Captive

by Aishling Morgan

  Aisla ducked down but it was too late. A guard had come up and was looking at her and her man, a cresset held in his hand to illuminate the area, while a large black dog sat by his legs, its beady black eyes fixed to her body. She looked round, finding every one of the men around the three nearest tents staring at her open mouthed. Yet it was too late, she was in plain view and her lust was too strong to be denied in any case. With a despairing sigh she returned to her task.

  The guard merely laughed and stopped to watch, with others also crowding closer and Aisla realised that she was going to be thoroughly used. Sure enough, as she sucked a hand found her bottom, rucking up her skirts to get at the bare flesh beneath. Aisla let him, eager for a cock in her sex after so many in her mouth. Other hands found her breasts and one man began to rub his cock in her hair, readying it for later. Her drawers were pulled open and she was held tight, ready to be mounted when one of them made a suggestion she didn’t hear properly. It was greeted with laughter and the next moment she felt something furry press against her bare bottom. Too late she realised what they had done. The dog was on her, his cock nestled between her bottom cheeks. Before she could protest it had begun to rut, its cocking rubbing in her crease, once, twice and then popping inside, only to fall out, rub once more and come between her buttocks.

  Burning shame filled her as the dog finished off in her bottom crease. The men roared with laughter and at the next instant the man in her mouth came. Aisla swallowed, her head spinning in ecstasy and shame, as another cock was offered to her. She took it and the men cheered as she began to suck, then another cock nudged her sex, a man’s, slidding up her to fill her vagina and sweep away her last thoughts of resistance.

  For the next two hours she stayed in the thicket, until every single man of the squadron had come in her or on her. At last it was done, and she sank down in exhaustion, the sperm dribbling from her lips as her mouth curved up in a satisfied smile.

  For three more days the army pushed east, with the tension climbing as the conflict loomed closer. Aisla’s behaviour on the first evening had given her a reputation that spread rapidly and lost nothing in the telling. Sulitea found this highly amusing and insisted that Aisla suck the cocks of at least a dozen men each evening, although she was careful to keep this from the Count. When the sucking was over, Aisla would return to the tent and wait until Sulitea came back from visiting the Count. Invariably Sulitea would be aroused, always having been spanked or whipped and fucked. Aisla would then describe how many men she had taken and how each had treated her before going down behind Sulitea to lick her bottom and tuppenny to ecstasy.

  On the morning of the fifth day they came out onto a ridge, with a long, grassy meadow sloping down beneath them to the distant silver glimmer of an estuary. Aisla and Laia stood in their cart, scanning the horizon, to make out first the distant yellow-grey walls of a city and then a field of tents beyond the estuary. Beyond that flat lowland plain extended into the haze of distant.

  ‘Rai-Uhruhai,’ Laia remarked, pointing at the city, ‘beside the Rai estuary, and beside, to the south, the King’s encampment.’

  ‘I see,’ Aisla answered, ‘but why aren’t we stopping?’

  ‘The armies must meet,’ Laia explained. ‘The heralds must come out, challenges must be exchanged, a balance of honour duels decided upon. It will be a splendid spectacle, with the field gay with banners, the nobles magnificent in theior armour and ladies giving their favours to their champions!’

  ‘On the plain?’ Aisla demanded.

  ‘Certainly, where else?’

  ‘Here, on the ridge! We can establish earthworks, here, and on that promontory to the north, with a line between. Thus we can see every movement they make and react accordingly, while our own movements are covered by the ridge. Our mounted knights can intercept any attempt to outflank us, while we might hope to draw them into an uphill charge…’

  Aisla trailed off. Laia was looking at her with an uncomprehending stare, as was the cart driver. With a shrug and a prayer to her father she sat back down.

  ‘Isn’t that why we drove so hard?’ she asked. ‘To take the ridge before the King reached it?’

  ‘No,’ Laia answered, ‘Prince Ythor would have lost face if he had not come out to meet the King.’

  In her head Aisla repeated the prayer to Uroth.

  The army moved down from the ridge and out onto the plain, with Aisla looking back wistfully at a set of positions that would have given them a near insurmountable advantage. By noon they had reached the estuary and she began to wonder if Prince Ythor was mad enough to attempt an attack across it.

  Instead they made camp, not as they had before, but with the tents well spaced out in a brave array around that of the Prince and with every banner and pennon flying in plain view. Aisla helped Sulitea to dress in her finest clothes, the gown of black velvet she had intended for herself, with a silver coronet to show her rank. Presently Sulitea was summoned to the Prince’s tent, along with Elmaea and the maids. Within the large tent a number of high backed thrones had been placed in a line with a table before them and lower, less ornate chairs to the sides of most. Prince Ythor, Count Alanthor and the other rebel nobles sat in the main chairs, while Elmaea and Sulitea were shown to those at either side of the Count.

  Aisla went to stand behind Sulitea’s chair, wondering what was happening. Presently a fanfare sounded and a number of men were shown into the tent, headed by a burly man whose facial features resembled those of the Prince only with an added hardness. As formal greetings were exchanged Aisla realised that this was the Prince’s brother, Agrath.

  A map was spread on the table by heralds, with the estuary and the city of Rai-Uhruhai marked on it. The men fell to discussion, to whichAisla listened in mounting disbelief. First a site for the battle was chosen, an area of flat, open fields with low hedges between them. Combats were then arranged, first duels between nobles and then engagements between squadrons of similar size and type, until each had been assigned a place and time, leaving some thousand men over on the loyal side. It was agreed that these be held back to await the outcome of the main battle, after which the two sides exchanged a series of formal insults and the loyal group left.

  Aisla bit her tongue, fighting back the urge to suggest waylaying Prince Agrath before he had a chance to return to the safety of the loyal army. The nobles fell to talking, discussing the coming engagement and the probable outcome. They were optimistic and even exchanged bets, all of which Aisla listened to with ever increasing alarm. As her dismay rose she began to evolve wild plans for escape, only to reject each as unfeasible, more often than not because Sulitea could not be counted on to co-operate. Worst of all was the fact that Count Alanthor was due to face someone called Gallaris, the Count of Palahai. If Alanthor died in combat, then Elmaea and Sulitea would be forfeit as trophies, and Aisla with then. She had never heard of Palahai, but a glance at a map of the whole of the Glass Coast showed it to be a region far to the east and south, almost on the borders of the Red Parch desert. From Palahai the hope of escape would be more remote than ever.

  Lunch was served, with which Aisla assisted, pouring sweet white wine of Croisaine, which the nobles drank with a gusto that made her more alarmed than ever. By the time the last bottle had been emptied the order of the tent had dissolved in drunken braggadocio, and she was left to make a light meal of left over plover’s eggs and quail in sweet jelly behind the chair in which Count Alanthor was casually fondling Sulitea’s breasts and enlarging on the magnificence of Mundic girls to the other nobles.

  Barely an hour later the heralds announced that the combat field was ready. The nobles trooped outside, Alanthor swinging the birdswing axe to make the blade catch the air and boasting of how easy it would be to cut Galarris down. Both Elmaea and Sulitea were smiling and simpering, vying in their praise of their Lord’s prowess. Laia was no better, nor any of the others, leav
ing Aisla to mutter prayers to her father, mother and ever ancestor whose name she could remember in the hope that the opposing army was no less incompetent.

  Only when they had mounted the stand that had been set up to overlook the field did her hope begin to rise again. The King’s forces were, if anything, less efficient than the Prince’s, insisting on elaborate protocol and formal salutes before each engagement could start. Nor were the contests particularly bloody when they did begin, especially between heavily armoured nobles who tended to become exhausted before either could put in a telling blow. Aisla began to imagine her father’s reaction to the spectacle, either bellowing laughter or angry disbelief, depending on his mood. There was also a certain pride, as she was sure Uroth could have defeated even the best of the Hai nobles within a matter of seconds.

  She began to lose interest in the duels and to glance back, to the north and west, towards Korismund. The ridge showed as a long line, dark green with patches of paler green that she knew to be vineyard. Directly to the north the land was flat, stretching away towards the sea, with yellow-green hay fields shimmering in the heat haze and a long, dark copse of oak and coffin wood from which a line of horsemen were emerging at full gallop, their lance points glittering in the sun.

  Aisla screamed, yelling to the Prince who turned with an angry word and then froze, his mouth coming open in dismay. Others reacted, yelling curses and instructions that went unheeded with the squadrons spaced out awaiting their arranged engagements. Aisla ran for Sulitea, pushing through the crowd as the scene dissolved in chaos. She found her, grabbed her wrist and wrenched her towards a lone coffinwood to huddled down between two root buttresses

  The ground began to shiver under the impact of the approaching horsemen, a line of at least a thousand lancers led by a massive warrior on a black horse. Aisla watched in terror, then ducked down as the line thundered into the rebel army, pulling herself into a tight ball with Sulitea beside her.

  With screams, curses and the pounding of horses hooves sounding on all sides she kept down, waiting until the lancers had passed, only to see them wheel and once more thunder down on what remained of the Prince’s army. She and Sulitea ran to the far side of the tree for shelter, ducking down again. The Prince’s voice rang out, yelling to his men and cursing his brother over and over.

  Again the lancers struck, but this time they met a solid group of armoured rebel nobles, who held, and broke the charge. With open ground between her and the river Aisla pulled Sulitea up and ran, hoping for a boat and escape. Sulitea followed her, stumbling in her exquisite shoes until at last she kicked them free and came after Aisla at full speed. Aisla reached the river bank, only to find a fringe of reeds with mud beyond and nothing more. Two men were coming at them, loyalists, pointing at Sulitea’s blonde hair and naming her the Lady of Count Alanthor.

  ‘The river! We’ll swim!’ Aisla urged.

  ‘No, let them take me,’ Sulitea answered and as Aisla looked at her in amazement she remembered the dung-gatherer and how Sulitea had been unable to resist giving herself to a victor.

  ‘Sulitea!’ she urged, only to see Sulitea turn to face the men and pull open her bodice to display her naked chest.

  The oncoming men slowed to a walk, exchanged glances and came on. Sulitea had her head thrown back and was offering her bare breasts in clear invitation, and as one of the men began to fiddle with his codpiece Aisla realised that Sulitea’s offer was not going to be refused. Aisla swore in frustration, thinking desperately how she might benefit from the situation. Unarmed, she could hardly fight two men in half-armour each of whom carried a sword. She could flee, but only by abandoning Sulitea. She could surrender, behave as meekly as possible and perhaps have a chance to win free before the disorder of the battle was over. With a resigned sigh she tugged at the laces of her bodice, stood tall and pulled it open, letting her breasts spill out in the same gesture of absolute surrender Sulitea was giving.

  The men’s grins broadened, both now working on the catches of their codpieces. One cock came out, then the other and Aisla managed a smile as they came up to her.

  ‘I am Hathanis,’ the taller of the two stated, ‘this is Iolath. You are fortunate to have been found by two of the premier knights of Zihai itself. Now, before you enjoy your good luck, you, with the strange pale hair, you are Sulitea are you not, the Count of Jihai’s Lady?’

  Sulitea nodded.

  ‘Then you are my captive,’ he went on, ‘and as you seem so keen on showing off, I shall take my pleasure with you.’

  Sulitea gave a low growl and dropped to her knees, grabbing Hathanis’ cock and stuffing it into her mouth. He exchanged a look with Iolath and then his eyes glazed in pleasure as she began to suck. Iolath grinned, looked down at the rapidly swelling erection protruding from Sulitea’s mouth and turned to Aisla.

  ‘I prefer to know the names of the girls I fuck,’ he stated. ‘You are?’

  ‘Aisla,’ she answered, ‘of Korismund.’

  ‘I have never heard of it,’ he said. ‘So, if you would be kind enough to kneel I would like to do justice to those fine breasts you are so kindly offering.’

  She sank down, cupping her breasts to make a fleshy slide, into which he pressed his half-stiff cock. He began to rub and it grew quickly, as did Aisla’s enjoyment once his erection was stiff between her breasts and her nipples erect against his front.

  Beside them Hathanis was hard in Sulitea’s mouth. He withdrew and made to push her down, only to have her flip herself over beneath him and go onto all fours with her bottom raised towards him. He gave a pleased chuckle and quickly pulled up her dress and petticoats. Sulitea groaned as the taught seat of her drawers was exposed, then once more as they were pulled wide and her bare bottom came on show. Aisla watched as Hathanis put his erection between Sulitea’s cheeks, briefly rubbed it in the deep grove of her bottom and then pushed it at her tuppenny. He slid in with ease, took her by the hips and began to fuck her. Sulitea was clearly in ecstasy, with her eyes shut and one hand fondling a dangling breast.

  ‘What of it?’ Iolath demanded. ‘Do you want the same, or on your back?’

  ‘Put me on my back,’ Aisla moaned.

  Aisla let herself go with the pressure as Iolath pushed her back. Her thighs came up and open as her back touched the muddy ground. He took her by the ankles, rolling her legs up and open to leave her sex pushed out. His cock nudged her, found her hole and slid in easily, well lubricated by her juice. With a satisfied grunt he began to fuck her, then turned to Hathanis.

  ‘Ten crowns says I spend first!’ he called.

  ‘In their faces to show it’s done!’ Hathanis answered and immediately began to pump harder into Sulitea’s rear.

  Aisla moaned deeply as Iolath also increased his pace, pumping into her with frantic pushes, each of which jammed her thighs hard into her chest. It hurt, but was also ecstasy, and the urge to get at her tuppenny was becoming overwhelming when suddenly he pulled out, pushed her thighs apart and ejaculated a long streamer of white sperm the length of her body. She gasped as it hit her nose, only to get more in her mouth for her trouble. The rest caught her left breast and belly, leaving a thick thread running from near her eye to her tummy with a good proportion of it on her dress.

  ‘My wager!’ Iolath grunted even as Hathanis cursed, gave a final hard push into Sulitea, pulled free and emptied his cock over her upraised buttocks.

  ‘Foul play!’ he called as he sank back to his haunches. ‘I had to roll mine over, yours was already on her back!’

  ‘I came first!’ Iolath countered. ‘Girls, I call on you to adjudicate!’

  ‘You won,’ Aisla managed as she wiped a thick clot of sperm from her face and flicked it onto the ground.

  ‘Indeed I did,’ Iolath stated. ‘Come, Hathanis, pay your loses.’

  As Hathanis grudgingly paid over the money Aisla and Sulite
a did their best to tidy themselves up, wiping come from their clothes, adjusting their skirts and replacing their bodices. As she tidied herself Aisla pondered what to do.

  The battle had swung away, with fighting still audible in the distance but nothing visible on what had been the main duelling field. She had been unable to watch while running for the river, nor while mounted, but it seemed the Prince’s men had retreated and were making a stand some way to the south. That ultimate victory would go to the loyalists seemed certain.

  ‘I am forfeit to the Count Galarris of Palahai,’ Sulitea said, using a surprisingly haughty tone for a girl who had just been put in the mud on her knees and fucked from behind. ‘I ask that you escort us to his quarters.’

  ‘So we shall,’ Hathanis answered, ‘which is a pity. I trust we can rely on your good faith not to mention our little indulgence together?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Sulitea answered. ‘You have my word on it just so long as you act as our escort.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Iolath assured her.

  ‘A moment,’ Aisla put in. ‘It is true that my mistress is forfeit to Count Gallaris, but it is nearly dark and who knows where he might be in the confusion. In the morning doubtless you will be received with full honours for taking us. Until then, could you not look after us?’

  Hathanis grinned and exchanged a look with Iolath, who returned a nod.

  ‘Perhaps you have access to some comfortable quarters?’ Sulitea put in. ‘A bath would be pleasant, and a chance to clean my dress, which as you see is somewhat soiled.’