Captive

by Aishling Morgan

  Realising that a roll-call was in progress, Aisla began to edge around the wall, drawing closer until she was barely twice her own height from the nearest windows. One of the black clad matrons was clearly visible, a huge woman with iron grey hair and a face so craggy it might have belonged to a troll. She stayed still, eyeing her charges, and Aisla wondered what was happening until she heard a voice from the floor below begin to read out names. Straining her ears against the wind, she listened for Sulitea’s name, but it was not called. When the roll finished sharp cries and the smack of leather on skin began to sound from the lower room, and Aisla guessed that the day’s punishments were being dealt out.

  Three women entered the room across from her, two blue clad matrons and one in black, a truly terrifying woman over a head taller than her companions and with the build of an ox. From the fear of the girls and the deference of the other matrons Aisla guessed this to be governess herself. Again the names were read out, and each girl called out in response. As some answered the governess would nod at them and they would immediately scramble onto their beds, kneeling with their haunches raised and their faces pressed into the blankets. The positions left Aisla with a prime view of the girls’ tuppennies pouting out from between their thighs, also their bottom rings, as each had her back pulled dipped in what was obviously a regimented and deliberately humiliating pose.

  Of the twenty girls in the dormitory none was Sulitea, but eight ended up with their naked bottoms thrust high and open. Aisla watched them punished, unable to tear her eyes away as either quirts or the governess’ cane were applied to each quivering pair of buttocks. One was even taken across a matron’s knee and spanked by hand after her caning, a punishment to add the deepest possible discomposure to the victim’s pain. The beaten girls scurried back into their standing positions, only now with their reddened bottoms towards the aisle. The Governess left and Aisla craned her neck, trying to see into the dormitory in which Sulitea was presumably lodged. Watching the beatings had made her uncomfortably warm between her legs, while she was trembling at the thought of being given the same treatment and worse.

  Stretching high, she could just see the heads of the girls on the side of the dormitory closest to her. Their hair varied in length, from freshly shorn and near bald to neck length, but only one had curls. She also had no more than three months hair growth. Sure enough, the fifth name to be called was Sulitea, and as Aisla caught the word she saw the girl’s mouth open in response. A thrill of success ran through her, immediately followed by concern as to how she was supposed to bring Sulitea free from the highest dormitory in the midst of a dozen or more other girls.

  Fresh smacks and squeals began to sound, then silence. Once more a name was called out, then another, then Sulitea’s and a fourth. More names were called on the lower levels. The lights went out and Aisla ducked down, worried that from within the darkened dormitory she might be visible in the moonlight. Only the light in the stairwell window remained, and Aisla saw the matrons trooping down the stairs, most followed by a girl, some with two. Near the end came Sulitea, her arm clutched in the massive hand of one of the black clad matrons.

  Ducking low, Aisla ran for the southern stair. As she reached it she saw the group dispersing across the main yard and caught the flicker of firelight from Sulitea’s curls. The matron led Sulitea into an alley and a moment later Aisla heard the crash of a door. For the count of a thousand she waited, now with her heart hammering in her chest and a weak feeling in her stomach. Descending the stair, she found herself in a yard, rich with the scent of refuse and dead black save for a few stars visible among the scudding clouds overhead. A wall barred her path, which she climbed, and at length she found herself in the alley down which Sulitea and the matron had gone. Light showed at a single window, and with her heart in her throat she peered within.

  Inside was a scene very different from the stark austerity of the dormitories. Thick drapes covered the walls and solid furniture stood to the sides of a heavy rug patterned in deep green and gold. This had been rolled back to expose the flags of the floor, and in the middle of the room knelt the High-Demoiselle Sulitea, stark naked and scrubbing the floor with a stiff brush. Aisla watched, shocked and trying to fight down a secret delight at the high-born girl’s degradation. Sulitea’s back was to Aisla, or rather her bottom, with the fullish cheeks spread to show tuppenny and bottom hole in blatant display. Marks decorated each buttock, fresh and red, showing that Sulitea had been one of the girls punished that evening, while a dribble of juice from her open vagina betrayed her response. As she scrubbed she turned, and her breasts became visible, swinging from beneath her chest as she worked, each tattooed with the intricate pattern of blue and red swirls that marked her as shamed.

  Aisla swallowed hard at the sight, then moved quickly back as the door across the room began to open. Voices came to her, coarse laughter and a command, them a little whimper in a softer voice. Unable to hold back her curiosity, Aisla peered in again. Sulitea was as before, kneeling in the nude, scrubbing brush in one hand, only instead of being hung down to watch her work her head was thrown back and her mouth wide open. In front of Sulitea knelt the matron, a squat, red-haired woman of enormous bulk, still clad in her voluminous black gown, but with the front pulled up to expose a system of leather straps and a grotesque black phallus that protruded from her pubic region.

  Sulitea leant forward and began to suck on the monstrous dildo, every bit as Aisla had imagined her doing with the dung-gatherer’s cock. The expression on the matron’s face became a broad grin, not physical pleasure, but a savage enjoyment at forcing the naked girl to suck on her substitute cock. Aisla could imagine what was coming next, and despite her very real sense of outrage she felt shamefully warm and wet between her thighs. Sure enough, when the matron grew bored with watching Sulitea suck the dildo she took hold of the girl’s hair and pulled back. Sulitea let the phallus slip from her mouth, and as the matron gave her a light slap in the face she turned, presenting her upturned buttocks to the dildo. The matron laughed as Sulitea reached back and spread herself for entry, then prodded the dildo at the girl’s vagina. Sulitea’s eyes closed and her mouth went wide as her tuppenny filled, and she began to pant as the fucking began.

  The matron had her eyes locked on Sulitea’s bottom, with her thumbs spreading the cheeks to reveal the anus and the junction of phallus and vagina. Her motions were not like the regular pushing of a man, but a rubbing and squirming of the hips to press her clitoris against the base of the dildo.

  As the matron’s arousal increased Sulitea began to pant, then writhe on the dildo. At last, with a sigh of pure misery, she reached back to masturbate, utterly surrendering every vestige of dignity and pride to the pleasure of having the thick black shaft inside her. The matron laughed and slapped Sulitea hard across the bottom, then began to ride harder and faster still, grinding her big hips into her victim as Sulitea whimpered and mewled in ecstasy.

  Finally it happened, Sulitea screaming in shame and rapture even as the matron gave a deep, harsh moan. For a long while both rode the climax, Sulitea rubbing at herself and squealing out loud, the matron grunting and pushing at the dildo. Aisla’s own sex was sodden, and only the fear of discovery kept her from giving in to the urge to masturbate. Instead she held back, watching as the matron withdrew, made Sulitea suck the phallus clean and left the room, telling Sulitea to come to her when the floor was scrubbed clean.

  Aisla pulled back from the window, breathing heavily and too flustered to think clearly. The crotch of her britches was clammy and hot, more from her own juice than sea-water, while she could feel her nipples, hard and tender within the leather jerkin. Shaking her head to clear the thoughts of what she had seen, she struggled to turn her attention to the task in hand, promising herself to masturbate over it at the first opportunity.

  Clearly Sulitea would be sleeping with the matron, either in the same bed or on a mat at the foot of it. Th
e later seemed more likely, although it was an old fashioned tradition, it seemed entirely in keeping with what she had seen at Kavas-Arion. In either case, with enough courage she could hope to bring Sulitea free. It only remained to wait until both were sure to be asleep.

  Crawling into a corner, Aisla watched the moons swing across the sky and waited, telling herself that when the smaller set below the roof of the dormitory block she would act, and not before then. The silence was absolute, the peace complete, and she found it impossible not to think of how Sulitea must have felt being fucked by the matron. She had some idea of the shame any high-born girl would have experienced, at being beaten on the bare buttocks with a thing like a dog quirt, at crawling naked on the floor, at being entered from the rear with a dildo, and worst of all, at being driven to masturbate to orgasm over it all.

  Aisla’s hand was on the crotch of her britches, feeling the plump lips of her sex through the leather. With a resigned sigh she realised that she was going to do it, and, telling herself that it was in fact the best way to keep warm, she began to undo the buttons. Soon the flap was loose and her tuppenny bare to the cool night air. Closing her eyes, she began to rub, feeling ashamed of herself for wanting to come over another girl’s degradation, but unable to stop herself. She was wet and warm, her clitty a hard bud of sensitive flesh, eager to be touched.

  Her mind drifted as she masturbated, dwelling on the expression of Sulitea’s face as her vagina had filled, then on the gross, crude pleasure the matron had taken in fucking the beautiful young girl. With her excitement rising she began to rub faster, her spare hand going to her chest to feel the swell of her breasts through the leather. Her nipples made little humps, which she stroked, teasing herself as she thought of how she’d feel with the big dildo in Sulitea’s hole, or maybe the Princess’, or even Elethrine’s, her own mistress, kneeling nude and fucked before her, buttocks spread, bumhole winking lewdly…

  Aisla came, choking back her scream and biting her lip hared as wave after wave of ecstasy went through her. Only at the very peak did it come back to her where she was and what she was doing, spoiling the end of her climax to leave her panting and gasping on the ground. Yet the night was as silent as before, with the smaller moon now no more than its own breadth over the roof-ridge.

  Buttoning her britches flap with a wry smile, she made herself decent, then rose to a crouch. For a moment she thought of the vial of elixir but decided against it, determined to avoid using it if at all possible. Climbing to her feet, she padded softly towards the matron’s quarters, her stomach once more queasy and her throat tight.

  The windows were now dark, the interior of the matron’s house as black as pitch. Aisla moved to the door, twisted the iron ring to control the latch and pushed it open. The gentle grate of metal on metal seemed like the noise of a blade on a sharpening wheel but no sound answered it. Slipping within, she felt her way through the darkness, with patterns emerging as her eyes slowly adjusted to what little moonlight there was. Every step was taken in slow motion, her toes gliding slowly forward on the floor and her fingers questing ahead for obstacles. Judging the bedchamber to be that in which the matron had fitted her dildo, Aisla moved through the room in which Sulitea had been fucked, then stopped at the door. From within she could hear the sound of breathing, a low, guttural rasp.

  Easing the door slowly wide, she stepped inside. The room had no window and was darker even than the outer chambers. Judging the position of the bed by the snoring that she hoped came from the matron, Aisla moved to its end. She ducked low, crawling with her hands extended until her fingertips touched a blanket and found the shape of a foot beneath. Inch by inch she crept forward, round to where Sulitea lay at the foot of the matron’s bed. Her fingers touched blanket, then the short curls of Sulitea’s hair. Uttering a brief prayer to her mother, Aisla clamped her hand hard over Sulitea’s mouth and bent low, whispering as the girl’s body gave a startled jerk.

  ‘Be calm! Be calm!’ she urged. ‘I’ve come to bring you free.’

  Sulitea’s teeth met on Aisla’s hand, then she screamed. A startled demand came from the matron, then a curse. Aisla jumped back, shaking her hand, then grabbed for Sulitea, attempting to pull her up.

  ‘Come on!’ she urged. ‘Sulitea! I’m a friend! I’m here to bring you free!’

  No answer came from Sulitea, but the matron roared in rage. Aisla got to her feet, panic rising as she scrabbled for the vial of elixir. Light flickered as she found it, then grew bright as a candle flame took. Before her, horrid in the dancing orange light, the matron crouched on the bed, naked, her vast breasts swinging as she spread her arms to grapple. Sulitea lay cowering at the foot of the bed, her face set in shock and fear. Aisla drained the vial and thrust it back into her pouch as the elixir burnt a hot, salty path down her throat.

  The matron’s face was twisted into a delighted grin, expressing triumph and disdain and not the slightest fear. Aisla swallowed hard, certain that the woman’s strength was far beyond her own, then feinted a leap, hoping to draw the matron away from the door. Instead, the huge woman’s smile just became broader and she laughed.

  ‘I know every trick, little one,’ the matron snarled, ‘best grovel down now and save yourself a few bruises.’

  Aisla’s teeth set at the woman’s arrogance. She ducked low, grabbed Sulitea and hurled her forward. Sulitea screamed and the matron went down, caught off balance. Aisla jumped forward, grabbed Sulitea, planted a vicious kick into the matron’s midriff and wrenched open the door. Sulitea was screaming, demanding to be let go.

  ‘Stupid girl!’ Aisla spat as she dragged Sulitea behind her. ‘I’m from Talithea! I’m here to bring you free!’

  ‘No!’ Sulitea yelled. ‘I am shamed! This is my place, my fate! Leave me!’

  Behind them the matron began to bellow, calling for help.

  ‘We’re going to Ateron, in Aegmund!’ Aisla hissed. ‘You’ll be safe!’

  ‘No!’ Sulitea screamed. ‘I’m a slut! I’m, nothing! Leave me be!’

  ‘Never!’ Aisla answered and heaved Sulitea over her shoulder.

  ‘No, put me down!’ Sulitea wailed as Aisla pushed through the door into the alley.

  She ran, all the while with Sulitea kicking and struggling over her shoulder and the yells of the matron sounding behind her. Other voices quickly joined in, angry and commanding, voices used to instant obedience. Aisla ignored them and made for the southern stair, praying that if she could only make the wall she would have time to fit the climbing irons.

  In the yard the cressets had burned low or to extinction, leaving a red light that jumped and danced with the wind. A matron was emerging from the dormitory block, another beyond her. Sulitea screamed for their help but Aisla was already in the dark mouth of an alley. The womens’ angry yells sounded behind her as she found the refuse yard wall. Pushing her burden over the top she scrambled up behind, ignoring Sulitea’s squeak of alarm as they landed together.

  Brushing bits of mouldering cabbage from her face, she snatched Sulitea up again. The stair showed faint in the moonlight, the wall above empty. With a triumphant grin she started up, taking the stairs three and four at a time despite the wriggling girl across her shoulder and the ever increasing drop below. Reaching the wall she stopped, dropped Sulitea and began to dig in her pouch. Immediately Sulitea struck out at her and began to yell for the matrons.

  ‘Be quiet, idiot girl!’ Aisla swore as she parried the blow. ‘You’ll be free, don’t you understand, free!’

  ‘No,’ Sulitea answered. ‘I can never be free. This is my place! Look at me! I have no hair! My breasts are red and blue with shame marks! My bottom has been marked with a dog quirt! I’m a slut, now let me go!’

  Sulitea lunged for the stairs. Aisla grabbed for an ankle, pulled the struggling girl back, twisted her body and sat herself squarely on Sulitea’s face. Teeth scrapped at her leather
covered bottom and Sulitea’s legs and arms thrashed wildly, forcing Aisla to struggle to keep her balance as she tried to fit the irons. Sulitea lurched and her teeth found the pouted lips of Aisla’s sex, clamping onto the delicate flesh through the leather. Fury crowded all other thoughts out of Aisla’s head at the pain. Twisting Sulitea about beneath her she began to belabour the girl’s bottom, slapping the naked cheeks and spitting curses. Sulitea kicked and squealed, beating her fists on the stone in helpless frustration as she was spanked. One kicking leg caught an iron, sending it flying into the refuse yard below. An angry yell answered the thud of its impact and Aisla looked up.

  Matrons were coming at her from both sides, brandishing torches, body-hooks and nets. More were on the stair, yelling angry commands. Aisla’s teeth came bare in a snarl of defiance. Finishing Sulitea off with a last resounding smack across both buttocks, she stood and pulled the spanked girl up by the neck. Sulitea squeaked in pain, reaching out for the approaching matrons. Forcing down the urge to fight, Aisla tossed Sulitea high, caught her on upraised arms and hurled her out over the parapet, jumped up herself, flourished her bottom in a final insulting gesture to the matrons and leapt from the wall.

  Chapter 2 – Pride and Punishment

  Aisla’s memories came back slowly, the journey along the spine, the fight in the celibentuary, the desperate swim with Sulitea’s neck held in the crook of her arm, the black hull of the ship looming above them, clutching the knotted rope and being drawn up by strong arms. From then she could remember only the damp warmth that now surrounded her, motion, the hot shivering of her body and the pervasive smell of fish. A hand shook her shoulder and she opened her eyes, to find Sulitea looking down into her face.