Captive

by Aishling Morgan

‘Doubtless with Croisaine served in Zihai glass and a collation of sweetmeats while the dress soaks!’ Hathanis laughed. ‘This is a battlefield, my little one, not a fairground. Still, Iolath and I are not without resource!’

  Briefly the two knights conferred together, then set off, with the girls in tow, pointedly moving away from the distant sounds of combat. The sun was falling towards the ridge, painting a straggling line of clouds pink as they came in from the west. Ahead a farmhouse loomed, a low, long structure with barns to either side. As the knights had clearly anticipated it had been abandoned when it became apparent that it would be caught between the two armies.

  Within, every portable thing of real value had been taken, along with the livestock. The furniture remained, and after a brief search Hathanis discovered a smoked ham and, to Aisla’s delight, a tank of wine. Iolath, meanwhile, had taken Sulitea upstairs and brought down a quantity of somewhat damp bedding, candles, a tinderbox, a crude wooden paddle and a peculiar device made of teasel heads glued to a roller.

  Aisla felt a familiar twinge of shame mixed with anticipation at the sight of the paddle, knowing full well it was designed for girls’ bottoms and was likely to be applied to hers. Her bruises had largely faded, and Sulitea had been sparing her the whip in order to have a pristine bottom for future reference. Watching Iolath swish the paddle happily to and fro, she knew that the break from receiving discipline on her bottom was about to end.

  ‘Excellent!’ Hathanis declared as he saw what his companion had discovered. ‘Here, clearly, is a farmer of fine discrimination! A little wine, and then we’d better have their drawers down, eh girls? Nothing like a good spanking to warm those little cunts, is there?’

  Aisla covered her blushes with the wine skin Hathanis was holding out to her, upending it over her mouth and pretending to swallow.

  ‘You need that, I see,’ Iolath remarked, ‘and after today, no wonder! Still, you are not alone.’

  She relinquished the skin and passed it to him as the warm feeling from what wine she had drunk ran through her. Hathanis had sat down on a bench and taken the paddle, which he was inspecting. He nodded, reached up, caught Aisla’s wrist and pulled her hard down to sprawl across his knee. She squeaked as she went over, and then her skirts where up, her drawers down and her bottom bare to the room, her strip done in seconds. The wooden paddle came down on her behind with a meaty smack and she yelped.

  Hathanis laughed and planted another firmer smack, making Aisla squeal even more loudly and dance her bottom in her pain. Iolath was laughing at her, also Sulitea as she began to kick her legs about. Hathanis jerked her bodice open and her breasts fell free to swing in time to the spanking, which never even slowed. Howling, kicking and thrashing over his lap, she was spanked and spanked, until finally her shock and pain gave way to pleasure and the joy of being firmly under the control of a strong man.

  With Aisla beaten and expectant the evening dissolved into a full blown debauch. Sulitea was served the same way, her rank forgotten as she was spanked with the paddle and her breasts were tickled to a throbbing pink with the teasel bar. Drunk and aroused not just from her treatment but because she was a captive, she entirely let go of herself, stripping nude and masturbating on the floor with the handle of the paddle, spanking herself on her bottom, thighs and breasts until all were blotchy with bruising. As she did it Aisla was being fondled by the two men, with Hathanis’ hands on her breasts and a cock in each hand.

  When Sulitea came it was in a screaming, writhing frenzy, on her knees with the paddle handle in her tuppenny and bottom high with her anus and very detail of her sex on show. Hathanis came in Aisla’s hand at the sight, while Iolath got down, pulled the paddle out of Sulitea and replaced it with his penis.

  More wine was drunk and the girls ordered to play together in front of the fire. Sulitea had Aisla lick her bottom hole, which had the men clapping and stamping their feet. Delighted by the reaction, Sulitea went yet further and urinated in Aisla’s face as she was licked. They came together in the filthy mess Sulitea had made of the rug, locked head to toe with their faces buried in each other’s crotches, status forgotten in mutual ecstasy.

  Both men had drunk heavily during the show, and continued to do so as the girls washed at the water butt. Aisla said nothing, helping Sulitea to wash and drinking in the cool night air. Back in the farmhouse Iolath grabbed her immediately and pulled her head down to his cock. She took it in and began to suck as Hathanis led Sulitea into another room. Iolath’s cock was sluggish and slow to respond, but he seemed to be enjoying the attention, mumbling endearments and stroking her hair and breasts as she lay beside him on the bench and sucked and licked at his genitals.

  ‘Take it all in,’ he demanded groggily. ‘Yes, that’s the way you beautiful little Mundic slut, right in. Now do my balls.’

  Aisla obeyed, sucking his scrotum into her mouth to make him groan as his half-stiff cock slapped against her cheek.

  ‘What more could a man ask?’ Iolath slurred. ‘A glorious battle, a great victory and a beautiful Mundic girl to suck on my balls, wonderful, wonderful. Yes, that’s the way, use your tongue on them… You are so good, so, so good…’

  Iolath trailed off and slumped in the chair. Aisla let his cock slip from her mouth, gave it a final kiss and stood up. Moving silently through to the other room, she found Sulitea sprawled across Hathanis, both of them in drunken stupor. She collected clothes, then, bracing herself, she pulled Sulitea off the sleeping man and lifted her, taking her across one shoulder. Sulitea stirred and sighed, then went limp. Aisla shook her head and moved to the door, nudging it open with her foot.

  Outside the night was black, lazy clouds covering most of the sky and only dim shapes were moonlight showed through. She set off, aiming in what she hoped was the direction of the estuary, carrying Sulitea until well clear of the farmhouse and then setting her gently down. A mild smack to each cheek made Sulitea moan, a third made her start.

  ‘Not now, Polia,’ Sulitea groaned. ‘I beg you. I’m sore. I’m tired.’

  ‘This isn’t Polia,’ Aisla answered. ‘You’re not at Kavas-Arion.’

  ‘Eh?’ Sulitea answered.

  ‘This is me, Aisla,’ Aisla hissed. ‘Wake up. We’re on a battlefield near Rai-Uhrahai on the Glass Coast. Come on, wake up!’

  ‘Glass Coast?’ Sulitea mumbled, then abruptly sat up. ‘What’s happening? Aisla?’

  ‘We have to go!’ Aisla urged her. ‘Come on, I’ll help.’

  ‘Go?’ Sulitea queried. ‘Why? We’re captive aren’t we? That man, he was so big, so hard…’

  Sulitea flopped backwards, still mumbling drunkenly. Aisla made a despairing gesture to the black sky, grabbed Sulitea, rolled her onto her front and planted a heavy slap on her bottom. Sulitea yelped and sighed, then lifted her bottom and began to purr softly to herself.

  ‘Yes, more like that, spank me hard,’ she mumbled.

  Aisla cursed and once more lifted Sulitea over her shoulder.

  An hour later, exhausted and filthy, with Sulitea still in a deep sleep, Aisla finally gave up, dropping Sulitea to the ground. She was lost, and sure she was walking in circles as she had come across neither the estuary nor the slope up to the ridge. The clouds were also getting thicker, making it ever more likely that she would accidentally blunder into the loyal army. She had fallen a dozen times. Her body was scratched and muddy, her clothes torn. Around her she could see only the vaguest outlines of the trees.

  High above her the clouds parted for a moment, letting through a shaft of dull moonlight before closing to leave her in absolute darkness. She had glimpsed trees to one side, a thick copse that seemed ideal for shelter. Making a last effort, she lifted Sulitea and moved slowly forward, waving her hand before her as she went. After fifty paces she found the trees and sank down. Making herself a burrow in the undergrowth she pushed Sulitea in and followed.


  After a night of fitful sleep she woke to see the first flush of dawn coming up in the east. Sulitea was stirring and mumbling about water, which Aisla ignored. Cautiously exciting the burrow, she searched the brightening landscape, finding the dark bulk of Rai-Uhrahai to the north and west, exactly opposite to where she had expected it to be. Worse, a substantial field of tents, presumably the loyalist army, stood between it and her. Cold, scratched and angry with Count Alanthor, the Prince and the Hai in general, she managed an all embracing curse. As an afterthought she included Sulitea, both for pig-headedness and for expecting a level of loyalty that she truly only owed to Elethrine.

  ‘Where are we?’ Sulitea demanded from behind her. ‘Where are the men who took us? Hathanis and whatever his name was.’

  ‘We escaped,’ Aisla told her.

  ‘Escaped?’ Sulitea queried. ‘No, we are trophy, forfeit to Count, what was it, Galarit or something. Oh, my head.’

  ‘Count Galarris,’ Aisla answered, ‘Lord of Palahai. Anyway, as I understood it, you are only forfeit to him if he killed Alanthor.’

  ‘Count Alanthor is dead. He went down in the first charge. I saw,’ Sulitea answered.

  ‘Then we’re free,’ Aisla answered. ‘Come, if we make for the ridge we can skirt the army and come to the sea. Maybe we can find a boat and pick up with a Mundic raider, even an Aeg.’

  ‘No,’ Sulitea answered, ‘I have given an oath of fealty, which is due either to Count Galarris or the Prince. I’m not sure which.’

  ‘Your fealty is to your father!’ Aisla exclaimed. ‘Not some foreigner! You are Sulitea Mund, High-Demoiselle!’

  ‘No, I was broken in a celibentuary,’ Sulitea answered.

  ‘You are coming to Ateron!’ Aisla snapped. ‘If I have to drag you by the hair!’

  ‘No so, I must…’ Sulitea began and stopped abruptly.

  Aisla ducked back down as she caught a movement at the far edge of the copse. A band of men moved out into the open, crouched low and glancing fearfully from side to side as they went. Aisla recognised the portcullis of Jihai and tried to pull Sulitea down with her, but it was too late.

  ‘Men of the Count’s personal squadron,’ Sulitea remarked. ‘Come, we must go to them.’

  Aisla threw up her hands in resignation.

  Chapter 4 – Soldier’s Plaything

  More by luck than skill around a thousand rebels had won free, along with what little baggage and supplies they had managed to collect. Trapped in the Rai valley, they moved south. As they fled, so the army disintegrated, by levees, by squadrons, by individual warriors. Many of those who did not desert fell pray to squadrons of loyal cavalry, while the scouts reported two armies pressing down on them, from the north and the north-east.

  Finally only a handful were left around the Prince, the men of his personal guard, a dozen other warriors, Sulitea and Aisla. With the disintegration the mood became more wild, more desperate, with those who remained loosing all sense of reserve in what were likely to be the last days of their lives. Only Prince Ythor retained any semblance of civilised behaviour, and while Sulitea was kept under his protection, Aisla was entirely at the mercy of the men. Cock sucking became as routine as drinking, more so as the land grew more arid and water became increasingly rare.

  Her intimacy with the men grew, and with it her hatred of the loyalists, as time after time men to whom she had begun to feel for failed to return from patrols. Despite this, she herself, with no real devotion to the cause, would have deserted except for Sulitea, who refused to accept any such plan and held stubbornly to her pledge of support for the Prince.

  On the sixth day they reached the borders of the Red Parch, a long bluff of weathered red sandstone. It seemed to Aisla that it marked the end, with nothing but desert to the south. To her surprise they climbed the ridge and continued, reaching a crumbled fort in the late afternoon. The walls and towers had long since collapsed, leaving nothing but a tumble of wind scoured masonry little different from the natural rocks of the desert. To the rear, among a cluster of massive boulders and deep gullies, was a pool; pure spring water coming up from deep in the earth.

  Prince Ythor, climbing to the top of what had once been a building, made a brave and passionate speech, which was greeted with wild cheers although to Aisla it seemed hopelessly optimistic. The gist of his plan was that they would repair the fort and have it act as a new nucleus for the rebellion, which he seemed sure must persist if only because of the unpopularity of his father and brother. He altogether failed to mention the advancing armies, and as he jumped down Aisla found herself looking nervously to the north. Nothing was visible, save the broad sweep of arid, red land, strewn with rocks and sand where not so much as a stunted bush grew.

  Shaking her head in despair, she went to help set up camp, a process that had become second nature as they moved south. So had her nightly games with the soldiers, and there was a feeling of urgency among the men that made her sure the coming night would be more intense than ever. Most of the men were quite open in their admiration of her and thought nothing of kissing or of her squeezing her bottom or breasts, which they did as the mood took them.

  As the land grew hotter she had abandoned her heavy calico dress for a burnouse of light cotton with nothing beneath it. This was both comfortable and gave easy access when she was wanted for sex. Barely had she finished her meagre supper of rice and spice-dried goat meat than the burnouse was whisked off her head and strong arms gripped her limbs. Despite her giggling protests she was led to a large tent. Most of the soldiers were there, admiring her nude body as her arms were twisted into the small of her back and her chest pushed out for inspection. Hands took her breasts, groping and slapping the heavy globes until her nipples had popped out and she was groaning aloud.

  Her breasts were beaten, slapped by hand until each was blotchy with flushed pink marks, then given a half-dozen firm strokes with a fly whisk to leave then swollen and aching. With her breasts ready she was spread-eagled on the broad back of the largest among the soldiers. Her arms were spread wide, the man beneath her lifting his knees to force her bottom into prominence as she was stretched out. Others took her ankles, spreading her legs wide. Giggling and squealing in mock protest, she watched as one unbuckled his belt and slid it free of his waist, a thick length of pliant black leather. It was folded and put to her mouth, where she kissed it meekly. He laughed and lifted it, high above her naked, helpless bottom, then brought it down with all his force across her squirming cheeks.

  She was beaten hard, blow after blow landing across her nude buttocks until she was squealing and writhing in their grip, alternately begging them to stop and pleading for more. A cock was put in her mouth, shutting her up. She began to suck, her throat jumping in time to the heavy slaps on her bottom, an effect that had the man rock hard in moments, then coming, spurting semen down her throat.

  One by one they fed her their cocks, all the while continuing the beating to keep the involuntary spasms and jerks of her throat going. One by one they came in her mouth or across her face and hair, until she was blind behind a mask of sticky sperm, and still they beat her.

  Only when she was on the edge of consciousness did the beating stop, abruptly, as if they knew exactly the point to which she could be taken. She went limp, sobbing and gasping, her sweat running in streams onto the man beneath her, her bottom a throbbing ball of pain, her vagina swollen and ready with juice running from the mouth.

  Before she had even recovered her breath a cock was put to her vagina, sliding up with ease into the juicy tube of flesh. The man began to fuck her, his belly bumping hard on her beaten bottom to make her gasp and grunt. Once more she was silenced with a penis in her mouth.

  With the cock in her hole jamming her tuppenny repeatedly against the spine of the man below her it was not long until her helpless ecstasy began to rise towards orgasm. With each push her clitor
is would rub on the coarse cloth of his garment, bringing her to an agonising climax that tore through her body with every muscle tense and her vagina squeezing over and over on the intruding penis.

  The men laughed to see her come, but neither the one in her vagina nor her mouth so much as broke their rhythm. Seconds later sperm erupted inside her, both ends at once and she swallowed frantically as her own orgasm tailed off. The man behind pulled his cock free and wiped the slime in the crease of her bottom before stepping back. He was replaced immediately and Aisla gave a despairing sigh as a new erection was pressed between her thighs, not to her tuppenny, but to her anus. It went in with embarrassing ease, her bottom ring already moist with sperm and sweat. No more than a twinge of pain signalled the penetration of her anus and then he was up her, pumping happily away in her rectum with his balls slapping her empty tuppenny.

  All had come save those who were holding her, who watched her buggered, each with one hand on a limb and one on an erect cock. One let go, transferring the hand her had been holding to his penis. Aisla began to wank him, pulling him closer to get his cock to her face and rubbing his erection in the mess of sperm that coated her features. He gave a contented sigh, pulled her hair back and stuffed his erection into her mouth, coming moments later, deep down between her tonsils.

  Without warning the man beneath her shifted, dumping her to the ground with the one in her anus landing on top of her. She squealed and he swore as his cock was jammed unexpectedly into her bowels, but a moment later he had begun to pump again, now with Aisla face down on the sand. A hand took her hair, twisting her head around and up so that the man who had supported her could feed his cock to her mouth. She took it, ignoring the exchange of angry words between the two men sharing her.

  Three remained to be satisfied, all masturbating as they watched her used, nursing their erections over the prospect of one or another of her well juiced orifices. The man in her bottom came, filling her gut with sperm to leave her bottom ring sore and dribbling come. Relieved of his weight, she hunched herself up on her knees, lifting her bottom as another man came to mount her. He put it in her vagina, fucking her with sharp, hard pushes and spraying his semen across her upturned buttocks. The last two shared her, one swinging himself under her and pulling her down to fill her vagina with cock, the other waiting until his friend was comfortable and then forcing her sperm slick anal passage.