Adult Image Library 1/Adult_Image_Library_Volume_1.iso/stories/aimee_e.txt

Text File | 1996-04-15 | 23KB | 421 lines

AIMEE'                                                           Chapter IV
~~~~~                                                            ~~~~~~~~~~

     "Come here, child, sit down, sit down."  Bethsany patted the couch,
trying to be welcoming to the nervous young girl who stood at the doorway.
"Young" was perhaps a bit of an inaccuracy to Bethsany's eyes, since she
had some girls working for her who were younger.

     She walked forward, her eys scanning the room intensely.  Bethsany saw
the careful, analytical training that Darryn would naturally have imbued
Aimee' with, but she also saw the youthful nervousness that came naturally
to girls such as Aimee'.  Bethsany tried her best to hire girls who were
already enjoying sex when they came to her; women who did their work out of
desperation were simply not good workers.

     Aimee' reached out with her hand, touching the rough texture of the
couch, her eyes exploring.  Bethsany watched her for a moment.  "It's a
brothel, dear.  My customers expect a certain degree of garishness."  She
smiled.  "Sit down, sit down."

     Aimee' finally took her seat and Bethsany took a longer, more careful
look at her.  She was what she expected from Teltirray's tastes; tall,
slim, relatively small breasts.  Dark hair and bright, blue eyes were
something of a must with him.  Bethsany was somewhat releived to see that
even after three months the usual signs of abuse that Teltirray heaped upon
his "charges" weren't as graphic on Aimee' as usual; either she was showing
remarkable resilience to his advances or he really was holding back,
probably hoping that between Darryn's magic and her training they would
turn Aimee' into the perfect sex toy for Teltirray's vapid tastes.

     "Now, then," Bethsany began after Aimee' had settled down into her
seat.  "My object is to train you to be as good as any of the girls I have
here.  That's not easy, you know."  She laughed.  "My girls are the very
best in the city.  But we will do our best.  Now, I understand that it's
been Darryn's way to tell you stories about himself, how he got his
understanding and so on.  I plan on doing the same.  So listen closely,
dearie, because I don't like repeating myself."


     I was born the daughter of a nomad whore.  I don't mind saying that
because it's completely true.  My mother was a good whore, too, and a woman
devoted to her husband and her daughter.  We travelled around the southern
continent on a tented wagon.  There were four wagons in our train and a
total of seventeen people.  We didn't even have a name for ourselves,
really; we were just "the people."  There were nine cities we visited on
our course, the same course, year after year.  My father was a merchant
trader and was very good at picking out what one city had that the next one
down the line would need, even after a year's absence.  My mother, with her
deep red skin, slanted eyes and straight, black hair, was exotic in many of
the cities and men would flock to her like flies on butter.  Much the same
they did with me many years ago.

     We were a friendly bunch most of the time but we tended to take it
very carefully on the road.  A good plan considering how many brigands ther
were out there interested in lightening our loads.  The greatest travel we
ever took was from Ticonary to Emti, a rough road through a mountain pass
that usually took twenty days or thereabouts.  We weren't to know it, but
the Maple Campaign to the north of us had driven a barbarian horde of
Centaurs into the mountain range for refuge.  These were no gentle Centaurs
of the upper valleys.  No, these were the Gespil  Centaurs, those small,
powerful, magicless Centaur warriors who still plague those lands.

     They fell upon us in our sleep.  Crossbows aimed with silent accuracy
fell our menfolk before they could even shout a word.  It was the most
silent brigandry I had ever heard of.  More than half our men were dead
before and alarm was raised.  My mother fought them off, seizing father's
sword and slashing at them.  It was to no avail; there were too many of
them, too many warriors, and as she hacked at two who leapt and taunted
her, one stepped up behind her and ran her through with his pike.  I shall
never forget the look on her face as she died, her ribs pushed out by the
spike erupting from her chest.  She was sad, sad for me.  She wanted to see
me, twisted on the spike horribly to look at me, as she fell.  When her
body slumped to the ground the one who had killed her pulled the pike free,
then turned and gave me a smile.  I hated him and his evil grin, I wanted
to wipe it off his face and make him pay for my mother's death and I would
wallow in his pain when I did.

     "Take her!" he shouted, pointing at me.  "Alive!"

     They did that.  Although I fought them, there was really no point to
struggling with two male centaurs.  "Find a bench in one of these wagons.
I'm going to have me some fun."

     I begged and pleaded.  Not that it did me much good.  When they found
out I was a virgin, there was a roar of approval, as if it was all one big
joke. Two found a wooden bench, torn from the seat of one of the wagons,
and laid my mother's bedding over it.  It took four Centaurs to hold me,
one for each arm and each leg, as they tore my clothes from me and laid me
down on their platform.

     Gespil Centaurs are not much larger than humans, Aimee'; they are
usually a little under six feet tall, made more of ponies than full-size
horses.  Their penises-- I'm a professional, dear, I have to use the
technical term-- are not much larger than a man's.  This one, their leader
apparently, had a large penis even for his species.  "Hold her down,
dammit!" he shouted.  "I can't fuck her if she's flailing her feet about
all over the place!"

     The two holding my legs managed to get my knees pressed to my chest,
holding my feet far apart I felt they would split me in two.  The leader
reared up on his hind legs, straddling my body.  He grinned down at me, his
teeth showing in a snarl that befitted some demon more than he.  "You will
like this," he said.

     "May Agas and all his demons pass you about for their buggery!" I
shouted at him.  Sorry, I don't mean to offend you, Aimee'.  I'm just
trying to relate the story as it happened.

     "I'm sure it will," he responded.  "But not today."  He lowered his
enormous prick.  I felt it touch my thighs and screamed.  He merely smiled.
They must have some muscles to control it because with no hands he found my
opening and battered at it, the head of his cock demanding entrance.  He
pointed at one of his followers.  "Grease us."

     The other one smiled.  I felt a hand on my pudenda, touching me.  I
squirmed harder, but they held me fast, and as the hand pressed over my
mound it left a streak of some thick, greasy substance.  Then the leader
was back, his cock still hard as ever.  I felt the slick grease helping
him, guiding him into me.  I felt my opening giving way.

     The pain, Aimee', oh, the pain.  I shall never forget how awful that
tearing agony was.  It blocked out thought as this Centaur blocked the sun
from my eyes.  I screamed and flailed about.  In my struggle I tore my
muscles.  Tears streamed my eyes.  The huge stallion prick in my cunt
bucked and shoved and jammed as it stretched and tortured me.  He raped me
wholly without remorse or shame.

     I could do nothing.  His prick within me was a weapon, one I would
someday remove from him in the most painful manner I could possibly
imagine.  He repeatedly jabbed it into me, the snarl on his face-- so many
feet away from my clawing hands!-- showing me his contempt for me.   I
tried to return it, but my tears and pain were too much.

     And my body responded, Aimee'!  I understand now what happened, but at
that time I felt the greatest betrayal as my cunt throbbed from his abusive
prick.  I felt a pleasure in my being even as I cried, a pleasure that
exploded in climax even as he, himself, dropped his scum  within my
helpless body.  "See?" he smiled as he slid off of me.  "She likes it.
Take her.  I need a new maidservant.  We'll train her good."

     The others laughed and nodded.  I learned my Master's name was
"Styur."


     I was thrown over the back of a horse, one of our horses that they had
captured alive in the raid.  My crying was ignored, as was the blood of my
deflowering streaming down my legs.  We rode on horseback for many miles.

     We arrived at their camp, a collection of caves and huts housing maybe
fifty Centaurs total.  I was there removed from the pack animal that
carried me and led to his house.  "Uma!" Styur shouted.  "I have a gift for
you.  She's difficult, but you can break her."

     The door opened and a Centaur woman looked out.  Her face was ugly,
the result of a burn I was to learn some time later.  Nor was her smile
kind.  "She's pretty," she said.  "Yes, I'll do wonderful things with this
one.  A worthy gift, Styur."  She turned to a box and pulled out a collar,
such as one would fit a dog, and wrapped it around my neck.  It had once
been white, but there were the brown stains of dried blood covering much of
it.  "You see," she said to me, her foul breath washing over me, "The last
toy we had misbehaved.  We've not cleaned her things off since then.  That
will be your task."

     The lock on the collar was small and brass, but I could never break
it.  Styur smiled as he regarded me.  "You will need to wash, Mosh."  I was
to find out that "mosh" is a word in their language meaning "toy."  It was
my new name.

     I was consequently washed and then taken back to Uma and Styur's hut.
I was shown my sleeping cloths on the floor, then given a basket and told
to collect the cloths scattered throughout the house and wash them.

     I did as I was told.  I had no choice.  There was nowhere to run,
nobody to feed me.  I was alone, the only slave alive in the Centaur camp,
the plaything of their warrior-leader.  I was assured that they had others
at time, but the war and their movements had caused them to lose most of
their slaves.  I asked if those slaves had died on the trip.  "No," Styur
replied, smiling.  "They were eaten."

     The days and nights passed as winter came closer and closer.  I was
taught to make the fire, to raise the heat, to cook for them.  And every
third night or so Styur would tie me down to his bench and have his way
with me.  He was creative in his foul way, tying me face down and then
placing bricks under one side of the bench to lift my buttocks into the
air, making his entry easier.

     I hated him.  And every time he raped me, I climaxed.  I drew my
pleasure from hating him, from the knowledge that I could have this
pleasure, that it was mine, it belonged to me, I made it despite him.  He
could never take it away from me without taking away his prick, his own
pleasure at his human girl.  I would fight the biting ropes and scream and
hate him.  He would sometimes gag me.  My fingers would strain, my wrists
pulling against the cords, trying for some way to get free, as his prick
fucked my cunt, rubbed my clit and made me come.  I would scream with anger
and with pleasure.

     He would get off of me and touch my face.  "See?" he would say.
"You're starting to like me more and more."

     I would curse him.  Once, I spat at him, and he slapped my face so
hard a bruise welted up there that lasted for a week.

     In my dreams I wished for a lover who would not abuse me.  Who would
give me what I wanted in fair trade for what he wanted, who would stop when
I wanted him to and who would ask me to stop when he didn't want to.  I
doubted such men like that existed at all.  I still do, excepting Darryn,
of course, who is too much a man's man to do me and my girls much good as a
lover.  But still, there is much to learn from a man like him.

     I dreamed of the day I would be close enough to another human to have
the freedom to kill Stuyr.  I was surprised when that day came sooner than
expected.

     In my third month of capture the horror these people inflicted upon my
family was returned a hundredfold.  During the first night of truly deep
snows, the alarm arose in the camp, waking me from a sleep.  I slept with
their dog for warmth and companionship; of all the creatures, she alone
loved me for simple things.  I was kind to her.  Styur found that fitting,
that his pets should sleep together.  At first, I was disgusted by his
train of thoughts; I was not his pet or his toy.  But my need for warmth,
friendship, and my desire to not reject this only friend won out, and I
stayed next to her in the night.

     I've strayed from the tale.  The alarm, yes.  Whistles awoke us all
and Stuyr ran from his stone home, seizing his sword as he galloped out the
door.  Shouts and screams erupted.  Some of the shouts I did not recognize,
although they were all distinctly womanly in sound.  I waited  in the dark,
hugging Huna-- that was the dog's name-- closely.  The sounds of battle
rang out, the clanging of metal, the shouts and grunts of fighters.  The
door fell in, and Stuyr collapsed onto the floor, four great arrows buried
into his manchest, more on the rest of him.  He reached out for me,
gasping.  "Help me," I heard him say.

     Help him?  I stood up, walked to him, pulled his short dagger from
it's sheath.  "I'll help you, all right.  Right into Hell."  I held it up
and was about to plunge it into his heart when I stopped and reconsidered.
I remembered my pledge.  I walked around to the back of his body.

     "No," I remember hearing him say.  "Don't."

     I shoved the knife into his leg, slicing at the muscles that allowed
him to kick.  He screamed, a painful thing that made me smile.  My hatred
for him was absolute, complete.  I cared not the slightest for him.  The
leg, now useless, I kicked up and out of my way,exposing his privates.  I
grabbed his penis and balls in my hands and pulled them away from his body,
wrenching them painfully.  He screamed trying to get away from me as I cut
them loose from his body with the dagger.

     Blood poured upon the ground and his body twitched and writhed. I
dropped the contents of both my hands on the ground, then fell to the
ground myself, sitting in the doorway, waiting while the snow fell on me
in gentle, fat flakes.  After a while a shape, a human shape, stood over
me, looking down at me.  "Have you done that?" she asked, pointing at the
still-oozing carcass of Styur.  I didn't answer.  I couldn't.  I can't
explain what was wrong with me, but it was simply that I didn't want to do
anything, not even answer a simple 'yes' or 'no'.  She knelt down.  Her
face, partially covered by the open-faced helm she wore, was hardened and
covered with a stain of blood from her nose, but it had a smile that, for
the first time in months, was genuine and lovely.  "I guess you did.  Come
here."  As she spoke her breath streamed away in visible clouds into the
night.  She touched my arm and suddenly I was freed of my  paralysis.  I
held onto her like she was my last touch of life, my last hope of living.
I gripped her with my remaining strength.  She began to carry me away and
Huna began to follow us.  "Shoo, dog," the woman said.

     "Huna!" I said, pointing.

     "What?"

     "Huna!"

     "Is Huna your friend?" the woman asked me.

     "Yes.  Bring Huna?"

     She nodded.  "Okay, we'll bring her."  With her free hand she slapped
her thigh.  "Come on, Huna.  You're a... girl.  Good."  She laughed.  "Come
on, girl.  We're going to take you home."  She carried me to the edge of
the camp where the rest of the troops had collected.  And there she
introduced me to my new life.


     Bethsany sat back on her couch.  Aimee' had curled up into the corner
of the couch, watching her carefully.  Although not a mage herself, she
recognized the signs of idling power within the girl's delicate frame and
wondered if the story had aroused Aimee' defenses.  She hoped not.  "So,"
she said, taking a deep breath.  "Come, I want you to meet someone."

     She rose and held out her hand.  Aimee' took it unsurely, and Bethsany
whisked her out of the room and down the stairs.  "Meli!  Meli, where are
you, girl?"  The stairs ended in the girl's lesiure room, a space Bethsany
had set aside for the women to collect themselves and relax.

     "Over here, Miss Beth."

     "Oh, there you are."  She dropped off the steps and herded Aimee' in
the direction of the tall, black-skinned girl with the wide smile and the
sweet-smelling skin.  "Meli, I want you to meet Aimee'.  Aimee', this is
one of my favorite girls, Meli.  She is going to take you aside and teach
you a few tricks that will certainly please your Master."  With that, she
took Meli aside and whispered her instructions into the girl's ear while
casting sidelong glances at Aimee'.

     Meli finally nodded and walked back to Aimee's side.  They looked at
each as if measuring, then Meli reached out a hand.  Aimee' took at and
both let out a small sigh of tension.  "Hi," Aimee' said.

     "Hi," Meli replied.  "Come on.  Let me take you in back and I will
show you what you need."

     Aimee' nodded and allowed Meli to lead her down another flight of
stairs into what felt like a basement.  The room was warm, though, and
comfortable.  The bright golden yellows and reds that predominated most of
the upstairs gave way to softer pinks accentuating rich blues, comforting,
feminine colors.  "This is where we relax in the daytime," Meli said.
"It's a safe corner for all of us."  The first room was little more than a
hallway, leading off to other rooms with dubious contents.  "This way."

     Meli led her down the hall and into another, small room.  This one had
a bathtub of sorts inlaid in the center of the floor.  The tub, of white,
smooth stone, was big enough to hold several women at once.  It had a spout
in the shape of a serpent hovering over it.  The mouth of the serpent
caught Aimee's eye.  "Darryn, your teacher, made that for us.  It is a
well-crafted urnen, a device for heating water to our whim."  Inside the
tub was a strangely-shaped chair, as if for sitting rather than for
washing.  A rope hung down from the ceiling, crossing through a pulley
there to another by wall, then down into the floor.

     "This knob controls how strong the water is, this one how hot, and
this lever..."  She grinned.  "This one controls where the water goes."

     "Goes?"

     "Get in.  Sit down and give it a try," Meli grinned.  Aimee' gave her
a curious look, then shrugged and slipped out of her clothes, slipping into
the water.  "Sit in the chair, that's it."  The tawny, black-skinned girl
undressed as well, sliding into the tub behind the chair.  "Now, the first
part's always the toughest to get ready for.  Start the water flowing."
Aimee' looked over and found the one for pressure, giving it a quick turn.
"Lightly, girl!  You'll never get used to it like that!" Meli admonsihed.
"Turn it low, right, like that.

     "Now, reach over for the rope and pull on it."  Aimee' did as told.
The chair began to rise and tilt in the pool.  Her legs were slowly being
raised out of the water, most of her body with it, until her mound and her
head were just above the water.  The stream from the serpent's mouth was
striking the water between her legs, a foot from her mound.  "Test it,"
Meli said.  "See if it's too hot."

     Aimee' reached a hand out into the water.  "It's fine."

     "Then take the lever and push it away from you.  It's a bit strange,
but you'll get used to it."  Aimee' did as told and the water began moving
closer to her mound.  "Just go on, Aimee', you'll like it."  Meli moved her
hands slowly around the other's girl's body, her hands caressing Aimee's
sides, touching her skin.  Aimee's chest rose, gasping, as Meli's hands
reached around and touched her nipples at the same time the water ran up
between her lips and touched her clitoris.  She squirmed and moved the
lever, pushing the water off.

     "Take it easy," Meli said.  "Some girls like it very hard, others like
it very hot.  But we must all start out carefully."

     Aimee nodded and her fingers gripped the lever a little more tightly.
The mouth of the serpent, made of many carefully made plates of silver,
moved slightly, directing the flow of water closer and closer to Aimee's
cunny.  "That's it," Meli whispered in her ear, "That's it."  Aimee felt
her breasts flush and grow warm as Meli's fingers caressed them, pressing
against her giving flesh.  Aimee's breath grew hoarse and ragged as the
water played over her clitoris more and more forcefully.  Her fingers
barely touched the lever, her hips grinding against the smooth material of
the seat.  Meli wrapped her arms around Aimee's waist and held onto her,
holding her down, waiting for the explosions to stop.

     Much to Meli's surprise, they did not stop.  If anything, Aimee's
moans grew louder, her buttocks pounding against the marble.  The moans
built  into a scream, and then Meli noticed that the room had become
darker; the candles had gone out, and a wind was building.  Even in as
small a space as the bathtub the water become choppy, the air whistled and
spun as Aimee's screamed.  "No!" Meli scrabbled for the knob in the dark,
finding it with her fingertips, and turned off the water.

     The wind subsided.  Aimee's breathing, punctuated occassionaly by
moans, filled the room.  Finally even that grew quiet.  Meli, still more
than a little frightened, whispered, "Aimee'?"

     "Meli?" the reply came.  "Are you okay?"

     "Frightened, but unharmed," Meli replied.

     The door to the room flew open.  "What in the name of Agas is going on
down here?"  Bethsany peeked into the room, looking around at the
destruction.  "What happened."

     "She... she started to come, madame, and then the whole room just
started to come apart."

     "Aimee'?"

     "It was so... powerful.  Meli was touching me and the water was so
strong... I couldn't help it!"

     Bethsany rolled her eyes.  "I'm going to send you a message for
Darryn, Aimee', that he's to teach you to keep your magic down when you're
just having fun!"

     "Yes, Ma'am."

     "Now, Meli, I told you to show her a nice time, but you were also to
teach her how to do her hair.  Now, get with it, get with it."

     "Yes, madame," Meli replied, climbing out of the tub and handing
Aimee' a towel.  "Come, Aimee', I will teach you how to be beautiful."

--
"Aimee', Chapter 4"
Aimee' is copyright (c) 1993 Elf Mathieu Sternberg.  This story may be
freely distributed by electronic media; hardcopies are limited to single
printings for personal use.