Captive

by Aishling Morgan

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked weakly.

  ‘I was making myself ready,’ Sulitea answered. ‘I thought he would ravish me once he’d had his fill of you. It is best to be wet.’

  ‘He seems satisfied, he’s asleep.’ Aisla pointed out. ‘Don’t be upset, I’m sure you’ll get you portion of troll’s cock later.’

  ‘I do not…’ Sulitea began in outrage, then abruptly changed her tack. ‘You are no better. You loved that, didn’t you? You little slut!’

  ‘I couldn’t help it!’ Aisla protested. ‘You try it, being ravished like that, with a cock that size! It’s more than any girl could bear, and you wanted it!’

  ‘I did not, I was merely preparing for what I though inevitable.’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  ‘You’re a slut, Aisla,’ Sulitea teased. ‘You like troll’s cock and anything else that’s put in you. Face the fact.’

  ‘I’m no worse than you, Sulitea,’ Aisla answered sulkily. ‘Anyway, thanks to me we are safe and well guarded. Do you suppose there’s anything to eat?’

  ‘There has to be,’ Sulitea answered condescendingly. ‘Look how fat the troll is. Anyway, fill your vial and this time test the sperm. He was certainly enraged at first, but pretty happy at the end.’

  Aisla nodded her agreement and dabbed a finger into the sperm clotting her pubic hair. Tasting a drop, she licked her harness. Moments later a flush of confidence and aggression swept through her, briefly filling her with the urge to confront Naithal only for the feeling to die.

  ‘It works,’ she announced and began to work sperm into her vial. ‘Still, there are twelve of them…’

  ‘I will think of something,’ Sulitea said confidently. ‘Meanwhile let us investigate the keep.’

  Together they began to explore, certain that the marauders would not dare return with the troll present. A number of doors led off the courtyard, all either open or smashed, presumably by the troll. Most led down into unknown, black depths from which strange smells rose and in one case a wisp of vapour. Neither Aisla nor Sulitea felt any desire to explore them, but entered the main building to find stairs leading up and down and a long hall illuminated by high windows of coloured glass.

  The idea of the keep having been occupied by a warlock was clearly correct. High bookcases stood on every wall, while both benches at the sides and a long central table were littered with tomes and arcane artefacts. The smell of fruit and the troll’s food source were also explained. At the far end of the hall was a large cornucopia on a bronze stand, the floor beneath it filthy with decaying fruit of every sort. Nearer to them the troll had made a nest of furs and rugs, with a litter of fruit peelings beside it.

  ‘This is not a good place to be,’ Aisla said, glancing in alarm at a winged and fanged monstrosity that sat stuffed in a glass case.

  Sulitea ignored her, moving forward to examine the room with an expression of rapt awe on her face.

  ‘Sulitea,’ Aisla cautioned.

  ‘Don’t be such a peasant,’ Sulitea answered. ‘The warlock obviously isn’t here. Have some fruit or go and fuck the troll again.’

  Aisla opened her mouth to remonstrate but Sulitea had already begun to examine a curious device made of blue glass globes. Pushing back her fear she came forward, wrinkling her nose at the heavy mixture of troll musk and sweet decay in the air. At the thought of the troll she changed her mind, stepping back outside only to find him still asleep in the same lazy posture. Clearly he was tame, possibly even used to having either girls or nymphs to fuck and indifferent to their presence.

  Walking back inside, she glanced down the stairs, half expecting to find some hideous sight. Instead there was the glint of glass in the sunlight coming through the door and she realised the basement was no dungeon or chamber for horrid experiments, but simply a wine cellar. An iron grill closed it off, but the key was still in the lock. Descending the stairs, she pushed open the grill to find a long series of arches disappearing into the blackness over rank upon rank of stacked bottles. Choosing at random, she carefully drew a bottle from the stack and returned to the hall to find Sulitea examining the bookcases.

  ‘This is wonderful,’ Sulitea remarked, ‘with the knowledge here and a little time I could learn enough to establish myself as a witch.’

  ‘Leave it,’ Aisla urged. ‘It is dangerous. Look, I have some wine from the cellar. It looks very old. Let us eat and discuss what to do.’

  ‘You are being foolish,’ Sulitea answered, ‘but, yes, I’m hungry and I could use some wine after being chased like that. But wasn’t it fine, to see their faces when the troll came out?’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Aisla answered, passing Sulitea the bottle, ‘but they’ll be waiting for us.’

  ‘Doubtless,’ Sulitea said, ‘but we can stay here as long as you are content to satisfy the troll.’

  ‘If I must I must,’ Aisla answered, shamefaced but with a twinge of expectation that set her nipples hard.

  Sulitea had begun to work on the bottle with one of the implements that lay scattered on the warlock’s bench, first chipping wax from the top and then extracting a long cork. Taking glasses from a rack and peering suspiciously into each, she served herself and gave Aisla the bottle. Aisla took it and poured out a measure of a liquid so dark as to be almost black rather than red, hoping that it was actually wine and not some unknown elixir. Sulitea sniffed cautiously, sipped and then swallowed.

  ‘Rich and strong,’ Sulitea commented, ‘perhaps a little past its full glory, and lacking a measure of delicacy also, but long, and with a fine elaboration of scents and flavours; musk apple, black rose, pomegranate, a touch of the game pantry.’

  Nothing horrible happened to Sulitea and Aisla took a swallow, to discover a texture like the richest mead and flavours ranging from heavy fruit to smoked meat, then a warm sensation that filled her mouth and traced a tingling line down her throat as she swallowed.

  ‘Lovely,’ she remarked.

  They settled down to drink and eat the fresh fruit from the cornucopia, examining the room with increasing confidence as they started on a second and then a third bottle of the exquisite wine. The troll slept on, while Aisla increasingly began to wish he would wake up and ravish her again, preferably both of them so that she could watch Sulitea fucked. After checking the troll, she climbed to the ramparts and peered cautiously down, to her annoyance discovering that the marauders had camped on the isthmus and where busy building a line of fires, making escape during the night impossible.

  On her return she found Sulitea absorbed in a large book that had been left open on the warlock’s workbench, glass in one hand and a fourth bottle of the wine standing open by her side.

  ‘They have us trapped,’ Aisla said. ‘Even with elixir I doubt I could cut a way through so many.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Sulitea answered, ‘but if I can find how to break the boundary spell they will be in for a nasty surprise.’

  Aisla gave a sceptical grunt. Sulitea did not reply, but turned back to the book, occasionally taking a swig from her glass. Aisla fell to studying the hall, wondering if there was not some more practical and non-magical way of escaping their pursuers. Nothing came to mind, save that Naithal might eventually grow bored. Alternatively he might feign boredom and lay an ambush for them, so even if the marauders decamped it might not be safe to leave.

  ‘I should have been a witch!’ Sulitea declared suddenly, swinging the bottle in her hand to take in the entire hall. ‘This is wonderful, with the spells and discharms listed in this book we can brush Naithal and his men aside with no more trouble than if they were ants!’

  ‘It is never so easy,’ Aisla commented.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Sulitea crowed, ‘it is simple, merely a matter of enough knowledge and careful application.’

  ‘Apprentices are taken before puberty,’ Aisla answered
. ‘Years of study are needed!’

  ‘The library at Thieron contains numerous texts on magic,’ Sulitea answered. ‘True I lacked a mistress to guide me, but I have been reading since the age of four! Look, I will make a demonstration.’

  ‘Sulitea…,’ Aisla cautioned, but Sulitea was already turning the pages, reading and taking further gulps from her glass.

  ‘I really think…,’ Aisla tried, only to be silenced with a gesture.

  ‘Here, this is ideal,’ Sulitea declared after a while. ‘Give me your axe… No, take it firmly by the shaft and place the head flat on the bench.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Aisla queried.

  ‘Apply a discharm,’ Sulitea said, ‘several are available; to prevent rust, to maintain a permanently sharp edge, to make a souleater…’

  ‘Try the sharp edge,’ Aisla said quickly.

  ‘Stay there then, a moment.’

  Sulitea began to collect artefacts from around the room, pausing occasionally to consult the book. Aisla stayed in place, feeling nervous and a little drunk but lulled by the confidence of Sulitea’s actions. Grey powder was shaken onto the blade, a glyph drawn in an unpleasant smelling black wax, an incantation spoken. Nothing happened and Sulitea went back to the book, muttering to herself as she carefully repeated the steps. Again nothing happened and with an angry word she slammed the book shut, knocking her wine over the blade. The grey powder hissed and spat, then vanished to nothing, leaving only the glyph as a faint blue mark. Aisla touched the blade with a fingernail, but it was not notably sharper than before.

  ‘Doubtless the book is inaccurate,’ Sulitea suggested, ‘which only proves my point, proper application is essential. Come, let’s have another bottle. No, two, of different vintages so we may compare them.’

  Aisla gratefully went for the bottles, far preferring the simple pleasure of getting drunk to playing with the vanished warlock’s apparatus. On her return from the cellar she found Sulitea seated in a chair, giggling over a huge book with a binding of yellow leather. Joining her friend, Aisla immediately found herself blushing at the illustration Sulitea was examining. It showed a girl, nude and mounted from behind by a hairy, blue-faced man-ape. The ape wore an expression of lewd ferocity, the girl of mindless rapture.

  ‘What is that thing?’ Sulitea exclaimed in mingled shock and delight.

  ‘A mandrill,’ Aisla answered her, ‘they keep them as pets in Apraya, but I never knew…’

  ‘I bet you did it yourself!’ Sulitea laughed. ‘I can see you! Just like you were with the troll, bottom in the air, titties swinging and a big smile on your face!’

  ‘I did not!’ Aisla exclaimed, the blushes rising to her face with new fury.

  ‘You enjoy trolls and wood apes, why not a mandrill?’ Sulitea laughed. ‘And do no forget, I saw you with the dog on the first night with the army.’

  ‘It mounted me unexpectedly!’ Aisla protested. ‘I had no choice!’

  ‘And the donkeys?’

  ‘Only to have you sodomised!’

  Sulitea answered with a laugh that made her disbelief quite clear. Aisla leapt at her, half in play, half wanting to inflict a solid punishment for Sulitea’s loftiness and blatant insults. Sulitea went down with an excited squeal, dropping the book. Aisla pulled Sulitea from the chair, and with two quick motions stripped her bare, delighting in her own strength. Straddling Sulitea, Aisla made herself comfortable, thighs spread over her friend’s stomach, tuppenny hot against soft belly flesh.

  ‘Now I’m going to pee all over you again!’ she declared triumphantly. ‘On those fat titties and in your mouth. I’ll make you drink it too!’

  Sulitea moaned aloud but made no effort to push Aisla off. Encouraged, Aisla raised herself and shuffled forward, poising her tuppenny full over Sulitea’s face. She gave Sulitea a moment to consider her fate, then let go. Sulitea’s squeal was cut off abruptly as her mouth filled with urine, turning to a choking gurgle. Aisla laughed and raised herself, spraying Sulitea’s breasts and hair, then her belly and the tangle of yellow curls that hid her sex. She let it run like that, sat so that she could feel the warmth of her own pee as it splashed back from Sulitea’s skin. Taking up the bottle, she put it to her mouth swallowing a deep draught, most of which splashed out over her chin and down.

  Aisla laughed as the wine cascaded from her breasts and over Sulitea’s body, splashing her face and chest, the rich red mingling with the yellow pee. They fell together, cuddling and licking in drunken ecstasy, searching out the sensitive crevices of each others bodies, pushing tongues into mouths, belly buttons, vaginas and bottom holes without reserve. Everything tasted of the rich strong wine, pee and girl, until Aisla could wait no longer and determined to come, full in Sulitea’s face.

  Rolling in the filthy mess they had made on the floor, they came closer and closer to orgasm. Turning head to toe, with Aisla on top, they began to lick each others’ tuppennies. Both were using their hands to tickling and probe, Sulitea with two fingers in Aisla’s vagina and one in her bottom. Aisla made to return the favour, only to look up with a start at a sound. The troll was in the room, coming at them, his huge cock grasped in a hand. Aisla screamed in shock, but too late as one great fist took her hair and her mouth was plugged with the colossal penis. Sulitea began to struggle beneath her, but to no avail as the sucking lasted only a moment before the cock was taken from Aisla’s mouth and jammed into Sulitea’s vagina. His belly pushed Aisla back, making her sit up on Sulitea’s face.

  Sulitea screamed again as the troll took a thigh in each hand and began to fuck her. Aisla found herself face to face with him, looking right into his tiny, lust filled eyes. She was unable to move and then didn’t want to as Sulitea first gave a deep moan of abject surrender and then once more began to lick Aisla’s tuppenny and bottom. Her first shock faded, Aisla settled down to watch the troll fuck Sulitea, enjoying the sight of her friend’s tight pink hole stretched taut on the invading penis almost as much as the tongue that was licking her from clitoris to anus. She began to play with her breasts, then to masturbate openly and wiggle her bottom into Sulitea’s face, all the while with her eyes fixed on the junction between troll’s cock and vagina with the silver bells jiggling to the pushes.

  The troll came first, his prick jerking free of Sulitea’s hole to spray both girls with come. Aisla smeared the thick semen into her breasts, rubbing it over her nipples in wanton delight. As the troll pulled back she grabbed his cock, stuffing it into her mouth to suck the sperm from it and swallowing over and over. With the thick shaft in her mouth she started to come, grinding her bottom into Sulitea’s face to get pressure to her clitoris. Cheeks blown out with sucking, she rode her orgasm, thinking over and over of how she had a troll’s cock in her mouth and of how that same huge cock had looked in Sulitea’s vagina with the little bells jingling to its motion.

  Aisla woke to a cool, grey light filtering in from the hall windows. There was a sour, soiled taste in her mouth, and her head twinged as she pulled herself up. Sulitea was still asleep, rolled into a fur with her naked bottom peeping from beneath. The troll was also insensible, sprawled among the mess on the floor.

  Climbing slowly to her feet, she walked to the horn and took a fresh peach from the mouth. The axe was on the workbench where they had left it and she picked it up, gaining a feeling of security as her hand closed on the familiar shaft. If Sulitea’s charm had taken effect it was not evident.

  She wrapped herself in a skin for warmth and stood a while, clutching the axe across her front for comfort as she ate the peach. Shame welled briefly inside her as she remembered the events of the night, but she managed a wry smile at the thought of how much worse Sulitea would feel. With the peach finished more serious matters demanded her attention and she moved towards the door.

  Outside, the dawn was silent but for birdsong, yet Aisla crossed the yard cautiously an
d climbed to the wall rather than risk sticking her head out of the gate. Peering carefully between two crenellations, she looked down to the shore. The scene was much as it had been the previous day, with the long rocky slope stretching down to the neck of land that joined their stack to the mainland. The striped tents of the marauders were spaced across the neck, blocking all retreat unless they swam. The sea itself was hidden by mist, broken here and there by the dim outlines of black rocks.

  Aisla shivered, wishing she had taken more than one fur, and was about to turn back when a movement caught her eyes. One of the black shapes in the mist seemed to be growing, becoming wide, splitting in two, and what had seemed a ragged angle became the square corner of a sail. A long, black prow pushed out of the mist and a lump rose in her throat, not of fear, but of excitement and longing. Hurling herself down the steps she ran for the hall.

  ‘Aeg!’ she yelled as she burst in. ‘Sulitea, Aeg!’

  Her friend sat up, clutching the fur to her chest and looking groggily about.

  ‘Aeg!’ Aisla repeated. ‘On the beach! Come on!’

  Aisla was already grabbing for her clothes as Sulitea began to react.

  ‘My clothes!’ Sulitea exclaimed. ‘My legs will show! My tattoos! I’m wearing nipple bells! My father, they’re bound to want to ravish me, they’ll see my cunt bells, I mean my… Oh Aisla, help!’

  ‘Just cover yourself! When they ravish you they’ll not stop because you’re disgraced!’

  Sulitea began to grab things in a flurry of haste and embarrassment, furs, rugs, the workbook she had tried to use. Aisla grabbed for her harness, praying the Aeg attacked the marauders as she wrenched it up her legs.

  ‘Suck the troll!’ Sulitea screamed suddenly.

  ‘Now? Rescue is at hand and you want to watch me suck troll’s cock!’