and private. Many artists had made representations of her flashing dark eyes and the raven dark hair cut to many lengths but none exceeding her index finger. Most of the ladies of court and the fashionably interested outside the castle walls sported similar styles.
Cadentis was not an imposing woman in stature, being of slightly more than average height and slightly less than average build, but she wore her office well. Her hallmark intensity was evident in her choice of clothing, a vermilion velvet doublet and britches matched with ruby shoes of shining patent leather with silver buckles atop and silken stockings covering her lower legs. She alone wore red, but the courtiers and the courtesans and the citizens clustering the court all wore lesser shades of pink and orange so that the grand room bloomed with color.
"Where are my riders?" She lifted her voice in summons. She did not have to wait long for a response.
Three women clad from head to toe in black leather stepped from the alcove near the grand entrance where they had been waiting. They each wore long swords with pommels of silver and red. Their faces were hidden in the shadow of their cowls, for their identities did not matter. They were the servants of the throne, the instruments of Cadentis' will. Only the most accomplished military women were given the honor of taking up the cowl, forever losing their given names in the eyes of the every woman and laying their lives down for the throne. They were in some sense the walking dead, removed from the common folk by merit of their office.
"You will come with me," the queen announced. "And we will ride as four. I will be the one to capture this last witch. I will be the one to rid our lands of the last traces of this scourge. This has been the aim of all the queens of Lesbia stretching back into history. We will be the hands and hearts which impart the justice of centuries!" She spoke in ringing tones, her eyes lit with fervor, her crimson lip curling in a predatory snarl as her slim fingers curled about the arms of her throne.
At the end of her words, all those present bur
st into applause, save the riders themselves. Sleek, svelte and always reserved they made no motion, waiting for the orders of their queen.
"People have clung to the ways of the witches for too long. Their lies have stood in the way of greater knowledge and deeper truth, and the people have hobbled their minds with fanciful notions," Cadentis continued when the clapping had died down. "No longer! The magic will end by my hand. I promise you all that."
She rose to her feet, stretched her finger to the sky and looked about her at the faithful courtiers who followed her in every thought and deed. "When the historians write of us, they will say that we were the ones who turned history upon its head. We were the ones who discovered the depths of the mechanical world and bought those marvels to all the world. Myth, superstition and wild blind belief will no more have a place. People will think and learn and know."
