Princess (11 page)

Again Iriel collapsed back onto the filthy bed, only for the curtain to rustle once more. She choked back a sob, lifting her head with an effort to see yet another group of men, but ones she recognised, Captain Baltrank and the Navigator, Steithes. Both were grinning and their trousers showed distinct bulges.

‘You also?' she croaked.

‘Certainly,' Baltrank answered. ‘Would I insult you by not paying a visit? Indeed, we would have come earlier, but by first light there was already a queue halfway around the compound. I must remark that you are somewhat soiled.'

‘Fifty men have had me, more perhaps,' Iriel managed. ‘I… I can barely…'

‘This is the lot of the whore,' Steithes remarked, ‘still, console yourself in that your overwhelming popularity is bound to wane a little once the novelty has worn off and the price returned to normal By and large I feel you have made the right choice.'

‘Choice?' Iriel answered feebly. ‘I have no choice! I am chained by the neck to prevent my escape!'

‘The chain is real?' Baltrank queried. ‘I thought it part of this captured barbarian fancy Madame Hivies has thought up, along with your clothes.'

He had picked up the badly soiled remained of Iriel's leather dress and was inspecting it.

‘It is real,' Iriel answered him. ‘I have been taken, imprisoned, robbed of my money, made a whore, whipped and chained here for fucking, all because Luides and his friends played a cruel trick on me.'

‘I know nothing of this,' Baltrank answered in surprise. ‘I had heard you were hear, yes, and of your whipping. I thought it a ploy to raise interest. Prior to that I was seeing to the sale of our nymphs at the caravanserai, so have heard little. You did not choose to become a whore then?'

‘No!' Iriel wailed. ‘Luides tricked me into fucking. When the guard came I fought. I was arrested, tried, sentenced, brought here, whipped and chained up like this!'

‘I shall have Luides whipped himself,' Baltrank assured her. ‘Now…'

‘Leave Luides alone,' Iriel broke in. ‘What of my friends? Do they not know?'

‘By no means,' he answered. ‘Kaissia, Aeisla and Cianna have been with us, extolling the virtues of Aegmund nymphs. We received five hundred gold Marks for the cargo, a fine price. Yi, I do not know, save that at Oxtan's Yard she was speaking with the stablemen from House Eriedes. Perhaps she has taken employment? Now…'

‘Get word to Aeisla, please?' Iriel begged.

‘To what purpose?' Steithes demanded. ‘You are a registered whore, a place many would envy. Do not fret, the worst will soon be over and you will laugh to remember how sore you were. Who knows, one day you may have your own brothel!'

‘You do not understand,' Iriel said miserably. ‘My ancestors cry out against this, not for the fuckings, but for the shame of having my body sold as if I were a goat or pig, and worse, my coming branding.'

‘Branding?'

‘I am to be branded, in the Watchhouse yard, when my first week is done. For an Aeg, any Aeg, branding is the final shame, reserved for those whose sins damn them utterly!'

Baltrank shrugged, then spoke, ‘The pain will pass, that is the only consolation I can offer, other than to have Luides soundly whipped, as to your other concerns, this is Oretea, you need not worry for things shameful in Aegmund, any more than Kaissia. Now…'

‘Say I am here, at the least?' Iriel pleaded.

‘Certainly,' he answered, ‘but I shall also advise prudence. There is to be no disturbance here. Now, enough talk, we have paid for your body not conversation. Steithes, I wish to see if she sucks as well as Kaissia, you may have her cunt first.'

Steithes nodded and freed his cock, then hauled Iriel's legs high to get at her tuppenny as Baltrank fed his own cock into her mouth. In a state of miserable resignation, she began to suck.

One day merged with the next, an endless round of men and cocks, Iriel used over and over, in every hole. Only occasionally were there breaks, just long enough to allow her to recover a little. Even when she grew too sore to be used she was put out in a different room for the specialist customers, men, and even women. Unlike the barely furnished fucking cubicles, it contain several curious pieces of apparatus. There was a big pot of heavy glass into which she was obliged to urinate while watched, a glass topped table for a similar and yet ruder function, a system of traces into which she could be fasten and made to crawl around the compound with her client drawn behind her in a little cart, even a device like an enormous tongs with which the interior of her body cavities could be inspected. All were used more than once.

Her fear grew day by day, yet although she was constantly obedient, her collar and chain were never removed, and three guards invariably accompanied her at those times she was not securely fastened to the wall. Even while towing the cart Hundact walked with her. She had also been forbidden to speak to the other girls, who shied away in fear of Madame Hivies' quirt at her attempts, leaving her feeling more isolated and vulnerable than ever.

At last the day came, Iriel waking from her drugged sleep not to the sound of men queuing for the use of her body, but to Hundact winding a length of tough cord around her wrists. She was bound before she could clear the fog from her head, and her ankles followed her wrists despite her best attempts to kick him, not bound tight, but hobbled. She was already nude, having been up until the early hours so that all those who wanted to have her before the price went up could be satisfied.

Hundact left her, bound naked on the bed as the rest of the brothel continued as normal. She lay helpless, desperately seeking a way out, or even some means of bringing herself to an honourable death. Nothing came to here, her bound limbs and chained neck making combat impossible, while nothing she had could possibly have served as a weapon.

At last, with the sun already reaching its full heat, Vea came to feed her, no more than a cup of spicy soup, but also the drugged wine. It was an act of sympathy, and one Iriel forced herself to refuse, knowing that at the very least she had to retain what little pride remained to her, and hope. Shortly after, Hundact returned, and with him the same two watchmen who had originally led her to the brothel, Zeidat and Prumes, both of whom had come to fuck her more than once during the week.

She was led from the room in which more men than she could count had used her body, down the stairs and out into the compound, where the girls sat idle, drinking wine or nibbling sweetmeats and fruit to restore themselves after the morning's work. Curious glances were turned to her, some sympathetic, most amused or openly cruel. At the arch Hundact gave her over to the watchmen and she was led out into the street, tottering in tiny steps on her hobbled legs.

Zeidat went in front, with her lead thrown casually over her shoulder, Prumes behind, his trident just inches from her naked bottom, ready to prod her into renewed zeal if she slowed. Faces turned, many following them, to remark with amusement on Iriel's naked body and the way her short, fast steps made her bottom wobble and her breasts jiggle. The blood rose to her face, despite the way she had been exposed and used over the week, finding it harder to cope with derision than lust.

Yet she kept her chin up, struggling to imitate Kaissia's calm in the face of shaming and fervently wishing that all she had coming was spanking and a little dung in her face, even tattooing, even being put to a troll, anything but the brand. Only when they came in sight of the Watchhouse did the first seeds of panic start to grow, her stomach knotting, and her muscles twitching. The urge to run rose high, reinforced by the voices in her head telling her to fight, to die on Prumes' trident, to choke on her collar, anything but to submit.

She resisted, telling herself she would simply be hurt for no gain, probably put in a net, that her attempts would only draw more laughter from her captors and the crowds around them. Yet still the voices screamed at her, in rising urgency, until at last she could resist no more, and broke.

Her flight lasted five short paces before her collar brought her up short at the same instant she tripped over her hobble. She went down, flat on her face amid a gale of laughter from the crowd, and an instant later the trident was pressed to her neck. Prumes began to speak, then stopped abruptly. Iriel looked up, to find a pair of sandalled feet inches in front of her face. A burly Oretean stood over her, in the watch uniform but with gold sleeves to his green tunic.

‘Twelveman Cound,' Prumes stated, saluting.

Cound did not answer, but took hold of Iriel's lead to pull her sharply upright, indifferent to her pain as she struggled to find her feet. For a moment their eyes met, his small and black, showing neither sympathy nor humour, only cold distaste. Then he had turned, jerking on the lead to set her stumbling behind him, under the high arch of Staive Cintes Watchhouse. Stronger fear gripped her as she caught the smell of burning coals, undercut with the sharp tan of heated metal. She began to struggle, unable to help herself, pulling against the lead, merely jerking at the sudden prod of the trident into one fleshy bottom cheek.

Then her arms had been taken, held hard by the two watchmen as Twelveman Cound pulled her hard forward. The crowd in front of her broke wide, revealing a squat frame of iron and wood, stained with sweat marks, and the brazier, an iron cage filled high with glowing coals, the handle of the brand protruding from among them. She fought back a scream, panic welling up once more at the thought of the horrible thing searing into her flesh, of the agonising pain, the smell of scorched meat, the hideous scar it would leave, marking her forever…

‘Hold her!' Cound growled, and as he stepped away two more watchmen replaced him, one on her lead, one behind her.

She began to fight, writhing in their grip, heedless of pain, clutching with her fingers and snapping with her teeth, yet for nothing as she was forced forward, and down, pressed hard to the warm iron of the frame, head down, bottom high. Somebody laughed as her cunt came on show, and for one moment she thought her hobble would be removed to let them spread her legs for fucking, only for it to be fixed straight to the frame. Her wrists followed, locking her in place, bent hard down so that it was all she could do to wiggle her bottom in despairing, urgent protest.

Something pliant touched her waist and she looked back, to find the watchmen with broad leather straps, thick and a handspan wide. Both were put on her, trapping her legs and thighs so that even her wiggling became a useless, pathetic thing, her body hold so tight that it merely made the meat of her bottom wobble.

‘To ensure we get a clean brand,' Cound remarked. ‘I know how you women like to stay pretty.'

He laughed at his own joke, full of contempt as he pulled on a thick leather glove. Iriel met his eyes, using every last part of her will power to prevent herself from begging, and succeeding only because she knew it would be futile. There was no sympathy in his face, no mercy whatever, only derision and a cold, evil humour. Taking hold of the brand, he pulled it up, the tip yellow with heat, an elaborate E struck through with a double line.

‘A little hotter, I think,' he remarked, ‘that way your flesh will crisp nicely without too much melting of the fat. Yes, another few minutes.'

Iriel shut her eyes as he thrust the iron back into the coals. Shaking her head in raw terror, yet she still held back her pleas for mercy, her teeth sunk into her lower lip, the prayer for strength to her father running over and over in her head. Again she heard Cound's voice, cold and level, rich with amusement.

‘You're tough, you barbars, I'll grant you that. Usually they grovel and plead. Let us see though, just how tough you are. Beg sweetly and I shall brand your fat behind, otherwise it goes full on your c…'

His voice broke off in a thick, gristly sound. Iriel's eyes sprang open as screams and shouts broke out on every side, to find Cound's head staring at her from among the coals of the brazier. Beyond was Aeisla, bloody axe in hand, her face set in a crazed grin. Prumes sprang into her way, trident lifted, only to go down to Aeisla's backswing, then another watchmen, his sword smashed from his grip by the sheer power of her blow.

Hot blood spattered Iriel's body, but her ankles were free, then her hands as Yi appeared to slice through the bonds. As her body was released she wrenched herself from the frame, snatching at the fallen trident even as she hit the ground. Cianna was above her, sword sunk to the hilt in the body of Zeidat, and Kaissia, screaming defiance at a wall of a dozen watchmen, now stood back, swords and tridents ready.

Iriel rolled up, her heart hammering, sick with rage and fear, gaining her feet the same instant the watch charged in, to be met by a shower of hot coals as Aeisla kicked the brazier over, then the axe. One man fell, headless, a second on the backswing, a third to Cianna and they were plunging forward, slashing and stabbing as the watchmen gave back in terror, and running at the open archway, full tilt into the net even as it fell across the opening.

Chapter Four – Oretes

Looking up into the face of Justice Eriedes Ghaidus, Iriel found none of the easy condescension he had shown before. His face was a mask, absolutely cold. Nor was he alone, nor seated, but standing beside the great chair, on which sat another man, similar of feature but of still richer dress, the Eriedes himself. On the far side of the chair was a younger man, Eriedes Argenus. Others, known and unknown, stood about the room, including Captain Baltrank, Luides and others of the crew.

The girls were chained and yoked, each with a heavy bar of wood across her shoulders, to which her neck collar and hands were fastened. Chains joined the yokes, and also their hobbles. All five were stark naked. All five bore the marks of their desperate struggle beneath the net.

All five were also gagged, wads of sour leather thrust into their mouths and tied off behind their heads. Iriel's hurt, and her body ached in every limb, yet she struggled to hold the same pose of haughty contempt maintained by Aeisla beside her, also to concentrate on her pride rather than fear. Beyond Aeisla the other three also held their pose, Cianna defiant, Kaissia cold, Yi sullen. A full Twelve of watchmen surrounded them, tridents at the ready. Clerk Loumank cleared his throat.

‘So that the five barbarian females accused may answer for the charges brought by Watchmaster Eriedes Voilus, application is made for death by wasting, each murderess to be hung in a cage, at the Citadel, at the Watchhouse, at the Oretes Gate, at the Desert Gate, on the docks. Secondly, that when dead their bodies be buried at the feet of Twelveman Cound in his tomb, as is traditional for the corpses of vanquished enemies.'

Eriedes Ghaidus reacted with a flicker of one eyebrow, the Eriedes himself not at all. Eriedes Argenus spoke.

‘Death certainly, but to bury them at Cound's feet is a mockery. Let the House Veides…'

He went silent at a gesture from the Eriedes. Eriedes Ghaidus spoke.

‘The demands are just, no question. Yet I have an alternative proposal. Their value as slaves is high, and…'

‘Slaves!' a voice objected from among the watchers.

The man stepped out, a solidly built greybeard with an air of authority, plain anger on his face as he continued.

‘Slavery is no suitable penalty! Death is the only appropriate choice, and the only one acceptable to the House Veides. Indeed, I consider Watchmaster Voilus' demands insultingly lenient! I make application for torture prior to encagement, to the satisfaction of the relatives of the deceased…'

‘It is not your position to make application for justice, Veides Cinctus,' Eriedes Ghaidus interrupted him, ‘yet rest assured that your nephew's death will not be put aside lightly, nor those of the other eight watchmen. Pray here me out as regards the option of selling them.'

‘Slavery is unsuitable, an insult to my House,' Veides Cinctus answered.

‘Not so,' Eriedes Ghaidus stated. ‘They are Aeg. As Captain Baltrank will vouch, to them slavery is a fate worse by far than death.'

Veides Cinctus responded with a contemptuous snort and made to continue, only to cut off by Eriedes Argenus.

‘If this is true, let them choose: slavery or death. Father?'

‘A wise decision,' the Eriedes replied. ‘Is this satisfactory, Veides Cinctus?'

‘Entirely,' Veides Cinctus answered, a touch of cruel humour in his voice. ‘Ungag the giantess, I should like to put the question myself.'

‘You may,' the Eriedes stated, nodding to the watchmen, one of whom stepped forward, to gingerly remove Aeisla's gag.

Veides Cinctus stepped forward.

‘What is it to be, girl, slavery, doubtless as the pampered plaything of some rich House, or death, death by slow wastage as you hang in a cage in the hot sun, without food, without water, jeered at, pelted with dung…'

‘My Lord Eriedes!' Loumank objected. ‘This is not due procedure!'

‘Indeed not, make the choice simple,' the Eriedes instructed.

‘My pardon, Lord,' Veides Cinctus answered. ‘So, girl, slavery or death?'

‘Death,' Aeisla answered.

Veides Cinctus stood back in surprise, then spoke again, to Kaissia.

‘And you? Do you prefer to die hung in a cage also?'

Kaissia gave a single stiff nod, Cianna also. Iriel followed suit, and Yi. Aeisla spoke.

‘Pit us in combat, as we slew your watchmen, so that we may join in the Feast Hall of Heroines.'

Veides Cinctus paused, then spoke again.

‘I see, so it is a matter of superstition. You believe that if you die you go to some afterlife of assured bliss?'

‘We do,' Aeisla answered.

Veides Cinctus gave a low chuckle, ‘So be it, I accept the verdict.'

‘Slavery,' the Eriedes stated. ‘Take them…'

‘No!' Aeisla cut in. ‘We asked for death!'

‘Thus I condemn you to slavery,' the Eriedes answered her. ‘Gag her again, Twelveman.'

Two watchmen hurried forward to hold Aeisla's yoke as a third forced the leather wadding back into her mouth and tied it off, to leave her glaring at the Eriedes.

‘Slavery, yes,' he stated, ‘but not here in Staive Cintes. Take them to the caravanserai, for Oretes, where we will without question gain a better price while ridding ourselves of them as well. As compensation, I award one third of their sale price to the House Veides, one third to the Watchhouse, one third to the House Eriedes, the distribution to be calculated after the costs of the civic authority have been deducted. Take them away.'

Iriel winced as the guard's cock was forced into her anal ring. He had barely bothered to lubricate her, merely sucking on a finger, sticking it up her bottom and wiggling it around as he masturbated himself erect.

He filled her slowly, his cock crammed in bit by bit, until at last the hairy mass of his balls met her empty tuppenny. With a grunt of satisfaction he mounted her back, scooped one dangling breast into each hand and set to work buggering her. She was still in her yoke, unable to resist as he and another had positioned her body in a kneeling posture. Her yoke rested on the floor of the wagon, trapping her head and arms, while two sacks of spiced fish beneath her belly kept her bottom lifted and available.

The prison line had become a slave coffle. Beside her, the other fives girls were in the same humiliating position, all in a row, their linked yokes helping keep them in place. Each had a cock either in her tuppenny or up her bottom, leaving nearly half the caravan staff immersed to the balls in wet girl flesh. Only Aeisla had put up more than a token fight, and her buttocks and thighs bore a fresh set of welts in consequence.

The two guards who had chosen Iriel had tossed a coin, the winner fucking her and depositing so much jism up her hole that the second had declared her too sloppy and forced her bottom ring instead. Now, with the pain of the rough entry dying slowly to pleasure and her nipples rubbing in his hands, she was struggling not to show her responses. Not that he seemed to care, enjoying her body simply for the pleasure of what it was, fondling her breasts as her bottom ring pulled in and out on his erection, until at last he came in her rectum.

They had left the caravanserai at dawn, after their third night spent chained in the cells of the citadel. During that time perhaps a dozen watchmen and others had taken advantage of their helplessness to relieve their cocks in one hole or another, but otherwise they had been treated far more easily than she had expected. The wrist and neck holes of their yokes had been padded with rags to prevent chaffing, also where their chains touched their skin. They had also been given plenty of water and fed well, not merely lentils, but spiced stew, rice and bread. The good treatment was purely in order to keep her body in prime condition for sale, as a clerk had explained shortly after fucking her.

She had accepted it, also Aeisla's argument that it was best to keep their strength up, yet for all the tall girl's efforts to keep their hopes alive, Iriel could find little to be optimistic about. She was stark naked, stripped of her clothes, her possessions and her dignity, in a land over a thousand leagues from Aegerion and about to be sold into slavery. The concept of slavery was as shameful as it was incomprehensible. She was not a piece of goods, to be traded, nor an animal, and yet she was being treated as such. It left her numb with an angry misery that had barely faded even when some of the men had rubbed her off to make her penetrated holes tighten on their cocks.

The guard who had been up her pulled out, wiped his cock in the crease of her bottom and gave a long sigh of satisfaction. Iriel stayed down, unable to move until the others did, listening to the gruntings, smacking noises and liquid sounds of the her friends being fucked. Only Yi was responding, whimpering gently into the floor in what might have equally well have been distress or ecstasy.

The man in Cianna came first, pulling his cock free at the last moment to ejaculate all over her upturned bottom and dipping back into her tuppenny to finish. She blew her breath out as her hole was filled once more, but gave no other reaction. The guard in Kaissia made a joke over the state of Cianna's bottom, grunted and imitated his friend, only with great force, spraying jism over the blonde girl's back and into her hair as well as over her buttocks. Kaissia gave no response beyond a little cluck of disgust. The man in Yi also came, deep up her bottom, holding himself well in until he was finished and using her hair to wipe his cock clean. Last was the one in Aeisla, the caravan's cook, who had been rubbing his well greased erection between the cheeks of her bottom, but thrust himself inside her at the last instant. As come spurted from around his cock shaft the first man who had fucked Iriel spoke.

‘Always the last, Ortac, you should loose some weight.'

‘Nonsense,' the cook puffed, ‘they enjoy the feel of bellyflesh on their bottoms. It reminds them of the spankings they are given back in Aegmund to arouse them. So my cousin Corbold assures me.'

He finished with a laugh and fetched Aeisla a hearty slap across her bottom before taking hold of her yoke, his hands placed well away from her teeth.

‘Ready?'

The girls were hauled up, pulled by their yokes, back into a sitting position. Quickly the guards replaced the sacks, while Ortac began to spoon fish from an open one at the end of the wagon, piling it into a long trough of beaten copper that ran the length of one side. Iriel watched in puzzlement, then outrage as she realised that in order to eat she would have to kneel down once more with her face in trough, as if she were a farm animal. Kaissia gasped and began to speak, only to stop, her mouth hanging slack in raw outrage as one of the guards emptied a bucket of some sweet smelling, yeasty pulp into the trough.

‘Grape pressings,' the guard stated, ‘and you are lucky. The baboons and brush pigs get only fruit peelings and water.'

‘Baboons!?' Kaissia demanded. ‘Brush pigs!?'

‘Just so,' the guard stated casually and jumped down from the wagon.

‘Assanach specialises in the haulage of livestock,' Ortac explained.

Kaissia was left speechless, her mouth wide, Cianna looked angry, Yi sullen, but Iriel was surprised to find a small, ironic smile on Aeisla's face. Before she could speak their yokes had been pushed forward once more and was she forced to brace herself as her face went into the trough, fouling her nose and the fringe of her hair before she caught her balance.

Ortac laughed as she began to eat, and gave her a swat across her bottom with his spoon. Iriel shut her eyes in shame, thinking of the way the eating position left her bottom spread, with jism still dribbling from both cunt and anus. Ortac gave another chuckle and began to walk down the line of girls, applying random swats to their raised bottoms and at the end sliding the spoon handle into Yi's open tuppenny to leave it sticking up in the air above her buttocks.

‘Five hundred leagues to Oretes,' he stated happily. ‘At perhaps twenty-five leagues a day that is twenty days or so of abundant cunt, and when your cunts grow sore or sloppy, well, up your arses we go!'

He gave another chuckle, only to break off suddenly and pull the spoon from Yi's hole. A man appeared in the opening of the wagon, his round red face shaded beneath an elaborate hat. Ortac climbed down and for a moment the two conversed while Iriel struggled to swallow her mouthfuls of the foul tasting, coarse textured mash beneath her face. Soon she had taken in as much as she could eat, but she was forced to stay down until the others had also finished. By then the red-faced man had climbed into the wagon. He was directly behind her, eyeing her bottom. Both her holes twitched in anticipation of another fucking, but there was no lust in his voice when he spoke, only amusement.

‘Come, girls, snouts out of the trough, I wish to speak with you.'

‘Expect nothing from us,' Aeisla answered him. ‘Move back as one, girls, when I say. Now.'

Iriel obeyed, taking the weight of the yoke up with difficult but managing to rock back onto her heels. The man stepped away, then clambered over the linking chains linking as they shuffled backwards, to leave him facing them.

‘Why so brusque?' he asked Aeisla. ‘I am merely Assanach the caravaneer, who plies his trade in all innocence and probity. I had no part in the trick played upon you.'

Aeisla held a stony silence, but Kaissia answered.

‘Trick? What trick?'

‘The trick played by the Eriedes,' Iriel pointed out, ‘to make us slaves.'

‘Not that, no,' Assanach stated. ‘There I had a part, I confess, but purely a commercial one. It was I who suggested to Lord Eriedes Ghaidus that you be sold in Oretes rather than Staive Cintes. Naturally I take a commission as caravaneer and agent.'

Aeisla spat on the floor. He ignored her, continuing.

‘I refer to the death of Twelveman Cound. Surely you realise that you were manoeuvred into this?'

‘No,' Aeisla admitted.

He shrugged. ‘I am a caravan master, and hardly privy to the councils of the House Eriedes, yet I can guess fairly at their machinations. Twelveman Cound was of the House Veides, the second most powerful of Staive Cintes and the ruling House of Staive Mainides, a city some eighty leagues south along the coast. His influence was rising, and with Watchmaster Eriedes Voilus in his eighty-third year it could not have been long before the position would fall vacant. The watch would have been sure to demand the appointment of Cound, thus seriously weakening the influence of the House Eriedes. Thus and so, when you, Iriel, came before Eriedes Ghaidus in his position as Justice, he seized his chance.'